John Hawks - The Golden City

Gabriel sat down at the white plastic table. “What happened?”

“I distributed some money to the staff, then went to the monastery and talked to the abbot.” Linden tossed a fake business card on the table. “I said I was a film producer who wanted full access to the church to take photographs. The abbot said that it would take at least six months to negotiate permission from the Patriarchate of Alexandra. I offered him a small amount of money, then a much larger amount. He looked tempted, but he still said no.”

Simon wiped the sweat off his forehead with handkerchief. “Gabriel thinks he found a way in.”

“If I were you, I would go tonight. Visitors only stay here for one or two days. They climb Mount Sinai, see the sunrise, then buy a T-shirt and get back on the tour bus. If we stay here any longer, someone will get suspicious.”

The three men went inside the restaurant for dinner. When they returned to the terrace, the mountains were black silhouettes while the sky held onto the fading light. A figure passed through the shadows and stepped onto the terrace. It was the teenage boy with the crippled leg who had carried their luggage to the rooms. Looking nervous, he approached Linden and whispered something in French. Linden slipped some money into the boy’s hand, and then motioned him away.

“We should take our walk now . The boy’s cousin works at the guard station. He says that men in a silver pickup truck just arrived and they are talking to the captain.”

Gabriel and Simon stood up immediately. They followed Linden off the terrace and hiked a few hundred yards into the darkness

“Are they from the Tabula?” Gabriel asked.

“I doubt it. The boy said that they are military policeman. If they find us, they will ask some questions and make sure we are not Israeli spies.”

“”Let’s make them work hard for their bribe,” Simon said to Linden. “I will only speak Italian. You can speak French.”

“What if they ask about me?” Gabriel said.

“I will explain that you hiked up Mount Sinai to pray.”

“Yes. You are very religious.” Simon laughed softly. “We won’t tell them that you’re breaking into the chapel.”

Trying not to trip over stones, the three men headed up the canyon to the monastery. Gabriel could hear camels grumbling in the darkness as the Bedouin got them ready for the pilgrims that would appear a few hours before dawn. The night landscape and the dark shapes of the mountains made him feel tired and lonely. This wasn’t heaven or hell-just an odd sort of purgatory.

After ten minutes of walking, they found the drainpipe Gabriel had noticed earlier that day. The monastery wall appeared more formidable in the darkness-a massive stone barrier.

“Stay here,” Linden whispered. “I will see if anyone is in the area.” He passed through the shadows and vanished around the southeast corner of the wall.

Simon Lumbroso sat down on a boulder and contemplated the moon rising over Mount Sinai. “I am starting to understand why Moses led the Israelis to this awful place. It is about as spare and simple as an empty room. You do not want distractions from the word of the Lord.”

Gabriel looked upward at the night sky and found no beauty in the stars. Some of them had perished billions of years ago, but their light still traveled through the universe.

“Linden thinks that Maya is dead.”

“No one knows what happened to her. Anything is possible.”

“She crossed over into First Realm and sacrificed herself…”

“That was her choice, Gabriel. We talked it over when she came to Rome.”

Linden came around the corner of the wall. “The outer doors are locked and no one is in the area. Start climbing. Let us hope that the monks are asleep.”

Gabriel grabbed the water pipe and began to climb upward, using both his hands and feet. Even in the dim light, he was aware of the different layers of the wall. The first forty feet consisted of massive sandstone blocks, quarried and dragged to the site by the Emperor Justinian’s soldiers. The stone blocks in the second layer were much smaller-about a foot square-and held together by mortar. As his arms and shoulders began to ache, he reached the top of the wall: a three foot layer of irregular stones and pebbles that the monks had picked up on their walks. Gabriel looked down and saw that Linden and Simon were moving away from the monastery. He reached out to the edge of the flat roof and pulled himself up.

The roof was a dumping place for broken bricks and rusty pipes. Be careful, he thought. You’re right above someone’s bedroom. Trying not to make any noise, he crossed the roof and looked at the gap between the monks’ living quarters and the roof of the church. It was too dark to see the courtyard below. It felt like he was about to throw himself into a bottomless pit. He remembered what one of the Free Runners told him before he ran across the roofs of Smithfield Market. Watch your feet, but don’t look farther down .

He paced out three steps from a starting point to the edge. One deep breath, and then he was running, jumping, flailing his arms as he fell through the darkness and landed on the church’s red tile roof. He slipped, started to fall, and then held onto the tiles and lay flat. Everyone heard me, he thought. Everyone knows I’m here. His brain conjured up scenes of monks jumping out of bed and running downstairs to sound the alarm.

But nothing happened. All he could hear was his own breathing and the faint scratching sound of his fingernails on the tiles. Gabriel crawled across the roof to the bell tower and climbed inside. Once again, he waited a minute or so to see if anyone was coming, and then he climbed down the steps to the foyer. The inner door squeaked faintly as he turned the handle.

Votive candles in red glass holders burned like coals in a dying fire. The faces of the icons were absorbed by the darkness, but the candlelight was reflected by the gold frames and brass chandeliers. When Gabriel walked over to the left aisle of the church, he saw one of the monks in front of the altar screen. He was an old man-very short with hunched shoulders-and he held a length of prayer beads with a spindle at one end. As he prayed and paced, he manipulated the chain with his thumb and forefinger. The spindle turned clockwise like a miniature prayer wheel while the monk’s sandals scuffled across the stone floor.

Gabriel stood on one side of a pillar and wondered what to do. If he moved forward, the monk would see him immediately; if he tried to leave the church, the outer door might be locked. He waited in the shadows for over twenty minutes until the inner door swung open and a second monk entered the church. The two men spoke to each other in Greek, and Gabriel wondered if someone had heard his footsteps on the roof. The old monk headed toward the side aisle, then changed his mind and followed the younger man out of the church.

Were they gone for the rest of the night or just a few minutes? Gabriel grabbed one of the candles and hurried past the altar screen to the tapestry. Pulling back the dust-covered fabric, he found an oak door with cast-iron door handle and keyhole lock. Quickly, he tied back the tapestry. The lock looked fairly new, but the monks hadn’t installed a new door. Standing sideways, Gabriel kicked above the lock. He kept kicking until a section of the wooden frame cracked off and the door popped open.

The chapel was smaller than he had imagined-about twelve feet long and six feet wide. A white stone altar displayed a gold cross and two candle holders. Directly above the cross was a murky looking painting of Moses standing beside the burning bush. There was a three-legged stool in one corner next to an embroidered pillow, but no other furniture was in the room.