Keohane, G. - Solomon's Grave

Looking again at the glorious Ark before him, he was certain the preacher could lift it out, though not without some effort. Again, its size bothered him, and the lack of cherubim atop the mercy seat. Perhaps they’d been broken off, stolen ages ago during its many travels. He looked closer, trying to see if there were any other questionable features. The gold was radiant; certainly it was real. If that were so, however, how could Dinneck lift it? His smile faded a notch. Then he felt the power of the thing, like a wave washing across the room.

His smile returned. It was his. His!

No , he corrected himself. Not mine . It belonged to the great god Molech. Peter was only a servant. He forced the smile down, not wanting to sound too smug when he told Uncle Roger the news.

Let the man think he still had the upper hand. When their god chose leaders for his new temple on earth, Peter would have his day. He reached into his pocket and produced the cell phone. The signal was strong, even down here. Yet another positive turn of events. He pressed the speed-dial labeled RQ.

The phone rang on the other end of the line. As he waited, Peter felt something like a ball of clay grow in his stomach. What if his uncle didn’t believe him? He needed to be calm but confident. Play it cool, but assertive.

“Quinn speaking,” a gruff voice answered. Peter wanted to take a deep breath before speaking, but what sort of confidence would that imply?

“Uncle Roger, good evening. I have some news.”

Roger Quinn’s sigh crackled across the connection, which had a tinny quality to it this time. Maybe the energy emitted from the slowly rising Ark was causing interference. “Peter. I should have known. Is the chase off, as I expected? Another false alarm?”

Curse you, old man , he thought. I wish I could see your face in person when I say this . “Actually, Uncle, quite the opposite. I—we, I should say—are now in possession of that which we’ve sought for so long. The Ark of the Covenant is ours. It’s being lifted out of the crypt right now.”

Dinneck was making slow progress, pausing to catch his breath. Peter heard Paulson’s voice from above but ignored it. “One moment, Uncle. Be careful, Reverend,” he said louder. “Damaging it now will cost you and your girlfriend dearly.”

Roger still had not responded. Peter remained silent. He could wait. The Ark was nearing the concrete lip. Dinneck was saying something. Again, Paulson’s voice, clearly saying, “No way, Man. I ain’t touching that thing.”

“Just the rope for heaven’s sake. I need both hands.”

Uncle Roger’s voice finally returned. “How can you be sure it is real, Peter?” Not a mocking tone, but not entirely convinced.

“I can’t be, Uncle. Not yet. But the vessel is covered in quite ornate gold leaf. It would be an awfully expensive forgery to be sure. We’re moving with caution, though.” He wanted to mention the power he felt emanating from it, but could not decide how to describe it accurately without sounding foolish.

Paulson must have conceded to hold the rope, for Dinneck was now standing on the second-to-top rung of the ladder and trying to lift the chest above his head. Then it was up, and resting on the surface. Dinneck disappeared from view.

Peter felt a wash of relief. Closer now than ever before, he thought.

Roger was speaking again, and he tried to focus. “...man I sent down from Maine’s name is Lou Hautala. He should be there by midnight. Where will you be?”

Now, he noticed, Roger’s voice was tinged with excitement. Considering how excited he felt himself, how much more breathless must his aging and overweight uncle be?

“We’ll be at the storefront, in the back room. We’ll arrive in the alley and I’ll be sure to send any loiterers out front home before we examine the contents.”

“Send them all home, yes, but don’t do anything else until I arrive!” Roger’s voice was strained toward panic. “This may be nothing, but I’d be a fool to let you do anything further without our people there. If it is the true Ark... if it is...”

His voice trailed off. Peter imagined his uncle’s eyes darting across the room, lost in swirling thoughts. Even with the apparent insult just given, he was overjoyed at the reaction. But how long would it take for him to get all the way to Hillcrest?

“Uncle Roger,” he said, tentatively, “it’s quite a long trip from Chicago, and no telling when you’ll find a flight. I’d be happy to wait for your man from Maine, but I feel strongly we should at least do more to validate the find before you waste any money or time on such a trip.”

“I’m closer than you think, Peter. I should be over Providence by the time Hautala shows up at your doorstep. Expected arrival in Boston at one-fifteen. I have a car lined up when I get there.”

Peter rolled his eyes. Roger hadn’t been as skeptical as he’d sounded during their previous discussion. He‘d booked a red-eye into Logan.

“Well,” he said, trying to keep the growing disappointment from his voice, “that’s good news. It’s an hour drive from Boston to Hillcrest, so I should expect you by, what, two-thirty?”

“Secure the Ark, wait for Lou and do nothing else until we arrive.”

Roger disconnected.

We ? How many were coming with him? Peter flipped the phone closed with a loud snap. The man was coming to take the glory. Peter may have redeemed himself but his uncle wouldn’t let him get any credit.

He swore under his breath, trying to regain the calm he’d need when he went up to join the others. At the foot of the ladder he looked up at the corner of the Ark visible from his vantage point. He was suddenly much more worried about how this evening would progress. What if it wasn’t real? What if this was a diversion, like so many others in the past?

He lifted the lantern and stepped onto the ladder, feeling the old wood creak under his weight. He remembered Vincent Tarretti. He waved the lantern in the man’s direction, like a conductor hanging from the edge of a train’s caboose. In the shadows, the caretaker still had not moved. From the amount of blood on the wall and puddled about him, Tarretti was definitely a corpse. Another bullet in him would be good insurance. Still, they’d be lucky if no one heard them the first time. Best not risk it.

He clambered out of the hole, carefully avoiding the Ark, and moved to where the slab rested at a cockeyed angle on the far side.

“Move the Ark away from the opening.”

Dinneck hesitated a moment, then lifted the chest and laid it back down a few feet away with a dull thud. The man was young and strong, but he seemed to have worn himself out pulling the thing up. Peter gave a renewed command to Everson and the girl, then with Paulson’s help slid the slab back over the hole. They moved slowly, lest it drop through the hole and shatter, leaving the evidence inside open to the world. Most of the potential noise from moving the slab was muffled by moss and soil lining the edge. When it was back in place, he stepped on it to make sure it was secure, kicking dirt and leaves over the edges. He would send Paulson back here later to do a better camouflage job.

For now, they needed to leave. He checked his watch. Ten-thirty. Time was running out before the prize would be taken from him.

“Mister Paulson,” he said, straightening and wiping the dirt from his hands. “Take the girl with you in your car. The reverend will return with me and my able-bodied assistant.” Both Josh and Elizabeth made no reaction. He noticed the minister staring intently at the girl, as if his will alone—feeble as it was—could break the spell. “If we do not arrive at the back of the store within five minutes of your own arrival, bring the girl back here, shoot her, and drop her into the grave with Tarretti.”