In the bluish light, the four realized they were in a perfectly circular room, carved immaculately from the bedrock beneath the city. The walls stopped at about eight feet, where the domed ceiling rose to a point thirty feet high in its center.
Muhammad, ironically, was puzzled by the room’s design. Even in the darkness, his face visibly contorted into a questioning expression. “I don’t understand,” he said, his head turning quickly back and forth as he examined the architecture. “This room is a Muslim design. I don’t understand. Daniel was a Hebrew prophet.”
Adriana nodded her agreement, though she ignored his confused looks and walked slowly toward the middle of the room. Sean was right next to her, moving in tandem. A stone sarcophagus, eight feet in length, was the target of their prowl.
“Actually,” Tommy said, still eyeing the walls and ceiling, “it would make perfect sense. When the Babylonians were captured, many of their priests, military minds, and leaders were put to death. Nebuchadnezzar was already dead, and his successors largely failed. Belshazzar, a drunken fool, was left in his place to run things while his father, another weak ruler, ran off to Palestine to establish a colony. According to the story, Daniel foretold the empire’s demise after a strange hand appeared in the throne room and wrote it on the wall.”
“Which is where the term, ‘writing on the wall,’ came from.” Sean added. As he stepped closer to the long box, his eyes remained locked on an object that sat on its top.
Tommy stopped what he was doing and moved toward the stunning alabaster sarcophagus as well. “Right. Anyway, the Medes and Persians were led by Cyrus, a Persian. He allowed Daniel to live and brought him into his council. If one of the Persian kings designed this burial chamber for Daniel, that would explain why it appears to be an early Muslim design.”
Muhammad nodded. “Fascinating.”
“Yeah, and a little long. Try to shorten it next time,” Sean joked. His voice bounced off the walls and ceiling.
“Hilarious,” Tommy said, nearing the box.
Sean reached out to the object atop the creamy-white sarcophagus. It was a small cube, and its yellowish color was unmistakable. The little container was made of pure gold. It was grimy and dusty from centuries underground, but it was nonetheless remarkable.
“What is that?” Tommy asked, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the flashlight’s pale glow.
Sean took a deep breath. “I think it’s what we’ve been looking for.”
The cube had a lid pressed firmly into the main portion, and it took a few seconds before he could wriggle it free.
Muhammad came close and stared along with the others as Sean opened the cube. They all held their breath, uncertain of what would be within. As the lid came free, their beams fell upon an incredible, and at the same time, unspectacular sight. Two stones, one white and one black, lay within the cube.
“The Urim and the Thummim,” Adriana said reverently, her voice barely a whisper.
Sean reached a hand in and picked up the stones. Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice stopped him cold.
“Put the stones back in the box, please.” The accent was faintly Middle Eastern, but the English was perfectly clear.
Sean froze in place for a second while the other three spun round. Tommy instinctively reached for his gun but realized that would be a mistake. Seven gunmen, dressed in black and wearing scarves over their faces and headlamps on their foreheads, had pistols aimed in their direction. Adriana sensed the danger and twisted her head around slowly to assess the situation. Muhammad put his hands up instantly, obviously unaccustomed to being in such a spot.
“Don’t make me ask you again.” The man in the center of the gunmen was the one giving the orders. He was dressed similarly to the others but wore nothing across his face. His tanned skin, dark hair, and facial structure belied his Arab descent. He held his weapon, identical to the other six, down at his waist with hands crossed.
Sean let out a sigh and did as he was told. The stones clanked at the bottom of the metal cube.
“Thank you,” the man said. “Now all of you move away from the sarcophagus. Over there to the left will be fine.” He pointed in the direction he wanted the group to go.
“No sudden movements,” one of the gunmen ordered.
Sean knew the second speaker must have been Sharouf, the second in command.
“I had a feeling you’d follow us here, Mamoud,” Sean said as he and the others inched their way over to the wall. “I have to say, I was starting to wonder if you’d got lost.”
“Always the cocky American, even when you stand in the face of death and failure.” Mamoud’s expression remained stoically unimpressed.
“It seems to have worked for me so far.”
Tommy and Adriana kept their eyes narrowed, watching the situation develop.
Mamoud turned around and jerked an older man forward. The prisoner was dressed in a white linen shirt and light cream-colored linen pants. “You wanted to see those stones so badly,” Mamoud said. “Let’s go take a look at your life’s work before I bring it to an end.”
The older man snorted, but his eyes were full of fear. He looked like he’d not slept for days, and his clothes were wrinkled and dirty. Sean gave a slow nod to the prisoner, trying to convey that everything would be okay. Nehem’s return expression was one of bewilderment, clearly wondering how that was possible.
Mamoud raised his weapon and jammed it in the archaeologist’s back, forcing him forward. “Please, I don’t have all day. We have a war to start, and the sooner the better.”
The two padded across the floor to the sarcophagus bathed in the light from the gunmen’s headlamps and the flashlights the other four still held.
“That’s far enough, Nehem,” Mamoud said. He shoved the older man aside and pointed his headlamp into the golden box. A sickly smile stretched across his face, and his eyes grew wide as they beheld the two stones. He reached in and picked them up, holding them close to his face to give a closer examination. “Now the power of Israel is in the hands of Abraham’s true heir,” he nearly whispered the sentence. He turned so that his prisoner could see the stones. “With these, I will always be a step ahead of my enemies.”
Nehem didn’t say a word as he gazed upon the precious stones. Every instinct within him said to snatch them and make a break for the door, a move that would be certain suicide. Mamoud must have sensed his thoughts as he withdrew a half step.
“Go stand over there with the others,” Mamoud ordered.
Nehem hesitated but obeyed, slinking over to where Sean and the others were huddled by the wall.
“What now, Mamoud?” Sean asked. “I mean, what exactly is your plan? You said you wanted a war. War with whom?”
In the residual light of his headlamp, Mamoud’s face took on a sinister expression. “You shouldn’t worry about such things, Sean Wyatt. You and your friends will be dead, buried in this tomb along with the Hebrew heretic within this box.” He tapped on the sarcophagus.
“Maybe. But I’ve always had a curious nature.”
Mamoud considered the question for a minute. He looked down at the stones in his hand and then at the floor. Distant, painful memories seeped into his mind. “When I was in college, during the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, my mother was visiting a friend in one of the towns on the outskirts of Baghdad. She was there on a mission, helping to give food to homeless people. She was kindhearted and always helped others. On day three of the invasion, a drone mistakenly dropped a bomb on the compound where she was working.” A twinge of distant pain scratched his voice.
“My mother was one of thousands of innocent people the United States and its friends have murdered. You sit there in your cozy living rooms watching CNN coverage of the devastation like it was a video game, never thinking that every building your army destroys has an innocent janitor, a security guard, an ordinary person just trying to make an honest living. It is time that America and its allies face the same fate. You want to know with whom I will wage war?” He paused for a moment and rubbed the stones with his thumb. “I will wage it with the world. You think your people, your media, your governments know terror? You think they know pain?” He lifted his head and stared through Sean’s eyes. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”