Mukannishum moved the curtain aside with a rapid, precise movement of his fingertips, destroying the illusion. Dracup blinked, suddenly disoriented. He heard a scurrying noise behind. Bek had shuffled up to watch. The boy’s face was grimed with dust and long tear tracks stained his cheeks. Dracup attempted to catch his eye, but he looked away and began to scuff the floor awkwardly with his feet.
“Gaze upon it, Professor.” Mukannishum held an object aloft, the torchlight reflecting along familiar contours.
Dracup felt a mixture of emotions. Here it was — the mirror image of his Scottish find: Omega. It was forged exactly like a half section of the Lalibela cross, but the metalwork was covered with indented script. Cuneiform script. In the top left hand corner was a single mark: O He moved his hands slowly to his side. If he could just get one frame. Mukannishum was concentrating on the object, his face radiating satisfaction. The priests watched impassively. Dracup’s hand reached his trouser pocket. And it was empty. Empty. How could it be empty? He had checked the camera thirty minutes ago… before or after their last rest break? It must have slipped out. No camera. And little time. Dracup’s brain raced. If he could set up some distraction—
“What is this place?” he asked Mukannishum.
Mukannishum slotted the sceptre into a recess on the altar where it gleamed, reflecting the artificial light.
“This place?” Mukannishum smiled. “It was built by one of the first men to come to Africa. His name was Ham.”
Dracup felt a growing excitement in spite of his predicament. Noah’s sons: Shem, Ham and Japheth.
Mukannishum went on. “And he brought with him a reminder of his roots, a signpost to ensure he would never forget where his kin had settled, so that they could be found — if need be — in times to come.”
Dracup nodded. “The sceptre. Yes. Alpha and Omega — when brought together they complete the stanza that reveals the location of Ham’s brethren. His special brethren.” Dracup paused to gauge the reaction. “Ham, Shem and Japheth did what they were told, didn’t they? They moved away from the Ark and spread across the earth. But there was an elite band, a remnant of Noah’s family who were charged with the protection of something, sworn to the preservation of a treasure. And my grandfather found it — with the help of this ‘signpost’.”
“It is so.” Mukannishum’s eyes were black marbles in their deep, hooded sockets.
Dracup wondered how far he could push Mukannishum — too far and he could seal his fate immediately; not far enough and he might lose the only chance he had. He gestured towards the object on the altar. “Well, I have a question for you, then: if it’s so sacred to your people, why have you abandoned it here for so long?”
Mukannishum moved towards him with a lithe, darting motion. Dracup stood his ground. The zealot’s face was centimetres away, the whites of his eyes webbed with tiny rivulets of blood. A thread of spittle clung to the thin lips. “This is not something I would normally share with a godless Westerner, but as your life is at an end I will show you leniency and explain.” Mukannishum took a step back, his long body again performing that strange unfolding motion as he drew himself up to his full height. “It is written that in the fullness of time, the sceptre shall be made whole again and reunited with the one to whom it was given at the beginning.”
Dracup was listening. He was also looking for an escape route, but the encircling priests seemed to sense his intentions. They closed in, tightening the circle. He had to keep Mukannishum talking. “And that time is now?”
Mukannishum smiled, a cynical movement of his lips. “Yes. Our prophet has decreed it to be so.”
Dracup’s brain was racing. “And apart from my grandfather’s diary this is the only means by which your people can be traced, correct?”
“Correct.” Mukannishum opened his robe and slid out a small book. “And I have both Omega and the diary in my possession.”
Dracup could sense Mukannishum’s patience slipping away. But if he was going to die he wanted to die with answers. “Why my daughter?”
Mukannishum straightened to his full height. “She is not my responsibility,” he said dismissively. “The prophet will decide her fate.”
“Then take me to him. At least I deserve a hearing.”
Mukannishum threw back his head and laughed. “He is a thousand miles from you — in distance and in spirit.” Watching Dracup carefully, he added, “The girl is useful to him,” he added a final phrase that chilled Dracup’s heart, “in his service.”
Dracup grappled with his conflicting emotions. The words confirmed that she lived. But a thousand miles away? He felt despair seep through his body like a sedative and dug his fingernails into his palms, forcing himself to think. Keep talking, Dracup. Keep him talking. “The Americans have Alpha. They may still be able to trace you.”
“I doubt that,” Mukannishum leered. “I have already made provision to acquire your recently unearthed discovery. US intelligence has already proved itself less than competent. Alpha will be in my hands very soon. As is its sibling.” Mukannishum turned to the altar and unfixed the half-cross from its plinth. Laying it down carefully he produced a soft cloth from his bag and began folding the material this way and that across the object as if to protect it in transit. The priests, silent up to this point, began to murmur amongst themselves. Dracup eyed them with caution. Was this unexpected? They appeared surprised at Mukannishum’s actions. One stepped forward and grasped his arm, said something in the strange language Dracup had heard earlier that day. The gesture was unmistakable. It is not permitted.
Mukannishum whipped his arm from the point of contact. “Do not touch me,” he hissed in English. “Kadesh himself has decreed that the sign be returned to the Korumak.”
Two names. Kadesh. Korumak. Dracup stored the information and waited to see what would happen next. He realized that, to these priests, Mukannishum was as much an outsider as he was. An important one, maybe, but not one of them. They were suspicious and their suspicions had evidently been confirmed. Mukannishum glared at the men and resumed his task.
What happened next surprised Dracup as much as it surprised Mukannishum. One of the priests produced a long blade from beneath his garment and swept it across Mukannishum’s legs, disabling him in one stroke. The giant fell to the floor with a look of amazed horror on his face. Blood leapt from the wounds and spattered the onlookers in a rush of gore. Dracup heard Bek give a shout of revulsion and stepped back involuntarily, expecting the priest to turn on him as well. But the man with the sword had his attention firmly fixed on Mukannishum, who was lying on his back attempting to sit up. A pool of blood was forming around the stricken man’s body.
Dracup looked from the priest back to Mukannishum, profoundly shocked. Mukannishum was ranting at his assailant. The priest barked a reply and Mukannishum twisted his mouth into a snarl. A sliver of metal appeared in his hand and the wrist twisted to flick the knife at its target, but the priest was quicker: stepping forward he pinned Mukannishum’s arm to the floor and kicked the knife away disdainfully. The other priests, silent up to this point, began chanting rhythmically, their voices echoing round the building like monks at plainsong. Dracup edged back another metre and found Bek squatting miserably behind him. “What are they saying, Bek? What’s happened?”