the book of Genesis, for God’s sake, and …” He shrugged, as if he didn’t even know where to begin on that one. “This rock, for example. It’s basalt. Volcanic.
Sully asked, “So what do you think they are?”
“Pagan stones, from long before Christianity. There are many of them scattered across Armenia and eastern Turkey. The crosses were carved into them much later, when Christianity took over from paganism. This is where the Christian concept of tombstones with crosses carved into them first started. First with the pagans. Then with Christians.”
“And the holes?”
“Just niches for lamps.”
Zahed scanned the area, then said, “Okay. What about the waterfall?”
“I think I know which one we need,” Sully said. “It’s the only one that makes sense, given that he passed this way.”
IT DIDN’T TAKE TOO LONG for them to reach the waterfall. And an hour after that, they were exploring the ruins of the monastery.
Not that there was much of it left to explore.
After seven hundred years of abandonment, there was little to show that it was anything more than a series of primitive caves, albeit ones with cuboid shapes and with more-or-less rectangular openings in their walls. An infestation of wild grass and thick, tall bushes shielded the ruins from view, and when Sully, Zahed, and Simmons did manage to cut their way through the overgrowth and enter the rooms of the monastery, there was nothing there beyond bare, cold walls and the ghosts of long-faded murals depicting, they assumed, Biblical scenes.
Still, it was in no way a disappointment. They weren’t there to find anything beyond the monastery itself.
They took a breather and huddled on some boulders on a ridge outside, at the head of the steep rocky incline that led up to the ruins. In the late-afternoon sky overhead, a lone buzzard circled around lazily, hitching a ride on a thermal, while down below, the valleys had shifted to a brooding panorama of purples and grays. Sully was using the fold-out blade of his multitool to cut pieces of pistachio
“So now you need to follow another set of directions from here?” he asked Zahed in between mouthfuls.
“Yes. The directions of a traveler who passed through here in the fourteenth century.” He pulled out a folded piece of notepaper and handed it to Sully. On it were the details of the inquisitor’s journey that Simmons had harvested from the Templar Registry. “We need to find the canyon he was talking about.”
Sully glanced at the sheet, then looked up at Zahed. “What is this all about anyway?” A cheeky grin broadened across his face, like he was on to them. “Are you guys on some kind of treasure hunt?”
Zahed chortled. “A treasure hunt? Do we look like treasure hunters to you?” He turned to Simmons, pointing mirthfully at Sully, shaking his head and laughing off the suggestion. “You watch too many movies, my friend.”
Simmons dredged up a weak laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.
“What then?” Sully prodded. “I mean, why the rush?”
“We didn’t expect to be here. We’re putting the finishing touches to a book about the Crusades, and these graves could prove some knights survived out here longer than we assume, which would contradict things we’ve said in the book. But as we’re on a budget, we can’t stay here forever. We’re due back at the university in two days.”
Sully looked crestfallen. “So there’s no treasure?”
Zahed shrugged. “Sorry. But we’ll be happy to send you an autographed copy of our book.”
“That would be great.” Sully smiled, clearly trying not to sound too crestfallen. He then dropped his eyes to the note Zahed had given him and studied it, his gaze flicking across to the map and back, his mind consumed by the challenge.
After a long moment, he seemed to reach a verdict. “The description is a bit vague to be sure of anything, but given what’s in here … if I had to guess, I’d say they were trying to get to the Gulek Pass, the mountain pass that the bishop also took on his journey north. It was the only way to get across the Taurus Mountains. Which means the canyon he’s talking about is south of here, in this area.” He circled the area he was referring to on the map. “But there are lots of canyons there. I can’t say which one of them it might be, assuming I’ve got the first part right, without making that journey and following in his footsteps.”
Zahed nodded thoughtfully. “Then that’s what we need to do. First thing tomorrow.” He paused, then grinned and added, “We’ve got to beat the other treasure hunters to it.”
Sully chuckled. “Not a problem,” he replied, then his face lit up with an idea. “You know what? Let me call my uncle, Abdulkerim. He’s a Byzantinist, he used to be a professor at a university in Ankara. He now works as a tourist guide. You’ll like him. He lives down in Yahyali, which is near the canyons I’m talking about. He knows them better than anyone, and if anyone can help us figure it out, he can.” He pulled out his cell phone, glanced at it briefly, then seemed to remember something. “Damn, I forgot,” he said, holding up his phone with a sheepish look on his face. “There’s no signal up here.”
Zahed’s nerves went as taut as steel cables. He knew where those words would resonate, and glanced across at Simmons.
The eruption in the archaeologist’s eyes was all the confirmation he needed.
Chapter 29
No detonator.
No bomb.
It was now or never—even more so as he saw his abductor’s right hand dive into his rucksack, where Simmons knew he’d stashed a handgun.
“He’s got a gun,” he yelled as he launched himself at Zahed.
He reached him just as the weapon made its appearance and thrust his left hand out at the hand gripping it while bending his right arm and aiming his elbow at his opponent’s face. His hand clamped down hard on the Iranian’s right wrist and shoved the gun away, flicking it off-target just as a wild round detonated out of it. Its roar exploded in Simmons’s eardrums and reverberated up the cliff behind them, but it didn’t slow down his right elbow, which connected with the shooter’s face a split second later. Zahed’s training came into play and he managed to avoid the worst of the blow by lunging backward, but the archaeologist’s taut forearm still plowed into the Iranian with a sickening crunch that lit up Simmons’s shoulder. The momentum of the collision caused them both to tumble off the boulder, Simmons hanging on to Zahed’s gun hand and fighting him for the weapon, the two of them twisting over each other and sliding backward before hitting the ground.
The Iranian’s head slammed back heavily against the loose rocks that littered the top of the incline, causing him to howl with pain—and loosening his fingers’ lock on the handgun. Simmons, still half-deaf from the gunshot, saw his opening and took it. With both hands now gripped around Zahed’s wrist, he raised it off the ground and pounded it back down, once, twice, again, hammering the back of the Iranian’s hand against the shards of rock, blood spurting out from it, until he saw the man’s grip weaken—and felt an eruption of pain in his right flank where Zahed’s balled fist had just impacted with the force of a pile driver. The blow was staggering. Simmons grunted out loud as he fought to keep control of his hold long enough for one last hit—which he just managed, but in yanking Zahed’s wrist too violently, he inadvertently sent the gun flying off and skittering down the rocky slope behind the Iranian.
Simmons’s heart stopped as he glimpsed it tumble out of reach, his nails now clawing into Zahed’s wrist, pinning it down against the scree, his mind reeling with confusion as to what to do next. He saw Sully’s shocked
