The foyer was spread-out with Roman columns that were as tall as the three-story home that supported the ceiling. And the floor was tiled with Calacatta Carrara marble, richly veined, and the most expensive marble and the finest quality overlay from Italy.
As a unit with the Bangladeshi in the lead, they went down hallways and through a grand ballroom with their team leader knowing every twist and turn within this labyrinthine house, even without the use of his flashlight.
After a complex journey through this maze, they came to a wall of thick drapery that had scalloped edges and gold fringes. When the Bangladeshi parted the heavy curtains, it gave way to a massive room that was filled with a large number of display cases that had been covered over with sheets and tarps. The elegant tapestries had been removed, as were the expensive paintings whose now-empty wall spaces had left behind the faded and discolored patchwork as reminders of where the canvases had once hung.
Lifting the sheets to see inside the display cases, the Bangladeshi saw that they, too, had been emptied. Notable treasures such as the alleged skull of Vlad the Impaler was missing. In another display case where the squared trimming from the Shroud of Turin had been housed was also missing. Other articles from history such as the battle helmet worn by Hernán Cortés or the sextant used by Columbus when he navigated the seas—these, too, were missing. The museum had been entirely gutted; the items confiscated.
The Bangladeshi moved through the aisles that separated these shrouded display cases with urgency asking himself: Did they find it? Did they find the one thing that mattered most to Faruk? To me?
When he came to the tarped-over display case that was supposed to house the Golden Calf of Mount Sinai, he lashed out and ripped off the covering, causing dust to waft lazily about in slow-moving eddies. Like all the other display cases, this, too, was empty. However, there was a patch the color of dark rust in the middle of the exhibit’s floor, a stain. This was where Abesh Faruk had been murdered, he thought. A moment later, the Bangladeshi snapped out of this reverie and reacted with purpose. Reaching up to the framework of the exhibit chamber was a well-hidden panel that held archaic markings, like runes. Sliding the panel aside, he exposed a hidden keypad. He typed in a series of letters and numerals, a code he had shared with Faruk, then hit the hashtag symbol. Stepping back, he could feel his heart racing.
Beneath the display case that was the size of a Volkswagen Beetle, metal rods, cogs and wheels started to move and shift. And then the exhibit chamber lifted approximately four inches off the floor and, on a pair of rails, started to slide back on its own to reveal an opening to a subterranean passage. For the first time, the Bangladeshi used his flashlight to light the concrete stairway that led down to the underground hall.
One of his hired mercenaries, an Austrian, who whispered as though he was in a library, asked, “What’s this deal maker you’re talking about? What’s down there?”
The Bangladeshi shuddered as though the mere thought of what was below had chilled and excited him at the same time. “Something wonderful,” he whispered.
The Austrian, however, looked at the faces of his teammates who held the same look of quizzical curiosity, that of the upraised brow at the corner of one eye.
The Bangladeshi started to descend the stairway with his flashlight panning from left to right, and then from right to left, until it finally discovered the concrete floor of the lower level. The air was cool and smelled with a hint of must and mold.
About twenty feet away and within the circular beam of the flashlight stood the remarkable wonder that had laid untouched for years, causing the Bangladeshi to sigh easily since the item had not been seized. Here was a large sarcophagus made entirely of porous stone that had bas-relief carvings of demons and hellish creatures that could only have been created from the minds of madmen.
Moving to the container, the Bangladeshi gingerly placed his forehead against the stone which was ice cold to the touch. Then he closed his eyes as though he was paying homage to whatever it was inside and thought: Within this stone crate lies my future.
The others gathered around to run their hands over the stone walls and the carvings. The carved faces of the demonic legions were ugly and hideous and held all the foreboding traits symbolizing that what they protected inside was nothing of moral standing. In fact, this was evil at its highest telling. Members of the Bangladeshi’s team could sense and feel the nature of the inhabitant within, something that was purely evil.
The Austrian took up beside the Bangladeshi. Though he knew that the man did not like to be questioned, he was the only one that had the courage to do so. “What’s inside?” he asked. “What exactly are we moving?”
The Bangladeshi didn’t open his eyes or move his forehead away from the stone.
“Bangladeshi . . . what’s inside this coffin?”
A rare smile from the assassin. “Something . . . wonderful.”
“Like what?”
“This is the Goliath Chamber,” he answered. The Bangladeshi opened his eyes and stood back to admire the piece. The stone appeared rough as though weather-beaten, even though it hadn’t seen the sun, rain or been in inclement weather for years. Then in admiration, he added, “It contains the Unholy Trinity of Satan, the Antichrist, and the False Prophet. It’s right where Faruk and I left them. And they’re together, still, and ready to be unleashed . . . I can feel them.”
Everyone looked at the tomb. Though they were thieves at heart willing to earn a euro any way
