Brooke decided to have a closer look at the artifacts in the vault. The objects Stokes had pillaged from Iraq were pristine specimens that would surely prove to be among the most impressive ever recovered from the region - and to intimately experience them was a temptation she couldn’t pass up.
First, she approached the case containing a sizable clay jar, just to the left of the case that accommodated Lilith’s macabre severed head. Before commencing her analysis, she gave the head a sideways glance, certain that the demon’s dead eyes were evaluating her every move.
‘I’m just going to have a quick look,’ she explained to the head. ‘Nothing to worry about.’ Best to play nice with the evil temptress, she thought … just in case.
The clay vessel was roughly a a third of a metre wide at its bulbous base, and stood about half a metre tall. Posted behind it was an enlarged photo board containing various pictures documenting its careful extraction from somewhere deep inside the cave.
The first photo showed one of the bas-reliefs Brooke had herself studied in the entryway. It depicted Lilith carrying this very same jar - the magical vessel the ancients believed had enabled her to destroy every man and boy she’d come in contact with; the cursed jar she’d brought out from the forbidden realm to unleash evil into the world. Pandora’s misnamed ‘box’.
The cuneiform beneath the relief was barely legible in the image. But with all the time she’d spent transcribing the writings, Brooke could practically recite the story from memory, word for word. The account told how Lilith protected the jar until the very end, and warned that it was the source of her evil. The passage also described how the villagers had entombed the jar with her beheaded corpse in hopes of neutralizing its destructive powers.
She was surprised that the vessel hadn’t been destroyed immediately following Lilith’s execution. After all, the ancients believed that the ritual breaking of clay dispelled magical spells.
The second and third photographs showed Lilith’s tomb in two stages: first covered by an ornately carved seal with two protective spirits (she glanced at the real-life version standing on the plinth only a little way away); second with the seal removed to show the
The thrill of discovery sent tingles down her spine. I wish I could have been there, she couldn’t help but think. Though she herself would certainly not participate in such an act if she were privy to the dig’s sinister purpose, she could only imagine how exciting it must have been for the archaeologist who’d had the dubious honour of exhuming the relics. She wondered briefly if that same scientist might also have crossed paths with one of Stokes’s hitmen, but with less favourable results than her own.
Now she focused on the pot’s construction. Since pottery styles and techniques evolved over the centuries - generally becoming more refined except during times of great famine - vessels such as this were critical to dating and deciphering archaeological sites, even though truly reliable methods for chemically dating pottery were still being devised.
The vessel’s irregular form clearly showed that this jar had been handmade without the aide of a pottery wheel. Strange, since pottery wheels had been in use centuries before 4000 BC. And the jar’s neatly painted lines and decorative slashed incisions all resembled similar relics she’d studied from Hassuna and Samarra - sites that dated to 5500 BC.
Another display case contained a reconstructed necklace, also recovered from Lilith’s tomb. The necklace’s beads were of two varieties: glossy obsidian, a black volcanic glass found in eastern Turkey, and smooth cowry shells, which in antiquity would have been found along the ancient shores of the Persian Gulf. Brooke had seen similar pieces from Arpachiyah and Chager Bazar, all dating to the Ubaid period, around 5500 BC.
How could Lilith have acquired a jar and jewellery from fifteen centuries earlier? she wondered.
Tantalizing possibilities streamed through her mind.
Then she had a shocking realization. The stout clay pot shown in the photo had been cut precisely in half, probably with a laser, so as to free the hardened core that encased Lilith’s head. The halves had been put back together and were on display to the right of the case holding the head. Similar razor-sharp lines ran down both sides of the jar, suggesting that it had also been cut in two to study the contents.
Could the original contents still be inside the jar? Or was this just the reassembled vessel? Brooke’s heart began racing at the thought of it.
She studied the glass case containing the jar. It had a hinged top with a slim release arm running down to the base. And on the base was a small keypad, similar to the case from which Stokes had removed the clay map. She’d seen the numbers Stokes had pecked to access the map. Odds were the code was the same for this box. Wouldn’t hurt to try.
Brooke glanced over at Lilith’s head again. The witch was still glaring at her, as if transcending space, time and death to start a cat fight. But Brooke’s excitement easily trumped the perceived threat. ‘Screw you, lady,’ she said in a haughty tone. ‘If I can open this box, I’m having a look at your goody bag. I almost died because of you. So as I see it, you owe me one.’
Brooke looked back over her shoulder towards the open door. She could see Flaherty with his phone to his ear, standing over Stokes. Stokes was still face down on the floor, not moving, with his hands cuffed behind his back.
‘Here goes nothing,’ she said, turning back to the case. She punched in the code …
The keypad changed from asterisks to plus signs, flashed three times. Then the top’s locking mechanism snapped open.
Grinning, Brooke unhinged the top. She held her breath, reached into the case and pulled the cover off Lilith’s clay jar.
72
IRAQ
The container’s hi-tech interior baffled Corporal Shuster. Overhead, the fluorescent tubes looked like the ultraviolet lights one would find in a plant nursery - something used to mimic nourishing sunlight. The oxygen-rich air was redolent with an ammonia-like scent.
Mounted like cubbyholes along the side walls were seven levels of adjoined Plexiglas cells. Each cell was the size of a foot-locker and had a clear hinged front panel that was vented with a dense grid of tiny air holes.
Cages? wondered Schuster.
All the front panels were tilted wide open by a mechanized piston so that whatever had inhabited the cages seemed to have been set free. When was anyone’s guess. Inspecting one of the cages, he saw a thick wire mesh bottom with a tray liner that angled towards a slot on the side wall. Perforated tubes looping around the tray’s edges were likely intended to flush away waste.
But there was plenty of waste on the floor. Liquid and grape-sized pellets - black against the purple light - oozed between the grated floor panels as he stepped over them. He crouched down for a better look, but recoiled from the acrid stench. Coating almost every surface were short black hairs, as straight as pins. Millions of them.
Along the back side of each cage, a dozen short metal tubes with rolling ball ends protruded from the wall like nipples. He used his index finger to push in on one of the tips. Milky fluid streamed out over his fingertips. He held his fingers to his nose. Oddly, it smelled like wheat beer. A feeding system, he guessed. Probably linked into the PVC supply lines he’d seen running up to the ceiling.
Air pumped in from above. Food pumped in from above, he pondered.
By all appearances, it seemed as if the whole operation was automated from the outside.
Ramirez brushed aside the plastic flaps and made his way inside. He came to a stop after two steps. ‘What kind of freaky shit is this?’ He buried his nose in his sleeve.
‘Breeding kennels, I think,’ Shuster said.
Ramirez wasn’t buying it. ‘For what?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Maybe Al-Qaeda’s selling puppies on the black market to fund the jihad.’
‘Funny.’
