The Fourth Epiphany

"And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges." Twelfth Night, Act V, Scene I

Jerusalem, Israel

The Heliodorus Stele was a priceless artifact, a 2,200 year old piece of history that arguably inaugurated a war, fulfilled a prophecy, and sparked the creation of one of the Jewish community’s most treasured celebrations – Hanukkah. The inscribed stone block had been on display at the Israel Museum since 2007, hanging on a wall outside of the Samuel and Saidye Bronfman Archaeology Wing near a similarly dated sketch of the Temple vessels. 

Twelve minutes ago, however, the Stele had been relocated, trading in the prestigious mount on the museum wall for a large, foam-lined aluminum case stowed in the back of a dark blue van heading northwest out of the city toward Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv. Police sirens, heard in the distance, undoubtedly meant officials would discover in another twelve minutes or so that the Stele was under new ownership. They just wouldn’t know who, and they wouldn’t know why.

Antakya, Turkey

Three hundred miles north, up the coast of the Mediterranean, an ancient stone landmark sat benignly against a mountainside, awaiting the next tourist to pose with his family for a photo that would land on a scrapbook page under the heading "Our Vacation." 

What no one would suspect is that beneath the layers of this relic from the past, a series of hallways, rooms and residences existed, housing a conclave of notable and highly disreputable leaders that controlled the Musterion of Laodice. 

Within the underground maze, the Stratioti stood on either side of the secret entrance, invisible to the outside world but on the lookout for it all the same, guarding against infiltration. Deeper inside the building was a meeting room to which only a select group had access – the top echelon of the Musterion’s leadership. It was decorated ornately with hand-carved wood chairs, embellished cornices over old stone ledges and modillions supporting the dentil molding that ran along the top of the walls. In the center of the room was an elaborate antique desk with a chair one could liken to a throne, upon which sat a regal woman, hair the color of obsidian yet dressed all in white.

The diakonos standing in front of her approached reverently and yet with far less trepidation than anyone else who stood in her presence due to his high ranking office as Minister in the organization in which she was the Empress. Queen. God. 

“It is done, Laodice,” he reported with brevity and finality.

“Excellent. And it is on its way here?”

“To the Hagion, yes.”  

“You have done well, Minister, a true proto philoi. Let me know when it arrives. I want to see it,” the leader responded.

“It will be several more hours,” was the Minister’s reply.

“And the captive?”

“Everything is in place.” The Minister knew Laodice was pleased with the genius of his plan.

“It will be the leverage we need. Next we will make first contact with our fili in America.” Laodice visibly relaxed against the back of the chair, ever regal but less tense. Everything so far had worked toward this moment. This was her destiny. After thousands of years of rulers and queens passing the torch end over end in this great cult, she would be the one to restore what rightfully belonged to her line.  “Finally, we are underway.” Laodice said aloud. She reached up and fingered the medallion that hung round her neck, feeling connected with her past in a way she had not felt before.

CHAPTER 1 

“The baby figure of the giant mass of things to come.” Troilus and Cressida, Act I, Scene III

Spokane, Washington

Her cell phone rang at 2:18am, a time she preferred to be sleeping. She fumbled for her cell phone, knocking it off the nightstand and into the nether reaches of the bed’s dark underbelly. Determined not to get up, she leaned halfway off the mattress and groped with her free hand like a groupie at a Bieber concert. Feeling the tip of it, she thrust herself farther forward and in doing so, whacked her head on the corner of the table. Instant headache, just add water. Dodging the nightstand she reached further, finally grasping the elusive contraption. She snapped it open, surprised it was still ringing.

“Sid here,” she answered, making no attempt to disguise her grogginess.

“I have something of yours.” She didn't recognize the voice so pulled away the phone, double checking the incoming number. Blocked.

“Can’t be important, my bunny slippers are right here,” she muttered back into the phone.

Silence.

“Hello?” Teenagers making prank calls, she thought.

She was ready to hang up and return to her slumber when a second voice spoke, more distant and garbled than the first. Female. Was she was speaking through something? Cloth? A wind tunnel? A speaker from a drive-thru?

“It’s me, Sidney,” the voice was choking back hysteria. “They have me. Listen – do whatever they say. Give them whatever they want.”

The voice was vaguely familiar, and yet Sid couldn’t’t place it. “Who is this?"

"It's me! It's - it's Daphne.”

“Daphne?" Her disbelief was obvious. "As in, Daphne? What in the world-" but Daphne cut her off.

“Just, please. Please. Do whatever they say." 

"I don't understand. What do they want? And why-" once again Sid was silenced when the original voice returned and squawked loudly into her ear. 

“You heard her."

The confusion Sidney felt was overwhelming. Daphne McFetridge? Who had her? What could this possibly mean? 

"Who is this?” She demanded.

“The person who has her against her will.” He stated the obvious.

“And here I thought it was Bunco night,” Sid spat back with sarcasm, grounding out the words in anger but in retrospect wondering if fear might be a more appropriate emotion. The truth was, as her mind shifted from the slow motion of sleep to the warp speed of crisis, she wasn’t sure what end was up and was not capable of logically discerning her best reactions.

"We’re looking for something, and we need your help.”

“I want to speak to Daphne.” Her brain was stumbling, racing. Daphne had once been her best friend. It had been years since she had seen her. Kidnapped?

“You've spoken to her."

"But why? Why Daphne?" Sid was confused. Daphne had dropped out of Sidney's life, although they had been inseparable in college. Had she been the only friend of Sidney's they could get to? Or worse yet, did Sid have no other discernible friends?

"We figured it would be…motivating for you. Something to ensure your commitment. And compliance.”

“What do you want? What are you looking for?”

“Not over the phone. Tomorrow you'll receive something from us. You'll get more information at that time. And I’m told you’re smart, so it goes without saying. No police or no Daphne.”