The Lucifer Gospel by Paul Christopher

Strategic Operations Executive, Grey Pillars, Cairo. That was HQ, if I remember right.”
    “The Haddon is the Cambridge Archaeology Faculty Library. That’s where my dad met my mom.”
    “The Strategic Operations Executive were spies,” he said. “This guy wasn’t Long Range Desert Group at all.”
    “An archaeologist and a spy, sent out to find Pedrazzi?”
    “Looks that way.”
    Hilts dropped the man’s wallet into the pocket of his fatigue jacket, paused long enough to take several pictures, and then stood up and went to the rear of the cave. Finn, suddenly feeling almost desperately claustrophobic, went to the entrance of the narrow cave and looked down into the little valley. Nothing had moved and nothing had changed in the warlike diorama laid out below except for the whirling sand billowed up by the freshening wind that was beginning to moan through the canyon. The sky overhead had gone from harsh metallic blue to an ugly saffron color, like an old bruise. The weather was changing. She turned to tell Hilts and saw that he had uncovered something. Faintly uneasy, she turned away and went to the rear of the cave, her eyes scanning the floor for any sign of movement. Reaching Hilts she saw that he had uncovered the top and side of a large stone box. It was rectangular, four feet high, three wide, and appeared to be about six feet long, its front end angled toward the entrance. Carved into the stone was something that looked like the head of Medusa, the hair a mass of writhing snakes. Around the head, like the letters on a coin, was a faint inscription, almost worn away.
    “I can’t read it,” Hilts said.
    Finn uncapped her canteen, poured water into her palm and swept her hand around the inscription with a quick wiping motion. The letters darkened, instantly readable.
    “Neat,” said Hilts, admiringly. He read the words aloud:
“Hic Latito Lux Excito—Vox Luciferus.”
He shook his head. “Too bad I never took Latin in school.”
    “I did,” said Finn. “My parents insisted. According to them nothing beat a classical education. Good for reading the inscriptions on important old buildings.”
    “So what does it say?”
    “Here Lies Hidden the Bringer of Light: The Words of Lucifer.”
    “You’ve got to be kidding,” said Hilts.
    “Non ioco est,”
she answered. “No joke.”
    “Lucifer, as in
the
Lucifer?”
    “Lucifer was a fairly common name in ancient Rome. It didn’t have the same negative connotation a few thousand years ago.”
    “So some Roman named Lucifer is buried inside this thing?”
    “His words, anyway.”
    “Let’s see.”
    Hilts used both hands to scoop the fall of sand away from the top of the box.
    “We’re going to open it?”
    “It looks to me like a lot of people went to a lot of trouble to find this thing, whatever it is. The least we can do is have a look.”
    “What about Adamson and his pals?” Finn asked, frowning.
    Hilts checked his watch.
    “At least another half hour. We can be out of here long before that.”
    It took another five minutes to clear all the sand away from the top of the stone box. When that was done Hilts took a ten-inch “pig sticker” spike bayonet from one of the abandoned Enfield rifles and hammered it with the palm of his hand into the faint crack between the box and its heavy top. He twisted slowly and the top slid fractionally to one side, releasing a puff of stale, dusty air. Together Hilts and Finn manhandled the top of the ossuary to one side and then let it slide down to the floor of the cave, leaning against the side of the stone box. Both of them peered inside.
    Stuffed into the heavy stone coffin was the bent figure of a man. He was wearing pale green trousers, a long buttoned jacket the same color, and heavy boots. The face was a leathery brown, but except for a missing ear the general structure of the face was relatively intact. Perched askew on the hawklike nose was a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. The ear was missing