Amazon The Magdalene Code Category:  Action/Thriller Publisher: BookSurge ISBN-10:  141966008X Type: Fiction Pages: 334 Copyright: 2007 Edmund Kwaw's The Magdalene Code is a gripping novel that centers upon a sacred scroll written by Mary Magdalene in 302 AD, at the request of Jesus Christ. Containing potentially cataclysmic repercussions for Christianity and the world, the scroll is hidden for almost two millennia, but is then discovered, triggering a murder. Pursuing the case is an NYPD detective, a group of Vatican extremists, and a satanic cult -- all bent upon finding the scroll, for their own reasons.   PROLOGUE Jerusalem AD 32 “This is heresy,” Jakob fumed, leaping to his feet. “Why should we believe that the Master would not come directly to us with his request! Why would he entrust his teachings to a woman? He spat out the last words as if they tasted badly. “If,” he snorted, “the teachings she claims to possess are even his.” He slammed a closed fist on the table causing the crude wooden structure to shudder. “We should not permit this—we cannot permit it!” The burly Jakob, panting from the exertion of his outburst, dropped heavily back into this seat. Raucous voices of accord and dissension erupted in the secret cave’s inner chamber and echoed through its dark passages. Seldom had the elderly leaders of the Silent Brotherhood raised their voices, much less expressed such deep emotions. With the cowls of their dark robes pushed back on their shoulders, the seven exposed faces grew animated in the amber glow of the candles. The air in the cave was damp, sweetened by the mixture of moss, burning herbs and candles burning in crude wooden sconces. Uncertain shadows flickered against the soft sandstone walls; the floor, enveloped in darkness, was cool under their sandaled feet, a contrast to the desert landscape without. Miriam, hands trembling under the folds of her coarse hand-woven robe, stood motionless before the vigorous debate. Only hours earlier she had been blindfolded and escorted in silence to the inner sanctum of the cave, which, until this moment, she hadn’t known existed. Rising from his place of authority at the centre of the table, Eli, senior member of the Silent Brotherhood, the Grand Master of the lodge, raised his hand. Instantly, the chamber hushed against the distant echoes. Eli cleared his throat and looked at the woman, “Miriam,” he asked gently, “how do we know that what you say is true?” She stared at the row of elders, hoping to conceal her nervousness as she searched for the right words, the most appropriate response to Eli’s challenge. Seconds seemed to stretch into hours, but the men, mostly out of respect for Eli, extended a modicum courtesy as they patiently awaited her response. Jakob, still red-faced from his protestations, shifted restlessly in his seat as he stared intently at Miriam as whispers rustled around him. Miriam lowered her head, inhaled deeply, and then exhaled slowly as she reminded herself that she was the initiate of the Master. The Master had taught her well; she had nothing to fear. A calm assuredness washed over her frail body as she raised her head, gazed from one face to another, commanding their attention. “You do not know that what I say is true,” she began carefully. Seven pairs of eyes gleamed in the dark, ebony pinpoints riveted to her face. “You also do not know that what I say is false.” She paused, allowing her words to finish the brief echo in the stone chamber. “But what reason do you have to doubt the truth of what I say? For, if it was not the Master who sent me—how would I have known of your existence?” A murmuring crescendo filled the cold stone room as the seven old men discussed the merits of her response. Then Joshua, the Warden of the secret lodge, rose from his seat, one place to the right of Eli, and turned to Miriam. “Miriam, ” he paused with disdain, and inhaled deeply. “Why can you not disclose to us the contents of the Scroll that you say the Master has authored? Why would the Master now prevent us from learning his teachings if the Scroll contains his true teachings?” Nods and murmurs of approval accompanied the statement and the men stared expectantly in the direction of Miriam. Angry, Miriam clenched her fists under the folds of her hand-woven robe. She felt like storming out of the room, rejecting these frail old men, pathetic figures engaged in a way of life the Master had rejected. They did not deserve to be the custodians of the wisdom of the Master. She reassured herself that their petty questioning was part of the Master’s design, exhaled slowly and turned and calmly faced Joshua. “I cannot disclose the contents of the Scroll because that is the dictate of the Master.” She paused and turned toward Eli. “The Master said that the teachings are for the sons and daughters of another age. They are not for the sons and daughters of this age. It is not for me to understand why the Master requested that it be so, but only to follow his precepts.” “That is not acceptable,” Jakob bellowed from where he sat. “Miriam,” said another man who sat at the left end of the table. “My brothers Eli, Jakob and Joshua have spoken well. What they say comes from a fear that we all share—that the contents of the Scroll may not be what you say it is. Tell me this, why would the Master entrust you and not us with such a Scroll?” Miriam looked around at the old men. “How dare they challenge the judgement of the Master,” she mused. She lowered her head for a few seconds to calm herself. “Did the Master not always seek to teach us lessons? Perhaps in entrusting me with the Scroll the Master sought to teach us another lesson. In truth, I, like you, cannot explain why the Master entrusted his writings to me.” Miriam looked doubtfully at the men. “This age that you speak of, how will the sons and daughters of this age know when it is upon them?” The man called Joshua said. “There will be a sign in the heavens, and those who see it shall know that the age is upon them,” said Miriam. “I have heard enough.” Eli rose from where he sat and stared intently at Miriam. “I do believe that Miriam speaks the truth and that the Scroll contains the Master’s teachings.” He paused, faced the men, turning first to those on his right and then on his left. “It is worthy that we give her the assistance she requests for it is the assistance sought by the Master.” The members of the Silent Brotherhood rose as one and without a word, followed Eli and Miriam along several dark tunnels to the gloomy depths of a smaller cave. The echoes of their sandaled footsteps merged with the sounds of trickling water, creating a rhythmic pattern, a prelude to a chant. Joshua walked to a far end of the cave and pushed a wooden lever. With a grating sound, a small stone partition gave way, revealing a small cavern hewn in the cave’s wall. He lit large candles perched on two natural sconces carved into the raw stone. They all turned and looked expectantly at Miriam. Only the sound of dripping water punctuated the cave’s tomb-like ambiance. From the folds of her robe Miriam retrieved a soft leather satchel bound with a leather string. Twenty-four by twelve inches, still warm from her body, it fit easily in her hands. Gingerly cradling it, she raised her eyes and slowly walked towards the cavern, oblivious to the faces that scanned her own. She focused on the small cavern that had been created many decades ago by the Brotherhood. Reaching the cavern’s lip, Joshua pointed to an unadorned earthenware jar on the ground. Miriam knelt down and dropped the leather satchel into the jar, secured the lid, then lifted the damp vessel into the shadows. Standing, she took one last glimpse of the jar, and then moved to the side. Joshua pushed the wooden lever once more, and the stone cover ground into place over the opening. He picked up a rock from the floor of the cave and struck the wooden lever until it broke. The cavern with its contents was forever sealed. Two members of the brotherhood retrieved large wooden bowls containing a mixture of dry clay, gravel and hay to which they added water, stirring and kneading until it thickened to mortar consistency. Then they applied the thick paste to the rock surfaces, obliterating the opening. Finished, they retreated to their places, followed by Miriam. The assembly of the Silent Brotherhood sat in meditation for over an hour while the clay mixture hardened. After the meditation, Joshua walked up to the sealed wall, inspected it, and nodded his approval to the others. As a single unit, the Members rose and walked in single file out of the cave, taking another route from the one that brought them to the inner cavern. Reaching the outside, the men placed rocks over the cave’s entrance until it was blocked, and then sealed it with a mixture of red clay, stones and dried grass, camouflaging it to blend into the arid landscape. Satisfied with their work, the hooded figures threaded their way down the rocky hill, each wondering what secrets rested inside the Scroll, secrets of the Master, secrets for another age. No one looked back at the cavern. None of them would ever return to the site. * * * Haw River, North Carolina, May 7, 1972 Shrill voices, punctuated by the rumble of running feet, erupted into the sunny silence of the playground as the children exploded out of the doors of the Agnes Mildred Elementary School. Six-year old Marianne Waters skipped hand-in-hand with her best friend, Megan Fellows, to a sand box about ten feet away from the swings. Sitting on the warm dry surface, they plunged tiny shovels beneath the surface into the moist sand below and started filling tiny buckets. They always built sand castles, just like they did at the beach. They liked to pretend that they were at the beach. Marianne scooped a mound of sand, placed it in her bright red bucket, compacted the sand, then flopped it over and slowly removed the bucket to leave a perfectly moulded sand tower. She began making another mound when she heard someone call her name. “Marianne.” “Just a minute, I’m coming,” she said, not looking up, still focusing on filling her bucket. “Who are you talking to?” Megan asked, a confused look wrinkling her little face “You said my name,” Marianne retorted. “No I didn’t.” “Did too!” “Did not!” Marianne patted the side of the second mound she had made and raised her head to confront Megan. Before she could utter a word, she felt a tingling sensation run up her back. As if compelled, Marianne swung her head around to face a tree a short distance away from the playground. She saw the woman—stunningly beautiful with long dark hair that framed her pale face and flowed past her shoulders. She wore a long white gown that reminded Marianne of the dress one of her teachers had worn in the school’s Christmas play. The woman pointed to Megan, then raised a finger to her lips; with her other hand, she beckoned to Marianne. Entranced, Marianne stood, filled with a mixture of fear and wonderment. She felt her little hands go clammy and she dropped the sand bucket. The woman waved to Marianne. Almost involuntarily, she waved back. “Who are you waving to?” Megan demanded. She rose from the sand box and stood beside Marianne, peering into the trees. “The lady over there, silly,” she said without removing her eyes from the woman “Where? What lady?”. “Over there, by the tree,” Marianne pointed in the direction of the tree. “I don’t see any lady, Marianne! I don’t like this game! Stop it or I’m telling,” Megan shouted in her tiny voice, frightened and exasperated at the same time. Marianne felt confused; her head felt a little dizzy. She looked at the woman and then at Megan. Why couldn’t Megan see the woman? The woman looked at Marianne, once again raised her finger to her lips and beckoned to Marianne. Marianne remembered that she had been warned never to talk to strangers, but she felt oddly drawn to the woman in a way she could not explain. She stepped out of the sand box and started walking towards the woman. “Where are you going Marianne?” Megan chimed. “I’m coming,” Marianne said. “Where are you going, Marianne?” Megan pleaded. “I’m coming,” she called to the woman, and then over her shoulder to Megan, she said, “I’m just going to see the woman.” “What woman? I’ll tell teacher that you were talking to a stranger, Marianne,” Megan whined, petulantly stamping her foot. Marianne whirled around, stuck a tongue out at Megan, turned toward the woman, and dreamily walked towards the tree. If Marianne had been paying attention, she would have noticed as the sounds of the children gradually faded into a distant vortex. She glanced over her shoulder to Megan running toward the school and the other children playing, but she could hear no sounds. It was as if she had stepped out of one world into another. Marianne began to feel frightened, but a controlling force seemed to drive her little legs forward. When she reached the woman, the shade of the tree seemed to envelop them; the air around them was still. Silence fell like a blanket around their shoulders. “Hello, Marianne,” said the woman, her voice kind and soft. “Hello,” Marianne said hesitantly. She was standing about three feet away from the woman. “Who are you?” “I’m a friend.” The woman held out her hand to Marianne. “Come, Marianne, I will not hurt you.” “What’s your name?” Marianne’s voice trembled with a strange mixture of excitement and apprehension. She kept her hands by her side. “Same as yours—Marianne,” said the woman. “Really?” “Really.” “Who are you?” Marianne asked again. “I’m your friend. You’re not afraid of me, are you, Marianne?” Marianne shook her head, reached for the woman’s hand and stepped closer until she could reach out and touch the glowing white garment. “Do you like my dress?” Marianne’s eyes darted to the woman’s face; she nodded. “Come, let’s sit and talk for a bit. Here, sit by the tree.” The woman sat down against the tree trunk, gracefully folding the white garment around her slender frame. Marianne sat down beside her. “Teacher will be angry,” Marianne said quietly, as if imparting a secret. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” “Don’t worry, Marianne. You’ll be fine. You are the only one who can see me. No one else can—not even teacher.” “Really?” Marianne chimed in wonderment. “Really.” Marianne giggled and the woman smiled as she put an arm around Marianne’s shoulder, gently pulling the child closer to her “How did you know my name? Did teacher tell you?” “No. But I know a lot about you, Marianne. Do you want to know why I called you?” “Uh-huh,” Marianne nodded. Though she felt unsure of herself, she felt calm in the woman’s embrace. “I came to tell you that you have a special gift. You will do something very important when you grow up,” the woman intoned. “Do you believe me?” “Yes. What will I do?” “When the time comes, you will know, Marianne.” Marianne remained silent. “Are you afraid, Marianne?” The beautiful woman raised her brows; a small smile crossing her lips widened. Marianne nodded. A feeling of dread filled her as a whimper involuntarily escaped her throat. She understood what the woman was telling her, but she could not explain what it was, or how she understood. “You will not see me again for a long time,” the woman said softly, “but I will see you again when you grow up.” “Where will I see you?” “Right here. We’ll meet here when you grow up. She unclasped a silver pendant from around her neck, held it in her hand in front of the child. Marianne stared in awe at it until the woman’s long pale fingers curled over it’s gleaming surface. “Lets bury this pendant right here to mark the spot.” The woman easily scooped out a small hole in the earth beside the tree and placed the pendant in it. Together, Marianne and the woman covered the hole. “Will you come tomorrow?” Marianne said. “No, Marianne. I’ll come back when you grow up. You’ll know when to come and see me, OK?” Marianne nodded solemnly, no longer afraid, but shivering a little with excitement. “Can you keep a secret, Marianne?” The woman’s face looked deeply into the child’s, an eyebrow arched to punctuate the query. “Yes, yes I can.” “Everything that I’ve told you is our little secret—just between you and me. We mustn’t tell anyone about the pendant, OK?” “OK,” Marianne nodded. “Friends?” The woman held out a curved little finger. Marianne, grinning, extended her little finger and curved it around the woman’s. “You’ve got to go now, Marianne. Your teacher is coming. Bye.” “Bye,” Marianne said. Marianne rose from where she sat beside the tree and swiftly walked towards the school. “Marianne! Marianne Waters!” Mrs. Delisle, Marianne’s teacher, Megan in tow, marched across the playground. The child ran to her teacher. “Where have you been, Marianne Waters?” Marianne didn’t like it when her teacher called her by her full name; it meant trouble. “She said she was going to talk to a stranger,” Megan prattled. “She was talking to a stranger.” “I was…I was….” Marianne cast one last look at the woman. The woman winked to her as she placed her finger over her lips. Marianne smiled and winked. “Sorry, Mrs. Deslisle. I was just playing by the tree.” “She’s lying. She said she was going to talk to a stranger. That’s what she said,” Megan protested, glaring at Marianne. Mrs. Deslisle cast her eyes around the playground, then reined in the child clinging to her skirts. “Shush, Megan Fellows. You shouldn’t tell lies. Look—there’s no one here.” Megan looked crushed. She glanced pleadingly to Marianne then to Mrs. Deslisle. The teacher whirled on her heels and started back to the building. “Come on you two, play time is over.” Marianne flicked out her tongue out at Megan as she merrily skipped after Mrs. Deslisle. Just before she passed through the school doors, Marianne glanced over her shoulder. The beautiful mysterious woman was gone. CHAPTER 56 New York City, January 1, 2000 “We found the body of your assistant, Fraccaro, in the home of the Messenger,” Jackson said, staring in the direction of Cardinal Lombardi. He let himself fall into the chair beside Marianne’s hospital bed. He was bandaged and sore and still looked shaken by the previous night’s supernatural encounter. “My assistant, Fraccaro?” the Cardinal said with obvious astonishment. “What was he doing there?” Jackson shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine”. “Did you find out who bugged my offices,” McCarthy said. “I still don’t know that. I guess its one of those things that will remain unsolved.” The group had gathered in Marianne’s hospital room. She sat up in bed, surrounded by her husband Peter, and her friends Andy, Sarah and Stephen. Lieutenant Jackson, Bailey and Cardinal Lombardi sat in a circle at the end of her bed. The night had taken its toll on all of them, but miraculously, Marianne’s wounds appeared superficial and were healing at an unprecedented rate. The Monsignor had joined them and sat contentedly in a corner where he could hear everyone. “The Scroll! What happened to my Scroll?” Bailey asked. Still shaken from the night’s drama, his voice was hoarse. “I have it here,” Andy said softly as he handed it to Marianne. “Can I have it back?” Bailey’s question echoed in the room. He sat back in his chair, chastened by everyone’s silence. They all looked at Marianne. “Before I answer that question, I’m sure you’d all like to know what it says. You all deserve to know after all we’ve been through.” “Can you read it? Isn’t it in Aramaic or some other ancient language?” Bailey inquired. “Yes. It is in Aramaic.” “Marianne, I didn’t know you read Aramaic,” Sarah said. “I didn’t know myself until a few weeks ago. I’ll give my best translation.” Marianne proceeded to unfurl the beginning of the Scroll and began to read. “I, Miriam of Magdala, beloved disciple of our Master Yeshua, give to the world the secrets entrusted to me by my Master. Let all who have ears hear and know these teachings......

By Ellen Tanner Marsh
By its very title, first-time author Edmund Kwaw is taking a huge risk. The Magdalene Code, echoing the title of Dan Brown’s runaway cultish best-seller, could very easily have
potential readers dismissively crying, “Been there, done that.”
Still, it doesn’t take a long time with this novel to understand that we have not been there, and we have not done that. The Magdalene Code is not The Da Vinci Code. To enumerate
just a few important differences: The Magdalene Code does not involve Leonardo da Vinci; it does not discuss the Knights Templars or the Masons; it does not posit a sexual relationship
between Jesus and Mary Magdalene; and it does not attempt to cash in on our contemporary obsession with conspiracy and cover-up. All these points are reasons to rejoice and be exceedingly glad. What The Magdalene Code does do, however, is focus on the content of a secret document, much in the same manner as the current rash of popular fiction. The document in question is
a non-canonical gospel written by Mary Magdalene, which contains teachings of Jesus given to her alone—and which He has commanded her not to make known—concerning his reappearance in the last days. In 32 A.D., when the novel opens, Mary hides this document
in the belief that it will be found exactly when the time is right for its contents to be revealed. The scroll of this gospel is discovered in Hebron in 1997 and passes through an antiquities
dealer to an American scholar. Subsequently, as the nature of the scroll is uncovered and others begin to learn of its existence, a series of murders are committed by competing groups interested in obtaining it for their own purposes. Who is committing the murders, and what the document’s exact contents are, are the mysteries that drive this very well-written and
compelling story. Kwaw is an expert at keeping his reader engaged by holding the answers in check until the
final pages—a valuable skill when there are so many competing sources of entertainment for a reader’s time and so many competing (or commonly accepted) narratives vying for
attention. The Magdalene Code does have this in common with The Da Vinci Code and all other tales of lost, hidden, or secret documents: It asks us to consider narratives and theories other than the traditional, canonical ones; to consider the possibility of truths beyond the conventional
or the popular. And it clearly understands the dangers that can follow upon the discovery of
alternative narratives; the true power of manuscripts; the fact that what scholars do is far from delving into dusty, ivory tower esoterica. Instead, it encourages readers to rethink, to
question, and to inquire; and Edmund Kwaw has the rare talent for prodding us to do so through a compelling, page-turning story.