By Bob Patterson
It was raining. A typical gray English rain under a gray English sky. Muddy pools grew and deepened in the ruts and potholes in the roads. Little rivers fell from the tile roofs, the gutters and awnings, flooding the sidewalks and narrow brick streets of the village. The locals endured the inclement weather as only the English do, as they have done for centuries, staying indoors drinking tea by a roaring fire.

In sharp contrast to the dull grays and browns of the village, came a trio of sleek, black Mercedes sedans. They glided smoothly down the main highway, their yellow-white headlights cheerily illuminating the raindrops, windscreen wipers rhythmically swatting away the water. The sight of them was unusual enough, but the diplomatic license plates were more so. The most singular feature could be seen on the middle car: From the front fenders stood two small masts topped with little flags flapping in the wind. White, stripes of blue, and in the center, the Star of David.

The black cars drove through the center of the village and continued on as if compelled by a sense of purpose. They followed the highway around gentle curves and over rolling hills, oblivious to the herds of sheep and cattle. They continued for three miles until coming to a small paved road that branched off to the right. The cars slowed a bit and turned onto the road. Their pace slowed as they topped a hill and came into view of their destination.

"They're here." Ian held the walkie-talkie to his lips, announcing to those inside what he saw coming over the hill. He signaled to the young man by the gate, who immediately opened it. The large cast-iron gate swung slowly, as if not wanting to allow anyone past. The young man snapped to attention as the first of the three sedans came through the gate onto the large circular drive in front of the house. The other two followed and all three came to a stop in front of the main door. Ian stepped forward to greet the occupants of the car with the flags.

The house was large, a Tudor country manor, surrounded by a high stone wall. In the courtyard stood a large limestone fish spitting water into a fountain from atop a pedestal. Behind it stood a garden walled in by twelve foot high hedges. On the other side was a large structure made of wood whose purpose was unclear.

Doors opened on the outer cars and out sprang several well dressed young men. They wore black trench coats over their suits and carried umbrellas. These could have been Fleet Street bankers from the look of them, except they moved with such alertness and purpose that one could see they were anything but. They fanned out around the center car, looking in all directions with an intensity displayed only by men who regularly go in harm's way.

Another man exited the rearmost car, coming up to Ian. He was older, balding and carried himself like a policeman. In fact he was a senior inspector from Scotland Yard, recently transferred to the VIP Protection Detachment. He smiled at his old friend as they shook hands.

"The lads look good," Ian observed. "Yours?"

"No. We borrowed them from our friends at Stirling Lines," the man replied. "Is it just me, or are they getting younger and younger?"

Ian chuckled. "It's both of us, mate. We're not young blokes anymore." They shared a rueful laugh.

"Right," the man said. "Everything secure, then?"

Ian's eyes narrowed. "Secure as the Crown Jewels in the Tower itself. I am quite thorough."

"Of course," the man replied, slightly apologetic for offending Ian's pride. The man knew that this place would be sound as a Pound with Ian here. He shouldn't have even asked, though duty required that he did.

"Well," the man said. "Let's get on with it." He signaled to the young men and one of them opened the right rear door of the middle car.

Inside the house, standing in the Great Hall, Lara Croft waited to receive her distinguished guests. Jeeves stood next to her with a silver serving tray filled with glasses of the best Pinot Noir from the cellar. On Lara's other side stood Niles and Jenny. Even Lara's U.S. security team, Janis and Jeff, were here patrolling the upstairs. This was definitely a major event at Croft Manor.

Then the main doors opened. Ian stood at one and the Scotland Yard man took the other. The bodyguards flooded into the room, taking discreet positions all around. Finally, Lara's visitors entered the room. They were two middle-aged gentlemen of Middle Eastern descent. One wore a Hebrew prayer shawl over his shoulders. Both wore skullcaps on their graying heads. Their faces bore excited expressions that brightened at seeing Lara.

"Gentlemen," Lara began. "Welcome to my home. I'm Lara Croft." The two men stepped close and each shook her hand. Their warm smiles seemed genuine.

"I'm Adam Ben David," the first one said. "Minister of Culture of the State of Israel. And may I introduce Rabbi Abraham Weinstein, the official Rabbi of the Knesset. We are both very honored to be here."

"Yes, it's very gracious of you to let us into your beautiful home," Rabbi Weinstein interjected. "Especially on such a momentous occasion for the people of Israel.

"The honor is mine, gentlemen, " Lara replied. "Would you care for a glass of wine?" Jeeves stepped forward in response.

"Thank you, no," Ben David replied. "The Rabbi and myself have been consuming only kosher food and drink for the last seven days. You understand?"

"Of course," Lara replied, smiling. Jeeves disappeared with the tray. "I suppose that you'd like to see what you came to see. Gentlemen, shall we?"

She showed the way into the ballroom and the Israelis went under the arched entrance followed by Lara, Jenny, Niles, Ian and the bodyguards. The ballroom was empty save for a tall blind stood up near the opposite wall. Lara drew near to it and Niles and Jenny took opposite positions at the blind. Lara nodded to Ian, who immediately ordered all the guards out of the room. Once they had exited, Lara nodded to Niles and Jenny. They picked up the blind and moved it aside.

On a pedestal stood a gold covered chest about three feet wide, two feet high and a foot and a half deep. It was encrusted with jewels and intricate carvings. The lid was trimmed around the edges with gold carvings and on it sat two large gold statues of winged creatures facing each other. The chest looked thousands of years old, yet the gold still shone brightly. The style of carving indicated a curious mix of ancient Egyptian and Hebrew techniques.

There could be no doubt what this object was.

The visitors fell silent, their jaws slack at the sight. Slowly, the Rabbi of the Israeli Parliament dropped to his knees, then flat on the floor, praying in Hebrew, his face buried in his prayer shawl. The Minister of Culture just stood there, tears beginning to stream down his face.

Lara wasn't surprised at their reactions, though she hadn't expected the Rabbi to drop to the floor. The sight moved her. This had to be the most powerful moment in these men's lives. It was certainly a powerful moment for her when she discovered this particular artifact.

"Wh-where did you find it?" Ben David asked, his voice thick with emotion.

"Northern Ethiopia. Near the Eritrean border. I came across some old maps that led to a cave and--" She noticed the men's expressions. "Well, the details aren't important right now. What's important is that it's here."

Weinstein finally pulled himself to his feet. His face was red and puffy, his watery eyes locked on the golden chest. "Have you opened it?" he choked.

"Funny, I usually open things right up when I find them," Lara replied. "But when I saw what this was, I thought it best not to touch it. Instead, I crated it up and had it shipped directly here."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"That's why I asked you gentlemen to come."

For the first time since entering this room, both men turned to look at Lara.

"Most of the artifacts I find are remnants of long dead cultures. They have no more significance other than their financial or historical value. But this," Lara gestured toward the golden chest, "This is a product of a living, thriving people. It embodies the soul of the Hebrew race and all they believe in. This doesn't belong in a museum gathering dust."

The men's expressions were guarded. They were glued to every word Lara was speaking, not sure what was coming next.

Lara continued. "This belongs to the people who made it. The people to whom God gave it. I'm not an overtly religious person, gentlemen," she said wryly. "But I do know when not to cross the Almighty."

The men began to smile but still seemed hesitant. Lara decided to make herself unambiguous.

"I'm returning the Ark of the Covenant to the people and government of Israel. I wish to place it into your custody."

Rabbi Weinstein closed his eyes and bowed his head, whispering a silent prayer of thanks. Minister Ben David smiled incredulously at Lara.

"You will be remembered for this," he intoned. "We shall not forget what you have done today. One day you must tell me the whole story."

"I would like that," Lara replied, smiling warmly. "But now it seems that we have to arrange a shipment."

The Israeli Minister of Culture gazed at the Ark with continued astonishment.

"Yes, we do."

No one in this Surrey village ever knew what happened on that gray rainy day inside Croft Manor. There were rumors of limousines and a delivery van in the dead of night, but strange things always happened around that house. Most of the locals guessed it was another ancient whatnot headed for the British Museum. That's what they usually were. One thing was for sure. With the young adventuress living there, the villagers would always have something to talk about.