David Sakmyster - The Pharos Objective

“No. The scan was incomplete. Scroll was damaged.”

Caleb turned to Phoebe, and saw her sitting hunched in her chair in the dark kitchen. “Could they have gotten anything from that scan?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Unless Waxman has some proprietary software or something that enhances resolution. There were fragments of the scroll missing, but some of what was there could be legible enough, and maybe a computer program could extrapolate missing letters from the position of the visible ones, and-”

“So you’re saying they could have the answer?”

“Or worse. They might think they have it, and be wrong.”

Caleb pushed his hair off his forehead and cast a reflexive glance around the room, not looking for anything in particular, but hoping-hoping they were overlooking something simple. “Mom wouldn’t have-”

“Caleb,” Phoebe cut him off, “look. A camera.” One of three Helen usually had rolling to document every step of the process.

“What about it? They must have forgotten it in their hurry to get out of here before we got back.”

“I don’t think so. Hook it up to the TV.” Caleb gave her a doubtful look. “Humor me, okay?”

Caleb hooked the camera up to the TV’s input jack and turned it on. He rewound the tape until the time stamp displayed seven thirty, three hours ago, then pressed play and sat on the couch beside Phoebe.

“Maybe we should make some popcorn,” she suggested, without a touch of emotion.

“Shh. No talking during the movie.”

On the screen, the living room sprang to life. Twelve people sat around the table, and at the left side, Helen stood, bending forward and holding up a sheet of paper. It was an enhanced photograph of the seventh stone before the door. The symbol for Sulfur. “Here is your target,” she instructed. “Imagine standing on this sign and then experiencing the door opening. How does it happen? What do you see? Draw what you feel.”

“Alternately,” she said, “think about the hidden vault under the Pharos. Imagine the last puzzle, the final key. See it, and draw what you see.”

Caleb scratched the back of his neck. “Mom seems a little rushed.”

“Desperate,” Phoebe agreed. “Better to let them just focus on the symbol and see where the unconscious leads them.”

“Right, I think she either just confused them or sent them thinking about something else.”

“We’ll see.”

Nothing happened for the next few minutes, as the psychics all sat in various poses, eyes closed or opened. The room was quiet. A few candles flickered in the background.

Caleb fast-forwarded until he saw some movement. Nearly a half-hour had passed. Some people were drawing, but others were talking.

“I saw my fingers covered in gold,” one middle-aged woman with dark bangs said. “And then I reached out and touched the staff. The door opened-”

“I was also covered in gold,” a bald man in his seventies spoke up. “And I shuffled to the door, leaving trails of gold dust sparkling in my path.”

“I didn’t see any of that,” said another woman. “I just saw a ship. Actually it might have been several ships. They were all a little different in shape, but they all had red and white sails.”

A man in the back, wearing a turtleneck, cleared his throat. “I saw a ship, too, and I drew it.” He held up a sheet of paper. The ship had two masts, and roamed a sea beside a coastal town, where a tower guarded a harbor.

Another man walked into the camera’s view. He bent over and whispered into Mom’s ear.

“Waxman,” Phoebe whispered. “Mom’s shocked. Look at her eyes.”

“People,” Helen said. “I think we might be done here. It’s clear the seventh puzzle is opened by one who’s covered in gold, or at least it’s on one’s fingertips. Information from George here supports it. We have verification from an ancient scroll that says ‘to pass the seventh, touch the staff with fingers of gold.’“

“What about the ships?” the man in the turtleneck asked.

“False reading,” Waxman suggested. “Who knows?” He stretched like a cat, reaching for the ceiling. “I think we’re finished. You people have done a tremendous job. You’re excused until further notice. Expect a hefty bonus check in the mail in about two weeks, and if you wish your names included in the study, please let Helen know.”

People started shaking each other’s hands and saying goodbye. Helen walked to the camera and reached for the off switch. For a second nothing happened. Then her face appeared, full in the lens. Her eyes darted to the kitchen, then back to the camera.

“Caleb, Phoebe… we’re going to Alexandria. George… George is… I’m sorry. This is something we both want, it’s what we need to do. If we succeed, everything will change. I promise. I’ll be there for you, and this will all be over. Love you both-”

Caleb stopped the tape and when he turned around, Phoebe was at the phone. She hung it up. “Nothing. Mom’s turned off her cell phone.”

“Or they’re in the air.” He looked around helplessly.

“Caleb?”

“Yeah?”

“I think Mom’s in trouble. And I think she knew it.”

“I know. My fear is that the next call we get will be from the authorities, telling us they’re dead.”

Phoebe sighed. “Mine too.”

Snow knocked against the windows, and the storm rattled the lighthouse frame.

Caleb tapped his foot, staring into the distance.

“What are you thinking? Do we go after them, or just wait for them to call?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think they have the right answers.”

“To the seventh puzzle?” Phoebe asked. “It sounded right-”

“Not the seventh,” he said. “I think that one’s right. But remember Mom’s instructions to the team? They came back with two distinct visions.”

“One dealing with the gold, the other with ships.”

“Right.” He took a deep breath and pictured the lighthouse again, magnificently rising in its three tiers, and then he saw its mirror image below. “How did she phrase the second set of instructions? She said to visualize the last key… whatever that is.”

“Right, so that’s what they did. They saw the seventh sign, and-”

“What if the seventh isn’t the last?”

Phoebe opened her mouth. “Oh.”

Caleb started to pace, something that always helped when he was researching a book. “We know the treasure has to do with the writings of Thoth. And we also know the seven steps of alchemy lead to spiritual rebirth, the seventh being to make permanent that state of consciousness imbued with the eternal.”

“The Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Right. But some sources also maintain there is an eighth stage. Beyond the seventh there is rebirth, complete transcendence. Setting everything in motion. God created the world in six days, rested on the seventh, then on the eighth, it all clicked into place. Same with Thoth. Eight is also the number of the octave, and Thoth was said to create the world through his voice, through music.”

“Okay, I get it. Eight’s a powerful number.” Phoebe wheeled into the room. “But are we sure there’s another door?”

“Think about it. The Keepers were furious with the Renegade, Metreisse. If there were only these seven puzzles, they should have been able to figure them out, being the studied alchemists they were. Instead, Metreisse, using psychic abilities, was the one to find the way into the vault. That makes it sound like the last door maybe isn’t something that you can use your intellect to pass. It might be more conventional, requiring the right physical key.”

Phoebe nodded. “And Metreisse fled on a boat, exactly what Mom’s psychics had seen. But what does it mean? That the boat sank, and with it the key?”