David Sakmyster - The Mongol Objective

“My Bible’s a little rusty,” Renee said, “but even my four-year-old niece knows that God warned Noah directly, before He wiped out everybody else on the planet.”

Phoebe cleared her throat, eager to get in on the discussion. “Well, the theory here goes that the language used by Noah to speak to God was more indirect. Noah was using these kinds of powers, abilities like prophecy, clairvoyance. These were the same as ‘talking to God.’”

Renee nodded. “So, Noah saw what was coming.”

“And,” said Caleb, “these learned men, people with abilities, wrote down their knowledge and stored it away in safe locations.”

“But you found this tablet,” Renee said, staring at Phoebe, Orlando and Caleb in turn, as if half-expecting them to pull off their outer garments to reveal superhero costumes underneath. “Have you used it?”

“Nope,” said Phoebe, glancing first at her brother for approval. “But not from lack of effort. Actually, we haven’t quite been able to read it.”

“The language,” Caleb admitted, “is a little mind-blowing. It’s not like anything ever seen before. I’ve tried cross-referencing it for years, sent partial scripts to etymologists, but so far, nothing.”

Phoebe smiled. “It also hurts to look at the letters. They’re somehow multi-dimensional. It’s the only word I can use. It’s kind of like watching a 3D movie without the glasses, and in Chinese subtitles. After you’ve been drinking.”

“Or smoking weed,” Orlando said, then wiped the silly grim from his face, glancing at the agents.

Renee frowned at him. “So you can’t translate it, but Montross believes he can?”

Caleb clasped his hands together, held them in front of his face. “There’s a theory. Yes, I know, another one. One we’ve been pursuing during our RV sessions.”

“The Books of Thoth,” Phoebe said. “Other writings. We’re not sure if they’re scrolls or tablets, pillars, or what, but supposedly after Thoth created the Emerald Tablet, his followers deciphered it and wrote the translation of all that knowledge.”

“Theoretically,” Orlando said, “we only need to find one of those to get what we need.”

“A Rosetta Stone,” Caleb finished. “A translation of just a part of the Emerald Tablet, in any language, and we can use that as a cipher to decode the rest.”

Renee rubbed her eyes. “So, these books or whatever, where are they supposed to be?”

“Lots of theories there too,” said Caleb. “The most common being that they’re kept together in a sealed, unbreakable box in the Hall of Records.”

“In Washington?” Renee asked, hopeful.

“No, the Hall of Records referred to was a mythical storehouse of ancient wisdom, much like the library of Alexandria. Legends relate several possible locations, the most credible being that it’s under the Giza Plateau, beneath the Great Pyramid or the Sphinx.”

“Ah,” said Renee, shaking her head. “Of course.”

Caleb felt sorry for her, knowing the agent must be way out of her element now. “There have been studies of the ground in that area, sonar and satellite radar images showing potential pockets, caverns and tunnels under both the Sphinx and the Pyramid complex. The psychic Edgar Cayce predicted a chamber would be found below the Sphinx, and Herodotus relates tales about a staircase leading down between the paws, down to a great door that led into a labyrinth of serpentine passages and chambers. And somewhere down there is this lockbox containing the books. But,” Caleb pointed out, “that’s not what concerns us now. Because now, what I think Xavier Montross might be after, are the keys to that box.”

“The keys?” Renee frowned. “Plural? How many are there?”

“Three, according to the legends. Spread out across the earth at ancient sites, or buried with the dead rulers who might have had the means to construct elaborately defended resting places. Hidden, some maintain, by men related to the ancient order of Thoth. Followers like Noah and Ziusudra and all the rest.”

“Magicians and prophets?” Renee noted.

“Psychics,” Phoebe whispered.

Renee stood and started pacing, gripping her cell phone like a pointer. The plane dipped and she reached for a chair to steady herself. “So Montross broke into your lighthouse, stole this Emerald Tablet which, if I hear you right, is likely an Egyptian archaeological artifact, and its theft is a serious breach of international law, but never mind that now. Montross then kidnapped your son and is now off seeking three legendary keys, all of which he’ll need in order to gain access to a chamber under the Sphinx and open a box which contains a translation of the text?”

Caleb shrugged. “Sounds about right. I know it’s less than convincing, but that’s the only rationale I’ve got right now.”

“So why St. Peter’s?”

“The Mausoleum,” Phoebe said. “He must’ve RV’d the keys, found that one might have been hidden there. Mausolus must have found one, recognized it as something special, and Artemesia had it entombed with him in his mausoleum.”

“It fits,” Caleb said, “with the tenet of alchemy which maintains that secrets are best hidden ‘in plain sight.’ The Mausoleum was a huge, ostentatious structure. Alexander the Great would have been well aware of it, as Mausolus was a contemporary, and Alexander went on to conquer Halicarnassus a decade later. My guess is wherever the key was, Alexander couldn’t find it. But he posted guards to keep the mausoleum safe from trespassers before putting his best philosophers to work at analyzing its construction to find potential secret compartments.”

Renee rubbed her eyes. “So what about the other locations?”

Caleb sighed. “I didn’t know about Mausolus until now, but I believe one of the keys may have been at the tomb of another charismatic and powerful leader. Cyrus the Great, the first great conqueror. He was a Persian in the sixth century BCE who created the largest empire the world had ever seen, a feat unrivaled until Alexander came along. And what’s more, we know that two centuries after Cyrus’s death, Alexander invaded Persia, and in what is now modern-day Iran he found and entered Cyrus’s tomb, looking for something in particular.”

“Did he find it?” Renee asked.

“Well, we’re not entirely sure what he found.” Caleb took a sip of tea, blowing at the smoke first. “We tried to RV the event and got a lot of jumbled images, but nothing definitive came out of those sessions.” He thought back to the candle-lit room at home, the ten people madly scribbling on their pads, day after day, trying to see. What had become of Cyrus’s possessions? People had drawn things ranging from snow-capped peaks to marvelous palaces to a remote desert landscape and a cavern underground, but nothing consistent.

Phoebe leaned in. “We’ve been going on the theory that Alexander the Great found Cyrus’s key, and that maybe he himself discovered, or was handed, another key in the desert at Sais, at the Egyptian oracle where he was heralded as king, given the mandate of Heaven, and promised a marvelous destiny.”

Caleb continued. “So Alexander had two of the three keys, at least, and was likely searching for the third. We believe he died before finding it and achieving that destiny, although history still reveres him as one of the greatest rulers of the world, and responsible for the spread of democracy and knowledge. He was most likely buried with those two keys, and we may need to focus our efforts to find his body to verify that, but more likely we weren’t asking the right questions to define our search. I’m starting to think that maybe someone took the keys from his tomb before it was hidden.”

“But we doubt anyone has managed to collect all three,” Phoebe said, “since we’re pretty sure the lockbox is still unopened.”