David Sakmyster - The Mongol Objective

This Philitis, this enigmatic character, could be traced to another whose identity is one of the chief mysteries of the Bible.

The time frame pointed to only one of sufficient fame and wisdom to construct such a complex pyramid, something so grand it was never to be duplicated again. One who was mentioned only twice in the Hebrew Bible, yet held a position of mystical, almost divine reverence. “Without father, without mother, without descent, having neither beginning of days, nor end of life; but made like unto the Son of God.” One who many claimed to have built the Ark of the Covenant himself. The Dead Sea Scrolls and Nag Hammadi texts describe him to be ageless, godlike. Many believed him to be the Christ himself, ageless, and later reborn as the Christian world’s savior.

Melchizedek. The King of Righteousness. The Prince of Peace.

Or, as Robert believed, another incarnation of the ancient enemy.

Thoth.

Suddenly he heard noises from above. The motors dying, helicopter blades subsiding.

Almost time. No more waiting. No more wrangling with prophecies or scouring the globe for lost keys.

Thoth’s hiding place was about to be plundered.

Robert smiled as his great shadow mustered and solidified, his hands clenching into fists that could seemingly plunge through the door itself.

Soon, the ancient secrets would be his.

Shoved at gunpoint out of the helicopter, Caleb had little time to marvel at the one element of the familiar landscape utterly and magnificently out of place, revealed in the spotlights between huge mounds of excavated sand on either side of the ancient paws of the Sphinx:

A descending marble staircase.

But all around the pyramid complex, a small army of jeeps, soldiers and even tanks patrolled the boundaries of the Giza perimeter. Three more helicopters circled overhead.

“I heard them talking,” Montross said, stumbling at Caleb’s side, pushed ahead by two commandos. “Apparently Robert Gregory called in his contacts and falsified a terrorist threat.”

Caleb nodded. “Smart. Close down the whole area. Create a plausible scenario to keep the tourists and the media away.”

“Keep moving,” the lead commander hissed, striding ahead of them. Caleb had learned his name was Benito Marco, an Italian officer who fancied himself a Roman general, and apparently had fantasies of epic battles to come, with himself as the supreme commander.

Marco carried the silver case reverently in both hands as he approached the steps. He appeared to bow before the ancient Sphinx. Caleb imagined that the colossal statue might actually shake itself awake and ask him to solve three riddles in order to proceed.

Caleb glanced over his shoulder to see the other chopper descending, landing beside theirs. Pressed against the glass inside, squirming for a view, was Alexander. And behind him Phoebe and Orlando were craning their necks, trying to see. The door opened and two men in camouflage carrying MP5s stood there, making no move to disembark or lead anyone out.

“Move it!” Marco snapped, and Caleb and Montross were herded to the stairs. Caleb got one last glimpse of the Great Pyramid, lit up in greens and reds, glowing with god-like energy under the pale stars. A hot breeze blew across the sands, and mini dust storms swirled around the Sphinx and over the excavated burial grounds.

Caleb followed Marco, descending the ancient, smooth steps down to a golden subterranean chamber devoid of markings, where two huge emerald pillars supported the cavernous roof, flanking a door of polished onyx-a door, he saw at once, without markings, signs, indentations, handles or holes of any kind.

From behind one of the two floodlights set to light up the door, Robert Gregory emerged. He wore a perfectly fitted silk gray suit, with a gray tie and leather shoes that betrayed only a hint of dust. He was bald, and the skin on his hands and his face was pale, translucent. But nothing at all like Caleb expected. No blisters, pus, blackened skin.

“Just like the Phoenix,” Robert said, spreading his arms, wing-like. “Back from the ashes. With a little help from the ancient books you helped recover for me, Caleb.”

“Helped?” Caleb shifted, feeling the gun at his back. His wrists tugged at their bonds. “If I recall, you guys didn’t really do much except mop up after I did all the hard work.”

Robert’s smile never faltered. “And who was responsible for getting you that far? Would it have anything to do with my sister?”

Caleb paled. “The sister you caused to die.”

Gregory waved a hand in anger. “Not me. Him. Xavier, you double-crossed me, stole what’s mine, and then killed my sister. Inadvertent or not, I won’t forget it.” His eyes flashed, then softened, shifted to the door. “But now, let’s be civil. We have a job to do, the three of us.” He motioned for Marco to bring the case.

“Do you even have a clue what you’re doing?” Montross asked, his wrists still bound in front of him.

“Don’t make another mistake,” Caleb said. “You don’t have our skills, you haven’t glimpsed ahead.”

“And you have?” Robert laughed. “Tell me, then. If you think you know what happens next.”

Caleb looked at Montross, who merely shook his head.

“Fine. Didn’t think so. Your powers were never that good. Or precise for that matter. But I have read everything about this chamber and what it contains. I’ve studied the Coffin Texts, the Westcar Papyrus, and I’ve found so many more references scattered throughout the recovered scrolls. So we’re at least on equal footing, except I can tell you I have not been without my own visions. Dreams of such wonderful transition.” He reverently opened the case as Marco held it out for him. And as he stared inside, his lips quivered and his body trembled as he at last gazed upon the Emerald Tablet.

“If you’re going to drool all over it,” said Montross, “maybe you should buy it dinner first.”

Finally, Robert broke the spell and picked up the first of the three stone keys. Twirled it in his hand, touching it with each finger, holding it up to capture the light. Then he handled the other two. All set on chains, he placed them one after the other around his neck, then turned away from Marco, toward the door.

“If you have any last-minute visions or warnings, now is the time to speak. As you’re going to be right behind me, anything that comes out of that door, or anything in this room which is triggered to kill if I don’t do this right, then you go too. And Caleb, my orders for the men outside are to slaughter your family if anything happens to me.”

“Then just stop,” Caleb hissed. “Let me RV this part. I don’t have any idea if this will work. There’s nothing, no keyholes? What, are you just going to knock?”

“Don’t be obtuse,” he replied. “One doesn’t knock at the doorway to the universe.” He took three strides, right to the edge, so his face was just inches away from the surface. “One demands, one insists.” His reflection took on a hideous caricature in the stone.

“One pushes.”

And with that, he set his palms against the smooth surface and bent his knees.

Caleb noticed the glow at first. Overpowering even the great floodlights, the Emerald Tablet gave off immense radiance, and the three keys around Robert’s neck began pulsing, shining brighter with each throb of the tablet’s simulated heartbeat.

Robert arched his back, dug in his feet and pushed harder, groaning like an Olympic weightlifter. Pushing, pushing…

A scraping sound broke the silence, then a hiss.

Caleb tried to take a step back, but the soldiers had pinned him in. He closed his eyes, willing to see.

And then he was struck by…

… a rush of heat that blows away the bright lights, the emerald glow and the soldiers, and he is standing now before an open space where the door used to be. Except, a man in blue robes and a long, white beard looms in the threshold. Holding a staff and nodding, he gazes beyond the door to approve the placement of the sole object inside the next chamber. The room has one other exit, down a ramp to the left, leading to the start of an immense passageway. But against the back wall sits a huge chest. Nothing special, just an iron box, without a trace of gold, jewels or markings of any kind.