The Mongol Objective (39 page)

“But why?” Montross guided him. “What was the supreme honcho worried Marduk might do with it?”

Alexander scratched the back of his head. “Make a mess of the universe?”

“Precisely,” Montross said, smiling as the flashlight beam drew away from his face and settled on the enigmatic iron chest. “You asked about my dreams? What I’ve seen to make me plan that assault on your team, on your home? And cause such regrettable loss.”

“Yeah,” Alexander said, finding himself choking up again. “Why?”

Montross hung his head. He scratched over his shoulder, where the backpack would have been, the one confiscated in the helicopter, the one with his sketchbook.

He closed his eyes, and when he spoke, the descriptions echoed the visions he had suffered. Dreams pervading into his every waking thought, nightmares parading about his nocturnal slumber; images that never relented, despite every attempt to thwart the final assault on his mortality. Visions that never, ever let up.

All his life.

#

He stands in the shadow of an immense statue, a figure whose crown blots out the sun, and whose upstretched arm has served as a beacon to millions of hopeful voyagers.

He stands with his arms out, ready to embrace what he knows is coming.

What he has failed to prevent. What he can never prevent.

At least, not alone.

His face turns to the heavens, but first settles on the face of the Lady high above, on her sad, impassioned eyes that seem to cry for him.

For the world.

The ground trembles.

In the harbor, the water boils.

Something crashes beside him, shatters into thousands of pieces, none of which hit him.

Her arm.

The torch bounces, rolls, then falls into the seething water where boats are capsizing, tankers exploding. The air sizzles. Beyond the statue, the city’s skyline erupts from an invisible wave that crashes through the buildings, exploding glass and concrete as if they’re mere castles of sand. But the debris—instead of falling, seems to suck back, vacuumed to the west, along with huge chunks of earth. Central Park’s trees are uprooted, skyscrapers topple, then shatter, collapsing and hurtling away.

The shadow is gone.

Lady Liberty is bent backwards, spine broken, head sheared off, crown tumbling.

And trails of phosphorescent light streak across the globe, rending the fabric of the very air, tearing through the world, splitting the earth, the seas, sweeping away the atmosphere itself until only the blackness of space, bedecked with frightened stars, remain.

#

Montross opened his eyes, then looked deep into Caleb’s before shifting to see Alexander.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and pointed to the box. “But that is all that matters. Preventing it from falling into their hands. Or destroying it utterly. Nothing else. I’ve done what I could. Stopped every vision of death from coming true, all my life. Countless times, I’ve cheated mortality. So I know it can be done. But this one . . . this vision. I’ve tried everything, RV’d every strand of my future. I know what causes my death. And I know, this time, it’s not just me.” He lowered his eyes.

“It’s
everyone
.”

23.

Caleb shuddered. Took a step toward Alexander, put his arm around his son. “I didn’t see all that exactly, but I did see what could happen. What the tablet contains and how it’s been used before.”

“Before?” Alexander asked.

Montross nodded. “You saw it? The first war?”

“Tiamat. Marduk. Whoever they were. Whatever they were. Ages ago, something was released. Marduk was reckless, desperate to beat her at all costs. Tiamat and her son had used it for defense only, protection, but when Marduk got it, deciphered it and understood its powers . . .”

“He destroyed her. Utterly. And her people.”

Caleb closed his eyes and again saw an unbelievable vision, something straight out of Hollywood science fiction disaster epics. He felt the cosmic explosion, felt the seismic rift before the release of such energy, shattering an entire world, spitting debris across the system, remnants floating in space.

Alexander looked from his uncle to his father, not understanding. “What do you mean? What’s going to happen if they get the translation?”

“I’m not exactly sure how it works,” Montross said, “but it starts in the most unlikely of places.”

“Where?”

“Alaska.”

Caleb blinked at him. “What’s there?”

“That’s what I wondered, but a quick search showed only one thing of interest.” He sighed and said, “HAARP.”

Alexander chuckled. “A harp?”

“HAARP. Short for High Frequency Active Aural Research Project. HAARP is a facility dedicated to the study of the ionosphere for the purpose of improving radio communications and surveillance efforts. Currently, there are all sorts of wild theories and paranoia about tests being done up there in Gacona, Alaksa. Rampant fears that such powerful radio transmitter array—capable of outputs nearing billions of kilowatts—could disturb the ionosphere over any part of the earth, manipulating weather, and possibly, using scalar wave technology, even instigating earthquakes.
Powerful
earthquakes.”

“That’s nuts,” Alexander whispered. “But still cool.”

Caleb thought quietly, then said, “So this facility, Robert Gregory must have had a connection there? Another cult member? And the information contained on the Emerald Tablet—there must be something, some calculation or set of instructions that could be used to enhance the power of the array.”

“To do what?” Alexander asked.

“To do what I saw in my vision,” Montross replied.

“Destroy the world? But they’ll just kill everyone, even themselves.”

“The ultimate sacrifice?” Montross voiced. “Possibly. I don’t know if it’s a simple matter of revenge, or if it’s something more. Maybe they have some way out reserved for themselves.”

“I think you’re right,” Caleb said. “It is something more. Much more.” He considered everything he had learned, everything he knew about the tablet, about its connection to alchemy, to psychic powers and spiritual transformation. “I think they believe in a special kind of reward. An immortality to be obtained, at the expense of the rest of humanity.”

“Reincarnated off-planet maybe?” Montross suggested.

“I don’t know,” Caleb said. “But there are other players at work here, other forces. I can’t help recall the story of the Tower of Babel.”

“Why?” Alexander asked, then thought it through. “Oh wait. All the worlds’ people working together. Building that tower to go to heaven.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a tower,” Caleb suggested.

“Then—?”

“A rocket?” Montross said, shrugging. “But in any case, what’s important is that the gods, of which Marduk was a chief entity, were greatly alarmed by this challenge humanity was mounting against what they perceived as their realm. Their space.”

“So they knocked it down.”

“And remember the main part? They confused our tongues, made it impossible for mankind’s races to speak one language again, so that we could never again collude in such a way.”

“Yeah,” Montross said. “I never really understood that story until recently. Its implications, in light of our powers, are a bit staggering.”

“I don’t get it,” Alexander said.

“One language,” Caleb said with emphasis. “One language, which I believe wasn’t a spoken one.”

“Telepathy,” Montross offered. “Psychics. Maybe they were all psychics back then, able to share visions, thoughts, impressions. Communicate mentally, instantaneously. Combining their ideas, working through scenarios and calculations at vast speeds. Pooling their resources in ways we can’t imagine today.”

“The gods didn’t like that,” Alexander said.

“Maybe because they thought only they should be able to do it, and having a race that multiplied and expanded like ours, with access to that kind of unchecked power was just too much. Who knew what we’d do?”

“So,” said Montross, “they knocked us down. Took away the gift, wiped it from our minds somehow.”

Caleb nodded, still working it through. “But maybe a few of them didn’t agree with this action. Some had mankind’s interests at heart, and felt responsible for our protection.”

“Thoth,” Alexander said.

“He preserved a way for us to reacquire those powers. Codified it, wrote it down on something that would outlast even the gods. And his followers, even if they couldn’t read it or discover a way to find it, sought to protect it from the other side, the lingering elements of those like Marduk. Men who now realized they could have it both ways—restore their own powers, advance themselves to immortality, and then close the door on the rest of us. Forever.”

Montross nodded again. “So, back to HAARP. I went there, entered with a visitor’s pass, and studied the layout, analyzed the guard shifts, the defenses. All with thoughts about blowing it up somehow, or killing everyone who might be involved. But in the end, I couldn’t get in where I needed to, couldn’t get close to the central control chamber.”

“Why not?” Alexander asked. “If it’s just a research place?”

“Co-funded by the U. S. Army, the Air Force and the Defense Department.” Montross smiled. “Further fuel for the conspiracy nuts who, by the way, have been blocked at every turn, discredited and turned away despite some quite logical questions about the functions and research done at HAARP, and the patents they have on file—patents which demonstrate clear military applications.”

“Okay,” Caleb said. “So sabotage isn’t a likely possibility.”

“Every time I embarked on an idea or outlined a mission, I was struck with a vision of pre-emptive death. I would fail. They would kill me before I even got close. The place has defenses no one could have imagined. Nobody gets close without their permission.” He sighed again. “No, the only way, the only possibility that offered a glimmer of success, was this one. Getting the tablet myself.”

“But that wasn’t enough,” Caleb said.

“No. But I knew it would buy us time. Robert was going to find it soon himself if I didn’t trick him and take it first. He would have used Alexander against you and made you open the vault. So I had to do it my way.”

“You could have destroyed it,” Alexander said in a shaky voice, as if fearing even by voicing such an option he might be committing the worst sacrilege.

Montross shook his head. “It’s nearly indestructible.”

“What about going all
Lord of the Rings
on it and tossing it in a volcano? That should do the trick.” Alexander beamed at the concept. “Or—like in
The Incredibles
, remember, Dad?”

“What?” He frowned, trying to follow.

“The only thing that could break through the metal skin of the indestructible enemy robot?”

“Oh yeah,” Caleb said, remembering. “Itself. Something made of the same material.”

“Maybe,” Montross said. “But the point is moot now, since we don’t have it.”

“But,” Alexander said, still giddy with the thought of a new quest, “once we get it back, we need to be ready. And can’t let it get in their hands again. I say destroy it.”

“We could hide it,” Caleb offered. “I don’t want to lose such a gift, if possible.”

Montross shook his head. “No, it gives off radiation. Minimal, but enough to locate it if you’ve got the right equipment. Satellites could locate its signature. Can’t bury it. Can’t drop it in the ocean. No, short of launching it on a rocket to the sun, I had to find another way.”

“So you knew there were two components. The tablet alone wasn’t enough. No one today could still read it.”

“I needed the translation, the cipher.” He pointed to the box. “Located here.”

“Well,” said Caleb. “We’ve secured it, stopped them.”

“For now. But they’re coming.”

Alexander’s face brightened. “Can we destroy these things? The books in the chest? Or the keys themselves?”

“The keys, no. They’re made of the same stuff as the tablet. But the books? I would assume we can demolish those.”

“Then let’s do it!”

“The only problem,” said Montross, “is that we might not be able to open the chest.”

“But we have the keys.”

“Try them.”

Alexander glanced at Caleb.

“Trust me,” Montross said. “We don’t die now. I just think it won’t open.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “Kind of like the door outside, I’d wager. Having the keys gets you to the event, but you still have to ask the right girl before you get to dance.”

Alexander frowned. “You mean, I have to ask the right questions? RV something else—maybe inside the box?”

“I don’t think so. I believe you were right before. All three of you are needed.”

Alexander looked crushed. “Well, so what do we do? The box looks pretty heavy, we can’t take it with us. If there even is a way out of here.”

“There’s a way,” Caleb insisted. “I saw it.”

“We have to leave the box,” Montross said.

“Can we blow it up?” Alexander asked. “Shoot it open, throw a grenade at it?”

“Don’t have guns,” Montross replied. He shined his light on Marco’s body. “And no grenades on our friend here.”

“Then we’re screwed,” Alexander said, glancing at his father. “Sorry. Anyway, they’ll just bring the other two here. My brothers. And they’ll open the door.”

“But they won’t have the keys,” Caleb said excitedly. “We’ve got them, and we’re going to get out.” He pointed the light at the corner again, and this time moved in closer, finding the outline of a door. He closed his eyes as he touched the wall. Furrowed his brow, and let his mind break free, scatter into the infinite and pluck the answer from tangle of his visions.

“Damn it,” Caleb said after a moment, holding his head. “This means that Waxman was right after all.”

Alexander frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Waxman believed the Emerald Tablet was the greatest threat to the security of humanity, and now I realize he was right after all. He just didn’t know the true nature of the threat, didn’t know what it would be used for. But another one of his psychics had foreseen this and warned him. Which is why he spared no effort to get into the Pharos Vault.” He shook his head. “Maybe I should have let him succeed.”