The Smithsonian Objective

THE SMITHSONIAN
OBJECTIVE

A Morpheus Initiative Short
Story

By David Sakmyster

Variance
Publishing

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Copyright © 2011 David
Sakmyster, Smashwords edition

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This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be
construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely
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Cover Illustration by
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Interior Layout by Stanley
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Grand Canyon,
Arizona

3:47 PM, September
12

Near the summit of one of
the canyon's highest internal peaks, the seven-thousand-foot
geological marvel fancifully named The Isis Temple, Diana
Montgomery hauled herself over a jutting incline of red sandstone
slate, rolled onto her back and took a moment to catch her
breath.

The ferocious sun simmered
in a cloudless sky and thrust the shadows of the canyon's cyclopean
inner structures over each other and the walls of the North Rim.
She gazed to the west, toward the peak of the striated plateau
called The Cheops Pyramid; muscles wincing from the six-hour
ascent, she took a deep breath and tried to sit up.

She was close. Another five
hundred feet, according to the crude map she'd found in the
Smithsonian archives back in Washington. Almost there. Almost to
the cave. To the discovery of a lifetime. She just-

Two thick ropes dropped
from above. Rocks tumbled free from the wall, shards of limestone
and shale shattering at her feet. And then heavy boots thudded onto
the ledge, and as she tried to move, two black-clad men withdrew
large automatic handguns and aimed them at her face.

* * *

She knew that finding the
map was a little too convenient. Especially given the explosive
nature of what she might discover up here.

Two months ago, an
anonymous package had arrived at her office. Inside was a newspaper
article from the
Arizona Gazette
dated April 5, 1909, which detailed an explorer's
incredible archaeological find at the Grand Canyon. Also in the
package, the sender had included a series of letters to the
Smithsonian from interested researchers – all of which apparently
had gone unanswered, at least to anyone's satisfaction.

She went to her boss,
Assistant Director Darien Simcoe, demanding to be shown anything
relating to the Gazette article. Seeing she wouldn't let it go, he
reluctantly retrieved an item from the archives on one of the
restricted sublevels below the Smithsonian. It was the journal of
one G.E. Kincaid, a freelance explorer, not officially on the
Smithsonian's payroll – although the
Gazette
had inferred that he
was.

The journal mostly matched
the story in the
Gazette,
describing Kincaid's adventures along the Colorado
River
.
But the
final page, which wasn't in the
Gazette
, had a map detailing his hike
up from the river to this very monument, "The Isis Temple" – a
fitting name given what kind of artifacts Kincaid claimed to have
found there within a cave.

But one final item in the
anonymous package had stood out from the rest, galvanizing Diana's
obsession. It was a sketch: a charcoal drawing on a loose sheet of
paper showing Diana herself, an avid rock climber before her work
at the Smithsonian became too demanding. In the sketch, she was on
a ledge on the Isis Temple. But the oddest part was that there
were
two ropes ascending off the
page
.

At the time, Diana believed
the artist had merely assumed she would need to arrange for
experienced guides. But now, with the two military-attired men
aiming a small arsenal at her, in almost the same pose as the
picture, she knew differently.

Someone had set her
up.

* * *

"Get on your feet, Ms.
Montgomery."

The other man grabbed her
under the arms and hauled her to her feet. She pulled free, spun
around. "What the hell is this? Who are you?"

Her mind was racing. Maybe
some of the wilder rumors she'd heard were true: that this whole
area was off limits, ruthlessly protected by a government agency
trying to hide what Kincaid had found out here.

The other climber –
shorter, wearing glasses with mirrored lenses in which she could
see her terrified face – shoved her against the hot rock
wall.

"This is ridiculous," she
spat. "I'm an associate of the Smithsonian Institution.
I-"

"No, ma'am, you're not. Got
a call from your boss yesterday, claiming you had stolen
confidential museum property, that you were to be apprehended on
sight."

Damn Simcoe.
She hung her head after an upwards longing glance
to where a small cave beckoned. What about that anonymous package?
Was that Simcoe too? None of this made any sense.

Dejected, she headed to the
edge. The soldiers put their guns away, secured their harnesses and
prepared to rappel alongside her when suddenly another figure
dropped almost silently behind them. Dressed in khakis, with a
leather hat partially covering hair as red as the layers of shale
behind him, the newcomer sprang up from his crouch and delivered a
kick to the first soldier, sending him sprawling over the
edge.

The other spun around, arms
up in a fighting pose, but the red-haired man ducked a punch as if
he knew exactly when it was coming, rose up and slammed a fist into
the soldier's chin, knocking him back. His heels slipped off the
edge and his arms spun wildly.

Diana watched open-mouthed
as the newcomer stepped right up to the flailing soldier, placed a
finger on his chest, smiled and pushed.

She scrambled to the edge
and looked down to see both men dangling sixty feet below, spinning
wildly, slamming against the rock wall and bouncing off.

A hand gently caught her
shoulder. "Come on," he said, with just a touch of urgency. "That
won't stop them long."

Diana shot to her feet, met
the man's piercing blue eyes, then glanced up to the cave. "Were
you…?"

"Up there? Yeah, hiding
since last night, waiting for them to make their move."

"Great, then you can get me
back up there? We can-"

"Sorry but that's not where
we're going."

"What? But the map…" She
paused. Could she trust someone who appeared all of a sudden,
dressed like Indiana Jones minus the whip? "Wait, who the hell are
you?"

He continued smiling, and
the sun sparkled mischievously in his eyes as he slipped a large
waterproof backpack off his shoulders. He proceeded to extract
several expandable metal rods and unravel what looked like the
fabric of a parachute. "My name's Xavier Montross. And I sent you
the package."

Diana stared at him. "You?
Then-" She stopped talking as soon as she focused on what it was he
was busy assembling. "What the hell is that?"

"Hang glider."

She took her eyes off him
long enough to look down the sheer cliff wall. One of her attackers
was still out cold, dangling in the winds. The other, his face
bloody, was climbing swiftly, fixing her with a vile
look.

"We don't have much time,"
Xavier said.

Diana shook her head. "I'm
not going anywhere until I get some answers."

He stopped assembling the
triangular apex and the handles. "All you need to know, Diana
Montgomery, is right here." He reached into his backpack one more
time and retrieved a sketchbook. Flipped to a dog-eared page,
ripped it free
and showed her the charcoal drawing:

An image of her likeness,
standing at a podium before a rough outline of an audience. News
cameras. On a table sat a collection stones and urns with clear
Egyptian hieroglyphics.

"What is this?" she asked,
just as the wind whipped the page out of her hands and sent it
soaring over the canyon's deep, shadowy abyss. She thought for a
moment, even as she saw the rope at her feet moving, the peg
shifting with the climber's weight as he ascended. "Wait. That
drawing – the one you sent me. It was exactly what just
happened."

"So?"

"So, you knew they'd be
here. Maybe you're Simcoe's man, or you're working with these thugs
and-"

Xavier shook his head as he
put away the sketchbook and zipped up the pack. "The answer is much
less credible, and yet perfectly simple." He bent down, extended
the hang glider's wings and attached a harness to his
back.

"What could be
simpler?"

He grinned. "I can see the
future."

* * *

In the ensuing seconds,
Diana couldn't recall the actual events that led her to leap off
the six-thousand foot high ledge with a man she had only just met.
But something about his obvious belief in what he was saying led
her to strap herself in and wrap her arms around his chest just as
she heard the grunts of the soldier reaching the top.

And then she was flying,
soaring out into thin air. As they launched themselves out over the
majestic gorge, the sublime beauty of this natural wonder worked
its magic and calmed her nerves. She relaxed her hold on his broad
chest, loosened her legs from his, then gasped as they made a turn
around the temple and angled down toward Cheops'
Pyramid.

She thought she heard
gunshots behind her, along with a cry of frustration, but then they
were descending, weaving slowly left and right, swooping through
the rainbow of geologic strata along the canyon walls. Past
promontories and spurs, peaks and plateaus she had only dreamed of
climbing one day.

"Where are we going?" Her
voice carried, echoing off the sandstone towers.

"Marble Canyon," Xavier
said, turning his head. Somehow, his hat remained in place. "You
were duped, Diana. The map was a fake."

"How could you possibly
know that? Oh wait – right, you're psychic."

The glider caught an
updraft that took them past another towering mesa dotted with
sycamore brush and rebellious pines. "I knew it was a fake because
I've seen the actual entrance. I saw Kincaid, just as he found
it."

Diana laughed. "Really?
What are you going to tell me now, that you're over a hundred years
old?"

"Don't be silly. I said I
saw it, not that I was there." They rounded the mesa, coming close
enough to reach out and almost touch its crumbling shale façade.
"I'm what you would call a 'Remote Viewer'. I've always been able
to see things, glimpses of other times and places. Mostly in the
future, but sometimes, if I focus enough on the objective, I can
see into the past as well."

"Okay, so you believe you
can whatever – remote-view things. Why all this? Why'd you send me
that package?"