by Steve Berry
“Does it work the other way?” she asked.
“Of course.” He found the Middle East. “Iraq. The biblical city of Ur of the Chaldees, the birthplace of Abraham.
Fifteen degrees east of the Giza line.” He shifted the pen point. “Here, Lhasa, the holy Tibetian city, old beyond measure. Sixty degrees east.
“There are many more sites that fall at defined intervals from the Giza line. All sacred. Most constructed by unknown peoples, involving pyramids or some form of raised structure. It cannot be a coincidence that these are located at precise points on the globe.”
“And you think whoever carved the writing in the stones was responsible for all that?” Davis asked.
“Remember, all explanations are rational. And when you consider the megalithic yard, the conclusion becomes
inescapable.”
She’d never heard the term.
“From the 1950s until the mid-1980s, Alexander Thom, a Scottish engineer, undertook an analysis of forty-six neolithic and Bronze Age stone circles. He eventually surveyed more than three hundred sites and discovered that there was a common unit of measure used in every one of them. He called it the megalithic yard.”
“How is that possible,” she asked, “considering the varied cultures?”
“The fundamental idea is quite sound.
“Monuments like Stonehenge, which exist all over the planet, were nothing more than ancient observatories. Their builders deciphered that if they stood in the center of a circle and faced the sunrise, marking the location of the event each day, after one year 366 markers would lie on the ground. The distance between those markers was a constant 16.32
inches.
“Of course those ancient people did not measure in inches,” Scofield said, “but that was the modern equivalent from reproducing the technique.”
Those same ancient peoples then learned that it took 3.93 minutes for a star to move from one marker to the next.
“Again, they didn’t utilize minutes, but they nonetheless observed and noted a constant unit of time.” Scofield paused.
“Here’s the interesting part.
“For a pendulum to swing 366 times over 3.93 minutes, it has to be exactly 16.32 inches long.
“Amazing, wouldn’t you say? And no way coincidental. That’s why 16.32 inches was chosen by the ancient builders for the megalithic yard.”
Scofield seemed to catch their disbelief.
“It’s not all that unique,” he said. “A similar method was once proposed as an alternative for determining the length of a standard meter. The French ultimately decided that it would be better to use a division of the meridian quadrant, as they didn’t trust their timepieces.”
“How could ancient peoples know this?” Davis asked. “It would take a sophisticated understanding of mathematics and orbital mechanics.”
“There’s that modern arrogance again. These people were not ignorant cavemen. They possessed an intuitive
intelligence. They were conscious of their world. We narrow our senses and study little things. They widened their perceptions and learned the cosmos.”
“Is there any scientific evidence to prove this?” she asked.
“I just gave you physics and mathematics—which, by the way, that seafaring society would have understood. Alexander Thom posited that wooden measuring rods of a megalithic yard length could have been used for surveying purposes, and that they must have been produced from a central place in order to maintain the consistency he observed at the building sites. These people taught their lessons well to willing students.”
She could see that he believed everything he was saying.
“There are a number of numerical coincidences with other measuring systems used throughout history that provide some support to the megalithic yard. When studying the Minoan civilization, the archaeologist J. Walter Graham proposed that the people of Crete used a standard measure, which he termed the Minoan foot. There’s a correlation.
Three hundred sixty-six megalithic yards equal exactly one thousand Minoan feet. Another amazing coincidence, wouldn’t you say?
“There’s also a connection between the ancient Egyptian measurement of the royal cubit and the megalithic yard. A circle with a diameter of one-half a royal cubit will have a circumference equal to one megalithic yard. How could such a direct correlation be possible without a common denominator? It’s as if the Minoans and the Egyptians were taught the megalithic yard, then they adapted the unit to their own situations.”
“Why have I never read or heard of any of this?” Davis asked.
“Mainstream scientists can neither confirm nor deny the megalithic yard. They argue that there’s no evidence that pendulums were in common use, or even that the principle of the pendulum was known before Galileo. But there’s that arrogance again. Somehow we are always the first to realize everything. They also say that neolithic peoples had no system of written communication able to record information about orbits and planetary motions. But—”
“The rocks,” she said. “They contained writing.”
Scofield smiled. “Precisely. Ancient writing in an unknown language. Yet until such time as they can be deciphered, or a neolithic measuring rod is actually found, this theory will remain unproven.”
Scofield went silent. She was waiting for that more.
“I was only allowed to work with the stones,” he said. “Everything was brought to a warehouse at Fort Lee. But there was a refrigerated section of that warehouse. Locked off. Only the admiral went inside. Its contents were already there when I arrived. Dyals told me that if I solved the language problem, then I’d get a look inside.”
“No clue what was in there?” Davis asked.
Scofield shook his head. “The admiral was crazy about secrecy. He always kept those lieutenants up my ass. I was never alone inside the building. But I sensed that the important items were stored in that freezer.”
“Did you get to know Ramsey?” Davis asked.
“Oh, yes. He was Dyals’ favorite. Clearly in charge.”
“Ramsey is behind this,” Davis declared.
Scofield’s gloom and annoyance seemed to mount. “Does he have any idea what I could have written about those
stones? They should have been shown to the world. They would confirm all that I’ve researched. A previously unknown culture, seafaring, that existed long before our civilization ever rose, capable of language. It’s revolutionary.”
“Ramsey could not care less,” Davis said. “His only interest is himself.”
She was curious. “How did you know this culture was seafaring?”
“Reliefs on the stones. Long boats, sophisticated sailing crafts, whales, icebergs, seals, penguins, and not the small ones.
Tall ones, the size of a man. We now know a species like that once existed in the Antarctic, but they’ve been extinct for tens of thousands of years. Yet I saw carvings of them.”
“So what happened to that lost culture?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Probably the same thing that happens to all of man’s societies. We wipe ourselves out either
intentionally or recklessly. Either way, we’re gone.”
Davis faced her. “We need to go to Fort Lee and see if that stuff is still there.”
“It’s all classified,” Scofield said. “You’ll never get near it.”
He was right. But she saw that Davis would not be deterred. “Don’t be so sure.”
“Can I go to sleep now?” Scofield said. “I have to be up in a few hours for our annual hunt. Wild boar and bows and arrows. I take a group from the conference every year out into the woods.”
Davis stood. “Sure. We’ll be out of here in the morning, too.”
She stood.
“Look,” Scofield said, resignation in his voice. “I am sorry about the attitude. I appreciate what you did.”
“You ought to consider not going hunting,” she said.
He shook his head. “I can’t disapp
oint the participants. They look forward to it each year.”
“It’s your call,” Davis said. “But I think you’re okay. Ramsey would be a fool to come after you again, and he’s anything but that.”
SEVENTY-TWO
Bacchus tells me that they have communicated with many peoples and they respect all forms of language, finding each beautiful in its own way. The language of this gray land is a flowing tongue in an alphabet long ago perfected. On writing they are conflicted. It is necessary, but they warn that writing encourages forgetfulness and discourages memory and they are correct. I wander freely among the people with no fear. Crime is rare and punished by isolation. One day, I was asked to help lay the cornerstone of a wall. Bacchus was pleased with my involvement and urged me to irritate the vessels of the earth, for they distill a strange wine that grows under my hand and covers the whole of heaven. Bacchus says that we should worship this marvel for it provides life. Here the world is broken by mighty winds and voices that cry aloud in a tongue mortal men cannot speak. To the sounds of this primal joy I enter the house of Hathor and offer five jewels upon an altar. The wind sings loudly, so much that all who are there seem entranced and I truly think we are in heaven. Before a statue we kneel and give praise. The sound of a flute haunts the air. Snows are eternal and a strange perfume smokes upward. One night Bacchus broke forth into a monstrous speech that I could not appreciate. I asked to be taught the means of understanding and Bacchus agreed and I willingly embraced the language of heaven. I am glad my king allowed me to come to this wild country of the waning sun. These people rave and howl, they froth out folly.
For a time I was afraid of being alone. I dreamed of warm sunsets, bright flowers, and thick vines. But no longer. Here the soul is drunken. Life is full. It slays, and suffices, but never disappoints.
• • •
I have noticed a strange constant. Everything that turns, naturally turns to the left. Lost people move to the left. Snow swirls to the left. The tracks of the animals in the snow bear to the left. The sea creatures swim in left-banked circles.
Flocks of birds approach from a leftward direction. The sun in summer moves all day around the horizon, always from right to left. Youth are encouraged to know their natural surroundings. They are taught how to anticipate a storm or the approach danger, they grow to be aware, at peace with themselves, prepared for life. I joined a trek one day. Hiking is favored but a dangerous pursuit. A good sense of direction and agile feet are needed. I noticed that even when our guide consciously turned right, the sum of his several turns was always left so that, without landmarks, which this land totally lacks, it is almost impossible to avoid returning to your starting point from anywhere but left. Man, bird, and sea creature are integrated. This left-turning mechanism seems entirely subconscious to them all. None of those who inhabit this gray land have any realization of the habit and, when I point out the observation, they simply shrug and smile.
• • •
Today Bacchus and I visited Adonai, who had been told of my interest in mathematics and architecture. He is a teacher of skills and showed me measuring rods used to both design and construct. To be consistent is to be accurate, I am told.
I tell him how the design of the king’s chapel at Aachen had been greatly influenced by his students and he was pleased. Instead of being fearful, distrusting, or ignorant of the world, Adonai insists we should learn from what nature created. The contours of the land, the location of underground heat, the angle of the sun, and the sea are all factors
considered when locating both a city and a building. Adonai’s wisdom is sound and I thank him for the lesson. I am also shown a garden. Many plants are preserved, but many more have perished. Plants are grown indoors in a soil rich with ash, pumice, sand, and minerals. Plants are also grown in water, both from the sea and fresh. Flesh is rarely eaten.
I am told it depletes the energy within the body and makes one more susceptible to illness. After eating a diet mainly of plants, with an occasional dish of fish, I have never felt better.
What pleasure to see the sun again. The long winter darkness has ended. The crystal walls come alive with a glitter of colored light. A choir sings a low, sweet, rhythmic chant. The level increases as the sun climbs into a new sky.
Trumpets sound the final note and all bow their heads in appreciation of the power of life and strength. The city welcomes the summer season. People play games, attend lectures, visit with one another, and enjoy the Festival of the Year. Each time the central pendulum in the plaza comes to rest, all face the temple and watch as a crystal splashes color across the city. After the long winter, the spectacle is much appreciated. The time of unions arrives and many appear to pledge their love and allegiance. Each accepts a promise bracelet and tells of their pledge to the other. This time brings great joy. To live harmoniously is the goal I am told. But on this occasion three unions required dissolution.
Two birthed children and the parents agreed to share responsibility, even though no longer together. The third union refused. Neither wanted the children. So others who had long desired to parent were given the offspring and there was again great joy.
• • •
I stay in a house where four rooms encircle a courtyard. No windows in any of the walls but the rooms are splendidly lit from above by a crystal ceiling and always remain full of warmth and light. Pipes reach across the city and into every house, like roots trailing on the ground, and bring a never-yielding heat. There are but two rules that govern the house. No eating and no sanitation. The rooms cannot be desecrated by eating, I am told. Meals are taken with everyone in the dining halls. Washing, bathing, and all other sanitation is performed in other halls. I inquire about such rules and I am told that all impure matter is instantly sent from the dining and sanitation halls to the fire that never ends, where it is consumed. That is what keeps Tartarus clean and healthy. The two rules are the sacrifices each person makes for the purity of the city.
• • •
This gray land is divided into nine Lots, each with a city that radiates from a central plaza, which seems a gathering spot. An Adviser administers each Lot, selected from the people of the Lot through a vote, in which both men and women participate. Laws are enacted by the nine Advisers and inscribed upon the Righteous Columns in the central plaza of each city so that all will know. Solemn agreements are made consistent with the law. Advisers meet once, during the Festival of the Year, in the central plaza of Tartarus, and choose one of their number to be High Adviser. A single rule governs their law: Treat the land and one another as you would want to be treated. Advisers deliberate for the good of all beneath the symbol of righteousness. Atop is the sun, half ablaze in its glory. Then the earth, a simple circle, and the planets represented by a dot within the circle. The cross reminds them of the land, while the sea waves below. Forgive my crude sketch but this is how it appears.
SEVENTY-THREE
ASHEVILLE
STEPHANIE WAS JARRED FROM HER SLEEP BY THE BEDSIDE PHONE.She glanced at the digital clock.
5:10AM. Davis lay on the other queen bed, also fully clothed, sleeping. Neither of them had even bothered to unmake their bed before lying down.
She snatched up the receiver, listened for a moment, then sat up.“Say that again.”
“The man in custody is named Chuck Walters. We’ve verified that through fingerprints. He has a record, mostly petty stuff, nothing that relates here. He lives and works in Atlanta. We checked his alibi. Witnesses place him in Georgia two nights ago. No question. We interviewed them all and it checks out.”
She cleared her head. “Why’d he run?”
“He said a man came charging after him. He’s been sleeping with a married woman the past few months and thought it was her husband. We checked with the woman and she confirmed the affair. When Davis approached him, he freaked and ran. When you shot at him he really freaked and tossed the bowling pin. He didn’t know what was happening. Then Davis beat the crap out of him. H
e says he’s going to sue.”
“Any chance he’s lying?”
“Not that we can see. This guy is no professional assassin.”
“What was he doing in Asheville?”
“His wife threw him out two days ago, so he decided to come up here. That’s all. Nothing sinister.”
“And, I assume, the wife confirmed all that.”
“That’s what we get paid for.”
She shook her head. Dammit.
“What do you want me to do with him?”
“Let him go. What else?”
She hung up the phone and said, “It’s not him.”
Davis was sitting on the side of his bed. The realization dawned within them both at the same time.