The Occurrence

  “He can’t stay here,” Isabel said to Arama.

  The sorrow in Arama’s eyes was something Isabel knew well from their life in Cuzco. And, Isabel read in Vincente’s regretful smile awareness that he and his daughter had overstayed their welcome.

  “I’m sorry. There’s too much at stake for me to have you here.”

  “Don’t abandon us. You did that when you left father and me after mother died. Don’t make your ambition and fear what the rest of your life is about.”

  The shame that Isabel had sequestered in her rise to what she believed was greater than the blood that ran through her ripped open.

  Arama held her sister as she sobbed.

  74

  The setting orange sun shred its way in through jagged walls as seven mujahideen walked amid the rubble of the warehouse. The crushing desert heat, fallen blocks of stone, and metal had charred and pulverized the bodies of Hashim’s insurgents who didn’t survive the explosion three weeks before.

  Rumors of the newly found cuneiform by the Americans had brought them here.

  As they searched through the ruins for more stones, they heard the engines of Jeeps move toward the warehouse. Seconds later, mortars and grenades exploded and white phosphorus filled the air.

  In suicide mode, three of the mujahideen rushed toward the Americans, firing a blast of bullets as they came into the warehouse—killing two of the five Special Forces. In turn, those three mujahideen were ripped apart when the other three Special Forces sent a mortar screaming down the hall. The other mujahideen scattered.

  The Special Forces tracked them through the rubble.

  On the young leader’s signal, they sent in a barrage of mortars.

  The walls of the hall collapsed.

  They heard the screams of dying men.

  The mujahideen were buried alive.

  The violence settled.

  The taste of metal, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air, as the Special Forces made their way through the rubble to make sure all mujahideen were dead.

  Outside the warehouse, the commander radioed base camp and told them the targets had been eliminated.

  Word came back from the Pentagon to stay put because there would be more mujahideen on the way, as well as backup Special Forces.

  “We’re protecting much more than three people in the catacombs,” Bruton told the commander.

  75

  Monday, October 5

  Catherine Book sat in Bruton’s office at the Pentagon. It was the first time they were in the same room. After Hashim had kidnapped Julian and Dominique in Mosul, Bruton tasked Kurt to enlist Catherine to find them. He needed her to find them again.

  “Why did they go back to the warehouse?”

  Bruton unlocked a drawer. He took out a dark velvet bag and placed it on the desk.

  “Can you tell me what’s in this bag?”

  “I’m not a dog who does tricks.”

  “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “You did.”

  He went to unwrap it.

  “It’s a cuneiform,” she said, before she even saw it.

  He opened the bag and handed her the stone.

  “This is from the warehouse?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you know they’re there why do you need me?”

  “Because, they’re in the catacombs deep underneath.”

  “And don’t have a way out?”

  “We don’t have a way to communicate with them and we need a way in.”

  “Who’s we?” she asked.

  “There’s a Special Forces team above ground waiting for instructions. I need you to find a way in for them, so we can let the three in the catacombs know it’s us coming in, and not the enemy, and get them out safely—before more mujahideen arrive and find them, and the tablet, because they will.”

  76

  The Special Forces team positioned themselves along the eastern wall of the warehouse. They’d found an indentation in the foundation of the building and began to dig.

  Bruton had sent them an electronic drawing of Catherine Book’s remote view rendering of a possible access point into the catacombs, as well as a drawing of the catacombs themselves that would lead them to Julian and Dominique.

  Due to the depth they’d need to go, and the constricted breadth of the drop to get there, two of the leaner members of the team were chosen.

  “You haven’t told your wife where you are, have you?” the commander said with a wink to the first soldier strapping on equipment.

  “No, sir. She thinks I’m in Hawaii, sir.”

  The guys laughed.

  “That’s good, Murphy. She should never know where you are unless you’re in her bed.”

  “Yes, sir. I hope to be there soon, sir. We plan to have a bunch of kids, sir.”

  “And you’re good to go, too, Wilson?” the commander asked the second soldier.

  “Yes, sir,” Wilson said.

  “You planning on a family?”

  “No, sir. I prefer more than one bed to lie in.”

  The guys hooted.

  Murphy and Wilson finished putting on the specialized scuba equipment, which made them look like a cross between fire fighters and deep-sea divers—with rigs, harnesses, and cylinders of high-pressure breathing gas weighing down on their bodies.

  As Catherine predicted, the ground gave way at one of the access points where they dug.

  One of the soldiers pointed his flashlight into the opening, but all he could see was darkness. He dropped a piece of stone from the destroyed warehouse and listened.

  After a few seconds there was a splash. With one end of a seemingly endless rope ladder secured to the front of the Jeep, another soldier unfurled the other end of the ladder into the void.

  Murphy made his way first down the ladder. Wilson followed. The others remained on the surface and kept watch.

  When they reached bottom, Murphy and Wilson followed the maze-like stretch of Catherine’s instructions.

  These men knew of Julian’s bravery during the height of the devastating insurgent attacks in Fallujah. They knew how many of their own he’d risked his life for and saved. This knowledge grounded them in the purpose of their assignment in the tunnels. One of their own needed protection, and they would do whatever they could to keep him, and those with him, safe and alive.

  They stopped when they heard a hum at the end of a long tunnel.

  “Captain Ledge,” Wilson called. His voice echoed.

  No answer. Just the hum.

  It was then they noticed the sweet smell of roses. They were confused, as their air was self-contained in the high-pressure breathing masks they wore that prevented the exterior atmosphere from entering. They pushed their confusion aside and searched for the source, but there was no clear emanating point. It seemed to come from all around them as if the rock exhaled the scent.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” Wilson said.

  “I don’t know,” Murphy replied. “But it’s weird. Stay alert.”

  A cautious worldview is the best insurance in a risky, uncertain world. But faced with an unknown danger—especially one with the paranormal complexity with which Wilson and Murphy were being presented—their military minds were being coupled with the transcendent nature of what was manifesting before them.

  In this mystery, they were being led by the fragrance of roses, as they made their way down a seemingly endless tunnel.

  They came upon an opening, through which they saw movement.

  Cautious and hyper-focused, they flanked the opening, identified who they were, and called Julian’s name. When Julian called back, they knew they’d reached their target.

  Julian helped them through the opening, where they saw Dominique and Ja’far. It was here they realized the hum was coming from the wall in front of them, and the scent of roses was its strongest.

  The wall pulsed in a way that seemed to make it alive. That’s when they realized the three they’d come
to rescue were breathing on their own.

  Wilson was about to remove his mask. Julian grabbed his hand and ordered him to stop.

  Ja’far stepped in and said it was all right. He helped the soldiers remove their masks.

  Murphy took deep breaths. “What the fuck?”

  “What the hell is going on?” Wilson said, able to breathe.

  “There’s a source of air that comes in from the fissures here,” Ja’far said, lying to quell their questions. “But let’s not press our luck and stay too long.”

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Murphy said. “There’s more mujahideen on the way. We gotta go now.”

  “Not the way you came,” Ja’Far said.

  Murphy and Wilson weren’t about to take orders from a stranger.

  “We’ll follow Ja’Far,” Julian ordered. “He knows the way out.”

  “We won’t be able to breathe once we’re out of this area,” Wilson said.

  “Don’t worry,” Ja’Far answered. “I know where all the fissures are.”

  “Who is this guy?” Murphy asked.

  “He’s the guy who’s going to get us out alive,” Julian answered.

  77

  After traveling all night, Dominique, Julian, and Ja’far arrived in Baghdad. They each were taken to separate debriefs.

  These brass were less fueled by suspicion than the debriefs a month earlier after what had happened in the warehouse.

  Dominique pleaded for the release of Ja’far in her debriefing. But in spite of her protests that he was on their side and had guided and protected them, the military wasn’t ready or willing to let go of a local who might have information that could prove useful.

  “You’re so fucking paranoid it’s made you deaf, dumb, and blind.” Dominique spit out her words. But they had no effect on the unbending brass.

  78

  Julian tasted blood that wasn’t his own. A young girl, who looked much like Jhana-Merise, stared at him. Helpless. Waiting. They were in the desert of another war. Dead bodies around them. A sword his weapon.

  A sandstorm approached, and the surface of the desert rose as if responding to an unseen mammoth force beneath. The sky was shut out. Everything faded from his view except the girl who clung to him.

  A wall of darkness hurtled toward them.

  Julian drew his sword, ready to attack the wind. It hit with the force of a tsunami but he didn’t let go of the girl even as he was battered to his knees.

  The sand became a blanket of death and buried them.

  Julian was startled out of his sleep.

  Rain thrummed on the windows of the local hotel the government had put them up in.

  “You all right?” Dominique asked.

  Heart pounding, Julian told her about the dream.

  “What you experienced was a door to the past,” Dominique said. “A way to help us change the future.”

  He touched her face with a tenderness that filled her eyes with tears.

  “I remembered something when we were in the catacombs,” he said.

  “What?”

  The memory made him anxious. He got out of bed and paced the room.

  “It’s about my father. I’d always wondered what it was that had terrified him when I was a boy. It terrified my mother, too. That’s when she began to drink hard.”

  “What did you remember there?”

  “My father was in the catacombs with me. I could feel him. Feel a sorrow. A longing for something out of reach.”

  The rain gave a gentle healing, and opened Julian to a deeper level of connection with his father.

  “He had an experience once like we did and turned away. And it’s haunted me ever since, although I didn’t know it until the catacombs. I’ve turned away from so much, I’ve become like him.”

  “You’re changing that.”

  It was his eyes that now filled with tears.

  79

  The second wave of mujahideen were too focused on their greed to realize the approaching swarm of flies, and the haze that darkened the sky, were a portent. Three Jeeps were filled with warriors on a mission to conquer the tablet.

  Many of their armies had perished over the centuries pursuing desert treasures. Ancient warriors who searched for better lives. And while some had found ways to heal the hunger, the violence continued, and the desert was bled of hope.

  But into this world the prophet Muhammad came. Orphaned and later discontented, he retreated to a cave where an angel appeared in a vision, giving the first of the revelations that could save them.

  Those words moved some to lay down swords. But not all. For they held tight to their right of dominion over this land.

  These mujahideen were holding tight still, even as the sand leapt in spirals, swirling, smothering the black shroud of flies.

  A tidal wave of sand shut out the sky, as the Jeeps sped even faster toward their goal—the warehouse—hoping for refuge. But before they could reach it they were suffocated in the avalanche of desert sand and buried alive.

  History has recorded the death of various armies engulfed in poisonous storms, never to be seen again. Some had even declared war on these tempests and marched out in full battle array, only to be interred.

  This was the fate of misguided, hubristic men bent on destruction. Men with whom Julian had once been connected, in a lifetime long ago.

  The desert would continue to consume all those who would come to conquer this treasure. It would wait for those whose vibrations would release it.

  80

  Monday, October 12

  Bruton escorted Dominique through the halls of the Pentagon. Her curiosity peaked as they made their way to a stark basement area. Grey concrete walls. Harsh fluorescent lights. Soldiers at attention like blocks of ice.

  Bruton whispered, “You really believe there’s spiritual DNA?”

  She stopped and looked at him. She could see he was anxious.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “And that the missile I sent to Hashim’s village had a mind of its own and meant for all this to happen?”

  “Einstein called it, ‘spooky action at a distance.’ But I’m confused. I thought you were on board with all this.”

  “I am. But when we get into the world of quantum entanglements we have to tread lightly. Not everyone will be willing to entertain the possibilities.”

  “You’re making this very mysterious.”

  “It is,” he said, and proceeded down cement stairs through another hallway, to a door at the end.

  Dominique followed on high alert.

  Being here, and the mystery of all that had engaged her imagination with excitement, turned to trepidation at the ominous door at the end of the hall.

  Bruton opened the door to a bunker-like room with a round table and six chairs. Standing behind the chair at twelve o’clock was the President of the United States. His elegant black suit and dark blue tie framed his round, intense face. He was taller than she imagined.

  Dominique was speechless and scared. She had no idea if she was about to be whisked away to some black site.

  “Thank you for coming, Miss Valen,” the president said as he reached out his hand. She thought it was for a handshake. Instead, in his hand was a cuneiform. It had symbols carved in it different from the stone she’d found in the warehouse.

  She was curious how it came to be in his possession, but was too afraid to say anything.

  “Take it,” he said.

  Her hand trembled. She took the stone from him.

  The room filled with the scent of roses.

  The president and Bruton regarded each other.

  Dominique couldn’t tell if it was awe, fear, or dread.

  “Did the other cuneiform you touched produce this same result?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  This was another rabbit hole, the depth of which she had no idea. But she was relieved she wasn’t the only one who could smell the roses here.

  She didn’t know if this was
an inquiry or interrogation.

  She studied the distinctive stone in her hand. Its throbbing pushed away her fear.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked.

  “You’re not the first to come upon the stones, Miss Valen. But you’ve unleashed more than the scent of roses. Now, ISIS is bent on getting to them no matter how many mujahideen or Americans are sacrificed. They believe infidels have gained access to what is theirs, and they’ll stop at nothing to get back what’s been taken from them. We are on their land. And have found what they couldn’t.”

  Dominique looked at Bruton, wondering where this was going.

  “Mister Bruton has told me what you’ve told him about the stones, and the tablet with which you’ve made contact. But if there’s anything else we need to know before you leave here, tell me now.”

  She knew she needed to come clean if she hoped to have the force of the White House behind her.

  “There is more, sir. The language of the tablet in the desert is a language of energy.”

  “How so?” the president said, folding his arms.

  “We were hundreds of feet under the surface of the warehouse in the catacombs, and were able to breathe on our own.”

  “Yes, Charles told me. Even the Special Forces.”

  “Yes, sir. But we told them the air came in through fissures in the rock.”

  “And they believed you?”

  “They didn’t ask questions, but I imagine they had them.”

  “What does this have to do with the language of energy?”

  “There’s an intelligence in the tablet. It reads the vibration of all around it.”

  “Are you saying it knew who you were and allowed you to live?”

  “Yes, sir.”