by Rick Jones
“Where are they located?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? But it’s believed that their home base is in Switzerland. The Consortium is doing whatever they can to confirm this.”
“You know I’m not too crazy about leaving Shari. Not now. Not when I’m on leave from the church.”
“Believe me, Kimball, I understand.”
Kimball Hayden closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, which caused the muscles in the back of his jaw to work. Then: “When do I leave?”
“I’ll have a private charter ready for you at the airport in one hour. From there, you’ll pick up a connecting flight in New York. And then from there to Cochem, Germany.”
“That’s a long flight.”
“Time, Kimball, as you know, is never a luxury when the stakes are high. You’re needed in Germany.”
Hayden knew this to be true. Time management was always critical in every mission. When all you needed was one more second to achieve the means, it was never there.
“Understood.”
“In one hour,” said Father Auciello, then he hung up.
Kimball, placing the phone aside, pulled out the chair at the table and sat down. The muskrat was on the table in front of him, still caught within the snare with its eyes having the milky sheen of blindness to them, as it looked in his direction. Having been dead for so long without the trappers retrieving it, led him to believe that the creature had been killed for no reason.
A lot of things die for no reason, he thought. Such was the way of people who placed little value in life. Kimball Hayden, however, was not one of them.
Picking up the phone, he called Shari. On the third ring she picked up. “All right,” he began, “You want the bad news first? Or do want the bad news first?” In other words, there was no second option.
There would be no date night tonight.
CHAPTER TEN
Switzerland
On a mountainside terrace 6,500 kilometers above sea level, a glass and concrete facility that overlooked Lake Lucerne was reachable by three means: chopper, cable car, or by making a vertical climb. It stood along a precipice that resembled the horn of an anvil. It had the architectural and geometrical curves with circular and parabolic designs. The main lobby area was an expansive area filled with futuristic furnishings and acrylic fixtures. Recessed lighting worked in two modes, either remaining in the ceiling pits, or retracing downward with a push of a button.
Beyond this floor, however, existed clandestine chambers and labs and conference rooms for those who possessed authorized memberships of the Shadow Klan. Beneath this topside level was a gateway to a series of hollowed out chambers within the horn known as Deep Mountain.
Inside one of these compartments whose walls were constructed entirely of concrete to buttress the mountain surrounding them, was a laboratory that was fully equipped with state-of-the-art equipment. For the sciences of particle extraction there was an Automated Solid Phase Extraction Unit, Vacuum and Vortex Evaporators, Solvent Extractors, and a bell-chamber for the safe containment of bombarding particles. There was other equipment as well, mostly with scientific names too difficult to pronounce. In this chamber alone, the cost of the equipment exceeded more than two billion dollars.
In the center of the room was a two-story-tall bell-chamber. Thick cords ran from the unit to several cylindrical devices that were encased in metal pipes with mirror polishes to them, with filamented components inside rotating tubes that constantly shot off thread-thin bolts of electricity.
Through the bank of monitor screens attached to the bell, those in attendance watched as Aaron’s rod, which was placed upon two stanchion poles to hold the staff above the floor, rotated. As it did, the Eye of Moses sparked and twinkled like a burning ember, first flaring and dimming, flaring and dimming, the pulsations reminiscent of a human heart.
The minds that observed the particle embedded within this crystal contemplated their method of approach. A dark particle, outside of anti-matter, was perhaps the most powerful universal force. To toy with it egregiously could cost this entire mountaintop its cap and maybe—perhaps—a sizeable portion of Switzerland, as well. The unknowns would have to be carefully examined without a learning curve. In fact, no one had a clue as to its true destructive force. Some had considered the possibility that a dark particle’s roots began with the immense power buildup that exploded across the universe as part of the Big Bang expansion. If this were the case, there was concern amongst few that this element could lay ruin to entire landscapes, perhaps countries. Whereas others had disputed this by claiming that even a particle as small as this, which was no larger than a single atom, had no such capability.
Nevertheless, the greatest scientific minds in the world who were under the payroll of the Shadow Klan would combine their efforts to reach an amenable deal between them on a safe means of approach to dissect this untapped power.
What they finally agreed upon was that this could be a timely process, and something that would not make the primary principal of Elias Caspari happy.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Shari had taken the news well, which really didn’t surprise Kimball. She also understood that his call to duty could come by way of a phone call at any time. But when he told her about the heightened degree of danger involved, he could see her concern. This was not a mission to seek treasures with the possibility of walking into danger. This was an operation of walking directly into the Viper’s Den with bludgeoning fists and blazing guns.
But in the end, she realized that the power behind the Eye of Moses was too great to sit by and remain idle. If given time, the Master Techs would be able to extricate enough of its power to tilt the world balance in their favor.
Not even halfway across the country in a charter jet to New York, time seemed to pass with glacial slowness to Kimball Hayden. So, he filled his thoughts with Shari as much as he possibly could. In his mind’s eye he could see the flash of her smile from ruler-straight teeth, the glimmer of light in her eyes, and the way rings would shine in her hair whenever she turned a certain way against the sunshine.
In time as they discovered and grew together, he had grown to love her until she had become his first thought in the morning when he awoke, and his last thought at night before he went to bed. And he had loved her so that he eventually wanted to proffer her an engagement ring, a symbolic gesture that he wanted to be hers exclusively for the rest of their lives.
But would she say ‘yes?’
Looking at his own finger, he tried to picture a wedding band on it. It would look fine, he told himself. A nice gold band that would be his greatest treasure. Then setting his hand aside and looking out the window, the charter appeared to be barely moving above the landscape, even at 600 miles-per-hour.
After easing back against the headrest, Kimball once again raised his naked ring finger and examined it. Hopefully, and someday soon, he hoped to be wearing that band. But as many times as he tried to find the courage and ask her to join in communion, fate had always intervened and placed a stay on their plans. Kimball, as he sat there visualizing a time that could be, hoped that fate would at least allow them to get married at one point during their lives. Then he sighed through his nostrils as he wiggled his ring finger, hoping that this mission would not be his last.
Outside, the landscape appeared to move underneath the plane at a snail’s pace.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Consortium Stronghold
Cochem, Germany
Inside the Consortium Stronghold that overlooks the Moselle River lies a hall known as the High Chamber, whose four-million-dollar décor consisted of veined marble flooring, a myriad of decorative pillars created from ivory, and a dome that was layered with gold-leaf panels. In the center of this room was a half-moon shaped table with its circular side surrounded by seven chairs. On the table’s straight side was one chair that was equal to a king’s throne.
Sitting along the hal
f-ring design of the table were the seven reigning members of the Consortium’s field operators. Mr. Spartan sat in the middle due to his ranking as staff commander. Misters Archimedes, Donatello and Michelangelo sat to his left, and Misters Galileo, Shakespeare and Plato were to his right. Each man was dressed similarly wearing a gray suit, a red tie, and a pristine-white shirt. Each had a conservative haircut with a laser-sharp part, strong and angular features, and the well-defined contours of their suits suggested gym bodies.
While sitting and waiting with disciplined silence, the white-finished door with wood-trim piping that had been painted gold, opened. Mr. da Vinci walked into the High Chamber with the heels of his shoes clicking against the floor until he sat in the Grand Master’s chair, where he could face everyone sitting around him along the half-circle.
“I apologize for calling you in from your field duties,” he told him. “But we have a situation regarding the theft of a treasured item from the Vault of Croatia. Not to mention the item that had been appropriated from the tomb of Nostradamus at the Collégiale Saint-Laurent.”
“Are you saying that the treasure of the Knights Templar had been located and looted?” asked Mr. Spartan. He sounded incredulous because the location of the Templar treasure had been a well-hidden secret since the fourteenth century. Even scholars and seekers had proffered many theories as to its many possible locations, only for their conjectures to fall well short of the true site.
“Yes and no,” Mr. da Vinci told him. “There was a breach. Six dead. But the only item taken was Aaron’s rod, a relic belonging to the Vatican. Nothing else. Not even a single gold coin was taken.”
“This was a professional hit,” said Mr. Donatello, stating the obvious. “Do we know who?”
Nodding, Mr. da Vinci reached forward with a hand and typed a command into a keyboard that had been implanted on the table in front of him. Once done and easing back into his seat, the dome of a glass lens in the middle of the table projected a holographic image that hovered in mid-air and rotated. It was a 3-D image that was purely state-of-the-art with its imaging ratio clean, clear and precise. It was the tattoo of a grinning skull whose eyes were covered by patches, the symbol of blindness to anything the world needed outside of the Rule under One. “This image was enhanced from one of the attackers on the bunker,” he told them.
Then from Mr. Galileo, who stated softly, “The Shadow Klan.”
“That’s right. But they weren’t after the rod itself, but after the stone embedded within the head of its staff. What they came for was the Eye of Moses. If they wanted treasures, they had an entire roomful to fill their coffers. So, we know it wasn’t about money. And we all know what the primary agenda of the Shadow Klan is. And that’s weapons development.”
“How was it even possible for them to locate the facility in Croatia?” asked Archimedes.
“From the crucible that once belonged to Nostradamus,” Mr. Spartan answered for Mr. da Vinci.
“That’s what we believe, yes,” Mr. da Vinci added. “Nearly three weeks ago, as you all know, we lost Mr. Copernicus who was murdered alongside his family. We now believe that his position had been compromised and that he was forced to relay certain information about the crucible, which he was the keeper of.”
“Why go after the bowl? Why not ask him where the Templar treasure was?” asked Plato.
“Mr. Copernicus, like some members who do not have the ranking privilege to sit at this table as we do, did not know the location of the Templar’s treasure. And the unit guarding the trove didn't realize what they were protecting. But to get back to your question about the bowl, Mr. Plato, it’s a key for unlocking the many riddles written into the quatrains of Nostradamus’ writings. If the Shadow Klan continues to unlock these riddles that have been held secret since the time of Moses, then they arm themselves with a great deal of knowledge that was not meant to be seen outside of this order. And should the Shadow Klan decipher the quatrains and learn their secrets, they will use them against the world to achieve their goals with great suffering, the cost of their ambitions. After Mr. Copernicus was coerced to compromise the whereabouts of the crucible and clarified its approximate location, there was a break-in at the Collégiale Saint-Laurent on the following evening. The tomb was raided and vandalized, with the floor of the vault having been smashed away to reveal the crucible. Whoever killed Mr. Copernicus knew exactly where to look. And in the process of retrieving the bowl, two police officers were killed. Now the crucible, as we all know, carries the symbols along the bowl’s inner wall that are the keys to unraveling the truth behind the quatrains that were handed down to us by Nostradamus. Obviously, the Shadow Klan was able to learn of the treasure’s location after they used the symbols as the key to open quatrain Two Twenty-Four, regarding Hister.”
Common understandings of this quatrain became one of the many entanglements of interpretation from scholars who believed that Nostradamus was talking about Hitler and his military takeover of Europe, which it wasn’t. Hister was the name of the region, which is now northwest Croatia, and the site of the bunker. The army mentioned was not the league of Nazis but the Knights Templar. The rest of the quatrain was nothing more than masking wordplay to throw those off who might have been on the proper track of interpretation.
“Obviously, the Shadow Klan had made the connection and confirmed the site through geospatial satellite imagery,” Mr. da Vinci continued. “And then they converged on the site with an assault team. As members of the Consortium, it is our promised duty to maintain a global balance between the superpowers, or destruction will eventually reign. We need to retrieve those items. The crucible of Nostradamus and Aaron’s rod.”
“The Klan is a shadow organization,” said Mr. Michelangelo. “Outside of their name, we only know enough about them to realize that they’re a global threat and little else.”
“True. But this establishment and what we do here is always a learning process,” said Mr. da Vinci. “The Shadow Klan exists. And they are now in a position to overwhelm our organization should they decipher additional quatrains with the use of the crucible. We’ve been bloodied but not crippled. But we soon will be if we don’t get back that bowl.”
“And the Eye of Moses?” asked Mr. Spartan.
“An even greater threat,” answered Mr. da Vinci. “Everyone sitting at this table knows about the power of the Eye of Moses. It’s a dark particle cocooned inside the crystal. Allegedly, the Shadow Klan has the minds to break down and glean data from the particle, and then appropriate its properties into a WMD with indescribable powers of destruction. Right now, its theory on how to do so, may take time. And time, gentlemen, is what we need to see this through. Be it a day, week, month, or year. But we can’t sit idly by and expect them to take years to analyze the contents instead of weeks.”
“What’s the game plan?” Plato asked Mr. da Vinci.
And Mr. da Vinci, after killing the holographic image, went into complete detail regarding mission aspects. He told the seated members within the High Chamber how the Consortium Tracking Unit was pouring through satellite surveillance footage on the night the bunker was attacked, by tapping into the recorded images of geospatial satellites that were stationed in the low-altitude of Croatian airspace.
Thermal imaging reported an aircraft close to the bunker after the assault, which was believed to be a chopper. Its trajectory was being chartered through a string of celestial satellites as they were speaking.
“You think it was an extraction vehicle removing the Shadow Klan assault team?” asked Plato.
Da Vinci shrugged. “The aircraft lifted off from a nearby meadow directly after the assault took place. The spot is not considered a helipad, by any means. And at such an early hour it wouldn’t make sense otherwise. So, yes. I believe it was.”
Then Mr. Archimedes asked: “And now the Tracking Unit is trying to determine the last known point this chopper unloaded.”
Da Vinci nodded. “It would g
ive us a starting point to search from, yes.”
“And their progress thus far?” asked Mr. Shakespeare, his first introduction of the meeting.
“Gains are being made. We have the capability to launch a thorough investigation through satellite uses and feeds. We can connect the dots from where this aircraft took off and landed. Then it’ll be up to the Consortium field operatives to take it from there.”
“And these field operatives,” said Mr. Spartan. “Meaning?”
“The best people the Consortium can send, which is every man sitting at this table.”
Nobody said a word or betrayed any emotion. Everyone there knew that the duty of the Consortium was a duty to mankind. Finding Nostradamus’ crucible and Aaron’s rod was all that mattered.
“We must safeguard humanity at all costs,” Mr. da Vinci continued. “So, since the Vatican has a huge stake in this, I contacted them and they’ll be sending us one of their own to assist, a Vatican Knight. Apparently, he’s someone who has a sixth sense about these situations because he’s been there before. He’ll be an asset to our unit.”
“The Consortium is a clandestine organization,” said Mr. Spartan. “To trust someone outside the family is taking a risk.”
“We’re in crisis mode,” stressed Mr. da Vinci. “If this man can help us and keep the integrity of our covert practices secret, then half the battle is already won. I believe he will. From what I’ve been told, this man values loyalty above all else except honor, and has a high sense of justice.”
Mr. Spartan nodded. He had heard of the Vatican Knights and regarded them as an outstanding unit with combat capabilities. And he knew of one person who was becoming mythologized within his circle. A man by the name of Kimball Hayden.
Mr. Spartan threw his name out there for confirmation. “Are you talking about Kimball Hayden?”
Mr. da Vinci nodded. “So, you know him?”