Lightning cracked in the night sky. It was monsoon season in Egypt, and the relentless rain flooded the streets of Cairo. Ever since the Great Disruption and the shifting of the earth’s axis, radical changes in weather patterns around the globe were common. Torrential rains now drenched the Middle East’s deserts. The Mediterranean Sea overran the northern part of Egypt as far south as Banha, a town fifty-three kilometers north of Cairo. Water rushed down the Nile River, flooding everything and anything along its shores. Lake Nasser, more than a thousand kilometers to the south of Cairo, doubled in size as the waters of the breached river drained into it. And when the waters finally receded in the spring of 2028, the people returned to their homes, only to find toppled structures covered with mud and the bodies of those who hadn’t escaped the deluge. During that period, a tyrannical group known as the Khufus declared dominion over Egypt and its remaining inhabitants, instituting a murderous reign that ended only when the Chronicles were found. It took more than ten years and thousands of workers to rebuild the thirteen kilometers around Tahrir Square, an area including the Giza Plateau and the pyramids, which had miraculously survived mostly undamaged.
A hooded figure carrying a slender briefcase emerged from the Fountain of the Pharaohs and ran across Wasim Hasan Road. He went quickly down the main street to the Cairo Museum. Under the cover of darkness, he splashed through the puddles and ducked under the canopy of the large trees that stood approximately a hundred meters from the entrance to the museum.
He surveyed the massive edifice before him. The Cairo Museum was currently closed for renovations. Temporary guardrails and a chain-link fence surrounded the main entrance. A single guard sat protected from the rain by a canvas canopy. The hooded man watched intently as the guard struggled against the wind and rain to light a cigarette.
The hooded man pulled a small tarp from his raincoat, laid it on the ground, and put the briefcase on it. Kneeling on the tarp, he placed his right index finger on a metal pad near the case’s main latch. A soft beep sounded, and the three latches of the case sprang open. A lightning strike illuminated the courtyard as he removed a high-powered rifle from the case. He also took out a set of goggles and connected its one-meter-long cord to the butt of the weapon. He put the goggles on, and his view of the courtyard and the museum entrance became crystal-clear. Numeric distance indicators and a targeting support grid appeared in the lower right corner of his field of vision, indicating exactly where the bullet would strike.
Lucius Montavon Benson was an expert marksman. His father had taught him to shoot when he was a teenager on numerous hunting expeditions in the forests of Europe and on safaris in Africa. More recently, he’d honed his skills on human prey. This was the first time he was using this technologically advanced rifle. He was pleased that it was working as advertised.
As the rain poured down, Lucius lowered himself to the ground, lying prone on the tarp. He crawled out from beneath the tree’s canopy and pointed the rifle barrel at the museum’s entrance. As he scanned the area, the targeting grid found its object. Everything he viewed through the goggles had a pale green hue to it except for live targets, which were colored red. With the guard squarely in his viewfinder, the one red form in his field of vision, he waited patiently, watching every move the guard made.
Lightning struck. “One, two, three,” Lucius counted in a whisper. Then came the sound of thunder. Again, more lightning, and as before, on the count of three, the thunderclap arrived. The guard leaned back in his chair. Another lightning strike, “One, two,” and on the count of three, Lucius pulled the weapon’s trigger. A pellet of red light exited the barrel of the weapon, but the sound of the discharge was lost in the boom of thunder. Cool, Lucius thought, as the goggles tracked the path of the bullet. He saw a trail of steam following the projectile as the rain in its path was instantly vaporized. The red bullet struck the guard at the exact spot the targeting grid intended: straight through the heart. The guard slumped in his chair, the cigarette still smoldering in his left hand. The red hue of the guard’s body faded to green, like the rest of the surroundings.
Lucius moved back under the tree and scanned the area around him, checking for any unlucky souls who might have witnessed the killing. Fortunately, the area was deserted. Lucius put the rifle and the goggles back into his briefcase and quickly walked to the three-meter-high chain-link fence in the courtyard. After sliding his case under it, he climbed over the fence with little difficulty. The guard’s body was still slumped in the chair beneath the canopy. Lucius checked the body for a pulse and found none. He knocked the still-burning cigarette out of the guard’s hand and detached the security badge that was clipped to the guard’s jacket.
To the right of the museum’s impressive six-meter-high main entrance was a smaller service door. With a quick swipe of the security badge, the door opened, allowing Lucius to slip in and quickly make his way through the darkened hallways where scaffolding hugged the walls. Lucius pulled a small hand-drawn map from his pocket and, with only the light of his PCD, used it to navigate through the maze of rooms. The polished marble floors reflected the lightning that flashed through the tall windows. At the end of the south hallway, he came to the newly constructed Literature Antiquities Hall, which housed some of the oldest and most influential written works in human history.
Entering the hall, Lucius looked left and right. He’d been told the display cases were arranged chronologically according to their contents. He moved quickly through the large room, looking at the cases: 1200s, 1300s . . . He passed the 2000s and finally came to the 2030s.
He set his briefcase on the floor and pulled a small pen-sized laser out of his coat pocket. He carefully cut a hole through the protective glass case and placed the oval of glass on the floor. Then he reached into the case and grabbed its contents, a leather-bound book and an old leather pouch containing two more books. On the book’s cover were the title, The Chronicles of Satraya, and a strange symbol embossed in gold leaf. Lucius was stealing one of the four original copies of the Chronicles. This set, known as the Pyramid Set, had been discovered by Madu Shata at the top of the Menkaure Pyramid in 2030, on the same day Camden Ford had discovered his set in the Ozark Forest in the former United States of America.
Why does Simon want these books? Lucius wondered. He already possesses his own copy. Why take this risk? It didn’t make sense, but, like many times before, Lucius simply did what he was told. One did not question Simon Hitchlords.
Lucius put his PCD near his ear and spoke in a steady voice. “Simon.”
Seconds later, Simon responded. “Hello, Lucius. Do you have them?”
“Yes, three books and a leather bag.”
“Activate the projection system,” Simon ordered. “Let me look at them.”
Lucius placed his PCD on the floor and activated the holographic projection. The image of Simon was now fully displayed, large and looming.
“Open the cover of the first book,” he said. “I need to see what is written there.”
Lucius did as Simon commanded. There was handwriting on the inside cover:
“What does it say?” Lucius asked.
“Madu wrote it when he found this set. It says, ‘I declare my love for Nadine.’ Open the leather bag, and show me the other two books.” Lucius did so. “Good,” Simon remarked with a satisfied smile. “The set is authentic. Take the books to the airport. Your mother is waiting. And Lucius,” Simon added, “be careful with the weapon. It is the only prototype we have.”
Lucius heard footsteps and voices in the hallway. He turned off the PCD, cutting Simon off. He grabbed his briefcase and the leather pouch and ducked behind a display case. The voices were getting louder, and Lucius could see the beams of flashlights in the corridor leading to the Literature Antiquities Hall. To his right, on the floor against the wall, Lucius saw an open stone sarcophagus, its heavy lid resting next to it. A split second before the two guards walked in, Lucius ran to the coffin and lay down inside it. He cou
ld see the beams of the guards’ flashlights bouncing off the ceiling and the walls of the room. They were speaking Arabic. Lucius slowly reached into his coat pocket, placed his hand on his pistol, and waited. From the tone of their voices, he didn’t think the guards had noticed the hole in the display case. Just a few more seconds, and they would be gone.
Suddenly, Lucius’s PCD activated. He’d turned off the ringer, but the device’s light flashed. Dammit, Lucius thought. Not good timing, Simon.
The guards stopped talking. Lucius could hear footsteps approaching the sarcophagus. He drew the gun from his coat pocket, sat up quickly, and fired three rounds at the guards, who were less than six meters away. One fell to the floor. The other drew his weapon, firing back before taking cover behind a display case. Lucius leaped out of the sarcophagus, leaving the books and the briefcase behind, and also took cover. Shattered glass lay everywhere.
Lucius could hear the guard placing a call on his radio. Backup would arrive soon. Thinking quickly, Lucius took out his PCD. He quickly pressed a few buttons, and the imager projected a high-resolution 3-D image of a man standing a meter from where Lucius was hiding. The security guard leaned out from behind the display case and started firing, but his bullets only shattered more glass cases. Lucius jumped into position and, with a single shot to the head, took down the guard.
He retrieved the books and the briefcase from the sarcophagus and, with his gun still drawn, walked quickly through the hallways to the museum’s service entrance. As he passed the corpse of the dead guard in the chair, he clipped the security card back onto the guard’s jacket. He heard a siren in the distance as he climbed back over the fence. The rain was still falling, and the wind picked up. He ran through the courtyard and disappeared into the shadows of the empty streets of Cairo.
4
It has always been said that everything happens for a great purpose. But ask yourself if that can also be said for prayers that go unanswered.
—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA
WASHINGTON, D.C., 7:00 P.M. LOCAL TIME,
6 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY
It was Cynthia Brown’s last speech of the day, and it was also the most important. The banquet room was filled with political leaders gathered from around the world to celebrate the end of the rebuilding process that had begun forty years ago after the Great Disruption. Reporters and journalists were stationed throughout the room. Security was heavy. No doubt, Cynthia noted, because the newly elected president of the North American Federation would be arriving soon. Enrique Salize was the first citizen of a Mexican state to head the NAF since its formation forty years ago, when the United States, Canada, and Mexico had to pool their remaining resources in order to survive. The handsome fifty-year-old Salize was a skillful, charismatic orator, and his promise of a smaller central government had won favor with many voters, giving him the razor-thin margin he needed to beat the incumbent president on election day. During the nearly forty years of reconstruction, the government had accumulated a tremendous amount of power, and many people believed it was time to return some of that power to the sixty-seven states that made up the Federation.
As the current leader of the Council of Satraya, Cynthia Brown had been invited to address the world’s leaders on this historic occasion. Founded by Camden Ford two years after the discovery of the Chronicles, the Council’s primary mission was to keep the Satraya philosophy relevant to the lives of people all over the world. After the Great Disruption, the Chronicles became a source of unity, a banner around which men and women rallied to rebuild the world into a better place. During that time, known as the Rising, people worked together to ensure the survival of mankind. Self-reliance was the new norm, and local and federal government powers were limited to carrying out only vital public health and safety services. It was a moment in history when government was truly by and for the people.
For the last thirty-seven years, the Council had been the organizing force behind the annual celebration of Freedom Day, the day on which the four copies of the Chronicles had first been discovered in 2030. It was a holiday for people to acknowledge their personal liberties and worldwide unity. The global event included spectacular fireworks displays, concerts, and a synchronized moment of silence called the Liberty Moment, which took place every year at 11:00 p.m. Greenwich Mean Time. At that moment, people would light candles and join their fellow citizens in a meditation on love, compassion, and freedom. While the Chronicles encouraged people to commune regularly in this way, once a year was all that most people could manage.
As time passed and the Great Disruption became a more distant memory, the importance of the Satraya message faded. Freedom Day had become more of a social holiday than a day of profound spiritual communion. People had become more reliant on governments and corporations. The result was that the Council had become more politically active.
“Are you ready, Ms. Brown?” asked Monique, Cynthia’s assistant. The president had just arrived and was about to take his seat at the executive table.
“I certainly hope so,” Cynthia answered. She took a deep breath. “Everyone out there looks so young. I hope they will listen.”
“I’m sure they will,” Monique reassured her. “I’m young, but I understand that people need to be reminded of the lessons of the past.”
An eruption of applause interrupted their conversation as the president was announced to the audience. The lights on the stage brightened, and music began to play.
Cynthia followed the other speakers onto the stage, taking a seat behind the podium. She was going to be the third and final speaker tonight, following the president of the African Union and the head of the World Federation of Reconstruction, who was going to announce the organization’s dissolution. Even though polluted waterways, ruptured bridges, and mangled roads still existed in many parts of the world, people had grown weary of continuing to fund the WFR, and leaders viewed it as a political liability. The remaining restoration work would become the responsibilities of individual countries.
As Cynthia scanned the audience, she saw other members of the Council of Satraya. She acknowledged them with a smile. The first speaker was introduced and greeted with a cordial round of applause. That was about all Cynthia heard before her thoughts turned back to her own speech. She looked down at her notes, determined to make her case persuasively.
Sometime later, she felt a tap on her shoulder. The older gentleman sitting behind her was indicating that it was her turn to speak. As the audience applauded her introduction, Cynthia patted her short red hair into place, buttoned the blazer of her dark blue suit, and quickly walked to the podium.
“I’m Cynthia Brown,” she began in a sure voice, “and I have the great honor of being the leader of the Council of Satraya. As we celebrate the completion of the reconstruction efforts tonight, we should ask ourselves some important questions. Have we created freer and more equitable societies, or have we simply rebuilt the same old roads leading to the same old destinations? Humanity is once again at a crossroads, and we, the people of the world, have a choice to make. Do we revert back to the oppressive and elitist constructs of the past, the old ways of thinking that prevailed prior to the Rising, or do we stay brave, remain observant and self-reliant, and carefully guard individuals’ rights and freedoms as we have done for most of the last thirty-seven years?”
Cynthia paused. The people in the audience looked bored. “I ask you to ponder these questions tonight,” she continued valiantly, “because I am concerned. Now that electricity has been restored in seventy-five percent of the world, people seem more interested in the drama unfolding on their HoloTVs than in the government’s amassing more and more power over people’s lives. I realize this indifference makes life easier for you”—she heard a ripple of laughter in the room—“but is it wise to pass laws and regulations without first giving the people an opportunity to debate the merits of those laws? Do you see that people are once again falling into debt? Do you see that the financial institut
ions that have arisen in the last ten years bear an alarming resemblance to those that existed prior to the Great Disruption and conduct business in the same rapacious manner? Will we soon see countries follow our people into indentured servitude to these financial institutions?”
Cynthia heard gasps and a few angry cries from the audience. Good, she thought. At least I’ve caught their attention. “As is the case with every citizen of the NAF, all of my personal and professional information is now stored on a piece of glass that I am required to carry at all times, while the government stores this information in its data centers.” She held up an identification glass, a thin piece of fiberglass the size of a credit card. “Why?” she asked rhetorically.
“And look at our pharmaceutical companies. They have come back stronger than ever. They have persuaded you and the other branches of governments to pass laws that require every man, woman, and child to make monthly visits to MedicalPods. A citizen’s access to his or her personal bank accounts, place of employment, and other necessities of life is blocked if he or she does not comply. Mandatory vaccinations were good public health policy in the decade after the Great Disruption, when diseases ran rampant over large regions of the world, but these new policies requiring blood screening and precondition assessments every year are clear infringements on an individual’s freedom!”
Cynthia saw many people turning to look at Ted Wilson, the CEO of Allegiance Pharmaceuticals, who had invented the MedicalPod System. He was seated at President Salize’s table. Cynthia gave him a direct look that confirmed what was already well known: there was no love lost between the two of them.
“Can you not see,” Cynthia continued, “that governments are beginning to attempt to control people as they did prior to the Great Disruption? Do we want to see the return of Crowd Twelve? Do we want to experience another rebellion, another financial reset? Crowd Twelve is not an accident of the past—it is a product of the past. It can and will happen again!”
Journey Into the Flame: Book One of the Rising World Trilogy Page 4