The Sphinx Scrolls

by Stewart Ferris

  Baxter slid a notepad and a pen over to Matt and asked him to write down his bank details. He then slid the pad into his briefcase and said, ‘You’re in an awful lot of trouble, Mister Mountebank. An awful lot. I’m not sure there’s a lawyer in the world who could disentangle you from this mess.’

  * * *

  Professor Lantier was lecturing the team as they tidied the hangar, their initial studies of the ancient aircraft now complete. Lantier’s final discovery had been an atomic pulse-powered system which he considered to be part of the autopilot technology.

  ‘To fly itself,’ he droned, ‘this aircraft must either track a series of geostationary satellites and compare its three-dimensional grid location with a stored memory of the geography and topography over which it flies, or it must be able to see for itself. There is no sign of a suite of radars that could do the job of the human eye, so we have to assume satellite navigation was their preferred method, and therefore we can assume that they were capable of leaving the planet.’

  ‘If they put satellites up, how come NASA hasn’t spotted them?’ asked Ruby, trying to regain some degree of healthy cynicism, if only for her sanity. Ancient aircraft, now satellites ...

  ‘Because orbits decay,’ answered Professor Lantier. ‘I doubt that many of their satellites even lasted a hundred years, let alone twelve thousand. They would have burned up on re-entry. Even remote geostationary orbits decay eventually. They may have created structures on others planets, though.’

  ‘Like on the moon?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘I was thinking about the Cydonia region on Mars, but it’s really a long shot.’

  Ruby had once read a crackpot book about some sphinx- and pyramid-like monuments that were said to be visible from a set of 1976 Viking spacecraft photographs of the surface of Mars. One of the photos seemed to show a human face, and dotted close to it were square-shaped objects that may or may not have been pyramids. At the time she had sneered – as only an academic can – at such ridiculous ideas, fabricated by what real archaeologists termed ‘pyramidiots’.

  ‘The Cydonia Sphinx is a ridiculous idea,’ said Ruby. ‘We don’t understand how the pyramids in Egypt could have been built, even allowing for an unlimited workforce. Imagine creating similarly impossible monuments on another planet with hardly any men, all wearing spacesuits, with limited oxygen. It doesn’t add up. If you go to Mars and build anything at all, you’ll build shelters and oxygen distilling factories and sealed biospheres. The top priority when you get there is not going to be public art.’

  ‘Not with our modern rationale, that’s true,’ said Lantier, ‘but who knows what inspired those people? The Americans went to the moon primarily to prove to the world that capitalism works better than communism, after all. Anyway, we may soon find out the answer. I believe the Chinese landed robots at Cydonia with the intention of returning samples to Earth.’

  President Orlando abruptly appeared in their midst. Emerging from behind a stack of pallets, he admired the achievements of the team.

  ‘This is good. You have made excellent progress this week. Ruby, how are you? It is always a pleasure.’

  ‘I’m sure it is, Orlando, otherwise you wouldn’t do it.’

  Some of the others gasped audibly, while Brad went on working, not having a clue about the identity of this immaculately dressed man.

  ‘You will no doubt be aware that Project D constitutes the most complete example of its kind that has ever been found,’ announced Orlando, ‘and the preserved condition of everything is first class. We will have a thorough understanding of this technology and an ability to replicate it very shortly. Soldiers will arrive here later to pack the materials for air freight to France. Most of you will leave for France by private jet.’

  ‘Why is everything going to France?’ asked Ruby.

  The French scientists stared incredulously at her, but she continued to look at Orlando.

  ‘It has been expensive to run a rebel army large enough to take over the State. The French were most co-operative in supporting my plans, and in return I am sharing some knowledge with them. They have research facilities and experts that I do not have in my country. But right now I need a volunteer.’

  In one smooth movement he turned and pointed at Brad. Suddenly the cosy little scene became a frenzy of activity. As if from nowhere, two soldiers hared out of the shadows and Brad was dragged brusquely out of the hangar. His protests – in which being a citizen of the United States figured largely – were ignored.

  Paulo ran to Brad’s side. ‘Do not worry,’ he said unconvincingly. ‘You are merely being sequestered to the next research project under the terms of the permit I negotiated for you.’

  ‘But they hurt me!’ complained Brad.

  ‘It is simply, er, the Guatemalan way.’

  ‘Well this is the American way!’ Brad lashed out at Paulo, causing him to duck. The Wi-Fi dongle fell from his pocket onto the ground.

  Orlando led the scientists out towards waiting cars without giving them the opportunity to say goodbye to Ruby. When Brad had gone, Paulo left too. It was a sudden and unceremonious end to some incredible archaeology.

  The plaintive cries of Brad still echoed in her mind as she sat once again at the computer, her senses numbed by the swiftness of his transition from contented assistant to terrified prisoner. After long evenings spent catching up with the backlog, she had virtually finished the scientific journal. Ruby had managed to type more than fifty thousand words into the computer, describing scientific disciplines and ancient technologies that she barely comprehended. It was a great sense of achievement, but next to Brad’s uncertain fate and her fears for her own future this revolutionary document meant nothing. She was like a plover bird plucking meat from the jaws of a crocodile. This deadly symbiotic relationship with the President had given her at once the best and the worst days of her life. The endorphin rush of skirting so closely to danger had previously balanced out her cold understanding of the risks. She had been split down the middle – confused and focused, uneasy yet confident. No longer was this the case, however. It was now clear to her where she should attempt to be, and it wasn’t here.

  She spotted the dongle, still lying on the ground. She snapped it into the laptop and logged into her e-mail account. The mass of unread messages was getting ungainly, and it slowed down her search for the people who actually mattered to her. She just wanted a sign that Matt was still alive. That would at least calm one small part of the vortex within her.

  It was almost drowning among the spam, but eventually she found it: the most recent missive from Matt, a semi-incoherent message pre-dating his flight from New York.

  ‘IM ON MY WAY. LOVE U HUN’.

  Despite their appallingly loose relationship to the English language, his words warmed her. She wouldn’t have expected any better from a military man, even one who professed to be a writer. Ruby typed her reply.

  ‘They took Brad, and it didn’t look good. Matt – I’m scared.’ She dithered about telling him she was scared, but opted to be open about her feelings for once. She then wavered about adding an ‘X’, typing it, then deleting it, then typing it again. Signing off with a kiss risked being over-interpreted, but she felt it would be impertinent to omit such a small sign of affection given how she had treated him. There was no guarantee he was ever going to receive the e-mail – it felt as reliable as throwing a message in a bottle out to sea, but it was all she could do.

  She pressed ‘send’ and waited for confirmation that it had been processed. Nothing happened. The connection was sometimes intermittent. Patience would fix it.

  Her time alone in the hangar would shortly be up. She wandered aimlessly around it, glancing repeatedly back at the computer to check for a sign that it had completed her instruction. As she walked close to the main entrance, two dust-encrusted Mercedes pulled up outside. Orlando emerged from one of them.

  ‘Ruby?’ he called, marching straight into the hangar.

  Shit. The
computer was still showing her e-mail account page. She quickly grunted hello to him and inched towards the computer, intent on switching it off before he could ask any questions. He stuck an arm out and stopped her.

  ‘Your work here is done.’

  ‘I just need to power down the computer,’ she protested.

  ‘And I need to get you to the hotel where you will prepare for your next project.’

  ‘Another artefact like this one?’ she asked, trying unsuccessfully to wriggle past him.

  ‘There are many artefacts, but none like this one. No, your next role is entirely different. Things are moving fast. I am moving thousands of men into Tikal. Work has already begun. As for you, I need you at the hotel. I need your voice. Your face. Your body.’

  The comment chilled her.

  ‘You must be joking,’ she grumbled in disgust.

  ‘Just have faith in me, Ruby. How many times do I need to tell you?’

  He nodded to his car. Two soldiers jumped out and forcefully ushered Ruby into the other vehicle. They shut the doors and drove her away. To Ruby it felt like a repeat of Brad’s frightening abduction – no explanation, no time to prepare, no idea how she would be treated.

  Orlando walked further into the hangar and sat down at the computer.

  Tuesday 27th November 2012

  Otto woke up at the sound of breaking glass. Humid air washed over him and he could hear the singing of the crickets. He jumped out of bed and cut his foot on one of the shards that had sprayed across the bedroom floor. Had someone deliberately broken his window? He would check later, because right now he needed to hop to the bathroom to take care of the bleeding.

  Noises started. Creaking timbers and cracking bricks. Windows frames were twisting. More panes shattered. Walls were straining. Sickening vibrations shuddered across the floor, threatening to topple him as he cleaned his wound. Now fully awake and alert, he knew he didn’t have much time. The sinkhole was widening. The foundations of his villa were moving. His underground research centre could be crumbling. His life’s work was under immediate threat.

  He strapped his foot and threw some clothes on. He needed to begin the evacuation.

  * * *

  The hotel was, in many ways, typical of the resorts to be found in the Petén region: cream ceramic tiles on the floor, bedside lamps mounted on novelty twirling tree branches, ceiling fans unhurriedly chopping the quiet air, balconies with views over a crocodile-infested lagoon.

  ‘Evian?’

  Orlando opened the door of the fridge and selected a small bottle of mineral water. His guest was surprised to see that the fridge stocked only mineral water and what looked like vials of medicine.

  ‘Glass?’

  ‘Bottle’s fine.’

  He handed it to her and invited her to sit in the armchair. She sank deep into its embrace, almost permitting herself to relax.

  ‘So, Ruby, tell me about your anxieties. Your misgivings. Your fears. Your failure to trust me.’

  ‘Why am I still here?’

  ‘Why do you think I still want you here?’ he parried, sitting on the edge of his bed.

  ‘I’m not really sure that you do. I think you might be toying with me, and then you’ll throw me away.’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘Because you’re the President of a putrid tin-pot dictatorship and you can do whatever you bloody well want.’ Although she could feel the angry heat rising in her voice, she spoke with a hedging smile. ‘Why don’t you just let me go home?’

  He glanced briefly at her, but merely murmured, ‘I do so love it when you flatter me in your own special way, Ruby. You know I can’t let you go home. I have great plans for you.’

  ‘But I’ve done what you asked me. I’m scared I’ll be summarily despatched to a cockroach-infested prison like poor Brad.’

  ‘The volunteer from the hangar? He’s not in prison.’

  ‘Thank God for that. What have you done with him?’

  ‘He is merely assisting Doctor Otto in another research programme.’

  ‘What about the stolen Sphinx scrolls? Is that one of your research programmes?’

  ‘Doctor Otto has a particular interest in those too. He has made a thorough study of their message.’

  Ruby’s expression lit up. ‘Really? He’s translated them? What did they say? What were they written on? What condition were they in? Have they been carbon dated? Where are they now?’

  Orlando chuckled at her over-excited rapid-fire questions. ‘They are now in the heart of Tikal, where they belong. And they confirmed what we already knew,’ he told her, ‘with a few extra details, perhaps, but the message is the same.’

  ‘And are you going to tell me?’

  ‘It’s about something the ancients triggered.’

  ‘What does that mean, Orlando?’

  ‘I can’t tell you everything now, but you will soon find out. The world will soon know. Twelve millennia ago, there was an advanced civilisation like our own.’

  ‘I know that!’ she fumed impatiently. ‘What do you think I’ve been doing for the past week?’

  ‘If that is to be your attitude, then I will ask you to leave.’

  ‘You mean I can go home?’

  ‘No, I mean to go back to your room. If I allow you to go home, you will soon find you have no home to go to. Too much is at stake, Ruby.’

  ‘All right,’ she sighed. ‘I’m asking you calmly and politely, what has the ancient civilisation done that I don’t already know?’

  ‘Ruby, they have done something terrible.’

  ‘All civilisations do terrible things. They always end up fighting, causing their own downfall. My whole life has been spent studying traces of the mess they left behind.’

  ‘This is different,’ said Orlando. ‘They caused their own downfall, true, but they also set something in motion that could destroy the modern world. Ruby – this ancient civilisation might eradicate their descendants.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Everyone, Ruby. The entire planet. The day is almost upon us. Those Christians were so nearly right with their idea of the Second Coming. The Mayans knew it a thousand years ago. They devoted their lives to a meticulous counting of the days and the years. They worked out elaborate celestial clocks and calendars to count down the time to when it would happen.’

  ‘I know about all that, Orlando. They believed the world was reborn every twelve thousand years or so. The last time they experienced a great upheaval was the flood at the end of the Ice Age. According to their calendar, the world was due to be reborn on the twenty-first of December this year. But that doesn’t mean the end of the world. No sane historian thinks that.’

  ‘And it won’t be the end of the world, if you stay by my side.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I need a face. Someone to symbolise my country and its new discoveries. Someone who is respected. A monkey could have written the report in Tikal, but it had to be you so that you would have first-hand knowledge of all aspects of the project. Your background as a respected scientist, not to mention your good looks, makes you the perfect person for the job as front woman for my plans. You will do television interviews, present documentaries, give speeches and meet with presidents and kings.’ Then, more seductively, he added, ‘And you will be with me, helping to guide the planet into its new phase. It’s probably the best job in the world.’

  As he spoke, Ruby was taking a long slurp of her water, but the last comments made her spit it back into the bottle. Snorting slightly, she regained her composure before replying.

  ‘Why should I help you when you treat me like a slave?’

  ‘Slave? You were at the heart of the research. I even put you in charge of part of it.’

  ‘In charge? They treated me like a bloody typist.’

  Orlando laughed, but beneath his veneer of geniality he was sombre. ‘You will never get a chance like this again, Ruby. The truth is, I need you. Things are going to change quickly. Histor
y is already changing under me. The technology of the ancients is being reinvented. Tikal is being transformed in preparation. Stick around, Ruby. When we’re done with rewriting history, we’re going to make history.’

  Wednesday 28th November 2012

  The ex-police van, hurriedly purchased the previous day, now contained almost everything needed to salvage Otto’s life’s work from the yawning sinkhole, and the boxes were stacked with all the requisite precision and neatness that were essential to his sanity. The only item remaining was a living person – someone who needed to be moved from the underground home he had inhabited since birth to the safety of the armoured van. This kind of transition could not be undertaken lightly. There were huge psychological implications in exposing his patient to so many new experiences at once – new rooms and corridors, daylight, sky, other humans, vehicles. Explaining him away as a mental patient was one option, but his physical appearance would force further nosey inquisition. Ideally it would be done at night, but Otto was concerned that the sinkhole would not wait for him.

  It didn’t. Amid screams from the members of the public closest to the hole to the effect that more of the sides were falling in, and while what remained of the villa was seen to shake before settling at an angle that was achingly displeasing to the eye, one very loud voice yelled out that someone was down there.

  The figure crawling over the rubble and detritus at the bottom of the sinkhole was difficult to discern from street level. After the initial shock and excitement there were calls for hush. There was no bright searchlight immediately available for the police officers at the scene, but someone had the brainwave of reflecting sunlight to the shadowy recesses of the hole using a domestic mirror. A suitable looking-glass was located and the sun’s intense rays were directed to the bottom of the pit.

  Everyone could now see that the figure was male. He was entirely naked, and his skin was so pale it looked almost translucent. Close to him was the strange brick wall that had been spotted when the sinkhole first appeared, many levels lower than a human structure would normally be found. The wall had partially collapsed, creating a hole through which the man had apparently crawled.