by Brandt Legg
Thinking it might be some kind of activator, he looked for a slot in the Eysen to slip the chip into, even though he knew the surface of the sphere was solid. When nothing else came to mind, he set the Odeon Chip down and placed the Eysen on top of it. To his surprise, the two ancient artifacts seemed to repel one another like opposing magnets. The result left the Eysen suspended nearly two inches above the chip.
“Whoa,” Rip exhaled. His entire career had been devoted to studying dusty, often broken, objects from the past. The Eysen and the Odeon Chip were interactive, futuristic-like artifacts that were beyond belief. “No wonder there are so many people after these things,” Rip thought, while nervously looking out the window.
Suddenly the Eysen began to spin. Still suspended above the chip, it rotated counter clockwise, slowly at first. As its speed increased, he saw the Cosega Sequence run backwards. Circles and dashes rushed by in a flurry, then, moving like currents, swiftly streamed around the globe.
He looked under the Eysen and saw the chip was reflecting the images and Sequence symbols from the sphere above, except that his thumbprint, still glowing yellow, was unchanged. Then, out of the top of the Eysen, in the bright sunlight still flooding in his windows, a six-inch holographic figure emerged. As it spun around to face Rip, he was stunned beyond all reason – he recognized the image.
“Eleven million years old,” Rip whispered, while staring at the figure, an exact miniature replica of himself. Before he could react, the figure began peeling away layers of itself – skin, muscles, veins, bones, until all that remained at the core was a glowing beam. “Was it Energy? The human soul? Connection?” he queried aloud, while checking again to make sure that his door was locked.
Within the Eysen, the Cosega Sequence had stopped, as if waiting. Everything stayed suspended. He didn’t know what to do. More out of nervousness that someone could see into the windows than wanting to block the sun, Rip pulled the curtains closed. They were stiff and dusty, appearing as if they hadn’t been drawn in years. Elpate’s house was secluded and Rip couldn’t see anything but wilderness, but he felt as if someone were watching. He’d had that feeling often since his teen years, when he always worried that his being a descendent of Clastier’s church builders would be discovered. However, in the past twelve days, his fears had magnified and had even been justified.
He turned back to the Eysen, expecting it might be dark; instead it glowed brighter than ever. The Cosega Sequence started again, the Earth spinning among swirls of circles and dashes, but this time it went farther back. The planet became a fiery mass, a ball of molten lava spinning through space, getting smaller and smaller. Thousands of meteors and comets that had pelted it flew out of the Earth. Riveted, perhaps not even breathing, he watched the Earth’s formation, as if he were seeing an old movie run backwards. Rip had studied geology, and seen many simulations of the planet’s formation, but nothing this vivid and detailed.
As the reversing continued, the core-earth shrank further and began breaking into smaller planets. Eventually, there was nothing but space, and even that moved back in time at incredible speed, until there was nothing, but a single light in the middle of the Eysen. The remaining beam, floating above the Eysen, that had been the holographic image of himself, shot down into the center of the Eysen. His figure became part of the final point of light, so intense Rip could barely look directly at it.
The light radiated a halo rainbow of vivid colors and became brighter. Like looking into the sun, it hurt his eyes. At its final burst, the intensity was so piercing that it made him cry out in pain. Then, it went dark. The room seemed completely devoid of light, and for a few scary moments, Rip thought he might be blind.
When he finally refocused on the Eysen, he could see that it was still faintly illuminated, or perhaps was slowly coming back from its blackness. Every time he’d looked into the Eysen; it had surprised him. But the image that emerged before him now, might have been the most shocking of all.
Chapter 14
Gale had slept surprisingly well and was up, waiting on the deck, when Booker arrived just after sunrise. She had met many powerful and wealthy people during her time as a reporter for The Wall Street Journal; however, she was unprepared for the presence of Booker Lipton.
He strolled onto the deck in a cream-colored linen suit, tailored to perfection, with an air of absolute control, yet totally inviting at the same time. His disarming smile warned of his charm, but even that seemed to expand out of some hidden intensity that hung like an aura around the man who appeared fueled by pure mystery, at once impenetrable and magnetic.
“Gale, please forgive me for keeping you waiting.” He took her hand and stared into eyes even bluer than the photos he’d seen of her. “A great distance needed to be crossed and I’ve been moving every moment since we spoke, in an effort to reach you, as soon as possible.”
She’d been planning on blasting him about not telling her that Rip was alive while she was still in Flagstaff; instead she thanked him for coming.
“We’ve much to discuss,” he said, releasing her hand and walking to the railing. He took in the view as if he’d never seen it before. “There are places,” he said after a moment, “and Taos is one of them, don’t you agree?”
“Yes. It’s quite special.”
He nodded. “Tell me why you insisted upon returning here. Not the safest place for someone being sought by so many.”
“I have unfinished business.”
“Clastier?” he asked.
“I just need some cash, a scrambled satphone, and a car,” she said, refusing his bait.
“Really?” He reached into his suit pocket and handed her a set of car keys. “Take mine. It’s in the driveway, a phone on the front seat. And here . . . ” He pulled a folded stack of bills from another pocket. “There should be four or five thousand there; is that enough?”
She took the keys and the cash, without taking her eyes off him. “And I can go?”
“Of course. I’m not holding you, I’m trying to help you.”
“I don’t trust you.”
Booker laughed loudly. “I hadn’t noticed.” Then he continued laughing.
“Did I say something funny?” she asked, uncomfortable.
And that just made him laugh even more. “I’m sorry, Gale, but you say it as if it’s a new idea. Nobody on the planet trusts me.”
“How did the FBI find us in West Memphis?”
“They traced the rental car. But you have to realize that the average citizen has no privacy left. The government hears everything, even inside your house, offices, or hotel rooms.”
“How?”
“What does every home, hotel room, and office have?” Booker asked
“I don’t know,” Gale said.
“The NSA uses advanced nanotechnology implanted in smoke detectors to monitor building interiors. They know everything.”
“I don’t think that’s technically possible.”
“You have no idea what’s technically possible. But I can assure you, it is.”
“How do you know?” Gale asked.
“I sell them the stuff. My companies manufacture the ‘sensor’ that goes into every detector.”
“Another reason not to trust you.”
Booker laughed again, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. You and I have common interests.”
“Maybe some common interests but very different goals.”
“We both want Rip safe, the Eysen protected, and Clastier’s words to survive.”
“You want the Eysen for yourself,” Gale said defiantly.
“Ultimately, I do want everything for myself, but not because I am selfish or greedy, as many think. It is because I trust so few people, and I trust only myself completely. No one else can handle the Eysen.”
“You’re an egomaniac.”
“No. It only appears that way. Actually, I am anything but.”
“Really? What would you do with the Eysen if you had it?�
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“Tell me about the Eysen,” Booker said.
“Let’s just say you’re going to have to earn my trust.”
“You should trust me, Gale. You may not believe it, but I’m the best chance that good has in prevailing over the mess the world has become.”
“It only appears that you’re an egomaniac, huh?”
“The Eysen has the power to change everything. It has been prophesized by Malachy and Clastier. You have seen it, held it . . . ”
“Are you envious?”
“The empty man who walks among the merchants, the state, and the church will be killed . . . ” Booker said, quoting one of Clastier’s five remaining Divinations. “I’ve always assumed I was the empty man,” Booker said.
“So you have read the Papers?” Gale asked, softly. It was impossible to hide her surprise.
He stared at her silently for a moment, concerned his admission had been too soon; then, he relaxed, excited at the opportunity to finally discuss Clastier. “Yes.”
“How did you read Clastier without Rip knowing? Or did he know?”
“He didn’t know. I couldn’t let him find out I’d seen them. It had to be his quest or he’d be suspicious of me. He had been raised in the paranoid shadow of the descendants of the original Clastier Church builders. I needed him to trust me.”
“But you never were trustworthy.”
“You are wrong.”
She considered him for a moment; thought about challenging him again, but instead sought more information. “Why do you think you are the empty man in the Divinations?”
“I walk among the merchants, the state, and the Church.”
“But you are a merchant,” she said. “It is Senator Monroe who is the empty man.”
“Monroe? He is the state.”
“But he’s not; Monroe is a teacher.”
Booker seemed surprised. He had not considered that. Ever since his first reading, he had assumed that he was the empty man. Clastier had been clear that his Divinations were never to be discussed until the prophecies had passed. Booker had adhered to the rule until now. What if it were Monroe, instead of himself?
“Did you see anything in the Eysen to confirm this?”
“No.”
“But I am hated. The NSA, the politicians, the Church, even in the corporate world, I have far more enemies than friends.”
“Do you?” she asked sarcastically.
Booker nodded, seriously. “Whereas Monroe has carefully crafted alliances and brokered favors for almost two decades. Why would someone assassinate him? Who would do it?”
“You know why.”
Booker was silent. Of course he knew. “Because the dumbass wants to keep it himself.”
“Yes.”
“But so do I,” Booker admitted.
“But you are a merchant, and therefore cannot walk among them. You walk as one of them.”
Booker wasn’t convinced. When does a man become what he is? How did Clastier see it? Certainly anyone would consider Monroe part of the state. Booker hadn’t been born a merchant. Or, maybe he had. His father had been a salesman, his mother a broker – definitely merchants by Clastier’s era’s definition.
“What did Monroe’s parents do for a living?” he asked.
“His mother was an elementary school teacher, his father a journalist, why?”
Booker was afraid to trust it. Monroe’s parents were clearly not of the state, the church, or the merchants. Maybe the death sentence of the Divinations wasn’t his. “Who would kill the Senator? The NSA loves him, the Vatican is supporting his every move; even our modern merchants, the corporations, are backing his candidacy.”
“You might kill him.”
“Not me.” Booker looked mildly offended.
“It could be anyone. Everyone who learns of the Eysen will want it. Many would be willing to kill for it.”
“But why kill Monroe?”
“He must be the one who winds up with it.”
Booker nodded, but remained silent as he stared toward Taos Mountain. “Then you’ve got to meet with Monroe as soon as possible.”
Chapter 15
The FBI Director met Senator Monroe at the famous Chevy Chase Country Club, frequented by politicians and the “old guard” of Washington, D.C. It was the kind of place where the powerful, the famous, and newsmakers could blend in and not be bothered. But even there, Senator Monroe’s charisma, and the widely accepted presumption that he’d be the next U.S. President, drew polite stares and greetings from wannabes and glad-handers. They finally broke free and took a golf cart out to the edge of the championship golf course; a section where Monroe had lost too many balls into the rough.
“Your meeting, Senator,” the Director said, once he’d scanned the area for signs of life.
“You do realize that the NSA has Gaines?” Monroe asked.
The Director nodded. “I think they’ve thought that before. My agent calls him Houdini.”
The Senator snapped and waved his finger at the Director. “Oh, yeah? Well Gaines isn’t going anywhere. They’re watching him too closely.”
“Still it’s risky,” the Director said, annoyed by the Senator’s constant finger-snapping. He reminded him of a car salesman. “Why not just bring him in?”
“That’s the plan; they just need him to figure out the Eysen, first.”
“A mistake, but fine with me. It just gives my people more time to get him. Where is he?”
The Senator’s laughter was accompanied by a string of his rapidly snapping fingers. “Here’s why we’re here,” he said, suddenly turning serious. “The Bureau is making things difficult for people it shouldn’t: me, the current President, my friends at the NSA, my other friends at the Vatican. Why don’t you go and find some real criminals? Leave the professor to us.”
“What kind of criminals would you have me go after? Maybe the ones you just listed. I mean, Senator, if I can’t arrest any of your friends or associates, the Bureau might as well just close its doors.”
The Senator snapped once but didn’t laugh this time. “Okay, J. Edgar, you think this is a power trip. Let me tell you what real power is and what it can do. The world is full of bad people who want to change things to something ugly. The American way is the way. Catholicism is the true religion. Do you think I chose these paths by accident? I shopped around. I’m on the right side.”
“Your way or the highway?”
”I’m just trying to warn you, really just tell you: don’t go the wrong way.” He stepped back and looked at the Director as if trying to decide if he was worth his time. “Listen to me. Do you want to have a job in my administration?”
“In the event you survive the primaries and go on to win the general election –“
“In the event . . . ” the Senator snapped in the rhythm of Ba-dum-bump. “You’re good for laughs, I’ll grant you that, but your naïveté scares me. The primaries are so that ordinary politicians with big egos think there is a process and believe they may have a chance at becoming president. The general election is so that the American people think they are in control and believe there is a choice.”
“Maybe I’m not as cynical as you,” the Director said. “Regardless, if you win, we both know you’re not going to keep me.”
“No, I wouldn’t leave you as head of the Bureau. Clearly, I’m not an idiot. But we’ll find something for you in Homeland Security. Might not be able to keep your pay grade, but maybe, depending . . . ”
“Senator, I have no interest in working in your administration, but I’ll remember your generous offer.”
Monroe looked off to the woods, seemingly distracted. The Director wondered if someone might be out there recording the conversation. He knew that, even if the Senator weren’t trying to set him up; in Washington, someone was always monitoring everything.
The Senator let go of whatever had been distracting him. “Okay, Director, then do this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few papers
. “I think you’ll find this interesting.”
The Director took the three, stapled sheets and flipped through them. “Where did you get this?”
“There you go again, being funny.”
“Impressive. And you want me to . . . ”
“To do your job,” Monroe said, snapping both hands and firing them at the Director like two cap guns.
“You think I can bring a case against one of the richest and most powerful men in the world; based on three pages of data collected by dubious sources?”
“I don’t give a damn about a case, although, now that you mention it; that would be nice. What I need you to do is arrest him. I have a sneaking suspicion the judge that handles the preliminary hearing will be sympathetic, when the Department of Justice demands remand with no bail.”
“Seems farfetched. But I’ll put some people on it. If this stuff is real, I’ll arrest him. That is, if we can find him.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know exactly where you can find him. You just be sure you’re ready.” Monroe, snapped his fingers, pointed to some greenery beneath a dogwood tree, bent down, and pulled out a golf ball. “I think this is one of mine.”
“Are we done?” the Director asked.
“We’re finished talking for today. But we won’t be done, until I see on cable news that you’ve arrested Booker Lipton at the White House.”
Chapter 16
Deep inside the secret NSA command center in Arizona, Jaeger was as angry as his subordinates had ever seen. On a secure call, he requested approval for the assassination of Booker Lipton. “The son-of-a-bitch went in there, snatched Gale Asher from us, and vanished her into thin air,” he ranted to his superior. “AX, that army of his, has suddenly become a large presence in Mexico. It’s only a matter of time until they find Gaines.”
“Put more agents in San Miguel,” his superior said. “Booker is powerful, but he can’t match our boots on the ground down there. We can move enough DEA, CIA, DHS, NSA, and other assorted personnel into the area that we’ll outnumber the locals.”