by Brandt Legg
Nanski wiped his eyes, kissed his Saint Christopher medal, and drove back onto the highway, continuing toward Taos. How could these things be eleven million years old? The possibility, that his life had been spent on the wrong path gnawed at him, testing his faith. Mile after mile, he wrestled with himself. How had these “machines” worked all these years, and why did Gaines choose the name “Eysen,” the ancient word meaning to hold all the stars in your hands. He could not have known that Clastier, who had written three letters to the Pope, described the Ater Dies in his final one, saying, “It is like holding the universe in your hands.”
It was those words that caused the Pope to issue the secret decree to erase every trace of Clastier’s existence.
Chapter 20
Rip was disappointed that the Eysen did not return to the incredible images he’d watched, before Dyce had interrupted him with the news account of his death. Instead, it showed what appeared to be an eighteenth or nineteenth century buffalo hunt by Plains Indians. The quality of the feed was superior to any high definition, the colors incredibly vivid, and, as the warriors rode, he could almost taste the dust. How had it been filmed, he wondered again.
Rip stopped watching in order to make notes about the earlier scenes – the most incredible he’d witnessed. He knew it was possible that the remarkable footage might never repeat and he didn’t want to lose what he’d seen.
In his writings, he’d taken to referring to the people who built the Eysen as “Cosegans.” Until they showed him their real name, he thought it appropriate and better than his second choice, Eysenites.
He typed on his laptop, “It appears the Cosegans destroyed their civilization (or it was destroyed by some outside force?) eleven million years ago. Yet the Eysen they created has shown the ability to project images from as recently as the present day. Even now, I am watching events that took place in the relative recent past – a buffalo hunt of American Indians circa 1800. Examples have previously been noted of Sean Stadler’s birth, Gale Asher’s, and my own lives depicted at various points, as well as Clastier’s. The most incredible had been the live feeds of Gale, Sean, and myself at Canyon de Chelly.”
He paused to watch the Eysen switch from the hunt, to a battle between U.S. Calvary and the same Indians. It was a typical slaughter as the army of the then-young nation pushed its way onto the lands that the indigenous people had called home for millennia. He couldn’t stand to watch it and resumed his typing.
“Today, I witnessed something beyond all previous viewings . . . ” He went on to describe the reverse Sequence ending in that intense light, the radiated rainbow of colors and how then everything faded, “ . . . until images emerged that could only be described as a city of the future, and not just to the Cosegans, but a future far beyond our present state. Many buildings were round, super-circular skyscrapers, with holes in their centers, like giant doughnuts. Some appeared as figure eights, other structures, like stacked coins, hovering above but not contacting the ground. There were geodesic domes and spheres, and in the air were all manner of flying machines, some blimp-like, but moving with speeds that rivaled any modern jet. A few moved more slowly and others went straight up into the heavens. I almost expected one to break through the top of the Eysen and out into my world.”
Rip read over what he’d written, frustrated by his inability to capture what he was seeing. He decided to ask Dyce and Elpate if they had a digital camera he could use to film the Eysen, or maybe they could purchase one for him; he still had plenty of cash remaining from the stash Grinley had given him.
As the massacre inside the Eysen continued, Rip tried to fathom how it could possibly show such details of the planet across millions of years. And, as hard as it was to understand how it could show things from millions of years in the past, it was impossible to grasp how it showed things after the Cosegans’ existence including the future beyond now . . . it was too extraordinary to comprehend.
It had to be documented. He should have done it before. Rip put the Eysen away and went out to ask if they had a video camera, but neither Dyce nor Elpate had one. Elpate promised he would run into town in the morning and get one. After Rip made his case, with a certain amount of pleading, and his offer of an extra hundred dollars, Elpate agreed to leave sooner.
“I’m a good natured old man, happy to help you, my friend. You insult me by offering me cash like that.” He smiled. “Make it two hundred American and I’ll leave right now.”
Chapter 21
Kruse and Harmer pulled in behind Gale and Larsen, in front of Teresa’s house. Because it was a summer Saturday, the quiet street in Chimayó was a bit busier than usual. Larsen went back to speak to the AX agents. Gale had insisted she do this alone, mostly because Teresa didn’t like crowds and a giant man like Larsen might scare her even more than seeing Gale return.
Harmer stood next to the car and lit up a smoke, giving Kruse a brief respite from the slow second-hand death she’d been inflicting on him for the last week. Larsen explained what Gale was doing, and informed them that if the old lady didn’t let her inside, the three of them might be called upon to make her comply.
“Booker told us to do whatever Gale needs done. That’s a blanket order, so we’ll do what needs doing,” Harmer said in a cloudy exhale.
“Fine. You and Larsen can handle this one,” Kruse said. “I’m not a fan of beating up old ladies.”
“Excuse me,” Larsen said. “I don’t work for Booker.”
Harmer laughed. “Everyone works for Booker.”
Gale knocked on the door and caught Teresa peeking out the drapes of a front window.
No answer.
She knocked again. “Please, Teresa, I have to talk to you. I need your help.”
Nothing.
“Rip told me to come back here.”
Nothing.
“It’s about Clastier.”
The door opened a few inches, a chain lock still latched.
“Could I please come in?”
“Who are those thugs on the street?”
“They are protecting me from the people after Rip and me. Look.” Gale pulled out the Clastier Papers, and began reading:
We often wonder of the true value of Life. We search for endless years as others have searched for endless ages. I am a common man. I am not trying to teach you anything, for everything written here or anywhere else is already part of you.
“You know Clastier?” Teresa asked tearfully.
“Yes.”
Teresa closed the door, undid the chain, and opened it again. “There is trouble around Clastier. It was quiet for so long, but now it is worse than ever.”
“I know,” Gale said, as Teresa triple-locked her door.
In the living room, furnished in a colonial style rather than the expected southwest motif, Gale noticed that Teresa seemed a bit disheveled and frail. “I saw on the television that Mr. Ripley was shot dead. It was those same men that came to see me who did it.”
“It’s not true. Rip escaped.”
She frowned at Gale. “How can that be? I saw it on television.”
“They made it up. It’s a hoax.”
Teresa seemed confused.
“He got out of the country, and he still has the copies of Clastier’s letters that you gave him,” Gale said. “I need to read the originals.”
“No. There’s too much trouble now,” she said, pulling a shawl around her neck, even though the house was quite warm. “Mean men came here to scare me.”
“I’m sorry. But Clastier needs us to be strong. Can I see the letters? You can look at his Papers, while I read them.”
“They said the Papers had been burned, or lost long ago.”
“See,” Gale said, “they lie. The authorities don’t always tell the truth.”
Teresa nodded. She took the Papers from Gale. “They’re not in his handwriting.”
“No, the originals, in Spanish, are hidden back east. These are the English translations, done many ye
ars back. But read them; you’ll recognize him on those pages.”
Teresa nodded and read quietly for several minutes. Tears came again. “It’s him. These really are the lost Clastier Papers.”
“Yes,” Gale said. “Could I please see the letters?”
Teresa stood reluctantly, and left the room, still clutching the Papers. Soon she returned with the letters. Once Gale found the first reference to Clastier’s Eysen, she stopped reading and begged Teresa to let her keep the letters. Even though Rip had told Gale about the other Eysen, seeing it in Clastier’s own words left her breathless. “A black sphere cradled within stone bowls found at Chimayó has made more of an impact on me than anything produced by the Church. Yes, it rivals even the creations of God in its wonder and grants more into the ways of its secrets . . . ”
Gale spent the next thirty minutes working out a deal with Teresa. Gale would stay with her, while Larsen and Kruse went to Española to copy the Clastier’s letters and the Papers. Harmer would keep watch outside in case trouble came.
It was a good plan, but still Gale worried. She knew that the original Papers that had been left in Asheville were probably gone, which meant the ones she had were all that remained. Same with the letters, if Rip were captured, then only Teresa’s originals would exist. Now she was essentially handing them to Booker. She looked Larsen in the eye. “Don’t let me down. These are second only to the Eysen in importance. Guard them with your life.”
“Are they worth my life?” he asked.
Gale stared at him wordlessly.
“Okay,” he said, nodding slowly. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring them back.”
“I don’t like smoke this close to my house,” Teresa scolded Harmer. “Get back into the street with your filthy habit.”
Harmer smiled at Gale. “I guess asking for a beer is out of the question.”
“Git!” Teresa spat, missing the humor.
Harmer barely avoided trampling Teresa’s flowers.
“She’s a rude block of wood,” Teresa said to Gale, as they went back inside. “And a homely gal, too.”
Teresa made tea, while they talked about Clastier. And soon, Teresa revealed one last treasure that rivaled even the letters.
Chapter 22
Barbeau sat in a small room, located on the grounds of the San Francisco de Asís Mission Church, just south of the town of Taos, staring at “the Shadow of the Cross,” a life-sized painting of Christ, done in 1896 by Henri Ault. The lights had just been turned out; yet a glowing silhouette of Jesus emerged from the darkness, his robes billowing in an invisible breeze, an aura of moonlight surrounding the moving figure as a cross and fishing boat, which had not been there before, appeared.
He’d read a brochure about the famous painting. The glowing was a mystery. Scientists who had studied the work in detail were unable to explain the phenomena. The Catholic Church did not call it a miracle, saying only that, “it is not perfectly understood.” Barbeau was mildly impressed. Others in the room cried; one woman fell to her knees. And in spite of the Church’s official position, several whispered, “It’s a miracle.”
After reading what DIRT, the FBI Director’s covert unit, had come up with on the Eysen, Barbeau was ready to believe anything. The Vatican might actually be preparing for the end of the world and oddly, Barbeau would be spending the day wandering through some of the Southwest’s most celebrated Catholic churches. Ironic, he thought, moving to get a better look at the painting. Already, he’d studied the altar screens in the church, and spoken to anyone who might know – or even guess – why Gaines would risk so much to come there. Nothing.
Taos Pueblo did not hold good memories. They’d been so close to capturing Gaines there. Barbeau received permission to wander around the ruined San Geronimo Church. Again, he could not find anything that even connected the two places, other than the Roman Catholic faith. The tour guide who had shown Gaines and Asher around had agreed to see him.
“I’m sorry to hear about Agent Hall’s death,” she said.
“Thank you,” Barbeau said.
“And Professor Gaines is dead also. Doesn’t that mean the case is closed?”
“I wish that were so,” Barbeau said, sounding a little too desperate and not correcting her about Gaines. “But Gale Asher is still at large and there are many unanswered questions. Perhaps you can help. I need to know why they came here. What were they looking for?”
“I don’t know. The incident with my grandfather was the only thing unusual about their visit.”
“And that was certainly very unusual,” Barbeau said. “What do you think that was all about?”
“My grandfather told me later that he believed Professor Gaines was the reincarnation of a man named Conway, who had ultimately been the one responsible for destroying the old church, and killing all those innocent people.”
“Why?” Barbeau asked, ignoring the ludicrous notion of reincarnation.
“Conway believed those in the Church were supporters of a man he was pursuing. In fact, Conway blamed the entire revolt on that man and thought he could be hiding at the Pueblo.”
“Who was the man?”
“His name was Clastier.”
After getting her to spell it and then writing the name down, Barbeau asked what else she could tell him about Clastier.
“I only know the name. And before yesterday, I’d never even heard it.”
Barbeau relayed the name to DIRT to research, and then tried to get the historian who had helped Gaines, to talk to him on the phone during the drive to Chimayó. The historian despised Barbeau and suggested he get a subpoena. The call was on speaker and the agent driving the car couldn’t help but chuckle; he didn’t like Barbeau much either.
Not far away, also in Taos, Booker received word that the NSA had approved Jaeger’s assassination request. The U.S. government had sanctioned the murder of one of its own citizens.
“This is a rather inconvenient time,” Booker said to his security chief upon hearing the news.
“A three-person hit team has been mobilized,” the chief said.
“Just three?” Booker asked, amused. “Where are they heading?”
“D.C., New York, and Mexico City,” the chief said. “What should we do?”
“Keep tabs on them. If they get near a location I’ve been to in the previous twelve hours . . . kill them.”
“Affirmative.”
A second call came through. Booker took it and learned there was another problem. He turned to his assistant and said, “There’s been a sealed warrant issued for my arrest. And the FBI means to execute. You would think the NSA and the FBI would get together on these things.”
“It gets better,” the assistant said, looking up from her iPad. “The President has requested your attendance at another summit on the Eysen at the White House.”
Booker laughed. “Do you think they plan on arresting me or killing me there?”
“You may not be worried, but either way, it’s a complication we don’t need.”
“Damn right it is. A nasty group of complications . . . what a mess.” Booker paced the room. “My bet is that Monroe is behind the arrest warrant; it would conveniently embarrass the Vice President, Monroe’s opponent in the general election.”
“Why bother? It’s already been decided that the Senator is the next president.”
“True, but Monroe would like it to be a huge victory. Or,” Booker said, stopping, “Monroe might really be worried . . . not about losing the election, but about losing the Eysen.” He smiled. “Tell them I’ll attend the summit.”
Chapter 23
Elpate’s return with the new digital camera could not have happened at a better time. Rip sat in his darkened bedroom watching the Eysen. It seemed to remain permanently charged now, something he attributed to the Odeon Chip, but that was only speculation.
The camera was actually a compact still camera, but it was equipped with a nice HD video feature. Elpate had been smart enough to pi
ck up a small tripod as well and, at Rip’s request, he’d gotten a stack of high capacity memory cards.
Rip had already filmed the entire opening of the Cosega Sequence. He didn’t think it was the complete Sequence, which he now considered to be the Earth’s rotation in the solar system, tectonic plates shifting, and endless views of wilderness, along with overlaying series of circles and dashes and the complex patterns they made.
The next views presented by the Eysen were beyond belief. Rip watched what appeared to be actual visual accounts of the events described in Clastier’s Divinations. He checked three times to see that the recording light was on, and then concentrated on the incredible scenes.
First a video filmed from a camera that could only have been on the seatback between President John F. Kennedy and the First Lady as they rode in the Dallas motorcade. The shots clearly came in from two angles as the graphically gruesome events were shown. Rip wondered again how it could be. Was it some sort of reenactment? How had this gotten into an eleven-million-year-old object?
The images switched again, and he was on the moon, watching the first Lunar Module set down. It was filmed from the moon, before the astronauts arrived. New angles of Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin walking on the surface of the moon amazingly in the same shot, in vivid color; who was filming them? “Impossible,” Rip said. But it kept going. Soon he was witnessing massacres that took place a thousand years earlier during the Crusades. Next it was World War II, filmed inside a gas chamber at Auschwitz. These weren’t grainy black and white newsreel footage. It was as clear as if it were happening in front of him, as if he were there.