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The Mongol Objective mi-2

Page 32

by David Sakmyster


  “Yeah, well you can’t fight progress.” He smiled. “At this point, if Caleb were here, he’d go into all sorts of conspiracy stories about Freemasons and symbols, about the significance of the dedication date, the Masonic service, and hidden purposes behind Liberty’s delivery to the new world of light and reason, yada, yada.”

  “Of course,” Phoebe groaned. “And we’d all just nod and hope he got to the point. Which is…?”

  Orlando shrugged. “No idea. The head’s still on her shoulders, and doesn’t fit our images, so we passed on this hit. Although, I think it might still be worth a look. Maybe there’s something there.”

  “Maybe,” Phoebe urged, leaning in. She clicked on the back button, returning to the first image that had filled the screen. “So what’s this?”

  “That,” he said slowly, “is new. Hit Number Three.”

  “It’s…” Phoebe said, squinting, “small. Can you enlarge it?”

  “Hang on.” He expanded the magnification, and the view increased, the details solidifying. It appeared to be a photograph taken from high above, of a desert with boulders, rocks and mountains, a desolate plain. Except there was something imbedded in the desert floor. Something half in shade, with a mouth, an outline of a crown, and an eye staring back at them.

  “I’ve seen this before somewhere. That’s a face?”

  Orlando nodded. “If you believe the nutcases out there. The same people who see the Virgin Mary in potato chips and Elvis in some guy’s liver spots.”

  “But-”

  “Yeah,” said Orlando grimly, now taking the pointer and decreasing magnification. Ten times. Fifty. A hundred.

  “Jeez.”

  “Yeah,” Orlando said again. “You see, back in China, waiting for you guys at that mausoleum, I had the idea of expanding my search, looking for matches… elsewhere.”

  “You expanded it all right,” Phoebe said, staring along with him at the reddish globe set against the stars.

  “It’s-”

  “Yeah,” he repeated, one more time, incredulous.

  “Mars.”

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