The Mongol Objective [Oct 2011]

by David Sakmyster

  “Where?”

  “Alaska.”

  Caleb blinked at him. “What’s there?”

  “That’s what I wondered, but a quick search showed only one thing of interest.” He sighed and said, “HAARP.”

  Alexander chuckled. “A harp?”

  “HAARP. Short for High Frequency Active Aural Research Project. HAARP is a facility dedicated to the study of the ionosphere for the purpose of improving radio communications and surveillance efforts. Currently, there are all sorts of wild theories and paranoia about tests being done up there in Gacona, Alaksa. Rampant fears that such powerful radio transmitter array—capable of outputs nearing billions of kilowatts—could disturb the ionosphere over any part of the earth, manipulating weather, and possibly, using scalar wave technology, even instigating earthquakes. Powerful earthquakes.”

  “That’s nuts,” Alexander whispered. “But still cool.”

  Caleb thought quietly, then said, “So this facility, Robert Gregory must have had a connection there? Another cult member? And the information contained on the Emerald Tablet—there must be something, some calculation or set of instructions that could be used to enhance the power of the array.”

  “To do what?” Alexander asked.

  “To do what I saw in my vision,” Montross replied.

  “Destroy the world? But they’ll just kill everyone, even themselves.”

  “The ultimate sacrifice?” Montross voiced. “Possibly. I don’t know if it’s a simple matter of revenge, or if it’s something more. Maybe they have some way out reserved for themselves.”

  “I think you’re right,” Caleb said. “It is something more. Much more.” He considered everything he had learned, everything he knew about the tablet, about its connection to alchemy, to psychic powers and spiritual transformation. “I think they believe in a special kind of reward. An immortality to be obtained, at the expense of the rest of humanity.”

  “Reincarnated off-planet maybe?” Montross suggested.

  “I don’t know,” Caleb said. “But there are other players at work here, other forces. I can’t help recall the story of the Tower of Babel.”

  “Why?” Alexander asked, then thought it through. “Oh wait. All the worlds’ people working together. Building that tower to go to heaven.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t a tower,” Caleb suggested.

  “Then—?”

  “A rocket?” Montross said, shrugging. “But in any case, what’s important is that the gods, of which Marduk was a chief entity, were greatly alarmed by this challenge humanity was mounting against what they perceived as their realm. Their space.”

  “So they knocked it down.”

  “And remember the main part? They confused our tongues, made it impossible for mankind’s races to speak one language again, so that we could never again collude in such a way.”

  “Yeah,” Montross said. “I never really understood that story until recently. Its implications, in light of our powers, are a bit staggering.”

  “I don’t get it,” Alexander said.

  “One language,” Caleb said with emphasis. “One language, which I believe wasn’t a spoken one.”

  “Telepathy,” Montross offered. “Psychics. Maybe they were all psychics back then, able to share visions, thoughts, impressions. Communicate mentally, instantaneously. Combining their ideas, working through scenarios and calculations at vast speeds. Pooling their resources in ways we can’t imagine today.”

  “The gods didn’t like that,” Alexander said.

  “Maybe because they thought only they should be able to do it, and having a race that multiplied and expanded like ours, with access to that kind of unchecked power was just too much. Who knew what we’d do?”

  “So,” said Montross, “they knocked us down. Took away the gift, wiped it from our minds somehow.”

  Caleb nodded, still working it through. “But maybe a few of them didn’t agree with this action. Some had mankind’s interests at heart, and felt responsible for our protection.”

  “Thoth,” Alexander said.

  “He preserved a way for us to reacquire those powers. Codified it, wrote it down on something that would outlast even the gods. And his followers, even if they couldn’t read it or discover a way to find it, sought to protect it from the other side, the lingering elements of those like Marduk. Men who now realized they could have it both ways—restore their own powers, advance themselves to immortality, and then close the door on the rest of us. Forever.”

  Montross nodded again. “So, back to HAARP. I went there, entered with a visitor’s pass, and studied the layout, analyzed the guard shifts, the defenses. All with thoughts about blowing it up somehow, or killing everyone who might be involved. But in the end, I couldn’t get in where I needed to, couldn’t get close to the central control chamber.”

  “Why not?” Alexander asked. “If it’s just a research place?”

  “Co-funded by the U. S. Army, the Air Force and the Defense Department.” Montross smiled. “Further fuel for the conspiracy nuts who, by the way, have been blocked at every turn, discredited and turned away despite some quite logical questions about the functions and research done at HAARP, and the patents they have on file—patents which demonstrate clear military applications.”

  “Okay,” Caleb said. “So sabotage isn’t a likely possibility.”

  “Every time I embarked on an idea or outlined a mission, I was struck with a vision of pre-emptive death. I would fail. They would kill me before I even got close. The place has defenses no one could have imagined. Nobody gets close without their permission.” He sighed again. “No, the only way, the only possibility that offered a glimmer of success, was this one. Getting the tablet myself.”

  “But that wasn’t enough,” Caleb said.

  “No. But I knew it would buy us time. Robert was going to find it soon himself if I didn’t trick him and take it first. He would have used Alexander against you and made you open the vault. So I had to do it my way.”

  “You could have destroyed it,” Alexander said in a shaky voice, as if fearing even by voicing such an option he might be committing the worst sacrilege.

  Montross shook his head. “It’s nearly indestructible.”

  “What about going all Lord of the Rings on it and tossing it in a volcano? That should do the trick.” Alexander beamed at the concept. “Or—like in The Incredibles, remember, Dad?”

  “What?” He frowned, trying to follow.

  “The only thing that could break through the metal skin of the indestructible enemy robot?”

  “Oh yeah,” Caleb said, remembering. “Itself. Something made of the same material.”

  “Maybe,” Montross said. “But the point is moot now, since we don’t have it.”

  “But,” Alexander said, still giddy with the thought of a new quest, “once we get it back, we need to be ready. And can’t let it get in their hands again. I say destroy it.”

  “We could hide it,” Caleb offered. “I don’t want to lose such a gift, if possible.”

  Montross shook his head. “No, it gives off radiation. Minimal, but enough to locate it if you’ve got the right equipment. Satellites could locate its signature. Can’t bury it. Can’t drop it in the ocean. No, short of launching it on a rocket to the sun, I had to find another way.”

  “So you knew there were two components. The tablet alone wasn’t enough. No one today could still read it.”

  “I needed the translation, the cipher.” He pointed to the box. “Located here.”

  “Well,” said Caleb. “We’ve secured it, stopped them.”

  “For now. But they’re coming.”

  Alexander’s face brightened. “Can we destroy these things? The books in the chest? Or the keys themselves?”

  “The keys, no. They’re made of the same stuff as the tablet. But the books? I would assume we can demolish those.”

  “Then let’s do it!”

  “The only problem,” said Montross, “
is that we might not be able to open the chest.”

  “But we have the keys.”

  “Try them.”

  Alexander glanced at Caleb.

  “Trust me,” Montross said. “We don’t die now. I just think it won’t open.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged. “Kind of like the door outside, I’d wager. Having the keys gets you to the event, but you still have to ask the right girl before you get to dance.”

  Alexander frowned. “You mean, I have to ask the right questions? RV something else—maybe inside the box?”

  “I don’t think so. I believe you were right before. All three of you are needed.”

  Alexander looked crushed. “Well, so what do we do? The box looks pretty heavy, we can’t take it with us. If there even is a way out of here.”

  “There’s a way,” Caleb insisted. “I saw it.”

  “We have to leave the box,” Montross said.

  “Can we blow it up?” Alexander asked. “Shoot it open, throw a grenade at it?”

  “Don’t have guns,” Montross replied. He shined his light on Marco’s body. “And no grenades on our friend here.”

  “Then we’re screwed,” Alexander said, glancing at his father. “Sorry. Anyway, they’ll just bring the other two here. My brothers. And they’ll open the door.”

  “But they won’t have the keys,” Caleb said excitedly. “We’ve got them, and we’re going to get out.” He pointed the light at the corner again, and this time moved in closer, finding the outline of a door. He closed his eyes as he touched the wall. Furrowed his brow, and let his mind break free, scatter into the infinite and pluck the answer from tangle of his visions.

  “Damn it,” Caleb said after a moment, holding his head. “This means that Waxman was right after all.”

  Alexander frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Waxman believed the Emerald Tablet was the greatest threat to the security of humanity, and now I realize he was right after all. He just didn’t know the true nature of the threat, didn’t know what it would be used for. But another one of his psychics had foreseen this and warned him. Which is why he spared no effort to get into the Pharos Vault.” He shook his head. “Maybe I should have let him succeed.”

  “But he wouldn’t have been able to burn it like the other scrolls,” Montross said. “You did the right thing. Now it’s up to us to finish it.”

  Alexander pouted. “But, what about Aunt Phoebe and Orlando?”

  “They’ll be ok,” Caleb said. “If I know my sister, she’s already figured a way out of there, and they’re on the run, somewhere safe.”

  “And Nina?”

  Caleb paused. “She’s got other priorities now.”

  Montross shrugged. “She’s inscrutable. She owed me for breaking her out of that facility, but that debt’s been repaid many times over. My guess is that she’s going to side with her boys. You know how she was always drawn to power, and she’s just been elevated to their high queen, the mother of the messiahs. At least in their minds.”

  Caleb shook his head. “Then let’s go. This isn’t over.”

  “But what can we do?” Alexander asked. “Even if we make it through the maze that I know is waiting for us under the pyramids, probably loaded with more traps and things to squash us or impale us, how do we stop the end of the world?”

  Glancing from Alexander back to Montross, Caleb smiled hopefully. “I keep coming back to that image the Morpheus Initiative had been seeing every time we asked about the tablet, asked to be shown its origin and its function. There’s something else we’re missing, some piece that I have to believe we’re being drawn to because it might help us.” He thought again for a moment. “Remember, Marduk wasn’t the only one with followers. Thoth had his believers, scholars and philosophers who, knowing the threat, may have secreted something else away. Something that we can use to counter what the other side is planning.”

  Montross’s eyes sparkled with sudden vigor. “Yes. I hadn’t thought back on this. Hadn’t considered this aspect. Instead, I just used it as a lure to get you away from guarding the tablet. But you’re right.”

  “What are we talking about?” Alexander asked.

  “The head,” Montross said. “The crowned head we’ve been seeing and searching for.”

  “Nina said something,” Montross whispered, “about the Statue of Liberty.”

  “Yes,” Caleb said. “The twins were there. With someone. Why?”

  “I don’t know,” said Montross. “But if something we need is on Liberty Island, we’ve got to get it before they do.”

  “Something else to RV when we get the chance,” Caleb said, then paused, frowning.

  “What, Dad?”

  Caleb nodded to himself. “I just thought of something. I may know what it is—what they’re looking for.”

  “What?”

  “You jogged my memory just now. The Incredibles . . . the sharp claw-thing used by Mr. Incredible to tear through the robot’s shell.”

  “Yeah,” Alexander said. “So what?”

  Montross’s eyes went wide. “I think I know, too.”

  Caleb smiled. “The symbol of Marduk. The slaying of the dragon. He had—”

  “A lance!” Montross licked his lips and then swooned, holding his head.

  Alexander glanced around helplessly as Montross slowly recovered.

  “Later,” Montross said. “I’ll tell you later. Now we need to get out of here. Fast.”

  Caleb went to the first pillar and turned it clockwise, then went to the second, twisting it in the other direction for three rotations.

  The side door opened. Inside, a hallway flickered into view as floor-lamps filled with glowing light, like a runway guiding them in.

  “Time to move,” Montross said, a spring in his step. “And trust me, we don’t die down here in this sprawling, sadistic labyrinth of hell, one that I fear might make Genghis Khan’s place look like a kid’s playpen.” He stopped, glancing back, frowning. “Well, at least I know I don’t die.”

  24.

  Despite Caleb’s assessment, Phoebe remained restrained in the back of the helicopter, along with Orlando, until the pilot, acting on orders transmitted over his headset, came into the cabin and cut them free. He disconnected the transfusions and saline drip, bandaged Orlando up, then escorted them out onto the desert to a waiting limousine.

  Between the Sphinx’s paws, Nina stood in the middle of a crowd of soldiers, barking orders and pointing to locations around the site. She glanced over to them once, nodded, then looked away quickly.

  “Here,” said the pilot, tossing Orlando’s pack to him, then pushing both of them inside the limo. “This man will take you to the airport, where you’ll have a flight waiting.”

  “Going where?” Phoebe asked, her mouth dry, her head spinning.

  “New York. Your part in this is done.”

  “But my brother? My nephew—?”

  “I won’t say it again. You’re going home, where you’ll be watched. If you try to leave the country, we’ll have you detained.” He smirked under his visor. “Or killed.”

  “That seems fair.” Orlando leaned on the open car door, trying to be chivalrous and let Phoebe in first. Then he slid in beside her, with his pack on his lap.

  On the ride to the airport, as they passed through the perimeter of jeeps and men with guns, Orlando took out his iPad and turned it on. He leaned back, then fell sideways, resting his head against Phoebe’s shoulder. Her breathing was quick, raspy.

  “Don’t,” he whispered. “No crying. Not yet. We’re not done.”

  “I heard gunshots down there.”

  “Hey, we’ll find out how they are. Just a moment. Let me get my strength.”

  “You do that,” she said. “I need to see.”

  Behind them, the Great Pyramid glowed brightly, dwindling in their window before they turned, and Cairo’s choppy hills, crammed with homes, stores and museums, took its place.

 
“Okay, but—”

  Just then, the iPad beeped. Groaning, Orlando sat up, opened to the screen and blinked at it for a long time before cursing.

  “What?” Phoebe said, looking over. Her eyes focused and her brain slowly perceived the image. “What is that?”

  Orlando could barely breathe. “It’s the program I’ve been running.”

  “Jeez, Orlando. Which one? Your Morpheus Initiative work, or something related to finding the perfect World of Warcraft character, some blend of mage, warrior and thief?”

  “The head,” he whispered. “The crown, the program!”

  “I thought we gave up on that after Antarctica.”

  “I never give up.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “You know that.”

  “Okay, so what was this program?”

  “The usual. I had it searching all known images and visuals for a match to the drawings our group had done. You know, the pictures of the head buried in sand-like stuff, crown partially revealed. Unknown size and specs.”

  “Yes, I know. The only match was in Antarctica. The fake Montross planted, knowing we’d find it.”

  “Not true,” Orlando said. “There were actually two other, earlier matches. Both passed over because they didn’t fit the location. But the head itself was a match.”

  “I wasn’t aware of that. Why wasn’t I told?”

  “Only spoke to the boss-man about it in private, and he said we’d come back to these, but they weren’t likely to be major hits at the time. Nowhere to spend our energies.”

  “So, what were they?”

  Orlando clicked on the upper left section of the program’s readout. An image appeared, an artist’s rendition of a giant head, severed at the neck, on a beach, being worked on by artisans. In the distance was a statue astride a circular harbor, pyramids and obelisks along the shore and a sail boat departing under its legs. It held a torch aloft.

  “The Colossus of Rhodes,” Orlando said. “Another of our friends, one of the Seven Wonders of the World. Itself a lighthouse, the immense Colossus collapsed in—what else—an earthquake, in 226 BCE. But its remains, so huge and impressive, stayed on the ground for over eight hundred years, a major tourist attraction.”