“What happened to the pieces?” Phoebe asked. “Where’s the head?”
“No one knows for sure. Lots of rumors about Arabs taking the remnants, melting them down or storing them somewhere. At the time, I didn’t think much of this, but I did try to RV the head. But never got anything specific. Thought we should bring it up at the next meeting, but then we got the Antarctica hit.”
“Okay, so that’s a possibility. What’s the other one?”
Orlando smiled and clicked. “This.”
“Ah,” Phoebe said, and whistled. “Lady Liberty.”
“Yep, inspired by the Colossus. Built almost exactly to its specifications in size and possibly posture.”
“Except they changed the gender.”
“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.”
END OF BOOK TWO
For a preview of Book Three of the
Morpheus Initiative, read on.
And so begins
The Cydonia Objective
Prologue
Nuremburg, Germany – April 30, 1945
The three American tanks rumbled through the devastation, drove around Panzer tanks decimated from the early morning Allied air strike, and crunched over the wreckage without slowing down. Buildings were still smoldering, entire housing blocks flattened. Locals moved about the wreckage, calling for loved ones and searching for valuables. Dogs barked, children ran fleeing from the invading tanks, and a pall of thick black smoke hung suspended between the jagged rooftops and the steel-gray sky.
The Tanks continued along their determined course, following narrowed streets, heading for the southwestern corner of the city. Speeding there, in fact. Despite the lack of any sort of resistance, they seemed to be on an urgent mission.
The objective soon became clear: a small church. With one needle-like steeple, St. Katherine’s was a prime example of gothic architecture with yawning archways and romantic columns. Badly burnt, but otherwise structurally undamaged in the raid, it stood resolute, but defenseless.
The tanks slowed, then split, moved to cover three of the sides, then stopped. Hatches opened and green-clad soldiers rushed out, climbed down the sides and rushed to set up a perimeter. They took up positions, aiming at the doors, the windows, looking for snipers.
From the center tank, two more individuals emerged. One, a large grey-haired soldier with a cigar trapped between his lips, which he promptly lit as soon as he touched the ground. He was helped down by what looked to be his aide, a smaller, bookish man with spectacles and a thick crop of sweaty red hair.
One of the soldiers stood up from his kneeling position and shouted back, “Church secure, General Patton, sir! Do we move in?”
Patton drew in a huge breath of cigar smoke, let it sit in his lungs, then expelled it slowly. He stared at the church without blinking. A long, slow stare. Then he said quietly to his aide, “You’re sure it’s here?”
The red-haired man thought for a moment before responding. At least, it seemed he was thinking. His eyes closed, his head lowered, and his fist to his forehead. Sweat broke out along his temples and he started to tremble. Patton pulled his attention from the church to study the man with rapt admiration.
Finally, the red-haired man nodded and opened his eyes. “A specially constructed vault below the foundation. Reinforced walls and steel doors that you will need to blow up to get inside. It’s inside the vault, in a crate, hidden among the church ornaments and other stolen relics.”
Patton smiled. “Guards?”
“Two just outside the door to the vault room. One inside, guarding a golden box near the back. Inside is a false relic. Don’t be fooled.”
His smile widening, Patton strode forward. He waved to his soldiers and pointed to the front door. As the men raced ahead, Patton slowed, then turned back. The red-haired man still stood in place, hugging his arms, shaking slightly as the wind blew smoke trails around him. A plane roared overhead and he winced with the sound. He met Patton’s gaze and his dry lips parted.
“You’ll keep it safe?”
Patton drew another breath from the cigar and thought before answering. “Better than Hitler did, the egomaniac. To think, he actually let it out of his grasp. And look what happened.”
The red-haired man nodded. “So it’s true? They’re advancing on his bunker in Berlin?”
Patton shrugged. “I don’t need your skills to see that the coward will probably take his own life before we get there. It’s over. The Reich is finished, and—”
“And America? Will it take its place?”
Patton’s expression formed a look of annoyance at the question. “America will be what it’s meant to be.” He pointed to the church. “When we reclaim what Hitler stole from that museum in Austria, we’ll be unstoppable. But power is just a means to an end. Eisenhower no doubt will order that we return the relic to its rightful owner, like all the other stolen artifacts we reclaim from these Nazi bastards.”
“But you won’t let him do that, will you?” The red-haired man’s lips curled in a tight smile. “And don’t bother answering, I’ve seen it already.”
“Ah, then I suppose I must insist you keep that little vision to yourself.” Patton grinned back at him, even as gunshots sounded from inside the church—a short, brief exchange, and then quiet resumed as the church’s defenders met their quick ends. “So, if I might ask, what else have you seen?”
The red-haired man closed his eyes for a moment as if recapturing a series of fond memories. “You are going to trick your commander. Your artists will create a perfect forgery, and you will let General Eisenhower return that to the Austrian government. Meanwhile, you are going to place the true artifact somewhere that makes perfect sense. Not only hidden in plain sight, but keeping it where it can be wielded by the most important symbol of everything America stands for as the preeminent world power.”
General Patton blinked at the man for several seconds, chewing on the end of the
diminishing cigar until the ashes fell, joining others from Nuremberg’s burning skyline. Then, he nodded once more. “You have surpassed all my expectations, Jordan Crowe. I thank you. And your nation thanks you.”
The red-haired man closed his eyes. And after Patton turned and at long last strode into the church to claim his prize, Crowe spoke, directing his words into the rising wind. “Hide it well, General.”
He sighed and closed his eyes, the lids flickering with a far off vision.
“Hide it well, so that it may still be there when it’s truly needed.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
You know what they say about sequels: up the stakes, up the body count. In writing this book I felt you could also say, double the research. I think I read every book out there (and there are hundreds) on the life and legacy of Genghis Khan. The one I found invaluable, with vivid first-person descriptions and even interviews with a living Darkhad, was Genghis Khan: Life, Death, and Resurrection, by John Man. I also followed the exploits of Chicago millionaire and professor Maury Kravitz, who has been visiting Mongolia for years with a research team, narrowing the search for the lost tomb. Good Luck Maury! (But beware those traps if you ever find it.)
I confess to feeling some pressure writing this, as teams from several countries are currently on the hunt to solve this archaeological mystery. If they find him somewhere else, then I may look a little silly. But then again, if he’s where I’ve got him, I expect a share of the treasure.
I’ll also acknowledge here the usual bits about historical accuracy. The Westcar Papyrus is real, as is its prophecy related to the secret chamber. So too is the description Herodotus gave of the Great Pyramid’s origin—the legend that a shepherd prince, not an Egyptian Pharoah, had been its engineer. And as for HAARP, there are many books on the subject of what’s going on up in Alaska. I only scratched the surface here; much more to come in Book 3.
Of course, thanks goes out again to all the fine people who helped make Pharos so successful, and did it again here—Stan Tremblay, Shane Thomson and Tim Schulte from Variance Publishing.
And I’d also like to thank my best Buckeye friend, Kim Klever—world-renowned adventurer in her own right, for the pictures and descriptions of Bodrum, Turkey, after her trip there in 2008. And thanks again, as always, to my faithful first readers (you two know who you are!). And finally, thanks go to everyone who came along for this thrill ride. May the Morpheus Initiative continue to entertain (and enlighten) you!
-DJS, 2011
The Mongol Objective [Oct 2011] Page 32