Sheila, however, took Wilder at his word, and again she started to feel that special tingle. The fact that Billy Joe would do whatever the Lord commanded, well, it made her… excited.
“Oh, Billy Joe!” she said, “I can’t get over how dedicated you are to doing the Lord’s work.”
Wilder knew that the sermon he had just finished, along with the buttons of hers that he’d just pushed could in minutes lead to a decidedly secular form of rapture. He’d seen the look on her face enough times before. But this was Sunday, and there were a lot of staff members roaming the halls. He also knew that his wife often came to his office following a sermon, and that his little announcement of his bogus travel plans had been a surprise to her.
“Darlin’, I’m just a servant of the Lord,” he replied. “Now why don’t you run along and see how things are going in the phone room. I expect we should see a near-record number of donations today.”
Sheila was a little disappointed, but also a bit relieved. She’d been ambivalent about their relationship ever since their first extracurricular tryst. On the one hand, she loved the attention, and she wanted to help Billy Joe however she could, and some of what they did felt really, really good. On the other hand, she knew that in a strictly technical way, they were committing a sin, and there were some things he had her do that she really didn’t like very much. So it was with a certain sense of relief that she said “Right, Billy Joe,” and went to check how the tally was going.
Less than a minute after she left, the office door opened and Mabel Wilder entered.
“Hello, sweetheart,” said Wilder, “what’d you think of the sermon?”
“What is this nonsense about you going to Antarctica?” she demanded without preface.
Wilder came around his desk and took her hands, leading her to the sofa.
“Now don’t get all in a tizzy, honey bunch. I’m not planning on going to Antarctica myself. That was just part of my larger strategy. I want to place a representative at that research site, and if I hit ‘em with the big guns first — meaning me — it’ll be easier to negotiate having someone else go in my place.”
She regarded her husband with a mixture of relief and wariness. This sounded like the kind of tack Billy Joe would take.
Mabel Richardson Wilder was three years older than her husband, the daughter of a wealthy owner of a chain of automobile dealerships. They’d met when Wilder had gone to work for her father. He’d been 28 and she 31 at the time. They’d been married for 16 years, and had never had children.
It was Mabel who’d insisted that Wilder be born again. She had been and still was a handsome woman, and the fact that her daddy was rich made her even more beautiful. Wilder had had no problem with becoming a born-again Christian if it let him land Mabel Richardson as his wife and Jimmy Richardson as his father-in-law.
But as Wilder was exposed to the wonders of fundamentalist religion, he realized that the money to be made selling cars paled in comparison to the opportunities that existed in saving souls. He’d switched careers, and over the previous 15 years had built one of the most successful televangelical empires in the country.
Mabel Wilder was no fool, and had few illusions about her husband. Yet having grown up with money, she found it natural and comforting, and Billy Joe made sure she was always up to date on the good works that the ministry did around the world, especially when the reports were actually true.
They hadn’t known each other in the Biblical sense for more than six years now, and Mabel was fairly certain that Billy Joe had been knowing his secretary on a regular basis, but she preferred not to confront the issue. She’d always found sex to be distasteful and rather messy, and was just as happy that she didn’t have to provide that wifely service to him. While adultery was a sin against God, well, if it relieved her of the chore, then she could overlook it.
“Well as long as you’re not actually going to go down to that awful place…” she said.
“Sweetheart, don’t you never mind. I’m staying right here in God’s country where it’s nice and warm.”
With that assurance, Mabel seemed satisfied, and after obtaining his promise that he’d be home for supper, she left. Returning to his desk, Wilder called Bobby Palmer.
“Bobby, did you see my show today?”
“Sorry, Billy Joe, I didn’t.”
Wilder briefed him on the essential details, and explained his strategy.
“I’ll put up the money for HSU to become a contributing member of the consortium. What I need is one of your students — probably a grad student — who I can send in my place when they turn me down for a personal visit. I need someone who’s a true believer. Someone who’s willing to fight the Lord’s fight if necessary, if you get my drift.”
Palmer considered for a moment before replying. “I can think of two or three possibilities off hand. Gimme a couple of days to work on it. I know I can provide the right boy.”
Before hanging up, Wilder asked Palmer to look up the phone number of Royce Clayton at U. C. Berkeley. As far as Wilder knew, the project was still being run under the official aegis of the university’s Department of Geology. Palmer had easy access to academic directories, and provided the number quickly.
“Thanks, Bobby. I’ll talk to you in a day or two.”
“See ya, Billy Joe.”
•
Royce Clayton put down the phone, shaking his head as his assistant Joyce Hilliard came in through the open door with a short stack of folders.
“Was that Billy Joe Wilder the television preacher?” she asked.
“Yes it was,” Clayton answered. She’d fielded the call when the phone rang.
“What on Earth did he want?”
“He wanted to go down to the site.”
“Why?”
“Some mumbo-jumbo about wanting to make sure that the facts about what we’re finding aren’t being distorted.”
“Ah ha. And you said…”
“I told him no, of course. There’s no way I’d turn the site into a media opportunity for some religious nut case — er — some preacher.”
Hilliard smiled. “Don’t worry, your assessment doesn’t offend me in the slightest.”
“So then he starts in about how important this discovery is, and how great an impact it could have on religions of all faiths, and asks if I’d be willing to let Holy Spirit University join the consortium and send a grad student.”
Hilliard looked slightly askance at Clayton. “And you said…”
Clayton shrugged. “He offered an up-front contribution of a million, with more to follow if necessary. Even with the participation of the other schools, that’s a tough figure to turn down.”
“And how is that not selling out?” she asked.
“Aw, hell, all we have to do is let them send down one goofy grad student. An observer. Hal and Bob can handle some idiot who thinks the world’s only 6,000 years old, or whatever it is they believe. I didn’t see what damage it could do, so I said OK.”
“Royce, I don’t know why, but I have to say, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“Well, I’m not exactly thrilled myself. But I also figured that if I turned him and his money down, not only would we lose the additional funds, but he could put up a huge fuss that could cause us even more trouble. Off the top of my head I know of at least two of our larger donors who’re at least somewhat sympathetic to fundamentalists like Wilder. I was choosing — I hope — the lesser of two evils.”
“An apt description. Let’s hope we don’t regret it down the road.”
“From your lips,” he replied, with a twinkle in his eye, “to God’s ear.”
Chapter 10
The Mole
As he sat waiting in the reception area outside Billy Joe Wilder’s office, Eugene Northrup kept his feet together on the floor, with his hands folded in his lap. He was dressed in a dark blue suit with a white shirt and a dark red tie. Occasionally Wilder’s secretary would look over and, when he c
aught her doing so, smile at him, and he’d return her smiles. She glanced at him when he’d been waiting about ten minutes, and said, “It shouldn’t be much longer, now.”
‘Thank you, ma’am,” he replied.
Sheila thought he was a very handsome young man — muscular, about 23, she’d imagine, six feet tall with dark, close-cropped hair — and she found herself wondering what the muscles under his suit and shirt looked like.
Northrup thought the secretary appeared to be a proper Christian woman, attractive and in her early thirties, dressed demurely and very polite.
At about the 20-minute mark, the phone on Sheila’s desk rang. She picked it up, listened for a moment and then turned to Northrup with a smile. “You can go in now.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he replied. He stood up and strode to the door, and Sheila couldn’t help but notice his ramrod-straight posture as he crossed the room.
As Northrup entered the office, Wilder rose from behind his desk and came around to meet him.
“My boy, it’s good to meet you. I’m Billy Joe Wilder. Thanks for coming.”
“It’s an honor, sir,” Northrup answered, shaking hands.
“Have a seat, son. Would you like anything? Some coffee, a soda?”
“No sir, I’m fine,” Northrup answered, waiting until Wilder had taken his seat before sitting somewhat stiffly in the chair across the desk.
“Good, good. Professor Palmer tells me you’re one of his best students.”
“That’s very kind of him, sir.”
“Why don’t you call me Billy Joe, son.”
“Yes sir. Thank you, sir.”
Wilder peered at Northrup over the top of his reading glasses for a moment, and then referred to the notes from his conversation with Palmer.
“I understand you’re working on an advanced degree in physics.”
“Yes sir.”
“You were also a Captain in the ROTC.”
“Yes sir. I’ll be entering the Army as soon as I complete my master’s degree.”
“Very impressive background. Your daddy’s a preacher too.”
“Yes sir. First Baptist Church of Tysonville.”
“Excellent, excellent.” Wilder took off his glasses and looked straight at Northrup.
“I’m assuming that Dr. Palmer gave you some idea of why I’ve asked you to drop by.”
“I know it has to do with the discovery in Antarctica, sir.”
“Well, that’s right. Tell me, what do you know of what’s goin’ on down there?”
“As I understand it, sir, a team from U. C. Berkeley uncovered what appears to be a city buried under the ice. They then discovered what appears to be writing on the wall of one of the structures, which doesn’t appear to be in any known human language. They’ve speculated that the artifacts may be of alien origin, sir.”
This repeated “sir” stuff was beginning to grate a bit on Wilder, but he supposed that with a boy who’d been a top-rank ROTC cadet, it was part of the package.
“And tell me, what do you think of that.”
“I’m not sure, sir. I haven’t given it much thought.”
“You’ve heard that they’re sayin’ that this ‘city’ they’ve found is 60 or 70 million years old, haven’t you?”
“Yes sir, I have.”
“And what’s your take on that?”
“According to our best biblical scholars, the Earth is only around 6,000 years old, so I don’t see how that could be correct, sir.”
Wilder smiled broadly. “My point exactly, son. I wish more people would accept the truth like you do.”
“Yes sir.”
“Now, Eugene — or do you go by Gene?”
“Eugene, sir.”
“Now Eugene, we don’t feel like we can just sit around here twiddlin’ our thumbs while those scientists down in Antarctica go distortin’ the truth as revealed in the Holy Bible. At the very least, we feel it’d be best if we had one of our own people on the scene — someone who could make sure that the true facts were bein’ presented.”
“Yes sir.”
“Let me come right to the point. How would you feel about going down there and joinin’ the research team as the official representative of HSU, and the unofficial representative of the Church of Clear Light?”
For the first time, Northrup’s composure relaxed a bit, and a smile crossed his face. “Why, I’d be honored, sir.”
Wilder smiled broadly. “Outstanding, my boy, I was hoping you’d say that.”
“When would I go, sir?”
“I’ve already set things up with Dr. Palmer. You’ll be on leave from your current work, and you’ll be receiving special credit for your efforts on this assignment. We’ll have your gear ready within three or four days, and then you’ll fly to Tierra del Fuego to board the boat for Antarctica. You should be there within ten days at the outside.”
Northrup couldn’t believe his good fortune. As the middle of five children of a not-very prosperous country preacher, the only place he’d ever been besides his home town was HSU. He’d always wanted to travel, which was one of several reasons he’d gone through the ROTC program. He figured the Army would give him a chance to see other towns, perhaps other countries. But Antarctica was far more exotic a place than he’d ever hoped to visit.
“Now, son, there’s something serious that we need to discuss before we go any further.”
Northrup leaned forward slightly in his chair. “Yes sir?”
Wilder knew he had do deal with what would come next very carefully.
“These findings down there, well, they could represent a challenge to what we know to be the truth as revealed in the Scriptures. And I’m particularly worried that what we’re seein’ here is the work of the Devil himself. Do you understand?”
“I think so, sir.”
“Son, I’ll be honest with you. One of the reasons you were picked for this assignment is your military training. Frankly, you may be walking directly into the lion’s den. If this indeed is the Devil at work, well, it might just become necessary for you to take actions in the name of the Lord to defend our entire planet against old Beezlebub.” Wilder watched Northrup’s face closely, trying to judge his reaction. A slight frown appeared, and then Northrup responded.
“Sir, I stand ready to fight for the Lord if necessary,” he said with conviction.
“Excellent,” Wilder said softly. “You’re a true Christian soldier, my boy.”
“Yes sir!”
Wilder proceeded to go over some of the details of the assignment. Northrup had been accepted as an observer, and wouldn’t have specific duties on site. It was expected, however, that he’d help out as necessary and possible, under the direction of the U. C. Berkeley team and Dr. Harold Reynolds in particular.
When they got around to the possibility that he might be forced into taking aggressive action, Northrup brought up the question of weaponry.
“We’ve got a fellow who’s a commander in one of the God-fearing militias who tells me he can fix us up with whatever you need,” said Wilder. “Your gear will be packed in a shipping case and shipped as cargo, and he says he can package everything so that there’s no way it’ll be detected.”
“Excellent, sir,” Northrup replied.
After a few more items were covered, Wilder thanked Northrup for his participation, and promised to be in touch over the next few days. It was everything Northrup could do to keep himself from saluting as he left, but he managed not to.
On his way through the reception area, he smiled at Sheila Eakins and said, “Good afternoon, ma’am.” “Good afternoon,” she replied, watching him leave through the outer door. My, but he was a good-looking young man!
Her phone rang with the intercom light flashing, and she picked up the receiver.
“Sheila, is there anything or anybody else on my schedule for the rest of the day?’
“Why no, Billy Joe, everything’s clear.”
“Then I wonder if you
might come in and help me with somethin’ for a little while.”
“Why, of course, Billy Joe.”
Before she entered his office, she closed the outer office door. Entering Wilder’s office, she leaned against the door as she closed it, turning the lock as she did. When Billy Joe needed her help with somethin’ for a while, it wouldn’t be good to be disturbed.
Chapter 11
The Outhouse
Reynolds entered the new chamber behind Rank Matthews, accompanied by Bob Sinclair, Dan Lightfoot, Jill Hodge and Stephanie Mitchell. Two of Matthews’ crew were finishing up the cleanup of the mud on the floor of the chamber as they came in.
The small pyramid, which measured roughly 20 feet on each of its three sides and 9 feet high, was completely exposed. Because of its much smaller size relative to the main pyramid and its relatively close proximity, some of the tunnel crew had started calling it “the Outhouse,” and the name had stuck.
The ground level around it had been cleared to a space of about six feet on all sides, and the ceiling of the chamber, which was roughly dome-shaped, cleared the top of the truncated pyramid by about four feet. Work lights illuminated the pyramid from all three sides, and a six-inch duct had been run in through the tunnel to pump cold air in to prevent the ice walls and ceiling from melting.
Like the main pyramid, this smaller structure also had writing on its wall, at the same height off the ground as the larger one, and again in a band about two feet tall. Jill Hodge immediately set about photographing the writing, using a hand-held camera. Later she’d return with her tripod and lights to do a more thorough job.
Reynolds turned to Matthews. “What’s up top?” he asked.
“It’s not flat,” Matthews replied. “It’s got a slight peak to it, tapering up from each of the three sides about two feet above the top of the walls. But it’s close enough to level that you could walk on it.”
Reynolds walked along the wall facing the entrance from the tunnel, playing a flashlight on the surface. “Any evidence of an opening?” he asked, just as he noticed the gap in the band of writing.
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