by Joanne Pence
Now, he began to go through Rempart’s files. He learned that Rempart’s interest in Idaho and The Book of Abraham the Jew began over a year ago. Rempart apparently had met someone he called “JV” and liked what he heard. Two weeks after that meeting, he began writing down notes of their conversations. He didn’t annotate the initial meeting, only referred to it in later entries.
Rempart’s interest peaked when JV told him about a group of explorers who had secretly followed the Lewis and Clark expedition westward. Two young foreign students, Chou An-ming from China and Niels Jorgansen from Denmark, discovered their story many years ago as they worked together on a term paper for an anthropology class taught by Professor Thurmon Teasdale.
Rempart was fascinated by the explorers and the Indian band they found living in what was hitherto believed to be an uninhabited area in Central Idaho. Finding new anthropological groups was Rempart’s bread-and-butter.
As JV continued to feed Rempart new information, however, a change came over Michael’s brother. The Book of Abraham the Jew, which he had initially ignored, became more and more fascinating to him. JV talked about a man named Calvin Phaylor as having been the source of much of her information about all this. It sounded as if Phaylor was deceased, however. The Book of Abraham the Jew had caused Rempart to ask Michael to track down Chou An-ming in China while he flew off to France and Israel to learn more.
Jianjun paused to think about all this. He clearly remembered meeting Dr. Chou’s daughter, who insisted Chou knew nothing about alchemy, nor would he have wanted to.
The way Rempart’s notes expressed few thoughts and no explanation of why he suddenly started running around the world frustrated Jianjun.
Finally, the kicker: the mysterious “JV” offered Rempart the sum of one million dollars if he would spend a year of his life searching in Central Idaho for The Book of Abraham the Jew. Here, Lionel did explain some of his thinking, wondering what harm it would do to take the money. If he found anything, he’d be praised by his peers; if he didn’t, he’d still be a million dollars ahead. To be sure he didn’t lose in any way, he arranged for a visiting professorship to Boise State University so he could use the school’s money and students to fund his little field trip, along with paying his salary.
Cheap bastard, Jianjun thought.
Rempart’s notes about all this ended in the middle of him getting ready to move to Idaho for the school year.
Jianjun ran some searches to find out more about the mysterious people behind Rempart’s activities. Calvin Phaylor, he learned, wasn’t deceased at all, merely retired. He founded Phaylor-Laine Pharmaceuticals forty years earlier. When the company grew into one of the major pharmaceutical businesses in the world, Phaylor had it go public, and the hand-selected board kept him on as Chief Executive Officer until thirteen years ago, when they gave him a vote of “no confidence.” Three years later, the position went to Jennifer Vandenburg.
Ah ha! The mysterious JV.
Jianjun did more investigating, and soon sent Michael a long text message filled with information about the discoveries on Lionel’s hard drive, from the secret expedition to Lionel’s payment for searching for The Book of Abraham the Jew. He also let Michael know that, so far, he didn’t have a chance to do a deep investigation on Charlotte Reed or Simon Quade.
Hacking into the federal government’s personnel files, he found nothing about Charlotte Reed except that she had worked for ICE for over twelve years, and was now a GS-13. He could not find anything whatsoever on Simon Quade as yet. Also, there were no news accounts of a group of men going missing in Idaho in the past twenty years. Whatever happened was kept under wraps or wasn’t newsworthy.
Jianjun had lots more Lionel Rempart files to go through, but simply skimming the file names made him doubt he would find anything of interest.
Chapter 17
THE HORSES MOVED briskly through the wilderness area until they reached Devil’s Gulch, some four hours after leaving Polly Higgins’ ranch.
Charlotte quickly overcame her fear of the gentle gelding she had been given, but the empty countryside troubled her. She understood the dangers inherent in big cities with hordes of people packed close together, and she learned to be alert, careful, and cautious around them. Here, she had no idea what to expect.
The foursome followed a Forest Service fire trail along one of the Salmon’s tributaries. The ground rose gradually from stands of lodgepole pines and Douglas firs with outcrops of granodiorite towering above the creek to treeless terraces and crumbling granite hillsides. As the miles passed, cliffs of metamorphic rock sprouted from buck brush and fescue. A few hearty wildflowers still bloomed before winter’s freeze hit.
Most of Central Idaho had been formed by a mass of granite called the Idaho Batholith. A geologically active area, the landscape had been shaped by erupting volcanoes, melting glaciers, and severe earthquakes as recently as 10,000 years ago. Time hadn’t yet softened the jagged peaks and ridges of the mountains, eased their vertical walls, or rounded their sharp edges, and the landscape had a spiky crispness.
Jake pointed out a family of Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep peering down at them from cliff faces. Several stood in spots that appeared unapproachable and impenetrable for any animal, two or four-legged.
Every so often, a rise provided a view of the endless, desolate mountains they were supposed to search. Charlotte admitted she’d never before felt quite as small and insignificant. Quade sat as if lost in meditation, the reins lightly held in one hand, his eyelids half shut, and his pink cupid lips upturned in a mystical smile, while Michael paid close attention to every detail.
A strange sense of eerie desolation pervaded the land. Even if the stories of “something bad” were completely false, Michael sensed why they had started. The cool breeze which had aided their journey throughout the morning suddenly stopped. Now, the air turned still, and not the faintest breath of wind stirred a cloudless sky.
As they journeyed ever deeper and higher into the mountains, the excessive loneliness of the area reminded Michael of the kurgans, a lurking disquiet of something that didn’t belong. At the same time, the conviction struck that the beings who didn’t belong here were him and his companions.
The land connected itself to Michael, and drew him inexorably forward. The mountainous deer path they followed eventually opened to a sea of grassland. A single tree, now dead, stood at one side. Black crows lined a branch, peering down on them, while a lone golden eagle circled overhead. A fox started across their path, saw them, then turned and disappeared so suddenly it seemed to vanish into the air.
When they finally reached Devil’s Gulch, they found it a barren indentation that looked like a quarter-mile wide strip of cat litter laid down between face-to-face cliffs. There, they stopped for lunch. Polly had sent them off with big roast beef and cheese sandwiches on homemade bread, telling them to save the beef jerky and dried packaged food until they really needed it.
As he ate, Michael looked at his Iridium satellite phone and read the email from Jianjun. “My associate confirmed that a secret expedition set out to follow Lewis and Clark in hopes of finding The Book of Abraham the Jew out here. They failed, and now Lionel has been paid a lot of money to do the same thing,” Michael told the others.
“He was paid to do this?” Jake said with disgust. “To bring a bunch of kids out to this wilderness with no guide, no one who knows how to handle himself in nature when things go bad? How ironic that money seems to be the root of all the troubles here, and it doesn’t matter if it comes from gold or is nothing but paper.”
o0o
Ted’s legs gave out as he watched his companions disappear, one by one, as they stepped between the pillars.
Too frightened to move, he sat on the ground and waited, telling himself it was an optical illusion. They were all right. He would see them again.
One minute passed. Two. Five.
It had to be a joke of some kind, he told himself. A practical joke. He li
mped on tired, sore feet around the mound, praying he'd find all six of them waiting for him on the opposite side. They would laugh at him, the way so-called friends and classmates had done all his life. He didn't care. He'd rather be laughed at than stranded.
He circled the entire mound, but saw no sign of them. No sign of anyone. All his complaints about hunger and thirst, aching muscles and blistered feet, disappeared.
Something had happened at the top of that mound. It happened fast, too fast for them to call for help or do anything to save themselves.
If he went up there, the same would happen to him. He was no dummy. No way was he going to do that to himself.
He wanted to go home.
Besides, he was hungry. And exhausted. He had a lot more weight to lug around than the anorexic Vince, and Melisse's weight look like all muscle.
He hadn't even wanted to come on this stupid trip. "I want to know what Lionel Rempart's up to," his mother had told him. "So you're going! You can handle it for five days. You might even lose a few pounds, which would be good for you...unless you like being known as the Eric Cartman of BSU," she said, referring to the obnoxious fat boy on South Park.
His mother's slam made him hide his fear. "It'll be a waste of time," he muttered.
"As if you've got something better to do! Besides, if there's anything special out there, I'm not letting some Easterner claim all the glory."
In the end, she won. As always.
Ted's muscles ached, his feet were so badly blistered he could scarcely walk, and he was freezing. He wanted nothing more than to sit in front of a big fire. No one had even bothered to collect firewood yet.
He decided to wait. Soon, he told himself, soon they would come back.
But night quickly approached. He didn’t want to be alone out here at night.
He had two choices, to find a way back home all by himself, or to go after his friends.
The thought of both filled him with dread, but no way—no way on earth—would he spend the night alone next to those pillars. If he headed east, eventually he would reach the north-south highway that ran between Idaho and Montana. How hard could that be?
But how many days would it take? And what would he do for food or water? And what about the animals out here, the wolves, bears…and whatever took Brian?
He didn’t know anything about survival in this wilderness.
His stomach ached from hunger, and his mouth was dry. His friends weren’t too far away, he told himself. And maybe they were waiting for him. They wouldn’t leave him, would they?
No! Never!
Too frightened to stay put, he did the only thing he could. He walked toward the pillars. With each step, lightning flashed and thunder rolled.
He began to climb the mound. He got up about five feet, but slid back down again.
Finally, crawling on hands and knees, after about thirty minutes he managed to make his way to the very top.
Holding his breath, he walked between the pillars.
And nothing happened.
Everywhere he looked, everything appeared the same as before. And he was still alone.
Sad, miserable, scared, he slipped and slid his way back down the mound.
At the bottom, he shuddered as he looked out across the valley, at the high mountains all around. He had to find his way back home. Somehow, he would make it.
The area, he noticed, had suddenly developed a strange stench. A smell of decay.
He guessed he’d been too busy looking at the pillars to notice it before, but he wanted to get away from it now. It grew stronger quickly, making it almost hurt to breathe. He began to walk in the direction he thought was east.
At the edge of the valley, the firs thickened and the ground began to rise. Something flicked by up ahead.
His instincts told him to run, but what if it was one of the others? Or maybe even a rescue team? Earlier they had speculated that many people must be searching for them.
“Help!” he yelled. “I’m over here! Is anyone there? Haaallooow out there!”
No one answered. He must have been wrong.
Exhausted, he continued on. He would make it to the top of this mountain and then he’d be able to study the topography, determine the best route to reach civilization. Yes, that would do it. Everything would look better up there. He could see into the distance—maybe even find some hunters or fishermen. Anyone.
Something moved in the brush to his right. His heart nearly stopped. He faced there. Nothing.
He went faster, running, climbing, slipping, his breathing hard and labored. Maybe if he ignored it, it would go away, leave him alone.
The brush suddenly cleared. A full minute passed before he registered what he saw on the ground. A small pile of bones that had been picked clean were neatly stacked to look like a miniature ivory pyramid. What kind of animal stacked bones of its kill?
The skin on his neck prickled. He was so scared tears sprang to his eyes. A rustle of leaves sounded nearby.
He ran, almost tripping over his own feet. He didn’t stop, his mind a gibbering, screaming mess. The only sounds were those of his footsteps and his panting.
Tears fell. Please, please, he prayed.
Something big, black, and fast streaked out in front of him.
He screamed and came to an abrupt stop, his feet slipping on the silty ground. He fell on his backside, but quickly scrambled up, eyes wide, head swiveling back and forth. He saw nothing, heard only the sound of his wheezing, felt a burning pain in his chest. And then he heard leaves rustling sharp and fast. Too fast.
This couldn’t be happening to him. He let out a hysterical cry and forced leaden legs to run. He sobbed and shouted for help. Grunts and snarls sounded close behind him, loud and growing louder.
“No! Leave me alone!” he screamed.
His shoulder burst in red-hot pain. Unbalanced, he spun around, arms flailing. Except that he didn’t see his left arm. He looked at where his left arm used to be, and then, horrified, he looked up at his pursuer. His mind snapped.
What little sanity he had left escaped in one high-pitched scream.
Chapter 18
Washington D.C.
THE SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTE consisted of nineteen museums, 144 affiliate museums, and nine research centers in its public sector, but that wasn't the entire Institute by any means. Many of its 136 million objects, art works, and specimens were not displayed, but tucked away in special buildings and locations for only researchers and museum employees to handle and study. These were places the public and most of the Institute's employees knew nothing about.
On a hunch, Jianjun filled out the document request form with the information he’d found on Lionel Rempart’s “Smith Inst” note and twenty minutes later a museum attendant brought him a box of materials. Success! He carried it to a carrel.
Opening it, he found dishes, rusted spoons, tools, knives, and penny nails from the failed Mormon community at New Gideon, Idaho. He wondered why Rempart would care about this old junk. But digging deeper, he found strange Indian trinkets and then an aged and battered bound journal with a thick leather cover.
He opened the journal and stared with amazement at the date—1806, a year after the Lewis and Clark expedition. The writing had turned so faint over the years, brown-tinged ink on age-darkened pages, and the formation of letters so curvy and embellished, that he was forced to read slowly, making out one word at a time. But as he read, his skin rippled with goose-bumps.
Journal
Property of Francis Masterson
The Spring of Our Lord, 1806
All hope is gone. Evil is victorious.
In the time I have remaining I will, herewith, impart a tale so filled with Dread and Terror that my heart overflows with immeasurable Sorrow to tell it.
It began with the highest of Good Will and Promise and, on my part, great Excitement. I can only trust to Providence that one day this small account which I leave in a land of unimaginable desolation and Wildnes
s, may be discovered, and that it will serve to warn others of the wickedness that may ensnare Good men.
Ours was to be a Secret Expedition, and we were, each and Every One, to keep our own Journal in accordance with our discipline. As the Journey continued, however, such writings lessened, and so I have taken upon myself the sad Burden to record a brief History of our group since I fear we will never meet our Loved Ones again this side of Heaven.
It all began simply.
President Thomas Jefferson, scandalous rumor to the contrary, was neither Rosicrucian nor Illuminati, but he had an understanding of the world beyond the ken of most men. He realized that there are Wonders on this Earth that Rational Science and the strange Beliefs of the Churched could not begin to fathom.
I beg your indulgence, My Future Would-Be Reader (if you do exist), as I recount some of the History of this time, for I have not the foresight to know how much of it has become common knowledge.
When Jefferson sojourned in Paris some years before his Presidency, he met a group of Occultists. It was our misfortune that Jefferson took little notice that Occultists often involved themselves in the Study of Evil. If he had, perhaps our adventure would not have come to this frightening condition.
He continued this association into his presidency. Among those Occultists was a Medieval scholar who had studied the ancient practice of Alchemy. The man told Jefferson that one of the most important Alchemical texts of all time may have been brought to America by a Frenchman. The man, said to be a Seer and an Alchemist, ventured into the area the French explored, but which was now under dispute between the English and the Americans after the Emperor’s sale of Louisiana.
Desiring the land, the text, and the Alchemist’s gold (if it did exist), Jefferson contacted Ezra Crouch, a retired Captain in the Army of the United States of America as well as a student of Freemasonry and Rosicrucian history, to pursue the matter.
Captain Crouch learned that a French explorer had indeed discovered Pure Gold as well as Arcane and Magical materials and symbols near the Nez Perce nation. The Indians refused to touch it, insisting it ensured Death to anyone who did so. Included in the findings was a most peculiar Symbol: