The Cydonia Objective (Morpheus Initiative 03)

by David Sakmyster

  "Tough climb," said one of the park attendants, sitting at this ground level station and working on the newspaper's crossword section. He was in his sixties with a gray mustache and spindly fingers. "Take the elevator if you like, gets you to her feet at least. Then you still gotta climb. You have crown access?"

  Caleb flashed him his pass. "Yeah, I think I will travel in style as long as I can. But first, tell me. What do you know about the cornerstone?"

  "Masonic dedication, all that Dan Brown stuff? Why, you think there's some secret treasure stashed inside there?"

  Caleb choked on a laugh. "Um, actually I'm a professor at Columbia. Just thought I'd do some research for a history class."

  "Yeah, it's down there at the base. Hard to get to, especially in a storm."

  "And the box?"

  "Sealed up good, from what I heard. But I'm sure there's a way into it. I'd have to check with the director. Don't get much questions about it, actually."

  "Is he here? The director?"

  "At the administration office you passed on the way off the ferry. You should've probably set up an appointment."

  "Yeah, this was kind of last minute." Caleb stood there, dripping, trying to decide what to do.

  "So, you wanna go up, get your money's worth? Least it's not too stifling hot up there like normally. Usually a couple people fainting every day. Keeps me busy."

  Caleb started for the elevator, deciding to at least check out the crown while he had the chance. And he didn't know how close Nina was. She might not have recognized him in his tourist disguise, but she would know where he was going. "Oh," he called back. "One more thing. What's below the base?"

  "Under the old fort, you mean?"

  "Yeah, ever been down there? I'm wondering about how far down it goes."

  "Just a storage level. Nothing else I've seen anyways or heard about. Why, you think maybe there's some Nazi base down there or a secret government lab?"

  "No, sorry."

  "Maybe the lair for the true shadow government!" The attendant was really playing it up, and becoming annoying.

  Caleb wiped the rainwater from his face. "You really need to get out more."

  The guard shrugged. "A lot of time for thought in here. Time to wonder about all sorts of things."

  "Wondering's not a bad pastime." Caleb entered the elevator and let the attendant send it on its way.

  "See you on the way down," the guard called. "Unless the government assassins get you first and make it look like an accident!"

  During the ascent, as Caleb marveled at the precision of the supporting interior structure of Batholdi's design, he had a moment to think. He tried to find a way to refine the search, but kept coming back to the one thing that had stifled him before.

  Find out what Patton had done with it.

  He knew the general had secured it from among the treasures found defended by the Nazis in Nuremburg, knew that he had recognized it as something special, something powerful. And after researching it, he'd petitioned Eisenhower to keep it as a tool for America, but had his request denied. It was ordered back to Vienna to be displayed at its national museum. That was a request Patton refused, and secretly had a replica made of the lance, and that copy substituted in its place while the original found its way here. Somewhere…

  Where? That's when the visions broke down and he couldn't find the right questions to probe. He had been asking what Patton had done with it, and that only led to visions of a ferry not unlike the one he had just taken, to Liberty Island where Patton remained on the boat, just nodding confidently at the results of his efforts.

  Where was it? Caleb probed again, thinking. It had to have been handed off to someone he trusted. Someone who had access to the Statue. An administrator, an attendant, a worker… An engineer? Caleb thought again of the men he had seen working on the torch. Still, it seemed more likely that the cornerstone and secret box contained the prize, but not only was that too obvious, but discovery was too likely. If anyone decided to open it up for study, the anomalous weapon would cry out for explanation.

  That tended to rule out the cornerstone, which left the crown or the torch, or some secret passageway to an underground complex, something unknown to the conspiracy-minded security guard downstairs.

  The elevator finally slowed, then the doors opened and he emerged at the top of the monument's base. Looking up at the winding staircase shaped like a double helix, he got dizzy all over again. Now comes the hard part. He really wished he knew if it was up there, or if this was all a waste of time. Time he didn't have.

  He looked down. People were starting to climb, a few who had braved the drenching rain. He lingered for a moment, and was about to turn away when he saw a flash of red, way down there.

  She's coming.

  #

  Before taking the stairs, Caleb glanced out the side exit to the viewing balcony. The day had turned a dismal shade of gray, with sheets of silvery rain pelting the platform, dripping down the exit's frame and flooding in rivulets to overflowing drainage vents.

  Up the stairs now. Ascending through the skeleton with its crisscrossing metal beams, Caleb marveled at the interior of the garment, the incredibly thin copper sheets joined by iron bars. Two stairs at a time he climbed, while he heard others coming down the other side of the helix, seemingly less taxed with the descent. Caleb ran, pulling himself along using the railing. He slipped as his sloshing sneakers lost traction at one point, painfully banged his right shin, then got up and kept moving.

  Come on, he urged, trying to stimulate his powers during the physical exertion, and he was again reminded of that night in Alexandria when Nina had taxed him fully, exhausting his body to the point his mind broke free and soared.

  Gasping for oxygen now, feeling the air thinning, his temperature rising, the muscles in his legs and arms taxed to the extreme. He dared to look up and saw he was only halfway to the top.

  He tripped again, hammering his elbow on the cool metal and nearly banging his head against the side railing. And then he lay there, heart thundering and the back of his neck pulsing.

  Groaning, he opened his eyes…

  And looked down at himself… wearing dark blue coveralls. A tool belt… and holding a leather satchel, with something inside wrapped in several layers of leather padding. Ascending these very stairs. Nervously gripping the satchel tight.

  A flash and a rumble of thunder. Caleb felt the statue sway in the storm winds. He held both railings to steady himself, then pushed himself upward. One glance down sent him to hugging the far side of the stairwell, and for a second he again felt like Demetrius, the first librarian of Alexandria, during his tour of the Pharos. Keep going, almost there. He thought about his other boys, the twins he'd never seen. They were up here just a day ago. Searching for the same thing. Searching for the spear, to keep it out of his hands.

  So they knew, or at least had the same sense that it wasn't in the cornerstone or somewhere underground.

  It had to be up there. The certainty fueled his muscles and he climbed again. Rounding another bend, then another. One more tentative glance down, and his heart leapt. Nina emerged from the pedestal entrance, flanked by three men in dark suits. All of them looked up at once.

  And Caleb's breath fled in a rush. This was it. He could still make it, assuming he could find and extract the spear quickly, then make it back to the descending staircase when it split at the crown and then get back down before they saw him. He rushed up the remaining flights, calling on every ounce of energy. Finally, he reached the last bend and then he was into another separate staircase leading up to the crown.

  Now completely gassed, he joined a half-dozen people under the white ridged interior of her skull. Several viewers had climbed to the walkway and were gazing out the windows over the harbor and looking up to the torch. The temperature up here was twenty degrees hotter even than the interior at the base. Sweltering and oppressive, the sweat was dripping off him. He flung off the hat, figuring it was use
less now. And he turned his attention to the crown, the spikes especially–

  -and had a glimpse of men standing outside in bowler hats, wresting a new spike in place, replacing a damaged section.

  Too early, he thought. But it showed him that they could be hollow, and easily contain something. Where did that worker hide it? Come on, show me!

  A few other people were looking at him funny. Someone asked if he was okay, another told him to sit and rest. But their voices had faded, along with their images, and he had shifted back, back… almost seventy years.

  The man in coveralls…

  Heading up a ladder, with the heavy satchel over his shoulder. Climbing the narrow, tight rungs, climbing…

  Into the arm!

  Caleb pushed away from the concerned person bending over him. "It's in the torch," he muttered. "I'm in the wrong place. Damn it!"

  "This is the crown," said the man, and Caleb focused and was surprised to see it was the Asian tourist from the ferry. "Hi there, you bought that extra ticket. Sorry it was such a bad climb, but you're here. You made it!"

  "No," Caleb whispered, trying to stand. "Have to get to the torch."

  "The torch? No way, wish we could, the view would be sweet, but it's been closed to the public since 1916. Some kind of attack on munitions plant nearby. The explosion damaged the arm and the torch, and no one's been allowed in since."

  Caleb shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Where's the ladder?"

  "Back down a bit, I guess. I saw it and took some neat pictures. You have to cross over a narrow walkway, then climb up through the arm. It looks really tight. And dangerous."

  Nodding, Caleb patted the man's shoulder. "Wouldn't expect otherwise. Thanks." He stumbled for the descending stairs.

  "But there's no way you'll get in," called the tourist. "If you need to see the torch so bad, why not just go to the museum lobby? The original one's down there…"

  Caleb froze. The pounding of steps below, on the ascending stairs, was getting louder. Nina was closing in. His head snapped back. "The original? How long ago was it moved?" He cursed himself for being so careless. A quick review of the history on the statue's website might have told him all this.

  The man scratched his head and looked at his wife, who had just now come down from the observation area. She met his questioning eyes. "The original torch? I remember—the changes made to it by that sculptor—the one who designed Mount Rushmore…"

  "Gutzman," Caleb said, recalling the man working on the torch, retrofitting the windows with amber.

  "Yeah, him. The glass windows he put in? I guess they leaked or something. Water and snow got in and corroded the torch and parts of the arm over time, so they decided to replace the whole thing. What's up there now is a gold-plated, solid structure facsimile."

  "Right," said the husband. "And they shine the huge spotlights on it from the base, and it lights up nice now. No need for interior lamps."

  Caleb's head throbbed. "What year? When did they move it?" Was it after Patton's man came up here?

  "Oh," said the woman, "not too long ago. I think during Reagan's term. Part of his public works improvement project, and…"

  But Caleb didn't stay to listen any longer. He was racing down, heading for the lobby.

  #

  The narrow steps made it difficult, but after first checking to make sure he couldn't see Nina anywhere down there, he went as fast as he could, but quickly caught up with other people moving very slowly. He squeezed around them wherever possible, but other times had to complain that he was about to be sick and they had to move aside or face the consequences. Soon he was back at the pedestal. Outside, the rain was still falling in torrents and the sky had darkened. The elevator was nowhere to be seen.

  But he wasn't waiting for it anyway. He made his way to the stairs and flew down, finding his energy getting better as the heat and altitude decreased. These stairs were much wider, with plenty of room to race by stragglers. He wondered how far back Nina was. Surely they had found he had slipped by them. Hopefully she may have been sidetracked at the torch, and had gone up there to check.

  He could imagine a Hitchcockian scene if he had stuck to his original plan. If it hadn't been for that couple and their information, the torch might have been his last stand—or more likely—fall.

  Now he had a chance. He was almost there. Rounding the last bend, then onto the main floor, past the attendant still sitting with his crossword puzzle. He looked up, recognition in his eyes. "Oh, it's you! A pretty lady was down here a short time ago, looking for you. Figured you wouldn't mind, so I told her."

  "Thanks," Caleb said in a muffled voice. "No time to chat, but if she comes back this way, can you stall her for a few minutes?"

  "What? Why?"

  "Assassin," Caleb said, running for the next stairs, heading to the museum.

  He burst through the lobby doors, emerging on the second level. A walled railing overlooked the floor and entrance to the museum…

  Where the original torch stood in the center of the foyer.

  #

  A circular bronze railing set it off from public access, and a park attendant leaned against the railing by the main entrance, ready to answer questions or point tourists in the right direction.

  Caleb stopped for a moment at the upper railing, studying the torch. He let his gaze quickly take in the details: the oxidized copper lattice-work, an intricate pattern making up the torch support; the weather-worn cylinder supporting the brilliant amber window-set flame, appearing windblown and magnificent, glowing with a comfortable internal radiance. It rested on a four-legged stand, keeping it several feet off the ground.

  Caleb shut his eyes, trying to pick up the vision where he had left it. The worker, ascending the ladder…

  Nothing but the doors opening, a mingling of voices. Then–

  He's out, emerging through the cylinder, taking a moment to glance over the side, down to the enormous head and crown, and further down to the other arm, cradling the tablet…

  And then he kneels and chooses a spot, selecting one section of the artistic railing design, one of the metal bars interspersed between the curved trellises. And he begins to unscrew it, using a heavy wrench from his tool belt. When it's free, he carefully places it in his satchel and removes something of a similar size. Unravels it from its leather garment, and holds aloft an almost identical bar, down to the knobs at the ends and in the middle. He unscrews the top and looks inside, verifying that the hollow cavity is filled with its prize… and then he screws it back in and sets it in place. When he's done, his eyes focus and the great Tablet held in Liberty's other arm is in direct sight, a straight line almost, to the object he just placed in the torch.

  It was symbolic and fitting, Caleb realized, coming out of the vision, clearing his head. He wasn't sure if Patton or this aide understood the spear's true potential, but it may have worked on their minds, setting up the symbolic relationship. But they hadn't counted on technology advancements, and the bad luck of leaky craftsmanship.

  Caleb moved down the steps quickly, then walked around the torch, studying it.

  "Can I help you?" asked the attendant, noticing his interest. "This is the original–"

  "Torch, yes I know. I'm just looking for something…" He stopped, studying the layout of the windowed flame, recalling how it looked in his vision. Then he took two steps to his right and looked straight ahead. The bar in front of him…

  That was it. But how could he get it?

  The attendant shifted, and was now talking to a group of wet newcomers who were complaining about their treatment in the security line and the fact that they didn't know they needed to reserve crown tickets ahead of time.

  Seeing his chance, Caleb bent down, reached over the railing and gripped the bar. As the argument heated up, he twisted. One direction, then the next. It barely budged. He glanced at the door to the statue's interior climb, expecting it to burst open any minute with his pursuers, then looked over to the crowd at
the door, and now a line behind them, shouting to move so they could get out of the rain.

  Screw it, Caleb thought. He vaulted the railing. Balancing on his left foot, he raised his right and aimed. Then sent his heel down, kicking hard at the top of the bar. It broke free with a piercing Crack!

  The attendant spun around just as Caleb wrenched it free, and without checking inside the shaft, he ran for it. Hurdled the railing and raced for the stairs. He'd never make it through that crowd and back past security. His only chance was to run into the museum or back into the monument, ditch the bar and hide the lance under his clothes and then try to blend in with the crowd and get out the back stairs. Up and to the door.

  "Hey!" the guard gave chase while shouting something into his walkie-talkie.

  Caleb reached for the door, flung it open—and stopped short.

  Nina was there, alone and out of breath. Sweat caked on her glistening skin. She reached into her purse and pulled out a gun, aiming at his head.

  #

  "Stop right th-" the attendant flew around the corner, only to be stopped by a bullet into his shoulder. He spun around and fell back down the stairs. And only then did the gun's retort sound in Caleb's ears. She was using a silencer, but it was still loud enough. Maybe not to draw a crowd, and if the guard hadn't alerted security yet…

  Caleb's eyes widened. He held the bar in both hands like a weapon, and as he trembled he could feel something rattling around inside the hollow space.

  Nina cocked her head, staring at it. "Congratulations. Just like old times, wouldn't you say?"

  "So now what?" Caleb asked. He looked behind him, waiting. "Why didn't you shoot me?"

  The pounding of feet on stairs, and then three men in suits rounded the corner. Nina held up her free hand in a fist. "Under control," she said. "Fan out into the lobby. Stop anyone from following us."

  "But-" one of them started, only to be silenced by a deadly look. They passed by, and then Caleb found she had grasped his hand and was pulling him back, back up the stairs.