“Like what?” Ignatowski asked.
“I don’t know,” Bishop answered. “Another text? Maybe, some trash left behind? As I know Jennifer, she would have done it so that it would stick out, and we would recognize it when we saw it. So let’s spread out.”
“I’ll take left,” Lindsey said, and Ignatowski automatically walked right. They slowly searched the clearing, inspecting all the stones from base to top, turning smaller rocks over and wiping mud from whatever could be written on or carved into.
With every step, a chill ran down Lindsey’s spine. “Is this something?” she whispered, and Bishop quickly moved to her side. On the back of a standing stone were some carvings. ‘Юрий был здесь.’
Bishop gave a broad smile. “My Russian is a bit rusty, but if I’m not mistaken, it says something like, ‘Yuri was here.’”
“Shit,” Lindsey said. “So, I guess we’re not the first strangers here.”
“Apparently not.” Bishop moved back to the center of the clearing.
“Psst. And this?” Lindsey whispered again.
“Something in South African, perhaps?” Bishop joked, as he walked approached her.
Lindsey pointed to the back of a two-foot-tall headless figure of a woman.
Bishop kneeled behind the statue and froze.
“Is this it? Matthew?”
Bishop stayed silent for a long moment. He took a handkerchief from his back pocket and rubbed the back of the statue clean.
“This is it. I’m positive.” Bishop stared at the images.
Ignatowski overheard and came running.
“Sh.” Lindsey put her finger to her lips as the sound of slate cracking beneath his feet filled the clearing.
“Sorry.” Ignatowski screwed up his face. “You found something?”
Lindsey pointed to the carving. “And why do you think this is something?” she asked Bishop. “What does it mean?”
Bishop snapped out of his trance. “Good question. I have no idea what it means yet. But I’m positive the message is from Jennifer.”
“How so?” he asked.
“You see this left part here?”
“Sure,” Ignatowski confirmed. “Stars, a cross, and some wavy lines. What is it?”
“I have absolutely no idea.” Bishop smiled. “This part, on the other hand....” He pointed to the second image.
“The waving sea monster?” Lindsey guessed. Bishop took out his camera and took pictures of the carving and the stone from every possible angle. “It’s the logo of the FSM, the—”
A low hum rose from behind them, and they all turned and stared into the jungle in silence.
“What’s that?” Ignatowski whispered.
“You see anything?” Bishop asked.
“No, but it sounds like chanting,” Lindsey replied.
“It’s getting louder,” Ignatowski took a few steps back. “Do we need to stay here?”
“I think we have what we came for,” Bishop whispered. “Let’s get back beyond the entrance.” As softly as they could, they tiptoed back to the two pyramids, and onto the mud track again. Bishop stopped, looked back at the Arca Domas, and took a few pictures.
“I suggest we don’t wait here, but get down back to the bikes.” Ignatowski pointed downhill.
“Normally, I would have suggested to wait and have a look,” Lindsey told them, “but now, I’m not so sure.”
Bishop bit his lower lip, looked downhill and up again. “Damn, you’re probably right. Let’s be soft and quick,” he suggested. As he took the first steps down, the chanting behind them quickly faded. “I hope we did the right thing.”
“You got what you came for, didn’t you?” Ignatowski replied.
“So, what about that waving sea monster?” Lindsey asked.
“The sea monster.” Bishop took out his phone and scrolled through the pictures. “That’s the logo of the FSM, the Flying Spaghetti Monster.”
“The what?” Lindsey replied.
Bishop smiled brightly. “Jennifer introduced me to it. The Flying Spaghetti Monster is the deity of the church of the... um... Flying Spaghetti Monster.”
“What the frack is a Flying Spaghetti Monster?” Ignatowski bellowed as he stopped.
“Let’s keep walking, and I explain,” Bishop suggested without stopping. “In 2005, Bobby Henderson, an American physics graduate student from Oregon State University, opposed the Kansas State Board of Education’s decision to teach intelligent design as an alternative to evolution in schools. He did so by introducing a new religion, the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, and requested that ‘Pastafarianism,’ as he called it, also be taught at schools. Of course, he was ignored, and he posted the letter online. The letter quickly went viral. A year later, he wrote the satirical Gospel of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, a book describing the core beliefs of the religion.”
Ignatowski shook his head. “Crazy. And people went for that?”
“Well, after the church became an Internet phenomenon, thousands of people all over the world began practicing its beliefs, and in many countries, it’s an official religion now, allowing them to have churches and even marry people. Their official headgear is a colander.”
“You’re making it up,” Lindsey said.
“I swear it’s true.” Bishop raised two fingers in the air. “There are lots of countries where the colander is considered official religious headgear, so people have pictures wearing one on their driver’s licenses and passports. It’s even on the U.S. army dog tags as a religion.”
“Nuts,” Lindsey said, shaking her head.
“Personally, I see it as a modern version of Russell’s teapot. An argument that the philosophic burden of proof lies upon those who make unfalsifiable claims, not on those who reject them.”
“That I understand and can agree with,” Lindsey concluded.
“Anyway, Jennifer and I discussed the subject extensively, related to her and my work on evolution. We had a lot of laughs about how such a thing can spiral all over the world. So you see, I don’t believe it’s a coincidence to find it here on a sacred stone.”
“I have one more question, though,” Ignatowski said. “Why wouldn’t she just write it down instead of pictures? Why the secrecy?”
Bishop tilted his head. “I guess she was afraid that she would get caught or that someone would find it. This way, if they found it, they wouldn’t think anything of it.”
“Maybe,” Ignatowski reluctantly replied.
Where the jungle transformed back into a muddy road, Kadek was waiting with the bikes. “My friends, it’s so good to see you back.” He enthusiastically waved his arms in the air. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I think we did,” Bishop answered. “Thank you again for getting us here.”
“We go back now?” Kadek asked.
Bishop nodded as he got up onto his bike again. “Are you coming?” he asked Lindsey, slapping the saddle behind him.
“So, any thoughts on the second image?” Lindsey asked as she got on the bike behind Bishop.
“Not a clue,” Bishop said. “But I do have an idea on how to find out. We’re going back to the U.S.”
“Ready?” Kadek asked as he set his bike in motion.
Chapter 23 – Stars
New Haven, CT, The Present
Over twenty-four hours had passed since the three had left Indonesia for New York. Like on the flight, Bishop slept most of the way in the car from New York to New Haven, where the party had split up, each finding their own replenishment after the trip.
“This is okay,” Bishop told the driver at the corner of Wall and High Streets. The driver stopped in front of Beinecke Plaza, where the largest building dedicated to rare ancient manuscripts was built as part of Yale University: The Beinecke Rare Book & Manuscript Library. The windowless building sifted the sunlight through its thin marble panels, protecting the documents from the otherwise dangerous rays of sunshine. In the dimmed light on the me
zzanine, Walker Monroe, curator of the library cleaned one of the finest copies of the remaining forty-eight Guttenberg Bibles through the open glass showcase door with a feather duster. His ‘prized possession,’ he liked to call it.
“Still dusting that old thing?” Monroe heard a voice call from downstairs. Looking down, he saw Bishop, suitcase in one hand and waving with the other.
“You’re back,” Monroe called out, closing the showcase. “I’ll be down in a second.” As Monroe disappeared into the spiraling metal staircase, the sound of his footsteps on the wrought-iron stairs echoed through the room. Once down, he passed the six-story glass-enclosed tower in the center of the room, which held one hundred thousand pieces of Yale’s prized possessions: rare books.
“Matthew, how are you, my friend?” Monroe’s British accent resonated as he stretched out his arm.
“Quite well, I can say. It’s good to see you, Walker.” Bishop shook his hand.
“Here, sit next to me.” Monroe pointed to two chairs behind a nineteenth-century Victorian mahogany partners desk with golden handles. “So, what happened? Tell me everything. No, wait, let me guess. You got yourself in trouble again and need me to bail you out.” Monroe smiled. The two of them had known each other for a long time, and it wasn’t the first time that Bishop had walked in with a suitcase. The suitcase usually meant that he wanted him to join on a quest, or that he had just returned from one and needed his help. “Coming or going?” he asked.
“What? Oh, uh, coming,” Bishop answered, looking at the suitcase.
“Our plane just landed, and I slept most of the flight from Jakarta and the ride up here, so I’m still waking up, I guess. How are you?”
“I’m great, but... Jakarta, Indonesia? I thought you were on your way to Peru with, uh....”
“Lindsey Wilson and Ralph Ignatowski,” Bishop said slowly.
“That bad?” Monroe asked.
Bishop grinned. “No, but... well, I would rather travel with someone like you.”
“Because....” Monroe stretched the word.
“Familiarity, I guess. You know I’m not much of a people person.”
“All right, tell me. What have you done?”
“Okay, so you remember the missing tribes and Jennifer, who was lost and possibly somehow involved.”
“I do. She was missing for three months or so?”
“She was, and I’m afraid still is. We still didn’t find her, but back to the beginning.”
Bishop spent the next hour telling his friend about his travels to South America and Asia.
“...so we left the Arca Domas, when I knew for sure that it was Jennifer who left the message on the statue.” Bishop took out his phone and scrolled through some pictures. “Here.” He handed Monroe the phone.
Monroe scrolled back and forth a few times. “Well, you’re absolutely right about the Flying Spaghetti Monster.” He snickered. “Sorry, I still can’t say it without laughing. I know I probably should be crying, that this is apparently what the world has come to. But, hey, who am I to decide?”
“So, what do you think about the other image?”
“Don’t know.” He enlarged the image between two fingers. “I figure you ran it through Google image?” He took a laptop from a drawer in the desk and opened it. “Can you please mail it to me?”
Bishop took back the phone. “Done,” he confirmed after a few swift movements on the phone. “I did run it through Google, but it only came up with images of crosses or something like that.”
“I’ve got it.” Monroe opened the mail and uploaded the image to Google. “Indeed, ‘possible related search: cross,’ it says.”
“And the visually similar image search results are just as helpful.” He turned the screen to Bishop. “Somehow, your image gets translated to mathematical images.”
“I knew there was a reason I came to you.” Bishop grinned.
“I’m always glad when you need me. So, a few curvy lines across, and five smaller crosses slanted in the image. Good one. Any idea why Google thinks it’s mathematical?”
“Not a clue.” Bishop rubbed his chin. “I’ve thought about it but can’t make a single connection with Jennifer, being mathematical about something.”
“All right, let’s skip that theory.”
“Could it be some ancient pictograph or writing?” Bishop asked.
“That’s part of the problem,” Monroe answered. “We don’t know if it’s writing, a drawing, a pictograph or symbol. Could be modern or ancient.”
“Let me try something.” Monroe pulled the laptop toward him and typed, “www.symbols.com.” “It’s a database for symbols from all around the world.”
“Never heard of it.”
“That’s why you have me.” Monroe smiled. “Now, let’s see. How would you describe this symbol?”
“Uh... six crosses?” Bishop answered, and Monroe typed it into the search field. ‘Found 90 symbols matching six crosses,’ the screen read.
Monroe and Bishop looked at the first page of results, starting with the Tuareg Cross and ending with the Philadelphia Flyers logo. One look over the pages was enough to see that none of the images barely resembled the curved lines and six crosses they were looking for.
Monroe clicked through the three other pages with illustrations. “So, that’s not it,” he concluded. “What other keywords can we come up with?”
“A cross and four curved lines?” Bishop suggested.
Monroe typed it in. This time there were 394 results. The results varied from the Fantastic Four logo to the symbol of the Water tribes from the world of Avatar: The Last Airbender. For the next few minutes, sixteen pages of football club logos, flags, coats of arms and even coins appeared on the screen.
“This could take some time,” Bishop said as the last page of results showed nothing promising.
“What other keywords can we use?” Monroe asked, shaking his head.
“Are you sure this is the way to go?
Monroe thought for a long moment. “Well, I can think of two other ways. First, let’s try this one.” On the laptop, he typed “www.shapecather.com.” Using the touchpad, Monroe drew the symbol into the draw box.
“I cannot express how impressed I am,” Bishop commented, smiling.
“Hey, I’d like to see you do better. Shapecather is a Unicode recognition program, but who knows,” Monroe explained.
Bishop frowned while shaking his head.
“Sorry. A Unicode is the world standard for text, graphics and emojis, a set of standardized images that have all been given a unique code.”
“All right. And...?”
“Revolving hearts, domino tile horizontal-03-05, a tetragram for greatness, a blue heart and a pig. Does any of these mean anything to you?”
Bishop stayed silent, looked at Monroe’s drawing again, cocked his head and frowned.
“What is it?” Monroe asked, but Bishop stayed zoned out for a long moment.
“What if we are going about this the wrong way?” Bishop asked.
“What do you mean?” Monroe asked.
“I mean, maybe we are interpreting the carvings the wrong way. I was looking at your drawing on the screen. What if those five smaller crosses aren’t crosses at all. What if they are...?”
“Stars,” Monroe interrupted him before he could finish. “I see what you mean. Stars.”
Bishop tilted his head. “Yes, stars, but where does that take us?”
“Not sure. But I have an idea. Let’s use the power of social media.” Monroe opened Facebook and typed, “Urgent, need help. Who recognizes the logo or pictogram in the picture below? Please make contact ASAP.” With a few clicks, he added the photo.
“You think that will work?” Bishop asked.
“Never underestimate the power of social media. The request is automatically reposted on Twitter, Instagram, and LinkedIn, so tens of thousands of people will see it.”
“So, what do we do know?” Bishop asked.
“Now we wait,” Monroe answered. “So, tell me, where did you leave Lindsey and Ignatowski?”
“They’ve gone home to see their families, I guess. I told them I was going to see you for help with the image and had to promise to let them know if we found anything.”
“A promise you intend to keep?” Monroe asked, listening to the tone of Bishop’s voice.
“Of course. It’s just a matter of timing, isn’t it?” Bishop smiled.
“What do you think happened to her?”
“To be honest, I have no idea. I hope she’s okay.”
“I’m glad you came to me for help. I really like her.” Monroe looked at the laptop screen. “The first results are in. Let’s see.” He read, “‘Looks like a waterfall to me,’ ‘Is it Saint Martin who gave half his robe away to a beggar?’ ’Take a look at the vofoundation,’ ‘a racetrack.’”
“What’s that one,” Bishop asked.
“The race track?”
“No, the one before that. A foundation?”
“The vofoundation? Do you recognize it?”
“Not really, no, but what is it?”
Monroe typed it in Google and pressed enter.
“Vatican observatory foundation,” he said, clicking the link.
“Here.” Bishop pointed at the top right of the screen.
“That’s it. The curved lines, five stars, and a cross on top.” Bishop sounded ecstatic. “You see there? The lines represent an observatory.”
“I think you’re right,” Monroe confirmed. “Here it says: The Specola Vaticana, or Vatican Observatory, is an astronomical research and educational institution overseen by the Holy See. Their headquarters is based in Castel Gandolfo, Italy, and they also have a telescope here in the U.S. at the Mount Graham International Observatory.”
“But what does Jennifer have to do with the Vatican or astronomy?” Bishop asked.
“No idea. Could it have something to do with her work on evolution?”
“Well, we know, of course, that the church is not a big fan of evolution, but I’m not aware of any contact between Jennifer and the Vatican on the subject.”
Lemuria Page 21