The Secret of Hades' Eden

by Graham J. Thomson

  ‘Hold on a second. You’ve never mentioned that one before. Is this some new conspiracy theory of yours?’

  Ella brightened up and enthusiastically said, ‘No, it’s fairly old. But it’s amazing. The three pyramids of Giza map exactly onto three stars on Orion’s belt.’

  ‘Really? I gotta see this one.’

  ‘Okay, watch.’ The worries of her day were momentarily forgotten. On the computer Ella opened a planetarium program that showed the night sky with the names of the constellations. She spun the sky around to the correct position and angle, and then zoomed in on Orion’s Belt.

  ‘These stars are called Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka,’ she explained. Then she aligned the star map so that the three stars fitted onto the three black dots she had drawn on the monitor with the marker pen. ‘Okay, so that shows the relative positions of the three stars of Orion’s Belt,’ she went on. ‘Now watch this. I’ll arrange the map of the pyramids in the same way.’ Using Google Earth she zoomed in on the satellite map of Giza, it was like dive-bombing onto it from space at a dizzying speed. Once fully zoomed in the diamond shapes of the three pyramids were clearly visible against the sandy desert. Again, she spun the image around until the three pyramids were at the correct angle and lined up their peaks onto the three black dots on the monitor.

  ‘See. They fit,’ Ella said pointing to the screen. The three dots were aligned diagonally with one deviating offside slightly to the left. ‘The relative positions of the stars and pyramids match each other almost perfectly.’

  ‘But there must be billions of stars to choose from. Surely there’s a high chance that three stars somewhere in the sky just happen to match up like this?’ Darren challenged. ‘It’s just coincidence, surely.’

  Ella took the bait as Darren knew she would. Her ears and lower neck reddened, her voice rose as she replied. ‘There’s more to it than that.’ But she quickly caught herself, and her eyes narrowed. She knew her rage only seemed to fuel Darren’s enjoyment. ‘The relative brightness of the stars and the size of the pyramids also match up. The offset star at the top of the three, Mintaka, is the least bright one. Corresponding with this, the offset pyramid, which is called the Pyramid of Menkaure, is the smallest of the three pyramids.’

  Darren frowned and leaned into the screen. ‘I want to believe you, but I’m just not convinced, babes.’

  ‘Well, let’s zoom out a little on both the satellite image of Giza and the constellation map.’ She switched back and forth between the two programs showing the night sky and the surface of the Earth and waited to see if Darren could figure it out for himself.

  Dutifully, he studied each image. ‘I don’t see anything,’ he complained after a few seconds.

  ‘Look, see the river Nile?’ She pointed to the features on the screen. ‘And here, in the sky, is the Milky Way. Well, they too are in similar positions relative to Orion and the pyramids. Watch. . .’ To the left of the constellation Orion was the Milky Way, a long pale cloud-like line that was made up of more than a hundred-billion stars – our spiral Galaxy as seen side on from Earth. Ella switched to the zoomed-out satellite image of Giza and ran her finger along the river Nile. ‘See how the river runs in a long line to the left of the pyramids at precisely the same angle as the Milky Way was to Orion?’

  Darren raised his eyebrows and whistled.

  ‘And you’d never guess what the Egyptians called the Milky Way.’

  He shrugged his broad shoulders.

  ‘The Nile of Heaven.’

  ‘Can we have that drink now? My brain hurts.’

  ‘Nearly done. Now, here’s the really freaky part of the story.’

  ‘Oh, this is the freaky bit is it? I was wondering when we’d get to that bit. Great.’

  Ella ignored his sarcasm and clicked back to the constellation chart. She navigated to the settings and set the program to show the shapes as well as the names of the constellations. ‘See the constellation that’s slightly further over from Orion?’ she said. ‘That’s Leo.’

  ‘Leo the Lion?’ Darren could just make out its lion like form in the stars.

  ‘Yes, exactly. Now look at the angle from the three stars of Orion’s Belt to Leo.’

  Darren did as instructed.

  ‘Now watch this.’

  Ella drew a line on the monitor with the marker pen from Orion’s Belt, past the misty line of the Milky Way, through Cancer, to Leo. Then she flicked over to the satellite image of the pyramids and lined them up with the three dots once more.

  ‘What am I looking for now?’ Darren leaned into the monitor, genuinely fascinated now.

  ‘The Sphinx.’ Ella pointed to the rectangular object on the screen. ‘See it? See which way it’s facing?’

  ‘East, it faces east. Isn’t that to watch the sunrise? Wait, it’s also in line with your line.’ Darren paused a moment to think. ‘The Sphinx is looking towards Leo!’

  ‘Yes. The Sphinx, which is clearly a statue of a Lion – King Cheops chiselled over the original Lion’s face – is looking in the direction of the constellation Leo.’

  ‘I still don’t get the significance,’ he conceded, frowning. ‘So what, the Sphinx points to Leo. Okay, it’s a Lion and not whatever they said it was. Big deal.’

  ‘Big deal! Here’s the big deal, Darren. When the stars and constellations rise over the Sphinx tonight it won’t be Leo that the Sphinx looks towards. The Sphinx doesn’t look towards Leo, not any more anyway.’ She smiled at Darren with that I-know-something-you-don’t look.

  Darren looked into her bright eyes, he thought she looked beautiful. He felt his pulse rise as he lost himself in her wide gaze. ‘Come on then Ella, tell me the big secret.’

  ‘Stellar precession.’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘The stars aren’t fixed. Well, I mean their position when they move over the Earth isn’t fixed, they shift very, very slowly.’

  Darren frowned.

  Ella shook her head. ‘The Earth spins on its axis every twenty-four hours and we get day and night, yes? And the axis is at an angle to the sun, that’s why we get the seasons?’

  ‘I think I learned that in primary school. So what’s new?’

  ‘What they probably didn’t tell you at school was that the Earth’s spin wobbles too, a bit like a spinning top. The end result is that the sky, the stars, the sun and the moon appear to shift position over time. We’d never notice the difference in our lifetime, they only move about one degree every seventy-odd years, but over tens of thousands of years the change is dramatic. Where the sun now sets over a particular hill, will, in thousands of year’s time, set over a different place. Then, eventually, it will come back to set over the original hill again.’

  ‘So how long does each wobble take?’

  ‘A full cycle is around 26,000 years.’

  Darren whistled.

  ‘So, what is the obvious question?’

  ‘Let me think.’ He put his hand to his chin and stroked it theatrically. Then he raised his finger in the air and asked, ‘When was Leo last in the right place for the Sphinx to be looking right at it?’

  ‘Well done, that is the right question.’

  ‘Come on then, put me out my misery. When was it?’

  ‘About 10,000 years BC.’

  ‘Whoa! Hold on lady,’ Darren roared. ‘That’s just after the last ice age. Weren’t we just a bunch of cavemen then?’

  ‘No,’ she laughed. ‘We were anatomically no different back then than we are now, same brain size, same physical look. If you transported a baby from back then to now you wouldn’t know the difference when she grew up. She’d have every chance in life as any of us would.’

  Darren raised his eyebrows, Ella mistook it for disbelief.

  ‘There’s a lot of evidence that there were advanced civilisations around then. A Greek scientist called Herodotus visited Egypt around 500 BC and recorded that the locals claimed to have been there for 341 generations. That works out at 9,000 years before h
is time and over 11,000 years before ours. He also recorded that the locals said that the sun once set where it now rose. It didn’t make any sense to Herodotus, but we know now that it was because of precession. The Earth’s little wobble.’

  ‘All right, so maybe it’s true. But what does it mean? We’ve been lied to about the age of the pyramids? Does it matter?’

  ‘I don’t know what it means,’ she conceded quietly. ‘But it does matter, the truth matters. I just don’t think that the pyramids are simply tombs. It’s never made any sense to me that they were built just to put a few dead kings in; most of the Pharaohs were buried in the Valley of the Kings in any case. I think that whoever built the pyramids wanted to tell the world something, not just about who they were, but when they were there too. It’s important for some reason.’

  ‘I don’t want to rain on your parade, but there’s strong evidence that the pyramids were indeed built in 2,500 BC.’

  ‘True, but there’s evidence that the Sphinx is significantly older than the pyramids.’

  ‘So, someone built the Sphinx, and then much later they built the pyramids?’

  ‘Possibly, but they all match up with Orion together. The site must have been built at the same time to some kind of plan. Maybe the pyramids were built on the site of something else, something that was built long ago by a forgotten civilisation. And then, thousands of years later, the Egyptians came along and built the pyramids over whatever was already there.’

  ‘A restoration project?’ Darren smiled cheekily.

  ‘It’s happened since then, many times over. The Roman Pantheon was originally a temple to all their pagan gods. Then, in 609 AD the Christians took it over after the Byzantine emperor Phocas gave it to the pope.’

  ‘Okay, so an old site was taken over by later invaders. I can believe that. But why would the original builders have them in line with the stars? And who were they anyway?’

  ‘I don’t know. But it must mean something.’ Ella paused for a moment and stared at the images on the screen. ‘But why make a map of the stars on Earth? What are they telling us?’

  They regarded the mysterious images. They weren’t the first and would not be the last people to stare in wonder at the ancient structures.

  ‘Come on,’ Darren prompted. ‘You’re about to get in trouble.’ He pointed towards to the drab librarian who was heading in their direction.

  ‘That old bat.’ Hurriedly, Ella wiped off the marker pen and gathered up her books. Together they left the tranquillity of the UL and exited onto the street.

  ‘Come on. Let’s get drunk,’ Darren said.

  ‘I’ll meet you in the pub in thirty minutes. I need to drop these off at home.’

  ‘Okay. See you later.’

  ‘In this world or the next.’ She waved and walked off down the street.

  Darren gazed after her as she went.

  Chapter 3

  1957hrs – Vienna

  Agent William Temple sat on the end of his double bed in the Hotel Ambassador, Vienna. The small but modern room seemed much bigger due to the long floor to ceiling mirrors on the doors of the cupboards by the side of the bed. In one corner a muted news channel silently flashed images of the latest disaster on the flat-screen TV. Above the drinks cabinet sat three empty mini-bottles of whisky.

  William stared down at the small black pistol he held in one hand. A generous glass of whisky – a decent blended malt, but not his usual brand – hung loosely in the other. He took another sip while the tears ran down his cheeks. Mindlessly, he tapped the end of the barrel on the rim of the glass while he stared at the floor. Held at a precarious angle, the yellow liquid threatened to spill onto the carpet.

  He turned and caught his reflection in the mirror. Thirty years old, tall, well built and athletic, he was the type of confident handsome man that men envied and women desired. But at that moment all he saw, through watery eyes, was a sad lost soul, an empty shell of his former self, devoid of the lust for life that once raged like a fire through his highly trained body. Alone. Empty.

  It would be so easy, he thought, just one bullet, one bullet was all it would take. One gentle squeeze of the trigger, a few pounds of pressure on cold metal, and all the pain would be gone forever. No more hate, no more guilt, no more regret. No more nightmares. The survivor guilt that overwhelmed him day and night would be vanquished forever.

  But he knew it would be stupid, selfish and cowardly. He cursed at himself for even thinking about it. His strength of mind had weakened; his direction in life had been derailed. He had to get a grip of himself before he totally lost it. After all, there were new opportunities for him now, a new chance at life.

  “A fresh start,” was what his former commanding officer had said to him with a sickly, patronising smile. He had listened, like the good soldier he was, and had hid his anger well. What did they know of his suffering, his pain; nothing.

  Without her he knew that life would never be the same again. He could still see her warm smile, her loving eyes; he could still feel the softness of her hair and smell the delicate sweet aroma that had radiated from her. It was impossible to believe that he would never again touch her soft skin, never share a moment of joy with her, never make love to her. And then there was the other one, the one that never was. Fate had stabbed him in the heart, and then twisted the blackened blade.

  Clenching his eyes shut, he fought back the tears. His face tightened, his nostrils flared. He quickly stood up and threw the whisky glass away. The glass bounced on the floor, its contents exploded all over the carpet. He turned sharply to face himself in the mirror. In a swift, well versed move, he clasped the weapon with both hands and pointed it at his reflection. His aim was firm, his hold steady.

  ‘You can do this,’ he said through gritted teeth as he squinted down the barrel. Then he put the weapon to his temple, and pushed it hard against himself. Slowly, he squeezed the trigger. The hammer released and surged forward onto the pin.

  Click.

  ‘Life goes on regardless,’ he said, recalling something his old CO had said to him. He sat back down on the bed. And then he cried. Head down, his whole body shook. He cried for her, he cried for himself, he mourned what was and what would never be. He knew that he would never love again.

  Wiping the tears away, he calmed himself down and decided to clean his weapon. It would pass the time and would hopefully take his mind off things. The sleek weapon was a SIG-Sauer P230. Smaller and less powerful than the P229 that he was used to, it was all that the embassy had provided him with in their live drop earlier in the hotel lift. He had always felt that the small Walther PPK lookalike was something that should be kept in a ladies handbag. But there was some consolation; with a barrel length of only three-and-a-half inches it was ideal for concealment. For his current assignment, it would do the job nicely.

  Poised on the end of the bed he stripped it, cleaned it and oiled it lightly to prevent jams. Once he had put it together he pushed eight nine-millimetre rounds into the tiny magazine. He then placed one further round in the breach ready for action. He gently slid the magazine into place with a click and secured the weapon in the concealed holster in the small of his back.

  The ritual had settled his mind. He was ready to face the world, ready to do his job. A good soldier.

  During his ten years as a Military Intelligence officer in the British Army, William had more than adequately demonstrated that he was talented in his craft, and had suitably impressed the right people. So when his military career had come to an abrupt, and unfortunate, end, his commanders, not wanting to see someone of William’s calibre go to waste, recommended that he be recruited into a specialist operational arm of MI6 known as F-Branch.

  This was his first mission.

  F-Branch was a highly covert unit tasked with gathering intelligence from hostile groups suspected of posing a threat to national security. The hand-picked agents were usually former special forces personnel who had shown a flair for intelligence gath
ering, and were impeccably trustworthy. Also on the team were talented intelligence analysts seconded from MI5 and MI6 who specialised in covert research projects. Various technical specialists were recruited from the super-bright ranks of GCHQ: electronic engineers, mathematicians, computer programmers, hackers and the like.

  Stood facing himself in the full length mirror, William clipped on his bow-tie and checked his appearance one final time. The black dinner jacket was not his normal attire, but, he conceded, in the area of Vienna he was in, black ties and ball gowns were a common sight.

  ‘Come on. Let’s do this,’ he said. He looked himself in the eye for a moment. Then, to psych himself up he said, ‘You can do it. Do it. Do it. Do it!’

  His mission was simple, the usual set up for this sort of thing, and no different, in principle, from the work he’d done in the middle-east and other war zones around the world. He was to meet up with a new informant, build rapport, probe for information, although not too deep on this first occasion; he didn’t want to scare him off. At some point during the meeting he would give the informant a small task to carry out before their next meeting. The task would be a minor one but, once done, would mean there was no going back. It was a kind of loyalty test, although some would call it entrapment.

  Choosing to walk to the informant’s choice of meeting location, William mulled over the details of the ops briefing he had had in London the day before. A call had been made to a UK whistle-blowing number. The caller claimed to have information on a terrorist group and said he would only talk to MI6, not to the police or any other security agency. Unwilling to give his name or any contact details, he simply stated that he had been approached by some people unknown to him who tried to coerce him into doing some work, work that involved a weapon of mass destruction. The call had been passed straight to the MI6 duty analyst and a meeting was promptly arranged. Wanting to make contact on neutral ground at a busy location, the informant insisted on the Viennese Opera House, the Wiener Staatsoper. He was an opera fan; no one would question his presence there. Confirmation of the seating arrangements were made using a coded posting in the Times personal column the following Friday, the codename Asclepius was used at the informant’s insistence. William’s seat was booked next to the informant in a cover name. After exchanging the code-phrases that had been agreed during the call, William was to conduct the debrief in the best way he saw fit.