He treated her to a perplexed stare. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Cassie glanced back at the circle. “I could sense a line of energy, like an electrical current, running right below the middle of the circle. It extends off in either direction, but I’m not sure how far. Anyway, the stones are positioned in such a way that they pull that energy inside the circle and focus it in the center. I think the Jomon shamans must have been able to sense that force, and they built a circle so they could use it.” She paused, stamping her foot in irritation. “I’m not saying this right! I can’t find the words to describe what this is. I only know what I saw and what I heard. It was light, or sound, or electricity, or maybe all three at once.”
“I think you might have sensed a telluric current here,” Griffin offered. “The earth itself generates an electrical current which emanates from the core and runs upward to the surface—an invisible power grid that covers the globe. These lines of electrical energy have been referred to as telluric current or ley lines and ancient peoples everywhere built sacred sites over them.”
Cassie brightened. “That’s it!”
“So, they chose to mark this place because their shamans felt a spike in energy?” Daniel asked. “I assume it was to hold rituals here. Like a shrine or church.”
“We already figured as much,” Ken demurred.
“It was more than that,” the pythia countered. “The rocks they chose for the circle were special. If this is a giant electrical circuit, then the stones had special properties that boosted the current of the place even more. It made the center of the circle act like some kind of giant tuning fork. It had the power to raise the energy field of the human body.”
“Forgive me, but an invisible energy field that has the power to affect the human body sounds like pure fantasy,” Daniel objected.
“All life, no matter how solid it seems, consists of spinning atoms that vibrate,” the scrivener retorted. “All the tissues, organs, and cells of the human body resonate at specific vibrational frequencies. And those frequencies can be affected by external transmissions which cause the body to entrain with incoming frequencies. Energy, vibration, and frequency define the entire universe. That’s not fantasy. It’s physics.”
“And before we all got our brains scrambled by tech frequencies, it was probably a lot easier for the average person to sense the frequencies in nature,” Cassie said. “To sense them and be influenced by them. This circle didn’t just ramp up physical health. Shamans could use it to boost their psychic abilities too.”
Griffin studied the outer ring of stones. “I would imagine these rocks contain not only lodestone which possesses magnetic properties that could affect the path of the telluric current, but also quartz which can be made to resonate at different frequencies simply by reshaping its surface.”
“There was a sound too,” the pythia added. “Not a chant or a song. More like the sound people make when they say the word ‘Om.’ It changed in pitch, and the rocks bounced the sound back to the inner ring.”
“Yes, that makes sense,” Griffin said. “Quartz in known to have acoustic properties. The Jomon may have vocalized specific tones to augment the vibrations of the rocks. The concept is similar to Gregorian chants intoned in acoustically-perfect medieval cathedrals. Sound can have a powerful effect on human brain wave patterns.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.” Cassie gave Daniel a wink and a nudge in the ribs. “I guess my tuning fork analogy is sounding pretty good right now, isn’t it?”
The trove keeper shook his head in wonderment at the pythia’s findings. “In all my years in the field, it never occurred to me to consider the physical properties of a site used for spiritual purposes.”
“And I don’t think Washinoki is a special case either,” Cassie hastened to inform him. “Any stone circle would function like this one. Anywhere on the planet.”
“I’ve read that geomagnetic anomalies have been recorded at several well-known henges,” Griffin said. “The stones at those sites also possess specific resonant qualities. Both those facts would imply that the builders of these sites were aiming to construct something more useful than elaborate rock gardens.”
The pythia paused to consider a new thought. “I have a hunch that even traditional cultures nowadays have forgotten what these sites were for. They still use them for rituals, but the reason why got lost along the way.”
“Thank you, Cassie.” Ken abruptly took her hand and shook it. “Your insights have opened a whole new line of inquiry for me. I owe you a huge favor. Whatever I can do to repay you, just name it.”
“You might start by helping us with our Minoan riddle,” the scrivener suggested delicately.
“Oh, yes, of course!” The trove keeper looked slightly embarrassed. “I forgot to tell you in all the excitement.”
“Tell us what?” Cassie asked.
“I reviewed the data you sent, and I don’t think you need to search Sakhalin Island at all for clues.”
“Really?” Daniel stepped in closer, his interest piqued.
“Yes.” Ken rubbed his forehead distractedly. “Remind me of the riddle’s wording again.”
“Past the golden road of Boreas, where his islands kill the sea,” the scion repeated helpfully. “Seek the great river’s mother. Her reliquary holds the key.”
“Right.” The trove keeper nodded. “It occurred to me that Sakhalin Island is meant to be nothing more than your starting point. The reference to islands killing the sea suggests a location near the Strait of Tartary but that isn’t where you’ll find the Sage Stone. It’s where you’re supposed to begin looking for it. I focused instead on the line about the great river’s mother. As you already know, the Amur River empties directly into the Strait of Tartary near Sakhalin Island. It’s the ninth longest river in the world, so I think that qualifies it as ‘great.’”
His listeners nodded their agreement.
“But your riddle tells you to seek the great river’s mother. The Amur branches off into smaller rivers, so I’d advise you to follow its course westward. The pythia might be able to sense the presence of the Minoans along the way. The river’s drainage basin is in the Yablonovy Mountain Range in eastern Siberia.”
“Once we get there, what’s our target?” Cassie urged. “We usually find our relics stashed in some holy mountain or other. Is there anything like that in the Yablonovy Range?”
“No,” Ken said. “But there is a lake where three hundred different rivers flow in and out.”
“The mother of rivers. That makes sense.” Daniel sounded pleased.
“Lakes are great landmarks!” the pythia exclaimed.
“We found our last artifact on the shores of Lugu Lake,” the scrivener added.
Ken scratched his chin, pondering their comments. “If that’s the case, then I’d be willing to lay odds that you’ll find the Sage Stone hidden at Lake Baikal.”
“Lake Baikal!” Griffin registered dismay. “But that’s near the Altai Mountains. It’s thousands of miles from here. And you’ve told us to follow the Amur River all the way. That would mean a daunting overland trip.”
“Not so daunting if you go by rail,” Ken said enigmatically. “And I know just the tour guide to get you there.”
Chapter 24—Sure as Shootin’
Leroy Hunt darted a glance toward a scribbled note sitting on the passenger seat of his truck. He muttered a few choice words to himself and continued to drive. The old coot had given him directions to a rendezvous point someplace out in the sticks. The preacher’s timing sucked lemons given that Leroy was on the verge of a breakthrough in his search for Mr. Big.
A few days earlier, the cowboy had gotten a brainstorm. He’d been cogitating about the old lady who owned the house where little Hannah hid herself. Blondie had said that the granny was Mr. Big’s go-between. But what if she wasn’t the only one? Leroy remembered the kid with the noisy car—little Hannh’s boyfriend. He came ar
ound to do errands for the old lady because she was his kin. If Mr. Big’s operation was a family business, it might be the kid was delivering more than groceries.
Now that the farmhouse was locked up tighter than a drum, Leroy was forced to look farther afield for answers. Reasoning that even a blind pig might turn up an acorn or two, Hunt decided to tail Hannah’s boyfriend to see if he went anyplace interesting. Luckily, Leroy had taken down the kid’s license plate number during his initial round of surveillance. It was a small matter to find out the name and address that went with the plate.
That very morning, the cowboy had left the city intending to stake out the kid’s house. He took all his usual precautions just in case Mr. Big was still having him watched: driving to the airport, ditching his truck in the long-term lot, changing clothes inside the terminal, renting a white cargo van. He’d even bought a new magnetic logo which he stuck to the vehicle’s side doors. It announced to the world that he was in the pest control business. The notion tickled Leroy’s funny bone because it was true. During the course of his career, he’d had occasion to exterminate many a pest for his various employers. He was halfway to the kid’s address, feeling the exhilaration of closing in on his quarry when he got the call that completely hosed up his plans for the day. He grudgingly turned the van around and pointed it toward his new destination.
Leroy squinted through the windshield, trying to scout for any road markers up ahead. He’d already driven a good ten miles past the compound and wasn’t familiar with the area. Snapping to attention, he spotted a sign for an approaching intersection. According to his directions, he was getting close. A mile beyond the crossroads he found an unmarked dirt trail and turned right. Then he drove another mile through cornfields and scrub brush until the road dead-ended at an odd-looking structure.
It was nothing more than a cinderblock foundation sticking a few feet out of the ground and capped by tar paper. He climbed out of the van and walked warily up to the entrance. Two metal doors were set into the concrete at a slanted angle. It looked like the hatch to his mama’s root cellar. When he pulled the handle on one of the doors, it squealed on its hinges.
The cowboy peered down a long flight of stairs that led deep underground. Fluorescent light fixtures had been set into the walls to light his way. He paused a few seconds at the top of the stairs to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. Then he descended, allowing the metal door to slam shut behind him. Unsure what awaited him at the bottom, he moved warily, reaching into his shoulder holster just in case.
“Hello, Mr. Hunt,” a voice called from somewhere below. “I see you found the place.”
It was the preacher. Hunt relaxed his grip on the gun. “Yessir, I found it alright, though I’m a mite puzzled as to why you asked me to come here.”
“Everything will be obvious in a few moments.”
When Leroy reached the bottom step, a light switch clicked, and more fluorescents bathed the basement in a greenish glow. It was then the cowboy realized he was in a vast target range. Guns and other ordnance were stored neatly in racks and cupboards along the side walls. The far wall stretched a good thirty yards off into the distance. Directly ahead of him were six firing lanes. Overhead moveable tracks held paper targets suspended at various distances. They were already riddled with bullet holes.
Leroy nodded appreciatively. “You got a nice little set-up here, boss. Is this where Chopper trained your boys?”
“Yes, it is,” the preacher affirmed. The old man was seated at a desk near the base of the stairway. He gestured for Leroy to take the chair drawn up in front of the desk.
The cowboy complied and sat waiting for further enlightenment.
“Thank you for meeting me here, Mr. Hunt.”
The cowboy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. The old man never said “thank you” to anybody for anything. He simply expected to be handed whatever he wanted as a matter of course.
“Yessir. What can I do you for?”
“I’m sorry to call you away from your other assignment on such short notice.”
Leroy found himself stifling a gasp of wonder. The old man also never said he was sorry for anything. The cowboy harbored a suspicion that he’d just stepped into the Twilight Zone.
Then the preacher smiled at him. A third unnerving oddity.
Leroy gave a wary grin in return.
“So, tell me. Have you made any progress in tracing the mastermind who controls our band of thieves?”
“I was fixin’ to when I got up this mornin’,” the cowboy said pointedly. “But then you called.”
“Oh, I see.” The preacher apparently realized his untimely demands had interrupted Leroy’s surveillance. “Well, no matter. You can pursue that lead once we’ve finished our business here.”
“Yessir,” Leroy agreed noncommittally. “But you still ain’t told me what our business here is.”
The question seemed to make the old man uncomfortable. He swept his eyes around the room and cleared his throat. “I have an immediate need to avail myself of your other skills.”
Leroy felt less annoyed than intrigued now. “How’s that?”
Metcalf gave a deep sigh. “I’ve given some thought to the concerns that you and Daniel expressed during our recent meeting.”
The cowboy sat forward. “You don’t say.”
“Um, yes. You may have been onto something important.” The old man’s voice sounded downright remorseful.
“I’m glad you come to see the light, boss,” Leroy agreed amicably.
“I believe, at the very least, I should heed your words and take some precautions to protect myself.”
The cowboy scratched his head. “You want me to be your bodyguard or some such?”
“No, you can’t guard me round the clock nor would I wish it. I have something else in mind. For the next week, I want you to meet me here every morning at 9 AM sharp for one hour. I know for a fact that no one uses this facility in the mornings.” He hesitated briefly as his eyes traveled to the bullet-riddled targets. “I want you to teach me to shoot a gun.”
Hunt let out a low whistle. He fell silent, considering the implications of everything the preacher had left unsaid. Then he peered hard at the old man. “Are you sure it’s gonna come to that, boss?”
“I hope not, Mr. Hunt.” The preacher wavered. “Yet despite my hopes, I fear it will come to that just the same.”
“Boss, if you think your boy Josh is gonna do you harm, you best take him down right now and be done with it. I can see how your own people might be squeamish to pull the trigger, seein’ as he’s kin. Don’t you fret none. I’ll do the job for you. Won’t cost you nothin’ extra.”
Metcalf shook his head. “I said I feared he might be capable of harm. I have no proof that he’s a threat to me.”
The cowboy gave a bark of a laugh. “Let’s hope your proof positive don’t come as a bullet in the chest.”
“I will not kill my son in cold blood. All I know is that he’s lied to me. If he is capable of worse than that, we must wait for him to reveal his true colors.”
Leroy rubbed the back of his neck in irritation. “Well, that’s gotta be the worst idea I heard all day. If you want to wait and see, then I got just one last piece of advice for you, boss. You best plan to sleep with one eye open from here on out.”
The preacher gave a mirthless laugh. “Sleeping with one eye open would hardly represent a change, Mr. Hunt. I’ve been doing that for quite some time now.”
Chapter 25—Making Tracks
Cassie watched her cabin mate as the woman briskly sorted through her belongings. When she had organized things to her satisfaction, she stowed her luggage in the hideaway bin below her seat and turned to face the pythia.
In a thick Russian accent, she said, “There. Everything is in order now.” The woman’s name was Olga Morozova. A fresh-faced twenty-something, she was the scout assigned to assist the Arkana team on the next leg of their journ
ey.
The pythia found herself staring. She couldn’t help it. Olga was a rare bird indeed. She made the Jomon trove keeper’s hybrid appearance seem bland by comparison. Her naturally blond hair was so light that it bordered on platinum and she styled it with fringe bangs which accentuated her eyes. It was Olga’s eyes that contradicted the rest of her appearance. They were a vivid blue, but the eyelids didn’t possess a double fold. The shape was Asian as were her high cheekbones. Given the Arkana team’s next destination, perhaps Olga’s genetic mix made sense. They were aboard the Trans-Siberian Railway headed toward Lake Baikal—a stone’s throw from Outer Mongolia.
When the Jomon trove keeper had told the Arkana team where to search next, no one anticipated what a scramble it would take to get them to this point. Shortly after Ken set their itinerary in motion, they learned they would have to fly out of Hakodate immediately if they hoped to catch the next train from Vladivostok. The quickest flight took ten hours with layovers, and they barely had time to race to the train station where Olga was already waiting with their tickets.
Cassie quickly learned to appreciate the scout’s adeptness as a travel coordinator. She not only acted as their interpreter, but she also understood the intricacies of Russian bureaucracy as it pertained to riding the rails. The pythia realized it was only due to Olga’s savvy that they’d been able to secure first class tickets on such short notice. Rather than enduring the free-for-all nightmare of third class bunks or the only-slightly-more-private second class billets with four strangers to a cabin, the team could enjoy the luxury of sleeping compartments designed for two passengers only.
Unlike trains in America, the Trans-Siberian wasn’t primarily ridden by tourists. Even in the jet age, Russians still used it to journey through the country’s inaccessible heartland. As a result, the train carried a ragtag cross-section of society. Frazzled young mothers with multiple screaming infants and toddlers. Rowdy teenage military conscripts returning from their first tour of duty. Shady characters sporting coded prison tattoos. Businessmen calling on customers in the hinterland.
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