Area 51_The Grail Page 9

  “Brynn waved a hand at the wall. ‘They are in various tongues and from many times. I have looked at some and there are few I can read.’

  “I moved toward the scrolls, drawn as if by a powerful magnet that was linked to my heart and mind. There was only one other time in my life when I had felt such a way—the first time I laid eyes on my wife.

  “Brynn and I sat and talked for a while and he told me what he knew. His line of Watchers didn’t watch. They recorded reports from Watchers all over the world as they arrived. He told me that the task was now computerized. His job was to maintain the old records and allow other Watchers access to them.

  “From him I learned that for millennia the wedjat was exiled from Glastonbury Tor. As he spoke, I eagerly went to the first racks. There was a rolled parchment in the upper, leftmost opening. Carefully I pulled it out. I took it to a desk and unrolled the first piece. It was covered in markings, much like the Egyptian hieroglyphics, but different in many ways. I know now they were High Runes.

  “Brynn told me to look below the first sheet. I lifted the parchment and underneath was another page, written in Celtic. He told me it was the translation, done in the Dark Ages by his predecessors.

  “I ran my fingers lightly across the first lines. I could feel the age of the paper and thought of the men who had labored here in this cave, translating the story of the history from High Rune to Celtic. I asked him to tell me of the wedjat, of the early Watchers.

  “The wedjat were the priests of Atlantis. They served the Airlia, worshipped them as Gods. They worshipped the Airlia in a temple where no man was allowed. A pyramid, blood red in hue, capped the peak of the temple. Inside, upon a table in the center, was the Ark which held the Grail, worshipped as the bringer of eternal life, health, and knowledge.”

  “This red pyramid,” Turcotte interrupted. “I haven’t heard of this. The guardian computers I’ve seen are all gold.” He glanced at Yakov. “Have you?”

  Yakov shook his large head. “No. Perhaps that is the master guardian?”

  “Perhaps,” Mualama acknowledged. “The priests of the wedjat were not allowed to touch the red pyramid or even view it, never mind touch the Grail. The Ark remained closed to them. The leader of the Airlia, Aspasia, promised the wedjat that if they obeyed and were faithful, the day would come when all that the Grail could provide would be man’s. Foremost among them would be eternal life. Immortality, the ultimate gift of the Gods, lay inside the Ark, vested in the Grail. You can imagine how that brought obedience.”

  “Not too different from many religions,” Che Lu commented.

  “The Grail held such promise and the wedjat worshipped it, but they were forbidden to tap into its power. They were told there would be a time when they would be given access to the Grail and all its bounty, but the time was not now. This went on for generations, each successive wave of wedjat believing the promise. Each dying and passing on the belief to their children. As this went on and on, and the Grail was never revealed, there were murmurs of discontent.

  “Thus there were those who, despite the comforts of Atlantis and the bounty of the Airlia, were not content to serve. Those who wanted the knowledge and the power of the Airlia themselves, who wanted what the Grail could give now, before their own deaths, not content with the promise that it might be given to their children, or their children’s children. There were even some among the wedjat who felt this way. They felt that if they could have access to the Grail, they too would be gods. But the Airlia were too powerful. Any sign of rebellion was dealt with quickly. Man had his place and the Airlia theirs.

  “Then Artad arrived and the civil war among the Airlia began. The wedjat and the people of Atlantis fought for Aspasia and many died. And they were betrayed. They learned that their worship and obedience was worth nothing. The Airlia made a truce among themselves. Aspasia and his followers were banished to Mars, and Atlantis was destroyed by Artad. Many of the wedjat were killed. A small group remained alive, their mission to convert the locals to worship of Aspasia.”

  Mualama looked around at the others in the conference. “Could you imagine the sense of betrayal they felt? Their families killed, their home destroyed? They decided to organize themselves, to meet at the northern summer solstices in England, on the Tor. They met some of the survivors of Atlantis and learned some things.

  “They were told that just before Aspasia left some of the most fervent of the wedjat had been taken inside the temple and transformed by Aspasia and his golden pyramid, the guardian.”

  “The Guides,” Yakov said.

  Mualama nodded. “They were given the job of moving the Ark and Grail to a safe place. They established The Mission. They also heard of others, The Ones Who Wait, recruited and changed by Artad to prepare for his return.

  “So the survivors decided they would never again trust the Airlia. They would watch and make sure mankind was never again betrayed. A binding oath was taken. Then they scattered to their new homes. The Tor was set up as the repository of their knowledge.

  “Brynn told me that the Tor was being phased out. That all the material was being scanned and stored in a computer at the Watcher headquarters. Basically, he was a relic. I think he was lonely. I asked him if he had heard of Burton. He told me his grandfather had allowed Burton in many years ago. Burton had Kaji’s ring and had learned much from the Watcher records—even taking some scrolls—before being discovered. He managed to escape before they killed him.”

  “The rings?” Turcotte prompted.

  “All priests of the wedjat had been given a ring that allowed them access to places in the temple. The same access technology was built into all the Airlia facilities.”

  “You still haven’t told us where we can get a ring,” Turcotte noted. “You’ve lied to us all along, why should we believe you now?”

  Mualama ignored the question. “While Brynn and I were still talking there was a chime. He told me that meant someone had placed their ring or medallion on the wall, like I had. He left to go see who it was. I used the time to look through the documents.” Mualama fell silent.

  “And?” Turcotte asked.

  “The Watchers must have been watching the Tor and Brynn, knowing he was old and foolish. Someone—whoever had come—threw an incendiary grenade into the scriptorium and shut the door. The scrolls began to burn. The room filled with flames and smoke, trapping me behind and the door. I lay on the floor as the room burned. My clothing caught fire but I didn’t move, breathing the little oxygen that was left low to the ground. Eventually everything that could burn had done so. I was badly burned. The door opened and someone came in.

  “A man knelt next to me. He told me that a painful death was the price I had to pay for betraying my order. He left me to die.

  “He underestimated me.

  “As soon as he was gone, I got to my feet and followed. I used the pain as a way to focus, to move.”

  Turcotte had seen men do incredible things while in unspeakable agony, turning the pain into motivation. And he had seen the scars on Mualama’s back, which lent more credence to his story. Still, though, the effort required to move in such pain astounded him.

  “In the tunnel ahead I could see Brynn in his robe and the stranger. I followed all the way to the surface and waited while they exited, giving them time to start down the Tor. Then I went outside into the night air. I could feel my shirt burned into my back, the cool breeze on the exposed nerve endings. I stumbled down the hill to my car. The worst was sitting in the seat. I almost blacked out. But I could see the headlights come on from their car and I wouldn’t allow myself to pass out. I followed them.

  “They drove east and I thought we might be going to London, but then they turned north. When the road passed between stone sentinels, two upright rocks, I knew where we were: Avebury. We were inside the ring of stones that surrounds the place. They left the main road and went onto an old trail. I turned my lights off and followed. A large hill was directly in front and I was a
mazed to watch their car drive right into the hill and disappear as if snatched up by the darkness.

  “I waited as long as I could, but they did not reappear. Then I went and sought medical attention. But I had learned where a Watcher base was: Silbury Hill, inside the ring of circles at Avebury. If anywhere, that is where you will find your ring.”

  Turcotte turned to Quinn. “Get a bouncer ready for me. And all the intel you can get on this hill.”

  “The manuscript?” Mualama asked.

  Turcotte poked a finger in the African’s chest. “If the information you’ve just given us is true, which we’ll find out shortly, I’ll let you continue translating. But if I catch you in another lie, or you hold something back from us again, I’m going to make you disappear.”

  Turcotte left the room, followed by the others, leaving Mualama alone. The African looked at the pile of papers and a strange, confused look crossed his face as if he didn’t know where he was. His body twitched as his spine drew tight, shoving him rigidly back against the seat he was in. He gasped and his right hand went to the back of his neck, the source of the pain. He blinked and the confused look was gone. The hand moved to his left ear and lightly touched it. He pulled the hand back; there was blood on it. A small trickle was seeping out of the ear.

  Mualama dabbed at his ear and cleaned the blood. He waited, but no more came. Then he resumed typing.

  CHAPTER 6

  Vicinity Easter Island

  Using the theory that stealth was better than might, particularly when the opponent had taken out a Nimitz-class carrier, the SEAL commander decided that only two of his men would make the attempt to get under the shield surrounding Easter Island. SEALs worked best in small units anyway, and two was the smallest possible operating element, as the buddy system was an unbreakable code in water operations.

  Chief Petty Officers McGraw and Olivetti were the chosen ones. Both were highly qualified men with experience in combat ranging from Grenada to Desert Storm. Between them, they had over twenty-seven years of special operations time.

  A three-step infiltration was planned. First, a Chinook off the Stennis would fly the two men and a F-470 zodiac to a position five miles outside the shield wall. The chopper would drop them near the island where they would use the boat to get as close as possible to the wall. They would then deflate the F-470, and take it with them as they dove down to the hole in the shield wall. Once through, they would reinflate the zodiac and continue with their mission. To exfiltrate, they would leave the zodiac behind and swim out and signal for the chopper to come pick them up.

  The two men knew the location of the guardian underneath Rapa Kara and had maps of the tunnels UNAOC had drilled to get to that chamber. Beyond that, what was going on inside the black shield was an unknown.

  Their priority, given to them directly by Captain Robinette, was to first find out what was going on, particularly with regard to the Washington and the Springfield, then rescue Kelly Reynolds. With these orders firmly in mind, Olivetti and McGraw boarded the Chinook and took off, heading toward the southern horizon.

  Qian-Ling, China

  The earth was scorched for miles surrounding the black shield that stretched for over three miles in circumference at the base and a mile and a half in height. The dragon paused fifty meters from the shield. Inside, Lexina had a small black sphere in her lap, the surface covered with hexagons. Each glowed slightly, highlighting High Rune markings etched on the surface. Lexina tapped four in order. The shield suddenly disappeared, revealing the bulk of Qian-Ling, the mountain tomb. Over three thousand feet high, it was obvious the hill was not a natural formation as the sides rose uniformly to the rounded top.

  Elek pushed forward on the controls, edging the dragon toward the hill. Lexina ran her hands over the black sphere once more, and a large circular opening appeared three quarters of the way up the hill, allowing the dragon access to its millennia-old lair.

  Lexina turned the shield back on as they entered the tunnel that angled down to the main storage area inside Qian-Ling. The dragon came to rest on the floor of the large chamber. The back ramp dropped and Lexina led the way off, the case holding the Spear of Destiny in her hand. Elek, Coridan, and Gergor silently followed.

  The chamber was huge, with arching beams of black metal supporting the roof. Inside were containers of various sizes, one of which had held the dragon, another of which was open, revealing a large spinning cylinder that propagated the shield wall.

  Moving past these, she headed to a doorway which opened onto a wide tunnel, the other Ones Who Wait following. She followed that to a three-way intersection, where she made a right turn and began descending, the others still behind.

  She stopped abruptly when a dim red glow lit the main tunnel about twenty meters ahead of her. The glow began to take form, elongating until a ghostlike apparition appeared before her. Lexina knelt, the others following suit, their eyes on the strange image. The legs and arms were longer than a human’s, the body shorter, the head covered with bright red hair. The skin was flawless and white, the ears with long lobes that almost reached the shoulders. The eyes were red in red, just like Lexina’s.

  The figure’s right hand came up, palm open, six fingers spread. It began speaking, the voice deep, but the language almost musical. It went on for a minute, then slowly faded.

  Lexina put the case in front of her and opened it. She lifted the Spear of Destiny out, holding it by the short haft behind the lance-head. She stood, spear pointing forward, and took a tentative step down the tunnel. Then another step. She froze as a flash of light momentarily blinded her.

  Blinking, her catlike eyes adjusted. A steady red beam went from one side of the wall to the other just below the spear point. Carefully she lowered the point until it intersected the beam. Like a multifaceted mirror, the blade reflected the beam in a circle around the tunnel for several seconds, then suddenly the beam disappeared.

  With several more tentative steps, Lexina passed the guardian beam and continued down the tunnel, the others following. She kept the spear out in front, not knowing what to expect now that they were past the first trap. Like soldiers walking through a minefield with the point man holding a detector, they moved down the main tunnel toward the bottom level of Qian-Ling.

  Area 51

  “Silbury Hill is the largest man-made mound in Europe.” Quinn put a photograph on the conference room table for the others to see. “One hundred and thirty feet high covering five acres.”

  “Reminds you of someplace, doesn’t it?” Turcotte asked Che Lu. Upon receipt of the intelligence, Turcotte had called a meeting in the conference room to plan their next step.

  “Qian-Ling,” she said. “The Airlia had a penchant for putting their bases underground.”

  Quinn nodded. “No one knows who built Silbury or why. According to legend it was always there. It’s always been avoided by the locals, though, even today.”

  “The Watchers took over some old Airlia outposts,” Mualama said. “Just as The Guides and The Ones Who Wait did. I’m sure Silbury is a smaller version of Qian-Ling.”

  “All right,” Turcotte said. “That’s where we’re going.”

  “My friend—” Yakov’s voice held a note of something mat Turcotte couldn’t quite place.

  “What?”

  “What are you proposing we do?”

  “Get a Watcher ring so we can then go rescue Doctor Duncan,” Turcotte said.

  Yakov raised his bushy eyebrows. “Why?”

  “Why?” Turcotte wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. Then his face turned red and his hands balled into fists. “We’re not abandoning her. We’re a team here and—”

  “My friend—” Yakov held up his hands, as if surrendering. “Listen to me for a second. In Moscow I acted from here,” he tapped his chest, “and look what happened. I trusted Katyenka and she betrayed us.” Turcotte remembered the incident deep beneath Moscow where Yakov’s former lover had turned her gun on them.

 
“Are you saying—” Turcotte spit the words out, but Yakov spoke over them, quieting him.

  “I am not telling you anything about Doctor Duncan. What I am concerned with is the larger picture. Both sides of this alien civil war have tried to destroy us. That is the overriding concern. What does Giza have to do with Easter Island? Or Qian-Ling? Or The Mission? Are threats growing there? We have no clue where The Mission disappeared to, and we know how dangerous it can be.”

  Turcotte blinked, confused. His mind had been so focused on the mission of rescuing Duncan that he couldn’t quite fit Yakov’s words. The Russian must have sensed that because he sat down, shoving out a chair for Turcotte next to him.

  “We have made many mistakes. I have made many mistakes. Trusting Katyenka was just one of them. There have been others. Let us try not to make any more. Are you with me on that?”

  Turcotte forced the anger in his chest to hold, a dike of resolve that was thoroughly saturated. “Yes.” The word was torn from his lips.

  Yakov nodded. “We are slowly learning some of the truth from Burton’s manuscript. Information that would have helped us greatly had we been aware before. We would have known of the Watchers. The Mission. The Ones Who Wait. The Guides. All before they showed themselves to us in ways that took us by surprise. That cost the lives of all those people in South America. That cost your country two space shuttles. That cost me my comrades at Section IV.”

  Yakov pointed past Turcotte at the computers and Professor Mualama, who was now working on the manuscript, the clicking of keys a constant backdrop in the room. “Burton’s manuscript. You see it as giving us the intelligence to find Doctor Duncan. But what is it really about?”

  “The Grail,” Turcotte said.

  Yakov nodded. “Yes. The Grail. I think it is, how do you say, the linchpin to this civil war. Whatever it is—whatever it does—it is very, very important. I think it may possibly be what the civil war among the Airlia was about in the first place. I think the manuscript will give us an idea how important.”