The Joshua Stone

by James Barney

  Ana immediately turned right and sprinted away as a stream of bullets whizzed through the space where she’d been standing a second before. She passed the pool area behind the main mansion and continued at full speed toward the open fields beyond the barn. Not good, she realized. Out in the open, exposed. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted two more men with guns exiting the back of the mansion and making their way through the pool area.

  Great. Five men on her trail, and she was heading straight for an open field. Target practice.

  Twenty seconds later, Ana passed the barn and continued racing toward the open field beyond it. It was a terrible plan. But, unfortunately, it was the only one she had. The closest of her pursuers was now about thirty yards away and gaining steadily. She could hear shouts in Ukrainian and sporadic bursts of automatic gunfire behind her. But she dared not look back, not even for a second. Keep running!

  Suddenly, a new sound was permeating the air. It was a rhythmic, thumping noise that seemed to have arisen from out of nowhere, and it grew quickly until it was deafening overhead. And then she saw it. A black helicopter suddenly swooped low over her head and banked sharply into the air, coming to a low-altitude hover about thirty yards away, facing directly toward her. Oh shit. She was forced to stop running because of the intense rotor wash.

  Without warning, muzzle flashes suddenly erupted from the chopper’s twin 20-millimeter cannons. Ana instinctively hit the ground. As she did, she noticed the grass behind her being violently torn up in two straight lines extending back toward the houses. A split second later, two of the five goons behind her lurched backward in a splatter of blood and fell to the ground. The other three goons were now sprinting away in different directions.

  The pitch of the chopper’s engines began changing. Ana looked up and saw that the MH-60L Blackhawk had now turned sideways and was descending. She shook her head in disbelief and immediately got to her feet. As the chopper touched down about twenty yards away, she began making her way toward it with great effort, leaning forward against the heavy rotor wash. As she approached, the side door of the Blackhawk opened.

  And there was the smiling face of Mike Califano.

  Unbelievable.

  Califano was crouching low in the doorway with four CIA special ops guys behind him. Two of them jumped out immediately and helped Ana into the chopper. Once she was safely aboard, the other two special ops guys jumped out onto the lawn. She watched as the four of them regrouped momentarily and quickly fanned out and headed toward the mansion and guesthouse.

  The pitch of the Blackhawk’s powerful engines suddenly increased and the chopper began rising into the air.

  “You all right?” Califano shouted over the noise.

  Ana looked at him and nodded. “Don’t let this go to your head,” she said between breaths. “But you’ve got impeccable timing.”

  Califano shrugged. “Just had to be a little creative.”

  Ana smiled and reached out her hand, letting it come to rest on his shoulder. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”

  Four hundred yards away, a black BMW 750i was quietly leaving the Hillcrest estate at the same moment the Blackhawk helicopter was lifting off the ground.

  “Not too fast,” warned Vladamir Krupnov from the backseat. “We don’t want to attract attention.”

  “I understand,” said Sashko Melnik.

  The BMW cruised north on Route 626 for several minutes and was soon indistinguishable from the other luxury vehicles heading off to various Sunday activities in the picturesque Virginia countryside.

  44

  CIA HEADQUARTERS, LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  Hell of a day,” said Mike Califano as he eased himself into one of the chairs around the small conference table in the DTAI workroom. Ana Thorne and Steve Goodwin were there, too, seated at the table.

  “That’s an understatement,” muttered Ana.

  “Anyone heard from Doc McCreary?” asked Califano.

  Goodwin and Thorne both shook their heads.

  “That can’t be good,” Califano mumbled.

  “Should we wait for Admiral Armstrong?” asked Goodwin. “He said he’d be—”

  “I’m here,” announced Armstrong as he entered the workroom. “Finally got all the birds on the same clock. Crisis averted. Lives saved. Jesus, what a mess.”

  “So everyone’s got their navigation systems back?” asked Ana.

  “Yeah, and their cell phones and satellite TVs, too,” Armstrong replied. “More important, NSA has all its spy satellites back. I’m telling you, I don’t ever want to go through that again. President’s still trying to decide whether he needs to address the nation about this tonight. In the meantime, will one of you geniuses please explain what the hell happened?”

  The three “geniuses” at the table looked at each other, trying to figure out who should go first. Finally, Califano spoke. “I guess I’ll start.” For the next fifteen minutes, he explained to Admiral Armstrong everything that had happened that day, including the events at the Third Church of Christ, Scientist; the Russian and Ukrainian thugs; the man in the black leather coat and the old woman in white; the underground bomb shelter; and the bright flash behind the Hay-Adams hotel. He also explained how Steve Goodwin was able to use Califano’s data-mining program to figure out that the Hillcrest estate in Middleburg was the center of all this activity.

  “Good job, Steve,” said Ana.

  “Thanks. But Mike talked me through it.”

  Finally, Califano concluded with an account of the Blackhawk landing at the Hillcrest estate and Ana Thorne’s escape.

  “So these Russian assholes—Krupnov Energy—did they actually recover the material they were looking for? I mean, do we have to worry about more of these time events coming from Russia?”

  “Yes and no,” said Ana.

  “Not what I was hoping to hear,” Armstrong grumbled.

  Ana straightened in her chair. “From what I could tell, Admiral, they did not recover any of the material from Thurmond. Of course, they obviously have some material, which we saw the effects of in the White Sea. But it sounded to me like they’re still looking for more.”

  Armstrong was confused. “Wait. Other than the Thurmond material, where else do they expect to find more of this stuff?”

  “Ah,” said Ana. She turned to Califano. “Mike, can you put something on the screen for me? It’s probably on the Internet.”

  “Sure.” Califano rolled his chair over to his computer workstation. At the same time, Goodwin turned on the projector and lowered the screen at the front of the room.

  “Okay, where to?” asked Califano, as the Google Web site slowly came into focus on the screen.

  “Find me an image of the Madaba map.”

  “Madaba? Like M-A-D-A-B-A?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Seconds later, an image of an incredibly detailed mosaic map appeared on the screen.

  “Whoa,” said Goodwin. “What’s that?”

  “This is the oldest known map of the Holy Land,” Ana explained. “It’s located on the floor of an old Byzantine church in Madaba, Jordan, which dates from at least the sixth century A.D. I saw a copy of this same map on the wall of Dr. Reynolds’s home office in Florida. And there was one feature in particular he was very interested in.”

  “Which was what?” asked Califano.

  Ana stood and pointed to a spot on the lower-right-hand side of the map. “Can you focus in right about . . . here?”

  Califano manipulated the image and eventually succeeded in zooming in on that particular spot. On the screen was a mosaic version of a houselike structure and twelve circles, similar to what Ana had been shown in the van:

  “The men in the van asked me about a sketch that looked a lot like this,” she said. “Except it’d been photocopied from some old notebook, and it had notations on it in German. I recognized it right away because Tom Reynolds explained this exact feature of the Madaba map to me at his house.”

  “And what do tho
se words say?” asked Admiral Armstrong, pointing to the words above the house structure.

  “In Greek, it says Galgala-tokai Dodekalithon, which means the town of Galgala with twelve stones.”

  “And are those the twelve stones there?” asked Califano, pointing to the white circles.

  “Uh-huh. The book of Joshua talks a lot about those twelve stones, and Dr. Holzberg was apparently very interested in them, too.”

  “Of course,” whispered Califano to himself.

  “What’s that?” asked Ana.

  “Remember what Dr. Holzberg said? ‘There are ten more.’ Ten more stones. It totally makes sense now. He was worried about someone finding the other ten stones.”

  Ana nodded. “I think you’re right. And there’s more. The sketch they asked me about in the van was annotated like this.” She stepped forward and drew an imaginary X over two of the white circles in the lower-right-hand corner. “These two stones had X’s through them.”

  “Meaning what?” Armstrong asked.

  “I don’t know. Could mean they’ve been found and retrieved. Who knows?” She next drew an imaginary box around the remaining ten stones. “These ten stones were boxed together like this and labeled as ‘Gefunden, Karte three.’ ”

  “Found, see map three,” said Califano, translating from the German.

  “Thanks, I was just about to say that. Anyway, those guys in the van were really interested in these ten stones. I think this is what they’re still trying to get their hands on. In addition to the Thurmond material, of course.”

  “Hmm,” said Armstrong, stroking his chin. “And what exactly do these twelve stones do?”

  “Good question,” said Ana. For the next twenty minutes, she repeated everything she’d learned from Tom Reynolds, including the accounts from the book of Joshua, the differing claims about the book of Jasher, and the three-thousand-year-old dispute regarding the word “Qaset” in the second book of Samuel. “What’s interesting,” she said in conclusion, “is that Dr. Holzberg apparently believed ‘Qaset’ referred to a technique for bending time.”

  “Bogentechnik,” said Califano.

  “Huh?” Armstrong looked momentarily confused.

  “Bogentechnik. That’s the word Dr. Holzberg used to describe it. It means ‘bending technique’ in German.”

  Armstrong was rubbing his eyes and his temples with both hands. “Okay, this is all very interesting. But where is the Thurmond material right now? Isn’t that what we should be most concerned with?”

  “Absolutely,” said Califano. “To the best of my knowledge, that material is still with the woman in the white dress who we saw at the church.”

  “Her name is Opal,” said Ana. “I overheard them calling her that.”

  “And this Opal woman is the one you overheard down in the bomb shelter, the one you think caused the time incident that screwed up all of our satellites?”

  Califano nodded. “As best as I could tell.”

  “And you say Bill McCreary went to check it out?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And that was, what, about seven hours ago?”

  Califano checked his watch. “A little more, actually.”

  “And no one’s heard from him since?” said Armstrong.

  “Well, speaking from experience,” said Califano, “we may not be seeing him for a while.”

  Armstrong rolled his eyes and groaned. “Great. I’m sure the president will be thrilled to hear that. And what about this other person? The one they had in the back of the van with you, Ana?”

  “They called him Malachi,” said Ana. “But I’m still not sure who he was or how he fits into everything.”

  “Any chance we could just ask him?”

  Ana shook her head slowly. “Unfortunately, no. He didn’t make it. Spec ops found him shot in the head.”

  “Great,” said Armstrong. “So all our answers lie with this woman Opal. And we don’t know where she is or when she’s coming back. Did I get that right? Is that what I’m supposed to tell the president?”

  All three of the “geniuses” around the table nodded their heads slowly.

  Armstrong was just about to say something else when there was a knock on the door and it slowly swung open. On the other side of the door was Bill McCreary. He stepped into the workroom and then turned and ushered in another person who was standing behind him.

  It was the elderly woman in white from the church.

  “Everyone,” said McCreary. “I’d like you to meet Opal Chauvenet.”

  45

  LISBON, PORTUGAL

  We are both dead,” said Vladamir Krupnov with barely suppressed panic in his voice. “Do you understand that?”

  Dr. Benjamin Fulcher held the phone to his ear and pulled back the drapes of his hotel room overlooking the Baixa district of Lisbon. “Calm down, Vlad. Where are you right now?”

  “I’m not going to tell you that over the phone. They might be listening.”

  “Who?”

  “You know goddamn well who. The posrednikov.”

  “You’re being paranoid.”

  “Perhaps. But that’s because I know them. You don’t. Trust me, Doctor. If we fail at this, you will not see the light of the next day. It won’t matter where you are or what you’re doing. They will find you . . . and kill you. The posrednikov don’t tolerate people who waste their money.”

  “I’m not afraid,” said Fulcher.

  “Well, you should be.”

  “We will not fail.”

  “Your confidence is admirable, Doctor. But honestly, it’s wearing on my nerves. You didn’t just see your entire team wiped out in one day.” Krupnov cursed under his breath in Russian. “That blond d’yoval. I should have blown her brains out when I had the chance.”

  “Listen, Vlad. I’m sorry about your men. We knew this was a risky business when we started. But even if the Thurmond material is out of our reach, there are still at least ten more seed stones up for grabs. That’s more than enough to carry out our plan.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Krupnov sharply. “You heard Malachi. He didn’t know anything about those stones. And even if he did, he’s dead now. The woman, Opal, she’s probably with the Americans by now. So we are no closer to those ten stones than we were before. Probably further away.”

  “Vlad—”

  “No, Doctor. We promised them that we were close to bringing this plan to completion. The posrednikov will hold us to that promise. If you don’t understand that, then you are a fool. I don’t care if you do have a Nobel Prize.”

  “Vlad, we will keep our promise.”

  “How?”

  “Have you ever heard the expression that there’s more than one way to skin a cat?”

  “No. We don’t skin cats in Russia.”

  “It just means there’s more than one way to accomplish a goal. You may be right about Malachi and the woman. But I have discovered something quite remarkable about this tiny stone. Something I’d overlooked before.”

  “You mean the material we got from Haroldson? The small chip that his father took from the stone he found in Tunis?”

  “Yes. I retrieved it after we finished the demonstration in the White Sea, and I have it with me now. There’s something about it that I believe will solve all of our problems.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I’ll explain later. Just be ready to travel. I’ll give you instructions shortly.”

  Fulcher terminated the call and immediately turned his attention back to the small apparatus that he’d set up on the desk of the hotel room three hours ago. It consisted of a glass ball about the size of a basketball, which had a small opening in the top that was covered with tape. The glass ball was striped with black longitude and latitude lines so that it looked like a globe without the geographical features. It was sitting atop a makeshift gimbal structure that Fulcher had carefully aligned three hours before to point due north, after taking into full consideration the local
magnetic declination of the Lisbon area.

  Fulcher bent down and carefully inspected the tiny black chip that was floating inside the glass ball. It hadn’t moved for the past half hour, which meant it had finally achieved a steady state. “Excellent,” he whispered. He took precise note of the position of the chip as it pressed gently against the side of the glass ball.

  Like attracts like.

  He jotted the information down on a scrap piece of paper and then hobbled over to a Mercator map of the world that was spread out across the hotel room’s dining table. Using a ruler, a protractor, and a black pen, Fulcher carefully placed a dot on his location in Lisbon and then plotted a line in the exact direction indicated by the tiny floating chip in the glass ball. It was the third line that he’d drawn on the map in the past twenty-four hours. The first had originated in Severodvinsk, Russia, and extended south. The second had originated in Almaty, Kazakhstan, and extended southwest. And now this line, which began in Lisbon and extended southeast. They all intersected at nearly the same point, forming a tiny triangle known to navigators around the world as a “fix.”

  Fulcher stood up with some effort and tapped his finger on the small triangle of intersecting lines. “Remarkable,” he whispered. “After all this time.”

  He quickly retrieved his cell phone and dialed Krupnov.

  “Da?” Krupnov answered.

  “Vlad, I know where those ten stones are located. Be in Istanbul tomorrow afternoon. I’ll arrange a private flight from there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  A smile crept across Fulcher’s face. “Sure as clockwork. Just make sure you’re there.”

  46

  CIA HEADQUARTERS, LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  Who are you?” asked Ana Thorne of the elderly woman in the white dress, whom McCreary had introduced a minute earlier as Opal Chauvenet. The woman was seated in a chair with her legs crossed, hands in her lap, looking very matronly. McCreary was seated beside her, and Ana was slowly pacing around the room as she awaited an answer.