Tjaneni heard several soldiers crawling backwards out of the cave on their hands and knees, but he did not take his eyes from the object before him that now reflected the lights of the flaming torches as though it too were alive and watching them.
It was rectangular, no more than three cubits long by two high and two wide, and it was cast in solid gold so perfectly polished that Tjaneni could see his own face upon it. Like a large box, the device was still glowing with escaping heat and light, as though unstable and always on the verge of an explosive reaction.
Tjaneni called to the men behind him.
‘Leave,’ he said. ‘I do not know what this is, but it is a danger to us all and must be housed safely. I have seen its power, and there is nothing like it anywhere in this Kingdom or any other.’
As the soldiers began backing away, Tjaneni made a solemn promise to himself.
‘We must guard this object for all time,’ he whispered, ‘for this Ark is born of the gods themselves.’
***
XXIII
Washington DC
Joseph Hellerman gripped the controls with all of his might, his palms sweaty and his eyes fixed ahead as the interior lights of an immense complex raced past at lightning speed. Glossy floors reflected the flashing lights as he yanked the controls to one side and banked his craft steeply, flashing around a tight corner as he heard the engines of another craft hot on his heels.
Hellerman focused intently as the craft soared down a long tunnel filled with more lights racing past him, images of X–Wing fighters thundering through the Death Star’s interior flashing through his mind as a smile creased his thin beard.
‘Use the Force, Luke…’
He heard the drone of another engine alongside him and risked a quick glance to his left. Another craft seemed to hover alongside his own as the walls and lights flashed past at terrific speed, its engines humming. Hellerman stared ahead again and saw a narrow gap rushing upon him. He frantically jerked the controls to one side and the drone banked up steeply onto its side and soared through the gap as he heard a sudden clattering noise and looked up from his display screen.
Before him a tiny model drone shot out of an open doorway and into the open air as behind it a cloud of debris sparkled in the sunshine as the second drone was shattered against the school corridor’s walls. Beside him Hellerman heard somebody growl in fury and hurl their control transmitter away across the asphalt.
Four more drones burst from the interior of the school and soared across the yard in pursuit of Hellerman’s machine, but he already knew that they couldn’t catch him now as he flew the remote controlled drone around the periphery of the yard and aimed for the finish line.
‘All hail the Hellerman!’ he hooted as his drone whizzed past the finish line, four more following it a few seconds later.
Hellerman brought his drone around in a wide, slow arc and touched down in front of the pilots where they sat in a row on plastic chairs, their laptops erected in front of them. He took off his Infra–Red motion detecting headset, which was connected to a rotating camera mounted on the drone that allowed him to look around in real time as though he was sitting on top of the drone itself.
‘Man, school never used to be this much fun.’
The high school was closed on a Sunday, allowing them to use the empty halls as drone–racing courses. Initially the school cleaners had complained of having to duck with moments to spare as the drones flashed past at thirty miles per hour through the narrow corridors, but having worked out a compromise of races taking place during staff lunch–times, an uneasy peace had been achieved.
Hellerman stood up and walked to a pedestal, upon which stood a golden trophy of a striking eagle clasping a lightsabre in its talons.
‘Same time next week, my young Padawans?’ Hellerman asked his companions.
Before him sat five DIA employees, variously cryptographers and programmers who worked for the agency and had a combined IQ of more than seven hundred fifty. They still don’t understand the importance of a good racing line though, Hellerman reminded himself.
‘I say your drone is rigged,’ said the man who had trashed his drone into a wall at the last hurdle.
‘I say your faith is lacking,’ Hellerman replied. ‘We could have run the race again with each other’s drones, but you broke yours.’
The older man turned and Hellerman’s cocky bravado withered as he saw the threat of violence flicker like a distant storm across his opponent’s face. He was suddenly aware that his opponent was thirty pounds heavier and four inches taller, his fists clenched as he turned toward Hellerman with his shoulders bunched up around his neck.
‘How about I break something else, Hellerman?’ he growled.
‘How about we all take a break,’ Hellerman suggested as he raised a hand and backed up. ‘It’s just a game, y’know?’
Hellerman was about to turn and run when his opponent suddenly came up short, his rage vanishing as a look of vague panic flickered across his features and he turned away. Hellerman blinked in amazement and shrugged.
‘I’ll let you go just this once man, don’t do it again or I’ll…’
‘Hellerman.’
Hellerman’s heart almost stopped beating as he heard the deep, melodious voice rumble his name. He felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and his shoulders tense. He turned slowly and saw Mitchell’s immense, towering form looming before him.
‘With me,’ Mitchell growled, then turned and stalked toward the school exit.
It wasn’t a request, or even a command – a simple statement laden with the threat of what would happen if Hellerman didn’t comply immediately. He picked up his drone and transmitter, then reluctantly followed the big man out of the school yard to a long, black limousine that pulled up smoothly near the sidewalk. Mitchell opened a door and stood beside it, giving Hellerman no choice but to climb in. The door shut behind him and Mitchell got into the driver’s seat. The limousine moved off as Hellerman’s eyes adjusted to the darkness inside and then widened in amazement.
‘Doug?!’
Jarvis inclined his head, smiling softly as Hellerman’s prodigious intellect conducted a series of rapid but predictable mental calculations.
‘But you’re… and we’re… and I’ll be arrested… and people are…’
‘Looking for me,’ Jarvis cut him off. ‘I know, so this has to be brief.’
‘Brief?’ Hellerman uttered. ‘If I’m seen with you I’ll be arrested. You abandoned us and stole the money from Majestic Twelve that we were supposed to…’
‘To give to the government so that they could squirrel it away in the Black Budget or share it out among some other cabal of powerful industrialists?’ Jarvis snapped. ‘Joseph, you know as well as I do that all of the money MJ–12 accrued from its deals was out of the public eye and would have stayed so had we let it go.’
‘Let it go,’ Hellerman echoed. ‘You make it sound like it belonged to you in the first place.’
‘It belongs to millions of people, variously murdered or robbed by MJ–12 over the decades. It’s my job to ensure that the money starts working for them instead of against them.’
‘By betraying your colleagues and abandoning them?’
‘By taking the heat from them and putting it on me,’ Jarvis countered. ‘I take it that in the rush to find the missing billions you, Ethan, Nicola and General Nellis have escaped any serious scrutiny from Homeland Security?’
Hellerman’s outrage faltered. ‘We had only basic reports filed, ensuring that all loose ends were tied up.’
‘And now Homeland is working with the agency to hunt me down?’ Jarvis asked rhetorically. ‘They have partnered with Nellis to locate us and recover the money?’
Hellerman nodded. ‘You’re considered a criminal.’
‘Strange then, that my picture isn’t all over the news, don’t you think?’
‘Security is tight around ARIES,’ Hellerman said, ‘they won�
�t want to draw attention to…’
‘Bull crap!’ Jarvis snapped. ‘They don’t want to admit they lost thirty billion dollars and they don’t want to have to let local law enforcement here or in other countries get in on the act. They want it back for themselves, and they’ll do anything to get their hands on it. This is about money Hellerman, not justice.’
‘And where is that money?’ Hellerman asked.
‘Safe,’ Jarvis replied, ‘and split into so many accounts it would take half the age of the universe to track them all down.’
‘Too many accounts for one man to keep track of,’ Hellerman replied.
Jarvis smiled. ‘This is why I miss you Hellerman.’
‘What do you want from me?’
Jarvis stared at Hellerman for a long moment before he replied. ‘I want you to come and work for us.’
Hellerman stared back, suddenly cold inside the limo. ‘Us?’
Jarvis leaned forward in his seat. ‘Lillian Cruz, Rhys Garrett, Aaron Mitchell, Amber Ryan and Lucy Morgan.’
Hellerman’s eyes flew wide as he heard the names. ‘They’re all people who…’
‘Suffered in one way or another at the hands of Majestic Twelve and who have a vested interest in ensuring that the ill–gotten gains of that cabal are used to promote justice and fight the corruption that festers inside the hearts of all governments.’
Hellerman turned his head away and looked out of the tinted windows at the Washington skyline passing slowly by outside. He had lived in the district all of his life, and his prowess in computational science had meant that as soon as he had completed high school he had been picked up by the government for employment. Not the MIT route for Hellerman – he’d been selected and trained for the purpose of government policy.
Although he had not always agreed with those policies and the politicians who wielded them, Hellerman had been part of a secure agency for his entire adult life, fighting the good fight. Despite its flaws, he had no doubts whatsoever that the United States were the good guys in a war against forces of chaos and dictatorship in lands he had never seen. With a start of realization he noted that he had not ever set foot outside the United States of America, and he recalled that the vast majority of Americans also had never ventured beyond their own shores.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Jarvis said. ‘It’s a big leap to make. Leaving the DIA would be breaking new ground for you.’
Hellerman shook his head. ‘That’s not what I was thinking.’
‘What then?’
‘I was just wondering, who the good guys and the bad guys really are.’
Jarvis frowned. ‘You know who we are. You’ve worked for us all your life.’
‘I’ve worked for America,’ Hellerman said. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing but it sounds to me like Majestic Twelve all over again. As far as the DIA is concerned, I’d be working for the enemy.’
‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend,’ Jarvis replied.
‘And that’s my point, right there,’ Hellerman said. ‘You have a talent for confusing issues, drawing veils over the truth, concealing and misdirecting. General Nellis doesn’t do that, I know where I am with him.’
‘But does he know where he is?’ Jarvis challenged. ‘Nellis is a good man but he’s another cog turning the wheels of a machine that he doesn’t understand. Like you he wants to believe that he’s on the right side, but we all know that the country works for the politicians and the politicians work for themselves. This isn’t about good or bad Hellerman, it’s about breaking free of the system that prevents us from tackling the problems at the root of all governed societies. We need free reign to bring an end to corruption, to expose criminality at the political level.’
‘Free reign,’ Hellerman said, ‘sounds like absolute power is what you want, and absolute power corrupts, absolutely.’
Jarvis leaned forward, smiling.
‘When placed in the hands of a single person,’ he agreed. ‘But what if you place that absolute power into the hands of the people themselves?’
Hellerman’s breath caught in his throat and he thought hard for a moment before he replied.
‘Isocracy?’
‘The rule of the people,’ Jarvis nodded. ‘Democracy is a lousy system but it’s the best we’ve got right now, or at least it was until capitalism ran amok and governments were taken over by corporations. We all live in dictatorships now, Hellerman. The rules are no longer made by our leaders but by the companies that fund their campaigns. We’re ruled by commerce and trade, profit and loss. That’s not democracy. The only way to break those chains is to hand the power, all of the power, back to the people.’
Hellerman glanced at the city skyline in the distance, the dome of the Capitol visible against the hard blue sky.
‘And that’s your end game?’
‘It’s the only end game,’ Jarvis replied. ‘I’m a wanted fugitive, with enough knowledge of the inside of America’s intelligence community to bring down the government overnight. They’re not going to want me on trial, not even before Congress. They find me and I’ll conveniently disappear.’
Hellerman struggled with the uncomfortable truth that Jarvis would indeed be unlikely to survive capture, and though he reminded himself that the ever resourceful Jarvis might be deliberately pulling on his heart strings to get what he wanted, it was a fact that for many years Jarvis had faithfully served his country. Now he was out on his own, and in the company of people whose motives were unquestionable.
The problem was, whether they were likewise being manipulated?
‘If I get caught,’ Hellerman said finally, ‘I’ll be imprisoned for the rest of my life, and I doubt that you’d come get me.’
From the front of the vehicle, Mitchell rumbled a reply.
‘If he didn’t, I would.’
Hellerman felt a strange sense of gratitude toward the towering assassin, and then wondered what could have transformed him so completely. Hellerman looked at Jarvis.
‘And if I say no?’
‘Then we drop you off wherever you want and we’ll disappear,’ Jarvis replied. ‘We’re not Majestic Twelve, Hellerman, you’re not in danger here.’
Hellerman rubbed his temples with one hand and shook his head. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘I know,’ Jarvis said. ‘How about I make this a little easier for you. Why not ask Ethan what he would do?’
‘You’re asking me to tell him about this?’
‘Why not? It’ll save me the job.’
Hellerman sighed. ‘I would do, but he’s not here right now.’
‘Where is he?’
Hellerman opened his mouth to reply, the act so natural to him that he was barely able to catch himself. Jarvis saw the hesitation and grinned.
‘If it’s classified, don’t worry.’
Hellerman shook his head.
‘It’s more than that,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a real weird investigation ongoing right now. Ethan and Nicola are looking into a cult in Utah. The local sheriffs busted in there and found Egyptian hieroglyphics everywhere.’
Jarvis’s eyes lit up and he leaned closer. ‘Go on.’
‘So one of the troopers finds a blind girl trapped inside the cult’s burning ranch, and yet this girl guides him out. She predicted the future, right there. I did some digging into the hieroglyphics, and on the basis of that and other intelligence we figured the Russians were up to something in Syria.’ Hellerman sighed. ‘Ethan and Nicola were in Rome, looking for something called the Tulli Papyrus and the tablets associated with it. Right now, they’re heading for Lebanon to intercept Russian traffickers abducting young girls believed to be oracles. They’re using them to search for something that the Russians clearly consider important.’
Jarvis turned to Mitchell‘The oracles. You need to get out there and locate them, as quickly as you can.’
***
XXIV
Kafr Aya,
Syria
Th
e halls of the compound were bare, paint flaking from them to litter the corridor and the air damp and cold. The stale scent of mold permeated the building and clung to her skin like a cold, dead cloak as she shivered in the darkness.
Elena Viskin sat on the bare concrete floor with her knees tucked up against her chest, her head resting on them and her arms wrapped around her legs. She did not know for how long she had been there, for she had long ago lost the ability to keep track of time. Only the endless thumping of distant artillery fire and landing shells accompanied her in the darkness, the hymn of war echoing through the lonely vaults of her mind.
Elena had lived in the Russian Southern Federal District of Elista all of her life, the town just north of the borders with Chechnya and Georgia. Turkey and Syria had always lain somewhere far beyond, their lands adrift with turmoil and change of which she had heard much growing up. Elena heard everything with particular acuteness, for she had been blind since birth. It had only been at the age of seven when she had been able to tell her parents that although she could see nothing while awake, in her dreams her eyesight was perfectly normal.
Nobody had seemed able to understand why Elena should be able to see in her dreams, mostly because her brain should never have been able to interpret anything from her eyes into a meaningful image because it had no frame of reference. As a doctor had once told her parents: how does one describe a horse if one has never seen a horse? And yet Elena had given a detailed description of a horse, enough so that she had been able to draw a crude image of one with her dear father’s help.
Elena’s affliction and remarkable ability had been nothing more than a novelty for two or three years, but then had come the men from the Kremlin. They had asked many questions and then had made Elena the offer of a lifetime: four years work for the Kremlin, ending upon her seventeenth birthday, in return for her parents receiving a sum of money that was more than her father could have earned in a lifetime. Despite the excitement and hope of a future devoid of poverty, her parents had ensured Elena that she should only take the offer up if she was sure she could cope, that money was nothing without the bonds of family. Elena had not hesitated, and three days later she was picked up in a small bus bound for Moscow.
The Genesis Cypher (Warner & Lopez Book 6) Page 16
