by Nick Thacker
Ben looked over at Julie again, then nodded. “Give it to him, Jules.”
She was about to protest, but he shook his head. Finally, she retrieved the journal and stepped over to Sharpe. He grabbed it out of her hand, then flipped through a few of the pages to ensure it was genuine. Satisfied, he pocketed it and turned back to Ben.
“Thank you, Harvey, for your continued cooperation with this —”
Ben lunged forward and smashed the upper half of his forehead into Sharpe’s nose. The downward motion wouldn’t cause the bone to shoot up the naval cavity, which meant it also wouldn’t kill Sharpe.
But it would hurt — a lot.
Sharpe fell, crumpling to the ground like a rag doll. He whimpered a bit as he fell, blood spewing from his nose and spilling out over his chin and neck. He tried to wipe it off with a wrist, but it just smeared around his face. He tried to stand up, but fell back to one knee.
A few of the soldiers stepped closer, but Ben could tell they weren’t about to execute their prisoners here, in the middle of a sacred temple.
Sharpe groaned, then rolled into a sitting position on the dusty earth. He shot a finger at Ben, pointing while holding his nose. “Get — get them out of here,” he said. Then, to Julie, he continued. “There’s a plane waiting. A private airport. It’s in my name, but they’re expecting you. Talk to the man at the gate.”
“Mind taking these off?” Julie asked, motioning over her shoulder at her wrists.
“When you get to the gate,” Sharpe said, wheezing through the blood. “I don’t want you getting any bright ideas about exploring any more ancient sites today.”
Ben turned to leave, but Sharpe continued shouting after him. “And do not come back here. I will be lodging a formal complaint with the Egyptian authorities that will effectively block your access to this country. If you try to enter, you will —”
“Never did care much for the heat anyway, Sharpe,” Ben said, still marching toward the exit.
The soldiers parted, either aware of what Agent Sharpe had said or unwilling to try to stop Ben. The others, including Reggie, followed along, their hands still bound behind their backs.
Back outside in the heat, Ben found that the entire plateau had been closed, and that barricades had been erected in front of many of the entrances to the ancient sites. Walkways were devoid of tourists, only security guards and Giza employees milling about, many of whom were engaged in conversations with one another.
The Mukhabarat soldiers from the temple followed them out, a few of them holding their weapons up and at the ready as the team proceeded. None of the remaining employees paid much attention to them, either due to the fact that they had already been informed of the plan or that they were hoping to stay out of the way of the armed soldiers.
It was clear that the park had been shut down after the soldiers had opened fire on the CSO team, and the place had been evacuated shorty thereafter.
As such, they had an easy walk to the front gates, and while they received a few interested glances from some of the guards, they made it to the gate without being harassed. There, Reggie showed them how to use the edge of a sharpened piece of metal welded to the gate itself to cut their bindings.
When they had finished freeing themselves, two men dressed in blue jumpsuits with some sort of government patch emblazoned on the chest met them at the gate. They appeared unarmed, but they approached the group of Americans cautiously. The man on the left spoke to them in staggered English.
“You are the ones looking for an airplane?” he asked.
Ben nodded. “An airplane would be great. And one with some whiskey on board would be fantastic.”
Epilogue
“BEN, IT’S POINTLESS,” JULIE said. “Sharpe isn’t going to let us near the journal. And even if he did, we’d need to study it for months to decipher it.”
Ben looked around the table, then cleared his throat and spoke. “We don’t need the journal.”
“But you said we would go after these guys — whoever’s carrying out the rest of Rascher’s wishes.”
“We are,” Ben said. “And we’re going to stop them.”
“We don’t even know where to start,” Reggie said. “And again — we don’t have the journal.”
Ben looked down at his notes, organized haphazardly on the iPad sitting on the table in front of him. The group was back in Alaska, joined by Professor Lindgren and his daughter Sarah. Mr. E was absent, unsurprisingly, but Mrs. E was sitting next to Julie, across from Ben. They all shared the small kitchen table Ben and Julie had moved into the living room, and after a massive dinner of Ben’s chili, they were debriefing and planning their next move.
“I think I have an idea,” Ben said.
“If you’re going to say ‘break into Interpol and steal the journal…’” Reggie said.
Ben eyed his friend.
“…then I’m in.”
Ben laughed. “Well, no, not this time. But I would love to get in Sharpe’s face again sometime.”
“You mean smash the crap out of his face with your head again?” Reggie mocked.
Ben raised an eyebrow. “Only weapon I had at the time. At least I was ready to fight. You were over there, bleeding out, just waiting for me to rescue you.”
Reggie chuckled. “My knight in shining armor,” he said.
“So Sharpe’s not involved in this?” Julie asked, refocusing the conversation.
“No, I don’t think there’s a way to get the journal from him. But I’m not sure we need it.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, Sarah said that Rachel told her and her father that she had a copy of Plato’s lost work as well. The Book of Bones, right? If it’s like Plato’s other works, other fragments and pieces — even whole manuscripts — will show up over time.”
“So… we wait? Until one of these manuscripts ‘shows up?’”
“No — let me finish.” He turned to Sarah’s father. “Professor Lindgren, do you remember what you wrote in the letter to Sarah? The invocation?”
Professor Lindgren took a drink of the wine sitting in front of him, then set the glass on the table next to his empty bowl. “‘We are twice armed if we fight with faith.’”
“Plato,” Ben said. “It’s how we figured out you were leading Sarah to something related to Atlantis.”
“Right…”
“But do any of you remember the getaway car in Santorini? The one that picked up Sarah?”
There were blank stares around the table.
“It was registered to a priest. A clergyman from Santorini.”
“Okay, so you think a priest was involved in Sarah’s kidnapping,” Professor Lindgren said.
“Not necessarily — I think Rachel had a benefactor that was able to fund much more than what the Egyptian government was able to provide. I think she’d worked out an arrangement with a group that’s even more interested in Egypt’s true history.”
Julie put her hand over her mouth. “You’re talking about the church?”
“The Catholic Church, yes,” Ben said. “With a capital ‘C.’ The Vatican.”
“What — what would they have to do with any of it?”
“It’s obvious,” Reggie said, suddenly sitting straighter in his chair. “The Church has always been on the Egyptian’s side of history. That the pyramids were built within the last few thousand years, and that the great civilizations rose up after the Great Flood.”
“But then why would the Church was fund Rachel, since she was trying to prove that the Atlanteans predated everything the Church believes?”
“Look at the big picture,” Ben said. “The Catholic Church, historically, hasn’t been interested in the truth as much as it’s been interested in controlling the information. Priests used to read from bibles translated to Latin, even though parishioners didn’t speak or understand that language, because they wanted to control the information found within. Only relatively recently did they begin translating bibles to
languages the people could understand.
“If they control the message, they can control the populace.”
“So they are interested in keeping hidden whatever Rachel finds,” Mrs. E said.
“I believe so,” Ben said. “They couldn’t get into the Egyptian temple themselves, but Rachel was in a perfect position to accept funding from them. Remember, she had a completely different plan — she didn’t care if the Church got to control the information after she was done with it.”
“I see,” Sarah said. “So we need to figure out if the Church has something that can help us.”
“Exactly. But we need to do it in a way that doesn’t bring attention to us.”
Reggie scoffed. “So we can’t just pick up the phone and call the Pope.”
“Probably not. But we can try to get into the Vatican Archives.”
“We could try,” Reggie said. “But it’s not likely. None of us have any of the qualifications needed to even get in the front door, much less get into the Archives themselves. Not to mention that they don’t officially exist.”
“No,” Ben answered. “But we know someone who might be able to help us.”
Ben held up his phone and waited for it connect. By his calculations, the man on the other end was in a timezone only a few hours ahead of theirs, so he should have been available. Besides, Ben had sent him a text message a few hours earlier to ask his permission to call.
The video chat connected, and a round, dark-haired man’s face appeared on the phone’s screen.
‘Harvey!’ the man said. ‘How are you?’
“I’m good, Archie,” Ben said. “It’s been awhile.”
Father Archibald Quinones was a Jesuit priest who had been introduced to them by Reggie, down in the Amazon. He had accompanied them on their harrowing adventure, and had then helped fund the fledgling CSO as a silent partner.
His vocation as a Jesuit gave him access to church resources only a handful of men — and even fewer women — shared. Ben wasn’t sure of anything, but he had a feeling the older man could at least point them in the right direction.
Ben held the screen up to the rest of the group, taking the time to introduce Sarah and Graham Lindgren, then turning the phone back to face him.
‘Well, Ben. Sounds like you’ve had quite the adventure of late.’
“I would agree with that statement,” Ben said, smiling.
‘And I suspect your adventure is not yet over,’ Quinones said. ‘I gather from what you told me you need to break into the Vatican Archives?’
“Something like that, I guess.”
‘Well, I suppose we should talk.’
Afterword
If you liked this book (or even if you hated it…) write a review or rate it. You might not think it makes a difference, but it does.
Besides actual currency (money), the currency of today’s writing world is reviews. Reviews, good or bad, tell other people that an author is worth reading.
As an “indie” author, I need all the help I can get. I’m hoping that since you made it this far into my book, you have some sort of opinion on it.
Would you mind sharing that opinion? It only takes a second.
Nick Thacker
Honolulu, HI
Fact or Fiction?
I’ve been asked by readers to include a bit more information about my books — specifically whether or not certain elements are “fact” or “fiction.” I thought that since this book was one of the most in-depth, and required the most research in order to see it through to completion, this book would be a perfect one to start with.
I love to read books that include many truths and interesting tidbits; after all, that’s what makes them interesting books in the first place! However, fiction is fiction — it’s not real. But a story is only as good as its elements of truth, whether its a believable character or a real place or an actual mystery of science. I’ve tried to weave a tapestry that is, overall, fictitious in nature, while at the same time using threads that are based on actual facts.
Some facts and truths are stretched, but most of them are real-life examples of why the real world is often stranger than fiction (Lord Byron). As Tom Clancy so eloquently said, “the difference between fiction and reality is that fiction has to make sense.”
Spoiler Alert: Oh, and before we begin: if you haven’t read The Aryan Agenda, read it first! There are spoilers below! You have been warned!
So here you go, dear reader: some of the biggest ideas and mysteries I wrote about in The Aryan Agenda, explained.
The Great Pyramid of Giza
Obviously the Sphinx and the Great Pyramid of Cheops are real, but what are they, exactly? Most Egyptologists claim that the pyramids were built as tombs for their kings (Pharaohs).
In the “Great Pyramid’s” case (considered great because it is the largest of them all, and for nearly four-thousand years was the tallest man-made structure in the world), it’s the supposed resting place for and shrine to Pharaoh Khufu, based on an inscription in an interior chamber naming the king.
The problem? As Sarah explained in The Aryan Agenda, no one’s ever found any tombs or sarcophagi inside. Since looting and robberies are a consistent part of Giza’s history, it is certainly possible that someone excavated the tomb long ago, leaving it bare.
But why? What would be the purpose of stealing the mummified remains of the king himself? As far as I can tell, there has never been an aftermarket for dead mummies. And if it truly was a tomb, it would no doubt have been finished.
That’s right — the pyramid is considered incomplete, due to the existence of a horizontal shaft that leads nowhere, as well as a vertical well-like shaft that also ends in a stone plug (and has since been filled halfway with debris and detritus). So the “Great Pyramid,” thought to be the most elaborate and massive dedication to a king that ever existed (and would ever exist, since this pyramid’s size was never surpassed by any future rival kings), was never finished.
While I don’t necessarily believe the Great Pyramid of Giza/Cheops/Khufu was a weapon, I certainly don’t think it was ever meant to be a tomb, and I’m not sure it was even built by the Egyptians. Celestial mapping and mathematical analysis proves that the entire Giza complex including the three main pyramids are arranged in a way that perfectly reflects the constellation of Orion and his belt. Could there be a more astronomical reason for their existence?
The Great Sphinx
As for the Sphinx, it too refuses an obvious solution to the problem of its existence. First, when you observe the profile of the great cat, you realize that it looks quite a bit more like… a dog.
And while the Egyptians held cats in high regard, they weren’t exactly worshippers of lions. They did, however, believe that “Anubis” watched over their dead. Anubis was a god that took the shape of a jackal, as jackals were often seen in cemeteries.
And if you’ve ever seen the Anubis Shrine, one of the pieces found in the tomb of King Tutankhamen, you’ll probably notice something peculiar about it:
…It looks exactly like the Sphinx, but with a different head.
Many people are surprised when they meet the Sphinx in person, as they notice immediately that the proportions are way off. And since the Egyptians (or whomever helped them) are known for being quite particular with their proportions and measurements, the tiny shrunken-head-sized face on the top of the Sphinx’s shoulders seems a bit out of place.
The truth is that a pharaoh, hoping to cast his legacy upon the never-aging stone monument, had the head “refinished” in his likeness.
But perhaps the original head wasn’t a pharaoh’s head in the first place? Perhaps our Great Sphinx was no pharaoh, or lion, or anything else but a shrine to the god of the dead?
In fact, Robert Temple has done some miraculous work in this area, and most of what I’ve taken for use in The Aryan Agenda comes from Temple’s work. I’ll refer you to him for any further discovery.
The Great Hall of Records<
br />
The Atlanteans supposedly kept their vast collection of knowledge and wisdom in a place called the Hall of Records, like an ancient Library of Alexandria.
How do we know this?
Well, a psychic told us.
Edgar Cayce, 1877-1945, one of the most renowned and well-known clairvoyants of the early twentieth century, able to talk with his (dead) grandfather and had plenty of “imaginary” friends, was dubbed the “Sleeping Prophet” due to his ability to self-hypnotize and “place his mind in contact with all time and space — the universal consciousness, also known as the super-conscious mind.”
I’m not sure how much confidence I put in one man’s psychic prediction, so I scraped around the annals of the web for more information.
I did find that Cayce probably didn’t just come up with this theory on his own — there’s a good chance that he’d heard or read about the theory from somewhere else.
But at the end of the day, there’s just not enough to go on. In The Aryan Agenda (and later books, hint hint…), the Hall of Records is pure fiction. It’s fun to have Ben and the CSO crew looking for buried treasure, but I’m not sure there’s enough juice to make this fictitious account a real-life treasure hunt.
Tourmaline and Piezoelectric Effects
Once again the realm of science-with-flair, tourmaline is, in fact, piezoelectric. Piezoelectric properties are tapped in all sorts of technologies, like pickups in guitars.
And while tourmaline is capable of generating a little tiny charge, I hardly think it’s enough to spark the switch that levers open a massive, ten-ton stone door.
But I grew up with Indiana Jones as a tour guide. He wasn’t just an invention of Hollywood. In my mind, good fiction needs a good suspension of disbelief. Hopefully a tiny magic birthstone that can open doors doesn’t require too much suspension!
