by Ed Kovacs
“Good idea. Especially if the valley stays foggy like this. Probably as safe in this pea soup as anywhere else.” The amazing thing was, his engorgement hadn’t receded. They were both in the water, no more than a meter apart, and his phallus stood at attention, a compass needle pointing to her magnetic north. He had to fight the urge to reach out and touch her.
“My real name is Diana Hunt. I'm an army captain, in an intelligence command. I ‘saw’ the lake with the two wats on it. And the temple above the city. That’s how I knew you were in Mae Hong Son. I tuned into your energy and remote viewed your location.”
Finally. Her certificate of trust. He looked into her eyes. “That’s amazing. I know shamans in the bush, very accomplished elders who can’t do anything like that. Gee, I’d hate to be your husband, I wouldn’t be able to get away with anything.”
She laughed. “The accuracy of viewing diminishes in direct relation to the emotional attachment to the target.”
“So how did you get into all this?”
“I’ll tell you later, because I wanted to share something with you. I’ve RV’d you a couple of times to get some background.”
“You’ve been spying on me?” he said in mock outrage.
“Me and everybody else,” she said dryly, then paused pregnantly. “I know why you panic when you go underground, in caves, in tunnels.”
He hadn’t mentioned anything about that to her. But a good investigator looking into his past could have uncovered that tidbit. He became aware his erection was shriveling.
“I’m not trying to embarrass you or put you on the defensive. I think you need to know this.”
“Okay.”
“Where do you stand on reincarnation?”
“Probably somewhere between the Dalai Lama and the Pope,” he said.
She laughed hard and reached out and touched his arm. The contact coursed like a jolt of electricity through him, and he could tell from the look that crossed her face that she felt it, too. But he couldn’t give in to his primal urge, he needed to stay cerebral.
“I’m serious. I don’t discount it. It actually makes sense to me. But don’t forget, even though I’m on the fringe, I’m still a scientist. I look for proof. Evidence of reincarnation exists, but remains inconclusive. So like any religious or spiritual belief, it requires a leap of faith. Hey,” Sky found himself touching her shoulder and letting his hand linger there, a feeling so exquisite he had to focus to speak, “you ‘saw’ me in Mae Hong Son. And Sedona, probably. So what did you see in my past?” He reluctantly took his hand away.
“You’ve had many lives of course, but I saw you as a scribe in ancient Egypt. You were well-respected and had access to the royal court. But that was your day job, or actually I should say you led a double life. Because you were also the leader of a group of thieves who broke into tombs around Thebes, what’s now Luxor.”
“You mean like Robin Hood, rob from the rich and give to the poor?”
“Afraid I didn’t see that. You and your friends seemed to enjoy riches very much. And you were good at looting tombs, you took it as a real challenge to defeat the clever tricks and traps of the temple architects, men whom you sometimes mingled with in your capacity as a scribe. You also practiced sorcery, to counter the curses that would befall those who dared to defile the sacred chambers. You were, in that life, a contemporary of Hui. You knew each other and strongly disliked each other. In fact, you blew the whistle on his conspiracy to overthrow the pharaoh.”
“Make up your mind, was I a good guy or a bad guy?” he teased. It made for a nice story, but he wasn’t buying it.
“We’re all full of dichotomies, aren’t we, Sky? Anyway, the conspiracy failed and Hui fled. Maybe he put a curse on you, or maybe you looted one tomb too many, because something went wrong and you became trapped alone underground, in absolute blackness as you went mad, crazed with fear, before suffocating.”
Wilder stood in the water, his mouth slightly agape. The story seemed like a bunch of baloney until she referred to the tomb-robber elements, then something struck him. He “saw” this life, these images vividly in his mind’s eye as she spoke.
In fact, he saw more than she described, he saw details, flashes related to that life such as his home, friends. He saw a man make love to his wife at the moment they conceived their first child. The man was him. He stood speechless. What could he make of this? Had it simply been his imagination, guided imagery led by Diana? Then he felt the surge again. She touched his upper arm. He looked into her eyes and she edged slightly closer.
“You were in that lifetime, too, weren’t you?” His voice came out as a whisper.
This was a stark, emotional moment. She averted his eyes, “Yes, I believe I was.”
He reached out and pulled her into his embrace. Her large breasts flattened against his chest and he could feel her erect nipples. And there was no mistaking the push of his manhood plowing against her fertile loins. They weren’t kissing, merely hugging in a gentle caress, but he no longer thought about what was proper. Wordlessly, without looking at each other, without even a kiss, she parted her legs, as she had done when they slept in the back of the truck, and made way for his love. They paused here at the Rubicon of desire.
Her hands sliding down to his buttocks authorized entry. Their lips found each other in ragged passion.
As they stood buoyant in the water, undulating, he felt his consciousness leave his body. No panic, only a scintillating transcendence, something he’d never experienced in lovemaking before, or in any other way, for that matter. He became the water, the rocks, the wood. He was in his body, in heated ravishing raw sex, crying out, as was she, yet he was out of body. Time dissolved, a steamy current. Far away somewhere in space and knowingness with Diana, he witnessed the creation, became the creation, created the creation. Their exploding climaxes sent shivers down his spine in the heat as she dug her fingers into his shoulder blades and screamed.
The kisses shifted now to the gentlest tongue touches, wet licks of nourishment and exploration. The landing would be soft, gentle, parafoiling in feet first without falling down. A thousand times better than any drug could be, one word kept ringing in his head: profound. But it was a mere word and could not begin to tell the story of what he’d just experienced. Settled now back into their bodies, languishing in afterglow to the third power, he felt searing heat and his body tensed, as did hers. The water was becoming superheated.
###
Without panicking, Sky and Diana quickly stepped out of the pool and watched in amazement as it became a roiling cauldron of hiss and steam. “That only took about seven seconds to go to boil.” She brushed some hair from her face.
He noted the time. “Were we that hot?” he joked, giving her a wink. The water bubbled for two minutes, then subsided quickly as it came. “The good news is, I don’t think we have to worry about germs in this pool.”
A wave of guilt and recrimination suddenly swept down upon her. Having sex with your partner in the middle of an op is a terrible idea. He is a playboy cad just looking to get laid, and you serviced him! You didn’t use a condom! And on and on. She tried to counter these thoughts by silently repeating, I forgive myself, I love myself just the way I am, I can choose to make love anytime I want.
Beyond all that intellectualizing, how could she deny what she felt? It was the most powerful lovemaking, in a supra-physical sense, she’d ever experienced. My God, she thought, how can I even talk about it? Wilder was the first man she’d taken since she left DISC over five years ago. Five years! Yet making love with him seemed so familiar. She had figured out the link between them, but it wasn’t anything she could tell him. Yet he seemed to be grasping at it himself somehow. It had been so long since a man had loved her, the only thing she could do right now was cry.
He moved in behind her and cuddled her in his arms. “Hey, it’s okay. It was something that was meant to be.”
“I know.”
“You mind if we stay h
ere for awhile? I want to time the water boil, see if there’s any regularity to it.”
“Twist my arm,” she said, wiping away a tear.
“I’d rather kiss it.” He did, then glanced around the room. “We have to get to know this space very well.”
“Why?”
“Because according to the GPS, the site is located in this room. And the riddle of the third tablet supports that. It goes:
“Sun from the east, father of all.
Likened to Punt; walk through the clouds.
Opet awaits to show the path.
To enter the region of Nu, enter Nu.”
“How does that support the site being here?”
“Sun from the east, father of all, is a bearing; we’re east of Egypt or Phoenicia, in the Far East. Likened to Punt, walk through the clouds. The clouds obviously refer to the mists we walked through in this valley. In these mountains the mists are here most of the year. Punt referred to a tropical district, east of Egypt, so likened to it refers to the tropics. Opet awaits to show the path. Opet is the hippopotamus goddess. In the water, hippos are the most graceful creatures. Submerged, they move along rocky bottoms like ballerinas. To enter the region of Nu, enter Nu. Nu represents the primeval watery mass from which all gods were evolved. Whoever hid the tablet here, WOR I assume, is being very literal in these last two lines. Opet awaits, enter Nu. The entrance to the site is through these springs.”
“Which par-boiled a Burmese soldier to well-done.”
“I know. In Arizona, the riddle was difficult, but the site relatively easy to access. Here the situation is reversed.” He slipped his hand into the water. “The water cycles through so fast the pool cools quickly.” He eased his body into the blackened drink. “I want to check something.”
With lungs full of air, he slid under. Fifty seconds later he broke surface holding a rounded stone the size of a bread loaf. “There’s a layer of these over a sheet of corrugated tin that I’m standing on. The water’s coming in through an opening in the corner. We’ll have to pull out these rocks and the tin to expose the full opening to the springs.”
She hauled out the stone and they set to work. Being a strong swimmer and a real water nymph, she insisted on alternating being in the pool. They’d removed most of the stones and Diana was in the water when it turned hot again. Sky helped her out unharmed, just exhilarated. It was exactly ninety minutes, boil-to boil.
He playfully pinched her arm as steam rose in the room. “I’d say you were rare... a rare find.”
Reempowered, they pleasured each other with sweet, intimate kisses, then explored new positions on the rim of the pool, but without the explosive cosmic burst as before. Still, it was a heady ride, much more than common lust, and neither wanted it to end. So it was that when the water boiled again, after ninety minutes had elapsed, he gently withdrew.
They opted to spend the night by the pool in each other’s arms, under the auspices of confirming ninety-minute boiling cycles, but soon they were asleep, drunk on the wine of their sex.
CHAPTER 22
While Diana Hunt and Sky Wilder slept, half a continent away it was 8:15 A.M. the previous day, and General Klaymen took a breakfast of heuvos rancheros and strong coffee with three trusted officers in a seedy Mexican cafe off the main drag in Nogales, Arizona. The two male officers were stationed at the Army Intelligence Center based at Ft. Huachuca, about fifty miles away. This was the army’s spy school, and their positions at the facility provided excellent networking opportunities and chances to form allegiances with some of the brightest intelligence minds of the future.
The African-American female, Major Spinks, seemed to have a perpetual smile on her round face and was on leave from an NSA posting. Steeped in the intelligence business, they all belonged to the WOR, the Warriors of the Rose, just as Piet Ronhaar had. After the devastating losses in World War II, the secret group had become more militarized. Comprised of hundreds of cells worldwide, each cell served a particular function depending on the cell member’s MOS, or military specialty. None of the officers at breakfast worked under General Klaymen at MAHG, but they knew well the doings of Simon Forte and the SW.
“Do we know Forte’s location?” asked Klaymen, lathering more hot sauce on his eggs as he scanned a spreadsheet relating to an upcoming operation on his tablet computer. It helped him to stay focused on details, so he could repress the grief over losing his son.
“Asia. On one of his dope runs,” said Spinks, rolling up a tortilla.
Klaymen put down the tablet. “Does he have any exposure on the sheriff’s station massacre?”
“Probably not. A grand jury has convened, but you know what that means: the testimony heard will forever remain sealed. There was only one possible fly-in-the-ointment, and this never made the press, but a police frequency scanner hobbyist heard and recorded Deputy Ramirez’ Mayday call. The tape and all copies were seized as evidence, and the hobbyist, conveniently, ran his car into a tree last night and died of a broken neck before he could give testimony... testimony scheduled to be given today,” intoned Spinks, softly, as she used the tortilla to shovel re-fried beans onto her fork.
“Then the heavy lifting falls to us and we move forward with our plan.” Klaymen looked each officer in the eye. The individual tasking had been finished before they arrived at the restaurant. The three officers nodded in the affirmative.
Although this cell had no knowledge of Dr. Sky Wilder or Captain Diana Hunt, Forte’s offensive to obtain all three tablets forced Klaymen to activate this and other cells in the WOR and engage a plan developed by Major Spinks that had been sitting on a back burner. Perhaps ninety soldiers and a wide assortment of materiel would be needed for the operation to succeed. And ultimate secrecy.
The general could cover his tracks with the best of them, and for the last week, all travel and contact took place outside regular channels. Hence, Klaymen got into an old sedan and began the one-hour drive to Davis-Monthan Air Force Base in Tucson. He hadn’t returned to his headquarters after meeting with Wilder on Lake Powell, nor was HQ, including his must trusted aide, Tom Yamaguchi, apprised of his movements or whereabouts. He could not risk it, not yet. Not until today’s test took place.
###
Using standard protocols, Klaymen had scheduled Flight AFKAI-1 77 two days earlier, even though he stood fully aware that Forte had ordered his immediate assassination. The point today was to visibly surface in a controlled fashion, a risky but necessary option. He’d reserved a C-21 for the flight back to Andrews, a Model 35A Lear jet, one of one hundred purchased in the mid-eighties by the U.S. military for use as transport craft for their executives, i.e. generals and admirals.
On board, as the plane received final prep on the Davis-Monthan tarmac, Klaymen uplinked his laptop through a secure satellite to the DARPANET, Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency Network. A message informed him the encrypted streaming video teleconference he’d arranged was on-line. The general adjusted the laptop’s mini-cam and gazed into it as he intently began, “Ladies and gentlemen, Operation Clean Slate is getting off the ground.”
If Forte’s organization performed as efficiently as he suspected, then Klaymen assumed they’d be hacking the feed. And hopefully taking the bait.
###
The Allied Movers tractor-trailer sat parked on a deserted county road in rural Virginia. Anyone in a passing car might think the driver had pulled over to catch a catnap. Indeed, the team of tandem drivers, two men in their late twenties, relaxed in the truck cab over a sack lunch on an overcast afternoon.
The truck’s trailer, however, held neither furnishings nor did it stand empty. The forty-foot cargo hold contained a small, heavily shielded nuclear reactor and a mobile particle beam weapon platform, designed and operated by the brilliant French physicist, Dr. Claude Daubert.
Very much aware of how his smoking irritated the American technicians, Daubert lit a new Gauloises from the stub of his last one, then crushed the butt into an o
verflowing ashtray.
“Miss Swann, you are a contributor to and are present at yet another monumental occasion,” he flushed, pridefully. What he meant was, she should be honored to work under him. Having her “under him” in motels and her apartment starting about two months ago, gave Daubert the little spark of excitement that kept his mind spinning with new ideas of how to kill people. The fact that he essentially ordered her to sleep with him seemed inconsequential.
“This weapons system I gave birth to will alter the course of nations.” Self-aggrandizement was one of Daubert’s strong suits.
“I look forward to our continued work together, doctor.” Miss Swann, like most of Forte’s employees, was in it for the money, so if screwing the smart Frenchman helped ensure a nice long run of fat paychecks, great. Swann knew more than a few weapons designers whose government-funded projects at companies like Raytheon had been canceled, sending those engineers first to the unemployment lines, then to jobs like bagging groceries at Safeway. She certainly didn’t want to miss any condo or car payments.
“So, are we ready to make history again?”
“The target aircraft is on course and has descended to fifteen thousand feet. Fifteen seconds to our outer range perimeter.”
Daubert checked his watch. “Perhaps we can make it back to Georgetown for a late supper.”
“Maybe not. The pilot’s in contact with the ARTCC.”
“Merde! We can’t shoot while they’re talking.”
###
The C-21 banked over central Virginia in a slow descent as it approached the Eastern Seaboard. The flight had been uneventful, but the Lear jet pilot thought he might have a balky transponder and had asked an en route traffic controller to confirm his fix.
“Able-foxtrot-kilo-able-ice-one-seven-seven, I’m painting you eighteen DME from the fix, squawking one-nine-zero-zero, level one-five thousand feet. Can I do anything else for you seven-seven?” asked the controller.
