The Sphinx a5-4

by Robert Doherty

  “What the hell is that?” Lago murmured as they could now see the entire object.

  A black metal pod, seven and a half feet long by three in diameter, lay in the dirt, the surface still shiny after thousands of years in the ground and unmarked where the shovels had struck it.

  “A coffin,” Mualama said.

  “But for who?”

  “Let us find out,” Mualama said.

  Repeating same process, they managed to lift the coffin out of the pit, placing it on the ground next to the marker.

  Mualama was running his hands along the side of the black tube, feeling the seam.

  “How did you know it was here?” Lago asked. “You told me how you found this site, but how did you know there was a site to begin with?”

  Mualama sat down on the tube, resting before finishing the excavation. “I didn’t know it was here.” He tapped the tube. “I learned… as Burton did… that something was here, but I wasn’t sure what I would find.

  “I… as Burton did… believe that there is a link between many legends in this part of the world. That things that seem unconnected are connected. The presence of the Airlia on this planet gives more credence to that belief.”

  “A conspiracy?” Lago asked.

  Mualama shrugged. “I am not a big believer in coincidence. I believe in cause and effect. I believe that there is a purpose to things. But first, let me test your knowledge.”

  Lago rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.

  “Look at the earth we removed to get to the stone. Compare it to the strata on the side of the hole. Then the dirt we removed to get to the coffin and the depth. Do you think the stone marker was placed on the coffin when it was buried?”

  Lago compared the two. “No. They’re different.”

  “Good. You dated the hole as being between two and three thousand years old, based on what we removed from on top, but the strata on the side leading to the depth of the coffin is different, as you’ve noted. How long do you think this coffin has lain in the ground?”

  Lago checked his notes. “This can’t be.”

  “Trust the evidence in front of your eyes, not your flawed knowledge base.”

  “According to the data, the coffin was buried around ten thousand years.”

  “Why do you say that cannot be?”

  “Because civilization…” Lago paused. “It’s an Airlia artifact.”

  “It certainly appears so. You did your research on this part of the world in graduate school, right?”

  Lago nodded.

  “Africa is too often left out of the annals of history, especially in America. Yet it is most likely the birthplace of the human race.” Mualama saw that Lago was about to say something, and he raised a hand. “As you know, it has a legitimate claim to the oldest fossils of Homo genus. For example, America can claim humans only thirty thousand years ago! Not long at all when we talk in terms of hundreds of thousand of years.

  “Of course,” Mualama continued, “we know so little because we’ve found so little. Pieces of a skeleton here, fragments of an artifact there. We base our entire theory of the development of man on depressingly little factual evidence, yet we call it science and we call it truth. How many times in the past century has the current accepted ‘theory’ been radically altered by a new discovery?”

  “The textbook we used at university was published not long ago,” Lago said, “and it had several errors in it.”

  “Not errors,” Mualama corrected, “but outdated ‘facts.’” He tapped his foot on the top of the tube. “I wonder what facts this find is going to change.”

  “But it’s an Airlia object,” Lago protested. “Not human.”

  “Consider,” Mualama said, “how many things have been discovered that could not be explained. What if someone had found this site before the news of what was in Area 51 and the existence of the Airlia came to light?”

  Lago bit his lip as he considered the question. “I suppose this would have been the thing that proved we had been visited by aliens.”

  Mualama emphatically shook his head. “No! You are young and naive. View our society as a deep river, running between stone banks. Do you know what it takes to change the course of that river? To change people’s perceptions?

  “Even now, with a mile-long alien spacecraft circling our planet, there are many who would close their eyes and say it isn’t there. If a mile-long mothership that anyone with a toy store telescope can see clearly doesn’t change those people, you think something like this”… he tapped the tube… “would?”

  “Burton saw something that changed his perception on everything around him. And he was told something… I believe he was told about the aliens having been here on Earth. He dedicated his life to tracking down the truth.”

  “Did he find it?”

  “I think he found out part of it, but not the entire story. And it is the entire story we need.” Mualama leaned forward, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. “Let me tell you some things. I have kept my eyes and my ears and, most important, my mind open for many years. And my mouth shut.

  “There have been things found that do not fit. There is a dig in Australia where archaeologists found evidence of Homo erectus, Neanderthal, and Homo sapiens all in the same era. Stages in the development of man that are supposed to be hundreds of thousands of years apart, yet lying in the same time strata.

  “There are two places where Homo skeletal remains were found at a layer below that of Neanderthals. How can that be? There have been numerous strange finds like this. Have you read of any of them?”

  Lago shook his head no.

  “Of course not,” Mualama said. “Because anyone who published such so-called idiocy would be labeled a crackpot. But because of what he had experienced, Burton questioned the status quo. And there have been others. Professor Nabinger was a man who questioned what he saw, who looked where others were too afraid to look. His investigation in the Great Pyramid was based on his discovery of an after-action report hidden in the Royal Museum Archives of Hammond’s 1976 expedition that discovered residual radiation in the Great Pyramid. Of course, Hammond didn’t publish that report for fear of ridicule and because he couldn’t explain his findings. But now we know the reason he found that radiation… the Airlia had left an atomic weapon in the lowest chamber. And I think that Nabinger was not able to do all he wanted at Giza. There is more to the Plateau than meets the eye, and… ” Mualama stopped himself, as if suddenly realizing where he was and who was with him.

  “But…” Lago hesitated.

  “Go ahead,” Mualama prompted.

  “But, like you just said, that radiation was due to the Airlia. That thing you’re sitting on is also Airlia, based on the high rune writing on the marker. But the fossil remains… what do they have to do with the Airlia?”

  “Good question,” Mualama said. “It is one I have been asking myself often. And I don’t have an answer. Yet. But I believe they are connected. Perhaps our past is not what we think in more ways than we could begin to conceive.” Mualama abruptly changed the subject. “Do you know of the kingdom of Axum?”

  “One of the earliest empires in the world,” Lago recited. “It was founded around the first or second century before the birth of Christ. The empire covered most of what was now Ethiopia and Kenya. It traded with Greece and Rome during its heyday, while at the same time making contact to the east to India and even China.”

  “Very good,” Mualama said. “You get a B. It is an empire few people know of. Mostly because it was here in Africa and because it was an empire of dark-skinned people, not the most popular or delved-into subject around the world’s history courses. But at its height, Axum rivaled any of the kingdoms it traded with… Rome, China, India.

  “One subject I have been very interested in is the various legends of Axum.” He pointed a long black finger at Lago. “We archaeologists are like detectives. We must investigate the past, and in order to do so, we must gather as much informa
tion as possible. I have found the best way to do that is to research the myths and legends of an area. Because there is often much more truth to legend than people realize.

  “Many years ago, when I was a student like you, my professor at the University of Dar es Salaam sent me north to Ethiopia. My dissertation was on Axum, and he told me that to do a proper job I must go there, to the land that was the center of Axum’s power.

  “So I went. I traveled around the country, to many places where scholars have never been.

  “At Lake Tana, in northwest Ethiopia, there are many old monasteries. These places have changed little in hundreds, thousands of years. Christianity came early to Ethiopia… to Axum. It was one of the earliest Christian countries in the world.

  “Lake Tana, like this crater, is over a mile above sea level in the northwest part of Ethiopia. From the lake’s southern end, the Blue Nile cascades down a magnificent waterfall to start its seventeen-hundred-kilometer journey to Khartoum in Sudan, where it merges with the White Nile.

  “The lake itself is seventy-five kilometers long and sixty kilometers wide. It is dotted with some thirty-seven islands, many with ancient monasteries and churches that contain valuable religious icons and manuscripts. I visited every single one of those enclaves and learned much. They have not only documents and items that relate to their own faith, but some that are much, much older.

  “Christianity first spread to the area around the lake in the fifth century A.D. and is now the dominant religion, but there are also communities of Muslims, Jews, and Animists. Many of the people around the lake and on the islands make a living from fishing, still using papyrus reed boats very similar to those depicted in the pharaohs’ tombs of ancient Egypt.

  “But even before Christianity, Islam, and Judaism came to this part of the world, there were other faiths. Like many early peoples, the ancient people of Axum worshiped a sun god. Even long after Christianity came to Axum, the Queen of Sheba was reported to be a sun god worshiper. Although she is known now only as the Queen of Sheba and her visit with King Solomon is well recorded, her original title was Queen of Sheba and Axum.”

  Lago sat on the bumper of the Land Rover, mesmerized by this information as Mualama continued.

  “The people of Axum also worshiped other, older gods. In places, there is a strange mixture of these ancient worships and the Christian church. I also learned that someone else had visited all these places before me over a hundred years ago. It took me a while, but I finally learned the identity of this strange white man… Sir Richard Francis Burton. Yet there was no record of these travels in his official biographies. I realized that Burton had led a secret life, and I wanted to know why. I wanted to know what he was searching for in the same places I was traveling to.”

  “Which was?” Lago asked.

  “I think he was looking for a key.”

  “A key to what?”

  “You know, of course, about the Ark of the Covenant?” Mualama suddenly asked in turn.

  Lago nodded. “There are rumors, unsubstantiated, that the Ark… if it exists… is in Ethiopia.”

  Mualama laughed. “See how even now you still guard what you say? ‘If it exists’?”

  “Does it?” Lago challenged him.

  Mualama shrugged. “I don’t know. But I suspect something that people have called the Ark does exist.

  “The Kebre Negest… The Glory of Kings… is the document that was written during the realm of King Menelik I, the offspring of Sheba and Solomon. It states that when Menelik was a young adult he traveled to Jerusalem and visited his father, Solomon. He returned home to Axum accompanied by Azarias, the son of the high priest Zadok, and brought with them the Ark of the Covenant and placed it in St. Mary of Zion Church in Axum.”

  “I’ve heard that, but no one has ever taken a picture of the Ark,” Lago said. “It seems like if it was there, it would be one of the greatest archaeological and theological discoveries of all time and people would want to publicize it.”

  Mualama chuckled. “You are thinking like a westerner. Have you ever been to St. Mary of Zion Church?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know anyone who has ever actually been there?”

  “No.”

  “So these rumors were not enough to make you travel to check them out and you want to be an archaeologist?” Mualama did not wait for an answer. “Thus it is so with many things. There are rumors. Someone says: ‘Someone should do something! Someone should check this out!’ And they think someone else has, but the truth be known, no one does.

  “I have been to St. Mary of Zion Church,” Mualama said. “As Burton went in 1877. His biographies said he went to Africa to search for gold, as his finances were desperate, but that is not what he was looking for. Money was not important to him. The search for the truth was.

  “At the church there is one monk, each generation, who is given the responsibility to care for the inner sacristy of the church. No one but that monk ever goes into the sacristy.”

  “That’s a nice technique to keep the mystery alive,” Lago said, stung by the old man’s comments.

  Mualama tapped the object he was sitting on. “This mystery… the Airlia… lasted for a very long time while people laughed at things like UFOs. Meanwhile, the Americans were test-flying those craft, the bouncers, at their Area 51 for decades.” He wagged a finger. “Do not be so quick to deride things you know little about. I have been to the church, and I spoke with the monk. You have not.”

  “Do you think the Ark is in it?” Lago asked.

  “I spent two weeks there.” Mualama seemed not to have heard the question. “The monk told me there were very few visitors. Maybe half a dozen each year. Amazing, isn’t that? There are rumors of what even you call a great discovery and only a half-dozen people travel there each year. And no one who had stayed as long as I.

  “I’m afraid I was a little obnoxious. I pestered the poor old man every day with my questions. I wanted to know every legend, every story, everything he could tell me. And he did talk to me, finally.”

  Mualama’s eyes were unfocused as he remembered. “One night we sat in the church’s courtyard, under a very old tree, and he spoke until the sun rose in the east. He told me strange things and hinted at others, some that he was afraid to speak openly about. Then he had to go to his meditations.”

  Mualama snapped to, smiling at Lago. “No, I don’t think the Ark is in the church, because the monk told me it wasn’t. Not directly, but in so many words, he let me know that the Ark had once been in the church. But only for a short while. I think the Ark has traveled to many places.”

  Lago leaned forward. “Where is it now?”

  “Ah, he would not tell me that. But I knew from what he said that it had been moved and that the church was now a blind, designed to confuse the trail. He also gave me clues, places to look for more information. Not directly, but I listened carefully, sorting through all he said, connecting his words with other rumors, legends, I have learned about. I went to England and searched through the source material on Sir Burton. And I found more clues, leading me places.

  “And that is what I have been doing for the past twenty years. Looking here and there. Taking a small piece of information from one place and adding it to another. Like bread crumbs from the past, I have followed Sir Richard Francis Burton around the world. I think the manuscript we have, written in a long-dead tongue, tells of Burton’s journeys and what he learned. I think I can combine it with what I learned following his trail to have a most interesting tale. We will have to get it translated.

  “I, too, went to Lake Tana and visited all of the monasteries. On the island of Dega Estefanos, I went to a very small monastery, cut in the side of a cliff, over three hundred meters above the surface of the lake. You can get up there only if the monks inside lower you a rope. I had to wait four days before they allowed me up.”

  Mualama paused.

  “And?” Lago pressed.

  “That is where
I found the parchment that told me this site existed. The legends I have studied say the Ark is hidden inside a place called the Hall of Records and that a key is needed to get inside the Hall.” Mualama stood. “And now that we have rested, let us see what we have found.” He ran his hands along the seam while Lago watched over his shoulder. Mualama staggered back as the lid suddenly swung open, two hydraulic arms smoothly laying the top back.

  “Oh my God,” Lago whispered.

  The skeleton was at least seven feet tall, with disproportionally long arms and legs. The facial bones were different than a human’s, elongated, with deep eye sockets. The figure was dressed in a black robe that had withstood the years better than the body. A golden crown… just a band of gold with a large black gem set in the very center… had fallen off the skull. In the right hand was a slender rod, a foot long, two inches thick. On the end of the rod was the head of a lion with ruby-red eyes.

  “What is that?” Lago was pointing at the rod.

  Mualama reached down and carefully removed the rod from the dead hand. It was surprisingly heavy. He turned it in the light, the setting sun glinting off the rubies and precious metal.

  “I believe this is the key.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Tiska, Northern Russia

  D — 36 Hours

  “Why are we stopping here?” Turcotte asked.

  The landing strip outside the bouncer was a desolate piece of concrete cut out of the surrounding tundra. The flight had been a long one… even for a bouncer… north and west over the pole. They’d crossed a large part of Siberia also. Turcotte had followed the route Yakov directed on a map and knew they were now outside the northern Russian town of Tiska about three hundred miles from the island where Section Four had been headquartered.

  Yakov stood and headed for the top hatch. “Information. I think it best if we proceed somewhat cautiously. Would you not agree?”

  “The clock is ticking,” Turcotte said. He could see a truck heading out from the small control tower building.