The sound of Sarah’s computer processer scratched at the atmosphere, mimicking the silent processing taking place within the queried minds.
“Is that it?” John burst out bluntly. “All that writing,” he indicated to the rest of the cuneiform-like symbols on the tablets, “and we’ve only got a paragraph? What does the rest of it say?”
“The rest of it,” Sarah answered in a warning tone which they had not heard from her before, “are the instructions and incantations for the ritual—to give rise to the ‘supreme’…thing…and it’s, well…possession of this ‘chosen one.’ Most of them are untranslatable…by us anyway.”
“What do you mean…‘by us?’” asked Kate.
Sarah explained. “It’s like this. Think of the symbol used for Mercedes-Benz. Now, imagine that thousands of years from now someone finds the hood ornament, but not the car it should be connected to. Would they be able to examine our alphabet and find the phonetic value that this symbol represents? No, because it’s not a word or letter. The symbol doesn’t read ‘Mercedes,’ it’s just known to stand for that. What’s tricky with these tablets is a lot of the remaining cuneiform etchings are familiar word symbols. But when I put them together and try to read them, they don’t make any sense.”
“You mean like how words such as ‘hocus-pocus,’ or ‘abracadabra’ don’t really make any sense?” suggested John.
“Exactly,” confirmed Sarah. “The words for this incantation would need to be translated and/or pronounced by someone who…well…already knew what they stood for.”
“And how,” John asked with an almost amused air of disbelief, “could someone already know what they stood for if these have been buried under the sand for thousands of years?”
“Maybe they don’t,” Pierre’s authoritative voice worked to calm the rising fear about the room. “Maybe whoever is after these wants something else from them...they do have many extraordinary features. The symbols on the third tablet, for example—the incredible mingle of ancient writings from around the world all in one place. Perhaps they are proof of the existence of a true phenomenon from which the story—if one believes it is only a story— of the Tower of Babel emerged. Even, we’ve admitted that they could be proof that the history that we have written for ourselves is mistaken. Those reasons within themselves are enough for someone to want them hushed away. The fact is,” he straightened his jacket as a display of confidence, “we don’t know who got wind that you found these. They could be any number of organizations bent on tucking this evidence away, and we shouldn’t be worrying ourselves too much about the…mystical side of them.”
But to Pierre’s offense, he found that no one was really listening. Kate and John had inched closer to the screens where Kate was re-reading the translated lines in a hushed tone.
“So, ‘a chosen king of Mesopotamian blood with more strength than his fathers’…”
“Probably, ancestors,” John cut in, “...more strength than his ancestors.”
“But what kind of strength? Physical? Political? I mean, these are pretty loose requirements. There are lots of historic Middle Eastern rulers who had talents that made their rule more successful than their progenitors. Any of them could have been this ‘Chosen One.’”
“Or could yet be,” Pierre stated, his mouth still tinged in a frown at being ignored.
Sarah’s head turned sharply to face the commissioner as she was the first to realize what he was saying. “You mean…you think this event hasn’t even happened yet? This supernaturally-empowered king and his ten cities?”
Pierre shrugged nonchalantly, acting as if he was oblivious to the fact he had the attentions back. “I’m just throwing out all possibilities.”
He watched John and Kate’s mouths gape as they picked up his meaning; the tension of the room was suddenly pulled dangerously taut like a stretched rubber band about to break.
“Clearly,” he swiftly said in an effort to taper the rising level of alarm, “we’ve still got a bit of studying to do. However, in light of the fact of our break-in last night, I wonder if this is still the best place for you two,” he eyed the Caldwell’s, “to be. Perhaps if you moved—”
“No.” Kate sputtered. “Pierre, we’re so close. I understand the danger…”
“We understand the danger,” corrected John.
“We understand. But we can’t just leave now. Please, let us stay and keep studying. We can start looking for references to these ten cites or a chosen king.”
“It would save you and Sarah a lot of extra work,” John added. “You’ve already got so many things to do.” His glance toward Sarah solicited from her an affirming nod. It was undeniable how much help they had been so far in this strange enterprise.
“All right,” Pierre gave in warily. “You can stay and keep researching. But, please, keep out of sight…and away from the windows… as much as you can. Sarah,” he addressed, “while these two are busy with the king and cites, you start working on these cross-cultural symbols and see if you can make any sense out of them. Perhaps, the known meaning of each cipher can be combined with another and still make sense. You know… like a sentence written with English, Italian, and French words can still be read if one knows the correct translations.”
“I’ll do my best,” Sarah said as she walked with the commissioner to the door which John and Kate had already opened. Pierre nodded and gave her a grateful smile before stepping into the hallway and habitually adjusted his suit and tie. Signaled by the closing of the heavy lab door, the three traipsed down the corridor toward an intersection where they would part ways—Pierre up to his office, and Kate and John across to the archives.
“Good luck,” Commissioner Moreau offered as he set off toward the stairway.
“Wait.” Kate took a step forward and spoke in a hushed tone. “Pierre… do you think that whoever is after these tablets might be…well… might try to use them? Do the ritual, I mean.”
Pierre looked at her face, taking in the caution reflected in her eyes. “I hope not, Kate. For the sake of all I hold dear, I hope not.”
Then he turned on his heels and walked away.
Chapter 50
The clatter of china plates reverberated throughout the large conference space as a room full of business men and women helped themselves to the culinary delights of the luncheon set out on a long table against the back wall. Among them, James—while carrying around a small plate of pot stickers and dipping sauce—was making good headway in introducing himself to some of the other GED team members he had not had the pleasure of meeting before. Most of them, he was glad to find, hadn’t let their professionalism ice over their general disposition, allowing him to strike up several friendly conversations and initiate warm acquaintance. Cyndi, he noticed, kept trying to catch his eye, and he worked hard to pretend not to notice. The evening they had gone to dinner…he didn’t know exactly what had happened. Didn’t even remember most of it; but the morning after, when he saw Cyndi in his bed smiling at him, was as clear a memory as anybody could have. She had spoken as if it had been all his idea; but now, in his right mind, he didn’t know how that could be true. Did she coerce him? He backpedaled quickly. The only place these thoughts would lead him to was a courtroom, and he had no intention of sabotaging his career, or his family, in that way. Still, he felt ashamed of his actions and had promised himself that it would never happen again. He would think up a million reasons to say “no” before ever letting himself be unprofessionally alone with Cyndi Pale again. Nor, he added as an aside, will I ever let myself drink one drop in her sole presence again. He had been immensely relieved that Sarah’s work hadn’t permitted her to fly out for that weekend as they had talked about; he would not have been able to even look at her. What he needed now was time to deal with his conscience. Casually looking up from his guilt-ridden thoughts, he almost jumped as Cyndi appeared right beside him.
“Having a nice time?” she asked, eyeing the messy dollops of food on his plate.<
br />
“Yes, thank you.” James answered as distantly-while-maintaining-politeness as he could.
Cyndi smiled coyly. “Now, James. You’re not going to keep punishing me for our misunderstanding the other night, are you? I told you I’m sorry. I was rather intoxicated and simply tired of feeling so lonely all the time—that’s not a crime is it? And if I recall correctly, you weren’t exactly fighting tooth and nail to push me away.”
“I didn’t want to offend you,” James said with his voice lowered. “But I think it was a big mistake. I’m sorry for playing my part in it and I don’t plan on losing control of myself again.”
“Oh, so you saved your moment of offending for now?” Her voice stayed light, but her eyes were steel. “Are you saying that I’m not good enough for you?”
“Of course, not. You are a very beautiful woman. But I’m married and not interested in breaking that trust.”
“But you already did,” Cyndi said in a low whisper. “So that can’t really be your excuse, can it? I think you don’t like me. I think you’re not interested in our working together. Well, if that’s the case, James, I’m sorry; but maybe we made a mistake in hiring you. We only want team players here, and if that’s not your style, well…I feel very concerned about your dedication to this job. Or any other job you may apply for in future.”
James frowned as he realized what she was doing, insinuating that unless he wanted to lose his job and be blackballed out of any others, there was nothing he could do.
Cyndi’s eyebrow had risen to a curious arch and her pouting lips were daring him to respond when the bright-toned voice of their respected leader rose to take precedence over the room’s chorus of conversations. “May I have your attention, please?”
The hum immediately ceased as all eyes turned toward the tall, silk-suited figure standing at the head of the long conference table. In smooth, silent motions, Cyndi darted away toward the CEO. James watched her go, his insides churning.
“I hope you’ve been enjoying yourselves,” Maximos greeted the crowd. “After all, there is such a thing as mixing pleasure and business, no matter what anybody says. We’ve had our pleasure and now to business. As you know, the International Global Summit is only months away. Though normally held in Dubai, where the organization is headquartered, it was agreed upon between the organizers—several good friends of mine, in fact— to allow a change of venue for this year’s event. Preparations for hosting the Summit here in GED headquarters have been ongoing since the end of last year; and I wish to congratulate those of you who have been a part of the coordination efforts.” Maximos paused to momentarily raise a glass in his hand. “Traditionally, this Summit brings together many governmental spokespersons from the world’s nations in a non-political forum in order to neutrally discuss the future of the globe, its citizens, and the technology needed to sustain us there. Though always sifting through the raw material humanity has given them to work with and claiming to find hope for the generations to come, I for one, must admit that the grounds on which the members of the Summit look forward in a positive light seem feeble at best. Those of you who have known me long enough know that while I applaud good intentions, I disdain non-action. I fear that, up to this point, the International Summit, though saturated with good intentions, has failed in its attempts to create feasible plans and act on them. A strong hand is needed to guide us into the future, which is why I implored for the Summit to be hosted by yours truly; and they agreed to give us a chance.
“And this is our chance, ladies and gentlemen. At the Summit, latest innovations, newest technologies, and potential opportunities and consequences of using them to shape our future will be presented. But all these discussions will be worthless without action; this will be GED’s chance to take the reins and catalyze that action. My vision for the future is great; my plan to get there is foolproof; and my team members,” he continued, as he inclined his head gracefully at the group, “have proven their ability to act time and again.
“For example: A little bird told me that America’s Federal Reserve System is officially preparing to forecast America’s economic future as a dismal deflationary spiral—an economic nightmare. Now, we predicted this would happen. Five years ago, I had a team crunch the numbers and they arrived at this very conclusion. Of course, being good neighbors, we presented our findings to our friends across the pond, along with a plan of action. They refused to take our advice. Since it has been proven beyond all reasonable doubt that governments, particularly the American government, are economically ineffectual and can’t fix their own messes, we are going to do it for them—and the International Summit is going to be our port of entry for the…ah…legal authority to do so.
“Here before me,” he snapped his long, thin fingers and Cyndi handed him a paper packet, “is the latest projection report authored by our newest, brilliant executive, Mr. James Mode.”
James felt his stomach squelch together as everyone turned to look at him. Despite most faces wearing smiles and congratulatory expressions, he felt uneasy about where Maximos was going with this since, James had not written the report that he was now holding in his hand with America in mind.
“It clearly shows,” the CEO continued, “that EVERYTHING is controllable: industry, resources, wealth, social reactions, and even population. It is because of the gross mismanagement by others that these things have become detrimental to this world’s future. But no more. Using this report as the cornerstone of our new strategy, we will begin taking into our own hands the enormous hardship of saving the entire world from the folly of itself. Within the next couple of days, each of you will be receiving amended objectives to your job descriptions based on priority factors in Mr. Mode’s document. The main things we will be gearing toward first are our accumulation of earth’s natural resources from those less responsible with them and beginning our test stages of implementing our plan for healthfully and humanely culling the overabundant herd of consumers which the earth’s finite resources cannot support.”
Maximos paused to gauge the faces around the room. Some remained still and unrevealing; others relayed looks of resignation, while even fewer showed wide eyes of surprise or furrowed brows of concern. Finally, his gaze narrowed in on James with a look that almost dared him to speak up—testing him.
When James refused to give away any hints of agreement or disagreement, Maximos nodded to himself in satisfaction and proceeded to directly address the elephant he’d just let into the room.
“Since its inception, my dream for GED has been to embrace this earth as a compassionate shepherd who has found a soiled, wounded, lost lamb. To clean it up, tend to its wounds, and keep it under my watchful care to ensure for it a healthy, happy future. Let us not pretend that the binding of wounds doesn’t hurt, doesn’t sometimes cause pain. Setting a broken leg is very painful; but if it is not done, the leg will not heal. The culling of this earth’s population has been on many tables in the nations’ government buildings; but no one will touch it because it’s too painful. This is just one course of many that the International Summit has refused to take to ensure a prosperous future. They are not courageous enough to step up and set that leg. They are afraid of the lamb’s discomfort. They would rather see it suffer on a bad leg for the rest of its short, miserable life than do what needs to be done to guarantee for it a long, happy one.
“But we are not cowardly and cruel like them, my friends. We are compassionate and full of mercy for this world. We are brave enough to step forward and endure the agony of causing a little discomfort to the world for the purpose of healing it for the greater good. Where the Summit has failed, we will not fail. Are you with me?”
The applause started as a trickle but quickly mounted up to a fuller applause as the people in the room signaled their agreement to his words. James, though having to admit that Maximos’ reasoning was logically sound, continued to have a rising feeling of dread and uncertainty at his words. It gripped him even tighter as the gracious
employer started moving about the room amidst the applause, shaking hands and bestowing remarks of gratification for understanding and loyalty. Seeing himself in Maximos’ path, James quickly brought up his hands and clapped as convincingly as he could to the beat the others had set.
“James!” Maximos greeted with a warm handshake and gleaming smile. “Well done!” He leaned in closer and spoke so only James could hear. “Your insight on this matter is highly commendable. I think with just the right kind of wording—and your data to back it up—presenting this at the Summit, along with my other notions, could bring us a favorable reaction.”
“Sir,” James trod carefully, “my report was not meant to… I didn’t mention population control as a goal to be carried out. I only listed it as one of the many factors of why the world is in the state it’s in. I never intended—”
“Ah, and a modest man to boot!” Maximos reinstated the full volume of his voice so those around could hear the praise.
“It’s not modesty,” James spoke up, unable to control his true feelings from breaking free from their forced suppression. “My report had nothing in it concerning implementing the theory of population control.”
“Didn’t it?” Maximos’ smooth face never faltered in its flawless grin; his eyes remained full of frivolity and amusement. He put his arm around James’ shoulder as a parent would do to a child that needed a piece of guiding advice.
“James, in this report you took things as far as your vision could take it, and that’s all I’ve ever asked from you. But your vision, in this case, is—through no fault of your own, I’m sure— somewhat limited. That’s why we make such a great team, because, fortunately, mine is not.”
The Snare Page 18
