The Six Sacred Stones jw-2

by Matthew Reilly

  “Very good, Jack…” the senior man said, staring at the photo. “You got away from me this time. You’re still wary enough of the world to have a getaway plan. But you’re slipping. You detected us late and you know it.”

  The senior man gazed at the smiling faces in the photo and his lip curled into a snarl. “Oh, Jack, you’ve become domesticated. Happy even. Andthat is your weakness. It will be your downfall.”

  He dropped the photo, let it shatter against the floor, then turned to the two majors:

  “Black Dragon. Call Colonel Mao. Tell him we have not yet acquired the Firestone. But that need not stop him from advancing at his end. Tell him to commence his interrogation of Professor Epper, with extreme prejudice.”

  “As you command.” Black Dragon bowed and stepped a few yards away to speak into his sat-phone.

  The senior man watched as he did this. After a minute or so, Black Dragon hung up and returned. “Colonel Mao sends his regards and says that he will do as you order.”

  “Thank you,” the senior man said. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, Black Dragon, shoot yourself in the head.”

  “What!”

  “Shoot yourself in the head. Jack West escaped because of your ham-fisted assault. He saw you coming and so got away. I cannot tolerate failure on this mission. You were responsible and so you must pay the ultimate penalty.”

  Black Dragon stammered. “I…no, I cannot do tha—”

  “Rapier,” the senior man said.

  Quick as a whip, the big man named Rapier drew his pistol and fired it into the Chinese major’s temple. Blood sprayed. Black Dragon collapsed to the floor of Jack West’s living room, dead.

  The senior man hardly even blinked.

  He turned away casually. “Thank you, Rapier. Now, call our people at Diego Garcia. Tell them to initiate blanket satellite surveillance of the entire southern hemisphere. Target is an aerial contact, Boeing 747, black with stealth profile. Use all aerial signatures to locate it: transponder, contrail wake, infrared, the lot. Find that plane. And when you do, let me know. I’m eager to reunite Captain West with his Jamaican friend.”

  “Yes, sir.” Rapier hurried outside.

  “Switchblade,” the senior man said to his bodyguard. “A moment alone, please.”

  With a deferential nod, the young Asian-American Marine left the room.

  Alone now in the living room of West’s farmhouse, the senior man pulled out his own sat phone and dialed a number: “Sir. It’s Wolf. They have the Firestone, and they’re running.”

  AS ALL THIS was going on in Australia, other things were happening around the world:

  In Dubai, a middle-aged American cargo pilot staying overnight in the Gulf city was being brutally strangled in his hotel room.

  He struggled against his three attackers, gasping and thrashing, but to no avail.

  When he was dead, one of his attackers keyed a cell phone. “The pilot is prepared.”

  A voice responded:“West is en route. We’ll keep watching him, and tell you when to proceed.”

  The dead pilot’s name was Earl McShane, from Fort Worth, Texas, a cargo hauler for the TransAtlantic Air Freight company. He was not a particularly noteworthy individual: perhaps the biggest thing he’d done in his life was after 9/11, when he had written to his local newspaper denouncing “the dirty Muslims that done this” and demanding revenge.

  At the same time, in rural Ireland—County Kerry, to be exact—a crack force of twelve men in black were advancing stealthily on an isolated farmhouse.

  Within seven minutes it was all over.

  They had achieved their goal.

  All six of the guards at the farmhouse had been liquidated, and in the attackers’ midst as they left the darkened farmhouse was a small boy named Alexander, aged eleven.

  As for The Halicarnassus, it shot across the Indian Ocean, heading for the Persian Gulf.

  But it didn’t fly there directly. It took a circuitous route that included an overnight stop at a deserted airfield in Sri Lanka, just in case the Chinese had anticipated their escape route.

  It meant that they approached Dubai in darkness, late in the evening of December 2.

  Inside The Halicarnassus, all was quiet and still. Only a few lights were on. The two kids were asleep in the bunkroom of the plane, Zoe had nodded off on a couch in the main cabin, and Sky Monster was up in the cockpit, staring out at the stars, his face illuminated by the instrument dials.

  In a study at the rear of the plane, however, one light was on.

  The light in Jack West’s office.

  Ever since they had taken off from Sri Lanka—the first time he had truly felt out of reach—Jack had been reading intently from the black folder he had grabbed just before leaving his farm: an old leather binder crammed with notes, clippings, diagrams, and photocopies.

  This was Wizard’s “black book,” the one Wizard had instructed Jack to take.

  And as he read it, Jack’s eyes grew wide with wonder. “Oh my God, Wizard. Why didn’t you tell me?Oh. My. God…”

  BURJ AL ARAB TOWER

  DUBAI, UNITED ARAB EMIRATES

  DECEMBER 2, 2007, 2330 HOURS

  THE BURJ AL ARABis one of the most spectacular buildings in the world.

  Shaped like a gigantic spinnaker, it is stunning in almost every respect. Eighty-one stories tall, it houses the world’s only seven-star hotel. On its eightieth floor, jutting out from beneath a revolving restaurant, is a huge helipad practically designed for photo opportunities: Tiger Woods once hit golf balls from it; Andre Agassi and Roger Federer once played tennis on it.

  It is the most recognized structure of the most modern Arab nation on Earth, the United Arab Emirates.

  A great tower, some would say.

  The great tower, Wizard would say.

  Soon after their arrival in Dubai—the Hali had landed at a military air base—West and his group were flown by helicopter to the Burj al Arab, where they were accommodated in no less than the Presidential Suite, a vast and plush expanse of bedrooms, sitting rooms, and lounge rooms that took up the entire seventy-ninth floor.

  This royal treatment was not unwarranted. The Emirates had been a partner in West’s initial adventure with the Golden Capstone, an adventure that had seen a coalition of small nations take on—and prevail against—the might of the United States and Europe.

  One of the most heroic members of West’s team on that mission had been the second son of one of the Emirates’ most senior sheiks, Sheik Anzar al Abbas.

  West, Zoe, Sky Monster, and most of all, Lily, were always welcome in Dubai.

  Alby, needless to say, was impressed. “Whoa…” he said, gazing out the windows at the stunning view.

  Lily just shrugged. She’d stayed here before. “I get dibs on the double bed!” she yelled, racing into a bedroom.

  The doorbell rang, despite the fact it was almost midnight.

  West opened the door to reveal—

  —Sheik Anzar al Abbas and his entourage.

  With his great beard, round belly, deeply etched olive skin, and dressed in a traditional desert robe and head-scarf, the regal old sheik could have stepped straight out of Lawrence of Arabia.

  “The hour is late and Captain Jack West Jr. arrives in haste,” Abbas said in his deep voice. “I sense trouble.”

  West nodded grimly. “Thank you once again for your hospitality, Lord Sheik. Please, come inside.”

  Abbas entered, his robe flowing, followed by his six attendants. “My son, Zahir, sends his regards. He is currently working as a senior instructor at our special forces training facility in the desert, teaching our best fighters many of the strategies you taught him. He begged me to inform you that he is on his way at all possible speed.”

  West walked with the sheik. “I fear the circumstances are grave, far graver than ever before. Where once we banded together to fight against the desires of selfish men, now, if Wizard’s research is correct, we face a far more sinister threat. Wizard h
asn’t arrived here yet, but I imagine he’ll enlighten us further when he gets here.”

  Abbas’s eyes flickered. “You do not know?”

  “Know what?”

  “What has happened to Max Epper, the Wizard.”

  Jack froze. “What’s happened?”

  “We picked it up from Chinese satellite radio chatter last night. Wizard was arrested twenty-four hours ago by Chinese forces not far from the Three Gorges Dam. I fear he won’t be coming here anytime soon.”

  Jack could only stare.

  “Wizard left this file at my home,” he said, once he and the sheik were settled in one of the sitting areas of the suite. Zoe and Sky Monster were there, too, along with Lily and the rather confused Alby.

  Significantly, Sheik Abbas’s entourage had been left in an outer room.

  “The file summarizes his research into a set of six stones called the Ramesean Stones and their relationship with six oblong blocks known as the Pillars of the World, or sometimes, the Pillars of Vishnu.”

  “Vishnu?” Abbas said, recognizing the word. “As in…”

  “Yes,” West said. “As in ‘I am Vishnu, Destroyer of the World.’ The study of the Ramesean Stones was Wizard’s life’s work. Our ten-year mission to locate the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World and through them the Golden Capstone was merely a side mission for him. This is the study that has consumed his entire life.

  “And now he’s been arrested in China at the same time Chinese forces attacked my supposedly secret farm in Australia. The Chinese know. About his workand that we have the Firestone, the top piece of the Capstone.”

  Abbas frowned. “The Capstone has greater significance? Beyond the Tartarus Event?”

  “From what I read last night, more significance than we can possibly imagine,” West said. “The striking of the Capstone by the Sun during the Tartarus Rotation was just the beginning.”

  At that moment, West seemed to retreat into himself, thinking in silence. Then he said, “I need more time to examine Wizard’s work and make some calls. After that we have to convene a meeting. A new meeting of concerned nations. Give me a day to study all this and then let’s gather here for what might be the most important meeting in the history of mankind.”

  WEST SPENT the whole of the next day reading and sorting through Wizard’s voluminous notes.

  Names were scattered among Wizard’s writing, of which West knew some but not others.

  Tank Tanaka, for instance, he knew. Tank was Wizard’s longtime Japanese colleague; West had met him on numerous occasions.

  Others he only knew slightly, like “the Terrible Twins,” Lachlan and Julius Adamson, a pair of mathematical geniuses from Scotland who had studied under Wizard in Dublin. Fast-talking, exuberant, and much loved by Wizard, the twins operated as one brain, and taken together they were arguably the most formidable noncomputerized mathematical force in the world. In their spare time, they liked to beat Vegas casinos at the blackjack tables simply by “doing the math.”

  One summary sheet that Wizard had prepared commanded most of Jack’s attention. It was virtually a representation of Wizard’s thoughts, a mixture of diagrams, lists, and handwritten notations by the old professor.

  West recognized a few of the terms on the sheet, like the Sa-Benben, Firestone, and Abydos.

  Abydos was a little-known but hugely important Egyptian archaeological site. It had been sacred to the ancient Egyptians from the very beginning to the very end of their civilization, spanning some three thousand years. It bore temples belonging to Seti I and his son, Rameses II, and contained some of the earliest shrines in Egypt.

  Jack had also seen the Mystery of the Circles before, but had no clue what it meant.

  Other things, however, were completely new to him.

  The Great Machine.

  The Six Pillars. That they might be oblong uncut diamonds was certainly intriguing.

  The obscure references to Fabergé Eggs, Easter, and the sinking of the Titanic at the bottom of the page—well, they completely baffled him.

  And, of course, the unusual diagrams scattered all over it.

  He used this sheet as his central reference point and read on.

  Elsewhere among Wizard’s notes, he found some digital photos of stone carvings written in a language he had not seen since the Seven Wonders mission.

  It was an ancient script known only as the Word of Thoth—named after the Egyptian god of knowledge.

  Mysterious and obscure, it was a language that defied translation even by modern supercomputers. Indeed, its cuneiform-like strokes were often thought to contain secret mystical knowledge.

  Historically, only one person in the world could read it: the Oracle of the Siwa Oasis in Egypt. This person, magically it seemed, was born with the ability to read the Word of Thoth. A long line of Oracles had existed right up to the present day, and although it was unknown to her teachers and friends at school, Lily was one of them.

  She was the daughter of the last Oracle at Siwa, a foul spoiled man who had died shortly after her birth.

  Most unusually for an Oracle, though, Lily was a twin. As Jack had discovered during the Capstone mission, she had a brother named Alexander—like his father, a disagreeable, spoiled boy—who could also read the Word of Thoth. After that mission, Alexander had been spirited away to a quiet life in rural Ireland, in County Kerry.

  Jack got Lily to translate many of the Thoth inscriptions in Wizard’s notes. Many were nonsensical to Jack, while some were just plain weird: for instance, one Thoth carving stated that the ancient Mesopotamian city of Ur, famous for its huge ziggurat, was an exact replica of “the Second Great Temple-Shrine,” whatever that was.

  Jack also showed Lily one prominent Word of Thoth carving from Wizard’s notes:

  Lily looked at the complex array of symbols and shrugged, translating it in seconds. “It says:

  “With my beloved, Nefertari,

  I, Rameses, son of Ra,

  Keep watch over the most sacred shrine.

  We shall watch over it forever.

  Great sentinels,

  With our third eyes, we see all.”

  “With our third eyes?” Jack frowned.

  “That’s what it says.”

  “Nefertari was the favorite wife of Rameses II,” Jack said. “And together they keep watch over the most sacred shrine, whatever that is. Thanks, kiddo.”

  Lily smiled. She loved it when he called her that.

  Later that evening, the outer door to the Presidential Suite opened and Lily rushed into the arms of the man standing in the doorway. “Pooh Bear! Pooh Bear! You came!”

  The man was a shorter, younger version of Sheik Abbas. He was the great sheik’s second son, Zahir al Anzar al Abbas, call sign Saladin, but renamed by Lily Pooh Bear. Short, rotund, and bushy-bearded, he had a voice as big as his heart—and that wasbig.

  With him was a taller man, thinner, with skeletal features: a master sniper once known as Archer, now Stretch, having also been rechristened by Lily.

  Israeli by birth, Stretch had once been a member of the Mossad, but after a certain…conflict…with them during the Capstone chase, he was now persona non grata in Israel. In fact, it was known that the Mossad had put a price on his head for his actions back then.

  Greetings were exchanged with Zoe, Sky Monster, and when they finally extracted him from his study, West.

  Lily said to Pooh Bear, “And this is my friend, Alby. He’s a whiz at math and computers.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alby,” Pooh Bear roared. “I hope your intentions with my little Lily are pure. No, let me put that another way: if you break her heart, boy, I’ll hunt you down to the ends of the Earth.”

  Alby gulped. “We’re just friends.”

  Pooh Bear smiled, winking at Lily. “So, young Alby, are you joining us on this endeavor?”

  Lily said, “Alby’s parents are currently in South America and out of phone contact. Alby was supposed to be staying with us
at the farm. Now I guess he’s staying with us wherever we go.”

  “So, Huntsman!” Pooh Bear exclaimed. “What ails you this time?”

  “It could be bad, Pooh. Really bad. Tartarus has been neutralized, and some people want the Firestone badly. We barely got away at all.”

  “They found you in Australia?”

  “Yes. I’ve called a meeting, one that will bring the original team back together. Fuzzy is the last one. He’s on his way from Jamaica.”