The Six Sacred Stones jw-2

by Matthew Reilly

  “It’s not evil, Zoe. It just is. Call it antimatter, call it a singularity, call it a moving black hole. In the end, it is a net-negative void. A dense moving hole in the air. It’s not evil and it doesn’t hate us. We’re just in its way.”

  Stretch said, “And yet somewhere,sometime,someone built a Machine here on Earth that is somehow connected to this Dark Sun. Are you talking about advanced technology, Jack? Alien technology?”

  Jack bowed his head. “I don’t know. Wizard doesn’t say.”

  Vulture mused aloud: “‘Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.’ Arthur C. Clarke.”

  “So how do we rebuild this Machine?” Sheik Abbas asked. “And why does China have a such a keen interest in doing so by itself? Surely, even the Chinese would realize that a united global coalition would be the best vehicle to achieve this?”

  “As always, Lord Sheik, you go directly to the heart of the matter,” West said. “Please turn to the second sheet of your handout.”

  They all did so. On it was a photocopy of Wizard’s summarizing page.

  West directed them to the center of the page. “To your first question, Sheik: how do we rebuild the Machine? Observe the six Pillars drawn by Wizard and described as ‘oblong uncut diamonds.’ Elsewhere in his notes, he states that these Pillars are each about the size of a brick. He also says—”

  “A diamond the size of a brick?” Scimitar said in disbelief. “Just one alone would be larger than the Cullinan, the largest diamond ever found, and beyond value. And you claim there are six of these.”

  “Yes, six. Wizard also says that each Pillar must be ‘cleansed’ by the Philosopher’s Stone before being placed in the Machine, inspiring his exhortation that we ‘must have both the Sa-Benben and the Philosopher’s Stone. They are central to everything .’

  “The way I see it is this: to rebuild the Machine, we must place the six Pillars—cleansed by the Philosopher’s Stone—in position in this mysterious all-powerful Machine.

  “Which leads me to your second question, Abbas, why does China want to do this alone? They want to go it alone because it seems that whoever sets each Pillar in place in the Machine receives fareward.

  “You can see the rewards listed by Wizard: knowledge, heat, sight, life, death, power. What these rewards actually are, I don’t know. I assume Wizard knows, but there’s nothing about their actual nature in his notes. But given what the Chinese have already done—grabbing Wizard in China and trying to steal the Sa-Benben from me—I imagine the rewards are pretty damn rewarding.”

  West threw a sharp glance at the two Americans, Robertson and Astro.

  Robertson cleared his throat. “I am not privy to my country’s research on this matter, so please don’t even ask me about that. But yes, the United States is unwilling to allow China to obtain the benefits you so describe.”

  “We’ll be wanting to talk tosomeone about your country’s research soon,” West said pointedly.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Zoe said. “I need to backtrack a bit. The Six Ramesean Stones plus the Sa-Benben give us information about this Machine. The Philosopher’s Stone, once charged by the Sa-Benben, cleanses the Six Pillars, which then have to be placed in the Machine. So what is this Machine? And how big can it be?”

  West tapped the image that signified the Machine:

  After reading Wizard’s notes these last couple of days, he’d been thinking about the Machine a lot: about this image and Wizard’s scribblings around it.

  At last he said, “Wizard doesn’t say what or how big the Machine is. But I have a theory.”

  “And?”

  West turned to face Zoe. “I think ‘the Machine’ is another name for our planet.” He pointed at the image: “This circle is Earth. And these dark triangles are sites located around the Earth, six sites at which the six Pillars—properly ‘cleansed’ or activated—must be set in place, thus restoring the Machine to working order before the Dark Sun emits its fatal burst.”

  “Good God…” someone said.

  “Yes. And if we don’t rebuild this Machine by the appointed time, our planet will be destroyed. People, the end of the world really is nigh.”

  SHEIK ABBAS breathed, “The end of the world…”

  He glanced around the room—only to see that the American, Robertson, was unmoved by Jack’s conclusion; likewise Scimitar and his Saudi companion, Vulture.

  Jack said, “You’ll recall that in his article, Wizard mentioned the black orb depicted in the Mystery of the Circles. He suggested that it was a Dark Star, a twin of our own Sun, its opposite. He also mentioned that the Mystery of the Circles depicts our solar system with ten planets instead of nine.”

  “Yes…”

  “Today, our solar system possesses nine planets plus an asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter,” Jack said. “But this may not always have been so. Later in his article, Wizard postulates that that asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter was once a very small planet not unlike our own. Now. If a planet were to be somehow destroyed, its pieces would coalesce into a floating belt of asteroids similar to the one found between Mars and Jupiter.”

  There was silence in the room.

  “Yes,” Jack said, reading their thoughts. “This has happened before.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he went on, “we need to pool our resources and fight this menace. We need to restore this Machine before that Dark Star arrives.

  “But at the moment there are too many pieces of this puzzle missing, such as when this Dark Star will arrive and thus the time by which the Machine must be rebuilt. Wizard knows many of the answers to these questions, but I imagine your own researchers know some of them, too. And that’s not even mentioning the rewards and China’s interest in this situation and whatever she might know.”

  Jack eyed the group arrayed before him. “I need to know what you all know.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. It was time for some of them to reveal their secrets.

  Someone coughed, clearing his throat.

  It was the Saudi spy, Vulture.

  “My family, the High House of Saud, possesses one of these Pillars you describe,” he said. “It is indeed a large uncut diamond, oblong in shape, translucent to look at, yet still breathtaking to behold. We have held it for generations, always in a secure place. Other identical diamond Pillars are held by the two great European houses of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha and Oldenburg. I cannot, however, vouch for the whereabouts of the remaining three.”

  “Thank you,” Jack said, nodding.

  The American “attaché” Robertson cleared his throat. “I am authorized to disclose that the United States of America has in its possession one of the Ramesean Stones you describe: the Killing Stone of the Maya. I am also authorized to make this Stone available to any multinational effort to combat the arrival of the Dark Sun.”

  Other minor pieces of information were offered, but after all was said and done, it appeared that the single greatest source of wisdom on the matter of the Machine, the Stones, and the Pillars was Professor Max T. Epper.

  “We have to get Wizard back from the Chinese,” Jack said. “Mr. Robertson. It’s time for you to pay your entry fee.”

  Robertson said, “Professor Epper is being held at Xintan Prison, a remote facility in the mountains of Sichuan Province in central China. He is classified as a D-class prisoner: high value but subject to vigorous interrogation.”

  “You mean torture,” Pooh Bear said.

  Scimitar added, “Xintan is a fortress. No man who has entered it against his will has ever left it alive.”

  “That’s about to change,” West said.

  Vulture backed up Scimitar. “One does not just walk into the torture wing of Xintan Prison and stroll out again. It is beyond fortified. It is impregnable.”

  Robertson spoke formally: “The United States would have serious reservations about participating in any incursive act against China, especially one that would appear so aggressiv
e. If Lieutenant Miller here were captured on Chinese soil during such a raid, it would be on the front page of every newspaper in the—”

  “Then don’t come,” Stretch said from the side of the room. A veteran of the first mission, Stretch was still seriously wary of these apparently well-meaning intruders.

  Jack said, “We’ll handle those logistics when we come to them. Is there anything more? Anyone else have anything to offer?”

  The room was silent.

  The meeting was over—

  But then a hand went up, timidly, hesitantly. A little hand, in the back of the room.

  Alby.

  Paul Robertson turned and said, “Well, if we’re taking questions from children now, my time here is over. I have things to do.”

  Jack wasn’t so dismissive. In fact, he found it quite courageous of Alby to raise his hand, given the company around him.

  “What is it, Alby?”

  “I think I can help you with something on Wizard’s note page,” the little boy said, signing at the same time.

  “What exactly?” Jack was surprised that Alby was using sign language, since it wasn’t really necessary here.

  “Here,” Alby said. “Where he says‘Titanic sinking—Dec 2007 & Titanic rising.’ It’s not a reference toTitanic, the boat. It means the sinking and rising of Saturn’s moon, Titan, behind the planet Jupiter. Titanic Sinking and Titanic Rising are terms used by astronomers to describe it. It’s pretty rare, but when Jupiter and Saturn are in alignment—which they will be until next March—it occurs twice a week.”

  “And exactly when will Earth, Jupiter, and Saturn be in alignment again?” Zoe asked.

  Alby shrugged. “Maybe three, four hundred years.”

  Abbas coughed. “This is significant.”

  “You bet it is.” Jack glanced at Alby—only to find Alby staring intently back at him, right in the eye. The boy signed:There’s also something else.

  Jack nodded in understanding—later—before saying to the group: “Thank you, Alby. That’s a great contribution, and something I imagine Wizard will be able to clarify.”

  Beside Alby, Lily gave her friend a proud nudge.

  At that moment, two things happened: the doorbell rang and Sheik Abbas’s phone buzzed. The old sheik answered it quietly, “Yes…” while Jack went to the door.

  At the door was a hotel clerk, bearing a package for Jack—a designer hatbox, of all things. On it was a card:“For Jack West. From Jamaica.”

  Jack frowned as he opened the box and when he saw its contents, he froze in horror, his face draining of blood. “Oh, no. Fuzzy…”

  Inside the box was a severed human head.

  The severed head of his Jamaican friend, and veteran of the Capstone mission, V. J. Weatherly, call sign Fuzzy.

  At exactly the same moment, Abbas frowned into his phone. “Good God. Call the hotel. Order it evacuated. Now!”

  Everyone in the room spun as the old bearded sheik ended the call and looked up.

  “We have to leave this building immediately. It’s about to be struck by an airplane.”

  Jack blinked, put the lid back on the hatbox before anyone else saw what was inside it.“A wha —?”

  Then a Klaxon sounded.

  A hotel alarm.

  Red emergency lights blazed to life as a voice came over the internal PA system, speaking first in Arabic, then in English:“Would all guests please evacuate the hotel. This is an emergency. Would all guests please evacuate the hotel and convene out by the parking lot.”

  Everyone exchanged worried glances as the voice went on in other languages.

  And then other phones started ringing.

  First Robertson’s, then Vulture’s.

  “What is it?” Jack asked Abbas.

  The sheik’s face was white. “They say a plane that took off a short time ago from Dubai International has departed from its flight plan and deviated from the regular flight corridor. It’s headed this way, toward this building.”

  Jack froze. “This can’t be a coincidence. Everybody out! Now! We’ll rendezvous at The Halicarnassus ! Move!”

  Everyone cleared the room—Abbas was whisked outside by his minders; Robertson went out all by himself. The Marine, Astro, stayed, saying to Jack: “How can I help?”

  Jack was already springing into action. “Zoe! Pooh Bear! Get the kids outta here! I’ve got to grab Wizard’s stuff. Stretch, help me out! Lieutenant”—he said to Astro—“you can help, too. I could use an extra pair of hands.”

  It was then that West looked out through the wide panoramic windows of the Presidential Suite.

  And his jaw dropped.

  He saw a Boeing 767 cargo jet banking across the sky and then leveling out on a dead-straight flight path that would end at the Burj al Arab Tower.

  “Oh, crap,” he breathed.

  IF YOU COULD have seen it up close, you would have made out the words TRANSATLANTIC AIR FREIGHT on the side of the speeding cargo plane.

  And although the pilot listed on its flight plan was Earl McShane, it wasn’t Earl McShane who sat at the controls. It was a lone man who was prepared to die—for a matter of honor.

  The 767 zeroed in on the tower.

  In the hotel, people were running every which way.

  Every elevator was jammed to overflowing. The fire escape stairs were filled with fleeing guests, some in tuxedos, others in their pajamas.

  Up on the helipad, high above the world, a helicopter lifted off and powered away from the building.

  The PA blared:“This is an emergency. Would all guests please evacuate the hotel…”

  Zoe and Pooh Bear burst out of the fire escape into the wide lobby of the hotel, gripping Lily and Alby by the hand.

  “This is crazy,” Zoe whispered. “Just crazy.”

  They dashed outside into the morning sunshine, into the massing crowd.

  Up in the Presidential Suite, Jack, Stretch, and Astro were the last ones left.

  They were packing frantically, gathering together all of Wizard’s notes and books in a few sports bags.

  When at last they had everything, they ran from the suite, West coming last of all, peering back out the window in time to see the cargo plane looming large right outside.

  Then the plane dipped below the window line and a moment later Jack felt the building shudder in a way he wished he’d never feel again.

  Seen from the outside, the speeding 767 hit the Burj al Arab Tower about two-thirds of the way up its side, around the fiftieth floor.

  The entire plane instantly burst into a billowing fireball, a flaming meteor that spewed out the other side of the waterfront tower.

  The building shuddered violently and tottered, belching a great plume of smoke, eerily reminiscent of the World Trade Center towers on 9/11 in that terrible hour before they fell.

  “We’re cut off!” Stretch called from the entrance to the fire stairs. “We can’t get down!”

  West spun. The world around him was literally crumbling. The tower was swaying. Black smoke rose past the windows, blotting out the sun.

  “Up,” he said. “We go up.”

  Minutes later, the three of them burst out onto the helipad of the burning Burj al Arab Tower.

  The coastline of Dubai stretched out before them—a dead-flat desert plain meeting the aqua waters of the Persian Gulf. The Sun was blood red in color, veiled by the smoke.

  “This is outrageous!” Astro yelled.

  “Welcome to my world,” West called back as he flung open the door to a supply shed situated at the edge of the helipad.

  Suddenly, the building rocked. Girders shrieked.

  “Huntsman! We don’t have much time!” Stretch yelled. “This building is going to fall any second!”

  “I know! I know!” West was rummaging around inside the shed. “Here!”

  He hurled something out through the doorway and into Stretch’s arms: a pack of some sort.

  A parachute.

  “Safety precaution f
or a helipad this high up,” West said, emerging with two more parachutes. He flung one to Astro. “Again, welcome to my world.”

  They strapped the chutes on and hurried to the edge of the helipad, railless and dizzyingly high, eighty stories above the ground.

  The building’s steel skeleton shrieked once more. The air around it began to shimmer in the heat. It was about to collapse—

  “Jump!” West called.