by Tom Bane
“But how did you know I was going to research the secret numbers encoded into the tombs of King Tut and the Pyramid of Pacal?”
“I didn’t, but don’t forget, I used to be a student of Piper’s too, and of Tom’s father. Both of them great men, in their own peculiar ways. Some of the most enchanting ideas of Egyptology and Mayanology came out of their heads. It’s only natural they would drive you toward Pacal and Tutankhamun’s tombs, like they had me.”
“But you couldn’t solve this yourself.” Suzy reasoned aloud. “You needed me and Tom to help you.”
“Please!” he frowned, “you underestimate me. I asked Tom’s father many times to help me, but he was just too slow. I solved the hidden numerical codes all by myself.”
“You could never have done it without my father’s research of the Mayan long count,” Tom spat. Sanders spun round with his gun, making Renu whimper in fear.
“Why are you doing all this?” Suzy asked, hoping to distract Sanders.
“Let me enunciate.” He folded his arms across his chest, the Beretta dangling by one elbow. “DARPA have built the High Frequency Active Auroral Research Program right under the noses of the US government in the middle of Alaska. And now, HAARP is going to save the planet.” Sanders started pacing as he delivered his lecture. “You see, you have to be cruel to be kind, so we are going to utilize it for an experiment in, well, let’s call it human urgency. The governments of the world will never wake up to the true threat of global warming in time. They need a kick. And they need it soon, before the decline in solar activity cools the earth’s temperature so far that people forget the urgency of carbon dioxide emissions.”
Tom was shaking his head, unable to comprehend the madness of what Sanders was proposing. Seeing him, Sanders laughed again.
“But Tom, the time is right. HAARP has the power now. I simply have to send the coordinates encrypted to the facility in Alaska and everything happens like clockwork. Those people who work for DARPA are mindless robots. We’ve trained them to simply follow orders.”
Meanwhile, outside the base, a cold wind was getting up. His clothes still drenched from his long-distance swim, Getsu didn’t even shiver as he lay in a ditch near the gates, watching the movements of the guards and waiting for an opportunity to penetrate the fence. Beneath the stolen uniform, his double thickness white belt was tied around his waist. As he now understood, it was the highest belt possible, signifying the return of the wearer to the state of the mushin mind, the state of absolute purity that was the hallmark of a master, the state of mind that banished all fear.
Inside the factory, fear filled the air.
“But why are you keeping us here?” Renu sobbed.
“Renu you should know, as a scientist, this location is very, very special. Almost a hundred years ago, the genius Nikolas Tesla stood right here. He had built the greatest power transmission beam ever. He lived and worked here in the Wardenclyffe Tower, where he devised this death ray technology to transmit wireless power around the globe. It was so powerful that the US government put a stop to his work. You may have heard of the Tunguska Event in 1908. It has been attributed to an asteroid impact in the remote Siberian region of Tunguska, but I believe it was the work of Nikolas Tesla. I think he fired his coil at the Siberian Tundra on June thirtieth, causing a massive air burst explosion and blowing away more than eighty million trees like they were fragile matchsticks. Tesla had struggled for years for recognition, but his ideas ended up being stolen and exploited by industrialists who grew rich as a result—the entire world functions on his electrical grid—but he died in poverty, chronically undervalued by his society. His vain hope was that the Tunguska Event would give him the publicity he needed, and add weight to his genius. Tesla even wrote a letter to the polar explorer, Robert Peary, warning him to watch out for any unusual phenomena on his journey to the North Pole a few days before the thirty-megaton explosion of pure energy, a thousand times more powerful than the Hiroshima nuclear bomb.”
As he talked, still pacing, Sanders had unfolded his arms and started to play with the gun, stroking the barrel and sighting it to his eye, pretending to look for a target. Intimidated, no one dared speak a word as he continued.
“When Tesla died in 1943, the CIA sequestered all his academic papers to use in military applications. That’s what gave us the modern military technologies we have today, including the beautiful HAARP, a direct development of Tesla’s Wardenclyffe super-weapon, which fires a hyper-intense electromagnetic beam high above the earth, heating the ionosphere, then electromagnetic waves bounce back onto earth, and penetrate everything, living and dead. This is the Pandora’s box to which I have the key. I’m going to replicate his experiment, but this time on an unprecedented scale, using HAARP as a weapon for worldwide destruction. I am going to stage a spectacle the same day, the thirtieth of June, as he did, for maximum publicity. It will be my very own Tunguska tonight.
“Billions of tons of carbon dioxide lie deep beneath the Arctic Tundra and the lakes of Northern Siberia. It’s been trapped there for millions of years. I will liberate some of it and cause a global warming event the likes of which has never been seen before. I’m going to fire the HAARP weapon at Siberia.”
“Why?” Sheer horror was evident in Suzy’s voice.
“Because it will force the world to accept the dangers of manmade climate change. It will give us a chance to save the world. We know that the sun will cool the earth as its magnetic field dies after 2012 just as the Mayans and Egyptians predicted. The cooling could last fifty years according to some Russian scientists. If I don’t do this, that will mask the effects of manmade global warming and will lead to an abandonment of our goals to reduce it, and I will hold this planet at my mercy.” Sanders fell silent, savoring the moment as they all just stared at him in bewilderment. He walked backwards and wheeled a large electrical coil to just outside the ring of chairs, and then reached out with his hand and stroked it like a favorite pet.
“This plasma coil is named after Tesla. It reproduces the temperatures at the surface of our beloved sun. And, as you are all scientists, you will be particularly excited, I am sure, at this experience of a lifetime, feeling ten thousand degrees of electrical heat.”
“But you’re going to kill millions of people who have done nothing wrong,” Tom protested.
“That’s where you’re wrong. The people who shout the loudest about global warming are the ones who have the money to comfortably live a more conscientious lifestyle. And those who don’t care have grown weak and obese on capitalism. The earth needs those who can truly live off the land in a sustainable way. The simple people will live on. The meek shall finally inherit the earth.”
Suzy opened her mouth but Sanders put his hand up to halt her. “Yes, Suzy, that means that all of you have to die, but it will not be in vain. Think of your deaths as a necessity, a sacrifice, if you like, for the future salvation of this planet—in fact, a most honorable death.”
Meanwhile, outside, an ammunitions lorry had stopped at the gates. Two guards climbed out of the cab, one with a clipboard in his hand. Getsu took full advantage of the diversion, and leaped out of the ditch, running with his head down, and vaulting inside the van over the tailboard into the canvas-covered rear compartment of the lorry. He lay still until it began to move. Once inside the compound, Getsu jumped out of the moving vehicle, landing on his feet like a cat and ran, bent low, toward the white building.
“OK, so tell us, who is Horus?” Suzy was desperate to keep Sanders talking, to buy more time.
“Horus? They are part of the system!” Ben spat out the words. “Or whatever guise they are operating under. They always try to foil our plans but they never succeed.”
“Are you saying it’s some kind of secret society?”
“Enough questions,” Sanders snapped. “It’s time.”
“What about the reason why the declining of the sun’s magnetic fields actually causes temperatures to fall on earth?” Su
zy asked. “Did you solve that one?”
Sanders flashed round to face her. “No, did you? I thought the pretty little Renu might solve that one for me with her fabulous super-computing models, but she has no more idea than the rest of us. Maybe we don’t need to understand why it causes temperature change; it just does. We must accept it, have faith.”
“I know the mechanism,” Tom taunted.
“Oh, really?” Ben snarled. “So, why don’t you enlighten us all then?”
“I’d never tell you.”
Suzy saw the knuckles on Sanders’ right hand whiten as he tightened his grip on the gun. Restraining himself, Sanders slid the gun back into its holster and turned his attention to the Tesla Coil, wheeling it to the center of the ring of chairs, inside the pentagram. Getsu sprang from the shadows like a ghost. As his foot touched the floor, it met the blood pooled from Christie and for a second he lost his perfect balance, giving the startled Sanders time to sidestep the attack.
Getsu recovered and lunged again, knocking Sanders backward. The two of them stumbled across Tom’s chair. Getsu brought the knife down with all the force he could muster, but missed Sanders’ throat, instead, smashing into the brace holding Tom’s right arm. The clasp sprang open and, with lightning fast reflexes, Tom brought his freed fist up hard and fast into the side of Sanders’ head, hurling him backward.
Getsu leaped after his reeling prey, who had managed to unholster his gun. Sanders whipped the side of Getsu’s head with the butt. Getsu flopped onto the concrete and lay still. Sanders took the knife from his fallen assailant’s grasp and straightened up, his face filled with cold anger. He grabbed Tom’s arm and reactivated the metal clasp, immobilizing it. Ben held the knife aloft, as if admiring it as it shimmered in the bright light. He slammed it down into Tom’s left forearm, impaling it to the arm of the chair. As Tom shrieked, Sanders smiled and moved to where Suzy sat imprisoned.
Glancing again at Getsu, Sanders was satisfied to see no sign of movement. He turned back to Suzy, smiling. He lifted the muzzle of the Beretta and caressed each side of her face with it, savoring the moment.
“How will you explain our deaths to the guards outside?” Suzy asked, her voice cracking as she felt the cold metal on her skin.
“As far as they are concerned, this is just another black operation,” he said, not taking his hungry eyes off her for a second. “Your bodies will be disposed of and nobody will ever know, all your research will be in vain, you will die like your father before you, having lived a life of little consequence.”
With his free hand, he undid the top button of her blouse, then the next and the next, pushing the gun hard against her heart as she fought to control its pounding. Sanders paused when he reached low enough to spy the silver locket around her neck.
“Well, what have we here then, my little professor? How sweet,” he snickered. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you Suzy? Power and fear make a seductive cocktail.” Sanders traced the gun slowly down her stomach, down to her groin, hooking it under the waistband of her jeans. A metallic snap pinged and Sanders’ head snapped up. Getsu had reached out and pressed the release button on one of Suzy’s ankle braces. With ferocious speed, Suzy kicked up and delivered a blinding strike to Sanders’ face. He reeled back, falling against the chair and onto the floor. Getsu strained to reach the button to free Suzy’s wrist right, before slumping back down, still groggy. Suzy unlocked her other arm and leg and flew out of the chair. She moved toward Sanders, swaying from foot to foot, analyzing her target and calculating the best move to immobilize him. Tom broke her concentration.
“No, no, Suzy. The knife, use the knife.”
She looked at the blade, embedded in Tom’s bloody flesh. She flashed back to an image of her father, slashed and dying in the street, and hesitated. “Come on! Do it, now. Just do it!” Tom gritted his teeth and tensed all his muscles, bracing his body back into the chair and his legs against the clamps that kept him imprisoned. Sanders was struggling to get to his feet. Suzy stretched her fingers around the handle of the knife, flexing them to get a good grip. Then with a last glance at Tom, she put her left knee across his forearm to hold it firm and in one swift movement, freed the knife. Tom grunted in pain.
Sanders was pointing his gun unsteadily toward them as he started to rise. Suzy drilled her gaze into Sanders and flung the knife. The tip entered through his eye, the force of the throw ratcheting the knife deep within his brain, stopping only when the pommel wedged in his eye socket.
Sanders froze in midair, gun pointed, as if unable to decide whether to shoot. His fingers closed around the trigger and he slid to the floor, his head flopping to one side, exposing his terrible scar. His one remaining eye stared into the arc lights above, seeing nothing.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them.
–Galileo Galilei
Several hours later Suzy, Tom and Renu were back in the care of the Navy Seals and a groggy Getsu was facing Suzy’s interrogation with his head bowed. Tom had a lucky escape, the knife had not damaged any tendons and the Navy Seals had the best combat medics in the world. Dosed with painkillers and sporting a bandaged arm, he was happy to let Suzy do the talking.
“Our plan was to sail to the HAARP facility in Alaska on the Lady Virococha, Suzy San,” he explained. “We intended to disable it, after we finally hacked into Ben Sanders laptop.”
“But why did you have to drug us and tie us up like prisoners?”
“There was not sufficient time to convince you of our good intentions. Once the mission was accomplished we could then explain; we cleared it all in advance with Piper. My apologies for any discomfort we caused you.”
“How long have you known about Ben Sanders?”
“Horus funded Mr. Sanders’ original research at Oxford, but the more he discovered about the ancient temples, the less information he was inclined to give us. What he did give us was so cryptic we were unable to fathom it. We always believed he would return to Oxford eventually, but then he vanished in the Temple of Inscriptions pyramid in Mexico and we knew something was wrong, that someone wanted to stop Horus from discovering the secrets he had uncovered. But, of course, we had no idea that he had done anything so horrific as to fake his own death and take control of a CIA SOG unit. But Horus is a global communications business—we can track messages from anywhere. We intercepted some emanating from the CIA headquarters that appeared suspicious, that might have been generated by Sanders. Then, when you came to Horus asking for funding, it was decided that you were not a threat and we could use you through Piper to see if Sanders took the bait. We suspected Sanders was intercepting and sending emails to Tom’s father and tapping Pipers phone as well as other communications.”
“So that’s who sent me the cryptic messages? It was Ben Sanders?”
“No, Suzy San, it was Horus who forwarded them on to you, but we knew we had to take responsibility for your life, that we needed to track you in order to protect you. We helped you by giving you all the clues Ben Sanders had sent to Professor Logan, Tom’s father, like the email messages.”
“And then I gave you the slip in Cairo.”
“Indeed.” It was the first time Suzy had ever seen Getsu smile. “It was hard to keep up with you and that was why I had to implant the device in your neck in Luxor. My apologies, once again. Extreme measures were needed after the murders in the Great Pyramid.”
“Were you in the pyramid that night?”
Getsu bowed his head even lower in acknowledgement of the fact.
“I arrived there almost too late. The SOG agents had killed the Giza guides and I feared they would kill you. I stole keys from a security guard and followed you inside. I crawled above the great stones in the ceiling of the King’s Chamber to observe. The Special Operations Group started killing from the lower Queen’s Chamber. I had no choice but to eliminate them. I caught up with you as you tried to exit the pyramid.
I wanted to tell you I was there to protect you and that I had a set of keys, but you were frightened and running.”
“I think Ben Sanders must have allowed me and Tom to stay alive, hoping to find out why the pyramids point to Orion,” Suzy said. “He must have thought that Tom and I might succeed where he had failed. That must have been why he gave us clues to solve the Tutankhamun Code!” said Suzy, still a little confused and shaken by the whole ordeal.
“No, Suzy San, it was we who gave you the clues. It was Horus. Ben Sanders was an evil, arrogant man who used Tom’s father to help him uncover the ancient code. Then, when he had unlocked the code, he taunted Tom’s father with cryptic messages knowing that Professor Logan had devoted his life to deciphering the code of the Mayan End Time, before he had him assassinated. But that was ultimately his undoing, Ben gave away one too many clues. We needed you to follow his trail, to find out what Sanders had discovered. But we think Sanders was monitoring Piper’s students through the CIA. At first Sanders was arrogant in his assumption that you wouldn’t match his intellect—he wanted to scare you off the trail—but then he changed his mind and wanted you dead. But, incredibly, even the CIA and Special Operations Group were flawed and turned out to be no match for you and Tom.”
“How did Horus get to know so much about SOG’s operations?”
“We managed to eventually tap most of SOG’s communications, then we put two and two together and figured out that Ben Sanders wasn’t dead, This meant he was avoiding telling us the results of his research, so that’s when we figured out they must be of some importance. We fitted together the pieces of the puzzle.” Getsu added, with a small satisfied smile.
“And the alabaster vase and mirror?”
“Mr. Al-Kharismus had received them mysteriously by post in Oxford. They were probably more clues from Mr. Sanders, and Mr. Al-Kharismus, in his infinite judgment, thought that you, Suzy, would be the only one who might ascertain their meaning.”
