"Right." Did he detect the slightest hint of disdain, or disapproval, in the doctor's polite inflections? "Dr. Von Menck, I've come to see if you've framed an opinion on these murders."
Dr. Von Menck leaned back in his chair, tented his fingers, and looked carefully at Harriman. When at last he spoke, it was in very slow and measured tones. It almost seemed to Harriman the man had been considering the question long before he asked it. "Yes. As it happens, I do have an opinion."
Harriman placed the recorder on the arm of his chair. "Do you mind if I record this?"
Von Menck gave a small wave of permission. "I've been debating the wisdom of making my opinions public."
Harriman felt himself go cold. Oh, no, he thought. The guy's planning to do his own documentary on this. I'm about to get the royal shaft.
Then Von Menck sighed. "In the end, I decided people had a right to know. In that way, your phone call was fortuitous."
The chill was replaced by relief. Harriman leaned forward, snapped the recorder on. "Then perhaps you can tell me your thoughts, sir. Why these two men, why in such a manner, and why at this time?"
Von Menck sighed again. "The two men, and the manner, are of lesser importance. It's the timing that means everything."
"Explain."
Von Menck stood, walked toward one of the bookcases, opened it, and removed something. He placed it on the desk before Harriman. It was a cross section of a nautilus shell, its growth chambers spiraling outward from the center with beautiful regularity.
"Do you know, Mr. Harriman, what this shell has in common with the building of the Parthenon, the petals of a flower, and the paintings of Leonardo da Vinci?"
Harriman shook his head.
"It embodies that most perfect of nature's proportions, the golden ratio."
"I'm not sure I understand."
"It's the ratio obtained if you divide a line in such a way that the shorter segment is to the longer segment as the longer segment is to the entire line."
Harriman wrote this all down, hoping that he could figure it out later.
"The longer segment is 1.618054 times longer than the shorter segment. The shorter segment is 0.618054 percent of the longer. These two numbers, moreover, are exact reciprocals of each other, differing only in the first digit-the only two numbers to demonstrate that property."
"Right. Of course." Math had never been his strong suit.
"They have other remarkable properties. A rectangle constructed with sides of these two lengths is believed to be the most pleasing shape, called the golden rectangle. The Parthenon was built in this shape. Cathedrals and paintings were based on this shape. Such rectangles also have a remarkable property: if you cut a square off one side, you are left with a smaller golden rectangle of exactly the same proportions. You can keep cutting off squares and creating smaller golden rectangles ad infinitum."
"I see."
"Now, if you start with a large golden rectangle and reduce it, square by square, into an infinite series of smaller golden rectangles, and then connect the center of all these, you end up with a perfect natural logarithmic spiral. This is the spiral you see in the nautilus shell; in the packing of seeds into the head of the sunflower; in musical harmony; and indeed throughout all of nature. The golden ratio is a fundamental quality of the natural world."
"Yeah."
"This ratio is part of the basic structure of the universe. No one knows why."
Harriman watched as the doctor carefully put the shell back in the case and closed the glass front. Whatever he'd been expecting, this was not it. He was lost, and if he was lost, he knew that the Post 's readers would certainly be lost. What a waste of time. He'd have to escape at the earliest opportunity.
Von Menck stepped behind his desk and turned back to face the journalist. "Are you a religious man, Mr. Harriman?"
The question was so unexpected that, for a moment, Harriman did not know what to say.
"I don't necessarily mean in any organized sense: Catholic, Protestant, whatever. But do you believe there is a unifying force underlying our universe?"
"I'd never really thought about it," Harriman said. "I guess so." He had been raised Episcopalian, though he hadn't set foot inside a church-except for weddings and funerals-for almost twenty years.
"Then might you believe, as I do, that there is a purpose to our lives?"
Harriman shut off the tape recorder. Time to end this and get the hell out. If he wanted a lecture on religion, he could always call the Jehovah's Witnesses. "With all due respect, Doctor, I don't see what this has to do with the two recent deaths."
"Patience, Mr. Harriman. My proof is complex, but the conclusion will, to use a popular expression, blow your mind."
Harriman waited.
"Let me explain. All my life, I have been a student of the mysterious, the unexplained. Many of these mysteries I have solved to my own satisfaction. Others-oftentimes the greatest-remain dark to me." Von Menck took a piece of paper from his desk, wrote on it briefly, then placed it before Harriman:
3243
1239
"Those two numbers"-and he tapped the page-"have always represented the biggest mysteries of all to me. Do you recognize them?"
Harriman shook his head.
"They mark the single two greatest cataclysmic events ever to befall human civilization. In 3243B.C. , the island of Santorini explodes, generating tidal waves that wipe out the great Minoan civilization of Crete and devastate the entire Mediterranean world. This is the source of both the legend of Atlantis and the Great Flood. And 1239B.C. is when the twin cities of Sodom and Gomorrah were reduced to ash by a rain of ruin from the sky."
"Atlantis? Sodom and Gomorrah?" This was getting worse.
Von Menck tapped the sheet again. "Plato described Atlantis in two of his dialogues, Timaeus and Critias . Some details he got wrong: for example, the date, which he put at around 9000B.C. Recent extensive archaeological digs on Crete and Sardinia provide a more exact date. The story of the lost city of Atlantis has been sensationalized to the point where most people wrongly assume it's a myth. But legitimate archaeologists are convinced there is a foundation of truth: the volcanic explosion of the island of Santorini. Plato described Atlantis-that is, the Minoan civilization on Crete-as a powerful city-state, obsessed with commerce, money, self-improvement, and knowledge, but bereft of spiritual values. Archaeological excavations of the Minoan palaces at Knossos confirm this. The people of Atlantis, Plato said, had turned their backs on their god. They flaunted their vices, they openly questioned the existence of a divine, and they worshiped technology instead. Plato tells us they had canals and a so-called firestone that produced artificial power."
He paused. "Sounds like another city we know, doesn't it, Mr. Harriman?"
"New York."
Von Menck nodded. "Exactly. At the very height of Atlantis's power, there were harbingers of some dread event. The weather was unnaturally cold, and skies were dark for days. There were strange rumblings in the ground. People died suddenly, unexpectedly, outrageously. One was said to have been hit 'by a bolt of lightning that came from the sky and from the bowels of the earth both together.' Another was abruptly torn apart, as if by an explosive device, 'his flesh and blood hanging in the air like a fine mist, while all around lay the most appalling stench.' Within a week came the explosion and flood that destroyed the city forever."
As Von Menck spoke, Harriman snapped on his recorder again. There might be something here, after all.
"Exactly two thousand and four years later, the area of the Dead Sea between what is now Israel and Jordan-the deepest naturally occurring spot on the surface of the earth-was breathtakingly lush and fertile. It was the home of the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. Precisely how big these cities were remains unknown, although recent archaeological digs in the valley have uncovered massive cemeteries containing thousands of human remains. Clearly, they were the two most powerful cities in the Western world at that time. As with Atlantis,
these cities had fallen into the last degree of sin, turning away from the natural order of things. Pride, sloth, the worship of earthly goods, decadence and debauchery, rejection of God and destruction of nature. As it says in Genesis, there were not fifty, not twenty, not even ten righteous men to be found in Sodom. And so the cities were destroyed from above, by 'brimstone and fire . the smoke of the country went up as the smoke of a furnace.' Again, archaeological excavations in the Dead Sea area confirm the biblical story to an amazing degree. In the days before this took place, there again were harbingers of the fate that was to come. One man burst into a pillar of yellow flame. Others were found calcified, not unlike Lot's wife, who was turned to a pillar of salt."
Von Menck came around the desk and sat on its edge, looking intently at the reporter. "Have you been to the Dead Sea, Mr. Harriman?"
"I can't say that I have."
"I've been there. Several times. The first time I went was right after I discovered a certain natural link in the timing of the disasters that befell Atlantis and Gomorrah. The Dead Sea is now a parched wasteland. Fish cannot live in it: the water is many times saltier than the ocean. Almost nothing grows on its edges, and what does is glazed and caked with salt. But if you walk across the dead plains near Tell es-Saidiyeh, where many scholars now place Sodom, you'll find a vast number of balls of pure, elemental sulfur riddling the salt surface. This sulfur is not rhombic, as found in naturally occurring geothermic areas. Rather, it is monoclinic: white, exceptionally pure, exposed to very high temperatures for long periods of time. Geologists have found no other pockets of such naturally occurring sulfur anywhere else on earth. Yet they are found in riotous abundance on the ruins of these two cities. What destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah was not some normal geological process. It remains a mystery to this day."
Von Menck reached for the scrap of paper, wrote another number beneath the first two:
3243
1239
2004
"2004A.D ., Mr. Harriman. It forms the end of the golden ratio. Do the math. The date 3243B.C. is exactly 5,247 years ago: golden ratio. The date 1239B.C. is exactly 3,243 years ago: golden ratio again. The next date in the series is 2004A.D. , which also happens to be the exact number of years separating the earlier disasters. Coincidence?"
Harriman stared at the paper. Is he saying what I think he's saying? It seemed unbelievable, crazy. And yet the quiet eyes that looked back at him with something like resignation did not look in the least bit crazy.
"I searched for years, Mr. Harriman, for proof that I was wrong. I thought perhaps the dates were incorrect, or that the evidence was flawed. But every discovery I made simply gave more credence to the theory." He walked to another cabinet and pulled out a sheet of white cardboard. On it, a large spiral-like that of the shell of a chambered nautilus-had been drawn. At its outermost point, it was labeled in red pencil:3243B.C.-Santorini/Atlantis . One-third of the way along its curve was another red marking:1239B.C.-Sodom/Gomorrah. At other spots along the spiral, smaller tick marks in black listed dozens of other dates and places:
79A.D .-Eruption of Vesuvius destroys Pompeii/Herculaneum
426A.D. -Fall of Rome, sacked and destroyed by barbarians
1348A.D. -Plague strikes Venice, two-thirds of the population die
1666A.D. -The Great Fire of London
And at its very center, where the spiral closed in on itself and ended in a large spot of black, was a third red label:
2004A.D. -???
He balanced the chart on his desk. "As you can see, I've charted many other disasters. They all fall precisely along the natural logarithmic spiral, all perfectly aligned in golden ratios. No matter how I cut the data, the last date in the sequence is always 2004A.D.Always. And what do these natural disasters have in common? They have always struck an important world city, a city notable for its wealth, power, technology-and neglect of the spiritual."
He reached across his desk, picked a red pencil from a pewter cup. "I'd hoped I was wrong, hoped it was a mere coincidence. I waited for the arrival of the year 2004, expecting to be proved wrong. But I no longer think nature believes in coincidence. There is an order to all things, Mr. Harriman. We have a moral niche on this earth, just as we have an ecological niche. When species exhaust their ecological niche, there is a correction, a purification. Sometimes even an extinction . It's the way of nature. But what happens when a species exhausts its moral niche?"
He turned the pencil around, moved it to the center of the diagram, and erased the question marks:
2004A.D .-
"In every instance there were harbingers. Small events, of seemingly limited significance. Many of these events have involved the death of morally dubious persons by the same means as the upcoming disaster. This happened in Pompeii before the eruption of Vesuvius, in London before the Great Fire, in Venice before the plague. So now perhaps you see, Mr. Harriman, why I say that Jeremy Grove and Nigel Cutforth are in themselves meaningless. Oh, to be sure, both men are remarkable for their hatred of religion and morals, their repudiation of decency, their outrageous excess. As such, they are role models for the greed, concupiscence, materialism, cruelty of our times-and particularly of this place, New York. But they are still merely harbingers-the first, I fear, of many."
Von Menck let the chart fall gently to the desk. "Are you a reader of poetry, Mr. Harriman?"
"No. Not since college, anyway."
"Perhaps you remember W. B. Yeats's poem 'The Second Coming'?
" Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world .
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity."
Von Menck leaned closer. "We live in a time of moral nihilism and a blind worship of technology, combined with a rejection of the spiritual dimension of life. Television, movies, computers, video games, the Internet, artificial intelligence. These are the gods of our times. Our leaders are morally bankrupt, shameless hypocrites, feigning piety but devoid of real spirituality. We live in a time in which university scholars belittle spirituality, scorn religion, and bow deeply to the altar of science. We live in a time when so many spurn the church and the synagogue, where radio commentators are shock jocks spewing hatred and vulgarity, where televised entertainment consists of Real Sex and Celebrity Fear Factor. We live in a time of suicide bombing, terrorism run amok, and nuclear blackmail."
The room fell silent, save for the faint beep of the recorder. At last, Von Menck stirred, spoke again.
"The ancients believed nature to be comprised of four elements: earth, air, fire, and water. Some talked of floods; others of earthquakes or mighty winds; others of the devil. When Atlantis had betrayed its niche in the moral order of nature, it was consumed by water. The destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah came by fire. The plague that struck Venice came by air. Like the golden ratio, it follows a cyclical pattern. I've charted it here."
He took out another diagram, very complex, covered with lines, charts, and numbers. All the lines seemed to converge on a central pentagram in which was written:
2004A.D .-New York City-Fire
"So you think New York City will burn?"
"Not in any normal way. It will be consumed by a fire within , like Grove and Cutforth."
"You think this can be avoided if people turn back to God?"
Von Menck shook his head. "It's too late for that. And please note, Mr. Harriman, I have not used the word God . What I'm talking about here is not necessarily God but a force of nature: a moral law of the universe as fixed as any physical law. We've created an imbalance that needs to be corrected. The year 2004." He tapped the pile of charts. "It's the big one. It's the one Nostradamus predicted, Edgar Cayce predicted, Revelation predicted."
Harriman nodded. He felt a crawling sensation along his spine. This was powerful stuff. But was it all claptrap? "Dr. Von Menck, you've devoted a great deal of time and research on this."
"It has been my overwhelming obsession. For over fifteen years, I'v
e known the significance of the year 2004. I've been waiting ."
"Are you really convinced, or is this just a theory?"
"I will answer by telling you this: I am leaving New York tomorrow."
"Leaving?"
"For the Galápagos Islands."
"Why the Galápagos?"
"As Darwin could tell you, they are famous for their isolation." Von Menck gestured at the recorder. "This time there will be no documentary. The story is all yours, Mr. Harriman."
"No documentary?" Harriman repeated, stupefied.
"If I'm the least bit right in my suspicions, Mr. Harriman, when this is over, there won't be much of an audience for a documentary-will there?" And, for the first time since Harriman had entered the room, Dr. Von Menck smiled-a small, sad smile utterly devoid of humor.
{ 30 }
D'Agosta gazed at the miserable-looking thing on his plate-long, thin, unidentifiable, swimming in a puddle of sauce. It smelled vaguely like fish. At least, he thought, it would help his diet. It had been ten days since Grove's death, and he'd lost five pounds already, what with the new weight routine and jogging regimens he'd instituted, not to mention the hours he'd put in at the shooting range, which were adding bulk and steadiness to his forearms and shoulders. Another two months, and he'd be back to his old NYPD condition.
Proctor flitted about in the background, presenting and whisking away plates with the least amount of warning gentility would allow. Pendergast sat at the head of the table, Constance to his left. She looked a little less pale than before: some sun, perhaps, from yesterday's outing. But the dining room of the ancient Riverside Drive mansion remained a dreary place, with its dark green wallpaper and equally dark oil paintings. The windows that once must have looked out over the Hudson had been boarded up a long time ago, and it appeared Pendergast was going to leave them that way. No wonder the guy was so white, living in the dark like some cave creature. D'Agosta decided he'd trade the whole dinner, and its procession of mysterious dishes, for barbecued ribs and a cooler full of frosties in his sunny Suffolk County backyard. Even Fosco's exotic picnic basket of the day before had been preferable. He gave the dish an exploratory poke.
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