He followed its descent toward the station below, taking in the rolling hills toward the village of Umbria, where rows upon rows of olive orchards were left behind. Tom’s gaze returned upward, and he watched as the line passed through the rampart, which surrounded the entire city, in a tunnel, where Tom took advantage of the darkness to kiss Genevieve.
As the light rose, she pushed him away with a mischievous smile and a reprimand. “There’s work to be done.”
“No reason we shouldn’t enjoy ourselves in the process.” Tom squeezed her hand. “Besides, how often do you think Sam’s going to ask us to go to a romantic Italian village and pretend we’re on our honeymoon?”
She kissed him on the lips and then smiled lasciviously. “For the sake of keeping up our cover.”
They waited as the masses of tourists disembarked, and then followed.
Dominating their vision of Orvieto was the 14th century cathedral. Soaring skyward the glittering, golden-faced Duomo’s walls were made of long rungs of greenish-black basalt and white travertine. Tom casually followed the crowed through one of the three large bronze doors that remained permanently open.
He stepped through the doors.
Tom swept the interior of the cathedral with his eyes, devouring its rich history dating back to the renaissance. The apse was commanded by a large stained-glass quadrifore window. Made between 1328 and 1334 by Giovanni di Bonino – a glass master from Assisi – it draped sunlight onto the golden mosaics, giant frescoes, and rows of pews. Cylindrical columns also consisting of alternate rows of travertine and basalt, led to the trussed wooden ceiling. Above which, the transept was roofed with quadripartite, or four-celled stone vaults.
He walked silently down the aisle.
Above the altar, a large polychrome wooden crucifix hung and behind that, a series of damaged Gothic frescoes dedicated to the life of the Virgin Mary. He followed the wave of tourists and pilgrims who flocked to the two large frescoes that lined the San Brizio chapel to the right of the cathedral. They depicted a vision of an awe-inspiring Last Judgement and Apocalypse, below which were fiery scenes from Dante’s journey into Hell.
Genevieve glanced at the image and then back at Tom. “Do you think it’s some sort of sign?”
“What?” Tom studied the image in greater detail. “You think it’s a reference to Apocalypse we’re trying to avoid?”
She shrugged. “The thought crossed my mind.”
“It seems unlikely that Luca Signorelli, the master who’d been commissioned to paint the frescoes, had any idea about an asteroid that was set to return to Earth every thirteen thousand years. Do you?”
Genevieve handed him the visitor’s guide to the cathedral. “Maybe he did?”
Tom read the note out loud. “At the close of the 15th century, Orvieto experienced a series of events which presaged evidence of divine displeasure. Terrible rainstorms, plague, civil strife, the threat of invasion, and appalling apparitions in the sky were seen as apocalyptic warnings.”
“Any guesses what that means?”
“None. I’m a helicopter pilot, not an archeologist or historian.” Tom looked around. He’d seen enough of the historic cathedral. “Sam told me to look for a receptacle for the sacred stone. His guess is that it will be underground. He has a theory that because the stone is made of blackbody, which draws in all mass around it, the most powerful way for the stone to be set up would be to have it imbedded in rock.”
“Like a five hundred feet high volcanic plug that Orvieto rests upon?” she asked.
“Exactly! We’ll search the catacombs first.”
She smiled at his simplicity. “All right.”
The five bells started to ring in E-flat.
Tom looked at his watch. “What do you know? It’s midday, shall we find some lunch?”
Genevieve nodded. “Sure.”
“Great. I’m starving. Then let’s find the receptacle for the sacred stone.”
They walked down Via Ripa Serancia, a narrow cobblestone street, which made its way toward the south-eastern edge of Orvieto. He glanced at a sign for a restaurant called, Le Grotte del Funaro, and then back at Genevieve. “What do you think?”
“Everything looks good in Italy.”
Tom opened the door, and they entered the small restaurant. Built into the mountain, the walls were a mixture of tunneled tuff and golden sandstone.
A waiter brought them a menu. Tom glanced at it, and then ordered the special of the day.
A new patron entered the restaurant. He had dark olive skin, and his face wore the dark unshaven stubble of two day’s growth. He was impeccably dressed in an Italian made suit. A slight bulge beneath his left breast pocket suggested the possibility he was carrying a holstered weapon. The man took a seat at the table farthest away and ordered something in fluent Italian. Tom noticed that he refused the complimentary glass of local Tuscany wine, opting for a glass of water instead. Tom couldn’t be sure, but the man appeared distracted, constantly glancing up in their directions.
Tom unfolded the tourist map. Inside he wrote, is the big Italian guy trailing us? He handed the note to Genevieve and said, “Where do you want to go next, beautiful?”
Genevieve ran her eyes across the tourist map. She casually glanced at the stranger and wrote a new message. “How about here?”
Tom looked at the message. He’s not interested in the food.
“We’ll keep our eye on him and try and lose him when we’re finished.”
She nodded.
A moment later, a solidly-built man as white as a ghost walked in and ordered a drink. He was wearing dark sunglasses, and took a seat four rows back from them.
The man removed his sunglasses, revealing somber blue-gray eyes.
Chapter Forty-Three
Kalahari Desert
The Cessna 172’s altimeter read 8,000 feet. It was a STOL – short take-off and landing – taildragger with an oversized propeller. One of the last models that still used two large wheels up front and a single one at the back, making it much more capable when it came to landing off the beaten track – or in this case, in the sand.
Through the windshield, Sam stared at the seemingly endless vista of sand dunes. From the air, it was easy to see how the Kalahari Pyramid had remained buried for so long. Next to him, Billie sat silently watching the landscape go by, her face a unique mix between wide-eyed wonder and truculence. For two people who’d spent most of their lives searching for the same ancient race, they struggled to spend more than a few hours together in the confined space of a small cockpit.
His eyes swept the flight instruments before darting across to the GPS. It showed them approaching the coordinates. He reduced the single engine back to an idle, dipped the nose, and commenced his descent.
Billie turned to face him.
She smiled, but her voice was belligerent. “Tell me again, why you sent Tom and Genevieve to a romantic medieval village in Italy to search for answers, while you and I get to take the deserted pyramid in the middle of a very hot nowhere.”
“What?” Sam asked. “I thought it would be nice for them. Besides, they’ve been working pretty hard without much of a break lately – in case you forgot, they spent most of last year trying to find and rescue you.”
“Sure. How long are you going to keep reminding me that I owe you one for getting me out of the Amazon jungle where I was being kept prisoner?”
“As long as I can.” He pushed the yoke forward, away from his chest, and the aircraft’s attitude dipped into a steeper rate of descent. “How long do you think I can get away with it?”
“Not long.”
He searched the area for a sign of the buried pyramid. It had only been eight weeks since they’d left the temple, but already any sign of the buried pyramid had been completely lost from the air. Sam glanced at the GPS marker and the large sand dune. He circled around, banking to the left in a continuous circle, until he’d reduced his altitude and was ready to set up for a final approac
h. He picked a spot at the nearly flat base, between two sand dune crests.
The wind was nonexistent, and he carefully took the Cessna down, easing it into the sand. He idled the Cessna to the end of the relatively flat area, and then spun the tail, setting it up for when he needed to take off later.
He shut down the engine and climbed out of the cockpit.
Billie followed him. Slipping her arms through her small backpack, she glanced across the two sand dunes that dominated the landscape. “Where’s the entrance?”
Sam placed a plastic cover on the engine’s air intake manifold to protect it from the sand. Then looked up at the largest sand dune to the east. “Over there, somewhere…”
She followed his gaze. “It’s buried under that sand dune?”
“No.”
“Then where is it?”
He switched on his hand-held GPS and waited for it to pick up enough satellites to locate the marker at the entrance of the buried Kalahari Desert temple. “It’s about half a mile past that sand dune.”
Billie looked at him and swore. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Afraid so.”
“Why didn’t you just land over there?”
“Because over there was full of thick sand, steep slopes, and we would have never gotten to take off again – assuming I didn’t kill us in the landing.” Sam shrugged. “If you want, I can give it a try?”
Billie clipped the strap on her backpack. “Come on, let’s get it over with.”
Chapter Forty-Four
It took nearly two hours to reach the entrance to the buried temple of the Kalahari Desert. Billie had let Sam set the pace. Once it was established, she matched him with a constant speed until the third dune, when his endurance wavered, and she passed him, setting a new pace. She was tall and lissome, climbing the huge sand dunes with the assertive gait of an athlete. Even wearing the shapeless, loose flowing Indigo blue Alasho and traditional robes worn by the Saharan Tuareg Nomads, she had a willowy elegance about her as she climbed.
Billie glanced at her own hand-held GPS, which indicated they were right upon the entrance. Her eyes scanned the rolling hills of sand around them. She cursed, and then waited for Sam to catch up. As he slowly made his way down the sand dune, she said, “The GPS says we’re here. Any idea where the entrance is?”
Sam pulled out his GPS and placed it next to hers. They were identical, and showed the entrance about five feet into the sand dune.
He removed a black folding shovel, the sort of thing soldiers used to dig trenches and latrines. “It looks like we have some digging ahead of us.”
“You knew it would be buried?”
“Of course. Nothing stays out in the open for very long in the Kalahari Desert.”
It took three hours of digging to clear away enough sand to reach the opening to the buried temple.
Billie stepped back and looked at the entrance.
It looked more like a mine shaft than a pyramid buried in sand. Three old railway sleepers formed the framework for the adit. It ran at a gradual decline. Inside, the makeshift timber set - used to support the roof - mingled with a series of posts, jacks and roof bolts used to prop up the sandy ceiling. They had been placed haphazardly, giving her the impression of an old gold mine built during the American gold rush era.
She glanced at Sam. “You think the tunnel’s still safe?”
“It doesn’t really matter if it’s not. We don’t have time to strengthen its foundations.”
“That’s the best you’ve got?”
Sam shrugged, and ducked under the crude adit, into the main tunnel. “Come on.”
Thirty feet inside, the angle of the tunnel changed from nearly horizontal to a steep decline. Another four hundred feet, and the tunnel separated into two directions. The original tunnel continued to descend at the same angle, while the second tunnel ran at the exact same angle, only at an incline instead.
Sam said, “It’s the same anatomy as the Pyramid of Giza.”
“Aren’t they all?”
“No. The Atlantis pyramid was different.”
“Good point. Come to think of it, so was Tunguska.” Sam brushed the beam of his flashlight down and up the main passages. “So where do you want to go?”
“Take the ascending passage. Let’s head to the king’s chamber.”
They moved quickly, climbing for another four hundred feet before the tunnel split in two again. This time the main tunnel remained at the constant thirty-degree angle toward the grand gallery, while the second one turned horizontally deeper into the pyramid’s core.
Billie shined her flashlight into the horizontal tunnel. “The queen’s chamber. Let’s keep heading upward.”
“Okay.”
At the top of the grand gallery, the passageway leveled out and they stepped into the king’s chamber.
The room was rectangular with a ceiling just short of twenty feet. It was nearly identical to the king’s chamber inside the rest of the temples, but with one exception – at the center of the room where Billie would have expected the sarcophagus to be, a single limestone pedestal stood.
She stared at the pedestal. “What’s that?”
“That’s where they stored the Death Mask – the strange golden skull through which the ancient Master Builders burned their black hallucinogen to control their laborers.”
The comment reminded Billie of her time spent as a captive under the same drug. “So, where’s the sarcophagus?”
“There isn’t one.”
“You’re kidding. I assumed the sacred stones would be positioned inside the sarcophagus or something.”
“Guess we’re going to have to find a new location.”
Billie shined his flashlight around the rest of the room, in slow, focused swaths. Two pictograms lined the east and west walls. One was a series of calculations in ancient Egyptian, and the other depicted the twin volcanic peaks of Mount Ararat.
She searched specifically for any indents or openings in the stonework where the sacred stone may be placed. After twenty minutes, she found nothing.
“You see anything?” Sam asked.
“Nothing.”
“Have you got another plan?”
She opened her backpack and removed the black light wand. “Yeah, let’s try this.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Billie ran the black light across the eastern wall. It showed nothing but darkness. She then tried the northern side. This time, it revealed a series of texts, written in the script of the ancient Master Builders.
There was a lot about their history. Many of the words regarding time were indecipherable to her, but the last sentence struck her.
She read it out loud. “The great kings may strive to maintain power with far reaching eyes. Ultimately it is only the queens who hold the key to salvation.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Sam asked.
“I have no idea.”
Sam repeated the words. “Okay, the great kings may strive to maintain power with far reaching eyes… must refer to the looking glasses found inside the king’s chamber of every temple we’ve been in.”
Billie thought about it for a second and agreed. “Using such devices to see over great distances and communicate with neighboring and far away temples must have given the ancient kings tremendous power.”
“But what about the queens?”
“We never found anything inside the queen’s sarcophagi. They were always empty, most likely waiting for the death of the kings.”
“Sure. But what if they were never intended to house the remains of ancient queens?”
Billie grinned. “I don’t believe it!”
“What?”
Billie cursed loudly. “I don’t believe it. The answer’s been staring us in the face all this time.”
“Are you just going to keep celebrating your intelligence or are you going to tell me what you think’s happened.”
She smiled. “The great kings may strive to m
aintain power with far reaching eyes. Ultimately it is only the queens who hold the key to salvation.”
“I’m reading the same thing you are…” Sam said. “But I’m not getting anything.”
“What about the queen’s chambers?”
“What about them? They were always empty.”
“That’s it!”
“What the hell are you talking about? We’ve been through the queen’s chambers. There’s nothing inside. The sarcophagi are empty, awaiting the king’s death for the queen to follow.”
“The queen’s sarcophagi. They’re empty. But they’re not waiting for the queen. They’re waiting for the stones.”
Sam swore. “You’re right, let’s go.”
They raced down the grand gallery.
Billie stared at the queen’s sarcophagus. Compared to the king’s, which was covered in pictographs and intricate stone carvings, this one appeared insipid and mundane.
Sam asked, “What do you think?”
She removed her backpack and took out the small iron pry bar. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Together they pried the stone lid off, sliding itonly a few inches to the side. Billie flashed her light inside. The final resting place was empty. If she’d uncovered it previously she would have assumed it was nothing more than an empty sarcophagus, waiting for a king or queen to die. But at its center was a single indent, slightly smaller than a typical house brick.
Sam passed her the black light wand. Billie took it and shined it into the narrow recess. It revealed the image of the Greek letter Theta and a single horse.
“Got you!” Her eyes widened. “Now what?”
“Insert the stone and see what happens.”
Billie looked at the small metallic casing that housed the sacred stone in a complete vacuum. She ran her fingers along the airtight latches.
Her eyes met Sam’s. “Are you ready?”
“Go for it.”
Billie removed the safety latches. A small gush of air rushed into the casing. She quickly removed the stone. It felt lighter than air. She carefully placed it into the recess at the bottom of the queen’s sarcophagus.
The Sam Reilly Collection Volume 3 Page 69
