by Richard Bard
Battista’s brow furrowed.
Jake pointed to the symbols he had been working on when Battista walked in.
Battista looked up. “How does that solve the riddle?”
Jake fidgeted. “I’m still working on that. I believe each of the three must be pressed and held in a certain sequence, like entries on a computer keyboard or touch screen. I think I know the order, but I have only two hands. This is the first one.” Jake slid one of his hands over the first symbol. He felt the tingle of its vibration in his fingertips. He then placed his other hand on the second symbol, and the twin vibrations filled the room. It appeared as though neither Battista nor his men felt or heard anything.
Now for the grand finale, Jake thought. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but his gut told him it was going to be big. “Place your hand on the third symbol.”
Battista hesitated, his hand inches over the surface. Several of the guards had worked their way around the table and were now behind their boss.
Jake glanced at his watch, pleased that his tactics were working.
Battista caught the look and smiled. He pulled his hand away. “You’re stalling for time. Let me guess, you’re hoping to give your friends a chance to escape, to get through my men and back to the V-22 you have parked beneath the cliff. Yes?”
Jake hid his satisfaction. Tony and the girls had to be out by now. Battista was smug but only because he couldn’t know that the traitor Azim was likely dead and that his friends were safe from further treachery. Jake gave him his best I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about expression.
Battista simply smiled. “My dear Mr. Bronson, are you really so arrogant as to think you are the only one with the ability to plan ahead? I knew you would follow me here, for the sake of the woman and the girl. That’s why I left Ahmed behind.”
Ahmed?
The truth hit Jake like a sledgehammer to the chest. Ahmed, part of Battista’s tribe, best friend to the chieftain’s son!
Battista leered at Jake’s stunned expression. “Yes, Ahmed—our first successful implant subject. I left him in Venice to keep an eye on you and report on your progress. He’s done quite well, don’t you think?” Battista’s eyes glazed over. “For most of his short life, he has felt shame. His severe autism rendered him a babbling pariah amongst the village children. Only my son saw his potential. Through my son’s eyes, I saw it too. The implant worked wonders on him. You must agree; he’s become an amazing young man. My son would be proud of him. Now, in his righteous death, he shall fulfill Allah’s will.”
“His death?” Jake asked, his mind reeling over what he was hearing.
“He has already prepared the charges,” Battista said. “One minute after takeoff, he will blow up the plane—and your friends. He will martyr himself in the name of our faith. Nothing can stop him.”
Jake was stunned, his hands glued to the symbols.
Battista smiled. “Now why don’t we see if your theory is correct? We have all the time in the world.” He motioned one of his men over and told him to place his hand on the third symbol.
The guard stepped forward, his palm hesitating.
“Do it!” Battista ordered.
As soon as the guard’s hand made contact with the embossed surface, his face contorted in pain, and his mouth opened wide in a piercing scream. His body shook uncontrollably, and his hand stuck to the symbol as if it were trapped by an electrical current. A sickly hiss and foul-smelling smoke billowed up from around his hand. With a violent jerk of his shoulder, he ripped his hand away and fell backward to the floor. All of the tissue on the underside of his hand was gone, the bones of his fingers and palm exposed as if he had dipped it in a vat of acid.
The horrific sight galvanized the rest of the men. They raised their weapons at Jake.
Time slowed for Jake as his brain raced into action. His first thought was to use his mind to flip on the safeties of the guards’ weapons and buy himself a second or two. But what about the men behind him? If he let go of the obelisk and turned to face them, the drug would once again take control. He’d be riddled with bullets.
Jake did the only thing he could think of doing. A detached part of him wondered why he hadn’t thought of it earlier. Keeping his hands pressed on the first two symbols, he focused his thoughts on the third, pushing it down with his mind.
A deep vibration filled the chamber, feeling much like an earthquake. Tiny pebbles danced and bounced along the floor. A couple of Battista’s men stumbled while the rest shifted on their feet, their arms spread to the side to help maintain their balance. One of the men braced himself against the wall and brought his rifle to bear on Jake’s back.
“Hold your fire!” Battista commanded, his voice rattling with the quake. He apparently saw that Jake had been right, that he had used his telekinetic abilities to move the symbol and activate something within the obelisk. Battista’s need to solve the most ancient mystery of his tribe overcame his desire to see Jake dead, though he watched Jake with the predatory patience of a king cobra in a terrarium, biding his time to strike at the mouse that shivered nearby.
Jake felt a pulse coming from deep within the obelisk, like the idling hum of an immense turbine. He tried to pull his hands away, but they wouldn’t budge. They were stuck to the surface, captive to whatever he had triggered.
The obelisk warmed to his touch, and one by one each of the etched images and embossed symbols on its surface vanished, sucked into its inky blackness as if they had never existed. The small, three-inch square etched in its center was the only remaining blemish in the polished black finish.
The square shifted upward, protruding from the surface a fraction. He leaned forward for a closer look. A three-dimensional object rose upward, revealing itself to be another upside-down pyramid, as if the obelisk was giving birth to a mini copy of itself. It continued to rise until it was several inches above the table, hovering at eye level as if it were suspended on invisible strings.
Gasps from the men around Jake filled the room. Several of them stepped backward. But Battista held his ground. His eyes were filled with wonder.
The tiny pyramid righted itself, floating to a position in front of Jake. It spun slowly on its axis. He caught faint glimpses of geometric symbols and numbers appearing randomly across its surface, only to fade away with each spin. It reminded Jake of the Magic 8 Ball he had when he was a kid.
The mini pyramid spun faster, its edges blurring like a hypnotist’s charm. Jake couldn’t peel his eyes from it. His scalp started to tingle, and his hair lifted from static electricity. In a rush, a dark beam of light shot from the tip of the pyramid into Jake’s forehead.
His head whipped backward, and his entire body went stiff. It felt like his head was being overfilled with air, ready to burst any second, while the black beam probed every corner of his brain. His mind was invaded with a flash of numbers, data, and images. The rest of the world disappeared from his consciousness, and he felt himself drifting hopelessly in a black void of streaming information. It felt like every neuron in his brain was firing simultaneously in response to the massive exchange of data between him and the pyramid. Whatever was happening, most all of it remained buried in his subconscious—with the exception of one clear and frightening message:
Judgment day is coming, and you are the cause.
The information crushed him as surely as if the entire mountain had collapsed on his shoulders.
The data flow ended as abruptly as it had begun, and the obelisk released its grip on his hands. The little pyramid still hovered in front of him, but it had stopped rotating. Jake reached up with one shaky hand and wrapped his fingers around it. The force keeping it aloft was severed by Jake’s touch, and his hand dropped several inches from its unexpected weight. It was cool to the touch.
The heavy thrumming from within the obelisk faded away, and the violent, earthquake-like shaking in the chamber stopped. Like a drunk at the bar, Jake swayed back and forth, one hand holding the f
ist-sized pyramid in front of him, the other flat on the table to keep his balance.
Jake felt his face flush. His thoughts filled him with horror and self-loathing. “Dear God, what have I done?”
The circle of men stood stock still around him, mouths open, their wide eyes staring at the object he held in his hand. Battista stepped forward. “What are you talking about?”
Jake stared dully at the pyramid, oblivious to Battista and the men around him. “They’re coming. Because of me, we’re all dead. Everyone. Everywhere. Dead.”
Battista backhanded Jake across the face. “What are you talking about?”
Jake shook off the blow. He sorted through the images and information that had been flash-dumped into his brain. His overwhelming sense of hopelessness gave way to a reluctant acceptance of his fate. Of the world’s fate. After a few moments, he leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Don’t you see? Didn’t you hear it?”
Battista didn’t respond, so Jake continued. “This object is a kiosk, one of several placed around the world to determine when man’s intellect has advanced to the state that we might be capable of interstellar travel.” The pieces of the puzzle were coming together now in Jake’s mind, making his voice more confident. “No, they don’t care if we can make space shuttle trips into orbit or send probes to Mars. That’s child’s play. They want to know when we’re ready for real Star Trek kind of stuff. You know what I mean?” He changed his voice to mimic Captain Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. “To boldly go where no man has gone before!”
Battista scowled. “What—”
“Hah!” Jake said, ignoring the man. “And these geniuses—you know, the three humanoid guys in the picture—they figured that the best way to determine when we were ready to slip the surly bonds of Earth would be by monitoring our intellect, our smarts, the power of our minds. If we could solve the riddle of the obelisk, then the human race must be ready. Get it? They probably thought their plan was foolproof.”
Jake paused, and his breathing slowed. His voice was hollow when he spoke again. “Great idea, until Mr. Super Savant, Mr. Aberration—yours truly—came along and screwed things up by figuring out their puzzle a thousand years too soon.”
***
Battista kept his voice calm, as he would with a confused patient, hiding his own uncertainty at what had transpired here. “Are you trying to say that this obelisk was left here by beings from another planet?”
Jake nodded, his glassy eyes downcast.
“And because we activated their obelisk, they will now return?”
“Yes.”
He studied Jake, disturbed by the American’s demeanor if not his words, searching for a clue to what was either an extravagant deception or the ravings of a delusional mind. What he saw in the American was a man devoid of hope. Battista probed further. “And then what happens?”
Jake raised his head and looked at Battista, past the hatred, past the evil and fanaticism, and connected with the man for the first time since this entire ordeal had begun. “Then, based upon their confirmation that we as a race have learned to overcome the violence that is instinctual to our nature—which they observed through their studies of our ancient ancestors—they will guide us in our efforts to become part of a peaceful federation of thriving planets within our galaxy.”
Battista’s head tilted to the side, as if he wasn’t sure what he was hearing. His eyes narrowed. “And if we haven’t overcome our violent tendencies?”
Jake blew out a breath. “Extermination.”
Battista backed up a step, unable to mask his disbelief. After several beats he said, “You are quite creative, Mr. Bronson, I’ll give you that. But we both know this is nothing more than an elaborate charade.” He scratched his goatee. “Let’s just suppose for a second that you believe everything you are saying. Just how is your success with the, ah, aliens’ puzzle supposed to be communicated back to their world? Do they have hidden cameras here in the chamber or huge radar dishes the size of football fields waiting to beam the information across space?”
Jake didn’t respond. He didn’t care whether Battista believed him or not. According to his watch, they were both going to be dead in about seven minutes anyway.
“No, I don’t think so,” Battista said, his confidence growing. “Even if what you say is true—and of course it cannot be—the time has long since passed for there to be any danger to us helpless earthlings. The object is over twenty-five thousand years old. Sure, it had a little residual power left in its core to allow you to complete the test, but that is clearly the end of it.”
Jake grasped onto Battista’s words. What if he was right? The whole thing was so far-fetched. How could it be true? Perhaps he was delirious, hallucinating. The wounds on his arms and thigh burned; the strips from Francesca’s white dress were soaked through with blood. His head pounded. He was physically and mentally exhausted, and he had failed to find a way out of here so he could warn his friends about Ahmed.
Battista’s smile faded, replaced by his default sneer. “Step away from the obelisk and place your hands in the air.” The men surrounding Jake straightened at the order, their weapons once again leveled.
Wary, Jake lifted his hands and stepped backward. He staggered as the effects of the drug once again washed over him.
The obelisk suddenly began rumbling again, more loudly now, more insistently. It was accompanied by a high-pitched warbling vibration that bounced off the walls and assaulted Jake’s nerves. The entire pyramidal chamber began shaking, and the swirl of light-emitting crystals on its walls began flashing in an accelerating pattern that spiraled repeatedly up to the point in the ceiling. Jake stumbled to the floor, his fingers still locked around the small pyramid. It grew warm in his hand.
Battista and his men appeared to be frozen in place by the oscillating sound. Like figures in a wax museum, they stood unmoving with their weapons raised, though they seemed to be aware of what was going on around them. The rapid rise and fall of their chests was the only sign that they were alive. Their eyes were full of fear, transfixed on the obelisk. Jake spun around to follow their gaze.
The pyramid had risen out of the floor, hovering like its miniature offspring had before. It righted itself and began to spin, picking up speed with each rotation. Jake shuffled backward, still on his knees, realizing that unlike the men around him, he was still able to move. He thought it must have something to do with the little pyramid he held in his grip. He stood up and shoved it deep into the baggy pocket of his dishdashah.
The obelisk was spinning at an incredible speed, its visage blurred to a black void in the center of the chamber. A mini tornado of dust and sand from the floor swirled into a vortex beneath it. The warbling vibration echoed off the walls and continued to rise in pitch, with the flashing light crystals on the walls seemingly matching its pattern.
Jake took two faltering steps toward the exit. He hesitated as he passed Battista’s rigid frame. There was no fear in the man’s eyes, only unmitigated hatred. Frustration and rage spewed from every pore of his being toward Jake.
A crackling buzz pulled Jake’s attention back to the obelisk. A laser column of blinding light burst from the top of the spinning mass and shot straight up into the ceiling. Jake raised his hand against the intense brightness, his eyes squeezed closed. There was a deafening whoop and a rush of wind that popped his ears.
The room stopped shaking and fell silent.
Jake opened his eyes to see a perfectly smooth hole—the size of a sewer tunnel—bored into the ceiling and up through the mountain. He stepped under the opening and stared up the impossibly long tube. The view at the end was filled with stars.
The obelisk was gone, on its way home with its message.
A shiver of movement by one of the soldiers brought Jake’s attention back to earth. Battista’s eyes blinked; the paralyzing effects of the obelisk were fading. Jake needed to run, but he refused to leave while Battista still drew breath.
&nb
sp; He saw his grenade clipped to the bandolier of one the paralyzed guards. He grabbed it, held it up to Battista’s face, and said, “Like I said, asshole, Judgment Day.” Battista’s eyes went wide. His paralyzed lips twitched in a vain effort to scream, and a small drip of saliva slid into his beard.
Jake removed the comm unit from Battista’s belt, stuffed the grenade in its place, and pulled the pin.
Then he turned and sprinted toward the exit.
Chapter 48
Hindu Kush Mountains, Afghanistan
TONY WATCHED AS FRANCESCA sat on the V-22’s stiff, inward-facing chair across from him, her face buried in her trembling hands, her shoulders quaking beneath her sobs. Marshall was beside her, one arm draped over her shoulders, his face a mask of despair. Ahmed sat alone at the front of the plane, just behind the cockpit, his backpack cradled in his lap. He appeared confused, anxious.
Tony clenched his fists. Jake was gone, surely killed or captured by now. In the end, he’d given himself up to save them all. You wanted to make a difference, pal, and you sure as hell did.
He glanced down at his watch. Three minutes until detonation. They needed to put some distance between them and the mountain that towered above them before it erupted and buried them like Pompeii under Mt. Vesuvius.
Tony flinched from a stab of pain in his shoulder.
“Sorry,” Lacey said as she dropped another blood-soaked wad of gauze onto the floor. She was sitting next to him, her eyes moist. An open first-aid kit lay on her lap as she re-dressed the nasty wound on Tony’s shoulder. Sarafina sat on Tony’s lap, her saucer eyes staring blankly. She refused to let go of him, clinging to his chest like he was her favorite stuffed animal. It tugged at his heart, reminding him of his own daughters.
The heel of his boot tapped the ground anxiously as the rest of the team clambered up the rear ramp. Juice was first in. He had Willie’s scorched body draped over his shoulder. No man left behind…except Jake.
