Doug was a hobbyist at a different level from most people. He tinkered with the items he found on his morning drives, repairing discarded flat-screen televisions and harvesting components from scrapped computers. It was unbelievable what people would throw away. The previous weekend he'd rescued a Bose Wave radio with a CD player that only needed a lens cleaning to work again. They'd even tossed the remote with it.
Now he placed his newest find—what he referred to as "a box of many things"—on the floor beside his desk. This was something he'd picked up from the curb: A treasure left for him on heavy trash day, when he would make a circuit through local neighborhoods, on the hunt for discarded gems. "Scrap or score," he called it, though his buddy Jimmy preferred the term "junk driving." Either way, it was days like this that Doug lived for. The box of many things was his favorite kind of find.
He opened it and started pulling items out, inspecting them as he lay them on the table. He had a can of Raid at the ready—a first line of defense against a roach invasion. It happened, sometimes.
There was no sign of roaches or any other bugs as he continued to peruse his find, however. Only a growing sense of excitement.
From what he could tell, this was someone's "exit box." The sort of box that gets filled on a person's last day at the office. Maybe they were fired, or maybe they retired. Maybe they died. It was sad, but it happened. And inevitably a box filled with random office supplies and useless junk ended up on the curb, where someone like Doug could find it and mine it for anything valuable.
As expected, the top layer of the box had items that would have been on someone's desk—stapler, daily calendar, a stack of Post-its, that sort of thing. Doug sifted through this and set it aside.
The next layer was where he found the good stuff. Old electronics. A high-end scientific calculator, an old mobile phone, an even older PDA, and half a dozen things Doug had yet to identify. All of this was nested in a tangle of wires and cables, which made the box look intimidating to anyone other than Doug.
On his scale of scrap or score, this was definitely a score! Most of the electronics would be put to use right in Doug's own home office. The rest would be sold or scrapped, depending on what it was worth.
He turned back to the search, sifting through the wires and other debris, and paused.
There was a familiar object at the very bottom of the box, and it explained why the thing had been so much heavier than it should have been. Buried under the wires and old electronics was a beige, flat, fireproof safe, with a series of numbered dials on its front.
Doug grinned as he moved things aside, making space on his table to place the safe.
The dials on its front were a combination lock. Doug inspected these, trying to spot any wear on them that might provide clues to the combination. None of the dials looked particularly worn, however. No hints, then.
One by one Doug thumbed each dial through an entire rotation, coming back to the digit upon which it had started. Sometimes people were lazy, he knew, and rather than scramble the entire dial they'd move just one digit. After making his way through all six dials, however, the box remained locked.
Next, he tried a series of common combinations. Basic sequences, mostly, such as one through six, both forward and backward, or all zeroes, all ones, all nines. None of these worked.
He sighed then, and turned to his computer. Googling the make and model of the safe, he eventually found a YouTube video that showed the "drill point" for this model. He took the safe to the garage, chucked a bit into his power drill, and got to work.
It took awhile. The metal was tough and thick. Doug had to switch bits at one point, as the one he was using became dulled by the work. But after nearly half an hour he punched through. A puff of white powder emitted from the hole he'd just drilled. He worried, briefly, that it might be asbestos. But he shrugged this off, used a small shop vac to clear it.
He set the vacuum aside and used a flashlight, peering into the newly drilled hole. He could see the mechanism now, and as he once again turned each of the numbered dials, he could spot when the tumblers were set.
Six turns, and a click.
He opened the lid of the safe, his heart beating fast. He tried to keep his expectations low, but when it came to situations like this, where he'd really had to work for it, his hopes were always high.
And he was not disappointed.
Inside the safe, in a foam insert cut to fit precisely, was a round metal object. It had a golden hew to it and looked as if it might have been polished in the past. Now its luster was somewhat dimmed with age, though there was still some shine there.
It looked like a metal jelly donut, if he was being honest.
In the center of the circular piece of metal was a large, red stone. A jewel. The "jelly." And what a jelly!
Doug gingerly lifted the object out of the foam insert, feeling its weight in his palm. On the workbench in his garage, he had a swing arm with a light and magnifying glass, used for close-up work. Doug swung this around and clicked on the light. He inspected the object through the magnifier, turning it over in his hands, leaning in to see every detail.
There were designs etched into the metal. Doug didn't recognize anything, but they did seem somehow familiar. He thought that maybe he’d seen them on the History Channel, or somewhere like that. They encircled the red jewel, on both sides.
Examining the edges, Doug discovered a slotted hole. He turned the object over, looking into the hole through the magnifying glass. There wasn't much to see there, just a couple of slots extending like wings from a rounded hole in the center. He turned the object in his hands, determined to get a better look at the jewel.
As it turned, the light from the magnifier shone through the jewel, casting a red glow into the work table. Doug glanced down, and stopped.
On the table, projected from the jewel, was a strange series of squiggles, as well as three sets of characters similar to those etched into the metal. It looked like writing, though he couldn’t be entirely sure.
The squiggles, though … he knew what those were.
A map.
He adjusted the lamp and held the object—the metal donut, as he thought of it—tilting it and raising and lowering it under the light until the image became clear.
It was as if he were holding a small projector. The image on the table top became distinct and clear. A map, showing the contours of shores and rivers and mountains. He didn’t know where this was, but he knew it was a map.
He also knew, for absolute certain, that this was a huge deal.
He was going to be so rich.
Part I
Chapter One
PRESENT DAY, MANHATTAN
"Despite what films and television and thriller novels would have you believe," Kotler said, "archaeology isn't always an adventure."
He was standing onstage, overlooking a large crowd. Behind him, towering over the scene, were three large, red letters: TED. Above that was a large screen displaying a set of artifacts, photos and video of Kotler and other archaeologists at work at a dig site.
At one time he would have assumed his audience was comprised of all college students, with perhaps a smattering of academics and members of the scientific community. Most would have been there to tsk at him, at best, or to debunk him, at worst. That was how many of his public talks had gone, throughout his career.
The events of the past two years had changed all of that.
With many of his exploits still occasionally finding their way into news stories and YouTube videos, Kotler’s popularity had grown. He had a fanbase now, it seemed. The people coming to his talks were just as often armchair anthropologists and history enthusiasts as anything, and that was encouraging.
When he’d been invited to speak at TED, he’d considered it a high honor. There was perhaps no more prestigious stage on the planet, and certainly none more recognizable. This was science in the mainstream, and the audience was appreciative, even enthusiastic about the his
tory he’d helped bring to light.
He smiled. “Of course, sometimes it’s just as much of an adventure as you might expect from Indiana Jones or National Treasure.”
There was some laughter, which was gratifying, and Kotler continued.
"What's most exciting to archeologists, especially in anthropology and the study of human culture, is usually going to be pretty boring to everyone else. It's a lot of dusting, really." Onscreen was a montage of people hunched over stones, using small brushes to clear away sand and dirt from statues and pottery. "And a lot of stooping over."
More laughter.
"But it's what we're finding as we step back, as we take in the whole picture, that is really intriguing."
The image onscreen changed and morphed, as if a camera were pulling back to reveal a rotating globe. The continents were recognizable, and floating above all of them, like 3D projections emitted from the ground, were glowing images and video of archaeological sites, of artifacts, ancient temples, statues, and other objects. The effect was impressive, as if the entire world were alive with the discovery of history and ancient cultures.
“All around the world, from cultures as disparate and separate from each other as time and terrain can make them, we keep running into something remarkable. From cultures that should have nothing in common, we find commonality.”
Several of the images floating above the virtual terrain moved to the center of the screen, aligning with each other. Each image portrayed a repetitive stack of stones—vertical pillars with a large, horizontal stone as a roof.
"You probably recognize the image in the middle: Stonehenge, located in Wiltshire, England. Perhaps the most famous primitive stone structure to survive to modern day, and one that we most commonly associate with early Indo-European culture. These others," Kotler used a laser pointer to indicate the rest of the structures. "Their origins are more diverse, but still part of that Indo-European landscape. Ireland. France. Germany. Spain. This isn't surprising. You'd probably expect those regions to host structures like these."
Now the images enlarged, cycling through a set one at a time as Kotler pointed to each in turn. "But how about India? Jordan? Korea?" He turned back to the audience. "Similar structures, from the same era. And each appearing in cultures that should have known nothing of each other at the time they were built. And it doesn’t stop there. Let’s go further back.”
The presentation advanced, revealing a grid of images portraying hands painted on cave walls. Kotler pointed to each as he spoke. "France. Borneo. Argentina. Australia. North America." He faced the audience. “At a period in history when none of the humans who lived in these regions had the means or technology to travel the globe, they somehow shared commonalities. Not just structures, not just the impulse to make a mark on one’s environment. There are symbols—the rudiments of language—that appear across history and cultures, completely disconnected from each other.”
Another image replaced the hands, this time of a single symbol that grew to fill the screen. Kotler watched to gauge the reaction of the audience. There was silence, and he knew why. "The swastika,” he said. “Perhaps the most recognizable symbol of the Nazis party, and one we have come to associate with hate and horror on an unimaginable scale. But …"
The swastika onscreen pulled back and fell in line within another grid of images. The audience now saw the symbol represented in a variety of presentations, from simple carvings and sculptures to ornate medallions, from bits of broken clay pottery to gold-laden temple walls. Some appeared in ancient artwork, with motifs ranging from seahorses to eagles. Native American artwork appeared alongside a golden brooch from India.
"The swastika pops up throughout history. Nazi Germany, of course, put it to its most infamous use. It also appears in Russia, no surprise. Also unsurprising, it appears in the US, starting around the 1920s, and not always in anti-Nazi propaganda. But perhaps it would surprise you to see it appear significantly earlier in North American culture, among artwork from early Navajo tribes. These images," he indicated photos of Navajo baskets and blankets, each bearing the Swastika, "predate European settlement of the Americas by hundreds of years. In fact, this symbol is known as the ‘whirling logs,' among the Navajo, and it's tied to the story of a great hero. On a journey down what would become known as the San Juan River, in a hollowed out log, the hero encounters a whirlpool, where the San Juan meets the Colorado River. There he meets a Yéi, one of the Navajo pantheon of gods, who teaches him great wisdom. The swastika—or whirling log—is a symbol of great wisdom, given by the gods."
He let that soak in, and noted with pleasure the expressions of awe and astonishment among those in the audience he could actually see.
Kotler began pointing to images on the screen as they moved by. “Further back, we find the symbol in Iraq, Armenia, Korea, and among what we think of as the primitive cultures. The Anglo Saxons. The Thracians. Even in some neolithic artwork."
He turned and took in the audience. They were quiet, awed by what they were learning. He gave them a break.
The next image was a series of masks, medallions, statues, and paintings, all of which contained figures with one trait in common: Each was sticking out its tongue. To emphasize this, the famous photo of Einstein appeared, his hair wild and his tongue protruding.
There was a beat, and then the audience laughed, breaking the tension.
Kotler chuckled. "We don't really know why the raspberry became a universal symbol among ancient cultures, though we do know that it has a variety of meanings across modern and near-modern civilizations. In Western culture, it's considered a sign of disrespect, while in some Asian cultures it's a sign of chagrin and embarrassment. In Tibet, however, it's actually a sign of great respect. One man’s insult is another man’s honor.“ The audience chuckled.
He gestured back to the screen, where several examples of protruding tongues floated above their regions of origin.
"Here we have examples from Ancient Greece, India, France, New Zealand, even the Americas. If we exclude Dr. Einstein..." he paused and was rewarded with a laugh. "You'll note the similarities in all of these figures. Creatures with rounded features, almost like troll dolls, with prominent brows and protruding, pointed tongues. They are typically anthropomorphized beings—human and animal hybrids. We see the wings of birds, as well as tangles of tentacles. You might recognize the Gorgon, Medusa, her face framed by snakes and, of course, her tongue sticking out. The faces of these creatures are similar enough that they could be transposed from one culture to another and it might prove difficult to tell them apart."
Another grid of images, this time of gods from various pantheons, including an image of Jesus. "Here we see Osiris, Marduk, Adonis, Tammuz, Aliyan Baal, Viracocha, and of course, Jesus Christ. Each of these represents the concept of the ‘Dying-and-Rising deity.' That's the shorthand. But there's a more profound mystery here. In every recorded culture, in every pantheon, there exists a god who died and was resurrected. From the Sumerians and Babylonians, the Greek and Romans, the Celtic Druids and even the Mayans and Aztecs, they each have their god of resurrection."
"And there are other commonalities in these pantheons. Gods who not only served the same purpose—a god of harvests, and god of rains, a god of sexuality—but who very often shared histories. Osiris shares a similar origin story with Moses, for example. Both were envied by their siblings. Both had family members who feared for their safety and constructed floating vessels to send them down the Nile. Both are found and raised by Egyptian royalty. The order of these events and the ages of the heroes may differ slightly, but the details are all there."
The audience was wrapt, and Kotler could feel it. Even without being able to read their body language, he could sense what they were thinking, how they were feeling. “In anthropology, we refer to this as ‘comparative mythology.’ We are looking at these great cultures, at these pantheons and myths, to find the commonality. We want to know why these stories appear, again and again
, even in cultures that have never been in contact with each other. And we want to solve the mystery of origin, for the various cultures worldwide. Every ancient culture has a mythology of gods and great heroes. The biggest question we ask, when studying all of these, is where did they go? Were these myths based on actual, living beings? And if so, what happened to the gods, and why did they become extinct?”
On the immense screen, the globe reappeared, rotating slowly, with images and video rising from one horizon and disappearing over the other. The Earth was filling up with the images of archaeological dig sites and ancient artifacts.
"So many cultures. And every day, as we dig deeper into our past, we're discovering more. There is no doubt as to the similarities between each, but the thing that unites them remains a mystery. Where did they come from? How is it possible that they share so many similarities? There are these artifacts, for sure, but there are also shared mythologies. Similarities in oral traditions, in superstitions, in religious observations. Every major culture has a flood myth, for example. There are also myths of powerful prophets, deaths and resurrections, gods walking among men. Over and over, throughout history, we've discovered and rediscovered the hints of a civilization that remains shrouded and hidden. Somehow, in some way, a culture that unites all of humanity came and went, and we barely have any hint of it."
He had their attention. They were wrapt by what he was sharing. The excitement was growing.
"But that's changing. Every day, in disparate parts of the world, we're finding the traces of that extinct civilization. We are writing the history that was lost, with each new discovery.”
“Archaeology isn't always exciting. It isn't always about hidden temples or unknown dangers. But the small pieces count. They add up. And the more we learn of this lost world and culture, the more we learn about ourselves. We learn where we've come from, and what it means to actually be human. And that … that is as exciting as it gets. That's why archaeology and anthropology are so important—just as important as inventing new technologies and exploring new worlds. By looking deeper into our past, we're learning what it means to be human. And we will carry that knowledge forward, to shape our future. Thank you."
The God Extinction Page 2
