“Then who was the dead guy?” Wade asked.
“I don’t know yet,” Jake responded.
As Jake continued the story, Wade typed the information into his computer. Because of his much sought-after expertise in computer architecture and information technology, Wade had been granted elevated network privileges to government databases that only a select few even knew existed. Jake was never sure if Wade’s unique access was actually permitted or surreptitiously obtained. Either way, he was always the best source for hard to find information.
After several more strokes on the keyboard, Wade stopped to read over a page of text.
“This is it,” he mumbled as he scrolled through the information. “April 8, 1964. GT-1 was a checkout flight to test how well the new Gemini spacecraft functioned atop a modified ICBM, the Titan II. Unmanned mission, three days, sixty-four orbits. There was no attempt to reclaim the vehicle, which burned up upon reentry somewhere between Africa and South America. The second and final unmanned mission was launched nine months later on January 19, 1965. That capsule was fished out of the ocean and is currently on display at the Air Force Space Museum at Cape Canaveral. All ten manned flights were successful and accounted for. If you really found a Gemini spacecraft, GT-1 is your only option.”
“Unless it was launched from somewhere else,” Jake suggested. “I’m sure there were lots of missile sites around in those days. You said it was mounted to an ICBM. It could have been launched from any number of places.”
“I wouldn’t debate you on that,” Wade replied, “and I’m no expert on the early space program, but I think it would’ve been pretty hard to pull off such a thing without the NASA infrastructure at the Cape and Houston. You’re talking forty plus years ago. Technology was archaic and not widespread. Without NASA’s orbital tracking and relay communications stations, it would have been hard to pull off a successful mission.”
“There’s another chapter to this story,” Jake said, “that’s just about as odd.” He held up the journal. “I think this belonged to a young lady I met at the crash site. I’m guessing she was the one who unearthed the capsule.”
Wade took it from Jake and examined the badly cracked binding.
“It’s Russian,” he said, opening the first page.
“It belonged to a man named Dmitri Petrovich, a Russian ex-patriot who studied animal migrations throughout Western Asia.”
“That doesn’t sound very spacey,” Melanie added.
“No it doesn’t,” Jake agreed. “We have no clue what the connection is between the spacecraft and this journal. What we do know is that Dmitri wrote about finding something of biblical significance. He was a zoologist and based on a couple of sketches he made in the journal, we think it may have been some ancient animal.”
“The missing link?” Wade quipped.
“Something like that.”
“I’m afraid you’ve lost me.” Melanie shrugged.
“Jake here is a Christian,” Wade explained, “a believer in the literal, exact, word-for-word text of the Bible. Creation and a young earth are part of that.”
“A young earth?” Melanie was obviously unfamiliar with the term.
“Thousands of years,” Wade answered, “not millions.”
“But isn’t that absurd?” she spoke candidly. “I remember in science class talking about carbon dating and evolution and stuff.”
“That is what’s taught in most schools,” Jake acknowledged, “but it’s not supported by the Bible and it lacks scientific credibility.”
“What?” Melanie exclaimed. “The Bible is not a history book. I mean it’s got some good things in it, but no one was around when dinosaurs roamed the earth.”
Wade looked at Jake and winked. He knew the discourse that was about to follow.
“There’s a different history,” Jake replied, “which is fully supported by the geologic record but not widely known. Secular academics, popularized by the mainstream media, have kept this truth from the public. I certainly don’t want to come across as preachy, and I don’t have the time to go into all the details today. Look up creation science sometime on the Internet. There are good websites like Answers in Genesis that offer some eye-opening information. Wade’s heard my pitch before, and I think even his ice is beginning to crack.”
“I don’t believe I came from an ape, if that’s what you mean,” Wade replied.
“That would explain a lot,” Melanie shot back with a grin.
“Ouch.” Jake chuckled at her quick response. “I see you’ve met your match, Wade.”
“Uh hum,” Wade cleared this throat. “Moving right along, tell us more about this journal.”
“You mind if I sit down first?” Jake grimaced.
“Sure, sure,” Wade replied, motioning to a small table with chairs sandwiched between the cube farm. “I want to hear how you got yourself shot. I took a bullet in the shoulder in ‘Nam. Hurts like the devil, doesn’t it?”
“Fortunately the bullet just grazed me. The pain is mostly from the stitches pulling every time I move.”
When they were seated around the table, Jake opened the journal to the pages, showing the map that Cindy had displayed in the conference room onboard the ship. Wade and Melanie scooted forward to have a look.
“I hope you have some experience with maps, or rather, mapping,” Jake began. “We have a bunch of hand drawn lines and distances but don’t have a clue what they describe.”
“Let’s take a look,” Wade said, removing a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket. “Melanie actually has more experience with geographic surveying than I do. She worked on Galileo for a few years.”
“Galileo?” Jake quizzed her.
“The European Union’s GPS,” Melanie answered. “I still work for them a little on the side and have access to their network. If you have a map with distances and known points of interest, we might be able to narrow your search field. It all depends of course on the accuracy of the original map.”
For several minutes, the couple sat and scrutinized the image, pointing and commenting in a somewhat cryptic dialogue. When they had reached some agreement, Wade handed the journal back to Jake.
“I think we can do this,” Wade nodded. “It’s like Melanie said. If the distances between those points of interest are anywhere near correct, we should be able to get you pretty close. One thing that works to your advantage is the relative heights of the mountain ranges. Of course we’re making a lot of assumptions here, namely that this person was accurate in his measurements, but we’ll gladly take a stab at it.”
“Thanks, guys,” Jake smiled. “Anything you can give me is way more than I have now.”
In his remaining time with them, Jake described in detail the events that had occurred in Mongolia. The only thing he left out was the real purpose for his coming back to Russia ahead of schedule. If there were trouble ahead, he didn’t want to pull anyone else into it. With a final thank you and congratulations, Jake pulled on his coat and buttoned it almost to the neck. The climate of St. Petersburg was more temperate than other parts of Russia, but having just come from the Gobi desert, he was not ready for the cold breeze blowing in from the Gulf of Finland.
It was dark by the time he made it back to the city central and located the street from the address that Sam had given him. As he walked along the sidewalk, which followed the Neva River, he took in the brilliant hues of the vividly painted buildings illuminated by bright floodlights. St. Petersburg was truly a beautiful city with architecture unrivaled anywhere in Europe. With the system of canals running through the city, it was easy to understand its nickname, the Venice of the North.
As he reached the housing district toward the end of street, Jake began to read the building numbers. Not all of them had numbers, but he could extrapolate between the ones that were present to determine when he was close. With his back against the cast iron railing that paralleled the bank of the Neva, he considered a dull gray apartment complex at the cor
ner of two connecting streets. The building was five stories tall with a small playground beside it. A column of blue awnings covered the windows in the centermost section of the structure. Unfortunately there was no building number anywhere within view.
As he was about to cross the street to see if he could find someone to ask, a man who had been approaching slowly from the lower end of the street finally reached his location. Jake turned to give him a polite nod, but when he did, he was shocked to see the weathered face of the man from the hotel lobby.
“Good evening,” the stranger greeted him warmly in English. The deep lines spreading from the corners of his eyes crinkled as he spoke. His voice was strong and deep. “Is there something I can do to help you?”
Jake studied him for a moment and then replied, “I saw you at my hotel this morning.”
“Yes, I remember you,” he said extending his hand. “My name is Stefan Abramov.”
“Jake Evers.”
“It’s a lovely night, Mr. Evers, isn’t it?”
“Yes it is,” Jake responded with growing unease. “Do you live in this neighborhood?”
“No, I live on the opposite side of the city. I followed you here.”
“What?” Jake wasn’t certain he had heard the man correctly, and if he had, the implication from such a statement drove a chill down his spine.
Stefan saw the fear in Jake’s eyes and smiled in a disarming manner. “Don’t be afraid. I’m an old man with no desire to harm anyone. I was sent here to help you.”
“Sent,” Jake raised an eyebrow, “by whom?”
“In good time,” the man spoke. “You can trust me. Like you, I am a servant of the Most High.”
“How do you know this about me?” Jake asked, still not abandoning his guard. “How do you know anything about me?”
“Am I wrong? Are you not a Christian?”
“Very much so, but to my knowledge, you and I have never met. I’m not here under the best circumstances and honestly, I find your knowledge of me a bit concerning.”
“Understandable,” Stefan nodded. “Given the same circumstances, I would feel no different.”
“Then please explain to me why I shouldn’t be afraid.”
Stefan took a long breath and rested his hip against the railing. “You must forgive me,” he said. “I am not as young as I once was, and even with your apparent injury, you are hard for an old man to keep pace with.”
Jake glanced down. There was no mystery in Stefan’s acknowledgment of his injury. Over the past few blocks, he’d been clearly favoring his good leg.
“You made an interesting statement,” Stefan continued, looking thoughtfully at his younger companion. “You said that you are very much a Christian. I like that,” he smiled. “A deeper meaning than most can understand, even among your Christian friends I would imagine. God calls us to his salvation and then to his service. Many accept salvation but then live their lives apart from his will, the consequence of an age of relative ease.”
Jake studied the man’s weathered features and tattered clothes as he spoke. It was clear that he was someone who had not known an easy life. He also noticed that Stefan’s left arm hung to one side, and he assisted its movement with his right hand. An old injury that had gone untreated, he guessed.
“Why were you waiting for me at the hotel?” Jake persisted in a tone that he hoped would not be disrespectful.
Stefan closed his eyes for a moment but then looked up at Jake with a narrowed, intense gaze. “I hope this doesn’t sound strange to you, but I was praying this morning, on my knees in my apartment. As I prayed, a vision of your hotel came into my mind, and in my heart I heard a voice telling me to go. I thought for a moment that I had fallen asleep and dreamt it all, which is not uncommon at my age. I had passed the hotel many times before so I realized where it was. I went there early this morning, sat in the lobby, and waited. I was about to give up, thinking that maybe I really had dreamed it all up, but then I saw you and felt an unmistakable hand on my heart. ‘Follow him.’ I could almost hear the words, so I obeyed.”
Jake’s eyes widened and he found himself at a complete loss for words. He started to speak, but instead he just stared blankly at the man. Stefan’s response had been completely unexpected. “I’m sorry…” Jake suddenly shivered without completing his thought. He felt lightheaded.
“The temperature is dropping,” his companion said, placing his arm around him. “You are cold and you’ve pushed too hard on your injury. Let us get out of this weather before we both freeze to death. I will buy you a cup of coffee. There is a place not far from here. Maybe together we can see what it is that God wants us to do.”
18
Anchored into the rocky shoreline gradually rising above Sochi, the largest Russian resort city and host of the 2014 Winter Olympics, Adlerhorst Castle gripped the ledges like some hideous monster struggling to reach the top. Although the multi-building structure was not old by European standards, its architect had respected the conventions of an early age when drafting its lines. The bleak gray stone that formed its walls and towers gave the castle an austere appearance, a feature very much esteemed by its owner.
Adelbrecht Engel sat alone in his study surrounded by floor to ceiling shelves containing volumes of books on every subject that had interested him. A musty smell of old paper and leather bindings mingled with a faint wisp of pipe tobacco. Taken out of context, it could easily have been mistaken for any of the great libraries of Europe. Thick oak banisters and handrailings outlined a balcony which encircled the room. Beneath them, meticulous reproductions of famous marble statues dotted the main floor along with curio cabinets filled with obsessively acquired treasures.
Engel, an older, well-groomed man, sat at his desk holding a centuries old vellum sheet that was sparsely illuminated in tarnished silver and gold. On the left side of the vellum was an image of an ancient vintner surrounded by trellises of woven vines. In his hand, the vintner held a large cluster of red grapes, one of many which dotted the trellises. The Latin text to the right of the picture was written in medieval script and flowed down the full length of the page.
“Occultus subter montis,” he read aloud, “hidden beneath the mountain.”
Looking up from the text, he turned his attention to a large floor globe positioned beside his chair. With his index finger, he slowly traced its surface until finally stopping on a region in Eastern Europe. Tapping the location, he turned back to the page.
“Specialis temporis, the secret of the ages.”
A sigh flowed from his lips as he reached for his glass of single malt scotch. After a long drink, he leaned back in his chair and allowed his gaze to fall upon a small carved object resting at the edge of his writing pad. He picked up the figure and rolled it in the palm of his hand. Who could really measure its worth? Who could understand its power? At his age, power was all that was still worth living for, and he intended to enjoy it for all eternity. The idol had cost him a fortune, but to possess it, he would have given everything he owned.
As he returned the figure to his desk, a red light popped up on the intercom box in front of him.
“Yes.”
“Rune Dietrich is on the line.”
“Put him through.”
“We are on schedule,” the professional voice spoke a few seconds later. There was no exchange of introductory greetings, which Rune was neither inclined to give nor was his boss known to expect. “I have made arrangements to acquire the item. When it is in my possession, I will let you know.”
“And the competition?” Engel asked with concern.
“I will handle them as well,” Dietrich assured him.
“Leave no loose ends.”
“I have compiled the list. There will be no witnesses.”
“Phone me when it is done and proceed immediately back here with my item.”
“Yes sir.”
Leaning back in his chair once more, Engel cupped his hands behind his head and smiled. He w
ould soon be on the trail to the greatest discovery of all time. Once it was in his possession, the only thing left would be to determine exactly how to destroy it.
19
The apartment complex which Jake had located was still in view of the coffee shop that Stefan had selected for them. It was comforting to be out of the cold night air, and his sore leg appreciated the rest. After a few awkward minutes, two steaming cups of coffee arrived at their table along with a small plate of pastries.
“Since we are both puzzled,” Stefan began, “would you permit me to ask you a question?”
Jake nodded.
“Why have you come to Russia?”
Jake adjusted his injured leg as he contemplated where to begin his story. “I met a girl in Mongolia last week,” he said. “I was doing some paleontological excavation work there. That’s one of the things that my company does. For the past few weeks, we’ve been working with the Russian and Mongolian Academies of Science on a dig in the Gobi.”
“Dangerous work,” the older man suggested, noticing the brownish red stain that had formed above Jake’s knee as he adjusted his position.
“Not again,” Jake sighed. He gripped the fabric and felt the stained area
“You’ve been in an accident,” Stefan observed.
“It was no accident,” Jake replied shaking his head. “I was shot trying to save the young woman that I’ve come here to find. She discovered something out in the Gobi that shouldn’t have been there. Apparently others are willing to kill for it. I need to make sure she made it back safely. I left her behind so I could draw the gunmen away. I was shot, lost a lot of blood, and then lost consciousness.
“I have no idea what’s become of her. A call was made from the phone I gave her to an address here in St. Petersburg, just across the street in fact. The name on the address is Petrovich. I was about to ask around to see if anyone knew her, but then you showed up.”
A look of concern suddenly came upon Stefan’s face. He leaned forward and peered out the window toward the apartment.
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