by Brandt Legg
“It won’t be enough. He’s got us beat on the tech side; he makes the damn stuff for us. We need to implement the plan. Booker has to be terminated, or we’ll lose this thing.”
“Then we should bring Gaines in, now. We’ll get him into one of the Virginia safe-houses, bury him so deep undercover that even I can’t find him.”
“Then we’ll never unlock the Eysen,” Jaeger said, impatiently.
“I’m not convinced of that. We can put a team of experts on it –“
“We’ve been over this. It’s not just brainpower we need. According to the Vatican intercepts, only Gaines can do it,” Jaeger paused. “Are you willing to risk that?”
Silence.
“We must take Booker out, now,” Jaeger said.
“I’ll talk to the President.”
After the call, Jaeger dispatched orders with the efficiency of a battle commander. Booker had to be located; he had been a priority for the past week, but now more people were assigned. “He must be hunted like the snake he is,” Jaeger said. “Look in the dark places, but find him!” Jaeger was confident; he’d get the approval for the kill. This was a Scorch And Burn mission, after all. More personnel were moved into San Miguel, mostly as cover. Only the most elite agents could handle this case; the rest were “window dressing.”
The NSA had two weaknesses he’d discussed with superiors: the finite number of highly trained employees, and reliance on outside vendors for their technology. An unknown number of those suppliers were secretly owned or controlled by Lipton-affiliated companies. No one knew just how many, but Jaeger feared the number was a dangerously high percentage.
Another weakness, far more dangerous than the other two, might also exist. Booker Lipton could be listening to the NSA. What if he knew everything we were doing, or even some of it? Those thoughts had been stealing his sleep for several nights. Booker Lipton was too dangerous to be allowed to live.
“Do you know what Genghis Khan would do in this case?” Jaeger asked his lead operative.
“Is this a trick question?” the operative asked, used to Jaeger’s military strategies.
“Genghis Khan would destroy every single company Booker owns.”
“Couldn’t that harm the NSA? Even the entire U.S. intelligence community could suffer at the loss of his firms, not to mention defense and the U.S. lead in technology.”
“That’s just it, Khan would not care, because the destruction of his enemies was the source his power. His boldness terrified the world; and through it, he was able to unify vastly different tribes.”
The operative stared at his boss, unsure what was expected of him.
“I’m concerned that killing Booker Lipton may not be enough. You’ve read the reports. This is not some ordinary businessman. He is hated and feared, ruthless and brilliant. He seems obsessed with nothing other than obtaining power.”
“And the Eysen.”
“Same thing.”
The operative nodded hesitantly.
“I’m afraid he has some doomsday scenario that his staff will implement in the event of his death. Something that could turn the NSA and the entire Intelligence Community inside out.”
“Is that possible?”
“Anything is possible with Booker’s money. I’m convinced the man wants to take over the world,” Jaeger said, as he started to jump rope.
The operative raised an eyebrow, wondering if his tightly wound boss might just be coming a bit unwound.
“Gale Asher is vital,” Jaeger said between jumps, “to keeping this thing under control. Whatever happens with Booker, we need her. Do whatever it takes to find her. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m still not sure her split with Gaines wasn’t staged.” Jaeger’s breathing was more labored. “Something hasn’t been right about her involvement all along. Get Senator Monroe on the phone.”
Chapter 17
Rip stared at the Eysen, trying to process what he had seen, unable to understand how it was possible. What was this thing really?
The knock at his bedroom door sounded like a distant cannon blast. He scrambled to get the Eysen and the Odeon back into his pack, and stuffed the chip into his pocket.
“You alive in there?” Dyce asked, opening the door.
“Yeah, working.”
“Huh, well, you look like you need a drink,” Dyce extended a glass of something strong.
“No, thanks. I need to focus.”
“Yeah. We thought you’d want to see yourself being killed on TV.”
Rip followed him out to the other room.
“Here it comes,” Elpate said.
Rip stared as the screen showed him running; then pulling out a gun. He flinched as he watched federal agents gun him down. The aerial footage wasn’t entirely clear, but it sure looked like him. They zoomed in and out, repeated the final seconds several times, before switching to a clear image of a body covered in a sheet being loaded into an ambulance.
“Dude, are you dead?” Elpate feigned concern, looked impressed at the joint he’d been smoking, then burst out laughing.
Rip was not amused.
“Why do they want everyone to believe you’re dead?” Dyce asked.
“The real question is who do they want to think I’m dead?” Rip went over the list in his mind. Assuming it was the NSA that had faked the story, they would be hoping to convince . . . Booker? The Vatican? The FBI? Larsen? Gale? It was the last name that worried him the most. At first, he felt sad that she would think he’d been killed, and that surprised him. But a bigger concern took over: what would she do if she thought he had died? She’d go straight to Monroe with the Clastier Papers.
Would Monroe give them to the Vatican or the NSA? The only other copies were in the secret room at the Asheville house. Even if they had survived up until now, Gale had surely told someone about them. But he had the letters and the Eysen. And the only people in the world who knew his location were in the same room.
“We need to talk,” Dyce said. “How long are you planning on staying?”
“As long as I can,” Rip replied, looking toward Elpate.
“Hey, it’s cool with me as long as no one comes looking for you,” Elpate said.
“Who is likely going to come looking?” Dyce asked.
“You saw the news. Maybe only the people who produced that little docudrama.”
“Okay. I’m gonna hang for a few days to see how things go, make sure my plane is cool. Then I’m heading back to the states,” Dyce said. “Elpate, you good with Rip hiding out here for a while?”
“As long as you need, my friend,” Elpate said. “Unless you start sleeping in a coffin and stuff like that.” He choked out a smoky laugh.
“Thanks,” Rip said, eyeing his room. “I’m going to get back to work.”
“Yeah,” Dyce said. “I’ll come get you if there are any new developments. I’m just glad your dad knows you’re really alive.”
Back in his room, although anxious to get back into the Eysen, Rip hesitated. The mention of his father made him remember that his dad hadn’t met them at the airstrip because he was under surveillance. The NSA would still be watching him, and looking into all his friends. How long would it take to find the connection to Dyce, then discover Dyce was a pilot, then locate his plane?
“God damn it, will I ever be safe?” Rip said to himself, as he moved the curtains to look outside. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Sooner or later, like Clastier, they’ll find me and I’ll be killed because of the Eysen.” He took it out of his pack; it felt heavier, the little black ball that he searched for forever and now was trapped by.
Clastier, he suddenly recalled, may have gotten away. There was no end to his story. He’d been told of rumors, of legends, that said he escaped. Maybe Rip could, too.
He dug the Odeon Chip from his pocket, placed it on the table and set the Eysen on top of it, wondering if it would return to the stunning images he’d witnessed before the
interruption. Immediately, the two artifacts pushed against each other, causing the Eysen to float and spin. Then, as before, the Cosega Sequence began. Rip watched closely as there were often minute differences. He knew the Sequence was the key, not just to understanding the Eysen; but to his very survival.
Twelve hundred miles away in a darkened room at the NSA’s Phoenix, Arizona command center, Jaeger watched live video feeds of the exterior of the house in San Miguel where Rip was hiding. He could also hear every word spoken inside. He’d heard them watching the news account of his death; amused they liked his work.
“Yes, Mr. Gaines. Stay put in your safe little mountain house. No one knows you’re there, well, no one except your friends at the NSA,” Jaeger said, as his colleagues smiled. “But to answer your questions; no, you will never be safe. And, yes, sooner or later, you’ll be killed because of the Eysen . . . my bet is that it will be sooner.”
Chapter 18
Gale and Larsen set out in a small, silver SUV, while Kruse and Harmer followed in a white sedan. Booker had insisted his AX agents ride with Gale, but she refused. The compromise of allowing them to follow was reached only when Booker reluctantly agreed to use his contacts to find out what happened to Grinley, Fischer, and Tuke; the three ex-cons who had helped Rip and her get to Taos. She feared they were already dead, but if there were any chance they weren’t and could still be saved, they deserved Booker’s assistance.
Gale wasn’t sure if the AX agents were there to protect her or to make sure she didn’t take off, but in the end, their presence did comfort her. “Kruse and Harmer are okay,” Larsen said. “And, more importantly, they are good at what they do.”
She nodded. The car had been swept for listening devices as a precaution, but Gale wasn’t worried about the NSA, because they didn’t even know where she was. However, she assumed Booker had the car wired and would be able to hear their conversation.
“Where to?” Larsen asked, his large hands swinging the steering wheel around the tight curves. In a few minutes, they would reach the main road and have to decide whether to head north to the town of Taos, or south toward Española and Santa Fe.
“We’re going to Chimayó,” Gale said. “There’s a woman I need to speak with.” How she was going to get Teresa to talk to her was something she still hadn’t worked out, but perhaps Clastier could get her in the door.
By the time they had split up, Rip still hadn’t read all of Clastier’s letters, but had already seen several mentions of notes sent to Padre Romero, whose church was located between Taos and Las Trampas. Rip had told her that Clastier’s letters to Flora indicated that Clastier and Romero were close. He’d speculated that those letters to Romero might also have survived. First, Gale hoped to get copies of Teresa’s, and then find the ones to Romero.
She explained it all to Larsen as they drove. She just couldn’t think of a way to keep her plans from Booker. There wasn’t time to hide everything. If she got the letters and needed to get away later, she’d figure that out at the time. Booker still wanted things from her, like her meeting with Monroe, so she still had things left with which to bargain.
“So this Teresa lady, sounds a little loco,” Larsen said.
“Maybe. But she sure took a liking to Rip.”
“Could she have sensed that Sean wasn’t trustworthy? Some people are in tune like that.”
“I thought of that. But if she were that perceptive, she should have known that Rip was also Conway.”
“Who is Conway?”
“Long story. Past-life stuff.”
“Oh. That’s all we need.”
“What’s that mean?”
“We’ve got some sort of an eleven-million-year-old computer, ancient prophecies, a secret antique manuscript, a Vatican conspiracy, and the world’s most dangerous spy agency involved . . . why not add in some New Age nonsense,” Larsen said.
“Nonsense, huh?” Gale considered entering into a debate. “You damned scientists think you know everything, but all you do is look at what’s visible.”
“What can I say, I like to hold the evidence of the past. Science prefers facts, things that can be tested, again and again.”
“The great inventor Nikola Tesla said, ‘The day science begins to study non-physical phenomena, it will make more progress in one decade than in all the previous centuries of its existence.’ What do you think of that?”
“I’m not sure he really said that. I looked that up quote two days ago. It’s attributed to him, but I couldn’t find the original citation that he actually said that.”
“Why were you looking up that quote?” Gale asked, struck by the coincidence.
“Because Booker said it to me, while trying to explain some project he is working on.”
“What project?”
“It’s complicated. Ask him tonight.” Larsen checked his rearview mirror to be sure Kruse and Harmer were still back there. “Anyway, what if the Chimayó lady won’t see you?”
“Then we’re going to have to break in and rob her.”
“You’re not serious.”
Chapter 19
Attorney General Dover kept his word to Pisano’s Vatican superiors and had Nanski released from the Phoenix, Arizona detention center.
Pisano ordered Nanski to immediately join the search for Gaines along with countless other Vatican agents in Mexico. Nanski refused. “Even if we can locate him, the NSA is going to be there first. Our best hope is to find Gale Asher and pursue the Clastier angle.”
“I fail to see your logic,” Pisano said, clicking his gold pinkie ring against the phone to punctuate his point.
“I’m not surprised. But regardless of your ignorance, I’m going to Taos.”
“I’m in charge of this operation, Nanski. Do as I say, or you’ll be looking for another job.”
Without responding, Nanski hung up and called the cardinal in Rome.
“It grows darker,” the cardinal said in Italian as he answered, referencing the Ater Dies or “black day” when the Church would end.
“Yes, tomorrow could be Ater Dies,” Nanski responded. “I am comforted only by the proverb, ‘It is darkest before the dawn.’ But I confess I am filled with fear that the sun will not rise.”
“The treasure is decided.”
The cardinal’s words made Nanski gasp. He knew “the treasure is decided” was reference to a term used within the Church several times during the past two thousand years. It meant that the Vatican’s most valuable assets and documents had been decided, and were prepared to move; perhaps already secretly being taken out of Vatican vaults and hidden elsewhere in the world.
The cardinal made arrangements to wire funds to Nanski so that he could fly to Taos, rent a car, and pursue the last fading chances to save the Church. The cardinal also told Nanski more about the Ater Dies, the prophesized artifact Gaines and many others called the Eysen. The revelations were shocking enough to momentarily shake the faith of a man willing to do anything for his church, its Pope, and the almighty God they worshipped.
Nanski drove in silence, in some ways, glad Leary was gone. He expected his former partner’s long declared plan of raising so much hell in heaven that some newcomers would be confused, had not panned out. And he had little hope that Leary could be anymore helpful than he was on the earthly plane. He tried to make sense of what the cardinal had told him.
The Eysen would power on for anyone and even reveal considerable data. However, there were certain people – like Gaines and Clastier – who could make the black sphere, do far more amazing things, and discover much more. It was unclear why. But they knew this with certainty, because they had two others. Nanski kept repeating the cardinal’s words, trying to make himself believe them: “Gaines has found the third Ater Dies, we have the other two. If the third is lost, so are we.”
He’d only briefly explained that the first had come from somewhere in Europe, centuries before Clastier obtained the second. How could even one exist? But three? Why we
re they made? How were they constructed? Was their only purpose to destroy the Church? Nanski knew, better than most, that the Vatican was built on secrets and control, as much as it was on faith and tradition, but this distorted everything. Only when he couldn’t see the road ahead clearly, did he realize tears had formed in his eyes. Nanski pulled onto the shoulder and wept.
Why would God allow this? Was it a test of his faith, the world’s faith? Could the Catholic Church be wrong? Wrong about . . . the origin of man? God? Everything? Nanski cried softly, lost in a sea of doubts, a “dark night” in the middle of the day.
The few within the Vatican who had been allowed to examine the two Ater Dies had not been able to get very far beyond what they called the opening routine. Still, there had been enough sporadic images over the decades that several volumes of research had been written. The information gleaned had terrified them. Although the Vatican had no idea they were anywhere close to eleven million years old, they were shocked at the technology they believed to date back a millennium.
Each Pope had been given the news on their nineteenth day in office. The ceremony was known as Mala verba XIX, meaning “Evil Words 19.” Prior to the nineteenth day, it was thought, a new Pope would be unable to handle such horrific news. It also demonstrated that a Pope was not an absolute supreme ruler of the Church. There were others who held areas of power, kept secrets, made decisions, needed to be answered to, and it had almost always been that way. The last time a Pope cleaned house at the Vatican, kings and queens still ruled the world.
The New Mexico vast blue sky made heaven seem far away. Not even a breeze on the unusually still summer day to comfort him; to make Nanski feel connected and less alone. Like the calm before the storm, there was an eerie quiet in the air.
The Ater Dies volumes, in which each incident or image depicted by one of the dark spheres had carefully been recorded by Vatican scholars, contained conclusions that the Ater Dies were inspired by divine guidance. How could something so powerful, and advanced, be created by man? However, the notes also concluded that the engineers who actually crafted and constructed the Ater Dies spheres must have made mistakes or, worse, been influenced by evil.
