by A. G. Riddle
David headed toward the galley, probably to wash himself up.
Janus set his teacup down. “The part that puzzles me most is PIE = Immaru? It seems almost a comedic reference. Perhaps it is meant to throw off any nefarious readers? A sort of camouflage. We should consider omitting it—”
“What did you say?” David was out of the galley.
“I—”
David picked up the page with Martin’s code with his greasy hand.
Kate tried to snatch it from him. “David, you’re smudging it…”
“You know what this means?” David asked Kate.
“No. Do you?”
“Yeah.”
“Which part?”
“All of it. I know what the whole thing means. These aren’t scientific notations. They’re historical references.”
63
Somewhere off the coast of Ceuta
Mediterranean Sea
David glanced at Kate and the two scientists, then read Martin’s code again.
PIE = Immaru?
535…1257 = Second Toba? New Delivery System?
Adam => Flood/A$ Falls => Toba 2 => KBW
Alpha => Missed Delta? => Delta => Omega
70K YA => 12.5K YA => 535…1257 => 1918…1978
Missing Alpha Leads to Treasure of Atlantis?
Was he right? Yes, he was certain of it. But he wouldn’t start with the first part—it was too out there, too… fantastic, even for him to believe.
“Will you please wash your hands?” Kate pleaded.
David lowered the page. “It’s not the Magna Carta—”
“It is to me. And it could be the key to finding a cure for the plague.” In that moment, David thought she couldn’t be any cuter. She sat on a white leather club chair in the lavish upper-deck saloon, the other two scientists sitting side by side on the adjacent couch. Three white porcelain cups, all half-full of a brown tea, sat on the coffee table before them. The whole scene seemed bizarre, like the aftermath of a brunch in a penthouse apartment in Dubai.
David handed her the page and walked back into the galley. He scrubbed his hands and thought again about the code. Yes, he was right. Below, he heard banging sporadically in the engine room. Shaw and Kamau were almost finished. Then what? David had to figure out their next move. His decision was crucial, and he felt the weight of it. If he guessed wrong, played into the hand of whoever had killed Martin and disabled the boat…
He walked back out. “You guys seriously don’t know what this is? You’re not messing with me?”
“No.”
The looks from the three scientists were skeptical at best, and David had to smile. “You mean you’ve got every scientist in the world on this, and you need little ol’ me, a lowly grad-school dropout with a half-finished PhD to unravel this thing?”
“I didn’t know you… Really, a PhD—”
“In European History at Columbia—”
“Why’d you drop out?” Kate asked, some of her skepticism waning.
“For… health reasons. In September of 2001.” Being buried under a building after a terrorist attack and a year of physical rehab wasn’t the typical “health reason,” but David wasn’t sure how else to describe it. That day had changed his life, his career. He had abandoned his academic life instantly, but he had never given up his love of history.
“Oh, right…” Kate said quietly.
“I told you before I liked history.” He wondered if she would remember the reference, his words in Jakarta.
“Yes, you did,” Kate said, still somber.
He took a second to collect his thoughts. His theory was that the code was a broad outline of human history, specifically of the major historical turning points. But… he would start with what he was most certain about. “First thing’s first: PIE is not pie or any other pastry. It’s a group of people.”
Blank stares greeted him.
“PIE stands for Proto-Indo-Europeans. They’re arguably one of the most important ancient groups in world history.”
“Proto…” Kate began. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“Nor have I,” Dr. Chang said.
“I too am unfamiliar,” Dr. Janus said.
“They aren’t well known. The irony is that they are the precursor civilization for almost everyone living in Europe, the Middle East, and India today. In fact, half the world’s population is directly descended from Proto-Indo-European groups.”
Janus sat forward. “How do you know? The gene pool—”
David held up his hand. “We historians have another tool, just as important as the gene pool. It’s passed down from generation to generation. We can mark changes in it across time, and we can trace its dispersal across the world—it changes in different places.”
None of the three scientists offered a guess or comment.
“Language,” David said. “We know that almost everyone in Europe, the Middle East, and India speaks a language that is descended from a common root language: the Proto-Indo-European language, which was spoken by a single group, the Proto-Indo-Europeans, about eight thousand years ago. We believe these people lived in either Anatolia or the Eurasian Steppes—present day Turkey or southwestern Russia.”
“Fascinating…” Janus mumbled as he glanced out the window.
“David, it’s interesting, but I’m just not sure how this would connect with the plague,” Kate said gently.
Janus glanced at David, then Kate. “I agree, but I for one would very much like to hear more about this.”
David gave Kate a look that said, At least someone around here appreciates me.
Janus continued, “I have two questions. First: how do you know what you’re saying is true?”
“Well we didn’t even know about the PIE until 1783 when a British judge named William Jones was assigned to India. Jones was a brilliant scholar and linguist. He knew Greek and Latin and began studying Sanskrit—mostly to familiarize himself with native Indian laws, many of which were written in Sanskrit. Jones made a remarkable discovery: Sanskrit and the ancient classical Western languages were eerily similar. This was completely unexpected. As he further compared Sanskrit, Greek, and Latin, he realized that they all had a common ancestral language. Here we have three languages, separated by thousands of miles and thousands of years of development, yet they had all evolved from a common root language: what we now call the Proto-Indo-European language. Jones was a true scholar, and he dug deeper into the mystery. The revelations were shocking. Other languages were also Proto-Indo-European, and not just obscure ones: every major root language from India to Great Britain. Latin, ancient Greek, Norse, Runic, Gothic—they’re all derived from the Proto-Indo-European language. The list of modern-day languages is extensive. All the Germanic languages, including Norwegian, Swedish, Danish, German, English—”
Janus held his hand up and spoke softly. “If you would indulge us a moment, I would like to hear more about the PIE. You said there were other derivative languages?”
“Oh yeah, tons of them. All the Italic languages: Italian, French, Portuguese, Spanish… let’s see… all the Slavic languages: Russian, Serbian, Polish. What else, Balkan languages. Of course Greek; the Greeks were PIE descendants. Sanskrit, as I mentioned; Hindi, Farsi, Pashto. There are also tons of extinct PIE languages. Hitite, Tocharian, Gothic. In fact, scholars have been able to work backwards to actually reconstruct the Proto-Indo-European language. And that’s actually the basis of about everything we know about them. They had words for horse, wheel, farming, animal breeding, snow-capped mountains, and for a sky god.”
David paused, not sure what to add next. “In general we know the PIE were extremely advanced for their time—their use of horses, the wheel, tools, and agriculture made them a force in the region, and their descendants went on to dominate the world from Europe to India. As I said, today roughly half the world speaks a Proto-European language. In many ways, they are the ultimate lost civilization.” David stopped again, then glanced at Ja
nus. “You said you had two questions?”
Janus was deep in thought. After a second, he realized the room was waiting for him. “Oh yes. I… would like to know… where they are now.”
“That’s the real mystery. We’re not even sure where to look for them. What we know of them is based on language reconstruction and myths—specifically the mythology they passed down to their descendant groups along with their language. Those are the tools of history: language, stories, and artifacts. In this case, we don’t have many artifacts, just their language and myths.”
“Myths?” Janus said.
“Here again, we’re reconstructing the past based on shared myths across cultures—these are instances where the same story appears with slight changes. Obviously, the names are changed, but the shape of the narrative is the same. One common belief is that there were two progenitors of mankind: brothers, sometimes twins. For the Indic, it was Manu and Yemo; the Germanic have tales of Mannus and Ymir. These mythologies were eventually incorporated into histories. For the Romans, Remus and Romulus; the Hebrews, Cain and Abel. Another common myth is that of the Great Flood—it appears in some form in every PIE culture. But overwhelmingly, the most common myth is that of an epic battle ending with the slaying of a serpent, usually a dragon of some sort.”
Chang picked up the page. “It seems Dr. Grey had some inkling of who the PIE were. What does it mean: PIE = Immaru? I am not familiar with Immaru.”
David looked at Kate. Do we tell them?
Kate didn’t hesitate. “The Immaru are, or more likely were, a group of monks in the mountains of Tibet. After the incident in China, where David was almost killed, they rescued us.”
Chang winced, and David thought he was going to say something, maybe an apology, but Kate continued.
“I talked with several of the monks. A younger one, Milo, took care of us, and an older monk, Qian, showed me an ancient artifact: a tapestry. He believed it was a historical document that had been passed down for generations, thousands of years. It depicted four floods. The first was a flood of fire, which I believe to be the Toba Catastrophe—a volcanic eruption seventy thousand years ago that changed the human race. The tapestry showed a god saving a dying band of humans. The god gave them his blood. I believe that depiction was an allegory, a representation of a gene therapy an Atlantean gave those dying humans. That gene—the Atlantis Gene—helped that small band of humans survive in the volcanic winter that followed.”
Dr. Chang nodded vigorously. “This matches the Immari assumption—that the Atlantis Gene was introduced seventy thousand years ago and that it caused the cataclysm: a change in brain wiring that set the human race apart from other hominins.”
“Qian also told me that the Immari are actually a splinter group of the Immaru—a faction of monks who separated thousands of years ago. The Immari had grown tired of allegory and myth. They wished to pursue answers in science and archeology,” Kate said.
“That may be, but I can’t comment,” Dr. Chang said. “I never advanced high enough to know the true Immari history. It was closely guarded and assigned its own mythological status. Dr. Grey would have known the history—he was a member of the Council—one of the three highest-ranking officers. Do you think that’s why he included the note on the Immaru and PIE? Do they have something that relates to the plague?”
Kate considered that. “I know Martin was looking for something. His words to me were: ‘I thought it was here in southern Spain, but I was wrong.’ Maybe he was trying to trace the history of the Immaru and the Proto-Indo-Europeans to find the object… Maybe they have it.” Another thought occurred to her. “The Immaru did have something, a box. The second flood depicted on the tapestry was the flood of water. In it, the god returns and tells the humans to repent and move inland, but many refused, ignoring the warnings. But the Immaru had faith. They heeded the warning and carried a large box into the highlands.”
“What was in it?” David asked.
“I don’t know—”
“You didn’t ask?”
“Qian didn’t know.”
“Well… what did it look like?”
“A large plain box they were carrying on poles.”
“What was the rest of the tapestry?” He hoped it would shed more light on Martin’s code. The first two depictions had confirmed David’s theories. He was close to unraveling the message.
“The third was the flood of blood. A global apocalypse. The fourth was the flood of light. Our salvation. Qian said they were events yet to come.”
“You think the plague is the flood of blood?” David asked.
“I believe so.”
“You told Martin about the tapestry?”
“Yes.”
David nodded. “The tapestry is a chronology. It chronicles the major turning points in human history. I believe this code is also a chronology: a timeline that Martin was creating to decode the tapestry and try to isolate specific events in the past—events that are key to finding a cure for the plague.”
“Interesting,” Kate murmured.
“Bravo,” Janus said.
“I concur,” said Chang.
David leaned back in the chair. That was the purpose of Martin’s code—he was sure of it now. The mystery that remained was: who killed him and why? It was someone on this boat. Was it one of the scientists—because of Martin’s research?
The sound of boots on the thin carpet interrupted his thoughts, and David turned to see Shaw charging into the room.
“We’re ready. We need a decision—” He glanced around the room, taking the four of them in for the first time. “What the hell is this? A bloody tea party?”
“We’re discussing Martin’s notes,” Kate said, pointing to the page on the coffee table.
Shaw snatched it up.
David lunged for him and grabbed the page out of his hand. “Don’t. You’re getting grease on it.” He placed the page back on the coffee table. The look on Kate’s face said, It’s tough dealing with barbarians, isn’t it? He knew her so well. In the background, he heard Shaw erupt.
“Are you kidding me? We’re in the middle of—”
David slowly turned his head to Shaw, ready for battle, but a faint glimmer on the horizon caught his attention. He stared at it a moment, then stood and crossed to the window. Yes—lights in the night. A boat. Two. On what appeared to be a direct course for them.
64
From Tibet to Tel Aviv
Milo unslung the heavy pack and walked to the edge of the rock ledge. The untouched green plateau in western Tibet stretched to the horizon, where another mountain ridge met the setting sun. The serene, picturesque landscape reminded him of the monastery. His mind instantly flashed to his last moments in that place, the only home he’d ever known. He had stood at the top of another rock ledge, looking down, watching the wooden buildings burn, crumble, and tumble down the mountain, leaving only a burnt, blackened rock face.
Milo pushed the scene from his mind. He refused to think about it. Qian’s words echoed to him: “A mind that dwells in the past builds a prison it cannot escape. Control your mind, or it will control you, and you will never break through the walls it builds.”
Milo cleared his mind and turned back to the pack. He would make camp here, then leave at first light as he had done each day before. He took out the tent, then the animal traps and the map, which he consulted every night. He thought he had to be somewhere near the Kashmir region of northern India or Pakistan or possibly somewhere in eastern Afghanistan, but truth be told, he had no idea where he was, and he hadn’t seen a single soul, no one to offer any clues. Qian had been right about that: “You will walk a long and lonely road. But you will have all that you need.”
At each of Milo’s questions, Qian had issued a quick retort. Food? “The beasts of the forests will be your only companions, and they will sustain you.” Milo moved into the forest as he had each night before and began rigging the traps. Along the way, he ate nuts and berries. He usu
ally consumed enough to maintain his energy levels until his protein-rich breakfast of animal meat the next morning.
When the traps were set, he erected his tent and laid out his mat. He sat and focused on his breathing, seeking the stillness within. Gradually, it came, and the memories and musings of his mind melted away. He was vaguely aware of the sun slipping behind the far ridge, pulling a curtain of darkness down the mountain.
In the distance, he heard the snap of one of the traps he had laid. There would be breakfast tomorrow, that much was certain.
Milo retired to the tent, where the last two items Qian had given him lay waiting in the corner. Both were books. The first was entitled Anthems of the Dying, but to Milo’s surprise, there were no songs inside, only three simplistic stories.
The first story was about a father who sacrificed himself to save his daughter. The second was about a man and woman who traveled across a vast wasteland to find the treasure their ancestor had left them, which was their only hope to cure their dying people. The last part told the story of a humble man who slew a giant and became a king but renounced his power, giving it back to the people.
Qian had pointed to the book. “This book is a guide to our future.”
Milo had hesitated. “How can the future be written?”
“It is written in our blood, Milo. The war is always the same, only the names and places change. There are demons upon this earth. They live in our hearts and minds. This is a history of our struggle, a chronicle of the past war that will be repeated. The past and our nature predict our future. Read it. Learn it well.”
“Will there be a test?”
“Be serious, Milo. Life is a test we take every day. You must focus. You must be there for them when they need you.”
