The bodyguard grabbed Gary and forced him to the edge of the door, his face sticking out over the expanse of the lake. He screamed, tears streaming down his pudgy, red face. “No! Please! Don’t do this, Alex!” His voice pushed over the sound of the wind and the turbines outside.
“What did you tell them?!” Lindsey raged.
“I only told them that you were interested in finding some lost treasure. I told them it was stupid, that you were just some crazy old rich guy who liked to hunt for ancient artifacts. I swear that’s all!”
Alex nodded. “I see. So they know nothing of The Order or exactly what we are trying to accomplish?”
Holstrum shook his head sincerely. “They know nothing. Honest. They wouldn’t believe it even if I told them.”
Maybe he was telling the truth. Perhaps he wasn’t. But someone in the Justice Department had become curious. That never happened unless there were loose lips somewhere.
“Ok, Gary. I believe you.”
Lindsey nodded at the bodyguard who loosened his grip, slightly.
Relief flooded the captive’s face. “Thank you. Oh, thank you Alex. You’re doing the right thing. You won’t be disappointed.”
A look of disgust came across the older man’s face and his eyes narrowed. “I told you never to call me Alex.” For a brief moment, Holstrum’s face seemed confused. Lindsey nodded again. Suddenly, the bodyguard tensed and shoved the bound man out of the open door. His scream faded quickly as he fell hundreds of feet towards the black depths of the lake below.
Lindsey peered down to see the portly body produce a white splash in the dark liquid then disappear into the abyss. A moment later there was no sign anything had even happened.
Created by the construction of The Hoover Dam, Lake Mead’s depth could be as much as 590 feet at its deepest point. Finding the body would be nearly impossible. It was doubtful anyone would think to look there anyway. Helicopter flights in the area from Las Vegas to the Grand Canyon and back happened all the time so their little jaunt wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow.
Alexander stared out across the expanse of the lake that led up to craggy, dark mountains in the distance as the bodyguard slid the door shut and locked the latch again before returning to his seat on the other side of the cabin. Out the opposite window, the lights Las Vegas glittered in the distance. An eyesore, but a convenient one. It was only a short ride from his mountain complex into town to get anything they needed. With so many tourists, it was easy to become one of them. No one remembered anyone. Which was what he wanted, to not be noticed.
His thoughts lingered on the last few words his insolent spy had uttered. In his younger days, Lindsey would have never considered calling an elder by their first name. The new generations, it seemed, did not believe in courtesy. The times of calling people “Mister” or “Miss” had long since passed. Although, soon, he believed, the world would come to know him by a different title. He smiled at the thought. The Prophet.
Chapter 3
Tommy Schultz felt exhilarated. He shook hands with various patrons, donors, and local elites as they all paraded by him and exited building. Normally he hated wearing a black tuxedo and bowtie, but that night he didn’t mind. His dark, thick hair was styled neatly. Black rimmed glasses sat atop his pointed nose in front of blue eyes. His skin was more tanned than normal due to the sun exposure he’d experienced while working on the chamber project in central Georgia.
It was a proud moment for him. His artifact recovery agency, known as IAA (International Archaeology Agency), had recovered the single most significant archaeological find in United States history in a long time and the implications of that discovery were still coming to light.
The golden chamber they found near Augusta, GA was estimated to be worth over $500 million dollars. Of course, the government only gave the IAA a small fraction of that, but the reward had been substantial enough to put the agency’s holdings to over $200 million. Not too shabby for a bunch of researchers.
He’d also orchestrated a deal to bring some of the artifacts to the Georgia Historical Center for an exhibit, along with some other items including a long, ocean-going canoe that had been uncovered on Weeden Island. The ancient boat’s discovery was significant because it showed that the natives were capable of sea travel and trade thousands of years ago, playing right into the idea that perhaps they’d even navigated the Atlantic at some point.
There was a feeling of regret, too. His friend, Frank Borringer, had been murdered because of his obsession with finding the golden chambers of Akhanan. Another man, a state parks worker had also been killed in the wake of the race to find the first room of gold.
He counted himself lucky in many ways. The men that had kidnapped him could have killed him at any point. The things that had kept him alive were his wits and luck. He hoped neither of those would run out anytime soon. Like it had for his parents.
His parents had been intense savers and scrupulous investors. They had been wealthy, discreetly so, very few ever knowing the fortune they’d amassed in secret.
Though their salaries barely topped six figures combined, they were able to scrape together millions. Tommy had inherited everything when their plane went down in South America twelve years before.
He squinted away the pain, trying to imagine how proud they would be to see tonight’s exhibit. There were only a few regrets in his life. With his parents, he just wished he could talk to them again one more time.
After a few minutes, the glass and steel expo hall had nearly emptied and he stood alone surrounded by red draperies and enormous pictures of some of the artifacts from the chamber discovery. The lights of Atlanta’s skyscrapers and hotels poured in through the clear glass ceiling. A look at his watch told him it was getting very late.
He scooped up his iPad and water bottle off of a nearby chair and started to leave the room when he noticed a familiar figure standing silently in the corner near the door. The man was young, in his mid to late twenties. Tall, strong, with short dark hair and eyes to match; Tommy figured Will Hastings was popular with the ladies but as a police detective he doubted the poor guy had much time for anything social. There was something about him though, that seemed a bit off. Tommy couldn’t put his finger on it. He figured it was probably just his imagination. Maybe it was ambition. It was tough to sense those things. He was a historian not a psychologist.
He stepped towards the policeman and extended his hand. “How you been, Detective Hastings?”
Will allowed a momentary smile as he gripped the archaeologist’s hand, but it faded quickly. Tommy noticed the change of demeanor. This wasn’t going to be a happy visit. “It’s about your friend, Dr. Nichols.”
Tommy’s face instantly expressed concern.
Terrance Nichols was a mathematics professor at the Georgia Institute of Technology, more affectionately known as Georgia Tech. Schultz had received a call from the professor a few days after his discovery of the golden chamber. Nichols had developed a code-breaking software that could decipher nearly any code on earth. The software would make understanding ancient lost languages much easier. The man was so excited he’d gone off in a rant of technical mumbo jumbo that Tommy would never understand. All he cared about was whether or not the program worked.
After arriving back in Atlanta, he’d copied the odd assemblage of letters and symbols on the back of the stone disk he’d found in the chamber and delivered it to Nichols. The code on the first stone was deciphered by Professor Borringer. The inscriptions were a combination of ancient languages that had been unused for centuries. This new stone threw a monkey wrench into everything. The odd letters and symbols were completely foreign to Tommy. Never in his life had he encountered anything like them. Fortunately, Nichols had presented a solution that could potentially help them move quickly towards finding the location of the next chamber.