Turcotte was ready to go, but the replacements for the men who had been killed had not yet arrived, nor did he have sufficient intelligence on the Giza Plateau to even begin planning a second rescue mission.
Turcotte spotted a familiar face coming out of the room and changed his direction to walk beside Larry Kincaid, the NASA and JPL representative.
Kincaid had a file folder tucked under his arm. “I’m going to get these pictures from Hubble updated.”
“Mars?”
Kincaid nodded.
“Cydonia region?” Turcotte narrowed it down to the spot where the Airlia base had been discovered.
“Yep.”
As they reached the end of the hallway, Turcotte put a thick forearm across Kincaid’s chest, halting the other man abruptly. “You got a secret or you going to tell me why you’re being so quiet?”
Kincaid paused. “No secret.” He held up the file. “They’re doing something on Mars. I just can’t figure out what.”
“A weapon?”
Kincaid shook his head angrily. “You military guys — that’s all you ever worry about—‘is it a weapon?’ That’s what Majestic spent all those years concerned about: whether the Airlia artifacts could be used as weapons. Whether the Russians would find an Airlia weapon. And when we did find an Airlia weapon — or I should say the Germans did — we kidnapped it and used it to build a nuclear weapon to kill other humans. But nobody worried about the bigger picture.”
“Is that a no?” Turcotte asked, forcing a smile on his face. He’d worked with men under stress before and he knew that things could unravel quickly.
“Too much coffee,” Kincaid paused. “I don’t know what it is, and I’m having a hell of a hard time getting more information. We’re getting the shaft from our own government — they want to pull use of the Hubble from me. What are they going to look at that’s more important than alien machines on Mars? We’ve had our heads in the sand about the aliens forever, and now people want to stick our heads back in there and pretend nothing’s changed.”
Kincaid took a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t know, Mike. They could be uncovering a weapon. Nothing much we can do about it if they are. I would like to at least see what they’re doing with the best equipment we have.”
“Talk to Quinn,” Turcotte suggested. “He can work some backdoors in the classified world, maybe get you the Hubble back.”
“I hope so.” Kincaid shoved the door open and went into the Cube. Turcotte spun on his heel and paused. Yakov stood there blocking the corridor.
“Do not be so hard on him. He is out of his depth. Overwhelmed. We all are.” Yakov thumped Turcotte on the chest with a large finger. “Remember what happens to us when we think with this, rather than with this.” He pointed at his own head.
“Don’t—” Turcotte began, but paused when he saw Professor Mualama standing in the doorway to the conference room. “What is it?”
“I have translated the first two chapters of Burton’s manuscript,” Mualama said.
“That was quick,” Turcotte noted.
“My studies have been very beneficial,” Mualama said.
“Right,” Turcotte replied, his tone indicating what he thought of Mualama’s answer.
Mualama held his hand out for the door. “You’ll find it very interesting. You have to remember that Burton was more known for his translation of others’ writing — like the Kama Sutra or The Thousand and One Nights — than his own writing. This manuscript is all in his words, but it appears a large part of it comes from his translation of documents he discovered.”
Turcotte went into the conference room, Yakov following. Quinn went to wake Che Lu.
“By the way,” Mualama pointed at a picture tacked to the bulletin board, “that’s Burton.”
Turcotte paused in his rush to get to the computer. Burton was a savage-looking man, with scars etched on each cheek, blazing black eyes, and dark skin.
“He had a spear run through both cheeks when he was attacked at Berbera on his first expedition with Speke,” Mualama said.
“Speke?” Turcotte asked.
“John Speke, another English explorer. The two went to Africa several times to search for the source of the Nile,” Mualama explained.
There was another picture tacked to the side of the photo. A large stone structure, shaped like a tent.
“What’s that?” Turcotte asked.
“Burton’s tomb,” Mualama said. “It’s designed in the form of a Bedouin tent. His wife did that because he had a terrible fear of being enclosed in darkness. There’s even a stained-glass window in the structure to let light inside where the body lay. Burton once said that he had horrible nightmares of being trapped inside a mummy’s case.”
Turcotte nodded, remembering what it felt like to be trapped inside a sub’s hatch during lockout. The thought of being trapped inside a coffin, still alive, was more than he thought he could bear.
Mualama cut into his thoughts. “Your computer is all set to project the translation.” Mualama had already disappeared behind the computer monitors. Che Lu hurried into the room and sat next to Turcotte, Yakov on the other side.
Turcotte hit the enter key. The screen on the far wall flickered and then the first words appeared.
BURTON MANUSCRIPT: CHAPTER I
MEDINA TO GEA, THE BEGINNING OF MY SEARCH
1853–1855
I first met Al-Iblis in Medina. The circumstances of the occasion are not important as this is not my story. This story is about the alien creatures, their minions, and how they have meddled with man’s history. And the promise and threat they hold for our future.
At that meeting, Al-Iblis never said exactly what it was he was looking for; it was only later that I surmised it was the Grail. He hinted that it was the Hall of Records he was seeking. There are rumors of a place that holds the truth of the time before our time.
He sent me like a bloodhound to track down its exact location and the way to get to it. He expected me to return to him with the secrets. Even now, after all my studies and searching, perhaps the Grail is the same thing as the Hall of Records, but if it is, it is also much more than that. Much more! I believe that the Hall of Records holds the Grail.
Al-Iblis pointed me to the Giza Plateau to look for a man named Kaji. A caretaker of some sort was the impression Al-Iblis gave. I will not dwell long here on Al-Iblis, as he will reenter the story very soon and you will understand him as I have come to.
I traveled to Giza while Speke went on to England. Many view this as the lowest point of my life — as Speke trumpeted finding Lake Tanganyika and claiming it was the source of the Nile, I was nowhere to be found in England, stolen of the supposed glory that should have been half mine.
Instead, I was in the midst of the most amazing experience I had to that point. I met Kaji. The details of how I convinced him to lead me to the Hall of Records are also not important. Suffice it to say he led me into the Great Pyramid, the one named after the Pharaoh Khufu. We descended into the very bowels of that massive edifice until we were below it, in the Earth itself.
Kaji used a ring, a special ring, to open secret doorways, all of which led us farther into the Plateau of Giza, which he called the Highland of Aker after an ancient god.
At one point Kaji paused at a split in the way. One path led to a most destructive weapon, one that could destroy the entire plateau. But we went the other way. Deeper and deeper into the Earth. He told me the tunnels were carved during the time of the Neteru, the Gods of Ancient Egypt. At first I thought this ridiculous as the Neteru were considered a legend, a thing of an ancient religion. I now believe him.