“Not too different from many religions,” Che Lu commented.
“The Grail held such promise and the wedjat worshipped it, but they were forbidden to tap into its power. They were told there would be a time when they would be given access to the Grail and all its bounty, but the time was not now. This went on for generations, each successive wave of wedjat believing the promise. Each dying and passing on the belief to their children. As this went on and on, and the Grail was never revealed, there were murmurs of discontent.
“Thus there were those who, despite the comforts of Atlantis and the bounty of the Airlia, were not content to serve. Those who wanted the knowledge and the power of the Airlia themselves, who wanted what the Grail could give now, before their own deaths, not content with the promise that it might be given to their children, or their children’s children. There were even some among the wedjat who felt this way. They felt that if they could have access to the Grail, they too would be gods. But the Airlia were too powerful. Any sign of rebellion was dealt with quickly. Man had his place and the Airlia theirs.
“Then Artad arrived and the civil war among the Airlia began. The wedjat and the people of Atlantis fought for Aspasia and many died. And they were betrayed. They learned that their worship and obedience was worth nothing. The Airlia made a truce among themselves. Aspasia and his followers were banished to Mars, and Atlantis was destroyed by Artad. Many of the wedjat were killed. A small group remained alive, their mission to convert the locals to worship of Aspasia.”
Mualama looked around at the others in the conference. “Could you imagine the sense of betrayal they felt? Their families killed, their home destroyed? They decided to organize themselves, to meet at the northern summer solstices in England, on the Tor. They met some of the survivors of Atlantis and learned some things.
“They were told that just before Aspasia left some of the most fervent of the wedjat had been taken inside the temple and transformed by Aspasia and his golden pyramid, the guardian.”
“The Guides,” Yakov said.
Mualama nodded. “They were given the job of moving the Ark and Grail to a safe place. They established The Mission. They also heard of others, The Ones Who Wait, recruited and changed by Artad to prepare for his return.
“So the survivors decided they would never again trust the Airlia. They would watch and make sure mankind was never again betrayed. A binding oath was taken. Then they scattered to their new homes. The Tor was set up as the repository of their knowledge.
“Brynn told me that the Tor was being phased out. That all the material was being scanned and stored in a computer at the Watcher headquarters. Basically, he was a relic. I think he was lonely. I asked him if he had heard of Burton. He told me his grandfather had allowed Burton in many years ago. Burton had Kaji’s ring and had learned much from the Watcher records — even taking some scrolls — before being discovered. He managed to escape before they killed him.”
“The rings?” Turcotte prompted.
“All priests of the wedjat had been given a ring that allowed them access to places in the temple. The same access technology was built into all the Airlia facilities.”
“You still haven’t told us where we can get a ring,” Turcotte noted. “You’ve lied to us all along, why should we believe you now?”
Mualama ignored the question. “While Brynn and I were still talking there was a chime. He told me that meant someone had placed their ring or medallion on the wall, like I had. He left to go see who it was. I used the time to look through the documents.” Mualama fell silent.
“And?” Turcotte asked.
“The Watchers must have been watching the Tor and Brynn, knowing he was old and foolish. Someone — whoever had come — threw an incendiary grenade into the scriptorium and shut the door. The scrolls began to burn. The room filled with flames and smoke, trapping me behind and the door. I lay on the floor as the room burned. My clothing caught fire but I didn’t move, breathing the little oxygen that was left low to the ground. Eventually everything that could burn had done so. I was badly burned. The door opened and someone came in.
“A man knelt next to me. He told me that a painful death was the price I had to pay for betraying my order. He left me to die.
“He underestimated me.
“As soon as he was gone, I got to my feet and followed. I used the pain as a way to focus, to move.”
Turcotte had seen men do incredible things while in unspeakable agony, turning the pain into motivation. And he had seen the scars on Mualama’s back, which lent more credence to his story. Still, though, the effort required to move in such pain astounded him.
“In the tunnel ahead I could see Brynn in his robe and the stranger. I followed all the way to the surface and waited while they exited, giving them time to start down the Tor. Then I went outside into the night air. I could feel my shirt burned into my back, the cool breeze on the exposed nerve endings. I stumbled down the hill to my car. The worst was sitting in the seat. I almost blacked out. But I could see the headlights come on from their car and I wouldn’t allow myself to pass out. I followed them.
“They drove east and I thought we might be going to London, but then they turned north. When the road passed between stone sentinels, two upright rocks, I knew where we were: Avebury. We were inside the ring of stones that surrounds the place. They left the main road and went onto an old trail. I turned my lights off and followed. A large hill was directly in front and I was amazed to watch their car drive right into the hill and disappear as if snatched up by the darkness.
“I waited as long as I could, but they did not reappear. Then I went and sought medical attention. But I had learned where a Watcher base was: Silbury Hill, inside the ring of circles at Avebury. If anywhere, that is where you will find your ring.”
Turcotte turned to Quinn. “Get a bouncer ready for me. And all the intel you can get on this hill.”
“The manuscript?” Mualama asked.
Turcotte poked a finger in the African’s chest. “If the information you’ve just given us is true, which we’ll find out shortly, I’ll let you continue translating. But if I catch you in another lie, or you hold something back from us again, I’m going to make you disappear.”
Turcotte left the room, followed by the others, leaving Mualama alone. The African looked at the pile of papers and a strange, confused look crossed his face as if he didn’t know where he was. His body twitched as his spine drew tight, shoving him rigidly back against the seat he was in. He gasped and his right hand went to the back of his neck, the source of the pain. He blinked and the confused look was gone. The hand moved to his left ear and lightly touched it. He pulled the hand back; there was blood on it. A small trickle was seeping out of the ear.
Mualama dabbed at his ear and cleaned the blood. He waited, but no more came. Then he resumed typing.
CHAPTER 6
Using the theory that stealth was better than might, particularly when the opponent had taken out a Nimitz-class carrier, the SEAL commander decided that only two of his men would make the attempt to get under the shield surrounding Easter Island. SEALs worked best in small units anyway, and two was the smallest possible operating element, as the buddy system was an unbreakable code in water operations.
Chief Petty Officers McGraw and Olivetti were the chosen ones. Both were highly qualified men with experience in combat ranging from Grenada to Desert Storm. Between them, they had over twenty-seven years of special operations time.