“We have much of the manuscript translated,” Yakov said. He gestured toward the elevator and led the way as he spoke. “We have learned bits and pieces, but the exact composition of the Grail and the location of The Mission have eluded us so far.”
“Easter Island?” Turcotte asked as the elevator doors slid shut.
“Nothing from Kelly Reynolds since the last message,” Yakov answered. “The SEALs have not reported back and are presumed lost. And to top all that, contact with the naval Task Force has been lost.”
“What about imagery of the Task Force?” Turcotte asked.
“The ships are there,” Yakov said. “They just aren’t communicating. Most of the air wing of your carrier the Stennis is flying north, toward Hawaii. Of course, they do not have the fuel to make it. Your people in the Pentagon are scrambling some tankers to try to reach them, but Major Quinn tells me they will all have to ditch before that happens.”
Turcotte tried to make sense of this startling information. “Why aren’t they landing on the Stennis?”
“Because, my friend, we believe that the nanovirus has taken over the entire Task Force.”
“All of it?”
“It appears so.”
“Well—” Turcotte was trying to sort through the situation. “That’s the Pentagon’s responsibility,” he finally said. Yakov’s thick eyebrows arched in surprise.
“Aspasia’s Shadow is with Duncan. He runs things. We stop him, we stop the Guides and all the rest,” Turcotte said. “So you hope,” Yakov said.
“China?” Turcotte asked, trying to change the subject. “Nothing there to report.”
Turcotte leaned against the smooth metal wall as the elevator descended. The words of Aspasia’s Shadow echoed in his mind, a ripple of uncertainty and disquiet. “So we don’t know how to proceed,” he summarized.
“It appears that—” Yakov began, but the elevator came to a halt and the heavy doors opened, revealing Larry Kincaid, a piece of clear acetate in his hand.
“I’ve got it!”
“Got what?” Turcotte came off the wall as if jolted by electricity.
“The grid system,” Kincaid said. “The one Che Lu translated. Some of the points are to throw you off, or maybe there’s something there that hasn’t been found — but Giza, Easter Island, Qian-Ling — they all line up. And there’s other points.” He was talking so quickly no one had a chance to get a word in edgewise until he paused for breath.
“The Mission?” Turcotte asked.
“Well, it’s probably one of these points, I don’t know which one. Let me show you what I have.” Kincaid headed for the conference room, the others anxiously following.
As they settled in around the table, Kincaid dimmed the lights and put the acetate on an overhead projector.
A Mercator conformal projection of the planet was illuminated, along with dots all over the surface. Several were starred.
“Giza.” Kincaid used a laser pointer to highlight one of the starred points. “Qian-Ling. Easter Island. Tiahuanaco in Bolivia, where Majestic found the guardian it moved to Dulce. Ngorongoro. They are all there, exactly pinpointed.”
“How did you do it?” Che Lu asked.
Kincaid smiled. “The points you deciphered were encoded, but it was simple once I uncovered the key. The points you had from Nabinger were where a line, perpendicular to the interior Earth’s surface at that spot, was to be projected through the planet to the opposite side of the globe.”
Turcotte was looking at all the dots. Several were in the Middle East, not far from Giza. As he expanded his search, there were others in Asia, Europe, Africa — any of which could be The Mission, if The Mission was at one of these ancient locations.
“Anyone have an idea which one of these might be where The Mission is now?” he asked those in the room.
Kincaid’s smile lost some of its luster. “Well, some of these, like I said, I think are bogus. There’s a couple in the middle of the ocean. I just had this printed out, so I haven’t really had a chance to check each spot out. I just wanted to be sure I’d figured it out right.”
Che Lu was peering at the map. “We must examine each site.”
“There’s a lot of spots,” Turcotte said. “We could—” He was interrupted by Professor Mualama, whom everyone had forgotten about, hidden behind his large computer monitors.
“I think I know where The Mission is.” He walked to the front of the room. A long finger reached out to touch the lone dot on the peninsula between Egypt and Israel. “Here. Mount Sinai.”
The location immediately made sense to Turcotte in terms of the direction the two helicopters had been spotted heading by the AWACS before it was destroyed, but he wondered how he had decided on it. “Why there?”
“The Kabbalah!” Yakov said. He turned to Turcotte. “One of the chapters of Burton’s manuscript said the Ark and Grail traveled to Mount Sinai after leaving Egypt during the Exodus.”
“There’s another mention of Mount Sinai in the chapter I just finished translating,” Mualama said.
“Let’s see it.” Turcotte’s exhaustion had fallen by the wayside.
The overhead was turned off and the computer screen came alive as Yakov quickly scrolled down to get to the new chapter.
BURTON MANUSCRIPT: CHAPTER 8
I was sent to Damascus to fulfill my duties to the Crown. As is my wont, I spent considerable time in the native part of the cities, leaving the foreign section as often as possible.
I became entranced with a woman — as was also my wont in my younger days. I saw her only briefly one evening, highlighted against a second-story window as I traveled the streets to a haven where I spent many an evening, but that was more than enough. Rarely in all my travels had I seen such a perfect form. My interest piqued, I inquired as to the occupants of the house and learned it belonged to a rather important trader.
Under the guise of my consular duties, I called on the trader the next day. His name was Ibrahim Al-Issas. The woman was his mistress, I quickly learned. He sensed my interest in her, and in the way of that part of the world, offered her to me.
Her name was Kazin, an exotic combination of Arab and French blood. We had long and interesting conversations, as she had been a courtesan for many important men in Damascus for over a dozen years, and knew much of the inner workings of that part of the world. I found her intelligence outshone her magnificent beauty.
She was a student of the holy works ranging from the Bible to the Torah to the Koran to the Kaballah. I found her insights into the various writings most intriguing.
One day she mentioned a name that froze the blood in my veins. We were discussing men of power in the area, and she said there was a man who wielded much strength, but always from the shadows, so far in the darkness that no one rightly knew what he looked like. She said his name was Al-Iblis.
I told her of meeting Al-Iblis in Medina, although I did not tell her the results of that meeting. She said that he ruled from a place called The Mission.
When I inquired if she knew the location of The Mission, she did a most strange thing. She recited several lines and told me if I could discover what work they were from, I would have my answer. They were:
“Take care not to go up the mountain or even to touch the edge of it. Any man who touches the mountain must be put to death. No hand shall touch him; he shall be stoned or shot dead; neither man nor beast may live.”
There was perfect stillness in the conference room. Yakov’s finger hit the scroll key, but there was nothing further. Turcotte spun in his chair toward Mualama. “Where’s the rest?”
“I don’t have it translated yet.”
Turcotte’s fist slammed down onto the tabletop. “I thought you said this mentioned Mount Sinai? I don’t see it.”