Lost Secret of the Ancient Ones

By Chris Reynolds

“Welcome to the world’s greatest mystery. It has everything-clues and ciphers, red herrings, and consciously enigmatic jokes. There are villains, victims, and heroes littering the plotlines, along with ancient books, inscrutable monuments, and strange unearthly figures that flit along through the ages as if they had a purchase agreement on eternity.”

The Pharaohs of Egypt, Plato, Aristotle, Sir Isaac Newton, Francis Bacon, and the late Stephen Hawking, have all sought to learn the secret of the ancient ones. A secret so powerful it can change the world. Sprinkled throughout the Egyptian Book of the Dead, the Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls, are references to the mysterious essence of the Philosophers Stone. Has quantum physicist Dr. Alex Harrington unraveled the mystery? Missing for more than three months, powerful forces are desperate to find him, to learn what he has discovered. To stop him from exposing their plans.

Watching his daughter, they know that she received a package that contained her father’s diary. What they don’t know, is that the wheels he has set in motion has launched her upon a perilous path. A path that holds the fate of the world in its balance. As an archaeologist, science is Maya Harrington’s religion. Pragmatism, reason, and probability her theology. Vowing to find her father, she is forced to confront the possibility that there are influences beyond reason and forces outside the realm of explanation.

As she unravels each layer of the greatest mystery of all time, it is becoming clear that there are those who have used the eclipse that crossed America in 2017 to initiate a countdown towards a worldwide conflagration. From out of the ashes this shadow organization will usher in a New World Order. All under the control of a few. Is she deluding herself into believing that she was chosen to save humanity? Is destiny a hidden road paved at the onset of time?

Book I of The Manna Chronicles brings together ancient history, unassailable facts, and prophecies from across the ages; to the eye-opening possibility that for man, time is running out ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Reynolds
• Release date: Aug 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781734893908

Chris Reynolds

Chris Reynolds wrote and drew the award-winning "The New World" published in 2018 by New York Review Comics. He also writes the "Mauretania Comics" series of stories, the "Cinema Detectives" series and "Moon Queen and The Bee."

Book preview

PROLOGUE

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High above the Caribbean

January

Alex Harrington surveyed his situation—shackled, under guard, and aboard his enemy’s plane. There was no turning back. Headed for certain torture and probable death, he had put everything on the line.

He measured the power amassed by his captors and the great lengths they had gone through to remain hidden. He considered the perils hurtling towards an unsuspecting world, and he pondered destiny, the hidden road that had brought him to this moment. How his actions would have irrevocable consequences.

As a scientist, it had taken some time for him to change his way of thinking, but eventually he had come to accept his fate.

The question was, would his daughter?

His eyes swept the cabin as he prepared himself for what was to come. The polished mahogany table and soft leather chairs of the luxurious jet contrasted with the cheap suits worn by the two thugs who watched over him. He tasted the dry processed air while his fingers caressed the cool metal shackles that bound his wrists. As the craft streaked high above the earth, he took a final look out the port window and steeled himself.

It is time.

Victor, he began with more authority than a man surrounded by enemies should have. Do you know why I am here?

Do I know why? his kidnapper questioned in a tone of condescension. You’re here because your time has run out. Victor appeared ebullient. He had hunted Alex for months and now had him cuffed, corralled, and at his mercy.

Alex studied the man. Much smaller than himself, with unflinching eyes and leathery skin, he looked reptilian. But within those eyes, Alex recognized the smug arrogance of one who believed their organization was invincible.

I think, Alex said dismissively, it is your time that is running out.

Victor’s face creased. A hint of worry? Whatever Alex had seen in his captor’s eyes shifted away when Victor gazed at the two guards behind him and his shackled wrists. Haughty confidence now poured out of Victor like a cat toying with a mouse caught with no escape.

Alex, one way or another you are going to tell me everything. So let’s skip the unpleasantries and just get to the point. What is it you know? The question was vague, but the implications were clear.

Hmmm, what is it I know? he mused. I know about the clandestine meetings in Virginia, Scotland, and Paris. I was there, watching and listening. With a rustle of the chains that bound his hands he raised a forefinger and tapped the side of his head as if to express, I have it all right in here.

Victor’s eyes widened. Alex sensed the worried question lurking behind the other man’s gaze. How could he possibly know about our organization?

I know the structure, the leadership, and the end game. And you know what, Victor? I am a light that is going to shine into the darkness, illuminating truth for all the world to see. Alex leaned back into the soft leather seat as if he didn’t have a worry in the world.

Bullshit, Victor exploded. The smell of fear soured the sterile air. If you had so much as an inkling . . .

I am here because I know the secret, Alex interrupted. That’s what you really want, isn’t it? The secret that has remained hidden for all these centuries. Something so world-changing that few have dared to grasp its power.

His words had the desired effect — Victor fell silent, his mouth agape. Gone was the cat’s confidence. One moment passed, then another. The lull stretched from seconds into minutes, and the oxygen felt sucked from the fuselage, but still no one spoke. The hum of the plane shooting through the sky only made the silence weigh heavier.

Finally, in a low voice, Alex asked, Are you a God-fearing man? He waited, but when there was no answer, he rose to his feet, raised his hands to his chest, and miraculously his shackles slipped off and fell to the floor.

The guards moved to intercede. But Victor held up his palm for them to wait.

Alex could see he was desperate for him to finish what he had to say. Knowing that if he really had unraveled the lost secret of the Ancients, then that is all that mattered. Whatever he knew about their organization would be inconsequential to the answers Victor hoped to have finally found.

Here, Alex said, pulling a flash drive from his pocket. Victor hesitated. His hands were trembling as if the item was toxic.

Take it, Victor, Alex said forcefully, extending his hand to compel his captor to take the data stick from him. "It will show you the power of what you are looking for, the power that until now, has remained hidden . . ."

The only sound was the soft hiss of the air conditioner.

Alex again considered the danger his daughter would be in, but that risk had been measured long ago. With so much at stake, he had no choice — he only hoped when the time came, she would understand.

Given what he had discovered, he didn’t have the luxury of time. And with that realization came the clarity of what needed to be done. He had put all the pieces in place. He had set the path before Maya, and now he had to trust and let events unfold.

She has such passion for solving ancient mysteries.

The thought reinforced his belief that she would take up the hunt. Each clue he’d lain down would lead her to the next, but each also had a firewall, just in case the adversary breached her path.

The two guards fidgeted, not knowing what they were supposed to do. In the hesitation, Alex, the man who was thought captive, had the final words. The words that would set everything in motion.

Goodbye Victor.

"What the . . ." Victor blinked and blinked again. He waved his arms into the empty space, but it was like trying to touch a mirage. His captive was no longer there. He looked to the two guards, but they were as perplexed as he was.

He looked at the flash drive still in his palm.

This was no illusion.

But what was he going to tell his masters? Without sound or sensation, Dr. Alex Harrington was gone. He had vanished right before their very own eyes.

Is that the secret?

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Columbia University, NYC

March

Every Wednesday night, academic pretense fell to the overwhelming power of happy hour. The smell of beer, sweat, and humanity was ingrained into the pub’s woodwork.

Maya had spent countless nights here, consuming untold quantities of beer. It was both familiar and comforting. But she knew that this place would soon be a reflection in her rearview mirror. It was time for her to leave the collegiate cocoon and venture out into the real world, for as of this morning, she was done. Her studies were finished, and her thesis successfully defended. The donning of the robe was now merely a formality.

Dr. Maya Harrington, Ph.D. I like the sound of that.

After what seemed like a lifetime dedicated to study and research, she found herself sitting with her colleagues, feigning celebration. But an unease had been steadily growing. Her father had left on a trip back in January, and though he often traveled for extended periods, he almost always called or emailed, albeit sporadically at best. This was the longest he had ever gone without touching base.

He promised me he’d be at my graduation ceremony, she consoled herself, but that wasn’t until May.

So what now, Dr. Harrington? asked Johnny White Feather.

Layla got a nudge from the Navajo’s big shoulder, Yeah, girl. I know you hate it when we probe, but what are you planning to do now that you’re, like, basically done with school?

Maya stared at the two colleagues sitting across from her. They were the closest she had to actual friends. JW and Layla had been chums long before she had met them. Her relationship had started out on a professional level, where she engaged one, and then the other, to help with some research. Layla was a computer expert who could pry anything out of the net. JW held several advanced degrees in ancient history, world religions, and indigenous affairs.

A guarded kinship grew among them. Friendship without complication.

I’m not sure, Maya said softly. The worn wood tabletop balanced her restless hands. "There’s a feeler from someone I know at NYU about a possible teaching position, but the idea of being stuck inside a classroom . . ." her voice trailed off.

I prefer to be out in the field getting dirt under my fingernails.

Maya had a million ways to disassociate when people asked her personal questions. In this case, she let her eyes wander towards the bar with its varied assortment of beer taps, and busy bartender, John, who had been a fixture here for all these years. Her gaze swept over the smattering of occupied tables and the couple playing darts in the corner. She was not sure where she was headed, but a change of scenery was due. Still, she would miss this place.

A man in a pale blue shirt came through the front door. He was older than the usual crowd, his face seemed twisted in anger, and his movements were aggressive and malevolent.

She watched as he made his way to the bar, not caring whose shoulders he bumped. He pulled a stool up next to another man, a smaller man, maybe South American. Neither of them were regulars—she came here often enough to know.

She couldn’t hear what was said, but from the body language, the blue-shirt man had brought trouble. The small man at the bar threw down some bills, ducked his head, and made haste for the exit. Blue shirt turned, exposing an ugly scar on his right cheek, and followed.

The entire exchange set off warning bells in her gut.

Be right back. Maya didn’t wait for an acknowledgement before taking off for the bar.

Excuse me, John, who’s that guy that just left? Her nerves were all tingling, adrenaline fueling the intensity.

The guy with the scar? No idea. He continued drying his beer mugs.

Something wasn’t right. She just knew.

OK, thanks.

Why not ask your friend, he seemed to know him. His tone implied an obvious solution.

My friend? Her face scrunched in confusion.

The short one with the broken English. I assumed you knew him. He knew you. He nodded his head at the door.

He knew me? A pulse thudded inside her chest.

Yeah, as a matter of fact, he gave me twenty bucks and a package. Told me to give it to you when you were leaving. The package — not the twenty.

A package? For me? Are you sure?

With a purse of his lips he gave her a slight tilt of the head in confirmation.

Well! Her eyes grew saucer wide. She immediately regretted her sharp tone. It was fueled by impatience and worry.

Easy, doc, he replied as he set down the dish rag.

Reaching under the bar, he retrieved a parcel wrapped in worn brown paper. Here ya go.

Doc? He doesn’t miss a thing.

Thanks, John. Sorry. She exhaled deeply to clear the rush of adrenaline.

He nodded and went back to his mugs.

She returned to the table to find her companions sporting the same confused expression. It was Layla who spoke first.

What’s wrong?

Maya’s heart was still pounding as she tried to think of an explanation.

Why did I approach the bartender? Who was the man that dropped off this package? Who was that blue-shirted man?

She had no easy answers, so simply shook her head. She didn’t know where to begin other than with the weight of what was in her hands.

She studied the package. It was dense and travel worn. Removing the thick, stained wrapping, she found a brown leather book inside. It had three initials etched into the cover.

ARH, she muttered in disbelief. This belongs to my father.

Alex Roosevelt Harrington.

The trio stared down at the book. Its presence charged the atmosphere. In that moment, the din of the bar, the chatter of patrons, the disarray of the empty barstools and the hoppy smell of beer ceased to exist.

Why would someone have his diary?

Maya knew it was the only question that mattered.

Layla laid her hand on top of Maya’s — her beautiful dark skin a deep contrast to Maya’s pale coloring. It was meant as an act of friendship, to be consoling. She felt the warm touch through the gauntlet of emotion that engulfed her like the tide.

Biting her lip, Maya suddenly felt caged and claustrophobic. The joyous sounds of the pub now sounded like a cacophony of drums and thunder beating against her. She needed to escape.

Her heart pounding and blood rushing in her ears, she put the book into her bag.

I think I’m going to head out.

Layla nodded, causing a braid to fall into her face. JW couldn’t hide his concern but said nothing.

Not wanting to worry them further, Maya suggested, How ‘bout breakfast in the morning? I’ll buy.

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Maya sat in her apartment and stared at the book. She relived the episode at the bar, asking the same questions she had turned over and over all the way home.

Who was that guy? Where did he get this?

And then more ominously, she thought of the man who had entered the tavern.

What did he want? Was there a connection to the diary? To my father?

She settled into an old worn recliner with cracked leather arms. From her windows she could see lights on in the high rise across the street. Night had descended on the city.

The diary’s well-traveled cover and etched letters felt heavy under her fingertips. Memories of times spent with her father washed over her. Vacations they had taken together, the trips to classic ruins that had fueled her passion for archeology and sparked an insatiable curiosity to unravel ancient mysteries. She recalled cooking for him after her mother passed. The simple dinners over which conversations spiced with topics about primeval civilizations lasted deep into the night. Her father had always treated her older than her years.

She remembered her mother explaining how she had gotten her name.

Your father was going through his Mayan phase, she smiled with that lovelight in her eyes.

She missed those quiet moments with her mom as her father talked excitedly about lost cultures and civilizations.

Where are you, Dad?

She opened the cover and saw his familiar script, As Above So Below. She recognized the quote. It was from the Egyptian Book of the Dead. The oldest known manuscript in the world.

Flipping to the next page was a passage that made no sense to her.

I have returned with my guide. The Shaman was right. The serpents were waiting. The birdman laughed at me. We are so insignificant, clueless. I asked the question, they answered. He said they would. They always do. Of course, it all makes sense. Why is the obvious so invisible?

Shamans, birdmen? What is he talking about?

She rummaged through his notes. There was material devoted to shamans, ayahuasca hallucinations, alternative dimensions, and alternative worlds. Letting her eyes drift over the pages, she noticed a few items written in a heavier hand. She turned to the back. The last dated entry was marked Hidalgo, Peru.

South America?

It was a connection. The short man at the bar, he looked South American.

Maybe he got this from my father.

She started looking for more clues but the more she read, the more she sensed an intentional awkwardness. Phrases cut short and words underlined. And knowing her father, who was fascinated with the history of ciphers, she considered that something was being concealed in plain sight.

What are you hiding?

She skipped past the last few pages to the end. The final entry held nothing more than a bold drawing of the six-pointed Star of David. Odd, since her father was an avowed atheist.

Has something happened that drove him off the deep end? What are all these initials? CRV, ERV. Is this some sort of code? It doesn’t make sense.

The sounds of garbage trucks announced the arrival of morning. But regarding the questions brought by her father’s journal, she remained in the dark.

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The chilled winds of March carried hints of spring through the city. Turning south on Columbus, Maya joined the throngs of New Yorkers hurrying down the avenue. Just across from Lincoln Center she walked into the diner. Even with his back to the door, JW’s long black ponytail and hulking shoulders were hard to miss.

Where’s Layla? she asked.

Can’t make it. Columbia’s network crashed last night right after you left the bar. She’s been trying to get them back up since midnight.

The waitress came with coffee and Maya held out her cup. The diner was filled with the smell of sizzling meats and frying eggs and buzzing with a city-wide addiction to caffeine and adrenaline.

I see that you were up all night reading. By her yawns and the way she rubbed her eyes, the lack of sleep was obvious.

Yep, she admitted, pushing some tangled blonde strands away from her face

Hmm, he said with a disapproving shake of the head. Let’s feed you.

He had traveled with her to countless remote and out of the way places, assisting with research to flush out her thesis on the Master Builders and their pre-Neanderthal global grid of sacred sites. But in all the times they had spent together, she had never shared much of her past.

She was guarded with everyone—most of her relationships were transactional. She once dated a psychology major who suggested that the loss of her mother at a young age was the reason she always needed to keep a tight grasp on everything. She had dumped him of course, but he was right. As a rule, she was not prone to sharing much about herself. Her past, her emotions — these were things she kept very private.

She had developed a talent for keeping people at arm’s length, but the arrival of her father’s diary and the implications surrounding it had somehow changed everything. This morning she had made yet another call to her father’s employer and got the same answer as each of the previous times she had called.

Your father is out of the country and unreachable, but we will be sure to give him your message . . .

It was all bullshit. She now suspected they had no more of an idea where he was than she did. He is missing and somehow, someone got ahold of his diary, and I now have it.

Is he in trouble? Is anyone even looking for him? Is this a cry for help?

These questions worked into her like a knife.

I will find you Dad.

This idea suffused every part of her until it became the only thing that mattered. But she would need help. And sitting across from her was the one person she trusted. She cleared her throat as if she had something to share, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Have you learned anything from the diary? JW asked, offering an opening. You know, sometimes a fresh set of eyes are helpful."

Maya let out a deep breath. With trepidation she cracked open the door of her past.

Fifteen years ago, we were living in Southern California, she began. My father was working for the Hughes Corporation as a quantum physicist. One day he comes home and announces that he’s taken a job at Advanced Dynamics and drops the bomb that we would be moving in just a few weeks. She hesitated, weighing her words.

Thoughts of her past opened old wounds suppressed from long ago. She took a deep breath, tucked the memories back in their box, exhaled and continued.

Dad was so excited but moving was tough on me. He was always at work and I was entering a new high school where I didn’t know anyone. And of course, I had no mother to help me. She was gone by then.

Maya could tell from his expression that her sharing personal revelations had come as a surprise. He never pushed her too hard to let him in. She was never ready. Until now.

I can’t imagine how hard that would have been, he consoled in a soft voice.

I got through OK, I guess. But it would have been so much worse if he hadn’t been so absorbed in his work. It was almost like he was happy then. You know. So for me, as long as he was happy, I didn’t mind being alone. I actually enjoy solitude.

What kind of stuff was he working on?

Originally he was immersed in the field of interdimensional physics. Sub-atomic particles bilocating between dimensional fields. Scientists at Bell Labs had just proven a particle could be in two places at one time. He became convinced that if mass could be moved beyond the confines of the four dimensions it would be unaffected by the laws of gravity.

Four dimensions?

You know, up-down, forward-back, left-right, and time." She was using quick hand movements to articulate her meaning.

That makes sense, he nodded. I never really considered time as a dimension. I always thought of the fourth dimension as the realm of spirits and the deceased, but that’s probably just because my grandfather is a shaman. With a dismissive gesture he waved away his background as inconsequential and encouraged her to keep talking.

Of course, his grandfather is a shaman! Maybe he would understand some of the stuff dad has written. She logged this thought and continued.

By the time I entered grad school, he was away more frequently and for longer periods. Then he began to get paranoid. He was sure that he was being watched. Eventually he stopped talking to me about his work. It was like he didn’t trust me. Maya shrugged. I wasn’t sure if his concerns were justified or simply a symptom of him burning the candle at both ends. Now I’m thinking he may have been right.

Did you guys talk a lot?

Of course, all the time. He helps me with my ideas, gives me guidance, and has always encouraged me. You’ll like him. Her chest was tight with hope and fear, each vying for dominance inside of her.

JW raised an eye. Is there something in the diary that leads you to believe he is still alive? No matter how gentle his tone, the question still burned. But it had to be asked. If there was something specific, it would be important.

Maya exhaled a deliberate breath. She fought against her natural tendencies towards becoming defensive.

Not from the diary. It’s more like a feeling. I can’t explain it. I just know. If he was really dead— She practically dared him to challenge her, but to her surprise, he didn’t.

I understand. He replied without judgment. Sinking back into the aged creases of the worn booth he explained.

Linked by the golden rope. Western concepts of life, death and rebirth are very different from the beliefs of my people. Navajos believe that all life is connected and that there are ephemeral threads of energy that connect each of us together.

He twisted his coffee cup in his hands. The deeper the relationship, the stronger the cord. If you still feel him transmitting across that golden rope, then I have no doubt you are right.

This was the kind of spiritual nonsense that normally drove her nuts. Usually she dismissed whimsical assertions of untestable metaphysics, but not today. Licking her lips with cautious hope, it was a comfort she would cling to.

You just said that your grandfather’s a shaman, right?

Yeah. Why?

My father mentioned meeting with some Peruvian shamans. I was hoping he could shed some light on things he wrote.

She had always admired her father. But given the last few months of paranoia, the disparate items in his diary about shamans and ayahuasca and all the other weird shit . . . These were not the normal observations of a quantum physicist. It cast some shade on what she was feeling.

Sure, he said with a shrug.

There is something else. There are a cluster of references that show up throughout his diary. Grill Flame, Star Gate, Chernobyl, and Montauk Protocols, or project. Also, the initials CRV and ERV are mentioned over and over. Any idea what these could be?

"Outside of the obvious reference to Chernobyl, none of it really strikes a chord. We should ask Layla to run a search. You know she’s better at teasing things out of the internet than we are.

No doubt, she mumbled, her shoulders sagging just a little. I’ll call her later today.

Anything on what he was working on when he disappeared. Or how his diary found its way to you?

Before she could answer, a lanky man in his mid-thirties approached wearing an old cowboy hat, faded denim, and a buckskin jacket. Even by New York standards, it was a little over the top.

Ms. Harrington? he asked, his accent hinting of Texas.

Yes? Maya shifted in her seat.

My name is Tim Rexford, but most people just call me Rex.

How would someone know where to find me this early in the morning?

She was tired, weary, and on guard. He extended a hand, but she ignored it. She was in no mood. The stranger’s delivery of her father’s diary had heightened her anxiety and now the timing of this gentleman, well, it seemed suspicious.

What can I do for you? How did you know I was here?

Probably because of her tone, he got right to the point. I represent a large organization that would like to hire you.

Before she could send him on his way, JW slid over to make room.

Please sit down. Coffee? He caught Maya’s eye. Go with it.

Why? she asked as the stranger slipped in across from her. Why would a large company want to hire someone fresh out of school who didn’t even apply for a position? Before he could get a word out, she hammered him again with the same question.

How did you find me here?

Doctor Harrington, he said, pausing but never breaking eye contact. My employer has read your dissertation. He was impressed, and let me tell you, he does not impress easily.

Her first reaction was to wonder if he was telling the truth. Maintaining the intensity of their gaze, her green eyes narrowed with a challenge.

So your boss has read my work. Have you?

Of course, he smiled. There was no hesitation in his reply. The devolution of human knowledge. It was quite bold of you to go out on a limb and postulate that there were civilizations before us who were far more advanced than we are today. Let’s be honest, challenging the status quo is probably the fastest route a scientist can take to achieving complete and total obscurity.

This was not the answer she had expected, but she let it pass.

"Let’s see . . . how did you phrase it?" He settled back in the booth with JW.

"Oh yes, ‘it is a commonly held belief that as man progresses forward in time, layering discovery upon discovery, with knowledge upon knowledge, he has advanced both technologically and intellectually.’ But your premise is quite contrary.

"You hypothesize