The Obelisk

By Daniel Luther Jackson

The people of the small Town of Bartonville wake up to find a strange excavation on their new neighbor's property. As events develop they discover their new neighbor is building a strange tower. The local law enforcement, homeland security or the landowners are in a race against time to destroy the tower and save the planet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781304110060

Book preview

The Obelisk

The Obelisk

By Daniel Luther Jackson

Copyright © 2013 by Daniel Luther Jackson

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-304-11006-0

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

Cover Illustration by Daniel Luther Jackson

Made in the United States of America

Preface

and they built a tower, neither sparing any pains, nor being in any degree negligent about the work: and, by reason of the multitude of hands employed in it, it grew very high, sooner than any one could expect; but the thickness of it was so great, and it was so strongly built, that thereby its great height seemed, upon the view, to be less than it really was. It was built of burnt brick, cemented together with mortar, made of bitumen, that it might not be liable to admit water. When God saw that they acted so madly, he did not resolve to destroy them utterly, since they were not grown wiser by the destruction of the former sinners; but he caused a tumult among them, by producing in them diverse languages, and causing that, through the multitude of those languages, they should not be able to understand one another. The place wherein they built the tower is now called Babylon, because of the confusion of that language which they readily understood before; for the Hebrews mean by the word Babel, confusion…

Josephus

And the Lord sent a mighty wind against the tower and overthrew it upon the earth, and behold it was between Asshur and Babylon in the land of Shinar, and they called its name 'Overthrow'.

The Book of Jubilees, Chapter 10, Verse 26

I first conceived the idea for The Obelisk back in the summer of 2012. I had just finished The Cold Kind and wasn’t ready to start the final book in The Envoy trilogy. I had a space elevator story rattling around in the old gourd for years. I was surfing the internet doing research for The Cold Kind and found that NASA had sponsored a contest for a working prototype of a space elevator in 2010. From there my imagination took over and you see the results in black and white before you.

I was a100 pages in when I was broadening my research and found that there had already been a number of space elevator novels written by some of the greatest science fiction authors to ever have lived. Nimrod may have been the first man known to attempt building a tower into the sky but he certainly wasn’t the last. The realization that my concept was not breaking any new frontiers in creative writing was a bitter pill to swallow, but I was already so deep and the characters were so good that I didn’t want to stop.

With the process of writing a novel, I learned that I had many misconceptions about the physics of the earth’s atmosphere and the fundamentals of space travel. I learned that there was a significant difference between zero gravity and geosynchronous orbit.

The main thing was that I learned and I hope with the reading of this book that you may learn something new as well. That is what truly keeps us young.

Have fun!

Daniel Luther Jackson

Oak Point, Texas

June, 2013

Chapter 1 - - - A Good Neighbor

God damned dog, he muttered under his breath. It was becoming a habit with one of his terriers to dig under the back fence and go on a tour of the neighborhood anytime he was let out to do his business. He was a good dog most of the time but Moebi (short for Moebius) had found renewed vigor in chasing the neighbor’s cats off of Harry’s garbage cans.  Harry wasn’t particularly fond of the neighbor’s cats either but he was even less fond of the mess left by Moebi after the dog went ballistic trying to catch the guilty felines. Harry found coffee grounds and banana peels spread down the drive all the way to the street and back on a daily basis. The whole process was getting old and Harry Reddick’s eloquent curses rang out in the morning air as he picked up each bit of errant refuse and put it back in the garbage can.

Fortunately there were only three neighbors that shared the private drive back to Harry’s property and two of them already appeared to have left for work for the day. The other neighbor was new having only moved in on the big property next door a few months before. Harry had not had much complaint about the new neighbor; he seemed to keep to himself. The neighbor wasn’t friendly enough to observe the local custom and wave from his car when ever Harry or his neighbors passed him on the road, but they didn’t hold it against him. Other than that, neither Harry, nor his neighbors had even seen the man. Never the less, a respectful tone seemed to have been set between the old neighbors and the new neighbor until about a week ago. That’s when Harry began to notice a couple of big strange-looking tom cats out by the trash bin late in the evening when the sun was low and the belt of Venus was just a sliver on the horizon. The toms were big and sleek and showed a typical feline disdain for all things canine and devoted most of their time to slow walks across the Reddick property in full view of Harry’s three dogs. The Reddick dogs of course took great exception to such obvious lack of respect for dog territory. They all bayed and howled at the top of their lungs until either the cats decided to leave or Harry’s loud curses stifled their barking.

Harry was on a roll this morning. He had verbally abused the birth and lineage of the new neighbor’s cats back several generations and was starting on the origins of their master when it happened.

Harry’s thoughts had turned to a warm linger on the guns locked up in his gun safe inside. He had never been one to shoot at a neighbor’s pets but he was seriously considering breaking out his .410 shotgun loaded with birdshot the next time he saw the tom cats out in his garbage. A darker thought brought up the .22 rifle and the potential demise of the two tom cats all together. Chances were that his new neighbor would never know what happened to his cats.

Hell, for that matter who knows if they’re even the new neighbor’s cats, thought Harry, They could be just a couple of strays someone decided to dump out in the country.

His gaze followed the route the cats usually took getting back over the fence and onto the property to the east. That’s when his eyes followed their usual line over to the neighbor’s property and the big line of trees that lined the west side of his neighbor’s land and stopped. Here Harry paused, something was wrong. He was experiencing a complete lack of recognition of the view next door. For a moment, he couldn’t figure out what was different and then it hit him like a ton of bricks. The trees were gone. Of the fifteen to twenty large trees that had blocked his view of the neighbor the night before, not one remained. Not only were they gone, there was nothing left to prove they had ever been there.

Harry was amazed that he hadn’t seen or heard any trees being cleared. He had never seen any pile of twisted debris such as was typically left by backhoes and bulldozers in tree-clearing of this magnitude.

Hell, thought Harry, the biggest tree, an oak, had a trunk almost four feet in diameter. There was no way a tree that size could just disappear over night.

The strangeness didn’t end there, though. The neighbor had put up a perimeter silt fence like Harry often saw on large construction sites to prevent ground erosion. The silt fence ran about twenty feet west of where the line of trees had once stood. From his angle of view, Harry couldn’t see past the new silt fence and what was on the other side. In Harry’s mind, what his neighbor was doing with the property next door had shot to the top of his list of must-do’s for that day.

Harry ran back in his house and grabbed his cell phone and the .22 rifle he had been thinking about just minutes before. There was a wide field between him and his neighbor and he walked it slowly with the rifle in his hand, loaded with a shell in the breech but the safety on.

As he got closer to the silt fence his perspective changed and he could see beyond the silt fence and what was there now. The answer to this was even more surprising than the disappearing tree line because now, nothing was there. Finally, he stood at his own fence line and could see over the silt fence that now ran twenty feet over and parallel to his fence. It wasn’t some sort of optical illusion. Where there had once been a line of thirty to forty foot high trees and ground below them was now thin air. Harry could see that there was a large excavation on the other side of the silt fence and it was deep. Harry was beginning to feel like he was still back in bed. Maybe he had never really gotten up that morning and was having the most vivid dream he had ever experienced in his life. The sheer enormity of what he was looking at boggled his mind.

Beyond the silt fence was a hole, a massive hole. It stretched about three football fields away from him by rough estimate. He could see the far side of the hole and the walls that went down to the bottom of the hole from there. Harry guessed that it had to be a hundred feet deep at least, but depth was hard to judge from the top looking down. He could see his neighbor down at the bottom of the hole far away on the east side of it. He was sitting atop a piece of heavy equipment. On all sides a dust cloud rose around the new neighbor and the heavy equipment rig he rode.

Harry watched as the piece of equipment slowly moved northward, digging the hole deeper as it went. Harry tried to see the dirt being moved by the big machine, but as the machine moved forward the dirt in front of it seemed to melt away. Harry could see no spoil piles or dirt piles in the site below. What he was seeing couldn’t be so. He felt like he needed to go sit down and think about who he needed to call, because somebody in authority definitely needed to be informed. Whatever the neighbor had in mind, Harry was pretty sure he didn’t have a permit to dig up a million tons of Bartonville proper. He was also sure that he wasn’t as good a neighbor as he had originally hoped.

Chapter 2  - - - You Can’t Fight City Hall

Maggie Stewart was working the morning that Harry Reddick called. It had been the typical Monday with several complaints left on the Town of Bartonville’s answering machine as soon as she got in to work. Maggie was the glue that kept the small town of Bartonville running smoothly. She was the City Manager but in a small town like Bartonville, she often had many duties that would not have been in her job description. One of her many tasks were answering the phones when their seventy year old receptionist, Matilda Bannister, called in sick.

She had been on her way to drop off her seven year old son, Rodney, at grade school when Tilde had called her on Maggie’s cell phone to let her know she wouldn’t be into work. Tilde was beginning to miss more days then usual and Maggie often wondered how many years the old girl had left in her. Not that it mattered there wasn’t enough money in the town budget to pay a reasonable wage for a receptionist. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Tilde was part time and independently wealthy, Maggie was sure she would be answering the phones all the time.

Bartonville’s diminutive mayor, Bart Mann also left much to be desired. He was a lot better at politickin’ than running a city and any expectation that he would lend a hand when they were short-handed was a quickly put to rest. So it came as no real surprise to Maggie that she was the only one at work that early Monday when Harry called. For that reason she was slightly irritated when she picked up the phone.

Town of Bartonville, this is Maggie Stewart speaking, she said, May I help you?

Yes, good morning, Maggie, the man on the line seemed to be out of breath. This is Harry Reddick out on Dire Road…maybe you remember me from back in November? We spoke on Election Day.

Maggie had a brief recollection of a thin red-haired older gentleman with a penchant for colorful strings of cusswords especially in regard to the current President.

I remember you, Mr. Reddick, Maggie replied more amiably. What can I do for you this morning?

Well, to tell the truth, I’m kind of flabbergasted as to who I need to talk to, I don’t suppose Bob Seagal is in, is he?

Maggie could sense that something was out of whack from the tone of Harry’s voice. Bob Seagal was the Building Inspector for Bartonville. Then again, he served the same function at the neighboring towns of Lantana, Copper Canyon and Double Oak as well. He spent a day at each town doing their inspections four days a week with Fridays off. Unfortunately, Monday he was always in Lantana. Tuesday was the day he usually dedicated to Bartonville.

No, he’s not in today, Harry, she said, He works in Lantana today. He’ll be here tomorrow if that helps. Anything, I can help you with Harry?

I hope so, Maggie. If you could get a message to Bob today and have him come out to Dire Road today, I would certainly appreciate it. My neighbor seems to be doing a lot of building on his land and I was just wondered if he has all his permits…

Building, Maggie mused, I don’t remember any permits for Dire Road. What does he seem to be building?

Well that’s the thing, ma’am, Harry answered. He’s building something but I can’t figure out what it is. All I know is it is big…huge even.

Maggie frowned. She had to ask.

Hard to say, Harry said, but if I ventured a guess, I’d say it’s about a thousand feet long and over a hundred feet deep.

How deep, she asked to confirm?

Over a hundred at least and getting deeper, Harry said before he hung up.

Maggie didn’t know too much about Harry Reddick but she was beginning to think he was either off his meds or drunk. She knew that any construction that size would have run the rumor mills around town several times by now. She was sure this must be some sort of ruse being played for her benefit by Bob Seagal and and the Honorable Bart Mann. She decided at first not to call anyone and just leave a note on Bob’s desk.

An hour later, she was still thinking about it. She thought she may as well give Bob a call and go ahead and give them all a big laugh.

Bob picked up on the second ring.

Hi Maggie, came his deep throaty voice. What can I do you for this beautiful Monday morning?

Hi Bob, how is it going, she answered amiably? Bob was one of the people that made her job easier. Old Harry Reddick called this morning. He’s complaining that his new neighbor is building a structure on his property and wants to know if we know anything about it.

Structure, Bob mused by way of reply, How big a structure are we talking about here, Maggie?

Well, that’s where his story gets a little spotty, Bob. He’s saying that it’s a couple of football fields long and a hundred feet deep. Maggie waited to see if he would admit to it as being part of a joke, but no indication from Bob.

Maggie could hear Bob’s intake of breath on the other end of the line.

Hundred feet deep, Bob exclaimed, That old sailor must be losing his mind. There is no way in hell that something like that could pop up over the weekend. Hell, I was just out there last week. I didn’t see anything like that going on out there.

Well, he sounded pretty excited about it, Maggie replied.

Yea, well the old bird doesn’t have much else to occupy his time but spy on his neighbors. I was heading out that way tomorrow anyway. Do you think he can wait till tomorrow?

I don’t see why not, Bob, she replied agreeably. I suppose if the neighbor is building something today without a permit that he’ll still be building it tomorrow.

I like the way you think, Maggie, Bob answered. If the old geezer calls back, tell him I’ll be out there first thing in the morning.

Okay, sounds like a plan, Maggie said. Would you give me a call after you get done out there and let me know what all the fuss is about?

You know I will, Maggie, Bob said and hung up. Maggie didn’t give Harry Reddick or his hole in the ground another thought that day, she was just happy right then that it hadn’t been a joke at her expense. It was hard enough working with a group of guys much less being the butt of their jokes…no pun intended.

Bob Seagal was another matter.

Bob had his business to consider and anything that happened in Bartonville without his knowledge was a problem. He dialed his phone and got his son, Jerry on the line.

Yea, Dad, what’s up, Jerry said when he picked up?

I need you to go out to Dire Road and see if you see anything peculiar going on out there, Bob said, and before dark.

Well, I was driving over to the Big Box store before I headed home, Jerry answered noncommittally, Should I turn around and go back?

Bob looked at his watch. It was quarter past four and it would take Jerry an hour to get to the store and back.

Yes, go by Dire Road first, said Bob, and try to keep a low profile if you can; the folks who live down that road don’t take kindly to city inspectors or city inspector’s son’s nosing around. Act like your going into the gas well pad next door and park. You should be able to see from there.

Well, just what am I supposed to be looking for, Dad, asked Jerry?

Hell if I know, son, said Bob, but that salty old dog that lives out there is calling and giving Maggie hell about some kind of structure next door. Bob grinned and laughed inwardly. I can only imagine the noise all his fucking dogs are making.

Jerry didn’t see any humor in what his father asked. He didn’t care too much for the Dires or their half brothers The Finns. They all lived out at the end of Dire Road like some kind of tribe of families, all related to each other and in each other’s business on a daily basis. They were also known for doing a lot of building and clearing without city permits or inspection. They weren’t too fond of the fees involved in such enterprises it seemed.

He also wasn’t surprised that his dad was concerned. Jerry knew that his dad’s business involved more than just building inspection, a lot more. Bob Seagal had made more money off his side job than his real job. In fact he had made more money over the last ten years selling cannabis than anything else he had done. Jerry smiled as he drove out to the Reddick place. There were certain perks to having your dad as the biggest drug dealer in south Denton County. The number one was having an endless supply of good herb. It also brought him some popularity at high school. Even now, although he had been out of high school for two years, he got calls everyday from his old classmates about purchasing some of his primo quality product.

Bob Seagal had been suspicious to the point of being paranoid of any new people or new activities in the area. Being a building inspector, there wasn’t much that escaped his notice in a small town and Bob hoped to keep it that way. Any prospect of being apprehended and going to prison was unacceptable in his opinion. So Jerry knew that his Dad’s request to see what was going on out Dire Road way was about more than just an illegal construction. It was to check out if there was any potential threat to Bob’s alternate income.

Jerry was thinking about all this as he drove. He lit up a fair sized zeppelin and puffed with precision to get the maximum benefit off the cannabis. By the time he reached the gas well pad next to the Reddick property he was feeling the effect…substantially.

There was a pipe rail gate blocking the entrance to the pad site and he decided to follow his dad’s advice and park his truck there. He got out of the truck and stretched his legs and took a look around. He didn’t hear any heavy equipment which was usually a sure indicator that someone was building something big. In fact the only thing he did hear was the birds in the trees close to the pad site. Jerry decided to slide under the gate leading into the pad site. There was a good line of trees around the south side of the pad site and they would hide his approach to old Harry’s property and allow him to get a good look at what the old man was talking about.

Jerry slowly advanced through the underbrush following an old game trail that led to a pond on the north side of the Reddick tract. Jerry had fished the little pond when he had been a boy so he was surprised to see the little pond dry and empty. He was curious as to where the water for the pond had gone until he realized that the south embankment of the pond was missing. The excavation that Harry Reddick was complaining about had stretched to the south side of the little pond and sheared off its southern side. All the water had drained out because there was no longer a dirt embankment to hold it in. In its place was a silt fence blocking a sheer dirt wall that went down to an elevation below Jerry’s line of sight. He could see it was deep though, so deep that he didn’t want to get any closer to the edge. A hundred feet deep he thought he had heard his father say. Well it was a hundred feet deep at least and probably deeper. The long shadows of the setting sun were creeping across the bottom of the huge excavation and Jerry began to have some concern for his safety. He’d be damned if he’d be there after the sun went down. The thought of a misstep