The Firestone Legacy

By Jerry Byrd

Bodyguard Matilda Karsen agrees to take an unusual assignment rescuing an heiress from a cult and uncovers a mass murder that will launch an international manhunt with her as the target.

Zachary Goldeagle, producer, adventurer and Hopi shaman offers to help an old friend. They become embroiled in a deadly international intrigue, pitted against wealthy and powerful adversaries who want them both dead or worse.

In a race around the globe, they have one chance to keep an ancient secret from the wrong hands.

It means facing the Labyrinth of the Initiate a place designed to kill.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 21, 2009
• ISBN: 9781465318497

Jerry Byrd

Jerry Byrd loves diversity. A computer engineer, graphics designer, publisher, television set carpenter, cameraman, songwriter, sculptor, musician and writer, he is happiest when creating something … or treasure hunting. In The Firestone Legacy, he draws upon a lifetime of research into the true mysteries of the world to write an adventure that reveals secret places and makes ancient myths real … a tale that could be as much truth as fiction. Jerry lives in the woods of North Florida with his wife, Nancy, numerous cats, wild turkeys and deer.

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The Firestone Legacy

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Jerry Byrd

Copyright © 2009 by Jerald W. Byrd.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

55209

Contents

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Dedicated to

Cy and Kitty LaFrancis

Acknowledgements

I wish to thank my wife, Nancy, for her invaluable assistance and my children, Zak and Heather. My gratitude to writers Barry O’Hara, James Nadal, and Mike Ash, Captains Martin and David Smith, Lesley Farryl White, and to William Houraney. A special thanks to the inimitable Rudy Amendt for pointing me in the direction of Truth… and to Edgar Cayce for helping me find it… to Cory, Zeke, and Amelia for Being… and to Tony, Mike, Bob, Jeff and Carmen for inspiration. Thank you Ashley Nuico, Kristine Allego, Ivan Agustin and Lauro Talibong at Xlibris.

Let me begin by observing… that nine thousand was the sum of years which had elapsed since… an island greater in extent than Libya and Asia [was] sunk by an earthquake [and] became an impassable barrier of mud to voyagers sailing from hence to any part of the ocean.

Critias

Plato—400 B.C.

The entity Hept-supht led in the keeping of the records and buildings that were put in their respective places… at this time.

Edgar Cayce

Case No. 378-L-3

Several anomalies were observed as a result of our resistivity survey at the Sphinx [which] indicate an anomaly that could possibly be due to a tunnel aligned northwest to south-east… . Two other anomalies were noted, deep in the bedrock in front of the paws of the Sphinx.

US National Science Foundation

Stanford Research Institute—1977

Prologue

Egypt: Summer-10,390 B.C.

Hept-supht, said the young man pensively, his gray eyes meeting those of his guest. Although he appeared to be in his early thirties, in truth he was the oldest man in Egypt—and possibly all the world. His hair was dark brown and his skin the color of deep, reddish-bronze. His cheekbones were high and strong. His gaze burned with the fire of genius yet remained warm with wisdom. He stood five feet eight inches, not tall but thick, with the muscles of a hunter and athlete accustomed to a very physical lifestyle. Although second in power only to the king, he wore nothing to denote his exalted office . . . only a simple tunic of deep ochre.

The two men stood in a large room, regally furnished in rich earth tones and vibrant hues of blue and green. Beautiful hand-woven tapestries covered three of the walls. The fourth was open to a terrace that overlooked the city below. The air was thickly fragrant with the perfume of assorted blossoms floating on a warm breeze from the fertile valley of the Nile.

Hept-supht, said the young man again, rolling the name on his tongue as though tasting it . . . weighing it. He strolled outside beneath the starry sky. The moon was in its second quarter and the city was peaceful. In the distance a baby cried. He placed one hand on the rail and took a deep breath. Without turning, he called out to his guest, a much older man in a knee-length tunic who wore an amulet around his neck identifying him as Chief Builder and Scholar to the King. Have I acted correctly? the younger man asked the scholar.

The younger man had the bearing of a born leader, a charisma that filled any room with his presence—and the calm demeanor of a holy man that further enhanced the mystery about him. He continued to gaze off the terrace at the city below and this wide river valley his people had come to call home. The visitor had paused upon hearing his question and now stood silently, waiting for his friend to acknowledge him.

Several moments passed in silence as the High Priest of all of Egypt pondered the action he was about to take. Finally he broke his own reflective mood and turned to his guest, rephrasing his prior question. He slowly strolled back into the well-lit room.

Tell me, dear and loyal Imhotep, do I take the correct action, or have I made a terrible mistake?

His very name means Keeper of Secrets, my Lord Ra, responded the older man tentatively.

No, no! I am quite comfortable with my choice of Hept-supht as he who will seal the place of knowledge. This I have seen as the best possible future. What is hidden from my vision is the future of the repository itself. Will all of this, Ra asked, waving his arm in a sweeping gesture, prove successful?

I fear, he continued, much abuse and pain if we do not take steps now to lock away these things. But from those who would use the knowledge of power and the power of the knowledge for the good of his brothers, we have also hidden the Truth. I know the sacred place will remain safe and inviolate under the protection of Thoth, but a mist hides the time of opening from my meditations. Why do I have such misgivings, my old friend?

You ask this of me, Lord Ra? questioned Imhotep, smiling slightly. You are the High Priest . . . you are wisest man in all of Egypt . . . you are the Oracle . . . you alone may journey at will upon the Throne of the Soul. It is you who first taught the way of the Initiate in this land, you who brought the teachings to our people. If a vision of the future is hidden from you, then there is good reason. You have made every possible provision for passing the sacred knowledge on to our descendants. You have allowed for every contingency. The rest must be left to the will of man. We cannot ordain the future . . . it must be woven into the fabric of time. We can only plan for a day when our brothers will once again become seekers of Truth. In that time they will come for the things you have set aside. The Pillars of Thoth will stand as a beacon to all the world, marking the location of the great mysteries. And the vault will render its contents immune to the decay of time itself. At the right time, the chosen ones will seek Truth. To them will go the secrets we have hidden. You have done all anyone can do to light the way for those who follow.

Imhotep fell silent. He was not usually so talkative. As Counselor to the Temple he was certainly of the privileged few who could speak so freely to the High Priest, but normally he was a man of brevity and purpose.

Ra weighed the answer of his most trusted friend as he strolled back into the cool evening air of the terrace. Imhotep, in turn, studied this man called Ra, who despite a royal decree forbidding such activity, was worshipped outside the palace as a living god. Imhotep knew of no man more noble and good than Ra. If any man was to be called a god, Ra was truly deserving. He also understood how the locals could mistake the science and skill of a wise man for miracles or magick. But every seemingly amazing feat that Ra performed had previously been offered to the local people as a skill to study and master, if they had only embraced his teachings. They would not and now it was too late. In two thousand . . . three thousand years, the Pillars of Thoth would be only a curiosity; mute testimony to wondrous engineering skills, but the purpose of which would remain an enigma.

~   ~

The air was still. It was hot, very hot. The heat rose in visible waves from the hot sand. The humidity hung in a sticky veil and it was barely mid-morning. When the sun had risen this morning on the desert plateau by the Nile, it revealed over a million souls encamped around two enormous pyramids of stone. Most of them had traveled here for the ceremony. There were shepherds and herdsmen from the hills, tribesmen from the desert and wilderness, and citizens from towns and cities up and down the river, all responding to the royal heralds who had covered the land during the previous fortnight to bring notice of today’s event. Everyone who could walk, ride or be carried was here. On such an occasion, the simple convergence of so many was ample cause for celebration and festivity. But that would come later . . . after the ceremony. For now, solemnity and apprehension were the general mood.

People still wandered about greeting old friends, making new ones, and looking at livestock or wares likely to be for sale or barter later, but they did so quietly, respectfully. The normal backdrop of music and noisy competition were absent as well. Even though many had traveled great distances, most of those assembled here had no true appreciation for what was to transpire this day. To them, the reason for coming was simple: it was said that Ra, himself, would be present for the event. Many said that to simply be in his legendary presence would bring good fortune, and if, perchance, he were to glance at you, it was said prosperity and prestige would follow.

As to the ceremony itself, most did indeed understand that today the Old Ones, the Shebtiw, would lock away the secrets of their religion, as well as the knowledge and science of their civilization for all time. But the true significance of that action was lost on most.

The Old Ones were foreigners. They had been welcomed among the Egyptian people by their ancestors. They were a friendly people . . . they had great medicine and science . . . they brought safety from enemies with their strange weapons and vessels . . . they had knowledge of magick . . . and they needed a land to call home.

At times there had been friction between the two peoples, but for the most part they had blended together nicely. Intermarriage in past generations had caused the blood of both to flow as one, but in some ways the two peoples remained steadfastly divided.

The God of the Old Ones allowed no other gods. Even Thoth, god of wisdom and learning, bowed before Him. But the rank and file of Egypt refused to give up their favorite deities without a struggle . . . gods that had been part of their life fabric as long as there was memory. Even though Ra was credited with countless miracles that he attributed to this one God, Egypt remained unswayed. The beliefs of their ancestors and the names of the gods who had protected them for ages were deeply etched into their hearts and minds.

There had been a few converts: a small number of Egyptians who had become Initiates at the Temple of the Seven Sacred Rays founded by Ra. But the majority remained separate from the religion of the Old Ones, knowing somehow that regardless of how they mingled and shared, they were still two very different people. Ten generations had passed since the foreigners arrived. Ra had been High Priest then and Ra was High Priest now. It was said his lifetime had already known a thousand floods of the Nile, yet Ra looked the same today as then. There were no Egyptians with such powers of rejuvenation.

Hept-supht stood upon a sturdy platform of acacia wood which had been constructed at the apex of one of the two great pyramids. He surveyed the sea of humanity beneath him, awed at the sheer numbers gathered on the plateau. Perhaps they did grasp the significance of the day. He wanted to believe that. But no . . . if they had truly understood, this day would not be necessary.

His people had learned a tragic lesson when they attempted to integrate themselves into this more primitive culture. People must evolve and progress at their own pace.

A soft touch on his elbow interrupted his contemplation. It was Ra-aa Ta-aa, his closest friend, a playmate since childhood.

I believe grandfather is ready.

Hept-supht turned and carefully surveyed everything. He wanted to remember it all, every detail . . . every color . . . every feeling . . . the heat of the sun . . . the brisk breeze. On the specially constructed platform where he stood were several priests, Ra-aa Ta-aa and two others. The one with flowing red hair streaked with long strands of gray and eyes of green was Imhotep, Chief Builder and Sculptor of the Realm and a number of other honorary titles. The other was Ra . . . Teacher . . . Second Only to the King of Upper and Lower Egypt . . . High Priest of the Ancient Shebtiw . . . and spiritual father to his people.

The sturdy wooden structure encircled the top of the pyramid, only two cubits from where the capstone, encased in a thick sheath of gold, gleamed in the glaring sunlight. Below the capstone the pyramid was surfaced in brilliant white marble, each gleaming piece floated on massive reed rafts from quarries far up the Nile.

Across the way he could see an identical scene atop the second pyramid. He nodded solemnly to his boyhood friend and started to walk toward the other assembled dignitaries, only to be brought up short by Ra-aa Ta-aa. They met each other’s eyes. The grandson of Ra placed a hand on the shoulder of Hept-supht and spoke softly.

We have known each other since we were children . . . I remember playing together . . . hunting together . . . and even once when we were scolded together for catching and collecting scorpions, then keeping them in the palace as pets.

Hept-supht smiled at the memory. Neither child had known the danger of the black scorpion, whose sting brings a slow, agonizing and certain death. They had been fortunate.

You’ve stood by me as a dear friend, and even saved my life once. Ra-aa Ta-aa swallowed hard to ease the lump in his throat. I only want to say, my friend, that it has been an honor to have my soul travel the same pathway as yours. I will miss you deeply.

Hept-supht looked long at his boyhood playmate, feeling his eyes moisten to match those of Ra-aa Ta-aa.

I, too, will miss your conversation and friendship, but I shall watch you through the veil. You will be a great holy man and I will serve you and protect you until your funeral barge begins its journey.

He swallowed hard, the words sticking to the back of his tongue. I am honored to have been chosen, Ra-aa Ta-aa, and I am honored to have been your friend.

The two men embraced, then walked the dozen steps side-by-side to stand before Ra. Ra-aa Ta-aa spoke: Grandfather, I present to you Hept-supht, Hereditary Keeper of Secrets . . . and my dearest friend.

Ra raised an eyebrow at his grandson’s ad lib, but said nothing. This was an occasion for solemnity.

He spoke slowly, his voice strong yet melodic. Hept-supht, I speak your name and accord it great honor. It shall be written in stone within my own burial chamber and you shall reside in my mansion forever.

Hept-supht, and all those assembled on the platform, bowed slowly and deeply to acknowledge the honor.

You are Chosen. It is you who will seal the Great Hall from within.

Hept-supht knelt before Ra. I am deeply honored, my Lord Ra, said the young man. It was indeed the greatest honor ever accorded one of his family or any of his ancestors.

Ra reached out his hand, adorned with a single ring bearing a walnut-sized ruby, and touched the young man’s bare head.

Rise, Hept-supht. Stand and look me in the eye, for we shall know each other as friends in the life to come. The young man stood and obeyed. He looked into the kindest eyes he had ever seen . . . eyes that seemed to draw him in. He saw also the weight of enormous responsibility and the strength to handle it.

Ra placed a hand on each of Hept-supht’s shoulders. "My son on the other pyramid, and my grandson here, will strike the golden plates of the apex at precisely the same instant. I will guide them as I will guide you. When the tones have resonated through the Pillars and arrive at the Place of the Throne of the Soul, they will rebound. You will strengthen their power by striking the plate below on my command. In this way we will create the forces necessary to seal the monuments.

I will act upon your command, my Lord, said Hept-supht, still eye-to-eye with the Shebtiw priest.

When the vibrations have ended, your chamber will begin to flood with the waters of the Nile. Seat yourself upon the Throne of the Soul and you will know Paradise instantly. Have no fear. I will seek you out when my own journey is complete. To you it will seem as if no time has passed. Go my son . . . and may the Creator be with you.

Hept-supht bowed and stepped backwards. He hefted a large, heavy mallet onto his shoulder. The handle was intricately carved of hardwood and was two cubits in length. It came from a land located several days journey to the south beyond Lower Egypt. The head was crafted from an alloy containing enough gold for a ceremonial purpose, but solid enough for the task at hand. Shifting his burden slightly to settle its weight, he started down the steps, picking his way carefully on the high wooden scaffold. Thirty feet below, the wooden, temporary stairs provided access to an opening in the north facing of the monument, a dark hole that would lead him to a place far beneath the surface.

He made his way through three darkened chambers of smooth marble before reaching a room above the king’s chamber. These corridors and rooms were already emptied of people since they would be among those to be sealed forever. Two temple acolytes, heads shaven and wearing long robes of white to signify their search for pure truth, removed the ladder behind them as they descended into the tomb that was not a tomb. He made his way around the lidless sarcophagus which signified death without burial, a rebirth of the Initiate from material man to spiritual man. The acolytes preceded him through the small opening that represents the narrow pathway to truth and into the top of the grand gallery, which was designed to symbolize the glory of a spiritual life and the journey of the soul towards perfection.

The steep steps descending through the pyramid were lined on both sides with members of the priesthood according to rank, with those of higher status near the top of the gallery steps. All were richly adorned in the ceremonial trappings of office. Soft, undulating waves of sound seemed to roll off the walls as their musical chants flowed together.

Hept-supht strode silently and purposeful through the assembled holy men, and as he reached each, bowed his head in an acknowledgment of respect. Immediately as he passed each one, they fell in line behind him. Two by two they trailed him until just beyond the grand gallery, then exited the pyramid while Hept-Supht continued his downward journey. At the bottom of the gallery, he climbed down a vertical shaft for a short distance, then began descending a slightly broader, gently declining passage into the bedrock beneath the pyramid and desert sands. This well-lit corridor was devoid of people, for it too would soon disappear beneath a slab of stone weighing thousands of tons.

After navigating several tunnels along a carefully memorized route, he arrived at his destination, the large circular, domed chamber known as the Place of the Throne of the Soul. As a Master of the Temple, he had once sat in the ornate throne occupying the center of the circular room.

The furnishings had been moved here piece by piece and meticulously reassembled. It had once been the Seat of the Oracle at the Temple of Poseidon in the city of Alta, the westernmost city of Atlantis. Each of the seven massive panels which hung from the walls and circled the room had originally been cut from meteoric rock having distinctive magnetic qualities. The panels, deemed heavenly because of their origin, were mounted on the walls so that their magnetic influences would converge at the seat of the throne. The combined effect upon the electrical circuitry of the brain was remarkable. To sit upon the throne was to experience an expansive reality where past, present and future became one, and where one’s eyes were opened to the oneness of all of life, where the thoughts of others were as clear as the spoken word, and the path one’s thoughts take along the way to becoming matter became crystal clear. The privilege of sitting upon the Throne of the Soul was granted once to each priest upon his mastery of the faith. Hept-supht had seen his own destiny on that day, the day he had attained the level of Master . . . this destiny. He had also learned not to fear death any more than one fears birth, for they are both part of the one experience.

The round chamber had three doorways, spaced unevenly around the circle like the broken spokes of a wheel. Hept-supht had arrived via a grand staircase, one of a pair that led upward through the southern entrance. Counterclockwise from this entry was an arched doorway. Through this doorway Hept-supht could see a small anteroom, a room lined with shelves, each filled with tubes of cedar for storage of writings, and each tube carefully sealed with beeswax. Beyond that he could see a long corridor with many rooms going off to both sides. The frame of this arched doorway was inscribed with many symbols, many of which Hept-supht recognized as sacred in nature.

Through the other portal, two broad concourses could be seen stretching westward into the distance like the spreading arms of a giant ‘V’.

He stopped before a tremendous gong, golden in color but like the mallet he carried, fashioned from a much stronger alloy. It was suspended from a sturdy wooden frame with thick cables of intricately woven hemp fiber. He rested the heavy mallet on the ground, the handle against his thigh, and took a deep breath, turning his thoughts inward. He could feel the mind of Ra. But the time was not yet.

A movement at the edge of his vision startled him. He turned to look at the stairs he had traversed on his way to this room. There, a portion of the wall seemed to be melting. No, it was something in front of the wall, something spinning so fast he couldn’t identify it. What was this? He was supposed to be alone. To his amazement, the blur of motion coalesced into a human figure. Well, almost human.

He recognized the intruder instantly and relaxed. He had set eyes upon him once before. It was something one never forgot. His visitor was none other than Thoth, god of wisdom and learning; god of knowledge and writing. Easy to identify, he stood nearly seven feet tall, with the knotted and corded muscles of Hercules or Samson. Though his physique was quite impressive, it was not his most recognizable feature. No one had ever seen the face of Thoth because he wore a striking, bronze helmet and headpiece which covered him down to his collarbone. The sharp-beaked head of the ibis was the only countenance of Thoth ever seen by anyone. The headgear must have weighed at least 150 pounds but he wore it like his own skin. Fiery blue eyes that could burn right through you were visible through the mask; and when Thoth spoke, he spoke not to your ears, but directly to your thoughts.

He spoke thusly to Hept-supht. Do not be alarmed. I have come only to remove the Keys to the Great Hall. It is a necessary thing. The man-god turned and removed three gold disks from recesses in the frame of the large, arched doorway. As the first disk was removed, the view through the portal became hazy and the room beyond was suddenly bare of its treasure. Hept-supht would have been amazed were he not watching the great Thoth who was capable of anything. Still, he was impressed. As the second and third disks were removed, the portal itself became hazy, as though he were looking through thick fog, which then turned to blackness as dark as death. Satisfied, Thoth turned around to Hept-supht as he secured the golden disks in a leaden box.

Ra will command you soon. He has asked that I return for you personally, to escort you past Anubis. Anubis was the god of Death, the one who weighs the soul enroute to the afterlife. This I will do. Wait for me upon the throne when your task is finished. I will cause you to fall into a deep sleep.

Just as he had appeared, Thoth now disappeared, taking the lead box with him.

Hept-supht was swollen with pride. Thoth had spoken directly to him, and would return especially for him. Thoth was the most mysterious of the gods. One who actually made appearances from time to time among mortals.

His attention was called back to the task at hand as a voice softly whispered in his head. The time is near, the voice said.

He raised the mallet and held it over his shoulder.

Stand ready, whispered Ra from far above.

Hept-supht took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Suddenly the room began shaking with an intense vibration, the walls and floors rolling like waves on the open sea. Surprisingly, the room he stood in remained intact, unthreatened by the massive forces being unleashed all around him. Imhotep had designed the entire complex, then personally overseen its construction. Hept-supht had no doubts that all would go according to plan. He spread his feet apart and steadied himself. Little did he know their actions this day would reverberate throughout the world for millenia. The gavel bringing order to the courtroom . . . the church bell calling the faithful to prayer . . . even the heraldry announcing the coming of the bride would all be echoes of their actions this day.

Now, said Ra, his thoughts sounding like a clear voice in the mind of Hept-supht. The Hereditary Keeper of Secrets swung the mallet with all his strength, striking the gong dead center. The resounding tone sent its own vibration to join with the first tone and intensified both. Throughout the two great pyramids the waves bounced back and forth, increasing in force as the resonating sound waves rebounded off the bedrock and echoed through the massive edifice, its mounting force triggering the closure of selected passages and chambers with tons and tons of stone, sealing away the knowledge and history of thousands of years.

Before the pulsing, man-made earthquake had fully subsided, twenty-seven specially cut blocks of stone, each carefully placed to slide into an intended berth, were firmly seated, effectively sealing the secrets of an ancient civilization and its people from the ignorance and abuse of man. The Earth-changing forces set into motion by Ra that day were so powerful that one of the two great pyramids designed by Imhotep settled nearly thirty feet, leaving it slightly shorter than the other, an anomaly that modern-day archeologists attribute to poor measurement by an uneducated people.

Chapter 1

Blackhawk Mountain was a decent sized hill, Matt decided. It was tall enough to reach above the tree line which put it at a minimum of six or seven thousand feet. As she looked at it she once again felt an oppressive sense of something being wrong.

The helicopter struggled in the thinning air and she adjusted the fuel mixture to compensate, then increased the throttle slightly and eased the stick backward. She banked suddenly to port, causing Ari to grip the handrail even tighter as the horizon suddenly dropped on his side. This was accompanied by a sharp intake of breath.

Matt smiled to herself. She loved to fly and had milked every thrill out of the trip from Denver, diving and soaring through the remote and uninhabited canyons, digging in for the sudden climbs followed by the rush of topping a ridge, when the bottom suddenly dropped out and you felt like you were on top of the world.

Ari hated flying. He hated getting on anything that left the ground. Airliners were bad enough, but helicopters… with the glass in the floor… and the world right there. He didn’t mind telling you it scared him white. And that took some doing. Aristotle weighed in at just over 310 pounds, towering over most men at a healthy 6'6". His skin was like the pelt of a leopard, smooth and even and so black it was blue. He could be intimidating, but his friends knew his true disposition was that of a teddy bear with a premature gray beard that made him look every bit like his Caucasian namesake. All he needed was the toga. A kind and gentle man, that is, unless you pissed him off. Then it was going to be a bad day for somebody. Having him come along was Matt’s payback for accepting this weird assignment. She noticed the beads of sweat on his temples and smiled again.

When they reached altitude, she circled the heavily-treed mountain twice in hopes of spotting a Sheriff’s car, but no luck. On the second pass, however, Krystal called out a sighting by the entrance to the mine… a lone male in a distinctive lime green shirt… shading his eyes as he looked up at the circling helicopter.

Well, they know we’re here. As she watched, the figure turned and entered the mine. But I don’t see that cop anywhere.

It was easy to make out the fire road they had originally planned to use as it wound its way up from the hard road, but no sign of a deputy’s vehicle. Matt chose a level clearing just above the tree line to land in, perhaps a thousand feet below the crest, and eased back on the throttle and collective, coaxing the small Bell to a gentle touchdown.

The team disembarked and assembled their gear while the rotor spun lazily to a stop. Weapons were checked first, although Matt had repeatedly emphasized the non-violent nature of their endeavor. Still, she believed in being prepared, and there was no way Krystal would be here if she couldn’t carry. She checked the magazine of the chrome-plated .308 caliber automatic, a gift from her father when she worked the Presidential campaigns, a precise, lightweight Beretta Tomcat. Strapped to her right calf was a simple hunting knife; for emergencies. She hoped having any weapon would be overkill, but the Felix vibe made her more cautious. Over her shoulder she carried a 100 foot coil of black #7 rigging rope with a four inch grappling hook attached to the end using a caribiner and a double bowline knot. She stepped into her climbing harness and tested it for strength, looked at her watch, and tapped Ari on the shoulder. The climbing equipment had been a hunch… one that paid off.

Time to do it, guys!

With the exception of the knife and the Beretta, Ari was outfitted exactly as Matt. He preferred the Glock 25 to the Beretta. It had the same stopping power as a .308, but it held a 17-round magazine. The last thing he wanted to be doing when someone was shooting at him was looking for more bullets. Krystal carried a pistol identical to Matt’s, also a gift from her father.

They tied off securely to a couple of sturdy Ponderosa pines, double checked their rigging, and began to ease their way over the edge of the mountainside. No matter how many times she rappelled, the second she stepped over the edge of a cliff always made her heart leap into her throat and her breath freeze for an instant. This time was no different. All you had to do was screw up a knot or a safety line just once and that casual step into nothingness could well be your last. But all was well and the threesome made their way carefully down the nearly vertical rock face. Their intent was to approach the mine entrance from directly above. It was past four o’clock and by now most outdoor activity would be wrapping up. It was still summertime but once the sun dropped behind the mountains, the shadows of the late afternoon sun became deep and dark and the temperature dropped rapidly in the valleys between the peaks. Hopefully, they would be able to descend right to the entrance without difficulty.

Without the deputy present, Matt was doubly conscious of the need not to surprise the residents. She was glad someone had seen them overhead. She hoped to be received as visitors instead of intruders, and without revealing their ultimate goal, get someone to lead them to Jessi. Then they would leave quickly and quietly. The show of potential force would be sufficient for this academic bunch, thought Matt. The compound might not feel the need to post sentries, but they might also be armed to the teeth. Their course of action would evolve as the situation evolved.

It took only 10 minutes to lower themselves to a spot just above the large entrance, during which time they encountered and saw no one. Every step had to be carefully chosen to prevent dislodging loose stones. They separated for the rest of the descent so they could cover both sides of the cave entrance. When their feet touched ground, they unsnapped the ropes from their climbing harnesses.

Matt looked over at Krystal and marveled at the sparkle in her eyes. Krystal loved the adrenaline of the unknown situation. But the high never interfered with her efficiency or her effectiveness. Matt could predict with 99% accuracy what her friend would do in any given situation. Even though she had been upfront with her concerns about this assignment, Krystal had eagerly accepted the challenge. It would be her last before leaving Ari’s employ.

Normally having her along would assuage any concerns Matt had, but the deeper she had delved into the project planning the more she had misgivings… really just a feeling at the base of her skull that refused to go away. It had something to do with the Senator’s aide, Felix Bander… but she just couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was. But every nerve in her body was tuned to a hyper-sensitive level.

Matt scanned the area quickly and carefully. There was no sign of anyone outside the mountain compound. She had expected someone would come out to greet them or at least ask their business, but nothing was going as it should have.

Something felt very odd… a familiar bad feeling. She glanced at Krystal, and without knowing why, drew her pistol and flipped the safety off. Krystal read her expression and did the same. Ari followed suit, wondering as he did at the unspoken communication between the two. Matt held up her hand to him, indicating he should stand watch at the entrance, then, turning to Krystal, held up three fingers, then two, then one. When the last one folded into her fist, the two women bolted into the mineshaft simultaneously, each one crossing over to take up a position on the opposite side from where they entered. They crouched against the cold granite wall, allowing their eyes time to adjust to the dim light. When Matt could clearly see her partner’s facial features, she gave a signal with upraised hand and the two once again moved forward in unison, this time slowly and carefully, concentrating on stealth rather than speed.

They inched their way along the walls of the shaft for about sixty feet when it took an abrupt left turn, doubling back at almost a 110 degree angle. Matt took the point and eased around the sharp corner first, dropped to one knee, then signaled Krystal to join her. Here the cave would normally have been a little darker, since the sunlight couldn’t reach beyond the turn, but twenty feet ahead of them a fixture was mounted in the wall and a red light glowed brightly. Every twenty feet or so another fixture lit the way. There were three more lights mounted on the wall before the shaft took a second turn, this time to the right. They shuffled silently along the dank, chilly tunnel. Still they encountered no one… just the strong musty odor common to caves… and tombs.

They continued their wary advance, slowly and silently placing each foot in front of the other, until they reached the second turn. This time Krystal took point. As Matt slipped around the corner behind her, Krystal reached out and placed two fingers over her lips. Silence! She had seen something, the gesture said. Matt squinted to adjust her eyes further to the dim, red glow, finally seeing what her friend had seen. There was a thick, almost familiar smell in the air… a metallic, sweet smell. She recognized it as the smell of blood.

About 40 feet ahead, a few feet shy of the next turn, the body of a man lay crumpled on the floor by the left wall of the shaft. It wasn’t moving, and the position of the form stated clearly to both of them that it wasn’t someone lying in ambush. This person looked very dead.

Matt gestured to Krystal to double their level of caution. It could be a trap, someone playing possum. There would be no place to hide in this shaft with sheer rock walls. If someone opened fire, chances were one or both of them would go down. If the initial shot didn’t get them, the ricochet certainly would. They eased down the passageway, each one covering the other’s movements before gliding forward.

The corpse appeared to be that of a man in his 30’s with a well-trimmed beard. He wore work clothes of denim and flannel. He had been shot once in the center of the heart with a small caliber bullet and killed instantly. She felt for a pulse from force of habit. The body was cool and very stiff; probably dead no more than a few hours. It certainly wasn’t the man who had spotted their approaching helicopter.

Matt signaled for Krystal to fall in behind her. She would take point from here on out. There was no point in placing her friend at unnecessary risk. This was her mission; she had assumed the responsibility. She moved slowly down the passage, knelt, and peered around the next zig zag corner. Twelve to fourteen feet beyond the bend, a large iron door stood ajar, bright light pouring into the tunnel. Next to it was the body of another man, and even from this distance Matt could tell that he was also dead, a neat hole in the center of his forehead. She waved Krystal to follow as she went through the door, weapon ready and safety in the off position.

Four feet past the portal, the passageway opened into a high, cavernous room, brightly lit with fluorescent strips across the ceiling. Three modular buildings, each 30 feet long, sat on concrete blocks in a semicircle around the entrance. In the center of the room a half dozen or more people had met the same fate as those in the tunnel, their bodies falling where they died in a pile of twisted limbs and torn tissue. A massive pool of blood had formed and run downhill toward the entrance, congealed and turned black. Now it buzzed with green flies. She had read somewhere that green flies can smell blood a mile away. The wounds of the victims told Matt they had been raked with automatic rifle fire.

Don’t touch anything, she cautioned, vocalizing the magnitude of what they had walked into. This is a damn setup of some kind. I knew something was wrong, I just didn’t know what.

Who could do something like this? whispered Krystal, looking around in morbid amazement. This is truly sick. No, this is evil.

I have an idea who, responded Matt. What’s more important right now is that I think we’re supposed to be the fall guys in this whole thing. Everything is way beyond coincidental.

Beyond the cluster of bodies, Matt saw a sign on a door of the one the prefab buildings… an office. Off to the left wall another long, low modular building looked like living quarters. Next to the office was a door labeled Laboratory.

I’ll check the office. You better go get Ari. Then check out the bunkhouse. Somehow I’m sure we won’t find anyone alive. Don’t touch anything and leave no trace.

She skirted the center of the room and made her way around the gruesome cluster of corpses to a door labeled Operations. She nudged it open, covering the opening with her leveled weapon. She left it open behind her and eased into the small office. The only light came from a computer monitor, but it was ample to illuminate the room. There were no people visible, alive or dead, but blood and tissue splattered on the wall indicated at least one person had been murdered here. A swirling screen saver danced across the computer monitor. She crossed the room quickly. Touching the mouse, she cleared the screen, revealing a very artistic web page. Emblazoned across the middle was the text, SEEKERS of AZIG. Below it was centered the word WEBMASTER, and a list of options.

Moving smoothly, Matt accessed the server post office and checked all recent email transactions. Then she forwarded the incoming email to her own mailbox via an anonymous forwarding server. As it uploaded, she looked around. On the wall above the computer was a large world map. There were three red-tipped pins sticking in it and one blue. The blue one was definitely Blackhawk Mountain, their present location. Of the red ones, the first was planted near the middle of the Yucatan Peninsula. The second was a small island in the Bahamas, and the last was sticking square in the middle of the Giza Plateau outside Cairo, Egypt. When the computer said, File’s Done, she swiftly clicked her way through the options until she erased any record of her visit. She repeated the process with the incoming email before Ari came up behind her. She then deleted the transaction record and quickly rebooted. Hopefully her activity on the server would not be recorded. No time to check the system log—rebooting would have to do.

She turned to her old friend, but was unprepared for what she saw. Aristotle Washington looked like a ghost, his beautiful blue-black skin replaced by a pallid gray color reminiscent of the patients in a cardiac ward before the by-pass. His face was expressionless and he walked like a zombie, stripped of emotion. Tears brimmed at the bottoms of his eyes, ready at any moment to flow down his cheeks.

In the Lab—Krystal found an old man—throat cut ear to ear. And in the barracks… . He choked up, unable to continue.

Ari, are you okay?

Children, he croaked, barely getting words out. They killed the women and the children. They executed them, all except one.

One of them is alive? exclaimed Matt, a faint flicker of hope and disbelief springing from her.

No, none of them are alive, corrected Ari. I meant, I meant, well, one wasn’t executed. Not right away.

Matt contemplated slapping her friend… therapeutically, of course. He was very nearly in shock. Rather than try to extract the vitals from him in his present state, she squeezed around his bulk and quickly ran to the dormitory to see for herself. She wished she hadn’t. Krystal looked up as she entered the room. There were tears in her eyes, too.

Ari had been right. All but one had been executed. Most were women; three were children. All of the victims had their brains splattered across the room with a bullet to the head… all except for one. Her face was intact so Matt could see that she had been a very lovely young woman, perhaps 20. The rest of her body had been mutilated and bore the marks of extreme torture. She had been stripped and bound to one of the metal bunks, then systematically carved up for some sadistic bastard’s perverted pleasure. The wounds to the breasts and abdomen confirmed to Matt that it was a sexual thing. She wanted to puke, but the desire to kill the person responsible was far greater.

She looked around. I don’t see a lime green shirt. Did you find our spotter?

Nowhere, answered Krystal. Maybe he’s the shooter.

Seems likely, doesn’t it, she responded. Let’s make tracks out of here.

She returned with Krystal to the office and took Ari by the elbow. We have to leave here right away. We’ve been set up very professionally and I want out of here pronto. Come on.

She turned to go, but a light beneath a door caught her eye. She walked over to a small bathroom, pulling the door open as she brought her weapon up to a firing position. She wouldn’t need it. This must be the last victim, she thought. A once beautiful redhead lay on her side on the floor, wrapped around the toilet bowl. Her body was bent nearly double—but in reverse, with the back of her head touching her butt. Her arms and legs were twisted and contorted as though she had died of massive convulsions. A greenish stain surrounded her mouth and ran down her chin. Matt sensed that even touching her might be deadly.

Come on, you two, she said, taking Ari by the arm again. They skirted the center of the main room, keeping close to the walls and re-entered the tunnel they had arrived through, then broke into a jog as they passed the big iron door, eager to put this place behind them. They paused in unison at the mine entrance, blinded by the sudden sunlight. As each squinted to adjust to the harsh glare, the atmosphere seemed to inhale suddenly and then exhale violently. Instinctively, they all dived for cover before the deafening sound of a large explosion reached their ears.

Matt’s head came up first and she looked around. Reflexively, she checked her watch. 5:02 p.m. Where the hell did it come from? Not from the mine. She could see no sign of any blast close by. No dust cloud. Nothing. She looked at Ari whose face was still buried in the dirt. Beyond him, Krystal was lying on her back, scanning the ridge above them for anything out of the ordinary, her pistol in hand.

What the hell was that? she asked, looking around for some clue.

I don’t plan to wait around and find out, said Ari, raising his head and wiping dust from his face. He pulled out his own weapon and checked the magazine.

Then, let’s get out of here, she said, drawing herself up and dusting herself off. Whatever the explosion was, it didn’t appear to be an immediate threat to them. But it wasn’t that far away, maybe a nearby mine or something. She didn’t believe it for a second. It had felt really close.

They collected their ropes and threaded them through their harnesses as quickly as possible. Krystal took the lead, jerking her line firmly to test its soundness, then began steadily trudging up the sheer mountain, carefully checking each foothold before lifting her other foot.

The effects of the shot reached them before the report did, as rock splintered directly above Krystal’s head. Several things happened at once as the sound echoed back and forth between the mountains. Krystal released the choke on her harness and dropped quickly into the mine entrance, hitting the ground and rolling in one motion. Matt reached for Ari to pull him to safety but he was already moving, spinning quickly toward the source of the gunfire and unloading three quick shots as he bolted for the mine. The pair hit the ground next to Krystal simultaneously.

I think we found the lime green man, said Ari, catching his breath. He released the clip on his Glock and replaced the three bullets he’d fired, then rammed it back into place.

Yeah, agreed Krystal. From the angle of the shot, he’s somewhere above us and to the left. I only heard one shooter, I think.

Matt rose to her knees and edged toward the entrance. One of you show me where he’s at.

Ari eased up behind her and pointed at a gigantic Ponderosa pine about 150 yards away. I saw smoke about there. I think Krystal’s right… only one shooter.

Okay, said Matt. Forget the rapelling gear… too exposed. Besides, it will lighten our load. If we head down this ledge to where it tapers, it isn’t so vertical. We can make our way up to the chopper without any gear. She pointed at an outcropping in the opposite direction from the shooter. We’ll have to lay down some heavy cover fire, though.

I’ll cover you two, volunteered Krystal. When you both get to that large boulder, I’ll make my move.

No, forget that, said Matt. My mission… my responsibility. You two go first.

Why don’t we all go together, blasting the hell out of the area around that pine tree as we go, offered Aristotle. Between us we’ve got nearly 50 shots without reloading. If he’s smart he’ll keep his head down.

Matt’s eyes met Krystal’s and one of those unspoken communications took place.

Ari, she said. We can go with your idea, but it makes more sense if you go first and cover us as we follow. The three of us running backwards and firing and trying not to shoot or trip over each other could be like the Keystone Kops. What do you think, Krystal?

Krystal nodded. Makes sense to me. Let’s do it.

As the two women got into place, Ari realized he had been quietly but effectively outvoted. He took his position, his back against the mine wall, his gun against his chest.

On a count of three, he spun into the open, expending his entire 17 round clip in rapid bursts of three or four at the place he had seen the shooter. As his last round cleared the chamber and he took off running, Matt and Krystal stepped into the open and did the same, filling the air with smoke and the smell of gunpowder. Before the smoke cleared from the entrance of the mine, the rifleman bounced two more shots off the rock face, but Ari was already in concealment at the end of the ridge.

Matt and Krystal reloaded, giving Ari time to do the same, then took up the positions once more. This time they stepped out first, guns blazing. The sniper managed to get off one round before he ducked for cover, but it richocheted harmlessly away. As Matt and Krystal emptied their magazines, Ari stood and continued the barrage while the two friends ran for all they were worth.

Matt could hear her heart pounding in her ears as she sprinted for Ari. In her peripheral, she could see Krystal matching her pace, racing for all she was worth. Sometimes the smartest thing is to run like hell, she thought. In the middle of the barrage, the sniper got off another shot.

Time slowed down. Matt hated that feeling. It always meant bad things were happening. When good things happened, time seemed to fly. But it slowed down… so slow she had time to wonder why it was that when bad things were going to happen, why they always happened in slow motion?

Krystal stumbled but kept running beside Matt through a fine, red mist. She went three or four steps before she just collapsed like a suit falling off a hanger. As the bullet entered the back of her skull, her face exploded like a melon dropped from a stepladder. At some level of consciousness Matt felt she should stop, but it was as though she’d been shot in the heart with a syringe full of adrenalin. And stopping wouldn’t help. Krystal had died instantly.

At that same level of consciousness, Matt realized her friend was dead… that this mission had gone terribly wrong… and that she would never stop seeing her friend’s awful death. But Matt was functioning on another level… the auto-pilot of survival. She kept running another ten paces and slid to ground just behind Ari. She reloaded, rolled onto her belly and emptied her clip at the phantom sniper’s nest.

When she finished her eyes fell to where Krystal lay, a bloody mass where her face should be. But the reality refused to compute… it would have to wait. Right now they were both still vulnerable. From their current location, they could make their way unseen back up the ridge to the chopper. Matt slapped Ari on the shoulder.

Let’s go, she ordered, breaking him from his own daze. We can’t help Krystal by getting ourselves killed. Follow me! Now!

It took only ten minutes to work their way back up the mountain. Later, neither would remember any of it… not one step. In Matt’s eyes, they couldn’t get off the mountain fast enough. Once the engine of the Bell Ranger fired and evened out, she hit the throttle and increased the collective. She knew her life had just changed and she would never forget this time or this place. She knew it as well as she knew her own name.

It had all started nearly six months earlier… .

Chapter 2

The wooden steps protested as the two young women descended into the stale darkness of the cellar. They had come here daily for nearly eleven weeks now and each time it felt the same, like they were violating something ancient and unforgiving. Connie, as usual, was the first to reach bottom. She unlocked and opened the door, old and cracked with too many coats of varnish, and groaned as she threw her weight into the battle against the stiff, arthritic hinges. Waving her arm in front of her face, she groped in the blackness for the dangling cord. With a gentle tug, a string of naked bulbs lit the long, narrow room. Against each wall and stacked to the ceiling were shipping crates made of roughly hewn planks of pine. Dust and cobwebs still covered many of the old containers and the musty smell always took her breath away.

Beneath one hanging light, a scratched metal desk was cluttered with the evidence of their regular visitations: stacks of paper with small, precisely written lines of text, each page describing the contents of a particular storage crate. Jessi, the quiet one, kept the records while Connie wielded a crowbar. After uncrating, each artifact was inspected and catalogued by the pair, then Connie would repack and stow it. Jessi would carefully record its new location. When they returned to classes in the Fall, both girls were certain that these pages of precise script would be relegated to some file drawer as forgotten and undisturbed as this cellar had been before their arrival this summer. But, aware as they were of the unimportance of their work, they nevertheless remained undaunted, forging ahead at their task with an abundance of energy and enthusiasm, determined to do the best job possible.

Nearly eight years had passed since the death of Jessi’s mother from liver failure. They had been hard years, unhappy years living in a house under the total control of her eccentric uncle, Edwin Davenport. She had changed during those years, and not necessarily for the better. She was still on the petite side, topping out at 5 feet 2 inches, but gone was the spunk and strong spirit of that girl of twelve. Even now, hundreds of miles from her uncle, his domineering presence was still evident in her timid approach to life.

Neither young woman had planned to spend her summer break from college in Pennsylvania. Jessi had initially invited Connie to take the summer with her at Edwin’s North Carolina oceanfront home, knowing he had plans to travel during most of July and August. Edwin forbade it. Although Connie had only met the rotund archeologist once, she knew he controlled every aspect of Jessi’s existence, and resented the intrusion of anyone in his niece’s life, especially her.

To assure that Jessi’s summer was spent constructively, Edwin instead arranged employment at the Pennsylvania State Museum cataloguing artifacts from the golden age of archeology, that period during the early twentieth century when money to support expeditions flowed freely. There had been so many discoveries that museums all over the world had cellars and storerooms filled with unopened crates like this one… enough artifacts to last a hundred years. Many of the containers they had inventoried this summer had been sitting in this very room, undisturbed, since the 1920s.

Edwin had gotten his way, but not entirely. Jessi had agreed to the task, but only if Connie could work with her. Distracted by the work of a colleague in Egypt, Edwin had relented without his usual petulance. So the two young women found a small apartment within walking distance from the museum.

As sole heiress to a fortune estimated at nearly $6.4 billion, Jessica Margaret Davenport Nobel could have chosen to live like a queen, but throughout college she had chosen to forego the generous stipend available from her trust and subsist on a duly earned but meager paycheck.

Jessi opened a big, blue loose-leaf binder and thumbed through the pages of handwritten text until she found her place, then wrote the date in the upper right hand corner. She smiled inwardly. It had been almost a year since she had met Connie.

Although her first year at college, Jessi had lived in Swiss boarding schools since grade school, and had looked forward to the familiarity of a campus environment. Her father, a pre-occupied computer and telecommunications