The Grail

CHAPTER 7

Ten-foot waves smashed harmlessly against the wide steel bow as the ocean gave way to the massive object plowing through it. A football field longer than the Empire State Building was tall, and seventy meters wide, the supertanker Jahre Viking was the largest man-made moving object ever constructed.

A lap around the huge main deck covered over a half-mile and Johan Verquist was on his sixth circuit as he approached the bow. He ran smoothly, each foot slapping the steel decking lightly, then springing to the next step. He was in remarkable shape for someone seventy-eight years old and reputed to be the third-richest man in the world by those who kept such lists. Each trip the Jahre Viking made from the oil fields to the oil consumers increased those riches, but this journey was different.

Verquist paused at the bow and looked to the rear. The bridge was over a quarter mile — four hundred and fifty meters — away. His icy blue eyes surveyed the hundreds on deck — Dennison’s flock — allowed up for their hour in the sun, before rotating with the next batch. There were over ten thousand people crammed into the large tanks. He’d had the tanks steam blasted, then converted into multiple-level barracks.

He had one mission and he approached it as he had approached everything else in his life — with single-minded determination to achieve the end result regardless of cost.

The Mission had made him what he was, and when The Mission called — in the form of Guide Dennison — to give him orders, he followed them without question. As further impetus for this mission — after all, what could they offer a man who had practically everything? Dennison had also dangled a most intriguing enticement, of particular interest to Verquist given his advanced years — the possibility of extending his life. Dennison had not been specific about how this could be accomplished, but the possibility was simply too tempting to Verquist.

The lines around the old man’s eyes narrowed as a group of brown-clad people came toward him, a tall figure in the lead — Dennison. The Guide’s face was perfectly smooth, making it difficult to judge his age accurately.

Following Dennison’s instructions, Verquist had the ship’s captain pick up groups of the Progressive — those who believed mankind’s future lay in allying with the Airlia — off several coasts on the way from the Middle East to this location. Ferry boats, sailboats, freighters — all types of craft had come out to meet his behemoth ship and transfer the believers on board.

Verquist turned back to the bow, ignoring the approaching Dennison, and stared out at the deep blue ocean that stretched to the horizon. The end of the journey was not far off — Easter Island, where he was to deliver the ten thousand to their destiny, whatever that might be.

A new world order was coming, and Verquist felt certain that The Mission was going to be a very important part of that order. If delivering ten thousand people at the cost of millions of dollars in lost oil revenue was the price he had to pay to be part of that order, he considered it very cheap indeed. Especially if The Mission’s offer turned out to have any degree of validity. “Mister Verquist.” Dennison’s voice was as smooth as his face. Verquist had heard the man “preach” though, and knew there was much more to this man than was readily apparent. After all, he and his other Guides had gotten all these people to give up their normal lives and come aboard to an unknown fate.

“Yes?”

“There has been an outbreak of cholera in hold 3 starboard.” Dennison said it as casually as if noting the direction of the wind that blew over the bow. “We have mostly Pakistanis in there. One of them must have been infected before coming on board. Now it’s spread.”

Verquist frowned. They were a long way from help. “We could radio—” he began, but Dennison cut him off.

“We will radio no one. That is not the solution.”

“I don’t have the medicine to deal with—” But Verquist was cut off once more, something his former adversaries would have loved to see.

“We have already sealed hold 3 starboard,” Dennison said.

“You mean quarantined,” Verquist corrected him.

“We’ve sealed it,” Dennison continued, “and now I want you to order the captain to flood it.”

Verquist stared at Dennison for several seconds, not quite sure if the man was serious, although in his gut he knew he was.

“I don’t think the captain will do that,” Verquist said.

“Then do it yourself. The whole is greater than the few.” Dennison turned and walked away, his inner cadre right behind him.

The CH-47 Chinook, a double-rotor helicopter, was descending toward the ocean on the north side of the Easter Island shield wall. The back ramp was down and the zodiac rested on it, held on board by a nylon strap. McGraw and Olivetti stood next to it, rigged in their wet suits, their tanks on board the boat.

The belly of the chopper actually settled into the water, the ramp awash from the slight swell. Olivetti cut the nylon and the zodiac slid into the water. Both men followed. They clambered aboard the rubber boat and got the engine started. As they pulled away, the Chinook rose into the air and headed back toward the Stennis.

McGraw was a slight man with muscles like ropes. He had the nickname Popeye among the teams for his build and for his willingness to take on anything and anyone, no matter what the odds. Olivetti was a big, quiet man with a fringe of hair he was very proud of, ignoring the large bald spot that dominated his crown.

“Ready, Popeye?” Olivetti asked.

“This is some weird stuff,” Popeye McGraw replied as he looked to the horizon where Easter Island was supposed to be. “Let’s do it.”

They’d both been given as much information as was available on what Easter Island had been and what it could possibly be now. They knew there were three major volcanoes on the triangular-shaped island, Rapa Raruku in the east, Rapa Aria in the northwest, and Rapa Kara in the southwest. All had lakes inside their craters, the only source of freshwater on the island. There were also only two beaches, the rest of the island’s shore being rocky. The one that concerned them the most was the northern beach, Anakena, the direction which the Washington had been headed when it had disappeared. It was there that the hole in the shield was supposed to be — directly in front of them. After getting through the shield wall, their first priority was to check on the status of the Washington.

The next place they were to go was the southernmost volcano, Rapa Kara. Over a thousand feet high, it dominated that part of the island and would also allow them to look to the center where the International Airport was. After checking the airfield, they were to descend inside the volcano, locate the guardian computer — and Kelly Reynolds if she was still alive — and destroy the alien object.

Olivetti checked his bearing on the global positioning system, out of habit, as he brought the prow of the F-470, about. There was no mistaking direction. On the horizon, the top of the black shield was clearly visible now, straight ahead.

Lisa Duncan felt stone pressed up against her cheek. She opened her eyes and saw she was lying on a stone floor looking at a white veil. She had to think hard for several moments, her head pounding as if from a severe hangover, before she remembered where she was.

She heard Aspasia’s Shadow call for her. She noted the two sphinx heads turn, so she knew someone had entered the chamber. Slowly, she got to her feet, the pounding in her head almost making her ill. She pulled the veil aside and saw him standing in the entranceway.

“You’ve discovered you don’t have everything you need?” Aspasia’s Shadow asked.

“I’ve discovered the Ark is the history of the Airlia on this planet,” Duncan said.

“The past is not important,” he said. “You’re like a child looking in the dark, not sure what you are looking for and if you did find something, not sure what its importance is.”

“Where are the thummin and urim?” Duncan asked.

“Very smart,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “I am currently in the process of tracking them down.”

“So you don’t know where they are?”

“They’re in a very secure place,” he allowed. “They are in the Negev.”

“Israel?”

“They traveled for a long time and were last held by monks in Ethiopia at one of the monasteries on Lake Tanaga. But they were not safe there, and the Israelis took them back to the Dimona archives bunker in the Negev Desert that also houses their nuclear weapons. It is supposed to be the most secure place on Earth.” He gave an evil smile. “But I have learned over the years that no place is totally secure.”

“And if you get them?”

“Then we can bargain. I’ll have something you want, while you have something I want. I almost had them once before, long ago, but they slipped through my grasp.”

“How long ago?”

“I have been walking this Earth since before the beginning of your human history.”

“How can you have lived so long?” Duncan asked.

Aspasia’s Shadow pointed at his head. “This — the knowledge, the experiences — have lived as long as Aspasia’s Shadow lived.” He tapped his chest. “This body, this shell, has a life span. I acquired this one forty-five years ago. It will be time to move on soon. This body is failing me.”

“I don’t understand.”

Aspasia’s Shadow pulled an amulet from underneath his black cloak. “This is the essence of Aspasia — of me. All that is missing are my experiences since I last updated it a month ago. It is called a ka. Think of it as a recording device for one’s life, for one’s memories. But it is more than that. When the time comes to pass on, as it is called, I will go to The Mission. There the ka will be updated to the present, then this body will be destroyed. The ka will be used to install my essence into the new body and my life will go on.”

“If you can do that, then why do you want the Grail?”

“Because the Grail can do more than that.”

“What more?”

“That information I cannot give you.”

Turcotte studied the information Quinn had gotten regarding Silbury Hill as the bouncer lifted off the floor and floated out the hangar doors. As soon as it was clear, the pilot accelerated and gained altitude.

“Do you believe Mualama’s information?” Yakov asked.

“He has the scars from the fire,” Turcotte noted.

“He also withheld telling us he was a Watcher for a long time,” Yakov said.

“We need a Watcher’s ring,” Turcotte said simply. “If there are no Watchers at Silbury, then I won’t believe him.”

“Do you have a plan?” Yakov asked. The two of them were the only occupants, beside the pilot and copilot.

“Not yet.”

“Should we knock on the side of the hill and ask them if they can spare us a ring?”

“Why don’t you do that?” Turcotte snapped.

“My friend, I think you are not seeing the forest for the trees.”

“Look,” Turcotte held out a photograph. “See how the side of the hill is indented right here?”

Yakov took the picture. “Yes.”

“Remember at Qian-Ling how there was an opening for a bouncer to go in and out on the side of the mountain?”

“Yes.”

Turcotte tapped the picture. “That’s where we’re going to knock.”