The Prometheus Objective

11

Caleb entered the Masonic Library and Museum on the 14th floor after reverently acknowledging the large painting on the left side of the double glass doors: a master-mason with his tools of trade; more symbols in the background, but Caleb didn’t have time to linger.

Inside, the somber lights sprang on with his presence and he had a moment of déjà vu: back in the Library Vault under the Pharos Lighthouse.

The torches lighting with the opening of the door, as if welcoming returning masters.

Book shelves lined the walls, and the upper level hinted at more mysteries and tomes to be explored. Glass cases held artifacts, letters, maps and drawings from the New York chapter as well as earlier, harkening to a history maybe no longer so secret.

Cases displayed early Masonic gear and symbols: an ancient-looking trowel and hammer, a weathered weave apron, badges and pins representing the stages of membership in the order. Gavels and gauges. Necklaces and robes…

A full-length tracing board depicted the symbols and emblems tracking the Masonic degrees. Caleb studied the lunar and solar images, the hammer and the stars, the three pillars and the symbols. Although not a full-fledged member, he bet his knowledge could at least rival that of all but the highest order members.

He paused at a framed facsimile of the Processus Contra Templarios, a depiction of trials against Templars in 1308, a sweeping roundup and subsequent violent persecution of dozens of high ranking members. The vehemence in the proceeding, captured in the artwork, made Caleb cringe to think of the similarity to recent events: the purge of his team and other psychics.

Around a corner, he passed a grandfather clock — the source of the rhythmic ticking he’d been hearing, and he recalled that this particular artifact had stood in the Masonic lodge in Yorktown, counting the same beats and presiding over the surrender of General Cornwallis in 1781.

Surrounded by all this history, Caleb let his mind free.

Let it wander and soak in the ambience. The soothing lights glinted off the glass, sparkling off the ceremonial pitchers used at banquet celebrations down through the ages, highlighting the spines of so many, many books packed together, waiting to disseminate their arcane knowledge.

Absently, he walked through the displays and past the exhibits, to a window overlooking the city streets and the river to the east. He had to prepare to speak to the world, with Edgerrin preparing the broadcast now, and working with the few techs that could still function, in order to get it the exposure it would need. Caleb hoped he knew the right methods and sites to use. Social media, for what it was worth, was so ingrained in the population that it alone, perhaps, had the power to cut through all this other noise in peoples’ heads.

As these thoughts were percolating, other influences were tugging at his attention. Fleeting images and hints of visionary experiences waiting in the wings:

An arctic wasteland.

A sharply-angled mountain of ice.

A cave entrance, with crimson light flickering from the shadows, behind the swirling snow.

An outline of a broad-shouldered man, all in red, with some kind of helmet, wielding a sword.

A production plant, high in the mountains, smokestacks kicking up clouds of thick smoke beside an impossibly wide and blue lake.

And a tree, glowing and dazzling, its branches and leaves too bright to see, with vines sweeping about, swaying hungrily like the eldritch tentacles of some Lovecraftian entity.

“Mr. Crowe!”

He blinked and spun, startled.

An agent, out of breath, holding his side. “They need you. The room… with the altar thing…”

“The Ceremony Chamber.” Caleb moved quickly. “What is it?”

“They’ve got the video feeds working, but first, they hooked up with the Stargate team in Georgetown. They have something urgent.”

He brushed by the agent and ran for the stairs, where he saw another man by the elevator holding it for him.

That’s service, he thought, but he had been looking forward to the easier descent, along the intricately-carved bannisters where he could observe the hidden designs and images on each floor.

Well, at least it saves me some exercise.

Back in the Ceremonial Room, the agents had set up more equipment. The indigo shades had darkened with the Sun’s descent outside, and there was a bustle of activity. Xavier was still on a couch, in the corner, in the shadows behind a large pillar that looked like it belonged in an Egyptian temple four thousand years ago. Diana seemed to have recovered slightly. She sat by his side holding his hand, but still looked shaken and pale.

In front of the 50-inch main terminal screen, stood Phoebe. Caleb saw she had put on her sweatshirt and had a duffel bag packed with supplies by her side. Must’ve seen something…

Caleb stumbled over some wires and quickly moved to her. On the screen he saw a woman he had never met but recognized her from her file — a recruit who had been duped by Boris Zeller a few weeks earlier. Orlando and Phoebe had sensed talent in Victoria Belarus, and now here she was, fulfilling their expectations, and more. She had already provided leadership and analysis that pinpointed the second Emerald Tablet’s location and had sent Nina, Alexander, Jacob and Aria to Nan Madol.

Bloodshot eyes and her hair pulled back in an irreverent, stringy pony tail, Victoria looked up at the camera at her end — a church in Georgetown — and noticed Caleb. She gave a slight bow of respect, then moved sideways so the camera could capture the room, and the table behind her, with some half-dozen or more psychics hard at work.

Caleb could tell the look, and he recognized the effort. The papers, the shredded pads and pencils worn down to nubs. Empty pizza boxes and crusts… But he didn’t have much time to acknowledge the work being done. Victoria was not only all business, but urgent business at that.

“What have you got?” Caleb asked, not wasting time. “And sorry if you have to repeat anything.”

“We just started,” Phoebe said. “I was on my way to fly out of here. I know where Orlando is… or actually, where he’s going.” She met his concerned look, full of questions — about his well-being, and the status of the twins — but she wasn’t going to elaborate just now.

Which told Caleb this was something big.

“The recruits… No longer recruits, got a hit on the pharmaceuticals.”

“Tell me.”

Victoria cleared her throat, then turned back around, holding up a few sheets of paper. She displayed the hastily-drawn sketches quickly as she talked. Describing a mountain range, likely in South America. A strange fortress-like grouping of giant stones, and a huge placid lake, beside which a modern building had been drawn with smokestacks and trucks beside it. One picture in particular, caught Caleb’s eye.

“I know that.”

“Thought you might,” Phoebe said, a little muffled. “But so do they…”

“The Gate of the Sun,” Victoria said. “Curt here recognized it from some Alien show on TV.”

Caleb suppressed a laugh. “So that plant, it’s producing the prescription drugs?”

“Owned by Eli Lily, we got that much.” Victoria scrambled for a sketch of a Lily. “I’m guessing someone over there can verify all this with the FDA, or we can check Lily’s list of drugs.”

“Why there?” Phoebe asked. “And why just that drug?”

“We also saw a man in red,” Victoria added. “Not sure if it’s just symbolic of a Japanese connection or something, but he’s dressed like a samurai and he’s overseeing the plant.”

Caleb scratched the back of his neck. Something about that picture she just showed him made him more than uneasy. “Wait, what’s around his neck?” He wanted to enlarge the view, but she did it for him, bringing the picture closer.

“It’s green,” he said. “And shaped… like a teardrop.”

His heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah,” Victoria said. “I focused on it a long time. And here’s where it got strange. I saw images coinciding — or conflicting — with our first objective.”

“The Emerald Tablet? Nan Madol?”

“Both,” she said after a hesitation. “I don’t know though, this is still new to me. To us. It could just be residual focus. OCD or something.”

“I don’t know.” Caleb had moved closer, and was now right up to the screen, tapping it. “I feel — and fear — your first instinct may have been right. And this…”

He felt a chill run up and then back down his spine.

“…it’s connected to the drugs. To the Tablet, to what’s happening and more.”

A cry from behind them.

Xavier groaned and tried to sit up, with Diana’s help.

“Missiles!” he shouted. “Coming. Soon, can’t stop them. Can’t…”

Diana stifled a cry herself as she was holding him. Her voice was high-pitched and full of terror. “I just saw it too! Cities burning. Mushroom clouds, oh my god…”

What the hell?

“Jesus,” Phoebe whispered. “Are we going from mass hysteria to full scale war?”

Caleb turned his attention to the screen on the right, which had been set up to view the bunker under the White House. The President was there, but pacing, the screen a little jumbled with movement and activity of others in the cabinet, and aides and military agents trying to hold the peace.

“Something’s so wrong…”

“Besides Xavier’s plague of imminent destruction scenarios?” Phoebe asked. “And medical drugs that might… what block the psychic powers, but turn the takers crazy?”

“No,” Caleb said, turning back to Victoria’s screen and pointing a trembling finger. “Not turn them crazy.”

“Then what?”

His eyes went wide as he turned back to the other screen and saw the President stop pacing, turn and face him.

“Damn I hate when I’m right.”

“Which is all the damn time,” Phoebe said. “What now?”

“It’s not turning them crazy, it’s a means of control.”

“Control?”

“The tablet — or that gem in this case. Similar to a certain artifact central to ancient Imperial Japan.” He took a deep breath, fearing—knowing—he was on the right path. “Worn as a necklace, it supposedly granted the rulers throughout history a means of control of their people.”

“Control?”

He turned to her.

“Through Possession.”