Journey Through the Mirrors (31 page)

“Until then, we need to push forward,” Mr. Perrot said. “I wonder if the serpent that was carved into the mica platform is what this phrase is referring to.”

“A serpent could mean a lot of things,” Nadine said, straightening up the mess of artifacts on the table. “In those days, people spoke allegorically when they wanted to veil certain truths. The term
serpent
could mean anything from a real snake to the symbol for energy to a piece of jewelry.”

“We may never know,” Madu said. “What if what we’re looking for is now buried under the Moon Pyramid?”

“Then we will dig it up,” Nadine said emphatically.

Logan watched as Nadine wound the discolored string around her fingers. His eyes lit up in realization. “A Spartan scytale,” he said out loud.

“A Spartan what?” Mr. Perrot asked.

“A Spartan scytale was a ciphering technique used more than twenty-five hundred years ago,” Logan said. “It involved wrapping a string or ribbon around an object, usually a cylinder on which a secret text had been imprinted. The text was transferred to the thread. Then, when the thread was unwrapped, the message was encrypted; the message would look like a bunch of random marks on the string.” Logan pointed at the string wrapped around Nadine’s fingers. “You see these dark marks we thought were dirt? What if it’s a cipher?
Wrap thin serpent to discover earth voice
,” Logan said, repeating the phrase as Nadine began to unwind the thread.

“What if the earth voice is—” Mr. Perrot started.

“The activation harmonic,” Madu said, completing his thought.

“The key to deciphering a message like this one is to wrap the string around something that is the same shape and size as the object on which the message was originally imprinted,” Logan said. “The string was originally found in the wooden cart in the secret chamber.”

“What about the copper rod?” Mr. Perrot suggested.

“Worth a try,” Logan said.

Nadine quickly finished unwrapping the thread and handed it to
Logan, who then carefully twisted it around the copper rod, making sure the marks faced outward.

Mr. Perrot examined it when Logan was done. “Doesn’t look like we have the right object. There is nothing decipherable.”

Logan tried again at the thinner end of the rod, but the results were the same. “This rod is not the key.”

“Other than the copper staff,” Madu said, “we were only able to salvage the three whistling vessels and some broken pieces of pottery.”

Logan set the string on the table. He surveyed the items beside it for anything that might serve as the key to the Spartan scytale. “The broken pottery clearly won’t work. The whistling vessels are a possibility, but their odd shapes would make it difficult to wrap the thread around properly.”

Nadine and Madu tried several whistle stems and even set two next to each other and wrapped the string around them both, but neither way worked.

While they did that, Logan looked at the praying man statue and the mica platform on which it stood, wondering if they should try it. But he discarded the idea, because the platform was too large and the thread would only go around it a couple of times. Then, recalling something, he walked over to the statue and knelt down near the base. “What did you say this phrase said?” he asked Madu.

“The wise man of stone holds the nest of the snake,” Madu replied.

Logan smiled. “And what does the stone man hold?”

“The whistle,” Madu said.

Mr. Perrot took the reconstructed stone whistle from its case and set it on the table. “The nest of the snake,” he said, sharing Logan’s smile.

Nadine quickly took the string and started wrapping it around the cylindrical body of the praying man’s whistle. Logan walked back over to the table to join Mr. Perrot and Madu. They watched anxiously as, loop by loop, Nadine meticulously wound the thread.

“The marks are lining up,” Logan said. “It looks like a series of animals.”

“We’ve seen these before,” Madu said. “These are the animals that were painted on the seven whistling vessels we found in the chamber.”

“This might be the sequence in which the whistles need to be played in order to activate the pyramid,” Mr. Perrot suggested.

Logan looked at the three whistles they had taken from the chamber. “Without the other four, this sequence is meaningless.” He turned to Madu, regret on his face as he spoke. “I’m sorry, Madu.”

Everyone was silent. All of Madu and Nadine’s efforts at Teotihuacán over the last seven years seemed to have been for naught. Madu stood with his head bowed, and Nadine gazed at him with concern in her eyes.

“The two of you should come to the commemoration in Washington,” Mr. Perrot gently told them. “Put all of this aside for now, and rejoin us as Madu and Nadine Shata, the finders of the
Chronicles
and the only people to have survived the Pyramid Run.”

“You remember that story?” Nadine said.

“Of course I do,” Mr. Perrot replied. “It is the inspiring true story of two people who didn’t give up in the face of hopelessness.”

Madu looked up. “Robert is correct,” he said to Nadine. “There is nothing more for us here. Even if we are able to persuade Rigel to fund the excavation of the Moon Pyramid, it will be months before we can start. There are other pyramids where I can continue my research.”

Nadine nodded and took his hand.

Just then, Logan received a reply from Valerie on his PCD. “Here’s another reason for you to go to Washington with us: Valerie says that Sumsari Baltik is alive.” He sighed, turning to Mr. Perrot. “He was a victim of the satellite malfunction last July, though. He is now at the Calhoun Medical Center undergoing therapy.”

“Still, that should be our first stop when we arrive in Washington,” Mr. Perrot said.

Madu looked at his old friend and nodded in agreement.

34

Can anything you have ever done in your life be forgiven?

Yes.

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

SOUTHAMPTON, UNITED KINGDOM, 6:00 P.M. LOCAL TIME, MARCH 23, 2070

“So this is where that famous ship began its maiden voyage?” Valerie asked, looking out the helicopter window. “The one that collided with an iceberg?”

“Yes, it sank, killing more than a thousand people,” Chetan answered. “It was called the
Titanic
. It’s been at the bottom of the Atlantic for almost one hundred sixty years.”

“And Rigel Wright thinks he can raise it after all this time?”

“Of course. He even has plans to build a gigantic museum for it.”

A WCF transport plane had flown them from Zurich to London, where they’d boarded a helicopter to take them over the city of Southampton on the southern coast of England. While social unrest had spread through most of Great Britain during the Great Disruption, the southern coast had been relatively unscathed. The city of London, one hundred forty-four kilometers to the northeast, did not fare so well. A series of earthquakes had shaken the city and caused the Thames River to surge, flooding many of the landmarks along its banks. The
fabled timekeeper, Big Ben, had stopped at half past four on the day of the first major earthquake. It remained that way to this day to remind everyone of the moment when the Great Disruption struck. London Bridge had collapsed into the river, along with portions of the nearby Tower of London. During the worst of the city’s riots, the Beefeaters who guarded the Tower had been overrun, and the Crown Jewels had disappeared, never to be seen again.

“There are hundreds of boats down there,” Valerie said.

“You cannot miss Rigel Wright’s,” Chetan said. “Do you see that boat with the multitiered deck and the long bow? There is a helicopter landing pad on it.”

“That’s not a boat,” Valerie said. “That’s a whole island.”

“That is the
Water Shadow
,” Chetan said. “It has a crew of eighty and can house thirty guests. It’s the fastest ship ever constructed. It can reach speeds of more than two hundred knots. It is where Mr. Wright spends most of his time.”

“What about his family?” Valerie asked.

Chetan chuckled. “He is a bit of a playboy billionaire.” Valerie gave him a look. “That’s what I read, at least.”

The helicopter banked to the left as it descended toward the
Water Shadow
. Valerie and Chetan could hear the pilot announce their arrival to the ship’s captain. The copter dropped its landing gear and softly touched down on the ship’s bow. Valerie and Chetan hopped out and were greeted by a middle-aged woman wearing a full-length white dress and a black scarf tied around her neck.

“Welcome to the
Water Shadow.
My name is Karen,” she said loudly over the sound of the whipping helicopter blades. “I am Mr. Wright’s assistant. He is not here just yet, but I have notified him of your arrival. Please follow me.”

Valerie and Chetan followed Karen down a stairway to a lower deck. As they walked toward the stern, they caught glimpses of lavishly appointed staterooms and passenger cabins through tinted windows. After two more sets of stairs, they stood on a deck almost level with the sea.

“Do we know how long Mr. Wright is going to be?” Valerie asked.

“Shouldn’t be much longer,” Karen replied.

Valerie gazed out on the English Channel, expecting to see an approaching boat. Then she looked up and saw a plane in the sky. “Is he planning to parachute in?”

“No, not today.” Karen laughed. There was a disturbance in the water behind the ship. Hundreds of air bubbles broke to the surface. Valerie and Chetan stepped back to avoid being splashed by the incoming waves. “In fact, here comes Rigel now.”

Valerie and Chetan watched as the glass dome of a submarine rose out of the sea. “Like I said, a lot of resources,” Chetan whispered. Valerie remained silent.

The twenty-meter-long submarine bounced out of the water, causing a very large wave to splash onto the platform. Four boat hands rushed to attach mooring lines to the submarine, while two others set up a walkway. The side door opened, and out walked a short, muscular man. His tanned skin contrasted with his platinum-blond hair. He wore white knee-length shorts and a black golf shirt with
Titanic Rising
printed above the breast pocket. As he stepped off the walkway, he handed Karen a leather bag and said something to her that Valerie and Chetan couldn’t hear, then walked over to them.

“I’m Rigel. Is the WCF here to assist me in the raising of the
Titanic
?” He smirked.

Valerie ignored his question. “I’m Agent Perrot, and this is Agent Jah.”

“I didn’t realize that WCF agents come in such classy, attractive packages.” Rigel put his hand out to shake Valerie’s. “You didn’t tell me your first name.”

“Valerie,” she answered reluctantly.

“Please, Valerie, let’s dispense with formalities on this beautiful spring day. You have lovely hair. I hope you let it down occasionally.” He gave her a suggestive smile, then turned to a wide-eyed Chetan, who was eager to shake the hand of the man he admired and had read
so much about. “Let’s go to the Observation Room, where we can talk more comfortably.”

Valerie and Chetan followed Rigel and Karen to an elevator that took them to a conference room on the top deck, with panoramic views glinting through the windows.

“Would you like a drink?” Rigel asked, as he poured himself one. Both Valerie and Chetan declined. Rigel took a sip of his drink. “So what brings the WCF to the
Water Shadow
?”

“We understand that one of your companies owns a DNA spectrometer,” Valerie said.

“Which company? I own many and imagine a number of them might have purchased such a device.”

“You only own one DNA spectrometer,” Valerie said. “It was purchased by the Tripod Group.”

“This is a very specialized machine, used for only one purpose,” Chetan added.

“I know what it’s used for,” Rigel said arrogantly. “What I don’t know is why it matters to the WCF that TTG owns one. Did you find some kind of DNA watermark somewhere you shouldn’t have?”

Valerie could see that despite his flamboyant playboy demeanor, Rigel Wright was quite intelligent and well informed. “Are you familiar with the natural-gas well problems in northern Africa and Australia?”

“Of course. Two of the largest fields in the world have halted production.” He took another sip from his glass. “I can’t say I’ve been adversely affected by it, though. My energy stock portfolio is up thirty percent in the last week. What does this have to do with TTG and a DNA spectrometer?”

“We believe that someone intentionally sabotaged the gas fields,” Valerie said. “We have evidence that the gas supply was contaminated.”

“How do you contaminate a natural-gas source?” Rigel asked.

Chetan pulled out his PCD. “With this,” he said, projecting an image of the nanite. “This is a—”

“An altered methanophiles cell,” Rigel interrupted. He took a step
closer to get a better look, then turned to Karen. “Fascinating. Are you seeing this?”

“I am,” Karen said, rising from her chair at the exquisitely polished conference table. “This didn’t come from one of our labs.”

Valerie looked at her. “I’m surprised that your assistant is so familiar with the work that is going on in your biotech companies,” she said.

“Sorry about the confusion,” Rigel said. “Karen is actually one of my attorneys. She oversees our patent portfolio.”

Karen smiled at Valerie.

“And you’ve never seen this thing before?” Valerie asked.

“No. But it is creatively manufactured. What has it been modified to do?” Rigel asked Chetan.

“It ingests methane and also oxygen. As it consumes the gas, it multiplies at an incredible rate. A three-to-one ratio over five seconds. It also dies shortly afterward.”

Rigel seemed confused. “What does it do with the gas it consumes?”

“Retains it,” Chetan said. “No by-product is released.”

Rigel raised his eyebrows. “So a perfect vacuum is created. What an intriguing modification. I can envision some very interesting applications.”

“You mean deadly applications,” Valerie said. “Maybe even an application that would send the value of your portfolio skyrocketing.”