Rogue Command (The Kalahari Series) (22 page)

Richard, astonished at what he was seeing, was speechless. Mubarakar and the other two men stared with equal amazement – although by previous examination they were familiar with its contours and had already formulated a hypothesis for the tiny slots around the statue’s eyes and mouth.

“Hamid found the sarcophagus buried in sediment in one of the temples close to the central precinct – that was the most important religious area,” said Mubarakar, eventually.

“It looks to be made of bronze, doesn’t it,” said Hamid, rhetorically, running his hands over the fine polished surfaces of the head and neck. He walked to the foot of the statue that was almost three metres tall and a metre wide and directed Richard’s attention to some discolouration on the sole of the left foot. “We have run material tests,” he continued. “Quite exhaustive ones, using up-to-date equipment. It is not bronze, nor is it iron or tin or any other copper alloy; all reliable traditional materials for such artefacts. In fact we do not know what the material is. It looks like solid rock, doesn’t it? But actually it seems to have been cast, like resin poured into a mould. A very advanced process all the same – no bubbling or fractures. It’s quite difficult to achieve that even now. I did find some silica compounds and also traces of a chemical polyisoprene. These are elastic hydrocarbon polymers similar to rubber that are derived from latex, all materials that occur naturally here on Earth, as you know. But the main constituent is elusive – I don’t think it’s from here.”

Mubarakar put a hand on Richard’s. “See the eyes and mouth . . . we think they must have moved.”

Richard’s focus shifted from the statue’s face to Hamid’s. “You mean like a . . . machine?” he questioned.

“You may conjecture,” replied Mubarakar. “As men of science, we are not averse.”

Richard glanced sideways at the Professor.

“Robots were well documented in Alexandria, Richard. Visitors to the great city wrote of such things in amazement and admiration.” Mubarakar’s voice trailed to a forced whisper. “This is fact!” His comments added poignancy to the moment.

Hamid nodded in agreement. “I also found some inscriptions; it’s what led me to this find. The Gateway to Rhodes was mentioned, and Helios the sun god, a deity attributed to the Rhodians. Also a chant of welcome to Poseidon, the god of the sea to the Greeks; for people living on or close by the sea he was perhaps their most important deity after Zeus himself. In other buildings close to the original wharf I have previously found tablets detailing lists and inventories; huge volumes of stores and provisions passed through this city. These ties and others, Mr Reece, link Alexandria along with Rhodes as serving a much greater population – perhaps that of Atlantis?”

“Not perhaps!” interjected Mubarakar, who shifted from one foot to the other with uncontained excitement. “We think that this statue was the prototype for one of the great wonders of the ancient world.”

“What!”

“The
Colossus
of Rhodes, Richard . . . always believed completed in 280 BC, but now known to be much older. It stood thirty metres high, more than one hundred feet – almost as tall as the Statue of Liberty. It was believed to have straddled the grand harbour of Rhodes by standing on white marble pedestals, and was only brought down by a huge earthquake many years later. There are historical records to this fact.” Mubarakar’s eyes sparkled. “Perhaps the same earthquake that destroyed the greatest sea city ever to be built . . .”

Richard shrugged awkwardly. “What makes you say that, Professor?”

“On the back of this statue we found a panel about . . .” Mubarakar formed a square shape by holding his hands together. “. . that sort of size. Inside this panel are mechanisms and an orifice for a power source. There are also inscriptions. We do not understand them. However, there is one pictogram we do recognise, because Hamid has seen it elsewhere in this underwater world. In the Temple of Sirius, Richard, perhaps the largest of the religious buildings, Hamid found a stone plaque inscribed with the same pictogram and beneath it, in First Dynasty Egyptian hieroglyphs, Sumerian
and
a later inscription in Ancient Greek – because the carver was opposite handed – were the words
Great city of light
.”

Richard put a hand on the box to steady himself. “Oh, wait a minute! Don’t tell me!” he barked incredulously. “You think that this . . . machine . . . was powered by a crystal, don’t you? A Kalahari crystal. And not only that, you think that it originated in Atlantis! Come on Professor, I’m open to most things but that’s not science, that’s not even . . . With respect, Professor, that’s pure supposition. It’s ridiculous.”

Mubarakar’s eyes narrowed. “Engineers and architects through the ages have always believed that the
Colossus
of Rhodes was too much of an engineering feat for the time. This
is
a fact accepted by many historians and archaeologists. The scale of it; the leverage produced by the extended limbs; the scaffolding required from the sea bed to its pinnacle – a finger was believed bigger than a person!” Mubarakar squared up to Richard. “We know that the crystal salvaged from the ruins of Eridu journeyed south in the Ark of the Light. We know that the ancient coastal trading route from Mesopotamia to Thebes took it this way and later past the Great Pyramids at Giza. And we know that from Thebes the Ark was taken to the city of Meroe, the centre of the Kushite Empire and thereafter to Adulis. That and the remaining passage to Venice we know to be true, thanks to your exploits. I believe that the crystal stopped here in Alexandria for a brief period during that journey.”

Richard clasped his hands behind his head and breathed out heavily. “This is what you have to show me?” He glanced unimpressed across the statue and up at Hamid. “You’ll be telling me next that the mighty
Colossus
walked itself into place two thousand three hundred years ago!”

“We believe it to be more like seven thousand years ago,” replied Hamid, with a glower.

“Professor, please, it’s an amazing discovery, really it is, but be serious, this isn’t science it’s speculation. And it’s not helping the present situation regarding the crystals. Peter Rothschild believes that you are onto something . . . something that’s going to help the crucial energy situation. Well he’s going to be very disappointed, isn’t he?”

“Richard, my young friend, we will show you the mechanism inside this statue, that is the simple part. You must trust me when I say that this machine holds a key. I believe it will speak to us. But for this to happen we need a crystal.”

“And where do you think you are going to get one of those from, eh? Each crystal currently supplies a whole region with electricity. Do you think that they will just switch off a reactor and let you borrow one for a few days . . . ? Come on, sir.”

“Then we miss a calling from the stars . . . from the old people. We forego an opportunity for enlightenment. That is all I can say.”

Richard, about to speak, stopped short.
Was he being disrespectful?
he pondered. What about the lateral thinking that he was renowned for . . . what about his open mind? He considered, in that instant,
his
crystal, his secret; would that remnant activate this machine? Would this robot actually talk to them? Was it an opportunity that could not be missed? He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and asked: “What language did they speak in Alexandria at that time, Professor?”

“Ha!” Professor Mubarakar smiled broadly. “Ancient Greek . . . There were three periods – Archaic, Classical and Hellenistic – and also several regional dialects evolved. But we think the Hellenistic phase, also known as Koine or ‘common’, is most appropriate.”

“Do you speak it?”

“No. I do not.”

“Or you Hamid . . . ? Abdel?”

Both men shook their heads. “It is a lost language, Mr Reece, and therein lies another problem,” added Hamid. “Finding such a scholar will be difficult, if not impossible.”

“I might be able to help on both counts,” replied Richard, after a period of silent consideration. “I just can’t be specific at the moment regarding the crystal thing. But Madame Vallogia speaks a number of ancient tongues – she is your best bet.” Richard turned to the Professor. “Not here, though. I’m worried about her as you know and I intend starting my search in Cairo as soon as I can. Peter Rothschild is expecting me back in London tonight. My flight leaves at eight – that only gives me a few hours. I’ve yet to contact him but I expect he wants my report by tomorrow morning. I’ve also something I need to collect from Somer . . .” Richard stopped short and then raised a finger in proposition. “Listen, Professor, can you get this statue to Cairo – that might work out. I’ll talk Rothschild into sending me there, too. We could meet up at the Central Museum. In two days perhaps?”

“Yes I can do that. Hamid will secure the crate and I will arrange a vehicle – not by train, it is too dangerous. Nothing is sacred these days.”

“This . . . machine . . . may or may not work for us as you are suggesting, Professor, but extracting knowledge from the past, that is something I have not considered. You’ve given me an idea. It seems that all roads lead to Madame Vallogia again,” concluded Richard.

CHAPTER 14

The Science Synergy

Whitehall London – same day
Defence Directorate Facility
21:30 Greenwich Mean Time

It was a large room with subdued lighting. There were no windows and only one solid door. Every surface was painted in a mid-grey colour, making the environment feel bland and cold and even a little disorientating. However, the temperature was carefully controlled at twenty-three degrees Celsius. The room could have been anywhere in the maze of offices and experimental chambers of the MOD building, but it was, in fact, two levels below the surface and in the acoustically isolated E Wing.

There was a black leather recliner-type chair – like a barber’s chair – in the centre of the room and on it lolled the figure of Ike Smith. He was staring blankly at the ceiling. Next to him, and sitting in a swivelling high-backed chair, like a therapist listening to a patient’s psychological problems, was another man. He was balding and what little hair he had – at the sides and over his ears – was white. His face was narrow, a little drawn and tired looking, but his eyes were a vibrant blue. He held an electronic notepad in his hands and was speaking to Smith in a friendly way; they even shared a joke. This was Oscar Perram.

Peter Rothschild, Abbey Hennessy and another two men watched the proceedings through a one-way mirror from a neighbouring room. The Americans had insisted that one of their specialist agents be present for the experiment despite having little faith in a positive outcome. Indeed, a result of any kind would be surprising.

Peter Rothschild, checking the time, looked a little dishevelled – this being due, in the most part, to the pressures of a long day in the office. The smart, sharp, ‘city look’ created by his well-fitting navy-blue, pin-striped, Savile Row suit was offset by his pallid features and the emerging stubble around his chin. Abbey Hennessy, on the other hand, was her usual pristine-looking self. Her pale skin was made flawless by face powder which contrasted with subtle red lipstick and expertly applied mascara. She looked stern and business-like in her black trouser suit and if she felt jetlagged, it did not show.

The British scientist, a gangly elderly man, dressed in a well-worn country tweed suit, was Edward Blake. He held a Doctorate in Paranormal Studies and headed a small, underfunded department based in Cheltenham that offered advice in the obscure field of Parapsychology. He was the government’s expert on such matters, although budget restraints allowed only fragmented research. It was, by definition, a quiet job.

The other man, the American agent, was short and stocky with black hair that matched his ‘rat pack’ era suit, with its narrow jacket lapels and drainpipe trousers. He wore shiny black shoes, a white shirt and a black tie with a very small knot. He looked sly, observant and self-sufficient and had said little other than that expected for continued
entente cordiale
between the two national agencies.

The group watched closely as Oscar Perram administered an injection of psychoactive compound into his friend’s forearm. The sleep-inducing properties of the narcotic soon had Ike Turner lying limply on the reclined chair. Perram checked his watch and – by adjusting a rotary button on the armrest of his own chair – reduced the subdued lighting still further.

During their oceanic flight the two men had caught up on old times and it was clear that theirs was a renewed relationship of mutual respect, admiration and experience. For a Remote Viewing – or RVer – pairing to be successful this appreciation was critical. Subsequently, upon their arrival at the Ministry of Defence, they had been briefed by Peter Rothschild as to the vital nature of the two proposed surveys, while Edward Blake had provided the perception parameters. Now, as Ike Smith fell into a controlled, trance-like state, the five observers prepared for a long night.

A term derived from the secretive cold war era of the mid to late twentieth century,
Remote Viewing
is the use of paranormal techniques to seek impressions or ‘survey’ unseen, inaccessible and often distant targets. For as long as records had been kept on the subject, it was known that extra-sensory perception, or sensing with the mind, was a gift that very few people were blessed with and that over the centuries such ability was inevitably viewed with trepidation. In Medieval times it was viewed as divisive and threatening.

Remote Viewing was popularised in the 1990s following declassification of secret documents by the government of the United States of America. There, decades of Federal-sponsored experimentation had been carried out to determine the potential military application of psychic phenomena and the programme had had some measure of success. Renowned were the location of a downed Soviet bomber in Africa, that a US President later referred to in speeches, and the description of a new class of Soviet strategic submarine by a team of three viewers. Although considerable scepticism surrounded the programme and paranormal studies generally, when it became known that both the USSR and China were conducting their own research into extra-sensory-perception, then budgetary allocations and other resources were prioritised.

Experimentation was focused on individuals who were thought to be psychically gifted and the concept and development of the ‘surveyor’ and ‘debriefer’ partnership had produced, arguably, the most notable results. However, and certainly as far as public expenditure was concerned, the US programme was said to have been terminated in 1995 due to a lack of scientifically proven value to the intelligence community.

Typically, a Remote Viewer would be allocated a specific target and be expected to provide a ‘psychic picture’ of it. The target was most often an object that was unreachable. Differing techniques were developed to interpret the image seen by the mind traveller and often the debriefer would draw the results on a sketch pad after close consultation.

Whilst Edward Blake and the American took a natural break, and with Abbey Hennessy sipping her second cup of Earl Grey tea, Peter Rothschild received an abrive; it was from Richard. Rothschild checked the time and re-read the text. It was ten minutes to midnight.
Better late than never,
he thought. Standing at the viewing window, he watched Ike Smith’s body twitch occasionally and his closed eyelids flutter during his opioid-induced and apparently uneasy sleep. Oscar Perram, attentively sitting at Smith’s side, typed the occasional note into his electronic tablet. Rothschild pulled his gaze away and turned slowly to face Abbey, who sat comfortably at a table in the far corner of the observation room. “How much longer?” he quizzed, impatiently.

“He has two targets to survey, Peter. That’s unusual and rather difficult, by all accounts. Made more so I suspect by his lack of practice . . . They said two to three hours – not long now.”

Rothschild nodded and then paused thoughtfully. “I’m placing Richard Reece back under your control,” he continued, “from 09:00 tomorrow morning. He’s telling me that he will be in my office at 08:00 with his report.” Rothschild paused again. “He hasn’t changed, you know. I’m fed up with his contempt for procedures. I sent him four Code One security messages, the ones I copied you in on. He has just responded – twenty-four hours later. Fortunately, he is safe and on his way back. With that Karl Rhinefeld character on the loose again and no doubt working for Spheron, I fear for his safety.”

“He’s his own man, Peter. In many ways that’s a good thing in this business. I haven’t seen him since his wedding reception, and after Rachel retired from the department, what, three years ago now, I haven’t had cause to speak to him either. Nevertheless, I’ll have a quiet word on disciplinary matters . . . after you have finished with him of course.”

At that moment a buzzer sounded and, almost immediately, Blake and the American walked back into the room. “He’s coming round,” said Blake, as he took up station at the window.

Rothschild followed him over. “Can we have the microphone on now please?” He spoke into a wall-mounted intercom box.

Perram responded immediately, but the first sentence that emanated from the adjacent speaker was clipped.

“. . . old and unpractised for this,” complained Smith, with his hands over his face. “It’s difficult . . . blurred.”

“Take your time, Ike. Think about it. You know the technique. Reform the images in your mind – revive them. Now, in your own time, tell me what you saw.”

As Ike Smith lay still and closed his eyes, Perram leaned across and put a hand on the top of his head – it was a calming influence.

“I’m on my way . . . Not there yet. Not where I’m going . . . It’s cold, damn cold, and dark, and barren – a hell of a place. The landscape, it’s dead, you know – no energy, no glow, no sunlight. That’s . . . That’s behind me. I sense the sunlight behind me. But it’s not here, Oscar, not where I am!” Smith put his hands to his face again. His brow began to glow with sweat.

“I understand Ike. A cold, barren place, undulating, dark, inhospitable, no life energy – no impressions . . .”

“Yes, that’s it, that’s the place.” Smith’s body jerked and then relaxed again. “I, I . . . see movement though, lots of movement – things, like activity. Can’t focus. Trying to focus. Been so long.”

“You’re doing just swell, Ike. What . . . ?”

“Wait! I sense something over me, moving over me . . . over there now, but, but, no life energy . . . it’s not right, it’s not where I’m going – this is not the place . . .”

There was a pause. The four observers stared. Perram put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Okay, okay, that place is negative; I understand that. Don’t let it hold on to you. Move on. Move on, Ike,” said Perram, reassuringly.

“It’s a long way . . . haven’t been this far. Never have I been this far.” A bead of moisture ran down Smith’s temple. “Can’t get lost here – wouldn’t get back . . .”

“You’re not gonna get lost, Ike. You’re gonna do this and come back. I’m waiting for you.”

Smith nodded in a strange, subconscious way. His elbows flopped onto the chair by his sides and his hands went limp. It was an enlightening experience for Peter Rothschild and he watched Smith closely. Rothschild’s natural reaction to the event was suspicion. And incredulity. It appeared to be a different part of Smith’s brain that was responding – a different level of consciousness.

“There!” said Smith suddenly, and his legs jerked again.

“What is it, Ike? What’s coming in?”

“An object with shape – it’s got form alright, yes!” replied Smith immediately.

Perram put a hand on Smith’s forehead; he could feel the dampness. “Tell me about it,” he said quietly but compellingly.

“Bulky . . . large . . . not a natural shape like a rock . . . metallic and dark coloured.”

“Go on.”

“Um, um, I can make out long tube-like structures. Travelling too fast though, gee, it’s travelling.” Smith rolled his head from side to side. His eyes remained tightly shut. “It passed me by,” he added, almost apologetically. “I couldn’t keep up – fastest thing I’ve ever . . .”

“No problem, Ike. Relax, let’s think again. Concentrate on those first few moments.” Perram pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, shook it open and dabbed Smith’s brow. “Now, reform the image in your mind. It’s approaching . . . here it comes . . . here it comes . . . Now, Ike, tell me, what do you see?”

“It’s bulky – a regular shape, like a box. It’s dark, difficult to make out any detail. There’s a blur at the front, and a distortion around it too. Difficult . . . I can’t . . . those tubes again . . . it’s gone already! There’s a glow in its wake. I can’t see it. It’s gone – just disappeared!”

Oscar Perram swivelled in his seat and faced the large mirror. He looked up from his notes and shrugged. “The best he could do. It’s been a long time. We may be able to fill in a few more minor details given some time. Sometimes there are a few residuals – they hang over. Perhaps in a few hours,” he said.

Rothschild’s nod was unseen by Perram. “I understand. Let’s move on, shall we?”

Perram turned back to his colleague. “This is a big challenge for you, Ike, isn’t it?” he asked, quietly. “First they want us to retire on a pension that wouldn’t keep a racoon and then they want two for the price of one.” He smiled.

Ike Smith raised a half-hearted grin that showed his bad teeth. He dropped his head back on the chair and closed his eyes. There was silence for at least a minute. “Here’s what I saw, Oscar,” he whispered.

“I’m here. Go on.”

“It’s brown . . . everywhere is brown, a rusty, reddish colour, you know, maybe more brown than red, sometimes there is a streak of . . . orange, yeah, like that.”

“What a place, Ike.”

“You betcha. The air is red too. Dust and bits blowing around. I think there’s a strong wind. I see the pyramid, can’t miss it, and there is one behind me too. Gee, they’re big. Can’t see the tops. It’s not clear. I’m in a kind of precinct, like a central square. It’s flat, broad.” Smith moved uneasily in the chair. The muscles in his face strained; there was a nervous tension building in his body. “It’s draining, Oscar, this one,” he croaked, “too far again, I can’t . . .”

“Take it easy. There’s no rush, Ike. Just let the image come back to you, let it float in your mind for a while. Let it sharpen up first – like we used to do.”

Ike Smith nodded. “I’m going to the pyramid . . . don’t know which one. I’m seeing things – tracks; there are a lot of them. Wait! I’m seeing something, yeah, I saw it. There’s something here – moving like a man. No, it’s not clear, maybe not.”

“It’s a door, Ike. That’s what you are looking for. A way in – look for a way in!”

“I’m seeing some steps. They go up, a long way up, towards the top. I’m going . . . Level again, no door, flat, but no door.”

“And . . .”

“In the stone, there, a hand, yeah, a hand . . . from a person? There is something about it – it’s got like a glow. It, like, gives off something, can’t explain . . .”

“A way in, Ike. Please, try to focus. Can you see an entrance?”

“Don’t need that. I’m inside – no door. Ugh! Would ya take a look at that! Amazing! Like . . . makes me think of a fores— . . . trees, so many trees, but everything is dead . . . it’s all dead, dead . . . like . . .”