limestone, stared back at him. Calderon felt those eyes boring into his soul from across the millennia, cold granite eyes that sought him out—possibly, he thought—as an equal. A fellow seeker after immortality, a king, a divinity forced to exist among lesser beings.
A smile crept on his face, a thin mimicry of Ramses’ expression. Destiny was in his corner, and a long line of worthy predecessors awaited his ascension.
He watched the boys skateboard in and out of shadows and cones of light, gracefully moving among the ancient artifacts, past friezes, mummies, trinkets and weapons, rolling towards sarcophagi and shelves of canopic jars.
“This way, Sir.” One of the commandos led him ahead, as two followed at the rear, leaving another pair guarding the main doors against unwanted intrusion. Outside, the administrator and curators were being briefed about another possible bomb threat, and escorted to a safe perimeter.
Calderon followed the commandos and the boys through the halls, past treasures remarkable and commonplace to the eras from which they were plucked. He thought about the power the boys had, the same one shared by their parents, by Xavier Montross and the others in the Morpheus Initiative. Certainly an entire wing of this museum could be filled with the bones of psychics who claimed to share their ability. Other mystics and prophets who could see the past, and some of them even the future. The woman who glimpsed the opening of Thoth’s box by three brothers must have received some vision and spoke of it in a prophecy that had eventually reached Pharaoh’s ears.
Calderon continued into a stairwell where below, the boys’ voices echoed cheerily. They were carrying their skateboards, laughing as they tapped the boards against the stairs. Still, he thought, a shame he hadn’t been born with the gift. To be chosen for such a task, selected by Destiny, and yet not given all the tools and weapons he should have… How he rued that missing aspect, and yet… Perhaps it was a blessing. It kept him single-minded, without the distraction of curiosity and the power to quench it.
He knew what was required of him. Knew what they needed to complete the weapon. The Tablet of Destiny. It was so much more than that fool Caleb could imagine. He’d had it for seven years and didn’t even begin to gleam its secrets. Oh, for sure its latent power would have stimulated Caleb’s mind—and his son’s, and anyone who came near to it; but to really understand its power, its true destructive capabilities…
Calderon was ready. Robert Gregory and the other Keepers had an inkling of what the tablet really was. And so did George Waxman, Stargate’s head man and the originator behind the Morpheus Initiative. In his quest for psychic candidates for the government, he had tested one man who had seen it for what it truly was: a threat to all life on this planet. And, Calderon mused,
But he was wrong, and the time was coming. The time of release. Marduk’s vision, nearly achieved. It was so easy to set the gears in motion to retrieve the tablet. Robert Gregory, as the Keepers’ leader, desperately wanted the most prized element from the lost Alexandrian Library. And all Calderon had to do was keep fanning the flames, leaking out information about who had it, and how he might get it.
Of course, to get by Caleb’s defenses, they needed a psychic, someone just as powerful to see the way. And Xavier Montross had been only too willing. Gregory and Montross did all the work, but it was Calderon who had pulled the strings.
And now here they were. Tablet in hand. Translation almost in place. But even without that, the contents of that locked box under the Sphinx, they had what they needed. The Tablet. The ancient piece of technology, an interface between mind and machine.
The weapon was built and ready. Waiting for this final piece, the instructions and codes to harness the power of the universe.
All that remained was to eliminate any threat to its deployment. And that meant the threat to the Tablet itself. The one artifact that could destroy it.
He had to act fast. Their enemies—their real enemies—wouldn’t be idle for much longer. Not if they too, could
Calderon watched the boys eagerly glide ahead, deeper and deeper into the museum’s secrets. Now they were nearing a restricted door in the back, which Calderon knew led to a private stairwell that would take them to a basement below the storage sublevels.
“It’s down here, father!” Isaac yelled back, grinning.
Jacob waved his hand. “They’re coming, hurry!”
Three mercenaries, HK-45s out in front, filed around him and moved ahead of the boys. They opened the door, and Calderon tapped his cane once, hearing it echo metallically off the walls and amidst the relics, then he followed them inside and down into the subterranean chambers to await their quarry.
Xavier Montross pushed the center stone on the wall. He really didn’t need to remote view this part. He knew this was the door, the exit that in ancient times had led out a half-mile beyond the Khepre Pyramid, where the initiates could exit into a well, then ascend to the desert and see the monuments from a different vantage point. Caleb would’ve said it had something to do with mental perspective and a sense of spiritual evolution, but Xavier could care less.
This part was easy. In his flashlight beam, the light dimming already from four hours of continuous use, he could see three rectangular blocks set in the wall to the right of a large, smooth block. The door. And here, it was too obvious. Two of the blocks had the hieroglyphics facing right, as was typical. The middle one had the characters facing left. While he couldn’t translate these scripts specifically, he didn’t need to. Push the right one, the door opens. Push one of the other two and…
He closed his eyes, spread out his arms and concentrated. On the door, willing to be shown a time when it didn’t open, when in fact someone had gotten it wrong.
He teetered unsteadily. A vibration traveled up his spine, tingling the base of his neck. Pushing through his skull to the center of his forehead. His mouth opened and he let out a gasp.
Xavier pulled himself back, snapped his mind out of the vision. He’d seen too many of these sights, experienced so much pain and death. As if he’d been there himself. But whether it was one soul or an entire world’s population, death was death. Brutal, remorseless. Uncaring.
Steadying himself, he looked at the stones again. And realized his mistake.
The middle one, while different, was really just a mirror image of the top one. They were one and the same, copies just written in reverse.
The bottom one…
Montross leaned forward. Pushed it—and felt his feet tensing, ready to jump at the slightest movement. Not that he’d have the chance.
But then the wall ahead shook, dust fell from the ceiling, and a thin sliver of light appeared at the left, steadily growing as the block pulled aside.
