The Cydonia Objective

Well, thanks to that foresight, we now have it and can finish the job. Pack this up,” he ordered the guards. “And we all ride together. We’ll scan the tablets on the way to the airport, then send the data to my translation team standing by.”

“Standing by where?” Alexander asked as he followed Xavier into the Hummer.

Jacob and Isaac moved in front of him and both turned at the same time and answered:

“Alaska.”

8.

New York

The ferry to Ellis Island was nearly full, surprisingly so for a weekday. But Caleb quickly worked his way past the gift shop, where he bought a liter of orange Gatorade, then up two levels to the roof where he found an open seat on a bench near the back. He had bought a classic Yankees hat on the street outside, so now he looked like another tourist.

He sat and waited for the ferry to leave, and was grateful for the cloud cover, even if darker storm clouds seemed to be massing along the skyline. After all the days of heat and direct sun, he’d welcome the shower. From this vantage point he could keep an eye on the line outside, watching for anyone suspicious who might have been following him since he’d come back into the country. Watching, especially for Nina.

For all he knew, she may have recovered, learned where he was going and beat him here. In a minute he’d try to remote-view her, but he had other objectives weighing on his mind, vying for his attention.

An Asian family sat in front of him, parents and grandparents, while their kids—two boys and a girl— scooted into his row and sat on the bench beside him, grinning.

“First trip to the statue!” the girl said, waving a large foam finger at him. She had a pink crown on her head, contrasting with the green spiked crowns worn by her brothers.

Caleb smiled and nodded. “Going to the top?”

“I am!” one of her brothers boasted.

“Are not,” said the girl. “I heard it’s too hot in there, and too hard to climb.”

“And,” said the father, turning around. “We didn’t get enough tickets.”

“Tickets…” Caleb rubbed his head. “I forgot we need a separate ticket for the crown.” The one he held only granted access to the museum and the lower pedestal.

“Sold out,” the man said. “Months in advance, since they reopened it. Eight years after the attacks, it’s been off-limits.”

Caleb nodded, wondering… What else is up there? What else are they protecting?  Mason Calderon knew something was there, but his boys weren’t skilled enough at finding it. And whoever hid it there kept the knowledge to very few people.

Caleb would have to view it, and would have little time for trial and error, little time to spend getting the questions right. He took a deep breath, trying to relax. And then, even if he found it…

“Excuse me,” he said to the man in front of him. “I heard that your children might not be interested in the long, hot climb. Might you have an extra ticket for the access to the crown?”

#

Halfway to their destination, as Lady Liberty appeared to grow in size, becoming the colossus that can only be appreciated from up close, the kids got out of their seats for photo opportunities along the railing. Caleb, pretending to sleep, now had some time to really concentrate. He put out of his mind all the things he could no longer influence: Alexander’s situation, Phoebe and Orlando, the twins, Nina, Lydia… Everything.

At first, none of them would relent, and the weight of responsibility—as leader, father and husband—put up a brazen resistance. But finally, after gently pushing, he created space. Sent his other concerns drifting, out far but not out of sight. And for a time, he let go. And let his mind seek out the answers to a question he kept posing, focusing the words, preparing his thoughts. He felt his spine tingle, the back of his head break out in a sweat under the hat, and then-

The first vision rises up: A great workshop. Enormous sheets of bronzed copper rest on tables. A giant’s shoulder, partially completed, and an arm gripping an enormous tablet in its huge hand. A dozen men stride through the chaos, barking orders, assisting at different stations; hammering the copper sheets into the wooden framework.

Another glimpse: a different warehouse floor, this time with the enormous head resting on the floor, two men standing before her melancholy eyes, admiring the workmanship. They’re pointing to the crown of spikes, whispering and nodding their heads…

Is that it? Caleb wondered, briefly returning to the world of light and wind and sound. The ferry rocked gently on the waves as it sailed toward Liberty Island. Is it inside one of the spikes? Signifying the seven continents and seven seas, maybe there was a riddle to solve, a way to determine which held the treasure by the location of its designated continent? Then he cringed, imagining having to crawl up onto the head and fight the winds and the view almost three hundred feet above the base.

Keep looking, he urged. He had to consider everything, and this was free-viewing, a brainstorming session. Next, he saw a huge fairground, great crowds dressed in late-1800 fashions. Women with umbrellas and long dresses, men in top hats and canes, all strolling the grounds despite the heat and humidity, the flies and the refuse bins overflowing with trash faster than the workers could empty them. A long banner reads: 1876 Centennial—Philadelphia. Past the tents and display stands, invention stands and horticulture exhibits, to a line snaking around and around, where people wait to pay their fifty cents to enter the immense outstretched right arm and ascend into a huge copper torch. Along the balcony around the torch’s simulated flame, people are crammed in, waving to their friends below and marveling at the sights.

“Just another month,” says the promoter at the tent’s entrance. He spins a cane up and down, pointing at the gaping spectators as the sweat pours down his face and soaks his black suit. “Before this engineering wonder will make its way to New York, to Madison Square Garden, before it’ll be shipped back to France, and then… You’ll see the whole thing, the new colossus—Lady Liberty—assembled in a few short years in New York’s Harbor. But here, and only right here, you get to climb inside what will be the highest point. Imagine the view, imagine the spectacle! Just fifty cents! Get inside and see for yourself this marvel of the modern world!”

The vision swells, money changes hands, then a blur and now the interior appears. A winding staircase, a tight fit cramped with people on every side, going up and coming down. Then, up on the balcony. Others looking out at the scene, but the vision continues to study the flame. Moving around the torch from all angles, looking for any obvious seams or compartment entrances, not finding anything, but still…

Makes sense, Caleb thought dimly, part of his mind still lucid. Just like at the Pharos… which the Statue of Liberty was modeled after, in part. The treasure, the wisdom, was secured in the light, or in actuality, its mirror reflection below…

As above so below…

Caleb’s eyes snapped open. They were very close now, circling around Liberty Island and veering toward the docking point. But the statue was there, rising like a giant in all her splendor. Caleb immediately focused on the pedestal and again had to marvel at how closely it resembled the Pharos’ structure as he had seen it in his visions. If not for Liberty standing upon it, this could be the Pharos itself, it was that similar. Instead of a small statue of Poseidon gracing the top of the Pharos, this monument had the massive goddess of wisdom and justice—originally intended by Bartholdi to be a representation of Isis.

But in all other senses, both were beacons of truth and hope. And, Caleb recalled, both were lighthouses. The Statue of Liberty’s torch had been meant to provide illumination for the harbor, to guide ships in during the darkest of nights. But…

Show me, he thought. Maybe that was the direction to search.