Temple of the Gods

21





Washington, DC




Under the angry eyes of the troops from Silent Peak, Nina and Eddie were led to the helicopter, which flew them to Nellis Air Force Base northeast of Las Vegas. A jet waited for them, larger than the Lear; a C-37A, the US military’s version of the Gulfstream V business aircraft, luxuriously appointed as a VIP transport. They were accompanied by two air force officers, who like the colonel appeared displeased to have been assigned this particular escort duty. Once in flight, they sat at the cabin’s far end, occasionally shooting dirty glances towards the couple.

Since there was nothing else that could be done, Eddie chose to stretch out in a reclining seat and doze through the eastward flight. Nina regarded him jealously. She was too concerned for her racing mind to allow her to rest. What she had heard about the Group was apparently true; if they had enough influence to intervene in the internal security of the US military – quickly enough to halt an ongoing search-and-destroy operation – then they must have direct access to the very highest levels of the American government.

And they had used that power to save her and Eddie’s lives. She was grateful for that . . . but what price would be asked in return?

By the time the plane landed, night had fallen over the eastern seaboard. The two officers took them down the steps to the runway, where a limousine waited. Eddie peered inside. A man in a dark suit gestured for him to enter. ‘Come on in, Mr Chase,’ said the stranger. ‘Sit down. You too, Dr Wilde. I won’t bite.’

‘I might,’ Eddie muttered, climbing in to sit facing him. Nina hesitantly took a place beside her husband.

The man in the back seat was in his sixties, tall and broad-shouldered in a way that suggested he had been an athlete in his youth. Despite his age, he was obviously still strong and in excellent health. His grey hair was slicked back from his prominent forehead, a pair of rectangular spectacles giving him a stern, patrician air. He had a downturned mouth that didn’t seem accustomed to smiling. ‘Welcome to Washington,’ he said. ‘I’m glad to see you both alive and well.’

‘I’d be gladder if I knew what the hell was going on,’ said Eddie.

‘Well, that’s what I’m going to tell you.’ He pushed a button to speak to the driver. ‘Let’s go.’ The limo set off, the Gulfstream retreating beyond the darkened rear window.

‘Okay,’ said Nina, ‘my first question is: who are you?’

‘My name is Travis Warden. You may have heard of me, or you may not. It depends how closely you read the financial pages.’

‘They’re not really my thing,’ she admitted.

‘That’s true for most people. Which is why the histrionics aimed at the financial world over the past few years are ironic at best, and hypocritical at worst. Anyone taking the time and effort to analyse the data that was freely available would have seen that the boom before the economic crash was unsustainable. But –’ he shrugged – ‘nobody wants to believe that the good times will ever stop rolling, so they fail to plan for the inevitable.’ He gave his passengers a meaningful look. ‘Well, almost nobody.’

‘You did make plans,’ said Eddie.

‘We did. By “we”, I mean the Group. It’s our business to plan for the future. Not just for the next year, or the next electoral cycle. We plan for decades ahead, generations.’

‘That seems a bit presumptuous,’ Nina said.

‘Only those who prepare for the future deserve a hand in shaping it.’

‘So the Group is a collection of merchant bankers?’ she asked. Eddie couldn’t suppress a smirk. ‘What?’

‘That’s Cockney rhyming slang,’ he told her. ‘For wan—’

‘Yes, thank you for that, honey.’

A small tic under Warden’s right eye betrayed his impatience. ‘Some of the Group’s members are bankers, yes. But I’m more of . . . an investor, you could say. An investor in the future. I put capital where it’s needed to ensure that the Group’s long-term goals happen. Not just here in the United States, but all over the world. The Group is an international organisation with one ultimate goal: global order.’

‘So you’re like the Bilderberg group?’

A dismissive snort. ‘The Bilderberg members just talk. We act.’ The limo paused at the airport’s outer gate for the barrier to be raised, then turned on to a road and headed for the distant lights of Washington. ‘We want to end human conflict.’

‘That’s kind of a grand plan,’ said Nina, deliberately challenging. ‘Everyone from Alexander the Great through Genghis Khan up to Hitler has had their own ideas on how to do it. And they’ve all failed. What makes yours any different?’

His answer shocked her. ‘You, Dr Wilde. You make our plan different. You make it possible.’

‘This is all coming back to those bloody statues, isn’t it?’ Eddie rumbled.

Warden ignored him, fixing his stern blue eyes on Nina. ‘Competition over resources is the cause of most conflict in the world. Specifically, energy resources. Wars are fought, lives destroyed, tyrants propped up just so that we can literally burn a mineral sludge – and the system of global politics and economics has become so warped by this fact that it’s now dependent on it. Governments can’t imagine things being any other way . . . but just as the recent economic crash was bound to happen, a total collapse is inevitable if things continue as they are.’

‘I know we have booms and busts,’ said Nina, ‘but a complete collapse? Really?’

Warden’s tone became more lecturing. ‘All the economic models that shape the world are based on the conceit that growth can be – must be – infinite. A child could point out the flaw in that idea, since we live in a finite world, but just as nobody wanted to believe that the debt bubble would burst while they were living the high life on the back of it, so no one wants to play the role of Cassandra now.’

‘Not even the Group? You seem to have a lot of influence, to put it mildly.’

‘We do, but not even we’re powerful enough to overturn the system. Until now, the most we’ve been able to do is guide it.’

‘Until now,’ Nina echoed. ‘By which you mean, you’ve got me.’

‘You make it sound as though you’re my prisoner,’ Warden said. The downturned corners of his mouth strained slightly upwards, which seemed to be as close as he ever came to an actual smile. ‘If you want to get out of the limo, just say so.’

‘We want to get out of the limo,’ Eddie immediately responded.

The tic returned. ‘After you’ve heard what I have to say.’

‘Thought there’d be a catch.’

The elderly man looked back at Nina. ‘The Group has been planning for this eventuality for a long time. But sometimes wild cards – Wilde cards, even, if you’ll excuse the pun – mean that major changes can happen very quickly. Earth energy is one of those cards, and you, Dr Wilde, are the one who holds it.’

‘How much do you know about earth energy?’ she asked.

‘As much as anyone. We have access to the IHA’s files, everything that Jack Mitchell did at DARPA, Leonid Vaskovich’s work, the repository at Silent Peak and more besides. The most important things we know about it, though, are firstly that a very particular kind of superconducting material is needed to channel it. And secondly, that a living organism is also needed for the process to work.’

‘You mean a person.’

He shook his head. ‘In theory, any kind of organism can generate the effect, as long as its DNA contains the specific genome sequence that makes its bioelectrical field compatible. In practice, though . . .’

‘There’s only me,’ Nina said grimly.

‘You’re the only known example. There must be thousands, even tens of thousands of people in the world who can also activate the earth energy effect. King Arthur and the Atlantean priestess Nantalas are two people from history who could, so it’s likely that their ancestors – and descendants – also had the gene. But nobody knows who they are.’

‘And it’s not exactly easy to test for ’em,’ said Eddie. ‘“Hey, would you mind holding these statues to see if they levitate and you have visions?” Might raise a few questions.’

‘Exactly. Which is why you, Dr Wilde, are so important to the Group’s plans – and why Harald Glas is determined to kill you to stop them.’

The reminder that she was still a target placed a cold stone in Nina’s stomach. ‘Why is Glas so opposed to you? Victor Dalton said he used to be a member of the Group.’

Warden’s permanent scowl somehow managed to deepen further. ‘Dalton,’ he said distastefully. ‘I’m hoping to have some news about him soon. But yes, Harald was one of us – until a few months ago. Your discovery of all three statues meant that a plan we’d thought of as merely a contingency, a kind of best-case scenario, suddenly had the potential to become very real. He was opposed to it. Violently opposed.’

‘Why?’ Nina demanded. ‘And what is this plan of yours?’

He leaned forward. ‘Unlimited power. If we can harness earth energy, then it ends at a stroke our reliance on fossil fuels, and thus the conflicts over control of them. Oil, coal, gas – they become unnecessary if you have limitless power generated by the planet itself.’

‘So that’s why Glas has a problem with it,’ said Nina, making the connection. ‘It’d put him out of business.’

The not-quite-smile returned. ‘Precisely. Harnessing earth energy would be a paradigm shift on a par with the invention of the automobile – and if your livelihood back then was making buggy whips, you’d very soon be out of business. But if an angry buggy whip maker had assassinated Henry Ford, some other car manufacturer would have taken his place. In your case, though . . . you’re irreplaceable.’

‘Wait, so this guy wants me dead just to protect his profits?’ Nina cried. ‘Oh, that’s great. Yay for capitalism!’

‘We can provide you with full protection. You’re very important to us.’ The old man sat back. ‘So that’s the Group’s plan, Dr Wilde. As to how it can be accomplished, that depends entirely on your cooperation. And yours, Mr Chase. You said that this was about the statues. That’s true – they’re a vital part of what we hope to achieve.’ He turned back to Nina. ‘If you were to help us, you would use the statues to locate what the Atlanteans called the sky stone – a meteorite, of course, but one composed of a naturally superconducting material that channels earth energy. Once we have it, we’ll be able to build power stations around the world at confluence points. Not only that, but the potential of a diamagnetic material that can be made to levitate without needing a power source is incalculable. It would revolutionise air travel, for a start – aircraft could be made completely pollution-free.’

‘And what about the, ah, biological aspects?’ asked Nina. ‘I can’t exactly travel the world non-stop laying hands on your power plants to make them work. I kinda have plans of my own.’

‘You won’t have to. If you give us a blood sample, we’ll be able to sequence your DNA to isolate the specific gene that allows you to cause the effect. With your permission, of course,’ Warden added. ‘Once we have that, it can be implanted into some other organism. It doesn’t even have to be an animal – a plant might work, even bacteria.’

‘Hear that, love?’ said Eddie. ‘You can be replaced by a bucket of germs.’

She gave him a sarcastic look. ‘If that’s what turns you on . . .’

A low buzz came from Warden’s jacket, and he took out a phone. ‘Yes?’ he barked into it. ‘Where we discussed? Excellent. What channel?’ He disconnected and touched a control on his armrest. Part of the polished wood hinged upwards, a small television screen rising smoothly out of it. He turned it to face Nina and Eddie. ‘I think you’ll enjoy this.’

A news channel came on, showing the entrance to what looked like a restaurant. The crawl at the bottom of the screen read —ARRESTED BY FBI. BREAKING NEWS: FORMER PRESID— As they watched, four suited men bustled another out of the door.

Even though their prisoner was trying to hide his face from the waiting TV camera, he was instantly recognisable. Victor Dalton.

A breathless female newscaster attempted to keep up with the story. ‘These pictures, taken just minutes ago, show former US president Victor Dalton being removed from a restaurant on Washington, DC’s K Street by FBI agents. The details are still sketchy, but from what we understand, the disgraced president has been charged under the Espionage Act,’ her voice conveyed near disbelief, ‘on suspicion of releasing classified information to unauthorised personnel.’ On screen, Dalton was shoved into the rear seat of a black SUV. ‘As yet, we haven’t received any statements from the Justice Department or the White House, but as soon as we do—’

Warden muted the sound. ‘Well?’

‘Well . . . wow,’ said Nina, not sure how to react. ‘I take it that was your doing.’

‘It was. We knew Dalton had a grudge against the Group – he blamed us for not keeping him in office after his little videotaped indiscretion, even though it was obvious his position was untenable. We didn’t realise he’d actively sided with Glas against us until it was too late, but we certainly weren’t going to let it stand.’ There was a disquieting matter-of-fact ruthlessness to his voice.

‘So what happens to us?’ Eddie asked. ‘First thing he’ll do will be try to drag us down with him. Seeing as we blackmailed him into getting us into Silent Peak.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ said Warden, with another grim un-smile. ‘He’ll have much larger concerns than personal vendettas. Some of the other skeletons in his closet will come to light.’ He retracted the screen, then glanced through a window. ‘Ah, we’re almost here. We can continue this discussion in my home.’

The limo slowed, turning through a set of automatic gates on to the lengthy drive of an especially large house. It pulled up outside, the driver quickly exiting to open the door for his passengers.

‘Nice pad,’ said Eddie as he got out. ‘So this is how the top one per cent live.’

‘More like the top one per cent of the top one per cent,’ Nina replied. Warden’s home was an elegant three-storey building that had been styled after a British Georgian mansion – or, for all she knew, genuinely was one that had been transported across the Atlantic brick by brick. Either way, its value would be well into the multi-million-dollar range . . . and she imagined it was not the investor’s only property.

Warden led them inside, taking them down a long hall displaying artworks traditional and modern to a door at the far end. He paused at it. ‘Before we go inside, I’ll first ask you both to remain calm. The Group sometimes has to make deals with people we would rather not work with. My other guest is one of those people. And I know that you’ve had bad experiences with him in the past.’

With that, he opened the door . . . to reveal Alexander Stikes in the large room beyond.

‘What the f*ck is he doing here?’ Eddie yelled, taking up position to shield Nina. ‘Get that bastard out of here, or I’ll do it for you!’

Stikes was seated on a long couch, not in the least surprised to see the new arrivals. He moved his left arm to reveal a gun in a shoulder holster beneath his jacket. ‘Let’s not have any unpleasantness, shall we, Chase? We’re all guests here.’

‘Not for long,’ said Nina. She rounded on Warden. ‘If that murdering son of a bitch is working for you, I think any business we might have had is finished.’

‘If you’ll let me explain,’ he said, quietly but firmly. ‘As I said, sometimes needs must. Mr Stikes had obtained the statues—’

‘Stolen,’ she cut in, with a hate-filled glare at the former SAS officer.

‘Stolen, yes, but he had possession of them. That forced us to negotiate with him.’

‘And Sophia,’ Eddie growled. ‘Where does she fit in? Is she one of your f*cking Group too?’

‘Absolutely not,’ snapped Warden, with genuine loathing and anger at the accusation. ‘Sophia Blackwood was Harald Glas’s responsibility. For God knows what reason, he took her in after your last encounter with her in Switzerland. When Mr Stikes contacted us through Ankit Jindal, Glas sent her to act as our representative – without consulting the rest of us.’

Eddie was becoming more furious by the moment. ‘Are you telling me,’ he said in a low, deeply threatening voice, ‘that Kit was working for you?’

Warden lowered his head. ‘Unfortunately, yes. And all I can do is apologise for what happened.’

‘Apologise?’ Eddie exploded. ‘He murdered my friend to protect Stikes – to protect those f*cking statues! F*ck this. Nina, we’re going.’

He turned to leave, but Stikes stood, reaching for his gun. ‘You’re not going anywhere, Chase.’

‘Stikes!’ Warden practically barked the name. ‘Sit down and shut up. And put the gun away. You don’t do a damn thing unless I tell you to. Understand?’ Stikes’s face was a picture of thinly veiled anger as he returned to his seat.

‘Jindal was working for us,’ said Warden, addressing Eddie and Nina again. ‘His position in Interpol meant he was perfectly placed to watch for any information on statues like Takashi’s. After you found the first statue in Egypt, we were planning to have Takashi send the second one to you in the hope that you would use them to locate the third. Unfortunately, Pramesh and Vanita Khoil found out about it. Our computer security wasn’t as good as we’d thought, apparently. They arranged to have Takashi’s statue stolen in order to stop us.’

‘I take it they weren’t on the Group’s wavelength,’ said Nina.

‘Hardly. We want to end global conflict; they were actively encouraging it to bring about their insane new world. But we were using Jindal to guide you down a particular path, so that you would find all the statues and bring them together. We had no idea what lengths he would go to in order to do that. It was . . . it was a mistake.’ The amount of effort it took for Warden to force the words out suggested it was not an admission he made frequently, if at all.

Eddie was far from impressed. ‘You should have chosen your people better.’ He stared pointedly at Stikes. ‘You still should.’

‘Again, the only thing I can do is apologise. The last thing we wanted to do was alienate you. We need you, Dr Wilde – and we’re willing to do whatever it takes to make things right.’

‘What do you mean?’ Nina asked.

‘Exactly what it sounds like. What do you want? The opportunity to conduct your archaeological research without being hindered by the political considerations and budget limits of the IHA, perhaps? You could have your own foundation – funded by the Group, with absolutely no restrictions. Would that be an appealing proposition?’

‘Nah, we’re not interested,’ said Eddie. No response from his wife. He nudged her. ‘Are we, love?’

‘I don’t know . . .’ she said. ‘You’d be willing to do that?’

Warden nodded. ‘We’d be willing to do whatever you like. You’re in a position occupied by very few people through the entire course of history, Dr Wilde. You can choose the direction taken by the whole of humanity: into a bold new future, or carrying on towards ruin as things are now. The decision is yours.’

‘Nina, you’re not seriously thinking about saying yes, are you?’ Eddie demanded.

‘I’m thinking that . . . I need to think about it,’ she replied, before turning back to Warden. ‘If I said yes, what would you need me to do?’

‘Bring us the statues, so we can locate the meteorite,’ said Warden. ‘After that, at some point we’ll need a blood sample from you, as I said, but that won’t be necessary until the earth energy collection stations are nearing completion. As for whatever you might want in return, we would see to it right away. After the meteorite is found, of course.’

‘Of course,’ Nina echoed quietly. Another short silence, then: ‘I need time to decide. You’ve given me a lot to think about.’

Warden nodded. ‘I understand.’

‘There’s one thing you can do for me right away, though.’

‘Which is?’

She pointed at Stikes. ‘Get rid of him. You should never have hired him in the first place.’

‘I’ll see to it.’

‘What?’ snapped Stikes, standing sharply.

Warden waved him to silence. ‘Give me your number,’ said Nina. ‘I’ll be in touch. And if we could get back to New York as soon as possible, I’d appreciate it.’

‘I’ll have you flown there,’ the Group’s chairman told her. ‘My driver will take you to the airport. But please, Dr Wilde . . . don’t take too long to reach a decision.’

‘You’ll know as soon as I’ve made it. Come on, Eddie. Let’s go.’

Eddie said nothing, silently fuming as they left the room. Once they were gone, Stikes rounded on Warden. ‘You’re not going to do what she wants, are you?’

‘Why not?’ he replied. ‘She’s vital to us, and if indulging her obsession with archaeology is the price of her cooperation, it’ll be well worth it.’

‘I meant about firing me!’

‘Relax, Stikes.’ Warden took a seat. ‘You’re useful. For now.’

‘Thank you,’ Stikes replied caustically. ‘In that case, I have some useful advice: don’t believe her. She won’t go along with it – and Chase definitely won’t, however much money you wave in front of them. I know them.’

‘We’ll see.’

‘I’m sure we will. So we should have a contingency plan in place.’

‘Do you have something in mind?’

Stikes’s cold gaze turned towards the door through which Nina and Eddie had exited. ‘As a matter of fact, I do.’

It wasn’t until they were back at their apartment in New York, away from anyone who might report what was said to Warden or his people, that Eddie finally felt free to unleash what had been bottled up inside him for the past hours. ‘Have you gone f*cking mad?’ he erupted at Nina the moment the door was closed. ‘What the hell are you doing, going along with them?’

‘Eddie—’

‘You know you can’t trust ’em, especially not Stikes!’

‘Eddie—’

‘And it’s because of them that Mac’s dead! They hired Kit, he was working for them – and now Stikes is too!’

‘Eddie—’

‘This is what you call us sticking together, no matter what? I can’t f*cking believe that you’d even—’

‘Eddie!’ She grabbed his arms, getting right in his face. ‘Of course I don’t trust him! I said all that because I needed to buy some extra time.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah!’

‘Oh.’ His shoulders slumped. ‘I feel like a bit of an arse now.’

She smiled and briefly kissed him. ‘I’ll let you feel the whole of one when we go to bed. But no, I don’t trust Warden or this Group of his any more than you do.’

‘So you wanted to buy more time, okay. But for what? Warden’s going to want an answer pretty soon – and there’s still Glas to worry about.’

Nina paced across the room. ‘We need to find out the truth about the statues – and, more important, the meteorite. What it can really do, how it does it – and how dangerous it might be. Not second-hand, like the Kallikrates text, or whatever Warden says about it. I’m sure Glas would have his own opinion too. No, we need to go to the source.’

‘Where’s that?’ Eddie asked.

She stopped and faced him. ‘Atlantis.’