As the time-lock ticked inexorably toward the day when the vault would be unlocked, the Changelings took bold action to ensure that the secrets within would never see the light of day. Since they could not enter the vault or destroy its contents, they contrived a bold plan to confuse Archimedes’ successors, so that they would fail to recognize when the thousand year time limit elapsed.
Archimedes sealed his Vault sometime before his death in 212 BC. Counting forward one thousand years, we arrive at AD 787. In AD 614, more than eight hundred years after the murder of Archimedes, Emperor Otto II and Pope Sylvester II, at the direction of Changeling agents, added approximately three hundred years to the calendar. The deception was so successful that, a century later, the scattered and persecuted remnants of the Society of Syracuse thought the opportunity to enter the vault had already passed them by.
How does this knowledge affect us today?
Based on the correction to the Gregorian calendar, we can surmise that about two hundred and ninety-seven years were added to the calendar, which means that instead of 2015, it is actually 1718, or 1,931 years since the death of Archimedes. While we do not know exactly when the thousand year cycle will be complete, we do know that the Vault of Archimedes will open sometime in the next sixty-seven years.
Jade stopped reading. “I think I know why Roche came to me,” she said. “He wanted me to find the Archimedes Vault.”
Kellogg looked at her again, longer than was perhaps safe given the road conditions. “You think it really exists?”
“Roche certainly did.”
There was a long pause before Kellogg finally said, “You’re going to do it, aren’t you?”
Jade smiled in spite of herself. “Professor was right. I am predictable. Speaking of which…” She dug out her phone and started composing a text message. “I should probably let him know where I’m headed.” She hit the “send” button.
“Where exactly is that?”
“Syracuse. That’s in Italy, I think. It’s the logical place to start looking.”
“Sicily,” Kellogg murmured.
“Yeah?” The phone buzzed in her hand, signaling Professor’s reply to her text. That was quick, she thought.
Just about done here. Will meet you there in a few days. Be careful.
“Huh. That’s weird. I thought he’d freak out.” The brevity of his reply was surprising, but there was probably a good reason for it. Maybe he was driving. She wanted to inquire about the results of his investigation, but decided to let that wait until they were face-to-face again. The fact that he was wrapping up meant that he had either found something conclusive, or more likely, nothing at all.
“You do realize,” Kellogg said, “if the vault is real, it would be pretty compelling proof that Mr. Roche was right. About Phantom Time and everything else.”
She looked up from her phone. “Your point?”
“You were the one who thought we should just let it go. Remember? Don’t pour petrol on the fire?”
“The existence of the Archimedes Vault — if it exists — wouldn’t prove Phantom Time any more than the existence of the pyramids or the Nazca lines proves that UFOs are real.”
“And if there is some kind of thousand year timelock?”
“Look, the whole thing is probably a wild goose chase, but I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t at least look for it.”
Kellogg pondered this for a moment. “Mind if I come along?”
“Really? I figured you would be busy trying to get Roche’s book out.”
Kellogg smiled. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, the book’s not finished. There’s still one more chapter left to write.”
FOURTEEN
“‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep.’” Professor muttered.
“What’s that?”
Professor turned away from the edge of the all but impenetrable tree line and offered Carrera a smile. “You haven’t gone past this point?”
“No. Boss made it very clear that there would be consequences if anyone did that.”
There was no obvious sign of a security presence, which only confirmed Professor’s earlier suspicion. If this had been a North Korean prison camp, the perimeter would have been well defined, with guard towers, dogs, guns, land mines… The DPRK did not believe in subtlety. This was something else.
While he and Carrera — or rather the woman claiming to be the First Officer of Flight 815—roamed the camp and strolled along the tree line, Professor surreptitiously worked out a rough estimate of the latitude — forty-five degrees, south. Most of the earth’s landmass was in the Northern Hemisphere. The Southern Hemisphere was mostly ocean, and below forty-five degrees, there was a dearth of real estate. There were really only two places they could be: South America — Chile or Argentina — or New Zealand. The latter made the most sense. If the stubble on his chin was any indication, he had only been unconscious for a few hours, certainly not long enough to make the trans-oceanic flight to South America. What made absolutely no sense at all was why Carrera had lied about their location.
She’s testing me, he decided. But is she working with the people who abducted me, or does she suspect I’m one of them?
“Can you arrange some kind of diversion back at the camp?”
Carrera stared back at him. “I can’t put the passengers in any danger.”
“Just make some noise. Bang some stuff around. All I need is a few minutes to get from my cabin to the trees.”
Carrera’s expression remained uncertain. An act? If so, she was an Academy Award caliber actor. He just hoped his own performance was as convincing.
“Let’s get back,” he said, not waiting for a reply. “I should eat something and grab some shut-eye. I’ll make my move two hours after sunset.”
“Not midnight?”
“Everyone goes at midnight. It’s cliché.” He said nothing more on the subject as they made their way back to the cabins. He asked a few more perfunctory questions, paying more attention to how she answered than to what she actually said. The woman had no tells that he could discern, which he decided almost certainly meant that she was willingly working with his captors.
Her story about the takeover of the airplane was probably the truth, only she had probably been the one drugging Norris, instead of the other way around. That part was easy enough to figure out, but it brought him no closer to solving the real mystery.
Why?
Why take an aircraft full of people just to eliminate one man? Why go to the trouble of constructing this elaborate ruse — Carrera, the bogus North Korean prison camp, the other survivors, if in fact that was what they were? And why had they brought him here?
The scenario reminded him a little of a British television series from the 1960s, about a secret agent who had been abducted and taken to a bizarre village where no one was what they seemed. The villain of the story, the mysterious “Number Two,” played by a different actor in every episode, never revealed exactly what it was he wanted from the hero, just “information.” The program had been heavy with symbolism — a metaphorical struggle of the individual against society’s demand for conformity and homogeneity — and psychedelic to the point of self-parody, but the tactics employed by the nameless antagonist were right out of the Cold War spy handbook. Gaslighting 101. Professor had a sneaking suspicion his captors had either read that book or watched the show. Probably both.
On the return trip, Carrera took him to one of several cabins that served as supply depot and restroom facilities. He collected a box of MREs and a flat of bottled water, and carried them back to his own cabin, where he bade Carrera good-bye. He picked a meal at random and ate, though he barely tasted the unappetizing fare, and then settled onto the mattress for a nap. He had not been lying to Carrera about his intention to eat and sleep before making his escape attempt, but he had misled her about the timing of his attempt. He would not be waiting until two hours after sundown.