The limousine turned right on 116th Street, then made another right on Broadway. Heading north, they entered Hamilton Heights, a neighborhood of grad students and ethnic professionals, named after Alexander Hamilton, one of America’s founding fathers.
The driver parked curbside at 135th Street, then exited the vehicle, opening the door for the nervous college professor. She handed Patel a magnetic entry key, then pointed to a seven-story building across the street. “Suite 7-C.”
Unsure, Patel took the key and headed for the apartment building.
The doorman greeted him with a smile, as if he’d been expected. He nodded, crossing the marble-laden lobby to the elevators, using the magnetic card to summon a car.
Suite 7-C was on the top floor. Patel stepped out onto plush gray carpeting, the corridor empty. Locating the doubled oak door of Suite 7-C, he again used the keycard and gained entry.
The condo had an empty elegance hinting at Asian design. Polished bamboo floors led to floor-to-ceiling bay windows and a balcony overlooking the Hudson River. The living room was sparsely decorated — a white leather wraparound sofa, a flat-screen television, and a glass kitchen table. The high-priced apartment appeared to be unlived in.
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
Welcome.
The voice resonated in his brain, causing Patel to jump. He looked around, his scalp tingling, the thinning black hairs along the back of his neck standing on end.
Follow my utterance.
Taken aback, yet sensing he was in no danger, Patel walked past the living area to a short alcove and the master bedroom. The door was open, the king-size bed made up but empty. Hesitant, he peeked inside the master bathroom.
The whirlpool tub was rectangular, sized to hold two adults. It was filled with water.
Come closer.
Unnerved, Pankaj stepped forward until he was looming over the tub.
The small Asian man was underwater, lying faceup along the bottom. A white loincloth barely covered his groin, the color nearly blending with his pinkish ivory flesh, as hairless and shiny as the porcelain. The man’s ankles and wrists were held down by Velcro-covered weights, his eyes fixed open, revealing opaque pupils.
The body appeared lifeless. The smile was serene.
Patel fought the urge to flee. As he watched, the left side of the man’s bare chest jumped, the double cardiac beat releasing a ripple of blood that pulsated through his veins.
Incredible. How long has he been underwater?
Just over an hour.
Patel gasped a breath. “How are you—” Closing his eyes, he restated the question, this time saying it only in his thoughts. How are you able to communicate with me telepathically?
Through extensive study and the discipline acquired through time, I have been able to access the full extent of my brain. I sense you are uncomfortable. Please wait for me in the outer room. I shall only be a moment.
Pankaj backed out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He paused a brief second, long enough to hear a bizarre humming sound.
The professor double-timed it into the living room, certain that the Asian man had just levitated out of the tub.
He appeared ten minutes later, dressed in a gray Columbia University sweat suit, white socks, and Adidas sneakers. “Less unnerving?”
“Yes.”
Moving to the refrigerator, the Asian man removed two bottles of water, the green label adorned in a ten-pointed figure, branded pinchas water. He handed one to Patel, then sat across from him on the couch.
Patel stared at the man’s skin, which appeared to be entirely composed of keratin, the fibrous protein substance found—
“—in fingernails. Yes, my skin is slightly different than yours, Professor. Those who have come to know me have endeared me with the name, ‘the Elder.’ I know you have many questions. Before I provide you with the answers, let us begin with a simple deduction. Why are you here?”
“My teacher, Jerrod Mahurin. Before he died, he told me a man of great wisdom would seek me out. Are you that man?”
“Let us hope. What else did he tell you?”
“That I was to replace him in some sort of secret society… nine men hoping to bring balance to the world.”
“Again, let us hope.” The Asian man took a sip of water, then closed his opaque eyes, his face as serene as a pond on a windless day. “Little is known about the Society of the Nine Unknown Men. Our history traces back more than twenty-two centuries, to the year 265 b.c. and our founder, Emperor Asoka, the ruler of India and the grandson of Chandragupta, a warring leader who used violence to unify his nation. Asoka’s first taste of battle came when his army laid siege upon the region of Kalinga, his men slaughtering one hundred thousand foreign combatants. It is said the sight of the massacre mortified the Emperor, the senselessness of the bloodshed causing him to forever renounce war.”
Patel interrupted, excited. “I learned about Asoka when I studied back in India. The Emperor converted to Buddhism, adopting the Conquest of Dharma—principles of a right life. He preached respect toward all religions. The practice of positive virtues.”
The Elder nodded. “Asoka’s transformation spread peace throughout his empire, as well as Tibet, Nepal, Mongolia, and China. It was a sea change for the Mauryan dynasty, but for its last ruling emperor it was not enough. While Buddhism offered the prospect of enlightenment, what Asoka desired was the knowledge of existence: How did man come to be? How could man become one with the Creator? What was man’s true purpose in this world? Why did man seem to have a propensity to commit violence and acts of evil? Most of all, Asoka wanted to know what was really out there, beyond the physical world… beyond death?
“To find these answers, Asoka secretly recruited nine of Asia’s most renowned wise men — the greatest sages, scientists, and thinkers in the land. The Society of the Nine Unknown Men was tasked with seeking the truth about existence. Each member was responsible for recording his assigned body of information in a sacred text so that the acquired knowledge could be passed on to an apprentice worthy of safeguarding the information.
“Emperor Asoka died in 238 b.c., having never obtained the answers he coveted. His leadership would be missed; over the next three centuries India would suffer a series of invasions, falling under the spell of foreign rulers. But the quest of the Nine would go on.
“In a.d. 174, a man named Gelut Panim, a blood descendant of Emperor Asoka and one of the appointed lineage of the Nine, heard a strange tale about a man in the Holy Land who could walk on water and heal the sick. Seeking this man’s wisdom, the Tibetan traveled to the city of Jerusalem, only to learn he had arrived too late, that the holy man, known as Rabbi John ben Joseph, had been tortured to death by the Romans.”
“You are speaking of Jesus.”
“Correct. Panim learned that much of Jesus's teaching came from his study of Kabbalah, an ancient wisdom that had been passed down from God to Abraham the Patriarch, who encoded it in the Book of Formation. Moses acquired the knowledge at Mount Sinai, only the Israelites were not ready for it — its energy remained buried in the original tablets. For the next fourteen centuries the Jewish sages kept the ancient wisdom hidden, encoded in the Torah's original Aramaic.
“The Romans had strictly forbidden the study of Torah within Jerusalem. After skinning alive the great Kabbalist, Rabbi Akiva, alive, the Romans went after his remaining students. One man, Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai, managed to escape to northern Israel with his son. The two holy men remained in Galilee, hidden in a mountain cave. They spent the next thirteen years decoding the ancient wisdom, which they eventually transcribed into the Zohar, the book of splendor.