“That I can do,” I said. What was running through my mind was not what John knew of the technology in the present day, but what he didn’t know remained of an even greater civilization from long, long ago in the cave in Tibet.
“That’s all I ask,” John replied. “Let’s see what we can accomplish in the next eight weeks.”
CHAPTER 12
John established a website at www.meteorstorm.org with a countdown display and orchestrated several hundred members of the Survivalist Network using Twitter and Facebook to get the message out to the public. Media releases to the major networks and newspapers went unanswered. While the mainstream media ignored the story, hits on the website continued to spiral upward, breaching three million visitors within three days.
Just as it was starting to get light outside, I was awakened by a knock on the door to my room. It was John. He invited me to an early morning walk in the woods. I got dressed and went down to the kitchen. John had coffee ready.
“I received Trent’s report on the cave,” John said. “Do you think you can find it again?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I mapped the entire route by GPS coordinates on my iPhone.”
John gave me an annoyed look. “After the meteor storm there won’t be any GPS satellites,” he said. “How are you going to find it then?”
I chuckled. It was an obvious question with a not so obvious answer. “GPS is an electronic version of a physical system of longitude, latitude and altitude,” I explained. “I don’t need the satellites to get back there: a sextant, a compass and a watch will work just as well.”
John looked amazed. “And what about the altitude?” he asked.
“First of all,” I replied, “the entire path is on solid ground, so altitude isn’t a necessary component. Even if it was, a thermometer and a pot of water would suffice.”
“A thermometer…?”
“And a pot of water,” I said. “Water boils at 212 degrees Fahrenheit at sea level. The higher you go, the lower the boiling point becomes from reduced atmospheric pressure. There’s a direct correlation.”
“Aahhh,” John replied.
Ed came down the stairs to join us. After Ed finished his cup of coffee, John stood up.
“Shall we walk?” he asked.
We walked about a half mile into the woods without conversation when John stopped in a small clearing.
“First of all, let me apologize to both of you for the arrest and interrogation you went through upon your arrival back in Denver. Only a select handful of people even knew you were gone, let alone when you were returning.”
“We have a mole,” Ed stated.
“Yes,” John answered.
“Who?” Ed asked.
“I don’t know,” John replied. “I’ve done some preliminary investigation on my own, enough to clear both of you. Here is a list of the people who had access to the information about your trip to Tibet.”
John showed us the list. As I scanned the names, my heart clinched. My brain felt fog closing in as I focused on the name.
“Tia’s on the list. You think she could be the mole?” I asked. I searched John’s face for any clue as to his true feelings and thoughts.
“I don’t think so,” John said, “but we have to look at everybody connected to this. Ed I want you to conduct the investigation, secretly, and Carl, I want you to keep your eyes and ears tuned in to see what you can find out. Remember, nothing obvious or suspicious, but we have to find out who is betraying us.”
Ed took the list. “I’m on it,” he said.
“What I don’t understand is why the FBI is so interested in us,” John said.
“It’s not just the FBI,” I replied. “This is being driven by the DIA.”
“The Defense intelligence Agency? You were involved with them?” Ed asked.
“Involved is a deceptively simple word, but, yes,” I said, “General Strom is behind this.”
“I know him,” Ed replied, “He’s a two star general. As a SEAL, I went on several missions for him. He’s some piece of work, that one. How do you know it’s him?”
“He’s the one who pulled me out of prison and had me do some special programming work. He’s also the one who placed me at NASA.”
“So this is personal?” John asked.
“It certainly is to him. I told you these were horrible people, and he’s the worst of the bunch.”
“Okay, that’s the DIA. Why is the FBI after us?” John asked.
“General Strom’s son is an Assistant Director of the FBI. It’s family,” I explained.
That evening I sat quietly in my room holding the medallion in my hands. My mind drifted back to the conversations I had with the old priest on our way back from the cave. “Wear the medallion at all times,” he had said. “It will bless you with good health and a long life.” This had to be some kind of a cruel cosmic joke. I’m the last person on earth that deserves to be the guardian. It should go to someone who is gallant and heroic. Not someone who has been turned into a whore like me. My shame and the things I have done have to disqualify me from this position of guardian. Why had the old priest done this? Why had he chosen me as a guardian? He obviously had no idea of who or what I had become. How could he possibly think I was worthy of such a misplaced honor?
As I studied the medallion I wondered if what the old priest said was just more superstition, or was there really something to it? I rubbed the surface of the medallion with my thumbs. The design was ornate and it was made from an alloy unfamiliar to me. It resembled the wooden mandala I saw in the Buddhist temple where we met the guardian. It didn’t seem to possess any magical powers, but it did open the rock door to the cave and it turned on the control power and NETCOMM, so there was something unusual about either its shape or the metal from which it was made. I picked up my ink pen and moved the metal clip close to the medallion. If it was magnetic, the clip would be attracted to the medallion. No signs of any magnetic field.
I held the medallion in front of my heart and closed my eyes. Without any intention, I breathed in deeply and let the air out slowly. I definitely felt calmer, more focused. I tossed the medallion over onto the bed and tried the deep breathing again. I didn’t feel the deep calm or the focus I experienced with the medallion. I picked the medallion back up and held it in front of my heart again. The calm and the focus returned.
“Interesting,” I said to myself.
Images of the advanced machines and technology in the cave came back into my mind. The contents of the cave and the robot’s head in John’s basement were all that was left from the last meteor storm and the advanced civilization that existed at the time. What was going to survive this time? John certainly believed that he could make a difference in what survived, and I had to admit, his plan seemed realistic. Already millions of people were reading John’s website and leaving positive comments about the recommendations for survival of the cataclysm that was rapidly approaching.
The gravity of the situation began to weigh on me. Whether I liked it or not, I was now the guardian of a long lost civilization and its advanced technology. If something happened to me, no one would even know it existed at all. The flip side of the issue was that the technology in the cave would have devastating consequences for humanity if it were to fall into the wrong hands, and from my past experiences with the justice system, prison, and the DIA, I had a pretty good idea who constituted the wrong hands.
Now we knew there was a mole in John’s organization. What if the mole was also a thief intent on stealing access to the old technology too? The danger the mole presented came into clear focus. Not only could we lose all of our existing technology, but all of the old technology could end up in the hands of General Strom. That would double the disaster for humanity. I had left the medallion on my desk in my room while I worked in the basement. If the mole stole the medallion, the technology in the cave would eventually end up in the General’s hands. I couldn’t allow that to happen. The guardian was right; the safest place for the medallion was around my neck. I placed the necklace over my head and tucked the medallion under my shirt. I decided I would always wear it, even in the shower. I didn’t know how old the medallion was, but I suspected it was as old as the robot’s head. Neither one had rusted or oxidized in the last 63,000 years, so I doubted I was going to do anything to damage it now.