The Grail (Robert Doherty) читать бесплатно онлайн полную версию книги

CHAPTER 17

The Giza Plateau, Egypt

Turcotte paused and got to his knees. He leaned over, ear to the floor. A faint roar, muted by the stone between him and the river. He had already passed through another doorway and he knew he was getting close to the chamber that held the shaft.

And there was something else, a sound that caused him to halt. A rapid clicking noise, almost in a rhythm, but there was something disconcerting about it. Turcotte closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to identify the sound. Metal on stone, like the rapid tap of a chisel on the tunnel floor. And it was coming closer.

Turcotte stood and began to run, more of a shuffle given the weight and size of the MK-98. He knew this was throwing his pace count off, but he could make out the glow of the chem light on the floor ahead. He reached it and slid the ring key along the wall, searching for the correct spot. Turcotte forced himself to slow down and make sure he was covering every square inch.

Turcotte paused and looked down the corridor. There was a golden glow, but he couldn’t make anything more out. It was getting closer. He continued to work the ring, searching. The clicking sound was louder, more ominous, causing him to look once more. He blinked, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. His first thought was that it was the largest spider he had ever seen, legs over three feet long, a round golden body, but there was more to it. Just as many arms on top of the globe as on the bottom, filling the corridor completely, top to bottom, side to side. But the arms were metal, the source of the noise. And the golden orb — Turcotte had seen that before. A foo-fighter, encased in some sort of robotic extension. In the golden glow of the foo-fighter he could see the blood on the metal arms and he knew what had happened to the rest of the team. That meant the MK-98 was useless against it.

Turcotte slid the ring along the wall as the machine approached, now less than twenty meters away. The ring touched the right place, the stone door sliding up.

Turcotte fired. The steel dart hit the foo-fighter dead center and ricocheted off. Turcotte threw the MK-98 with all his might at it and dove into the tunnel, the stone slamming shut behind him.

He could hear the clatter of the metal arms on the wall for several seconds, as if it were scratching at the door, then silence. He didn’t wait for anything more to happen and assumed the thing was taking another route. He raced down the tunnel until he came to the stone debris that had been the last door. He entered the chamber. The hole in the floor beckoned.

Turcotte lowered himself into the tunnel. He let go and fell.

Vicinity Easter Island

The crew of the E-2C Hawkeye felt like sacrificial lambs as they circled five miles to the east of the shield wall surrounding Easter Island. The rest of the Task Force was two hundred miles to the north. A pair of F-14 Tomcats were halfway between them and the fleet, but the jets’ mission was to guard the fleet, not support the Hawkeye if there was trouble.

“Look at that,” the pilot didn’t have to point out what he was indicating, as the ship that was heading toward the island was the largest thing floating anyone on the crew had ever seen.

The combat information officer (CIO) keyed his radio. “Operations, this is HK-12. Over.”

The reply from the Stennis’s operations center was immediate. “This is operations. Over.”

“We have visual on the Jahre Viking three miles from the shield wall and she’s still heading straight for it. Over.”

“Roger that.”

The CIO waited for more, then finally asked what they all wanted to know. The answer was apparent from the lack of activity on their radar screens — no strike force winging in from the north — but they wanted the answer in plain English. “What are the orders from Pearl? Over.”

“Do nothing. There’s women and children on that ship from a half-dozen different countries. You want to be responsible for killing them?”

There was no adequate answer to that.

The bow of the Jahre Viking was less than a half mile from the shield wall when a dark cloud came swarming out of the blackness.

* * *

His crew thought him quite mad. Johan Verquist had been forced to relieve both the captain and first officer. The junior officer now running the bridge felt the same as his predecessors, but the presence of half a dozen Progressives armed with pistols had been enough to persuade him to follow the orders the others thought insane — head straight for the shield wall that protected Easter Island.

Verquist glanced over at Dennison, but the Guide’s eyes were fixed on the black wall. On the broad deck of the tanker, the thousands of passengers were gathered, all facing the same direction. Every square foot of deck space held a person. All were above deck except for those that drowned in the 3-starboard hold.

A cloud came out of the darkness and Verquist started. “What is that?”

“Our salvation,” Dennison said. He leaned forward, pressed a button, and spoke into the ship’s audio system. “Our rebirth is at hand.”

An audible moan swept over the bridge, torn from thousands of lips, a mixture of fear and anticipation. The people began chanting something in a low tone that Verquist couldn’t make out.

Verquist couldn’t take his eyes off the unnatural cloud that was approaching his ship. “I’ve done what I said I would — what you asked of me. I want what you promised.”

Dennison nodded. “What you were promised is also at hand.”

The cloud swarmed over the bow of the ship, over four football fields in distance from the bridge. Screams now mixed with the chanting. Those farther back reacted, some staying in place, others shoving and pushing to try to get away from the rapidly approaching cloud. It was mass panic, but as the cloud slid down the deck, those caught in it quickly became quiet.

“What is that?” Verquist demanded.

“What you were promised. The beginning of it, anyway.” Verquist could now see that the cloud appeared to be a swarm of flying insects. One smashed against the bridge glass but rebounded, buzzing around, searching for a way in. They were machines, Verquist could see that now, smaller than mosquitoes, almost invisible to the naked eye. They poured through the open side doors to the bridge. Verquist dashed toward the rear of the bridge, through the door leading to his cabin.

He slammed it shut and locked it. Screams, quickly cut off, echoed through the expensive wood. Verquist threw himself into the chair behind his large mahogany desk. He pulled open a drawer and wrapped his hand around the pearl handle of a revolver. He pointed it at the door.

They came under the door.

He fired five shots in rapid succession, knowing the futility as he pulled the trigger.

He put the hot muzzle against his temple as the first of the micromachines landed on his skin. His finger twitched, caressed the metal, then relaxed. He loved himself too much to do it. He lowered the gun.

The micromachine let loose its load of the nanovirus and the microscopic machines bore through his skin and into Verquist’s bloodstream. He screamed and tried to bring the gun up, but he was too late as the nanovirus poured into his brain.

Area 51, Nevada

“It is now daylight in Cairo.”

“I am aware of that,” Yakov told Che Lu. They were in the conference room, Professor Mualama still behind the computers, typing away. It was an indication of the seriousness of the situation that Yakov had a mug of hot coffee sitting on the table in front of him, the vodka bottle nowhere in sight.

“And your awareness improves the situation in what manner?” Che Lu asked. Yakov spread his large hands wide apart. “And how does your informing me of what I already know improve the situation?”

“Are you aware the Americans lost one of their surveillance aircraft over the Mediterranean?” Che Lu asked.

“I saw the report Major Quinn sent down.”

“And that aircraft was tracking two helicopters that took off from the vicinity of the Great Pyramid?”

Yakov nodded.

Che Lu continued the questions. “What — and who — do you think were on those helicopters?”

To that Yakov had no answer. He knew Che Lu was frustrated. She had been working on the grid coordinate system she thought she had figured out in Qian-Ling, but it was not fitting as she had hoped. Close, but not quite there. Her numbers were slightly off, and she didn’t know where the problem lay.

“I have more of the manuscript ready.” Mualama didn’t even raise his head to announce that. “It’s coming up on the screen now.”

Yakov walked over and sat down. As soon as the translation appeared, he began scrolling.

BURTON MANUSCRIPT: CHAPTER 6

The Middle East is the crossroads between three continents — Asia, Africa, and the eastern edge of Europe. Because of this, it has seen numerous invading armies pass through.

The Jewish state has been conquered many times. Jerusalem, the home of the Grail and Ark for so many years, has seen its share of warring armies sweep over it in a flood of blood.

This small place on the surface of the world has given rise to the great religions of western culture — Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, all born in the arid terrain of the Middle East. Beyond the impact of these religions and their subsequent spin-off faiths on history, another important factor needs to be considered.

The Grail is said to do two things — grant immortality and give knowledge. But what knowledge? For a long time I thought this simply meant knowledge of the Truth, the tariqat that I was upon — the truth of mankind’s past and origins, of the aliens who came to our planet. But on my travels around the world I have met many wise men and women, and studied various cultures. And it came to me, not in a flash, but like a slow tide of awareness seeping into my brain so that I cannot state clearly the moment at which I was aware of it.

This awareness? It is that perhaps the knowledge the Grail gives is not an accumulation of facts or history, but a different way of thinking. And perhaps some of that has already made its way into our societies.

Think about it, my friend who reads these words. The earliest civilizations thought differently than we do now. For them, life was an endless cycle of birth and death and birth. Their thinking was cyclical, more concerned with the whole than the parts. Time was a wheel that each generation trod upon only to return to the same place.

When did that change? Where did this change come from?

I believe it changed with the Jews, and this was continued with the Christians and Muslims. Think about the concept of faith as these religions espouse. Think about the way they change the view of time itself. No longer circular, it is now linear. There is a progression from birth, through life, to death, to an after-life. With such thinking, a new concept emerges — something called hope. Hope for a better life, that things can improve. That life can be better.

And they made another change, one that I do not know the ultimate effects of. These religions focused on one God, and that God was removed from immediate contact with man. Certainly this is better than when men worshipped the Airlia, but perhaps it also saps some of our belief in ourselves? I do not know.

For almost ten thousand years human civilization did not change, but in the past two thousand, it has grown in leaps and spurts. There has been progression. Toward what end I do not know. Whether this is a good thing, I know not either.

But I do believe that the Grail changed these people. Just knowing of its existence changed them and all of us who follow. Think what a powerful icon it has been, and then imagine what the reality of it must be.

Where did the Grail go when the attempt to use it failed?

Joseph of Arimathea, along with Nicodemus, took the body of Jesus and buried it. It is said he also came into possession of the Grail, which had been in Jesus’s hands and brought out at what the Christians call the Last Supper. It is at this event that Jesus was arrested — but why at that moment when he had been preaching for so long? Perhaps because he was bringing the Grail out and was going to share of it with his followers? That is my suspicion.

And who would want to stop him and take the Grail for their own? I suspect The Mission, The Ones Who Wait, and the Watchers.

There was a Roman named Tacitus, a military man, whose name I have discovered written in many old documents. I believe this is the name Aspasia’s Shadow used during this time. He was in Jerusalem in A.D. 33, and sought to get control of the Grail.

There is another twist that came from this that I have investigated, that of the Sang Real.

There are scholars who believe the Sang Real to indicate that Christ had children and that his bloodline exists to this day, hidden perhaps by some secret cabal of the Vatican. However, it is much more literal than that.

When I was in the Himalayas, I talked to an old monk who told me of a small group of people he called the ubyr. He said they were men and women who drank the blood of others searching for the elixir of life. In Russia they are called upyr. In Eastern Europe they are known as vampir. In the many places I have traveled I have asked about such people, and I am amazed at the number of legends in far-flung places concerning them.

And what do the blood-drinkers seek? Eternal life.

This is what I believe the Sang Real is — the desire to drink of the blood of a person who has touched the Grail and try to gain eternal life out of their blood.

“Remember he wrote this decades before Bram Stoker corrupted the image of the vampire into what is our modern myth,” Che Lu said. “In, fact, from what Isabel wrote, it appears that Stoker got the idea of vampires from talking with Burton.”

Yakov ran a hand through his thick beard. “There are stories that Stalin had his secret police performing experiments on prisoners, draining their blood, searching for some rare strain that would bring longer life. And Von Seeckt told us of the SS’s fascination with blood. He was injected with some alien blood in a ceremony of the SS.”

“This gives us a little insight into the Grail,” Che Lu said. “It must affect the blood somehow, perhaps adding something to it that improves the health and life span of the recipient. And the concept has made its way out into the world and been corrupted by these people who drink the blood of others.”

“Perhaps the Grail simply injects Airlia blood into human and mixes them,” Yakov said. “We know The Ones Who Wait are human-Airlia clones, so there is some compatibility.”

“Do you know how unlikely it is that our DNA could be mixed with that of an alien race and produce a viable life-form?” Che Lu asked.

“That is not my area of expertise,” Yakov said.

“It isn’t mine either,” Che Lu said, “but common sense says the odds would be extremely low of a compatible match.”

“But the Airlia have technology we don’t know about,” Yakov said. “Perhaps they could manipulate the material on both sides to find a match in the middle.”

“It is more likely that—” Che Lu began, but then she stopped herself. “What were you going to say?”

Che Lu shook her head. “I will wait to find out more before I say anything else on this matter. Let us read on.”

Joseph of Arimathea secretly left Jerusalem with the Grail. He undertook a most perilous journey, traveling far to remove himself and the Grail from the reach of the Roman Empire and Tacitus, a most difficult task in those days. He left behind agents who spread misinformation about the location of the Grail, hoping to keep Tacitus and The Mission focused in the Middle East while he took it far away.

He finally came to Britain, an island that had resisted Roman invasion for many years and, truth be told, a land with little to offer a conqueror. A land where the Watchers had established their headquarters after the destruction of Atlantis. I read his report on his arrival in England, one of the Watcher scrolls, and there is no doubt Joseph was a Watcher, trying to put right what had been thrown askew by the appearance of the Grail in the Middle East.

It seems that Joseph’s decision to leave the Middle East was a wise one and his agents did a most credible job of making The Mission believe the Grail was still there — perhaps too good of a job, as Tacitus continued to press his search using the Roman army as the blunt force to do so.

In A.D. 67 Jerusalem was overrun by the Romans under the command of Titus, with his military adviser Tacitus at his side, after fierce fighting. It is said that over a million Jews were killed or sold into slavery. The Temple was destroyed, taken apart stone by stone, the city ravaged.

But the Grail was safe and disappeared from sight for several centuries, protected by the Watchers at Avalon.

Che Lu cleared her throat to say something, but she was saved from doing so when Major Quinn entered the conference room. “We’ve had to stand down the exfil choppers. There’s no way they can make it near the Nile without being spotted, especially since we’ve lost the AWACS ability to jam radars. Our government is protesting the destruction of the plane and the loss of the crew to the Egyptians, but it’s a confused situation to say the least. The Egyptians are countering that we’ve invaded their country twice now.”

“What can we do?” Yakov asked.

“I’ve managed to get a live feed from a surveillance satellite over the area. We can try to keep track — that’s about it.”