Prophecy (25 page)

Taking a deep and, he hoped, steadying breath, Rashid Ali Al-Ibrahim approached the Stone. He reached into one of the deep pockets in his protective suit and retrieved a pinpoint chisel and metal hammer. With his hands slightly trembling, he slid the chisel as far as possible into the etch created by the laser which had defined the shape of the object imbedded in the Stone. When he met resistance, Al-Ibrahim raised the hammer and tapped it sharply against the crown of the chisel. The
thonnnnng
caused by metal striking metal echoed loudly in the unnatural silence. His heart raced but his hands were steady as he proceeded quickly around the entire etch: insert chisel, tap; insert chisel, tap; insert chisel, tap. With the last strike, the piece of stone that covered the buried object hit the table with a
thunk.

And there it was. Less than an inch from the surface of the Black Stone. In another pocket of his suit, Al-Ibrahim produced a plastic rod with a suction cup attached to the end. He jabbed the suction cup against the object and tugged gently on the plastic rod. When an overwhelming sense of uneasiness suddenly gripped him, he yanked more forcefully.

With a sound like gravel being crunched underfoot, it finally pulled free.

He stared at the oblong-shaped object—smooth, black, shiny—no more than five inches long and three inches wide. After several heartbeats, he murmured, “All for this.”

Shaking his head, Al-Ibrahim gave his men their final orders. As they began to disassemble the equipment, he removed the black object from the suction cup. Taking it back to the van, he dropped it and the rod into a velvet pouch then slid it inside a fur lined velvet sack attached to the metal brace under his seat.

The boys on the rooftop who had spied on the “bomb squad” didn’t wait long enough to see something extracted from the Stone. Seconds before the laser began to cut into the holy relic, they slid off the roof, running at full speed to alert the police that “the Black Stone is being stolen!”

Bin Saleh Jumaa broke down the GRID while Suwaidi rotated the stone on the pneumatic arm so the hole created by the removal of the object now faced downward. Once again the HAVOC rolled slowly forward and aligned the stone with its silver frame. The pneumatic arm began pushing the stone into the opening.

Just as Al-Ibrahim thought they might actually get away with it, he heard loud voices in the direction of the archway that led into the pavilion. His men froze.

“Don’t panic,” Al-Ibrahim hissed at the terrified look on their faces. “They don’t know what bomb detection equipment looks like. And in the name of Allah, don’t cringe like you’ve done something wrong.

“Suwaidi, get the HAVOC away from the stone immediately even if it’s not finished.”

As the voices became louder, Suwaidi released the suction cup and ripped the HAVOC off the tracks, nearly throwing it at Wahhab who turned with it in his arms, his intention to stroll calmly back to the van. Al-Ibrahim was satisfied with their actions, watching Jumaa begin to break down the rolling cart.

He became aware of two things simultaneously and his heart rate accelerated until he thought the blood pounding in his head would cause a stroke.

In an effort to get the equipment stored as quickly as possible, Jumaa had forgotten to stow the chunk that was etched out of the Black Stone. It now slid off the cart. Its impact on the courtyard tiles caused a sound like a mini hand grenade detonating. Its contrast against the white tiles would sign their death warrant.

The HAVOC had not been given sufficient time to reset the Black Stone. Rashid’s eyes bulged in their sockets as he watched the holy relic teeter on the rim of the silver frame.

What happened next could not have been choreographed with more precision timing than if long hours were spent in practice for just such an occasion.

Shobokshi and his men, weapons drawn, safeties off, were about twenty feet from Al-Ibrahim, the open hood of the van between them. The three boys hung back, afraid of the confrontation, but unwilling to miss the drama they knew was about to unfold.

Just as the police came within five feet of the van, Rashid spun around and, feigning clumsiness, slammed into Jumaa. Startled, Jumaa lost his grip on the cart. With its legs only partially collapsed, it crashed onto the courtyard tiles—and landed on the chunk of the Black Stone.

Wahhab, only two feet from Suwaidi, heard the big man gasp and Al-Ibrahim stopped dead in his tracks. In a flash of understanding, he purposefully took several steps to the right of the van as he came around the back and raised the HAVOC in front of him. It momentarily distracted Shobokshi and his men, giving Ahmed Assad Suwaidi, nicknamed “The Mountain,” the needed second to grab the end of the stone and, with his face blood-red from exertion, give the two hundred pound stone a mighty shove. The stone squealed against the silver frame as it slid into place.

However, the sound was lost in the crash of the metal cart as it hit the tiles of the courtyard.

“What is the meaning of this?” roared Al-Ibrahim, ripping off his suit’s protective headgear just as Alhasan Shobokshi and his men came around the front of the van.

The police official felt like he’d been punched in the solar plexus as he gazed into the eyes of the one he knew he had confronted outside the mosque. Shobokshi was reminded of someone: he knew that voice, those eyes, but he didn’t recognize the face of the man with the mustache and goatee before him. Then why did he feel lightheaded as sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip?

In a vain attempt at bravado, he stiffened and puffed out his chest. “We ... that is, I have been g-given ... uh, provided information that, uh, that s-something blasphemous has happened here!”

“I see. And just what might that be?” Al-Ibrahim’s voice was low and menacing. Fear as hot as molten lava seared the pit of Shobokshi’s stomach. He was paralyzed by black, penetrating eyes. Trembling slightly, he wished fervently that he had not been so quick to confront this one.

“I was told ... that is, these boys came to me and said that, um, said that the Black Stone was being removed from the Kaaba.”

For several seconds, Rashid Al-Ibrahim held Shobokshi’s gaze, his eyes never blinking. Suwaidi’s tuneless whistle and the sound of his men going about their chores told him everything was under control. A smile touched his lips but the relief he felt was not evident in his hooded eyes.

Shobokshi was not sure if that grin was much of an improvement, but his anxiety lessened when Al-Ibrahim spoke in a voice now only mildly reproachful. “I am pleased that you are so diligent in protecting this holy place, but you should not listen to the prattle of children. As you can see, nothing of the sort has happened.” Al-Ibrahim’s arm swept behind him in the direction of the Black Stone, his eyes never leaving the police official’s face. “The boys saw nothing more than sophisticated equipment plus our expertise in action. As you can see, the blessed Stone is where it should be.

“Now, get these boys out of here. Let this be a warning to you, Police Chief, the next time you are tempted to listen to the uninformed.” In his haste to be away from this man, Shobokshi never thought to ask if the squad had found a bomb.

With that, Rashid Ibn Ali Al-Ibrahim turned his back on the police official ... and winked at his men.

The object lay on the table as innocent and unaffected as when Mariah had handed it to him twelve hours ago.

Winters stared at the twelve-sided figure, resignation finally evident on his face. The basics—X-rays, MRIs, ultrasonics—had yielded nothing but blank film. Spectrum analysis told him what he didn’t want to know: the object was composed of elements not found in any known database. He developed a headache from clenching his teeth by the time they burned out the third polycrystalline PCD diamond drill bit. The fuckers never even marred its surface. He finally brought in the “big gun,” a carbon dioxide laser. Winters was sure it would finally penetrate the mysteries inside whatever the hell this thing was.

They began the assault at five hundred watts: the box remained inscrutable. The laser’s intensity was doubled to one thousand watts: the surface continued to be unblemished.

Winters growled something obscene under his breath and ordered the laser shut down. He would not give that Carpenter woman the satisfaction of knowing that he was both excited and wary of this twelve-sided object before him. And that the discovery of the object’s history and implication might shoot his career right up to the top of the ladder.

Someone jokingly suggested they try C4 and “blast the fucker into orbit” but when he received a murderous glower, he shut up fast.

Mariah stood off to the side. The first few times Winters glanced at her, she raised her right eyebrow as if to say, “Are you through?” The last time his gaze strayed in her direction she rolled her eyes, shook her head, and grinned knowingly at his stubbornness.

Somewhere along the way, Mariah realized that, along with her increase in psychic power, her morphing into something not altogether human, and the knowledge that she had a destiny to fulfill that was entirely out of her hands, she had become unconcerned and uncaring about the problems others dealt with. She concentrated so fiercely on her own predicament that her humor and humanity had taken a back seat. She cringed when she realized she felt their problems could not even come close to hers.

She felt a genuine twinge of sympathy for Gabriel Winters. He had a job to do. And he couldn’t fit her into any pattern with which he was comfortable. That he, a top CIA officer, used to following the book by the letter, was treading water in a strange ocean, not sure if he should paddle left, right, forward, or reverse.

Bored, Mariah threw M&M’s into her mouth one at a time. When she ran out, she jammed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and, with a gleam of amusement in her eyes, began the tuneless humming she knew drove Winters crazy.

His cell phone vibrated against his hip. Grateful for the interruption, Winters jabbed the “receive” button. Smiling with relief when he heard who was on the other end, he turned his head slightly in Mariah’s direction.

“That’s great news, see you soon.” He disconnected the call and faced her squarely. “Your key is on the way, Ms. Carpenter. Let’s hope it was worth the anguish it cost the four men who risked their lives and souls to get it.”

Several days later, Winters and Al-Ibrahim were drinking many warm German beers as Winters was debriefed on the events of that day in the mosque. There had been one more heart stopping incident, this time at the airport in Jiddah before the black object had left Saudi Arabia for the United States.

Suwaidi made record time from the mosque to the airport in Mecca where a helicopter waited. With quick thanks to the three men, Al-Ibrahim was flown to Jiddah where he boarded a sleek aircraft that would take him to the United States. He hadn’t risked his life (and possibly his immortal soul) only to have someone else transport the object. Besides, he had a right to know what it all meant—and meet the person who knew that something had been imbedded in the Black Stone.

The aircraft was used to transport Saudi Arabian VIPs. As planned, he was the only occupant in the lush cabin. One of his men, an air traffic controller, would falsify his destination.

He wearily removed his protective suit, damp from the sweat of exertion and stress, and changed into his traveling clothes. The mustache and goatee came off his face with little effort.

Locking the suit into a hidden compartment behind the coat closet, he was heading down the aisle when the sliding door of the cabin slammed against the bulkhead with a force that shook the aircraft. Al-Ibrahim stopped and slowly turned to face the men bearing down on him.

The look on the lead man’s face was almost comical as he skidded to a halt, causing the men behind him to collide into each other. With eyes wide and staring, Lieutenant Alireza stammered, “A thousand pardons, s-sir. I was given information ... that is, I was led to believe that there was...”

He got no further. Al-Ibrahim took several steps toward the lieutenant until he stood no more than a foot from him. Leaning slightly forward, his eyes were mere inches from the lieutenant’s face. Alireza felt his heart flutter in his throat as Al-Ibrahim said softly, “This had better be good, Lieutenant.”

Alireza stared into the unblinking black eyes of the man nicknamed “The Cobra.” Silently he cursed Shobokshi, some nonsense about men posing as a bomb squad and granules of something on the courtyard pavilion of the mosque. Before him, in full military dress, with all his medals of valor and honor pinned to his chest, was General Rashid Ibn Ali Al-Ibrahim, one of the most decorated men in the Saudi Arabian army. And he, Lieutenant Alireza, was about to accuse General Al-Ibrahim of some sacrilege done to the Black Stone?

But he had an obligation to his job, no matter who stood before him. “My most humble apologies, General. I was told that something occurred at the mosque today, that something may have been removed and that my intervention was necessary.”

In less than ten minutes the jet was in the air, bound for California.

Saudi Arabia had recently become a terrorist target. Saudi intelligence was now sharing information with their Western counterparts which included France, Germany, England and, especially, America. And General Al-Ibrahim was a high-ranking military officer with intelligence duties. He had informed his superiors that he needed this craft as he’d be meeting with one of the security services. He would brief them upon his return.

Winters received a call on his encrypted line from Al-Ibrahim, confirming possession of the key. After being given arrival information, Al-Ibrahim notified Winters that he intended to be present when the key was used. It was the least the CIA could do after what he’d been through.

The two men howled with laughter at Rashid’s description of the men who had scrabbled to get off the plane and out of the General’s field of vision. Praise Allah they had not discovered (and hopefully never would) that their illustrious general was in the pay of the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States of America.

Mariah had other things on her mind as they tried to pierce the shell of the Permanent Data Storage Unit. Her mind wandered back to the events of the last several days while she waited for them to realize their efforts were futile.

PDSU. Permanent Data Storage Unit. The name of the device entered her mind when the Kana Gidrol took it from the Ark and placed it in her hands. Or had he psychically sent its name? Mariah was getting better at shrugging off these continual incongruities. And, without question, implausible. They had caused much anxiety in the beginning; but like anything, the more it happened the more inured she became.

What she did know was all of these things happening to her were individual bricks of some as-yet-to-be-completed structure. And soon she would be given the mortar to hold the bricks together.

When her flight from Asmera to Frankfort had entered Saudi Arabian air space over the Red Sea, she’d fallen asleep, only to be awakened by a vision of a flaming spaceship. This grey object and the smaller black one had been launched into the air, only to land on a surface where the ship crashed.

However, in the midst of this vision, she sensed something trying to get her attention. It reminded her of the sensation she got with the kidnapped children. Although her first instinct was to block it, she forced herself to keep her barriers down.

What she received were impressions, swirling together thoughts and emotions which bombarded her senses at blinding speed. Her brain separated out the images and stored them in her subconscious, leaving her with the name of the key and its whereabouts.

It was called SHARD. Secure Holographic Archive Retrieval Device. And it was imperative she have it.

Gabriel’s eyes alternated between Mariah’s face and the shiny black object she now held up to the light. Everyone in the room, surely him more so than the others, had a heightened sense of anticipation.

After being introduced to the woman, Rashid tried not to stare, but he failed miserably. He’d seen several videos of her while she was under surveillance, had also watched her on news and interview programs and seen shots taken by the media. However, Winters neglected to tell him about the changes in her appearance since she blew up the van. The word “extraterrestrial” came to mind. For the first time in his life, he could not lightly dismiss the theory of life on other planets.

Mariah now stood at five feet eight inches tall, a four inch gain in less than a year. Her eyes were canted. Her sculpted features were likely due to the pronounced angularity of her cheekbones. But it was the color of her eyes that caused the Saudi to blanch when he shook her hand.

The light lemon eyeballs he remembered from the videos were now burnished gold. Her pupils, still black, were more elliptical. They reminded him of the eyes of a tiger he’d seen through the bars of a cage when at the London zoo with his children. And the color of those irises: the deep, rich, red/brown of mahogany.

She smiled as he inspected her face. Al-Ibrahim blushed at his rudeness; nevertheless, he could not stop himself from staring at her teeth, so unnaturally white against the tawny skin which appeared to be the texture of soft, pliant leather.

He mumbled an apology; she shrugged dismissively. She
seemed
benign, but he knew looks were deceiving. After all, he had heard in detail about the unleashed fury that destroyed the surveillance van.

Pulled back to the present, Al-Ibrahim watched her place the black object on the table then back up several steps. Everyone in the room instantly flattened themselves against the nearest wall.

The fluorescent lights dimmed. In fear and awe, they watched as pale lavender light quickly encapsulated Mariah Carpenter then drifted toward the black object.

When the light surrounding her and the object intensified to dark purple, a loud
crrrrrack!
caused them to jump ... and the light dissipated like a puff of smoke.

Mariah picked up what had been inside the shiny, dark object Al-Ibrahim had carved from the Black Stone. It was a translucent crystal, three inches long and an inch wide at the broadest point, two-thirds of the way from the top; the bottom narrowed down to a point. Smiling with satisfaction, she held it up higher. The prism caught the light and sparkled brilliantly.

A look of wonder abruptly caused her smile to widen. Lowering her hand, she dragged her eyes away from the crystal and stared in the center of the room.

Winters and Al-Ibrahim never took their eyes from her. Something was about to happen, something...

With an intensity that nearly blinded everyone, the room filled with two columns of blue light. Other than Mariah, Gabriel Winters was the only other one who had been present the last time a light of this magnitude appeared.

And he held his breath in anticipation of not one, but two visitors.