The Oracle Code (10 page)

16

Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation

Lubyanka Square

Moscow, Russian Federation

February 14, 2013

Seated at his desk, General Anton Cherkshan watched the live broadcast of President Nevsky in front of Lenin’s Tomb. A large crowd had gathered in Red Square, and Cherkshan waited anxiously for some sort of violence or terrorist attack to break out.

He had wanted to be at the speech, but Nevsky had forbidden it. None of the military leaders were present. Nevsky had planned this to be a solo effort, a way to implore the Russian people to embrace his plans for the prosperity of their great country.

However, there were snipers in the area, in the buildings surrounding the Tomb that had clear fields of fire into the crowd. Cherkshan knew this because he had signed off on the placement of those men.

Nevsky looked good on the camera, but he didn’t look great. As always, he wore a gray suit, never changing his appearance, always remaining constant.

“My friends, I come here today to face the accusations of the faceless detractors who hide in the shadows and tell you that I am somehow going to be responsible for the downfall of Russian freedom.” Nevsky spoke slowly, allowing his words to reach all who were listening. “They claim that I am stockpiling munitions, that I am planning to make war on the satellite countries that have left our fold.”

Cherkshan had seen the figures reported in the newspapers. Someone inside the Kremlin was talking, and one of his jobs was to find out who it was. The newspapers didn’t have the exact numbers. In fact, they had less than half of them. But the numbers they had printed were enough to worry the people and some of the neighboring countries.

As well as the West. Already the United States had started rattling its saber, but its military—for a change—was financially stressed as well after years of the Middle East involvement and the rising cost of fuel.

The Russian scientists that Nevsky had funded had designed more economical war engines, and Russian oil corporations had found more ways to get to the oil resources within their own country. After all these years of the Cold War, the boot, so to speak, was finally coming back to the other foot. Even the Chinese were feeling the pinch of economic hardship as the spending by their citizens grew out of control.

But the reporters didn’t have access to the figures that Cherkshan did. The actual amount of military buildup was staggering.

Nevsky continued speaking. “My detractors fail to realize that I am simply trying to create business for this country. I am creating jobs for my fellow countrymen at a time when the West is staggered by the failure of their capitalist dreams.” He paused. “I am giving my countrymen jobs, providing a way for them to remain in their houses, and I am reshaping our dream for the future.”

Cheers broke out in the crowd.

“These accusers will tell you that I am going to take away the rights of the people. I say that they have already been taken away. Would any of you have thought that the day would come when you had to stand in line for bread, only to find out it had gone up in price as you had stood there waiting?”

The crowd reacted again.

“I did not. I find this evidence of capitalism ruin to be abhorrent to everything that is Russian. I see young people in our streets who wear American clothing they got through the black markets instead of outlets that are designed to protect our economy. I see men my age wearing expensive suits.” Nevsky pulled on his own jacket. “Do you know what this is, comrades? Russian manufacture. Made by Russian hands. Right here in Mother Russia. This is where my loyalty lies. Not with some seductive vision of a capitalist society like the West.”

The crowd cheered again, but this time, a pocket of the group exploded into violence. Nearly a dozen people were locked in mortal combat before Moscow uniformed policemen pushed their way through to them, stunned them with Tasers, and carried the unconscious men and women from the crowd.

Cherkshan picked up the phone on his desk.

It was answered at once. “Yes, General Cherkshan.”

“There has been an incident at the President’s speech. I want to know the names of the people involved immediately.”

“Yes, General.”

As Cherkshan hung up the phone, he looked at the pictures of his children sitting on his desk. Rodion was employed with the Alga Bank Group, one of the most powerful in the country, and was expecting his second child. Cherkshan was proud of his son.

His daughter, Anna, was something else. While Rodion had been educated in Switzerland, Anna had chosen an American school, the Columbia School of Journalism. If Cherkshan had had his way, his daughter would not have gone to the United States. She had already been too defiant as it was, a victim of the encroaching capitalist ways.

But Katrina had stepped in and insisted. Cherkshan loved his wife and would until the day he died. However, he would also regret sending Anna off to the United States. She was forever lost to him these days.

He preferred to remember her as the small girl he had shared make-believe tea parties with. The one who’d insisted on taking care of him when he was sick or recovering from a bullet wound. That was the daughter he’d been proud to raise.

The one he knew now would have been among those dozen or so protestors carried out by the Moscow Police.

Thankfully, she was at the archeological dig at Herat. Cherkshan had been watching that, as well, because a link to Alexander the Great had come up. Since his promotion to his current position, he’d taken to heart the location of the top five historians who knew about Alexander the Great. All of them were currently digging through mounds of research material.

He turned his attention back to Nevsky.

“I will admit to this
buildup
, if that’s what my detractors want to call it. But I call it this: a munitions corporation. We are making Russian pistols and rifles that anyone would be proud to own. We’re going to sell them to buyers around the world. Like many other countries in the West, we are going to become munitions suppliers. People want guns. We will provide them. And it will create Russian jobs.”

The crowd cheered again.

After thanking the people for coming, Nevsky departed the podium with his personal security detachment from the Federal Protective Service. The FSO agents were watched over by FSB agents. Cherkshan didn’t feel relieved until the men had Nevsky inside the ZIL limousine provided by the Special Purpose Garage.

A few minutes later, as Cherkshan knew it would, his phone rang. He picked it up and muted the television. “Yes, Mr. President.”

“How do you think the address went?”

“I think it went well. I also think that news services in the West are going to make a lot of the story.”

“Let them. It doesn’t matter. They can’t stop what I am doing even if I were to announce it aloud.”

Cherkshan knew that was true. The United States and NATO, due to the way they had been stretched throughout the Middle East and Africa lately, wouldn’t be ready to go head-to-head in retaliation. The United States had moved a few ships around in the Mediterranean Sea and the Pacific, but that was to be expected. They had to show strength.

However, they weren’t going to pull the trigger.

Using the remote control, Cherkshan flipped through channels, coming to a halt on a CNN feed. The view was of the dig site in Herat. He watched as the camera showed some of the faces in the crowd, looking to see if Anna was there.

“I would like to talk to you about another matter, Mr. President.”

“Of course.”

“The dig at Herat.”

“Yes.”

“It was announced that the tomb has something to do with Alexander the Great.”

“So I heard last night. It seems I was a bit hasty in cutting Professor Glukov’s funding. I should have stayed with him.”

Cherkshan chose not to respond to that. “I would like to send some agents out there. To look things over and see what—if anything—he has found.”

“It’s already taken care of, General. I sent a man last night. I didn’t want to distract you from our plans for the Ukraine.”

The Ukraine was a totally different issue. The former prime minister of that country had created difficulties concerning the natural gas supplies Russia shipped to Western Europe through the Ukraine. She had pushed for her nation to become a member of the European Union and step away completely from Russia.

If that was done, and the West was hoping it would happen, the Russian economy would be dealt a devastating blow from which it might not ever recover.

In a matter of days, Nevsky intended to send an invading force into the Ukraine, to turn the country back into a Russian satellite. It was going to be dangerous, but Cherkshan had confidence that the attack strategy he had worked out with his generals was feasible.

If—
when
—they secured the Ukraine, things would be different. Russia would be different.

“I want your focus to be totally on the Ukraine, General. That is why I took care of this situation myself.”

“I understand, Mr. President. If you need anything from me regarding this matter, let me know.”

“I need the Ukraine, my friend. Bring that country under Russian control, and you will lay the largest stepping-stone we have had in decades.”

“It will be done.”

Nevsky said goodbye and ended the call.

For a moment, Cherkshan watched the television screen. He was thinking of Anna when he saw the camera suddenly zoom in on a man who had staggered and gone down. As the image came into better focus, Cherkshan saw the blood streaming from a huge wound in the man’s face as his eyes stared into the camera.

17

39 Miles Southwest of Herat

Herat Province

Afghanistan

February 14, 2013

Lourds’s excitement built as he followed Boris down the passageway. Electrical cables ran the length of the tunnel, and bright lights ripped away the darkness. Somewhere from deep in the cave system, a generator thumped out a steady rhythm. Uniformed ANP guards stood at junctures in the cave system.

“I’ve been very careful to preserve the site since I found it.” Stone dust coated Boris, and he sounded tired.

“You found it last night?”

“Yes. And started calling you immediately.”

“And the media in between that.”

“Of course. This has the potential to be stupendous. Did you know that no one knows where Alexander the Great’s final resting place is?”

“Yes.” Lourds negotiated a sharp turn and reflected on what he could remember of the Macedonian ruler from the information he’d reviewed on the plane trip. “Alexander died in 323 BCE—”

“Of mysterious circumstances.”

Lourds nodded. “Possibly mysterious circumstances. He might have died from an overdose of hellebore.”

“That was never proven.”

“No, but it is known that Alexander was grieving over the death of Hephaestion, one of his generals and a nobleman in his own right. They had been friends since childhood.”

“Yes, and Aristotle wrote of them that they were ‘one soul abiding in two bodies.’ There is some conjecture that they were also lovers. But that is neither here nor there. So much about Alexander isn’t known, not the least of which is how he was able to conquer so much of the known world. And remember that Hephaestion’s death was also a mystery.”

Lourds’s interest was piqued. “What we do know is that after Alexander died, he was laid to rest in a gold sarcophagus that bore the shape of a monkey or an ape. That was placed inside another gold casket.”

“Then Ptolemy hijacked the funeral procession and took it to Memphis. Memphis, Egypt, of course, which contributed its name to the Decree of Memphis that collected the second round of the Ptolemaic Decrees.”

“Ptolemy kept Alexander’s body for a time. Supposedly to fulfill a seer’s vision that Alexander would be laid to rest in a place that ‘would be happy and unvanquishable forever.’”

“Yes. There was already talk circulating that possession of Alexander’s body would bring fortune and favor from the gods.”

“The Greeks, Macedonians, and Egyptians all looked to the gods for everything under the sun. That was the way their cultures were set up.”

“I know. And there Alexander lay, until he was moved to Alexandria. He didn’t fare so well after that. Ptolemy IX Lathyros, the last of the Ptolemys’ offspring, had many problems, not in the least of which was a fickle mother—”

“Cleopatra III. Reportedly a madwoman.”

“—who forced him to marry his sister—”

“Cleopatra IV.”

“—and then forced him to divorce her and marry still yet another sister, this one younger than the first.”

“Cleopatra Selene I.” Lourds often marveled at the family histories he uncovered in his studies. “The Kardashians pale by comparison. People these days don’t know how convoluted familial relationships and injustices can be.”

“True.” Boris shot him a glance. “I cannot believe you even know who the Kardashians are.”

Lourds shrugged. “I teach college. I have to keep up with popular culture so I can speak to students in their own language. I speak Lady Gaga as well.”

“As much as the world changes, the more I think it stays the same. Most people will forever be enthralled by gossip and theatrics.” Boris took another left and continued on. “Cleopatra IV was angry at being ousted from her marriage to her brother and being replaced by her younger sister. She went off to Cyprus and married Antiochus IX Cyzicenus, the ruler of the Greek Seleucid Kingdom, which was created from conquests made by Alexander the Great in the Near East and in Asia.”

“Where Turkmenistan, Pamir, and some of Pakistan is located today.”

“Yes. In the meantime, Cleopatra III ruled for a time with Ptolemy IX, then claimed he tried to murder her and had him deposed. She put her favorite son, Ptolemy X—Ptolemy IX’s younger brother—on the throne.”

“You know, I don’t understand how the Greeks didn’t invent psychology back when things like this would have been going on. Freud would have had a field day with mothers like her.”

“I agree. At any rate, she started a chain reaction of murders while playing her games with her sons. She grew tired of Ptolemy X and put Ptolemy IX back on the throne. Ptolemy X killed his mother and resumed the throne, only to be killed in battle. When Ptolemy IX resumed the throne yet again, the kingdom was strapped for cash. He replaced Alexander’s gold sarcophagus with a glass one and had the gold melted down and converted into
drachma
to pay off his debts.” Boris halted in front of a carpet that had been draped on one wall of a passageway that ended in a tumble of rock. “That angered the citizens of Alexandria, and they rose up and killed him. A case could be made that Alexander was
not
lying at rest in a land that was ‘happy and unvanquishable forever.’ In fact, it almost seems that a curse followed Alexander around.”

Lourds surveyed the carpet but didn’t move toward it. He didn’t want to rob his friend of his presentation. But he was anxious to see what was on the other side of it.

“The citizens of Alexandria took Alexander’s body back to their city for safekeeping. While the body lay there, the Roman emperors came calling. According to documentation, Pompey, Julius Caesar, and Caesar Augustus visited the tomb.”

“It’s a wonder that Augustus didn’t trigger a war when he accidentally knocked Alexander’s nose off.”

“That’s a story that was never verified. Caligula was also supposed to have taken Alexander’s breastplate. Then, in 200 AD, Emperor Septimius Severus, who sacked the Ctesiphon, the capital of the Parthian Empire, closed the tomb to the public.”

“Enough time had passed by then that the Alexandrians didn’t protest.”

“Also, the Roman Army was in full bloom. The emperor would have dealt harshly with any kind of uprising. Supposedly, his son—Caracalla, one of the most evil emperors ever to spring from the loins of the Caesars—visited the tomb because he was a great admirer.”

“That man would have never held a candle to Alexander the Great.”

“Agreed. Alexander would have killed Caracalla for the massacres and other atrocities he committed.”

“Not in the least of which was his granting of Roman citizenship to all freemen so he could tax them. They became Romans whether they wanted to or not.”

“And they paid their taxes or faced the consequences.” Boris nodded. “You also know of the Alexander Sarcophagus that was found in Sidon in 1887?”

“Of course. But it never belonged to Alexander. It was only named that because it had bas-relief images of Alexander fighting the Persians at the Battle of Issus.”

“Exactly. That sarcophagus is believed to be the final resting place of Mazaeus, a Persian noble and Babylonian governor.” Boris smiled and his weary eyes gleamed. “Through all of that, no one knows the final resting place of Alexander the Great. But you and I, Thomas, through our good fortune—”

“I would attribute whatever fortune we have to your dogged perseverance, and that’s how I’m going to present it to those news people waiting outside.”

Boris nodded. “As you wish. By whatever means, we now have a chance to find out where Alexander the Great has been laid to rest.” Pulling the carpet aside, he waved Lourds into the tomb.