Gap Mills, West Virginia
Al ignored the obvious creaking of the frail ladder. He found it difficult at times getting past the damp roots, but figured if the steps failed, he could grab a handful of them to prevent him from falling.
Step by careful step he descended into the darkness and noticed the roots were becoming thinner but they all seemed to angle straight down like vines. He paused briefly to look up and only a slight sliver from Vance’s light remained through the web of tree roots. He continued making his way down until he noticed he ran out of steps. He swung his foot around and he not only had run out of steps but he was entering an open space. This was always the most nerve-wracking part of descending shafts where you couldn’t see what was below. He attempted to push himself against the surface behind him to squeeze a glimpse below but couldn’t. He was just going to have to trust that the drop wasn’t too long. He swung his foot around in a circular motion finding only dead space. No roots or anything connected with his foot. That could be either that he had reached the end or was now dangling over a large space, which would mean that he would need a rope. He lowered himself down another two steps and then pushed his back against the shaft as hard as he could again and aimed his light downward. It was hard to see but he could see something solid below him. He estimated it was only a short drop so he continued to lower himself, holding on with his hands, and let go. He landed with a thud. He now found himself stooped over inside a small square space no more than four feet high. Large, reddish bricks formed the sides, floor and ceiling from top to bottom. A few roots made it this far down but not many. Directly in front of him was a small, narrow staircase—also made of brick—that went down a few steps and angled to the left. He aimed his light up into the shaft estimating he had descended only about thirty feet, and yelled, “Touchdown.”
Vance’s voice echoed back, “Hey, grab a worm pepperoni pizza while you’re at it.”
That actually sounds good, Al thought, realizing neither one of them had eaten anything recently, except the worms, of course. Remaining stooped over, he then shot his light back to other steps to the left and made his way over to them. He started down, and they continued until they ended at the start of another four-foot-high, narrow brick passageway. He followed it a short distance and could actually see the end, which surprised him, because he wasn’t accustomed to short tunnels. Slowly he walked to the end where there was another short stairway.
Oddly enough, someone had taken the time to install a wood railing next to the steps. He descended the steps and then knelt down because his back was beginning to ache from being stooped over so long. He aimed the light around the very small room, which also appeared to be the end of the tunnel. The entire room consisted of large, square stones that were rough and grayish. The ground had a thick layer of dust. He shone his light all around. It was completely empty— no protruding tree roots or anything, only gobs of clumpy dust.
“Well, whatever was here is gone,” he said, and turned around. He went back up the steps and began to walk down the passageway. He stopped halfway. So far, the clues led us here so we’d better be sure we haven’t skipped over something.
He pulled the large key out of his pocket, realizing that he needed to go back and check one more time. Re-entering the space, he mumbled, “There has to be something here. I have to be missing something.” He began running his hands up and down the walls looking for anything that could be a keyhole or some kind of opening. He completely checked each wall and then examined the ceiling.
Nothing, not a single hint of a keyhole.
He slowly paced around the perimeter of the room checking the edges of the ceiling and ground one more time for any hint of a secret room behind the walls. Again, nothing. The ground and ceiling solidly connected to the walls. Okay, he conceded. Maybe this room is in fact a dead end. He leaned against the wall and sat down.
“So,” he said to himself, “if I don’t at least bring back some beer, Vance is gonna gimme shit.”
He then placed his light on the ground and aimed it upward. Since the ground was rough and uneven, the flashlight fell over on its side and rolled. As it did, it created large shadows against the back wall, the light illuminating the clumps of dust. As it did, Al noticed a large pile of dust in the center of the room. He sat staring at it wondering where so much of it could have come from. Unless furniture or other items were stored here at one time, there is no reason why it would be here.
For a brief moment, he just sat there pondering before he got up on his knees. He crawled over and wiped the dust with his hand, expecting it to float away, but it didn’t. In fact, it was solid. He wiped the ground again, and it wasn’t dust at all, but instead was a raised six-pointed star. This had to be it. He wiped it again and blew on it. The star was in the center of a fifteen-inch square tile, so he pulled out his knife and scraped around the edges. He tried to pry it up but the tile was embedded too deeply and he didn’t want to break his knife. He pulled it out. Leaning forward, he blew the remaining dust away from the star. As he did, he noticed a thin hole in the center.
A keyhole?
“Ah, shit,” he said, pulling the key out of his pocket. He then lined it up with the hole and carefully inserted it. It fit perfectly. He then slipped his fingers into the metal grip attached to the key and turned it.
“I’ll be damned,” he said, hearing an audible click. Now he knew what the large key grip was for, so he stood up, braced both feet on each side of the square, and pulled.
The tile was not actually a tile at all but a very heavy square block of stone. Al continued pulling, slowly sliding it out, and his back screamed at him the whole time. What made it hard was that he had to pull straight up or the block would get stuck, hurting him even more. Once up, he hoisted the square block to the side of the hole. His back was already sore from digging and now he was really sore. The block had to weigh over a hundred and fifty pounds. He turned the key, removed it, and sat for a moment to rest his back.
The block was a good ten inches thick and the hole by the looks of it was maybe two or three more inches in depth. He aimed his light inside and was immediately blinded by a reflection.
“Holy shit,” he said out loud, turning his head. “What in the hell was that?” It was as if he had aimed his light directly at a mirror causing the light to shoot directly back at him. He waited a few seconds for the shock on his pupils to subside and this time he leaned over and aimed his light down. Again, the reflection shot back at him, but not as fierce. He doubted if a mirror was inside but would not discount it. Once his eyes adjusted a second time, he was able to see inside, and from his point of view the ground was about eight feet below him. He would need a rope for sure. He didn’t even bother examining the room any longer, returned to the surface, and retrieved the rope he had brought.
He went back to the dusty room and figured a way to anchor the rope down by tying it to the heavy square block and railing. He shut off his light and squeezed in, holding onto the edge. He let go and landed in the dark. He pulled out his flashlight, closed his eyes, and turned it on. Slowly he lifted his eyelids allowing time to adjust to the brightness. He then saw what was causing the bright reflection: Untarnished gold covered every inch of the room, including the ground he stood on. Not just that. There appeared to be some type of glass covering attached to the gold, giving it an extra-strong reflection. .Through the glass he could see writing on the wall.
Directly behind him, in an attached room, was a solid rectangular table. It was roughly twice the size of a pool table and he immediately recognized the three-dimensional map on top. It was strikingly similar to the map table he found in Syria, although this one was clearly larger and in better shape. Beyond the table, against the back wall, the gold had a rectangular-shaped doorway. He stepped around the table, not bothering to examine it, and walked over to the doorway. He aimed the light inside, revealing a second passageway. There was no more gold, just regular brick and mortar and about seven feet high. He turned back around, aiming the light at the table. He could easily make out mountains, valleys, and miniature pyramids and other structures scattered on top. This table had to be important and most likely was what they were sent there to find, but curiosity got the best of him and he turned back around to face the doorway. He needed to at least see what was down there before heading back up. On the other hand, he could simple cut his trip short, document what he needed to, and get out of there. Ah, screw it, he thought, and started down the passageway.
He followed it for several minutes, carefully stepping over sections of brick wall that had caved in. In general, the passageway was in bad shape and walking through it was difficult. At one point, he figured that it wasn’t worth it and almost turned back, but suddenly he encountered a stairway. He examined the steps briefly and they were in worse shape than the passageway. It was a combination of rotten wood and crumbling bricks—definitely something he didn’t want to attempt. He turned back around and estimated that he had traveled a total of about sixty yards, which would put him directly below the patch of trees, east of the gravesite and Vance. At this point, he had to decide what to do: Investigate or go back and report? He stood there debating with himself again and said, “Okay, I’ll only go up a short distance.” So up he went.
Vance remained inside the grave with his flashlight off, smoking his cigarette. Al had been gone down the gopher hole for about thirty minutes, which concerned him. At some point, he was going to have to go check but needed to give him time to do what he set out to do, which most of the time was getting into trouble.
He heard a crunching sound behind him and he tossed his cigarette onto the bones. He put it out with the tip of his shoe and listened. Footsteps, and they weren’t far away. Reaching behind him, he pulled the gun out of his belt and leaned against the side of the dirt hole. Whoever it was, if they didn’t actually look into the grave, they wouldn’t see him unless they were right over it. The steps sounded slow and gave out a prolonged crunching sound as if they were very heavy. Heavy? He immediately flashed back to the university and the knights’ footprints penetrating the ground.
Being heavily armored had its advantages and disadvantages. For one, it made it difficult to sneak up on somebody. He turned and peered over the edge of the hole, but without the light he couldn’t see anything but black trees. At that moment, a slight misty fog moved in, gently reflecting the moonlight. How romantic, he thought, and just then he saw the bushes moving. It could be a bear or maybe even a moose, but whatever it was it was now moving away from him. The crunching sound began to fade, going east, which was a good thing. He really wasn’t in the mood to whip some knight’s ass, so he turned around, slowly crouched down, and waited.
Going up the frail brick steps was harder than Al thought. They changed direction twice, and he noticed more and more dirt piling on them and most of the wood simply disintegrated with each step. After climbing a bit more, he had to stop because the steps were now totally covered with dirt—or was dirt. Should he continue up or go back? Large and small roots were wiggling in every direction, poking in from the ceiling and walls indicating that he had to be close to the surface. He decided to push on. With each step, he had to wipe away a place for his foot and continued digging as he climbed. Eventually he found himself squeezing and then pushing through a caved-in section of a brick and hard-packed dirt wall. A rational person would stop and head back but the challenge of discovering where the stairs led prodded him onward. He was determined to continue as far as he could. He realized that if it wasn’t for the roots clumping the dirt and bricks together, this stairway would be buried.
With every step and breath, Al felt and tasted dirt-filled air but continued upward. Then, he encountered a section of bricks that had caved in from the side, virtually blocking his path. He closed his eyes and squeezed through the tight section. It was so tight that his lips brushed against the roots, practically tasting the worms entangled within them. He had to be extremely careful not to become stuck or to cause a collapse of the remaining bricks. “This is stupid, what the hell am I doing?” he muttered.
Al ignored his occasional attempts to talk himself out of this dirt-filled journey and continued to push his way through until he felt something solid above. Not just felt something, but saw a sliver of light coming through. He used his other hand and pushed his flashlight through to see what it was. Painted wood boards. There was very little paint remaining but he could tell that it was once reddish-brown. Could it have been the remains of a barn?
He slid back down a few feet and rested. He had to decide if he was to continue or not. The safe route was to head back, but continuing up would answer what was up there and answer where the light was coming from. He was convinced it was a way out. He decided to try once more and if he reached a complete dead end, he would turn back.
He spat away what dirt and roots he had on his mouth and squeezed back up where he left off. He maneuvered his torso to push his head through the packed-in dirt, then one arm. With his other hand, he removed the dirt pressing on his chest, relieving the pressure and creating enough space to push through. He was now able to grab one of the wood planks and pull himself up. He pushed his hand behind the wood and dug away the dirt.
His hand broke through into an open space. He wormed his body upright and left until he squeezed in. He dug to the sides of the wood plank until he had enough space to pull it down on one side. He then reached up and felt the bottom of a flat dirt area. Grabbing a handful of roots suddenly caused a wave of dirt to pile in on him.
He felt fresh cold air rush in and then saw a stronger flickering light. He briefly hesitated, watching the hole above. The light seemed to flicker as if it was from a candle.
As he watched it, something didn’t feel right. Yet now that he could see the end, he couldn’t turn back. He pulled his arm down, squeezed it behind him, and dug his pistol out of his belt. He then turned his torso so his back was flat, and pushed his way up and listened. He did not hear a sound, so he closed his eyes and pushed his head through the dirt.
When he felt the heavy dirt spill off his head, he opened his eyes and looked up. A single light hung from a wood beam and barely illuminated what looked like the inside of a barn. He was right, it was a barn. No sounds were near, so he pushed his shoulders through the dirt and raised his gun. He felt the wood plank clip the edge of his ribs.
The light in the barn was dim but he could see that he had climbed right through a pile of grass, dirt, and hay. A small acacia plant stood a few inches in front of him with a wood pedestal holding three lit candles nearby. He swung his head around spilling more dirt off his head. At the far end of the barn were two old stone tombstones. To the left and right were two more.
He had climbed into a graveyard.
Suddenly, someone violently grabbed his shoulders from behind, and his gun yanked out of his hand. Al struggled to get free but the grip on his shoulders was too intense. So intense that he could not even turn to see who grabbed him. Then a man stepped out from behind the post, took a few steps, and turned towards him. Al immediately recognized him. It was the bearded Monsignor Koenig, and he was alive.
They were waiting for him.
Koenig looked at the person who was restraining Al from behind. “You were right.”
Al froze with shock as he realized that he had royally screwed up and climbed right into a trap.
Koenig stepped closer, and Al’s head was as high as Koenig’s lower leg, an extremely vulnerable position. Koenig reached down, his fingers spread out in claw-like fashion. There was no way Al was getting out of this one, so he reached up with his open hand. Koenig reached past his hand, grabbing his wrist with his fingers still spread. Al then grabbed in a wrist-to-wrist grip and Koenig pulled him up. The man behind Al stepped out and assisted, lifting him out from the dirt.
Al now stood there covered in dirt from head to toe. He was disgusted with himself for allowing this to happen. He glimpsed to the side to see who the other man was. Again he immediately froze as he recognized him. He could not believe it. There, before him, was the big guy he had shot both knees out underground in Colima, Mexico. His last memory was of him on the floor bleeding badly from both legs. Even his last sight of the bearded Monsieur Koenig was him unconscious and lying in a pool of blood. What in the devil is going on?
There was an uncomfortable silence as the three of them stood there. He didn’t know if these guys were looking for some payback or just wanted to talk. Al glanced at both of their faces and was puzzled how the big guy was standing without a cane and even more puzzling was the fact that he wasn’t upset. On the other hand, was he? At this point, he had no idea and was just going to have to find out.
The big man spoke up first with a low, deep voice. “We have been expecting you.”
Al noticed that both of the men were wearing small white waist aprons, and large ornaments around their necks, which meant they were Masons. He took a brief moment to look around, concluding that the entire scene was different from where the other two encounters had taken place. He could hear the rain picking up outside the barn and could see a light fog through a crack in the barn door.
He brushed the dirt and grass out of his hair and asked, “Who the hell are you guys?” What he really wanted to know was how they knew he would come through that hole.
Koenig spoke up, “Let’s just say, if you really want to help solve mankind’s little crisis, then you’re going to have to be more punctual.”
Al was feeling about as vulnerable as he had ever felt. “Who are you guys, really?” he asked again, wiping chunks of dirt off his face.
“We go by many names,” the big guy answered.
Al was quiet for a moment. “Let me guess, you men are Masons?”
“Yes, we are,” Koenig answered and then said, “Apologies for the secrecy and our deceptive nature.”
Al shrugged, “I’m getting used to it.” He then gave Koenig a stare, “And why aren’t you dead?”
Koenig smiled. “As you know, timing your initiations is not an easy task.”
“Well, let me see,” Al said, “the first initiation you boys captured and then drugged me. The second time you drugged me, and then drugged me again; and this time?”
“Keep in mind,” Koenig said, “that if we were able to track you then the others can, and they are.”
That statement concerned Al. He immediately thought about Vance, alone standing guard at the entrance. He was about to ask a question but Koenig continued.
“Nevertheless, we began initiating you for a divine reason involving your past; a past that is on the square with Alexander the Great.”
What the hell is he talking about, Al thought. He stood there for a moment wracking his brain for why every time they captured him they kept comparing him to Alexander the Great, but gave up. One thing he did know, he had in fact been brought in, but how? How did they know he would climb through this very spot? He decided to ask, “I need to know how you guys knew what I was going to do?”
Koenig straightened up. “Before you become overly concerned with our deceptiveness, you must understand that every day we are being eliminated one by one.”
“I know,” Al answered, “but you didn’t answer my question.”
“For starters,” Koenig asked, keeping his expression warm and inviting, “have you determined where the bombs that detonated in Lebanon and Washington D.C. originated?
“The Brotherhood-terrorists, perhaps.”
“Yes,” Koenig said, “and how long have the bombs been there?”
“We are working on it,” Al replied, and then asked, “and what do you know about the bombs?”
“Ah,” Koenig said as he retrieved and unrolled a short white scroll. He held it up as if he was reading it and said, “Let’s say hypothetically that an outside force was aware of a pre-ordained, End of Days, or an impending doom for mankind.”
Al waited for him to continue his statement about the bombs but he did not. Koenig stood there silently looking at the scroll. Al turned to the big guy who was standing there at attention and also silent. He turned back to Koenig and asked, “I don’t follow you, and what do you mean by an outside force?”
“Allow me to re-phrase that,” Koenig said. “If an ancient order of people wanted to warn mankind of an End-of-Days date, what would they use, and how would they do it?”
“You tell me.”
“Armageddon,” the big man added.
“You guys are losing me.”
“When will they return?” Koenig asked, his eyes still fixed on the scroll.
Al stood there, unsure if he was to take part in the act, or ask questions, or what. Normally the Masons just lectured him, but this time it seemed they were expecting him to respond so he asked, “When will who return?”
“The Prophet Amos,” Koenig said, “spoke of the coming Day of the Lord.”
“The Lord is who?” Al stupidly asked.
Koenig glanced at the big guy, who then took two large steps in front of Al, facing him. He stood there for a moment, and then motioned with his oversized hand to the acacia plant. “This spot,” he said, “resembles an area outside of King Solomon’s temple and, as we have explained to you earlier, the great-grandfather of Noah was Enoch, who is our teacher,” he paused, tilted his head, “now your teacher.”
“Enoch who?” Al asked again.
The big man lowered his hand and continued, ignoring Al’s question. “Long ago, the angels of the Lord parted ways.”
“Let me guess,” Al jumped in, remembering what he was saying as a repeat from before, “the good guys and the bad guys.”
Koenig held up his hand drawing Al’s attention to him. He spoke up with increased sternness in his voice said, “Long ago, one side of the Lord, the Sons of Light, wished to save mankind. The other side, the Sons of Darkness did not. Following the flood...”
Suddenly the barn door burst opened and another man stepped in halfway, giving Koenig a serious look. He was also wearing a waist apron, an ornament around his neck, and holding a large gun that Al did not recognize, although he did recognize the large 50-caliber cartridge. A cartridge of that size could only mean they were hunting something large and heavy, like dinosaurs.
Koenig nodded and the man stepped back out. He then turned to Al and continued, “Following the flood... devastating wars of gods and men endured for many centuries until the day of the Lord arrived as prophesied by Amos and Hosea.”
The big guy picked up from there with his deep voice, “The day of the Lord arrived and the gods departed, whereas the sons of Light and Darkness went into hiding.”
Al sighed, weary of the ritual jargon. “You guys lost me big time.”
Koenig spoke up, “We have been battling the Sons of Darkness ever since.”
“You mean the Brotherhood?” Al asked.
Neither of them responded and Koenig refocused on the open scroll. He began yelling out names. After each name, the big man enthusiastically yelled out, “Here,” as if it was a roll call.
Al stood there in disbelief. These Masons were putting on yet another show for him.
Then something different happened. Koenig yelled out, “Rosh,” and the big guy did not answer “here.” Koenig looked right and left as if he was looking for the missing Rosh, and then yelled out, “Masech,” and again the big guy did not answer. Koenig again looked right and left, and finally he yelled out, “Tubal.” The big guy just stood there, not answering.
When Koenig finished yelling out names, he rolled up the scroll, looked directly at Al, and said, “It is high noon, Hiram Abiff; we welcome you, my brother.”
Al shrugged, wondering about the significance of the three names. The big guy did not answer “here” for a reason, but what? Also, why did Koenig just call him Hiram Abiff? Ed and Alex told him specifically to pay close attention to what the Masons did and said because they always operated and functioned with clues and symbols. Al suddenly had the urge to write the names down before he forgot them but, of course, he didn’t have anything to write with and simply said, “If you say so.”
After a prolonged pause, Koenig raised the scroll and continued reading, “Let’s assume...that the true history of humanity’s past is neither understood nor taught today. Let us also assume...that humanity’s past was altered, and hidden deliberately.”
The big guy spoke up responding to Koenig in a calm manner, “Why? Why would our history have to be hidden from us?”
Al was tempted to interrupt with a sarcastic response, but continued to watch and listen.
Koenig lowered the scroll again, looked directly at Al and said, “Both the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament avow that the secrets of the Future are imbedded in the past. The secret of the End of Days is encoded within the ancient writings and books that were used to create the Bible.”
“You’re speaking in riddles,” Al answered.
“Look there to begin your journey,” the big guy added.
“Now you’re really speaking in riddles.”
Koenig gently rolled up the scroll and handed it to Al. He reached up to grab it but hesitated, remembering what happened the last time he touched something of theirs. Koenig continued speaking as he held it, “Your journey will include the men who financed the discovery of America and the hidden shibboleth.”
“What, why?” Al said, slightly stunned by the statement. He cautiously eyed the scroll. If he touched it, would he be drugged again as they did to him in the past? Simply touching the paper could introduce another date rape drug into his system and out he goes. He hesitated again but decided that the entire scene was different and knocking him out wouldn’t make sense. Or would it? He stretched out his hand and gently grabbed the scroll.
“Because I was there,” Koenig answered.
“What the hell,” Al shot back, focusing on his mental state. So far, so good, the distinctive feel of blood draining out of his head didn’t happen this time so he wasn’t blacking out...Yet.
Koenig laughed again, “In a way you have been on a race to find mankind’s history before the Ordo Praedicatorum, but the difference is that you possess the ability to translate the writings from before the flood; the writings of the gods.”
“Yeah, you guys said that before, but hold on a minute,” Al said forcefully. “You’re now referring to the Brotherhood as the Sons of Darkness and Ordo Praedicatorum. Which is it?” Al paused and continued, “And what do you mean you were there at the founding of America, and what the hell is shibboleth?”
At that moment, the guy with the big gun entered the barn again. This time he motioned with his head, indicating something was up outside.
Koenig reached out his hand and the big guy handed a different gun to him. He then handed it to Al. It was completely silver except for the hand grip, heavy, and he was surprised to see a rotating cylinder within the barrel. He angled it down and eyed the chambers. He realized that Koenig just handed him a loaded 50-caliber handgun with three very large bullets in the cylinder! Al held back his excitement considering he had never actually seen one and simply looked back to Koenig.
Koenig had a sense of urgency in his eyes and said, “The Tyler has indicated that darkness is near, you must return from whence you came.”
“That’s it?” Al asked. “At least buy me a drink or something.”
“For now,” Koenig answered hurriedly, “from this point on, you are now a third-degree brother Mason and all of us with the 19th degree that have survived will help when we can.”
“In other words I am on my own,” Al said, then asked, “what about that map table down there?”
“Use the ancient writings,” Koenig continued, “to piece together the clues that may lead you around this world, but you must stop them.”
That statement caught Al off-guard. Suddenly something solid collided with Al’s temple and out he went.
Al opened his eyes in the dark. It took him a second to figure out what had happened. His head felt like it was split open, indicating that the big guy must have knocked him out by punching him with his club-like fists.
“They have got to stop this knocking me out cold bit,” Al said as the pain deepened within his head. Eventually he was going to have to accept that this was just the way the Masons did things. He felt around near him, found his light and clicked it on. He realized he was back inside the hole, which meant they had stuffed him back inside and covered it up, but of course the scroll was gone. But the amazing high- powered handgun was lying right next to him. He stuffed it in his belt and pushed his way back down.
Al climbed out of the shaft and noticed Vance leaning against the side of the grave, smoking a cigarette. He was just as he had left him except this time he was soaking wet from the rain that had now subsided.
Vance looked him up and down and asked, “What the hell did you get into?”
Al looked down at his clothes and the mud, grass, and maybe a little cow poop. “Don’t ask.”
Vance laughed, looking him over again, “No really, tell me. Did you meet a hot little Amish girl and go rolling around in the mud or something”
“Remember Rome,” Al said.
Vance glanced down at the shaft and then up at him. “What are you saying, the Masons are zombies waiting around under graveyards?”
“No... When they captured me...”
Vance instinctively dropped his cigarette and ducked, “No shit!
The Masons with the horse tranquilizers nabbed you again? What, were they just waiting for you down there?”
“I guess they were tracking me, and it’s not funny,” Al said, closing the metal coffin.
Vance laughed again, “Oh yes it is.”
“Did you see anything suspicious while I was down there?”
“Nothing really, just something big marched through the woods over there.”
“That’s it?”
“I thought that was enough.”
Al pulled out his new gun, stood up and glanced over the edge of the hole into the darkness. “There is another entrance under an old barn about sixty yards that way.”
Vance glanced in the same direction, “That’s where whatever it is was heading.” He then noticed the gun. “And what the hell is that?”
Al handed it to him, “You’re gonna love this.”
Vance immediately figured out what it was. “Who in the world made this?”
“The Masons traded guns with me before they knocked me out.”
Vance looked over the gun. The polished silver brightly glistened in the cloudy moonlight. “No shit,” he said slowly. “I bet they gave this to you to use as an armored-knight killer.”
“Probably, but I bet it has a killer kickback too.”
“Yeah, knock your skinny ass over. Maybe I should keep it.”
Al snatched it from him, “Get your own.” He then pulled out his PDA, typed in a message that they had found something important, and that the Masons captured him again.
“I am not even sure how to explain what I found,” Al said. “They did the usual dog-and-pony show, but said something about investigating the people who financed the discovery of America, me and Alexander again, and some strange word, shibboleth.”
Vance shrugged, “Let Ed figure it out.”
Al then hit the Send button, forwarding his pictures of the table along with his message.
A few seconds later, he received a return message. It was from Captain McCoumb and Al read it aloud, “Stay put. Relief is on the way.”
A short time later, four heavily armed Marines dressed in black camouflaged uniforms and painted black faces approached through the bushes and stopped near the edge of the hole.
“About time you ladies got here,” Vance whispered.
“Captain McCoumb is waiting for you, sir,” one of the men said.
“Good,” Vance replied, “I really am not in the mood to cover this grave.”
“What’s the situation out there?” Al asked.
“Whatever you do,” the lead man said, “we are under communication blackout; do not use radios.”
“What happened?” Vance asked.
“I don’t know, sir, I’m just the messenger. You two are to return back to the choppers immediately and await further orders.”
Al and Vance were escorted off the hill and to a black SUV. Several more soldiers were waiting for them and Al could tell that the military was quietly securing the area while the neighborhood slept.
During the hour’s drive back, Al fell fast asleep. Fortunately, Vance let him drift off and he did not wake up until the SUV came to a stop.
He sat up and saw Vance outside the car talking to McCoumb. He rubbed his eyes and saw in the background, instead of the one helicopter they arrived in, there were now two, and both ready to take off. The engines and lights were on, meaning he had to rally his ass up, which his body absolutely did not want to do. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually slept. He was so amped up on adrenaline that his mind would simply not shut down long enough, and if he didn’t sleep soon he was going to have a mental breakdown. He opened the door and forced his legs out.
As Vance noticed Al climbing out of the car, he walked over to him. “You’re going to love this. They found the beautiful Dr. Zohar, and they’re shipping me out to interrogate her. You, my sleepy friend, are going to have a chat with the Brotherhood knights who just had a shootout with some hunters.”
“Oh great!” Al said grabbing the black book and key. “Why do you get all the fun jobs?’
“I’m expected to use my good looks to charm her into a full confession.”
“Where was this shootout?”
Vance shrugged. “Don’t know.”
Captain McCoumb then waved Al over to a chopper. Vance patted Al’s shoulder, “Have fun,” and he jogged to the other waiting chopper.
Captain McCoumb opened the side door and yelled out over the engine noise, “You’re going hunting.”
Al eyed the inside of the aircraft and his mission became crystal clear; two black bags of gear which most likely contained various weapons were on the floor. “Hunting what?” he yelled back.
McCoumb shook his head, “You’re going to be on standby, until Ed Collins’ team examines what you discovered here.”
Al climbed in, “What do you mean?”
“Sir, all I know is that you are heading west.”
“Okay,” Al said, handing over the book and key. “Just make sure Ed gets these.”
McCoumb saluted and slid the door shut. The pilot increased power and lifted off immediately. Al threw his feet up on the cloth seats and went back to sleep.