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Paul Marchant paced around his hotel room, wondering how best to spend a Thursday evening in New York City. The Solstice Seminars conference would end tomorrow, and he was one of two keynote speakers. But his slides were ready, his talk almost routine. He wasn’t interested in Broadway shows or films, or any of the Big Apple’s cultural events. There were several rare books on his list, but he didn’t feel like making the trip to used bookstores.
The conference organizers had invited him to the speaker’s dinner, but he couldn’t bear listening to self-important, part-time theorists. He’d read their books, and if he talked too much, his ideas would end up in the next article one of them wrote, with no credit given to him. He took out the worn envelope holding the satellite pictures and Donald’s report. He’d pored over the photos and run calculations of the tunnel angles revealed in the shots, but there were so many channels. If these pictures were any indication, there could be several Halls of Records. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if a whole city was hidden beneath the sand.
What had him puzzled was the math. He knew there had to be a pattern. He was looking for the place that matched the location of the Orion Stargate, but he hadn’t been able to piece the photos together to reveal the whole Giza complex. Some pictures overlapped and some didn’t connect at all. Plus he wasn’t used to looking at these types of pictures. Ground-penetrating radar created an unusual image. And they were labeled poorly. Pure laziness on the part of some government flunky. He controlled his frustration and laid them out on the kingsize bed, trying to create a picture of the plateau.
After a few minutes, there was a knock on the door. Muttering under his breath, he walked over and looked through the peephole. Standing outside was Karl Mueller.
A tension, of which he hadn’t been fully aware, left his body. He’d imagined Mueller changing his mind, going to someone else, but had reassured himself that these people didn’t let you know of their existence casually. If he weren’t going to be included in the project, they would never have contacted him in the first place.
“Just a minute,” he called. Rushing over to the bed, he picked up all the pictures and stuffed them into their envelope. He tried to push the envelope back into his briefcase, but now it didn’t fit. Several pictures were folded over and some stuck out of the top. Exasperated, he pushed the envelope under the bed, then partially unbuttoned his shirt. Marchant walked to the door and opened it. “Please come in.” He started to button his shirt again.
Mueller walked cautiously into the room and looked around at every corner.
“I’m alone. I was just getting dressed.” Marchant tucked his shirt in and gestured toward two chairs next to the window. “Please sit down.” He glanced again at the table. His briefcase was open, but no papers were visible. He closed the case and placed it beside the table. “I was reviewing my talk for tomorrow.”
Mueller took out his small black electronic device, pushed a button, and placed it on the table. Only then did he speak. “Have you had time to consider our offer?”
“Yes, I want to be a part of the team.” Marchant sat down in the chair next to Mueller.
“I thought you would.” Mueller’s smile resembled a black panther bearing its fangs. “Let’s get down to business.”
He opened a case and took out a laptop with a few add-ons Marchant had never seen before. Mueller turned the screen away from Marchant, dialed a number, then waited. Marchant could hear the machine connect as it began some internal rumblings. Then Mueller typed. In a moment, he turned the computer back to face Marchant. On the screen appeared the same pictures he had just hidden under the bed, only these were clearer, with coordinates and location.
A rush of triumph filled Marchant’s chest, but he schooled his face to show nothing. His hacker had found the real deal. He reached for the machine, but Mueller pushed him back. “I’ll show you the series, then the overview.”
One enticing image after another filled the screen and Marchant was soon lost in the pictures. He saw pieces, but was still frustrated. These muscle types didn’t understand the basics of math. He needed to see the overview first, but the images themselves were tantalizing. The plateau was filled with tunnels—tunnels over tunnels. Cayce had been right, but no one had imagined how many chambers were beneath the sand. He sat forward, barely able to contain himself. Finally, the image he’d been waiting for came on the screen. The whole Giza complex—three large pyramids, six smaller ones, and the Sphinx—stood as ghosts on the surface of interwoven passageways. The tunnels seemed to be at different levels, many stretching far into the west, which surprised him. Some branched to the north, others to the south. Most of them headed for the pyramids. He reached for his calculator. There were several things going on here.
Mueller exited the program and then turned off the computer.
Marchant let out a grunt of protest.
“Based on what I have shown you, do you think you could figure out the harmonics of the plateau?”
Marchant sat back in his chair, alarmed at the sophistication of Mueller’s question. “Yes, but you must give me time. There are many more tunnels than I anticipated. I must sort through the levels, find the correspondences. If you leave the pictures with me—”
Mueller’s bark of laughter cut him off. “These are highly classified. You may study them only under controlled conditions.”
Marchant nodded, trying not to let satisfaction show on his face. He’d seen enough to rearrange his own hard copies. He didn’t have the overview, but he felt certain he could find the order now.
“There is one more thing,” Mueller said. “A chamber has been found— a large room. We have not been able to access it.”
Marchant’s entire being focused on Mueller’s words. This is it, he thought, this is it.
“We have not been able to ascertain the exact nature of the . . .” Mueller studied Marchant’s face for a moment. “. . . energy field that is blocking it. We think it may be sound-coded.”
An almost uncontrollable shiver ran the entire length of Marchant’s spine. His flesh pebbled. This is it, he thought. This is what I was born to do. “Go on,” he said aloud.
“Do you think your knowledge of the arcane languages will be sufficient to penetrate this block?”
“I’m absolutely certain,” Marchant said. He was certain he could gain access to that room, the room that had haunted his dreams as a child, the room he’d searched for his entire life, through all his studies, his painful, self-enforced isolation, the hours and hours of rigorous work on subjects so arcane most people did not know they existed. “Just take me there.”
Mueller nodded. “Clear your schedule for January and February. We’re going to Egypt.”
☥☥☥
On Friday evening, Michael Levy waited patiently as Paul Marchant continued his presentation, apparently unaware that he’d significantly run into Michael’s time. The conference organizers had flashed Marchant several signals, which he’d missed. Finally, the emcee walked on stage and caught his attention.
“Oh, am I out of time?” Marchant stopped in midstream.
“I’m terribly sorry, but we still have another speaker. Can you wrap it up in a couple of minutes?”
Marchant nodded and turned to the crowd. He summarized the sacred geometry of the Earth grid, then added his plea. “So you can see why my work is vital to our future. We hope, with proper funding, to find the means to stabilize the grid and prevent any disasters in the years to come.”
As Marchant finished up, Michael walked through the rear door of the auditorium and headed backstage. He’d have to shorten his talk, but most of the information was available now that his book had been published. People could read the details. Walking up the stairs to the stage, he heard applause, then the voice of the emcee.
“Remember, Mr. Marchant will be signing books in the lobby at the end of the evening. Now it is my great pleasure to introduce to you tonight a man who has uncovered the heritage of ancient Egypt for us. Michael Levy’s work in ancient history reveals a hidden continuity in the past, from predynastic Egypt through European metaphysical secret societies that are now opening their knowledge to the modern world.”
Michael walked to the podium, squinting against the light. “Good evening,” he said. “It’s an honor to be living at a time when knowledge that has been held in trust over the centuries is now being revealed to us.” He glanced at the audience again, but could see no one. He looked to the side of the stage. “Could we bring up the houselights just a bit? Can we still see the slides if we do that?”
The emcee nodded from backstage. Michael turned back to the microphone. “What I want to talk to you about tonight is how the European metaphysical traditions have their origins in Egypt. Understanding Egypt is the key to unlocking our own past. But let me begin at home to show how this is true.”
Just at that moment, the houselights brightened and, as his eyes adjusted, the audience became visible. “Ah, there are people out there,” he said. “Excellent.” Then he saw her. Anne Le Clair was sitting a few rows back, her blond hair gleaming under the lights. She stood out in the crowd, a tall, elegant lily in a garden of smaller flowers. “It’s good to see you,” he said, hoping she would understand he was not addressing the whole audience.
Light laughter rippled through the auditorium.
“Now for our founding fathers, the Masons.” Michael pushed a button and a slide appeared showing an aerial view of the White House and Capitol building. “Most people don’t realize that in 1793, when George Washington laid the cornerstone of the Capitol building, he was wearing full Masonic regalia. Why? Because our capital city is laid out using sacred geometry. These buildings are in a proportional relationship to each other so that the president’s office in the White House receives maximum energy for clarity and communication. In fact, if the holder of the office is in a high state of consciousness, it can be used as a stargate.”
A murmur followed these words.
Michael showed a slide of the dollar bill with its many Egyptian symbols. “The Eye of Horus, the pyramid, these are Masonic symbols coming straight from Egypt, which I’m certain you are familiar with already. The number thirteen was used repeatedly. Thirteen colonies, thirteen arrows in the eagle’s claws, to name only two. Twelve disciples and one master teacher. Twelve signs of the zodiac and one hidden sign, Ophiucus, between Scorpio and Sagittarius. Thirteen months in a lunar year. This number has great metaphysical significance.”
Then Michael began a quick explanation of how the Knights Templar came to America to escape the churches of Rome and England, which had tried to suppress the spiritual teachings the group was sworn to protect. “This group is a primary keeper of an ancient spiritual tradition. The kings from this tradition, the Merovingians, rule in true service to the people, so it was thought best not to replicate the monarchies of Europe, which had become corrupt, but to begin a true democracy.”
Michael began his series of slides on Scotland. “Those who speak of a shadow government taking over today don’t realize that ever since the Templars came to America—earlier than Columbus, by the way, because Henry Sinclair from Scotland mounted an expedition as early as 1398— there has always been a secret government in the U.S. But this secret government was to rule spiritually, if not politically. It was not always corrupt and, to this day, elements of it are still pure.”
Michael could not stop himself from looking at Anne. He heard mumbling in the audience, but couldn’t make out the specifics. He knew this would be a point of contention.
“Now, William Sinclair was a descendent of the Templars, the head of the order once it relocated to Scotland, and he lived in the township of Roslin, just outside Edinburgh. His family built the famous Rosslyn Chapel. This chapel has many Druid, Gnostic, and Celtic Christian secrets built into the architecture; has the most Green Men in one place in all of Europe; and was also built using sacred geometry. In fact, Rosslyn Chapel is also a stargate on two levels. It receives energy from a large Earth grid beginning in Spain and running through the heart of England, and is also built to mimic that same Earth grid. All cathedrals are built as stargates. ‘As above, so below’ works not just in a dualistic mode, but also as a series of Chinese boxes. The same design used to build the capitol of our country can be found in this chapel.
“These stargates create a vortex of energy that amplifies human consciousness. This allows the people using them to access their psychic abilities much easier, to do conscious astral travel, even bilocate if the person is an advanced mystic.”
This caused a stir in the audience.
“To shift gears a bit since time is short, let’s talk about another spiritual group. Many people associate the Rosicrucians with Germany, thinking them separate from the Masons, but actually this designation comes from the eighteenth degree in the Masonic order, called the Rose-Croix degree. Due to various political pressures, the groups have been separated at times during their history, underground at others.
“Many argue these groups sprang from two earlier organizations whose job was to protect the knowledge of a lineage that can be traced back through the Merovingians to Jesus, the Christ. He inherited an ancient spiritual knowledge from the Essenes, a group that can trace its lineage all the way back to Egypt. In fact, the Merovingians didn’t just pass on his knowledge; they are the direct descendants of Yeshua, or Jesus, and Mary Magdalene.”
Michael heard laughter in the audience. As long as this information has been out, it still comes as a surprise to some, he thought.
“The knowledge of this lineage has been so thoroughly suppressed by the church that it seems like the wildest science fiction to us now.” Next he showed a slide of Notre Dame. “The Priory of Sion is a group that has always protected this lineage and passed on their teachings. This cathedral is, of course, dedicated not to Mother Mary, but to the divine priestess Mary Magdalene. This priestess role is another aspect of the tradition thoroughly suppressed by the Church of Rome. This cathedral contains the same sacred geometry that all cathedrals do. The details are fairly well known and are also in my book.
“The military wing of the Priory of Sion was the Knights Templar.” Here Michael showed a picture of a knight in white with a red cross on his chest. “In school, we were taught about the struggles of these groups, but they were not given their proper names. Many of these wars were political struggles for power, but they were spiritual conflicts as well. The Crusades, the War of the Roses in England, the Hundred Years War in Germany, even the two world wars of the twentieth century—all these conflicts and more have hidden within them elements of this struggle between two forces, one that wanted to hide certain information and one that wished to preserve it.
“In the early part of the last millennium, the Inquisition attacked all forms of spirituality in Europe, whether indigenous, the Jews, Muslims, or other types of Christianity. The Cathars were destroyed, and the Knights Templar were attacked on Black Friday, October 13, 1307, perhaps the origin of the superstition that Friday the thirteenth will bring bad luck. They’d been forewarned, and many had already moved from France to Scotland. What’s important to realize is these groups kept alive the teachings of the Essenes, the Jewish mystics whose own knowledge came from the temples of Egypt.”
Michael touched on the Arthurian legends and their role, and talked about the temple teachings in Egypt, then looked at his watch. “I don’t have time to go much further. Let me tell you where my research is going now. All the groups I’ve talked about tonight can be traced back to Egypt. Recently, I’ve discovered that this ancient spiritual system may still be alive in that country. To find this tradition and learn from them is my hope. In Europe, it’s fortunate that all this knowledge wasn’t lost completely, even though much effort was spent to extinguish the light. Those groups holding pieces of the truth are coming together . . .” He glanced at Anne. “. . . restoring the teachings and revealing them to the world.”
There was a spontaneous burst of applause.
He smiled at the crowd. “Yes, it is an exciting time we live in. More details can be found in my book and in the works of many excellent researchers. Thank you for your attention.”
Michael acknowledged the enthusiastic applause that followed his talk, then quickly made his way back to the table in the lobby to sign books. He hoped to catch Anne, but the crowd was thick. A group of people gathered, some to ask him to sign his book, others to ask if he knew this or that piece of miscellany. Usually, he enjoyed talking with people, listening to their ideas, picking up tidbits to track down later, but tonight he kept glancing around for Anne. Then he spotted her. She was leaning back against a wall, watching him with a bemused smile. Apparently, she was waiting. He relaxed and turned his attention to the crowd.
When the knot of people surrounding him had finally dissipated, she walked up to the table. “Well, I hadn’t realized what a celebrity you are.” Her blue eyes twinkled mischievously.
“Only in a very small community. But I’m surprised to see you here. After our last encounter, I got the impression you didn’t have a high opinion of metaphysics.”
“Well,” Anne turned her palms up, “a lot has changed since then.”
“Really? That was only, what, a week and a half ago?”
Anne counted back. “Yes, but it seems like months.”
“That long?” The corners of Michael’s mouth turned up.
Anne suppressed a laugh. “Let’s just say it’s been packed with surprises, this being one of them.” She picked up his book and turned it over.
“My gift,” he said spontaneously.
She looked up, surprised. “Why, thank you, sir.”
“I would love to hear about all these changes. May I sign your book over a drink?”
She hesitated.
“If you’re too busy, I understand.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that I’m not drinking alcohol or caffeine these days. No meat. I guess you could say I’m in training.”
She’s finally waking up, he thought, containing a rush of excitement. The family’s decided to assume their responsibility.
“Excellent,” Michael said. “Perhaps sushi or a bowl of miso soup?”
“That would be lovely.”
After thanking the conference directors, Michael joined Anne, who was waiting by the door. “Shall we walk?” he asked. “I know a place a few blocks away.”
“Certainly.”
He offered his arm and, to his great delight, she took it. They strolled along quietly for the first block, enjoying the crisp air after the press of the auditorium.
“So what brought you to my talk tonight, or did you come to hear the esteemed Mr. Marchant?”
“Actually, it was my brother’s idea. He thinks highly of your work.” Anne seemed to be measuring her words.
“I’m flattered. Does your brother teach or write?” Michael winced at his continued deception, but how could he tell her how much he knew? If she revealed a bit more, he could do the same.
She glanced at him sideways. “He’s the family historian.”
“Oh?”
“Surely you know something about my family, given the talk you just gave.”
Michael laughed, relieved. “I confess I do. But you seemed not to know when I first met you and so I didn’t know how much I could say.”
“I can’t say I agree with all your conclusions,” Anne said. “After all, the Stuart family tree that traces its lineage all the way back to Adam and Eve can hardly be taken as more than propaganda.”
Michael didn’t respond, as they had arrived at the restaurant. He held the door for her and was pleased to see that the place was only half full. Anne ordered a bowl of miso soup and Michael decided on California rolls. “They have a brown rice and green tea that is excellent. Shall we try it?”
Anne nodded, then fixed him with her azure eyes. “How much do you know?”
“Excuse me?”
“About my family history?”
“Well, not the details of course. Surely your brother is the one to ask.”
Anne put her spoon down. “He told me it would save him time if I read some books. Yours was on the list, so I came to hear you instead.”
“I know your family has a spiritual legacy that is the true reason for its political prominence. Your ancestors came from France to Scotland along with the Knights Templar, carrying certain artifacts to escape the Catholics who were trying to eliminate all other spiritual traditions in Europe.”
“And these Templars, they dressed in white with an equal-armed red cross?”
“Yes.”
Anne’s eyes took on a faraway look. She picked up her bowl and sipped the remaining liquid, then dabbed her mouth with her napkin.
Michael watched her, thinking she made this breach of etiquette look like grace itself.
She looked up and caught him watching. “I guess I was hungry.”
“The chef is excellent.”
“I don’t understand what importance all of this information could possibly have in the modern world. Let’s face it, most people are secularists—agnostics or atheists even. Royal families are no longer relevant.”
Michael filled her teacup. “I suppose that explains the public’s indifference to the marriage and death of Princess Diana. Or how your uncle was able to electrify the country during his administration.”
Anne shrugged to admit his point. “But surely our job is to move forward, not backward. These Masons established a democracy when they came to the New World, not a monarchy. If their true secret purpose was to reestablish this ousted lineage, then why not do just that?”
Their purpose was much deeper,” Michael answered. “The Masons escaped the political rule of European monarchs and the Church in order to keep specific knowledge safe, to establish a power base from which to reveal that knowledge when the time came. And to keep certain artifacts secure.”
“Ah, certain artifacts.” She smiled Sphinx-like over her teacup. “Such as?”
Michael decided to keep it academic for the moment. “Many historians speculate that during the Crusades, the Knights took sacred artifacts from beneath the Temple Mount in Jerusalem and transported them to Europe. To keep them safe from the Muslims, of course, although the roots of Islam are the same as Judaism and Christianity. One of those artifacts could be the Ark of the Covenant.”
Anne set her cup down abruptly.
“Yes, the famous Ark. Some think it’s buried beneath Rosslyn Chapel, along with other, less powerful objects, and a few were taken when a branch of the Sinclairs moved to the States.”
“Not the Le Clairs?”
Michael only smiled. The teapot was empty and the waiter had taken their plates long ago. He asked, “May I escort you home?”
This time she didn’t hesitate. “Yes, let’s take a taxi.”
Michael and Anne settled into the back of a yellow cab and the conversation lulled as they rode across town. Michael enjoyed her presence, the soft weight beside him, the play of the city lights on her face as they drove. He breathed in her scent, then put his arm on the seat behind her. She settled under his arm, a perfect fit. He pulled himself back from turning her face to his, letting himself be content with her closeness. They arrived too quickly. Michael paid the cabbie.
Anne walked to the door. “I wonder where the doorman is.” She searched her purse for the key. She slid a plastic card into the slot and the door opened with a buzz. “This is odd,” Anne said. “There’s always someone here. Do you mind coming up?” She blushed. “It’s just that this is so unusual.”
“At your service.” Michael squeezed her hand to reassure her.
They took the elevator to the top floor and Anne pointed the way to her apartment. She drew close to him as they walked down the dark corridor. She stopped outside a door and started to put her key in the lock, but the door swung open at her touch. She stopped dead in her tracks.
Michael pushed her behind him and eased himself into the apartment, all his senses alert. He listened, but heard no sound. Walking a few steps inside, he searched the darkness as his eyes adjusted. He saw the huddled shapes of furniture, things scattered on the floor. Stretching his senses across the apartment, he searched psychically for another person, but found no one. He returned to the front door and said, “There’s nobody here.”
Anne stepped inside and switched on the lights. A jumble of overturned furniture, emptied drawers, and torn cushions met their eyes. “Oh, my God,” she said. She walked into the living room, looking around. “The cats,” Anne cried. “Merlin, Vivienne, kitties?” There were no answering meows. Anne walked through the apartment calling them, but there was only silence. She began looking underneath the purple cushions strewn over the floor, behind the armoire close to the wall, anywhere there was a small hiding place, but they were nowhere to be found.
“Cats?” Michael asked. “They’re probably hiding. They’ll come out when they feel safe. Shouldn’t you call the police?”
“I suppose you’re right, but first I have to call the family.” At his surprised look, she added, “The police means the press when your name is Le Clair.”
“Ah,” Michael murmured. “Do you want me to wait?”
“Please.”
Michael perched on a chair and watched as Anne dialed the phone. “Dr. Abernathy, someone’s broken into my apartment.” She walked away from Michael as she continued the conversation, so he heard only murmurs.
In a couple of minutes, Anne walked back into the room. “Dr. Abernathy’s calling the police. He’ll be here soon.” She began milling around, picking up things at random.
“You should probably leave things as they are.”
“I guess you’re right.” She walked into her bedroom. Michael followed and stood in the doorway. Anne opened drawer after drawer of a tall jewelry case.
“Everything’s still here.”
Michael bit back the question.
Anne smiled at him and lifted the crystal from beneath her blouse.
“Thank God,” he said before he could stop himself.
“It’s safe.” Anne tucked the necklace back under her clothes. She looked around the floor at her sweaters and started searching. After a few minutes, she stood. “But the box it came in is gone.”
“Was there anything in it?”
“A note from my aunt I would have liked to have kept.”
At that moment, there was a knock on the door. Two police officers showed their badges to Anne and then walked into the apartment. Immediately, one of them took Michael aside and began asking him questions. The man in charge questioned Anne. More police arrived and they carefully sorted through the apartment.
By the time the officer finished with Michael, the apartment was full of various officials checking out the crime scene. He looked around for Anne and saw her in the living room, surrounded by police, with an older man wearing an old-fashioned ascot. Standing just beside the door was another man dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform.
“Pack a bag. You can’t stay here,” Michael heard the older man say.
“I would recommend you stay somewhere else, Ms. Le Clair,” said the officer in charge. “We want you to be safe, and the detectives need to go over the apartment with a fine-tooth comb.”
Anne looked from one to the other. “Oh, all right. But please find my cats.” She walked into her bedroom.
Michael decided it was best to leave. Anne had enough to deal with and it seemed she’d forgotten him in the crisis. He walked to the front door of the apartment, then glanced back into the room. The man in the ascot was watching him carefully. He turned to the chauffer. “Please tell the lady I will call tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” the man said neutrally.
Michael suppressed a sigh of frustration and walked down the hall to the elevator. At least Anne and the crystal were safe for now.
☥☥☥
Karl Mueller stood in the back of a richly appointed conference room, wishing he were anywhere else.
“It is evident the Le Clairs are planning to make their move in February, during the alignment.” A tall man dressed all in black sat in front of a gold statue of Isis alleged to be from the tomb of King Tutankhamen. “We must stop their bid for power. Spender, what do you have?”
“Our attempts to gain control of the Le Clair crystal are ongoing.”
“In other words, you don’t have it.”
“Not at this time.”
“When may we expect it?” The man in black looked past Spender to Mueller.
Mueller shifted his weight to both feet and stood at attention. “The niece has moved into the family compound. It would be best to wait until she goes to Egypt, if that meets with your approval.”
“At least we took care of the previous Keeper. This new one is untrained. She’ll never be able to do the job.” The man turned and addressed a woman seated at the table. “Miriam, your report?”
“Our crystal bearer travels to Israel, then Egypt, the second week in January.”
“How much does the group know about the mission?”
“They believe they’ll be restoring the world to light, bringing in a new age of enlightenment through a ritual with the keys. Michael hopes to find remnants of the wisdom tradition in Egypt. He thinks they will know the details.”
The man in black sat silent, but Mueller knew from experience that he could be speaking mind to mind with the other adepts in the room. The man nodded his head, as if agreeing with someone, then looked up. “Spender and Mueller, gain control of the keys before the alignment. You’ll be looking for six in all. The crystals will draw the Keepers together.” He looked around at everyone sitting at the table. “We’ve put all the pieces in place. We must squash this final attempt to wrest control from our alliance. Don’t be misled by our enemies’ apparent weaknesses. They are quite resourceful.”