Tides of Fire, page 28
“In his old governor’s office,” the shouter called back, proving his own knowledge of the historical angle to all of this. “Do his papers mention petrified bodies?”
Gray stiffened.
What the hell?
Seichan glanced at him, looking less angry and more confused.
“They do!” Gray admitted. “An illness that dissolves bones and re-calcifies into bodily tissues.”
More mumbling followed this admission.
A new voice called over, higher pitched and anxious, “Is there a cure?”
3:46 A.M.
Heng was hauled back by Captain Wen. The soldier’s fingers dug down to bone. Even Xue scolded him with a frown. He was pushed back into the cadre of Falcon commandos.
Still, his hastily shouted question was answered.
“Raffles does mention an elixir!” the American called back. “But that remedy is buried in riddles. It will take the recovery of those other pages to know more.”
Wen shifted over to Xue. “I have men circling to the rear courtyard. Keep the Americans talking until we’re in position.”
“No,” Xue ordered. “Hold your forces in place. Our opponents are no fools. They’ll be watching their backs. They could easily burn those pages before any raid shuts them down.”
Wen looked ready to object, stepping closer to do so.
Xue turned his shoulder to the man. “For now, I say we consider their offer. We could perhaps learn what they know, get them to share it—then decide what to do.”
Heng let out the breath he had been holding. He pictured Petty Officer Wong and Sublieutenant Junjie in the medical ward back in Cambodia.
If there was even the slimmest chance of a cure, we must find it.
Heng shook free of the fingers holding him. “The Americans are right. We either cooperate fully, share what each side knows—or we risk losing everything. If this geological collapse continues unchecked, it will bring down the world.”
As Xue pondered this, his eyes reflected the firelight from their brief battle. To Heng, the spreading flames was a microcosm of the greater threat.
As the house burns around us, we’re still arguing.
“Please . . .” Heng begged.
Xue slowly nodded, having come to a decision. He stepped forward and called across the hall. “I agree to a truce!”
Wen shook his head with a scowl.
Heng listened as further exchanges finalized the parley. The representatives of their respective sides would meet in the middle of the long hall. While these details were worked out, a handful of the museum staff rushed forward and fought the flames with extinguishers.
Smoke fogged the room and filled the rafters.
Once the fires were out, Xue headed across with Captain Wen and another two commandos. Heng followed, carrying the old steel box from the Singapore museum.
Through the pall ahead, a group approached. They were led by a tall man with a ruddy complexion and dark hair, likely the one who had made this deal. He was accompanied by a slim Eurasian woman holding a pistol and a severe-faced older man with an assault rifle. Behind them, two other gunmen followed.
At each end of the gallery, their respective armies bristled with weapons, encouraging their continuing cooperation.
The two parties finally reached a waist-high marble table in the middle. It divided their two camps. A broken and blasted piece of statuary lay to one side. Heng felt a twinge of guilt at the destruction wrought here, but fear burned it away—both for himself and the world.
Xue stepped forward, facing his opponent.
Except for their nationalities, the two looked a match. In height, in determination, in icy-eyed intelligence. It was no wonder the Americans had confounded them at every turn. This opponent was no one to trifle with.
Xue leaned his palms on the marble. “Let’s begin.”
4:01 A.M.
With her Glock in hand, Seichan kept close watch on the captain of the commandos. The man’s countenance was a stone wall, shadowed by a helmet. He clutched a QSZ-92 pistol and had an assault rifle slung across his chest.
At the marble table, Gray and his Chinese counterpart, Major Choi Xue, started their exchange. Information flowed in fits and starts, both sides clearly reserving as much as possible.
Gray leaned over and stared into a steel box.
Seichan remembered the fight over it at the Singapore museum. She studied it from the corner of her eye. The box held a stick of black coral. It matched the one sketched in Raffles’s pages. The other object made no sense—even Gray’s eyes narrowed at the sight of it.
“What is that?” Gray asked, glancing up from under a lowered brow.
Seichan recognized his tone, his manner.
He knows something and is testing the other.
Xue picked it up, examined it, and placed it on the marble. “As far as we’ve been able to determine, it appears to be a wooden spearhead. Bound with twined rope. It’s clearly old, but we have no clue how it ties to anything.”
Seichan gave it a second glance and reluctantly agreed with him.
It did look like an old spearhead, painted with ceremonial symbols.
Gray glanced back to their group. “Do you mind if I have someone else join us? Someone who might confirm my suspicions about this object.”
“Certainly. That’s fine.”
Gray motioned for the museum director to join them. Kadir did so with some reluctance. He shook his head at the ruins of the room. Once he arrived, introductions were quickly made.
Gray pointed to the spearhead. “Director Numberi, I wanted to make sure that’s what I think it is. That it’s an Aboriginal bullroarer.”
“It is.” Kadir picked it up. “From the markings, it’s likely the work of the Kaurareg people, also called the Torres Strait Islander peoples. They lived among the islands between Australia and Papua New Guinea and were renowned for their nautical skills.”
“What’s a bullroarer?” Xue asked with a perplexed but interested expression.
Kadir unwrapped part of the twining, as if ready to demonstrate how to use it. Instead, due to the confined space, he pantomimed and pretended to whip the bladed piece of wood through the air by its string.
“When spun rapidly,” he explained, “the plane of wood creates a very loud and distinctive roaring noise. Hence, its more common name. Among the First Nations peoples, it goes by many different names, but all of them roughly mean secret-sacred.”
Xue stood straighter. “How were they used?”
“Mostly in ceremonies. Sometimes as a means of communication over great distances. Up to ten miles, especially on a quiet night or over water. The sound could reach a hundred decibels. Equivalent of a chainsaw. It could also be modulated by speed and direction to create the equivalent of a Morse code.”
Xue’s eyes narrowed at this explanation, as if it bore some bearing on what he knew and still kept secret.
Gray pressed the director, too. “What sort of sacred ceremonies was it used for?”
“Mostly to ward off evil spirits or bad tidings.”
Gray glanced to the high shuttered windows, likely picturing the flaming skies around Jakarta and beyond. Seichan imagined the same.
This definitely counts as bad tidings.
“There are many taboos surrounding the use of a bullroarer,” Kadir added. “To use it without permission was punishable by death. Especially as the First Nations peoples believe the sound of a bullroarer is the voice of the Rainbow Serpent, their most sacred god of creation.”
Gray’s brows pinched at this revelation. He looked harder at the wooden object.
Xue cocked his head, noting Gray’s reaction.
As of yet, neither side was willing to fully share what they knew.
Gray recognized this, too, and challenged Xue. He pointed at the box and its contents. “A piece of coral. An old bullroarer. You clearly have more knowledge about all of this. You mentioned petrified bodies earlier. Which has nothing to do with what you showed us in the box. So, clearly you’re not being forthright.”
Xue stood his ground. “The same could be said of you, Commander Pierce. You refuse to show us Raffles’s papers, guarding them with the army behind you. You tell us part of his tale, but not all of it. Clearly you suspect some connection to the Aboriginal people—yet, you do not say why.”
They stared hard at each other for several long breaths.
The impasse was broken by the quietest of them. “Why are we here?” Dr. Luo Heng said with acid in his voice. He pointed a finger at Gray. “Tell us . . . show us . . . what you know, what you learned, what you suspect.”
Xue nodded, folding his arms.
But Heng wasn’t done. His finger swung to the major. “And, Xue, you tell the others about our submariners, about the ELF transmission, about the lunar rocks and strange crystals.”
Xue’s face darkened, looking both shocked and furious.
“Or fucking shoot me,” Heng declared with a heavy shrug. “I don’t care. Time is running out, and you two are still playing games. Keep this up, and we’ll all be dead.”
Captain Wen looked willing to take up that offer and shoot the man. His pistol shifted toward Heng, but Xue pushed the weapon aside.
“Dr. Luo is not wrong,” Xue admitted after taking a deep breath. “Let us cooperate more openly. To—as you said earlier—save the world.”
Xue held a hand across the marble.
Gray stared down at it—then with a nod, he reached and shook the man’s hand.
“I have a wild story to share,” Gray admitted.
Xue smiled for the first time. “I think I can beat it.”
28
January 24, 4:45 A.M. WIB
Jakarta, Island of Java, Indonesia
A half hour later, Gray stared down at the two e-tablets resting atop the marble table. Each side had laid them down, like poker players revealing their cards. Gray had shown Xue a digitized version of the pages, allowing the man to read through them and review the sketches. Gray had also shared what he knew, what he suspected. Still, as a precaution, he kept the original pages with Guan-yin and the triad force.
Likewise, Xue had closed the steel box and passed it to Dr. Luo for safekeeping.
We might be showing our cards, but we’re still not willing to hand them over.
On his tablet, Xue had shared pictures of orthorhombic crystals and petrified bodies, along with glimpses of what could be pieces of a planetoid buried in Earth’s mantle. Xue had even played a macabre video of a black skull splitting open and discharging a thrashing, tendrilled mass.
Gray swallowed and did his best to stitch their two stories together. “Let me get this straight in my head. Back in 2020, a Chinese lunar lander drilled into what could be a buried, crystalline vein of Theia, the ancient planetoid that crashed into the primordial Earth and formed the moon. When that happened, an ELF transmission was picked up, coming from a chunk of the same planetoid buried beneath the Tonga Trench.”
Xue acknowledged as much with a nod. “Whatever we did on the moon must have been sensed by the pieces on Earth. While no transmission was detected coming from the moon, it could be something unknown to our tech. Tachyon. Gravity waves. Maybe the pieces are still connected via some quantum entanglement, so one immediately knows what’s happening to the other.”
“But that event—that ELF transmission in 2020—it didn’t result in a tectonic disaster like we’re experiencing now. It only damaged the lander, disabling its drill. It almost sounds like the Chang’e-5 had been specifically targeted. Maybe to keep it from further attacking that vein.”
“Possibly,” Xue admitted.
“Then two weeks ago, one of your subs went to investigate the source of the transmission. Once it was in the area, your military sent a matching ELF pulse.”
“A strong one.”
“Which triggered a quake. And in some way damaged the submarine enough to sink it into the trench. Now, the instability has been steadily worsening, threatening the world.”
Xue looked down, clearly pained by his words.
Gray shook his head. “It’s not your fault. No one could’ve predicted what would follow. But together maybe we can find a way to stop it.”
Xue nodded once and raised his head.
Gray continued, “Stamford Raffles and Dr. Crawfurd must have experienced a similar event when Mount Tambora erupted. The biomineralized bodies, a dangerous sea, escalating quakes and volcanic eruptions. But they learned some secret, something connected to Aboriginal knowledge and history.”
Matthew’s drawing of the Rainbow Serpent still glowed on the e-tablet’s screen.
Gray pictured the bullroarer and remembered Kadir’s words about the sound it generated. The voice of their god. He sensed something important there, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.
Xue sighed loudly, drawing back his attention. “But how can we be sure Stamford discovered anything significant?”
“We can’t, but one piece of this history makes me believe he might have.”
“What?”
“It’s a detail that continues to baffle geologists and volcanologists who have studied the Tambora eruption.” Gray stared toward the shuttered windows. “Stamford even reports this in his papers. After the first eruption, the mountain continued to explode. Each blast stronger than the one before it. Volcanologists have no explanation for why it suddenly ceased. The pattern was inconsistent with known events—both in the escalating eruptions and their sudden end.”
“You believe Stamford found a way to quell the mountain.”
“Maybe.”
Heng stepped forward. “What about the cure to the petrifying disease?”
“Stamford might have found that, too. But none of this speculation does us any good without those missing pages.” Gray turned to Kadir, who hung behind them and had listened to everything. His expression balanced between amazement and disbelief. “Director Numberi, can you take us to those old records, so we can figure out which of the museum’s thirty-seven rooms was Stamford’s office?”
Xue spoke up. “No need. I know where it is.” He turned and pointed to the opposite wing. “It’s on the second story. Overlooking Fatahillah Square.”
Kadir’s eyes got huge. “I think you’re describing my office.”
Gray smiled. “If so, that makes sense. The museum director should be given the best office.”
Kadir shook his head. “But nothing’s there. It was stripped long ago. Multiple times. It’s been the director’s office for more than fifty years.”
Gray remained undeterred. “Then let’s go see how well Stamford was at keeping a secret.” He turned to Xue. “That is, if our truce still stands.”
Xue shrugged. “For now.”
5:02 A.M.
In the office of the museum director, Seichan stood next to Gray. “I guess it’s better than tapping on the walls.”
“They came prepared,” he admitted.
Kadir’s second-floor office was shuttered and dark. Flashlights lit the space and danced along the walls. A wide mahogany desk stood to one side. It was heavy and sturdy, as much an historical artifact as anything in the museum. Even the planks of the floor were scarred and scuffed and nailed in black iron. Overhead, timbered beams held up the roof. One wall was covered in a bookcase that looked melded in place by age and use. It was filled with a private collection of carved figures, small stone idols, woven grass baskets, and other pottery. Books filled every other niche.
Across from Seichan, one of Xue’s men panned the wall from floor to ceiling with a screened device he held between two hands. The glorified stud-finder glowed with a vague image of what lay behind the lathe and plaster. The technician had already swept the other three walls, searching for a hidden object, a secret room, or cubby.
As an extra measure, Gray had tested the bookshelves, tugging and searching each shelf and frame—until he finally admitted defeat.
The tech finished the fourth wall and lowered the device and gave Xue his assessment. “Méiyǒu.”
Seichan translated for Gray. “Nothing.”
Xue crossed his arms and rubbed his chin.
“What about the floor?” Gray asked. “This building—to have lasted from 1710—must be heavily joisted.”
Xue nodded. “Of course.”
The technician set about scanning the room’s planks, sweeping back and forth. There were only a few people to get in his way. Zhuang flanked Gray’s other side. Besides Xue, the Chinese contingent included the tech, the sour-faced Captain Wen, and Dr. Luo, who stood in a corner with a worried expression.
They had all felt the series of quakes, heard the cannon fire of more eruptions.
The rest of the city had fallen eerily quiet. The panicked shouts, honking horns, and sirens had died away, as if everyone knew the futility of fighting the inevitable.
Except us.
The tech stopped, retreated a step, then stood for a moment. He started again, this time making a small circle over the rug in front of Kadir’s desk. “I found something,” he reported in Mandarin to Xue and Wen.
Gray needed no translation and crossed to join the others. The tech spoke rapidly to Xue and pointed to a large rectangular shadow on the screen. It filled the space between two floor joists.
“The engineer believes it’s metal,” Xue reported.
“We can dig it out.” Gray turned to Kadir—more out of politeness than any true intent to bend to the director’s will if the man refused.
Kadir nodded. “I’ll help roll the rug back.”
They all worked to clear the space. The planks beneath the rug appeared no different than those around them. Same rough scuffing, same dark patinating. Yet, from the scan, something was clearly under them.
Kadir pointed to the doorway. “There’s a fire axe in the hall.”
Captain Wen crossed and barked orders to his men. Out in the hallway, their two armies were entrenched at either end. After some scuffling, one of the commandos rushed in with an axe. Not to be outdone, Yeung followed inside with another.
