Decipher, page 8
“Zoroaster’s teaching revolved around a god called Ormazd,” Pearce added. “And it wasn’t until the Jewish exodus from Egypt that all sorts of Zoroastrian traditions started turning up in their own religion as they traveled further east back toward Israel. That’s probably what got Moses so mad. The idea of guardian angels was Zoroastrian.”
Scott eyed him sharply. “Yes. As was the resurrection, which they believed in for hundreds of years before the Jews or the Christians.”
Hackett wanted to know: “Who was this Mithras person?”
“Mithras was a branch of Zoroastrianism. You know, like Baptist is a branch of Christianity. But Mithras was also the main god they worshipped. He was closely connected with the sun. The fall and rise of the sun related to the death and resurrection of life. And the symbol they used for the sun was a cross. Actually, in their writing it was a halo. But for architectural simplicity it was a cross.”
“They weren’t alone, either,” Pearce added. “A lot of cultures around the world use the symbol of a cross to represent the sun.”
Hackett raised an eyebrow. “The sun?”
November glared accusingly. “Is that true?”
Pearce was confounded by her reaction. He shifted in his chair. “Yes,” he said defensively.
“A real crucifixion scaffold,” Scott added, “isn’t shaped like a cross. It literally is a scaffold. Lots of cross-beams. There was no cross. At least, not until early artists got hold of the idea and added a glowing sunlike halo around Christ’s head—”
“Which came directly from statues of the Greek sun god Helios,” Pearce nodded.
“Which leads us all back to the Sumerians,” Scott concluded. He was met with silence in the room as they all picked over the implications.
“I read the geology report,” Scott said excitedly. The cult of Mithras provided the vision of Heaven and Hell, The Last Supper, a sacrifice and an ascension. Mithras had its roots in Sumerian tradition. For them, ancient whisperings told tales of an entire people sacrificing themselves to save the world. “The first ever story about a global flood and Noah came from Sumeria. Is that what you think you have here? An earlier Epic of Gilgamesh?”
“Uh, not quite, Dr. Scott,” Gant replied.
“Sorry to be a pain, but …” November had been raised a strict Christian and it was obvious she was having difficulty assimilating these concepts, though to her credit she did not simply dismiss them out of hand. “Dr. Scott—you said that every major religion in history borrowed from what went before them. Well, if that’s so, where did the Sumerians get their ideas? And where did they come from?”
Scott hesitated, but Pearce was more than willing to step in. He sat forward and waved his pen around. “Nobody knows!” he grinned, then his face fell serious. “Until now.” He keyed the remote control to the digital screen, making sure the sound was turned low.
“Yeah, this is where I come in,” Matheson told them all. “You might recognize the pictures from the news. What you’re seeing is the drill ship Red Osprey. I’m an engineer by trade. We were out in the Antarctic, doing an exploratory drill when we hit a problem …”
The screen showed all hell breaking loose. The pipe buckling. The deaths and the eventual blast of mud into the bridge. Everyone in the room winced instinctively. Whereupon the footage changed suddenly to show white-coated scientists cleaning large diamonds in a lab and analyzing them. A close-up of one of the diamonds appeared next, at which point Matheson froze the film. The diamond was unusual, quite clearly. For a start—there was writing on it.
Scott sat forward sharply.
“On the face of it,” Gant remarked, “what language would you say that is, Dr. Scott?”
Scott turned to the officer. “It looks … well, initially, it looks cuneiform. But it can’t be!”
“Why can’t it be?”
“Well, it’s loaded full of symbols I’ve never seen before. The markings are too precise. It looks like a more complex, modern language. At least, that’s how it appears from a photograph.”
Cuneiform, from the Latin cuneus, meaning wedge. Cuneiform writing simply meant that the style was wedge-shaped. It was used by the ancient Persians, Assyrians, Chaldeans, Akkadians, Babylonians and of course, Sumerians. It dated back to 3000-3500 B.C.E. The language was difficult to translate because the symbols stood for entire words as well as syllables, and each symbol was made up of collections of wedges, sometimes up to thirty of them.
“Is it possible I could look at the real thing?” Scott ventured. To say that he was dying to take a look was an understatement. “I’d get a better feel for it, you understand?”
Pearce and Gant eyed each other closely. “Can you read it?”
“I wouldn’t like to say,” Scott said frankly. “Bits of it, maybe. But this kinda job needs work, and a lot of time.”
Major Gant looked pensive. “That’s a problem. Time is something we don’t have.”
“What do you mean?”
Pearce interjected, “I suppose the big question is: do you agree that it’s pre-cuneiform and not post-cuneiform?”
Scott knew what Pearce was getting at and frankly it made him uncomfortable. Cuneiform was the first ever example of the human written word, but the curious thing about it was that the earlier forms were the more complex. The Sumerian and Babylonian alphabets started out with at least 600 characters. Later ones dropped to about 100, and by the time of the Egyptians, the written word had changed to hieroglyphic pictograms before writing evolved into letters again and took the form that was current. The theory was that Sumerian writing evolved from pictograms, but there was very little evidence for this. There were clay tokens and so on, but they were more like early coinage.
In fact, there was more evidence for the reverse—that cuneiform started out complex and got simpler over time by a process of cultural amnesia. It suggested an advanced pre-Sumerian civilization. And Scott was more inclined to side with that camp. Put simply, no one knew where the Sumerians had come from. There was every reason to suppose that they brought their writing with them.
Scott gave a nod. This was earthshattering. A pre-cuneiform text, at last. Pearce seemed pleased with the response, but the big question remained. What on earth was that text doing in the Antarctic? That defied all logic. It had to be a hoax. There were theories that many of the ancient civilizations had had navies that were far more powerful than had at first been assumed. There was increasing evidence that many, like the Phoenicians, Minoans and the Egyptians, had sailed as far as the Americas.
In Brazil there was a bay known as the Bay of Jars because Roman jars and other pottery kept turning up at intervals, presumably from a sunken Roman ship. Also in Brazil an unknown Mediterranean language was discovered on clay inscriptions. A picture of a pineapple, an American fruit, was found in Pompeii. Bearded figurines had been found in Mexico when facial and body hair is alien to native Americans. The sweet potato and peanuts over 2,000 years old had been unearthed in China—more American foods. And in India there were drawings of women holding ears of maize.
Tests on the hair of Egyptian Mummies had shown that they smoked cannabis, tobacco and cocaine. Trouble is, cocaine and tobacco only come from one place—South America. Chinese silk from 1000 B.C.E. also found in mummy hair meant certain trade with China. This was coupled with the fact that dragon’s head lodestones, the stones used to weight down ancient sailing ships, had been found in the Pacific off the coast of Chile. Ancient South American cultures used dragons in their mythology, so it was more than likely they traded with China.
Curiously, before Columbus, European legend had it that a land known as Hy Brazil existed west of the Atlantic. So when new settlers arrived in South America they named the land Brazil after the legend. The curiosity being that brzl was a Hebrew and Aramaic word meaning “iron.” Sometime later it was discovered that Brazil had one of the richest iron-ore deposits to be found anywhere on earth.
But as Scott saw it, all this evidence pointed to a global system of trading blocks. Ancient ingenuity meant these blocks traded goods over many thousands of miles. The Chinese might buy cocaine from South America and sell it on to Egypt or an intermediary without ever having used the stuff. It did not necessarily mean Egyptians ever went to South America. But could some have sailed as far south as the Antarctic? He wasn’t so sure.
Pearce and Matheson started spreading out their sheets of paper. It was a big job and Scott, November and Hackett had no other choice but to watch for a moment. Spread out across the table were maps—primarily maps of Antarctica—and geological surveys from Rola Corp. Some were copies from ancient sources, but others were military surveys from satellites.
Scott had to know. He eyed everyone around the table. This was more than just a translating job. Much more.
“Excuse me,” he asked quietly, “but just what is it you think you’ve found?”
Gant was candid. “Atlantis,” he said.
CHARTS
Scott’s shoulders tensed. He looked to Hackett and November in turn. Yes, he had just heard that right.
Atlantis be damned! Hare-brained theories over the existence of Atlantis had been floating around since Plato first told of Solon’s meeting with the mystical Egyptian high priests. It had been ripped apart in the Atlantic Ocean. It was in the Bahamas. The Mediterranean. It was in South America. It was all over the damn place and it couldn’t be proven one way or the other. Atlantis was in the purview of the fruit-loops, the astrologers and the crystal-ball gazers. But this was the military. They were not fools. What did they know that he didn’t?
Matheson pointed at the table. “Antarctica was discovered in 1818, right?”
Scott took a moment to remember, but when he did, he nodded. “Yes.”
“Here’s a copy of a map drawn up for a Turkish Admiral named Piri Reis in 1513. On the map, he expressly says it was based on an original that was kept elsewhere. Said his sailors had never authenticated the map because the others he used were based on the same older sources which always proved to be accurate. This map shows the coastlines of West Africa, South America and more importantly, Queen Maud Land and other parts of Antarctica. They’re so accurate the USAF authenticated the detail using satellite imagery, because the map shows the actual coastline of Antarctica—not ice floes. Have you ever been to Antarctica, Dr. Scott?”
“No.”
“No? Well, since I just got back I’ll tell you why that’s so incredible. Because it’s only been sixty years since we’ve had the technology available to see through the ice and take a look at the real coastline. And that particular stretch of beach hasn’t been free of ice for at least six thousand years. So how was somebody supposed to draw a map of it, unless they had a ship capable of taking them there—which automatically means civilization, and considering the accuracy, automatically means an advanced civilization?”
Pearce nodded vehemently. “Piri Reis’s maps were based on originals that were sacked from the great Library of Alexandria, in Egypt, and brought to Constantinople,” he said. “But he wasn’t alone. Oronteus Finaeus drew one in 1531, based on ancient charts, that showed the whole of Antarctica with mountains and rivers. That means you needed to know the interior, not just the coast, and it had to be free of ice.”
“Do you know how big Antarctica is, Dr. Scott?” Matheson asked. Scott shook his head. “It’s big. It’s twice the size of the United States. You can’t just go chart rivers and mountains, and get them exact in a couple of days on the back of a raft. I design stuff for a living, so people can go to far-off places and work, and mine and drill for oil. I’m screwed without a map and a geological report. But these old maps—they got everything!”
“In the mid-1500s,” Pearce continued, “we got a guy called Mercator, real name Gerard Kremer. Supremo map-maker, who draws an exact map of Antarctica from ancient sources and develops a sudden need to run off and visit the Great Pyramid in Cairo. And then in 1737, French geographer Philippe Buache comes up with a map that is so accurate, it shows what Antarctica would have looked like with no ice on it—at all. Which would have been around fifteen thousand years ago! This is a hundred years before it was even supposed to have been discovered, Dr. Scott! Then we got Hadji Ahmed’s map of the world from 1559. He was another Turk, and his chart also shows a land bridge between Siberia and Alaska.
“I got on the phone to Sarah Kelsey, our company’s best geologist. You read her report. She said there used to be a land bridge there about twelve to fourteen thousand years ago. There’s tons of scientific evidence for it. Copies of all those maps are on the table too, if you care to look.”
Scott stood firm. He was not so easily swayed. “I’ve heard of most of those maps, Mr. Matheson. They’re not new to me. But—and it’s a very big but—they do not prove the existence of Atlantis. They simply prove that our ancient ancestors were damn good map-makers and that we as a species are very forgetful. I won’t dispute with you on that count. But think about what you’re asking me to do. You’re asking for a leap of faith of such magnitude that it defies all reason.” Scott looked at him sadly. “I’m sorry.”
Pearce was shaking his head. “Aren’t you the same guy who collected the myths and legends of over five hundred cultures from around the world which speak of an ancient flood—the deluge myth? Isn’t that you? You are Dr. Richard Scott, aren’t you?”
“Tales of the Deluge. Yes. But those are myths. Legends. Stories that make great bedtime reading. The Sumerian Epic of Gilgamesh dates from around 5000 B.C.E. It has the same flood story as the Bible’s—matches Noah’s story exactly. But it’s just literature … A story.”
“Schliemann followed a story and found the lost city of Troy.”
Pearce rounded the desk. Snatched up the remote again and keyed the play button. The picture was a little fuzzy and was of far lower quality than before, but it was clear what was happening. A tiny camera was descending down the inside of a long dark pipeline. There was another, smaller pipe about five inches in diameter going down the center through which the oil would have been funneled. It was clear that the camera was lodged in between.
“It’s a service camera,” Matheson explained, “designed to check the pipeline from the drill node on the sea floor, down to the bore site. Visual was really irrelevant, but it was a prototype, so I stuck a camera on the thing. Didn’t think we’d ever need it.”
The camera got lower and lower. Some of the damaged pipe was visible, and there were tears in the steel-alloy. Finally, through a mist of debris in the water, the destination became visible.
“These weren’t rocks we found on the sea-bed, Dr. Scott. We hadn’t hit a buried shipwreck. This is two miles down. Half a mile into the sea floor. We hit a wall. A real, honest to goodness wall. Like you build houses out of. A wall. Are you following me?”
“Yes,” came the clipped response.
“Only this wall wasn’t made out of bricks and mortar, it was made out of diamond. One, huge, solid chunk of diamond. And there’s no telling how vast it really is.”
Through the darkness, lit up by the onboard flashlight, a field of blue crystal was visible. At the bottom of the picture sat the destroyed drill-bit. In the wall was an impact crater where chunks of the diamond had sheared off and a hole was punctured straight through the wall. It was obvious that beyond there must have been water under intense pressure from the weight of the ice-pack above which blasted up the pipeline when it broke. Overall, however, it seemed the wall fared better than the machinery.
The wall was faultless otherwise, and was covered in fine, delicate-looking lettering. It was the proof that was needed.
“Now you tell me, Dr. Scott. Who the hell went out and built a wall two miles down in sub-zero temperatures—in a subterranean cavern? In all my experience as an engineer, drilling for oil all over the world, I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t know of any country, and I mean any country, that has the current technology to be able to do that. And that amount of diamond? Hell, you’d destroy half the entire world’s financial base overnight. The King of England might as well have acorns stuck in his crown, they’d probably be worth more.”
Scott could not believe what he was being presented with. “You want me to translate all that?”
November pored quickly over the maps. Tried to make sense of it all. “Dr. Scott,” she said huskily. “I think this is for real.”
Hackett remained insouciant and unreadable.
“D’you know how long it takes to translate archaic texts?” Scott tossed out.
“Yes.”
“No, I don’t think you do. It took the collective minds of a good chunk of academia over a hundred years to translate the Mayan codex, and that language still existed in the Yucatan Peninsula of Eastern Mexico. Pre-cuneiform is a dead language. It’s forgotten. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“Then you’d better figure out a way pretty sharply, Dr. Scott,” announced the Admiral, marching in through the far door. “Because lives depend on it.”
The name on his tag read: Dower. The look on his face said: Read my name tag. Admiral Dower was an imposing figure. Tall, slim and black. He kept his head shaved under his hat.
Anyone who knew military matters would have noticed he had the Legion of Merit, with one gold star, pinned to his chest. They would have noticed the Defense Meritorious Service Medal, the Meritorious Service Medal, the Strike-flight Air Medal (with eight subsequent awards), the Navy Commendation Medal with combat “V,” the Presidential Unit Citation, and the Gulf War Cross of Gallantry, and these were but a few of his numerous campaign medals. Rear Admiral Thomas C. Dower, USN, had seen some action in his time. He had a right to live up to his name.
Following on behind him was a civilian and a whole host of other military personnel. But only Dower and the civilian took seats. Matheson introduced the other man as Jay Houghton from Rola Corp. legal.
Houghton flicked his eyes across the yellow legal pad and couldn’t help but growl like some kind of courtroom trick he’d picked up at law school. Make it seem all the worse so that when you did pull the rabbit out of the hat, you got to look like a genius. Though Scott doubted the man ever went anywhere near a courtroom these days. Corporate lawyers never did. Just got their secretaries to mail out death threats before lunch every Monday.
