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Mick soars above the molten lake of metal, then plunges into the raging river of seawater draining atop the lake’s molten metal surface.

Mick releases the emptied tank as he is inhaled by the torrent, fear and adrenaline driving his arms and legs as he directs his way toward the inoperable shaft from which he came. He grabs onto the grating and pulls himself up as the rising tide races in behind him.

Mick yanks open the hatch, staring down into the dark shaft.
Don’t stop, don’t think, just jump
!

He jumps, plunging feet first down the seventy-degree chute in total darkness, the air tank screeching at his back, the roar above his head momentarily receding. Pressing his forearms to the slick metallic surface, he tries desperately to slow his descent, using the neoprene wet suit as a brake pad.

Mick shoots out of the shaft opening, tumbling headfirst into the vertical facing of a rotor blade. Dazed, he struggles to his feet, registering powerful vibrations as the giant turbine growls to life beneath his feet.

Climb over—get back to the sub
!

Mick pulls himself up and over the seven-foot-high blade as a river of seawater explodes out of the ceiling. He lands on his feet, panicking as turbine blades begin rotating, reversing, fighting to push the
Barnacle
free.

Don’t let the minisub leave without you
!

Mick stumbles through knee-deep water, sucking in a deep breath of air before releasing the cumbersome air tank from his back. Freed from the weight, he leaps onto the titanium hull as a raging wall of water slams into him from behind, nearly tossing him from the vessel.

The donut-shaped chamber is filling quickly with water, the pressure building, threatening to burst the sub free at any moment. Mick pulls himself to the top of the
Barnacle
, feeling the pressure in his head intensify as he wrenches open the hatch and stumbles down the opening, slamming the entry shut behind him, sealing it with a twist.

An explosion of water flips the minisub sideways.

Mick tumbles down the ladder, landing hard on shards of broken equipment as the
Barnacle
is freed.

A screeching, deafening whine as the giant turbine accelerates to a hundred revolutions per second, propelling the minisub back up and out of its intake shaft like a speeding bullet.

Aboard the
Scylla
.

8:40 P.M.

“It’s a maelstrom!” Captain Furman is thrown over a control console, the floor twisting out from under him as twelve tons of steel drill pipe are hurled across the lower deck.

Sounds of screeching metal rend the air. With an agonized groan, the upper deck of the seven-story platform sways against the monstrous current, the
Scylla
listing at a sixty-degree angle as half a dozen submerged mooring lines attached to one pontoon refuse to yield to the growing vortex.

Technicians and equipment slide across the open decking, plunging helplessly into the raging emerald sea.

The remaining moor lines snap, releasing the rig from the seafloor. The buoyant superstructure rights itself—then spins, bobbing and pitching within the swirling mouth of the luminescent whirlpool.

Alarms howl against the night. Bewildered crewmen stagger from their cabins, only to be battered by flying debris. As their world gyrates around them in dizzying revolutions, they stumble down aluminum stairwells, moving to the lower deck, where a dozen lifeboats hang suspended from winches.

Brian Dodds clutches the lines of one lifeboat, his ears filled with the howling roar of the maelstrom. The craft is suspended six feet below, but the
Scylla
is now tossing so violently that climbing down to the lifeboat is no longer an option.

The oil rig lurches sideways, caught within the centrifugal force of the maelstrom, which pins the
Scylla
against the wall of the funnel. The NASA director opens his eyes, forcing himself to look upon the dazzling source of energy radiating upward from the center of the turbulent sea. Dodds holds on, sucking in a desperate breath as a forty-foot wave washes over him, crashing through the lower deck as it snags the last of the lifeboats in its fury.

Dodds’s stomach lurches sickeningly, his eyes widening in disbelief as the center of the vortex suddenly drops to the seafloor, the rig spinning precariously atop the two-thousand-foot watery precipice. Within the blinding emerald madness he sees something—a black, winged creature, levitating steadily upward through the whirlpool’s vortex like a demon rising from hell.

The winged beast soars past him, disappearing into the night—as the
Scylla
tumbles sideways, free-falling into the mouth of oblivion.

The lifeless being streaks along the surface of the Gulf at supersonic speed, gliding effortlessly on a dense cushion of antigravity. Moving southwest, it ascends to a higher altitude, its energy stream rattling the mountain peaks over Mexico as it races toward the Pacific.

Upon reaching the ocean, its preprogrammed sensory array alters its course to a more precise westerly route. The being slows, adjusting its speed so that it will remain on the darkened side of the planet during the entire length of its fateful journey.

JOURNAL OF

JULIUS GABRIEL.

O
ur honeymoon in Cairo was bliss. Maria was everything to me—my soulmate, my lover, my companion, my best friend. To say her presence consumed me is no exaggeration. Her beauty, her scent, her sexuality—everything about her was so intoxicating that I often felt myself drunk with love, ready, if not eager, to forsake my sworn oath to unravel the riddle of the Mayan calendar, just to return to the States with my young bride.

To start a family. To live out a normal life.

Maria had other plans. After a week’s honeymoon, she insisted we continue our journey into man’s past by searching the Great Pyramid for clues linking this magnificent Egyptian structure to the icon drawn upon the Nazca plateau.

Who can argue with an angel?

When it comes to Giza, the subject of who built the pyramids is just as important as
when
,
how
, and
why
. You see, the Giza structures are a paradox unto themselves, erected with unfathomable precision for a purpose that still remains a mystery thousands of years after their completion. Unlike the other ancient monuments of Egypt the pyramids of Giza were not built as tombs; in fact, they lack any identifying hieroglyphics, internal inscriptions, sarcophagus, or any treasures to speak of.

As mentioned earlier, erosion at the base of the Sphinx would later prove that the structures of Giza had been erected in 10,450 BC, distinguishing them as the oldest in all of Egypt.

You’ll notice that I do not refer to these wonders as the pyramids of Khufu, Khafre, and Menkaure. Egyptologists would have us believe it was these three pharaohs who commissioned the monoliths built. What utter nonsense! Khufu had about as much to do with the design and construction of the Great Pyramid as Arthur, a Christian king, did Stonehenge, which was abandoned 1500 years before Christ.

The fallacy dates back to 1837, when Colonel Howard Vyse was commissioned to excavate Giza. The archaeologist, having made no significant discoveries to speak of (and quite desperate for funds), conveniently managed to locate quarry marks bearing Khufu’s name in a rather obscure tunnel he himself had haphazardly excavated within the pyramid. For some reason, no one seemed to question the fact that the identifying markings had been painted upside down (some even misspelled), and that no other inscriptions were found anywhere else inside the Great Pyramid.

The Egyptologists, of course, preach Vyse’s discovery as the gospel.

Many years later, an inventory stela would be unearthed by the French archaeologist, Auguste Mariette. The text appearing on the stone, the ancient equivalent of an historical placard for tourists, clearly indicates the pyramids were built long before Khufu’s reign, referring to the structures at Giza as the House of Osiris, Lord of Rostau.

Osiris—perhaps the most revered figure in all Egyptian history—a great teacher and wise man who abolished cannibalism and left a lasting legacy to his people.

Osiris … the bearded god-king.

Maria and I spent most of our time examining the Great Pyramid, although the entire Giza site plan lends itself to one mysterious, yet very distinct purpose.

The exterior of the Great Pyramid is as mind-boggling as its interior. Having previously discussed the temple’s measurements in relationship to the value pi, precession, and the dimensions of the Earth, I’ll proceed to the structure’s four limestone-block sides. As incredible as it may seem, each side spans 755 feet, the pyramid coming within a mere eight inches of being a perfect square. Each side is also aligned to true north, east, south, and west, facts that make a greater impact when one realizes the Great Pyramid is constructed of 2,300,000 stone blocks, each weighing between 2.5 and 15 tons. (In the smallest of the three Giza pyramids lies a single stone weighing 320 tons. As I record these words in the year 2000, there are only three cranes in the entire world that could lift such a monumental weight off the ground.) Yet, as was the case in Tiahuanaco and Stonehenge, no machinery was used to move these incredible weights, which had to be transported from a distant quarry, then placed in position, oftentimes hundreds of feet off the ground.

Most onlookers gazing upon the Great Pyramid do not realize that the structure’s sides were originally finished with highly polished casing stones, each of these 144,000 blocks weighing 20,000 pounds. Only remnants of these casing stones remain today, the majority having been destroyed after a massive earthquake in AD 1301, yet we know the limestone blocks had been cut with such precision and skill that the blade of a knife could not be inserted between them. One can only imagine what the Great Pyramid must have looked like thousands of years ago—a six-million-ton structure covering 13 acres—shimmering under the Egyptian sun like glass.

While the exterior of the pyramid is a wondrous sight to behold, it is the interior of this mysterious structure that may conceal its true purpose.

The Great Pyramid contains several passageways leading to two barren rooms, innocuously named the King’s Chamber and the Queen’s Chamber. The true purpose of these rooms is still unknown. A concealed doorway along the northern face leads one down a narrow passage connecting to a corridor ascending straight into the heart of the pyramid. After a brief climb, one can either enter a claustrophobic, 130-foot-long horizontal tunnel leading to the Queen’s Chamber, or continue ascending still farther by way of the Grand Gallery, an impressive vaultlike corridor that leads up to the King’s Chamber.