The Inca Prophecy (19 page)

‘Lena fell into a trance,’ Anna explained, ‘and she couldn’t remember a word she’d said, even though the channelling lasted nearly two hours. The psychic Edgar Cayce had a similar ability to channel while in a trance, and people were very distrustful of his powers until he predicted the Great Depression, World War II, the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls and a host of other events.’

‘I seem to remember he predicted La Niña and El Niño as well,’ said Aleta, ‘although there’s still doubt cast over many of his predictions.’

‘Scepticism is a natural human reaction,’ Lena said. Her voice was low and husky. ‘We tend to rely on our senses, and particularly our sight. If people can’t actually see something, then they often refuse to believe it exists. Shall we begin?’

Anna placed the skull on a small turntable in front of Lena so
she could move it as she wished. The beams of light deep within the crystal seemed to intensify.

‘Once I’m ready, you can ask the skull anything you like,’ Lena said, ‘but your questions apparently need to be quite specific, otherwise the answers won’t make much sense. And don’t be surprised if the skull anticipates what you’re about to ask … He does that a lot.’ Lena closed her eyes and began to rock slowly back and forth on the couch, reaching out and placing her hands on the skull. Her breathing slowed and her whole body was focused on the skull. Suddenly a humming sound filled the small room and Lena began to speak in a strange, high-pitched voice.

‘You are here because you are one of the few who will accept what you are about to be told, but even you are sceptical of what you might learn. That’s because you wrongly assume that every civilisation that follows has more knowledge than those which came before. Nothing could be further from the truth. Your scientists are at a loss to understand how I was made from crystal, a material that would normally shatter when carved against the axis of the quartz. But I, and others like me, were formed in civilisations that came before the ones you call the Egyptian, the Maya and the Inca.’

Aleta was about to ask her first question, but the skull continued speaking through Lena.

‘Your civilisation is in grave danger. In 2012, this planet moves into alignment with the dark rift at the centre of your galaxy, and it will fall to you and a few chosen others – including one man in particular – to alert your people to the dangers. Together you will recover an ancient Maya Codex, but the Maya Codex contains only one part of the warning. The other part of the warning is found
within yet another civilisation, just as sophisticated as the Maya; a civilisation that built its cities and temples with such precision that you could not fit a knife blade between the stones.’

‘The Inca!’ Aleta whispered. The Inca had not discovered the wheel, yet somehow they had managed to construct their temples and walls using massive polished boulders, some weighing more than 30 tonnes, and without using mortar. The Inca stonemasons had shaped the blocks so perfectly that they fitted within thousandths of an inch, prompting some to wonder if the Inca had found a way of melting and setting rock.

‘Yes … it is the civilisation you refer to as the Inca. They left no written records, but a vital message from the Q’ero, the last of the Inca, was recorded and kept hidden in the place the conquistadors called La Ciudad de los Reyes. This parchment holds the key to the location of an ancient Sun Disc and the remaining two crystal skulls. One skull has already been found, and is in the hands of your enemies.’

‘Who are my enemies?’

‘You have several, and if you embark on this path, you will create many more … but to find the skull that is in the hands of your enemies, you must first discover from whence it was stolen. That will lead you to its whereabouts, a place of great beauty, but infused with evil. The clues to its location lie near an ancient fountain, beneath a large bronze pigna.’

The light within the crystal intensified still further, and Lena’s body was rocked by a spasm of energy.

‘How much time do we have?’ Aleta asked anxiously.

‘The time is almost upon you, and as you begin your search for
the receptacles of knowledge, two powerful men in particular will intensify their efforts to eliminate you and your partner.’

‘Partner? Do you mean my husband? But I’m about to divorce …’

‘The one who is steeped in narrow religious dogma is not for you. There is another whom you will meet, and although at first he may not appear to be a seeker of higher knowledge, he has been here many times before … as have you. The annihilation of your civilisation will be at the hands of human forces … forces that are slipping out of your control.’

A mist gathered deep within the skull and the flashes of light and connecting links began to fade. Lena’s hands slid on to the table and she woke with a start.

‘Oh my goodness,’ she said, as her eyes struggled to focus. ‘I feel absolutely drained.’

The Mustang’s V8 4.6-litre engine growled as Aleta gained the open highway to Chicago and pushed the pedal to the floor. With her hair flying in the wind, she tried to gather her thoughts; she needed to process the information embedded in the crystal. Her mind turned to Anna and Lena. The session with the crystal skull had been as alarming as it had been intriguing. Fascinated as she was with ancient civilisations, Aleta wasn’t sure she was ready to tell anyone she’d spent over an hour talking to a vibrating crystal, but the accuracy of its knowledge had shaken her. How had the skull known about Ryan? Where was the skull that was in the possession of
her enemies, and who was this enemy? Where were the other two skulls … and where might she even start looking for the ancient Sun Disc?

The channelling session had raised far more questions than it answered, and Aleta was still sceptical, but the information the skull had divulged rang so true that Aleta knew it couldn’t be coincidence. Humanity seemed to be lurching from one disaster to the next, and each natural, environmental and financial shock seemed more serious than the last.
Your annihilation will be at the hands of human forces … forces that are slipping out of your control.
The last message channelled from deep within the crystal was etched into Aleta’s consciousness as she struggled to understand the path ahead.

Chapter 23

‘Alcatraz Two, this is Alcatraz One, we’ll have to play this as it comes. No change to the LZ, but Cyrus is expecting a hot extraction, grid 547824. Satellite coverage of the area expected any moment.’

‘I don’t know who this guy Cyrus is,’ the co-pilot said, pushing the internal comms button, ‘but he sure as hell commands some support.’

San Quentin grinned. ‘I don’t know either, but I’m betting that it’s got the White House behind it, and I’d put my money on Christians in Action.’ Christians in Action was the Seals’ nickname for the CIA.

Sing Sing, San Quentin’s number two, depressed the internal transmit. ‘Intel’s coming in now,’ he said. The real-time analysis appeared on his laptop as the Black Hawk lifted off from the desert. ‘Shit … they’re not fucking around at the main border crossing.
They’ve got a troop of Mobarez tanks moving in.’

‘What about the target area?’ the pilot asked from the right-hand seat as he hauled on the collective. Clouds of sand rose and he checked the vertical indicators on his instrument panel as he pushed the nose forward towards the border. Transmission and engine-oil temperature and pressure, turbine gas temperature, gas-generator speed, percentage rpm and engine torque were all in the green. The two Apache attack helicopters, Crazyhorse Four and Crazyhorse One Zero, were climbing, providing cover to the north and south.

‘Wait … coming in now,’ Sing Sing advised. The real-time satellite images were in infrared. ‘All stations,’ he called, switching to the external secure net, ‘intel analysis is three Soviet BMP 2 armoured infantry troop carriers located on the border, grid 546825, 1000 metres north-west of the LZ. BMPs armed with 30 mm cannon, 500 rounds per minute, range 3000 metres; and a 9K111 Fagot anti-tank missile, range 2500 metres. BMP 2 carries two crew and seven guards, so looks like a platoon all up. Acknowledge over.’

‘Alcatraz Two, out.’

‘Crazyhorse Four, out.’

‘Crazyhorse One Zero, out.’

‘Did you copy, Cyrus?’

‘Cyrus, copied that,’ O’Connor replied from behind the wheel of the police car. He smiled grimly as he negotiated the rough track, climbing higher across the mountains. ‘You’ve made my day, out.’

The pilot of the first Black Hawk concentrated on the primary flight display and digital map. The dual inertial-navigation system would, he knew, guide them to the target; it was a matter of the best approach, and that was a decision he would have to make. Any
forces chasing Cyrus would have to come from Qasr-e Shirin, to the south-east, so better to cross the border well to the north of the armoured vehicles already there and come in from a direction they would least expect.

‘All stations, hold at 200 feet, course zero-four-zero, we’ll come in from the north-east, over.’

Each aircraft acknowledged, as did O’Connor.

The agent slowed the police car as he neared the landing zone. The track curved around a ravine, and onto a relatively flat ridge, before dropping again towards the border. O’Connor stopped the car, shouldered his backpack containing the vital thumb drive, grabbed the submachine gun and moved forward on foot, motioning Jafari to follow. Just before O’Connor reached the edge of the ridge, he dropped to the ground, crawled to a vantage point that commanded a view of the border and focused his binoculars. The three Revolutionary Guards’ BMP 2 infantry armoured fighting vehicles were deployed in a circle covering the crossing. The guards had lit a fire and were brewing up some coffee, but they were not completely relaxed. O’Connor counted three sentries posted outside the circle, their binoculars trained on the surrounding hills. O’Connor reached for his satcom.

‘Alcatraz One, this is Cyrus. Am in position, grid 547824 confirmed, directly above the border position. Be aware that the armoured group have posted sentries, who are scanning in your direction.’

‘Alcatraz One, copied, we’re inbound, three minutes’ time on target, out to you, all stations, drop to 100 feet, out.’ This called for exacting flying, but like the Seal teams, the men and women flying
US Black Hawks in Iraq were the equal of any pilots in the world.

The sound of the inbound choppers was faint at first, but then unmistakable, and O’Connor observed first one, and then another of the sentries focus their binoculars to the north-east. Suddenly, the coffee was forgotten and the guards scrambled for their vehicles.

Heavy rounds whistled overhead, but they had come not from the armoured group on the border, but from behind. O’Connor turned and focused his binoculars on the valley to the south-east, only to find another patrol of BMP 2s roaring up the dirt road. Suddenly, the lead armoured vehicle ploughed to a halt in a cloud of dust. Flame and smoke burst from behind the command turret.

‘Get down,’ he yelled to Jafari. Moments later, the police car exploded in a fireball. O’Connor had hid it from the border patrol, but it was still clearly visible from the dirt track out of Qasr-e Shirin.

‘They’re very careless with their equipment, these Revolutionary Guards,’ O’Connor observed casually. Jafari looked at him in disbelief, his face drained of colour.

‘Alcatraz One, this is Cyrus, things are getting a little busy here. Second armoured patrol to the south-east, closing fast, over.’

‘Alcatraz One, copied.’ San Quentin’s voice had a steely edge. ‘Crazyhorse Four, you take the border patrol, Crazyhorse One Zero, the south-eastern group are yours, over.’

‘Crazyhorse Four.’

‘Crazyhorse One Zero.’

The Apache attack helicopters peeled off. The pilot of the first Apache kept low to the ground, rising just above the ridgeline to sight the Iranian patrol. The gunner locked the radar on to the nearest armoured BMP 2 and fired. The Hellfire anti-tank missile
launched from the starboard pod in a burst of flame, and the pilot immediately dropped the helicopter from view. The missile’s on-board computers remotely tracked the target, slamming into the side of the BMP 2. Those inside didn’t stand a chance. The shaped charge burned through the armour and the vehicle exploded in a ball of flame and smoke.

‘Alcatraz Two, hold behind the ridgeline, we’re going in, over,’ San Quentin ordered.

‘Alcatraz Two.’

‘Let’s go!’ O’Connor yelled as the first Black Hawk crunched on to a desert clearing nearby. To the west, a second armoured BMP 2 exploded in flames, while to the east, Crazyhorse One Zero was engaging the group further down the valley. O’Connor covered the 50 metres to the chopper in less than ten seconds, and a few seconds later the crew chief hauled Jafari in after him. ‘Go, go, go!’ the crew chief yelled into his internal mike. The pilot hauled on the collective and the powerful turbo-shaft engines responded immediately. But the third Hellfire missile fired from the Apaches had only partially disabled the last of the Iranian armour. One of the crew had escaped, while another was able to engage the Black Hawk with a burst from his 30 mm cannon before a fourth Hellfire found its mark.