Blind Seer: Prologue

Prologue - Flagstaff, Arizona



Mackenzie Haverstraw stopped and took a sip of water from the bottle slung across her hip. The hike along Weatherford Trail in Arizona’s Kachina Peaks Wilderness had proven more difficult than she had expected. She took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts, and drank again, more deeply this time. Though the late spring air felt cool this far up in the mountains, the high sun in a near-cloudless sky had combined with her relentless upslope walk to leave her flushed and sweaty. Having to leave her 4x4 at the trail head had been a nuisance, but there had been nothing she could do about it. Vehicles were not permitted along the wilderness trails and, so she had continued on foot. Though she had always been athletic in high school, competing against boys at every opportunity – boys who always seemed more interested in her flawless beauty and developing body than in her mind – her hiking and cross-country skiing days were far behind her, and more than once in her trek, she had felt hopelessly out of shape. “Well,” she thought, “At least I’m getting some exercise and a lot of fresh air up here.”

The pause gave her an opportunity to take in the view. Breathtaking vistas greeted her from every direction. Dense groves of aspen and spruce alternated along the trail, and robust pines lined the higher slopes in picket-fence fashion. Gold, crimson, and violet wildflowers grew riotously everywhere, their delicate scents competing with the pungent smells of the earth. Through the trees, she could make out the high mountains – Humphrey’s Peak and the entire San Francisco range beckoned to her, their tips still glistening with late-winter snow, and in the opposite direction, she could see down the verdant valley all the way to distant Flagstaff, and the plains beyond. She removed her Diamondbacks cap and lazily fanned herself, then settled the cap back on her head, fitting her tawny ponytail through the slot in the back. She finished her water and started a new bottle, placing the empty in the pouch on her opposite hip. “If only finding Stefan Vesco could be as easy as hiking a mountain trail,” she thought as she resumed walking.

The guide at the Peaks Ranger Station had remembered Vesco from when he had first come in for a camping permit, and had given her directions to the trail he had taken, but was uncertain how far up in the mountains he had gone. “He can’t be much farther,” she mused. “I’ve already been on this trail for over an hour and-“ She did not see the clearing until she was almost in it. Weatherford Trail bent to her left, but in her musing, Mackenzie had stepped off it directly into the glade. A natural open space within a cluster of aspens held a backpacking tent, a portable stove, and several coolers. But there was no human habitation. She walked to the tent. Though obviously old and worn, it looked sturdy and more than capable of protecting its occupant. “Anybody home?” she called. No answer. She looked around, then unzipped the rainfly and pulled back the doorflap. The interior, beyond a tiny vestibule, was a mess. At the far end stretched an underinflated air mattress, covered with books, papers, and several flashlights. The rest of the cramped interior was littered with clothes, and mixed in with the clutter were a couple of backpacks, a catalytic heater, and a portable lantern. “The Vesco Sanctuary”, she smiled. “Now where’s the owner of all this chaos and confusion?”

She stood as she exited the tent, closing the door and re-zipping the rainfly. “All right, ‘Signore’. You’ve been dubbed a psychic archaeologist – someone who can find a site solely by following clues given in your dreams. So if you’re not here, then you must be out there somewhere, following your dream. But where?” There seemed no exit from the clearing except the path coming in. Fighting down a sudden surge of anxiety, her senses were drawn to a pair of small trees directly opposite the tent, and as she gazed beyond them, she discerned a trail leading away from the clearing. She hastened towards it. A broken branch on one of the trees was a dead giveaway.

After a short walk, the trail extended beyond the tree line and continued across a grassy field. She broke into a trot, feeling her quest to be near an end. Beyond the field she passed through another line of aspens, and came upon what looked to be a recently-dug trench. Only a few yards distant, his back to her, a short, stockily-built man stood in the middle of the trench, repositioning what looked to be a yardstick. His jeans and boots were covered with dirt, and a loose t-shirt, drenched with perspiration, clung to his broad back. Precariously cradled on his head was a broad panama which more than once looked to be in danger of sliding off. As she watched, admiring his intensely focused concentration, the figure stood and grasped a short shovel which lay beside him, and dug deep, hurling its contents almost at Mackenzie’s feet. She watched as several more mounds of earth were tossed out of the trench, then walked directly in front of him, squatted down, and looked him straight in the eye. “You’re Stefan Vesco.”

He returned her gaze with a baleful look. “If I am, what’s it to you?” More dirt flew out of the trench.

“If you are, then we’ve got to talk.”

“Oh?” The shovel’s blade again bit into the earth, followed by more flung material.

“Yes, we do. You see, I’ve come all the way-“ As if to deliberately interrupt her, he got down on his knees and peered at the ground, carefully turning over some tiny objects with his thick fingers. Silence descended, and Mackenzie decided to change her approach. “Find anything?”

“No, not really.” he rejoined without looking up. "I thought I did but it's just a bunch of stones that think they're artifacts. It's pretty easy at this level to tell the difference." He peered at her, as though noticing her for the first time. "Who are you, anyway?”

“Mackenzie Haverstraw, from the University. I’m an undergrad, so you may not recognize me.”

He blinked. “On the contrary, Miss Haverstraw, I believe I do. Professor Bernhardt asked me to cover one of his lectures a few weeks ago, and I think you were in the class.”

“I see. So you’re a grad student, then?”

He smiled broadly. “No, that was several years ago, at a small college in upstate New York. After obtaining my doctorate, I applied here for an associate professorship. I’d done my thesis on psychic archaeology and wanted very much to test it in the field. Arizona seemed a perfect place to try.” He paused. “You’re not a spy for Bernhardt, are you?"

"Of course not! Why do you ask?"

"Because if it was up to ol' Bernie, I'd be buried in this trench. I overheard him tell another board member to 'let that clown dig his own grave'."

"I take it he doesn't think your premise is worth the paper it was written on."

"Oh, he was tolerant of the theory, all right – until my first set of dreams located an Indian find that he’d been seeking for several years! Guess he didn’t take too kindly to me upstaging him.” He leaned on his shovel and exhaled a huge lungful of air at the empty sky. “Sorry, Miss Haverstraw. This digging has proven to be twice as hard and only half as rewarding as I'd hoped. Bernhardt signed off on a couple of grants, but they barely covered the costs of my equipment – most everything I use out here is on loan from one of the guys at the Ranger Station. To top things off, Bernie made it known that anyone who volunteered to assist me would not be granted fieldwork credit.” He forced a wan smile. "Well, I guess you can understand why I'm suspicious of strangers, even though I could use the company."

Mackenzie smiled back, relieved. She hadn't been sure what to expect, but was beginning to like what she had found. "Professor Vesco, is there some place more hospitable where we can talk? I'd like to know more about you - your work, that is - and just why you're out here. You do look like you could use a break."

In a single motion, Vesco grabbed his yardstick and shovel and clambered out of the trench. "Tell me, Miss Haverstraw, how is it that I have been rewarded with a visit from such a beautiful woman as yourself?"

She stopped and stared at him. "Oh crap," she swore under her breath, disbelievingly. /Not again/ she thought.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You can’t be serious. You've just spent several grueling hours out here under a broiling sun, and then I come along and suddenly you want to play games?"

He regarded her thoughtfully for several moments and in the awkward silence Mackenzie was not sure if she had hurt his feelings. /Have I misjudged him?/ she thought. /Have I blown everything? He doesn’t know-/

"It's alright, Miss Haverstraw," he said in a surprisingly quiet voice. "It's alright. You just don't know me, that's all. I know what that must have sounded like but I’m not that way at all. You came quite a ways to see me, obviously for something very important to you, and for me to respond in the manner in which you suggest would be discourteous in the extreme. I was asking about your reasons for coming up here, and at the same time complimenting you. You are a beautiful woman, and I wanted to thank you for both."

“Well, thanks for that, pal!” she retorted sarcastically. “Dammit, that’s the problem! Ever since I started high school, every guy in sight was chasing after me! It was all wolf-whistles, and lewd comments behind my back. I tried blocking that stuff out, but you can’t ignore it. Even when I began dating, I couldn’t have a serious conversation with a guy because his mind was always on something else! Serves me right for not going to private school like my father wanted!”

“Sounds like you were born with a silver chip on your shoulder…”

“And now you’re not taking me seriously either!”

“Actually, Miss Haverstraw, I do.”

“You-?” She stopped. “I’m sorry, I-I’ve just had so much of that-“

“-that it’s become a knee-jerk reaction for you. I’m kinda that way myself sometimes. I don’t take too kindly to overhearing people whispering ‘Professore’ behind my back – always seems to come off as a slur. Guess we’ve got something in common.”

“Maybe. Maybe we do.”

He checked his watch. “You’re right about one thing - it’s definitely time for a break. Join me?”

“As long as you’re not buying.”

“Deal. I hope you like MREs, though. They’re all I’ve got."

She made a face. “I know what those things are – some of my family served in the Army. They’re vile!”

“Not to worry, I can make them somewhat palatable.” He grinned. “I’ve become quite the expert at boiling water and can at least offer you a decent cup of coffee!”

She nodded. “That, I will hold you to!”

“Done! Shall we go?”

As they began the walk back to Stefan’s campsite, Mackenzie became aware of a warm, wonderful feeling arising within her. She had come into the mountains on the spur of the moment, hardly knowing what to expect, and had come away with more than she could have hoped for. She suddenly felt relaxed and at ease in his presence, as though she had known him for years, yet she was still uneasy. How would he react to what she wanted to ask of him? Would he believe her story? But there was too much at stake for her – she had to see things through, and he was her best chance. She fought down her anxiety and didn’t flinch when Stefan's free arm slipped around her waist. After a brief moment, she felt absurd for not responding in kind. She found she was sorry she had to break away from him when they reached the campsite.



Mackenzie settled back into the portable deck chair with a satisfied sigh. “Not bad, Professor. For out-in-the-woods coffee, that was pretty good.”

“Thanks, but you’re not getting another one until you drop that ‘Professor’ stuff and start calling me Stefan!”

She smiled. “Then may I have another cup, ‘Stefan’?” As he poured, she continued. “So that Park Ranger just let you have all his stuff? How’d you haul everything up here?”

“Oh, he was gracious enough to help. And his van was pretty big. He even bent a few rules by driving it beyond the gate at the trail head. Rank has its privileges and all that.” Stefan seated himself on one of the coolers and took a sip from his own mug. “We struck up a close friendship right from the start. I told him my story and he immediately suggested things I would need if I was going to stay up here for any length of time. He also expedited my permits. Henry’s become an invaluable resource for me. Being someone who spent virtually all of his free time on campus, usually holed up in various research libraries, I never got out much. He helped me learn my way around the hill country, and introduced me to some of the local Hopi elders. Apparently I have their blessing because I'm working in an area favored by their kachinas – the spirit beings who bring the rains from the mountains. They say that this entire caldera is sacred ground and that one day I'll recover the remains of their distant ancestors. Whenever they come through here, gathering leaves and bark for their ceremonies, they always check on me to see that everything's all right.” He finished his coffee and set the mug on the ground. "Now, Miss Haverstraw, will you answer my question?"

"Why I came out here looking for you?"

"That's the one."

"All right. Ever hear of a man named David Thornton?"

"Sounds familiar. A surveyor, wasn't he?"

"No, a geologist. But he did land surveys for the Federal Government in this area back in the nineteen-thirties. While working here, he found artifacts of some kind which he believed were over fifty thousand years old."

"Which is more than twice as old as they should be, according to conventional explanations."

"Exactly. But he died before he could dig out here on a large scale." She lowered her voice unconsciously. "And no one has ever bothered to follow up on his work. Everyone he ever worked with wrote him off as a crazy, as did many of our family. Except for my Aunt Amanda, of course. SHE thought he was the most wonderful man ever!” She sobered. “There even were rumors that he'd been murdered.”

“Family? You’re related?”

“David Thornton was my great grand-uncle.”

Stefan let out a low whistle. That she was Thornton's descendant certainly explained her interest in the subject. "But why come to me? I'm not the one to see if you need verification of his find. I'm hardly a conventional explorer."

"But you're actively working in the same area he did! Stefan, I need you to help me clear his name! At least help me find out if his discovery was genuine!"

"What did you have in mind?"

"That we keep working with your dreams until we're reasonably sure we've found his site. Then we just keep digging until we find something. It would be quite a coup for you, too," she added hopefully.

He stared at her, the same baleful glare she had seen at the trench. "Miss Haverstraw, I don't think you quite understand. I don't want to be a celebrity. I’m a scientist, experimenting in the field with a new theory. I don't want to be known, but I do want to see if my theory can be proven. It could be a tremendous breakthrough in archaeological methodology, and benefit scientists and historians the world over! That's far more important to me than fame. Besides, I don't control my dreams. They come to me at random, and sometimes weeks go by before I receive one with usable information. We could be out in these hills for months before we locate the place where those artifacts were found."

"You don't think you're digging in that spot now?"

"It'd be a helluva coincidence if I was!" he said brusquely. "Not to mention the fact that it looks like a place I saw in a dream almost two months ago. And I'm still not certain I'll find anything there."

A puzzled expression showed itself on Mackenzie's face. "You make it sound so hopeless. Why do you do it?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I honestly don't know. An inner compulsion, maybe. I just know I've started something I have to complete, no matter what. Perhaps, in some strange way, I'm trying to clear my name as much as you're trying to clear Thornton’s."

Mackenzie stared into her coffee. "It's a compulsion with me, too, Stefan. I've known that for a long time. That's why I enrolled in the University to begin with. But there's something more. For some reason I can't get a handle on, there's a sense of urgency about all this, pushing me on and on. I can't wait, and it's more than just eagerness. It's that, too, of course, but-"

"I, too, have felt the same sense of urgency, Miss Haverstraw. That's why I agreed to Bernhardt's conditions for digging. That, and a dream which told me that if I was to receive any aid, I would have to be patient and allow it to come to me; I couldn't actively solicit it." He paused. "Henry filled that need, in part. I think you are meant to be the other part."

"Is that why you weren't startled to see me?"

He chuckled. "Yes." He rubbed his ear thoughtfully. "I think we might be able to beat the time problem."

"Really? How?"

"For the last couple of weeks I've been practicing a form of yoga meditation in order to improve my dream recall but I haven't been too successful with it - I seem to be slipping into a state where fresh images appear to me. But I'm not asleep. My body is, I'm sure, but my mind seems to have reached an exalted state of consciousness. Trouble is, when I return to normal, I remember even less than from my dreams. What I'd like to do is try this meditation again, but with your help."

He'd captured her interest now. "What would I do?"

"Well, many great psychics like Edgar Cayce and Paul Solomon relied on 'conductors' during their meditations to record what they'd said. If the conductors asked questions, they were usually able to answer. I'd like you to be my conductor and take notes on anything I might say. If we can develop my abilities, we might be able to initiate a conversation between you and my inner mind."

"And this would help your digging, how?"

"Once free of the conscious self, the inner mind seems to have the ability to see at great distance, both horizontally and vertically, and even through objects. At least that's what Cayce and Solomon were able to do. If we can duplicate what they did, we should be able to not only pinpoint a site's location on the surface, but be able to predict at what level we'd find artifacts."

"And if you can do that, perhaps we might be able to refine the focus of your mind's eye so we could even see what we'd find!"

Stefan nodded, feeling the girl's enthusiasm surge through him. "It sounds reasonable but let's stay with the initial experiment for now. We have no way of knowing yet if I can duplicate Cayce or Solomon. If so, fine, then we'll expand things. But let's take it one step at a time, okay?"

“Okay. So when do we start?”

Stefan rose. “Now would seem like a perfectly good time.”



"So all you want me to do is watch and listen?"

"And take any notes you feel appropriate.” Stefan flipped a small notebook and a pen at her. “And ask any question you feel like asking.”

She nodded. "How will I know when you've reached the level you want?"

"I'll signal you in some way." He finished pumping up the air mattress, then stretched out on it, lying on his back. "A hand movement, perhaps, or maybe I'll say something. I don't know. But you will." Stefan crossed his hands over his stomach and closed his eyes. After a few moments of deep breathing, he began a rhythmic chant:



"Aum mani padme Hum!

Aum mani padme Hum!

Aum mani padme Hum!

Shanti, shanti Ooommmmmmm!"



"What is that?" Mackenzie breathed. "It's beautiful!"

"It’s one of the oldest chants known. There’s no direct translation that I know of, but recitation of it is said to bring one into a state of pure compassion and perfect serenity." He paused, then spoke in a much quieter voice. "I'll be deep in trance shortly. It would help immeasurably if you tried to relax, too."

Mackenzie settled herself on the chair she’d brought into the tent, but found she could not get fully comfortable. As she sat quietly observing the strange man before her, her mind tried desperately to make sense of the day's events. It seemed inconceivable that, even mere hours before, she would have allowed herself to be thrust into such a new and bizarre experience. Cautious by nature, she'd always considered psychics and the occult to be on the fringes of science, leftovers from man's primitive, pagan past. Yet there was something mysteriously compelling about Stefan Vesco, and at the same time warm and comforting, to move her to become an active participant in an experiment with arcane forces. She could not pinpoint the reason. Perhaps it was his willingness to document what they were about to do, and attempt to verify whatever information they were about to receive; he had, after all, referred to himself as a scientist. But it was not only that. He seemed oddly familiar somehow, beyond the one class they had shared at the University, yet try as she might she could not-

"Mackenzie Sophia Haverstraw." The voice was Stefan's, and yet it did not sound like him at all. She glanced up, startled to hear her full name voiced in such an eerie tone. His head, which had lolled to one side, had now returned to its original position, and his whole body seemed somewhat rigid. "Stefan, is that you?" she whispered.

"Stefan is not present in this body, Sophia," the monotone answered. "His conscious self has moved aside so that I may speak."

She stared, aghast, not realizing that the mysterious voice had addressed her using her middle name. "What? Where is he? Is he all right? And who are you?"

"Patience, Sophia. Patience and peace. Stefan is well, I assure you. His willingness to do this work has allowed this session to take place. This voice which speaks to you now is that of Stefan's subconscious self, and it connects, in ways you do not as yet understand, to all other subconscious selves. In this manner, we can see what you wish to know."

Swiftly regaining her composure, Mackenzie asked excitedly, "Then you know what we're doing here?"

A soft chuckle escaped the seer's lips. "But of course! A conscious self can have no secrets from the universal mind!" A pause, then the eerie voice continued more rapidly. " Sophia, Sophia, do you not yet understand that the two of you are not here by accident? You and Stefan have been directed here to begin a great and noble work! These questions, these inquiries, are for you but the first tentative steps you will take in order to fulfill your purpose! Fear not, and neither turn away, for many great things await you, the culmination of many lives' work."

"'Many lives?' What do you mean, 'many lives'?"

"You have lived before, Sophia, in other bodies. This is not so mysterious. The dreams you had as a child, when you felt yourself in faraway lands, at times other than now, when you saw persons you knew to be yourself, yet you could not recognize the body - these are memories, Sophia, memories locked in your subconscious of when you did indeed live as other persons, in other times." The voice dropped to a hushed whisper. "You and Stefan have been together before, many times. Always have you recognized each other, and always have you striven together towards the Light. Continue to do so."

Mackenzie shook her head in wonder. "I-I'm afraid I don't quite understand. What has all this got to do with digging for Indian artifacts?"

"Worry not, Sophia. All shall be made known at the proper time." The sonorous voice paused, then continued in a weaker tone. "Time grows short. Stefan's body cannot remain in this state much longer. Later, perhaps, when he is more accomplished, he will do better, but now we must answer your question. Tell Stefan he is to abandon where he is now digging and walk north from the end of the trench for approximately one mile. There he is to dig a shaft vertically into the earth. He will pass through several different layers of soil, two of which will consist of mud mixed with seawater. These will occur at depths of eight feet and fifteen feet. Beyond this, he must dig until the twenty-three foot level, then tunnel eastward until he finds an underground cavern. There he will find the artifacts he seeks."

Breathless at the wealth of data and its precision, Mackenzie asked, "Is this David Thornton’s find?"

"Yes, Sophia, it is. It fact, Stefan will discover his footprints. The cavern originally opened to a sharp cliff. One had to enter it from above and to the rear. Stefan's tunnel will enter at virtually the same point."

Mackenzie licked her lips nervously. "Was Thornton murdered?"

For the first time, Stefan's brow crinkled in thought. He seemed to be struggling on some inner plane. Several times he appeared to be on the verge of answering only to sink back. At length his subconscious spoke in a voice that was almost inaudible. "There is darkness surrounding this question. “We cannot see the answer. Perhaps another time." Another pause. "We must go. Stefan will not awaken directly but will pass into a normal sleep state. Allow him to awaken by himself." With that, the voice faded completely, leaving Mackenzie alone with her thoughts, and with the wind softly rustling through the aspens outside the tent.



The silver MD-80 wheeled sharply against the azure sky and made its final approach to the main runway at Phoenix's Sky Harbor International Airport. A stiff crosswind caught the jet almost at the moment of touchdown causing it to bounce onto the runway harder that anyone on board had anticipated. Tires squealing and smoking, the plane rebounded and came down again, more smoothly this time, then with engines reversed and flaps extended, it roared down the runway, the fury of its landing echoing and re-echoing among the mountains ringing the airport. Coolly and skillfully, the pilot braked the jumbo jet and eased it onto the approach ramp to Terminal 3. Once on the tarmac, he allowed the plane to roll to a stop, the whine of its engines gradually fading into nothingness. Within moments, ground handlers had attached the air-conditioned walkways to the fuselage while other members of the ground crew began removing luggage from the compartments in the plane's belly.

"American Airlines Flight 263 from Dallas-Fort Worth now arriving at Gate 5." The metallic female voice echoed throughout the terminal, startling Phillip Bernhardt. /He's here!/ The professor thought, galvanized. /If only-!/ Without completing the thought, the swarthy, mustachioed figure gathered his briefcase into his arms and leaped from his chair, thrusting his way past several groups of people. Cursing his impatience, the dean of the University of Arizona's Anthropology Department anxiously searched the area beyond the metal detectors as the passengers began to file off Flight 263. Craning his neck, he finally spotted the man he was looking for. "Wescott!" He cried. "Dr. Wescott!"

James E. Wescott, senior archaeological consultant to Princeton University, broke away from the throng of his erstwhile fellow passengers and leisurely strolled over to the man who had hailed him. "Ah, Professor Bernhardt! This is a pleasure indeed! I must tell you, the layover in Dallas seemed an eternity! Has there been any further news?"

Bernhardt stared, stupefied, at the imposing figure before him. Having only recognized Wescott from a scanned photograph, he was completely unprepared for the man's actual presence. Fully six-and-a-half feet tall, Wescott possessed a physique usually associated with football players rather than university professors. But the visage was warm and friendly, and the voice deeply resonant. The twinkle in the deep-set, vibrantly blue eyes contrasted sharply with Wescott’s aura of sheer determination, and Bernhardt had to check himself from involuntarily stepping backward. "Has there been any further news?" Wescott repeated.

"Ah, no, Doctor," Bernhardt repeated shakily. He was amazed to find himself sweating profusely. "I haven't been in touch with my office all morning. Shall I - shall I call?"

"No, that won't be necessary. I'm intrigued enough to visit the site directly. Would that be possible?"

Bernhardt twisted his mustache nervously. Wescott's directness had caught him completely off guard. "Well, I'm not sure. I mean, I don't see why not. My classes are through for the day so I guess we could take a drive out there. But don't you want to relax first? There's a fine restaurant here at the airport that-"

"Nonsense, Professor!" Wescott boomed. "An exciting discovery such as this only serves to invigorate me! If you're willing, then by all means let's get up to Flagstaff and see what else Signore Vesco may have found!"

"Yes, yes, of course." Bernhardt turned and led the way to the baggage claim area but was quickly overtaken and passed by the larger man. He shook his head in admiration as an unseen smile danced across his face. /He certainly looks like he knows where he's going/ he thought. Within moments, Wescott's greater stride forced Bernhardt to break into a trot in an effort to keep pace, and by the time he reached the luggage conveyors, the professor from Princeton had already apprehended his valise. "Tell me, Professor," Wescott asked as he inspected his bag, "by what method did Signore Vesco date his discovery?"

"He used the racemization technique, which measures the rate of change in the direction of polarized light waves in decaying amino acids. This method can supersede radiocarbon dating since radiocarbon can only date materials accurately to forty thousand years of age."

"This I know, Professor," Wescott replied drily. "And what did Vesco find?"

"Well," Bernhardt hesitated, "the first set of bones he found was dated by stratigraphy to some 20,000 years in age. Both radiocarbon and racemization confirmed this date. But when he found another set of bones - a complete Homo Sapiens skeleton this time - the stratigraphical level yielded a date of at least 70,000 years in age."

Wescott's eyes flashed. "And were these remains racemized?"

"They were. And by three separate labs, so there could be no error." Bernhardt's voice plummeted to a barely- audible whisper. "All three labs came up with a date of at least 100,000 years old!"

"Fan-tastic!" Wescott cried. "Professor, we must get to this site as soon as possible! I must see this for myself!"

But as Wescott turned to go, Bernhardt grabbed his sleeve. "There's something else you should know about Stefan Vesco, Doctor."

"What is it?"

"He's no ordinary archaeologist. He's an adjunct professor who’s been digging on his own time, completely without sanction from my department! And not only that, he claims to have made his discovery - a most controversial one - by clairvoyant means. I needn't tell you how such a discovery will be received by the scientific community."

A hard look came into Wescott's face as he regarded his companion. "Controversial?" he snorted. "Professor Bernhardt, surely you're aware of the legacy of Jean-François Champollion?"

"The man who deciphered the Rosetta Stone? Of course, but I-"

"At thirty-one, Champollion brought a dead language to life virtually from scratch, but for three decades after his death, his translation of the Egyptian hieroglyphs was assailed from every quarter, and with the most ridiculous of charges, having little or nothing to do with his work! Even his personal character was called into question! It remained for those who came after him to vindicate him and restore him and his accomplishments to their rightful place in the history of archaeology. I am determined to see that this does not happen to Signore Vesco, understand? Too many potential discoveries in the history of science have been tragically lost due to blindness, ignorance, and outright stupidity for us to let another occur! If Vesco has found something of importance - and I wouldn't be here if I didn't think he had - then it is up to us to lend a supporting hand to an unorthodox find, and thereby assure the discovery's survival."

"But Doctor! Our reputations! Our careers! What if this find turns out to be a - a - false trail, and leads to nothing?"

Wescott smiled indulgently. "Well, I think our reputations are secure enough to be stretched out on a limb! The potential for new knowledge, expanded awareness, and fresh insights that lies behind this find is far more important than our personal interests, wouldn't you agree?"

Bernhardt nodded resignedly. "You're right, of course. Well, let's get going, then. The drive will take several hours and I'm sure you'll want to get there before nightfall."

"Quite right, Professor, I do indeed." With that, Wescott sauntered off into the corridor leading to the parking area, a cheerful bounce to his every step, and a worried and dejected Phillip Bernhardt at his heels. So concerned was Bernhardt over the ramifications of the find that he failed to notice when his companion led him directly to his own car.



"Stefan, this is Dr. James Wescott of Princeton University. I asked him to come out here and review your proceedings." Bernhardt completed the introductions, then stepped back as the pair shook hands.

"This is indeed an honor, Doctor." Stefan said, unable to hold back a rush of pride and triumph, "to have an archaeologist of your stature at this particular site. I suppose you know what this means?"

"That my presence here endorses your psychic methodology? Hardly. Your results speak for themselves, by whatever means they were obtained. Frankly, I think your finds speak highly of both your method and yourself. Plus the fact that, as Phillip has told me, you've fully documented everything, and subjected what you could to the most rigorous of controls. Highly commendable, Professor Vesco."

"Thank you, Doctor," Stefan flushed again, clearly embarrassed at the professional archaeologist's praise, and quickly turned to Bernhardt. "Well, it sounds like you're finally in my corner, Bernie. What changed your mind?"

Bernhardt winced visibly at the derogatory nickname. "One cannot argue with what you've found here, Stefan. I'm still dubious of your clairvoyant method, but you've made remarkable progress. I'm a scientist. I cannot ignore the facts."

Stefan grinned triumphantly. "Welcome aboard." To Wescott he added, "I'm sorry my partner isn't here. She-"

"Partner?"

"Yes, Mackenzie Haverstraw, an undergrad from the University. She had to drive the last of our excavation team back to campus and won't return until late tomorrow."

"I see. I was beginning to wonder if you were really up here all by yourself. Phillip didn't mention anyone else." At this revelation, Bernhardt chose to stare at the ground.

Stefan pretended not to notice. "Well, I initially came out here - let's see, it's got to be close to two months now. Mackenzie followed a few weeks later. Once she got used to my psychic technique, she was able to help me achieve the trance state much more easily and took notes of what I'd said. When we started finding things my subconscious had predicted, she returned to campus and rounded up several friends to help with the digging. We'd never have gotten so far so fast without them."

"I see," Wescott repeated, this time in admiration. "May I ask why she sought you out?"

Stefan shrugged. "She's an archaeology student who was intrigued enough by the campus scuttlebutt to come all the way out here to see me. Beyond that, you'd have to ask her."

A peculiar look came into Wescott's eyes at Stefan's reply, the look of a man who knew more than the fact that his respondent was being evasive. "Of course. Forgive me for prying. May I see the shaft now?"

"Sure, but watch your step. We'll be going down quite a ways and it's cold and damp down there. And the footing's not the best under the stream, either."

"I'll be cautious. Let's have a look."

"Oh, one other thing. Standard procedure has someone outside the shaft whenever someone goes in, just in case something should go wrong." He turned to Bernhardt. "I'm afraid you're the odd man out, Professor."

"I expected as much, Stefan. I'll be here."

"Good. Okay, Doctor Wescott, let's go in." With that, Stefan turned and descended the hard-packed earthen ramp which led into the ten-by-ten foot shaft, an eager Wescott only a few paces behind. Neither looked back at Bernhardt and so both missed the strange transformation which came over him. For as soon as their backs were turned, an eerie fire arose in Bernhardt's eyes, and as they disappeared into the shaft, a thin, malicious smile caught the corners of the professor's mouth...



The shaft had been cut in terraces, eliminating the need for ladders, and was braced with heavy timbers. To prevent cave-ins, the walls of the shaft had been lined with sheets of plywood, the timbers holding them in place. Stefan had ordered several vertical sections to be cut in the sheeting so that the geological layers of the earth could be visible, and small strips of pine had been nailed across the open areas to insure the structural integrity of the bracing. As they climbed down into the rapidly-shrinking shaft, Wescott marvelled at the thoroughness of the excavation. "Stefan, the more I see, the more I am impressed with your work. I'm amazed that you were able to accomplish so much with so little funding."

"I've been fortunate," he acknowledged. "Besides Mackenzie's volunteers, the Anthropology Department loosened the purse-strings once it became evident that this was a proven site; Bernhardt himself was the last to be convinced. Unfortunately, what you see here is the result of only the past two weeks. We were in constant danger of having the shaft collapse on us while we worked."

"The shoring is that new?"

"That's right. And erecting is was a real problem. The guy I was counting on to help with it never showed."

"Oh? What happened?"

"Don't know," Stefan replied, sliding down to the last terrace. "A local Park Ranger named Henry Peterson was the first person to extend a helping hand to me out here and gifted me with all the camping equipment I needed. He then told me I could count on him for any aid I might need in the actual dig. He's a big, strong guy and I was looking forward to having him guide these timbers into place. Only he disappeared about a week after Mackenzie showed up. Rumor has it that he took an extended leave of absence, supposedly due to marital troubles."

A knowing smile played about Wescott's lips. "But you don't think so."

"To tell you the truth, I don't know what to think," Stefan admitted. "A guy assures me of his help, then takes off without notice? That doesn't sit well with me." He thrust the thought from his mind and unhooked his flashlight from his belt. "There's no light in either the tunnel or the cave so we'll have to use this. Now watch your step here. We'll be dropping into the smallest part of the shaft and the ground water keeps oozing up so it's a bit muddy. Also, the drop is greater than the other terraces so be careful."

Wescott glanced upward. "What is the depth here?"

"Twenty-three feet. From here on we'll be going horizontally. And Doctor," he grinned widely, "we'll be on a paleosoil, a fossil topsoil. The tunnel and tomb proper have lain just as they were for 100,000 years. We'll be walking on the very same ground as the people here once did!"

Wescott beamed. "It does give one a sense of immortality, does it not?"

Stefan nodded. "It does indeed." He sat on the ground and, extending his legs, slipped over the edge into the bottom of the pit. There was barely enough room for one man but Wescott somehow managed to squeeze in next to him. Ahead of them yawned the opening of the passage to the cave. Stefan switched on the flashlight and led the way into the tunnel.

"In this short corridor," Stefan began, bending over double in the restricted space, "we found twice as many artifacts as in the entire shaft, and they were all of superior quality. Tools of both stone and bone, hundreds of arrowheads, a half-dozen throwing spears and knives, and even some shredded fabric of a very sophisticated weave. All the objects were dated to at least one thousand centuries in age." Wescott said nothing but doggedly continued to follow his companion, his bulk making travel in the cramped tunnel difficult.

After some twenty feet, the tunnel debouched into the cave itself, and both men stood, grateful for their freedom from the confining tunnel. For Stefan Vesco , the cave was the fulfillment of a dream, the final proof of a vague, outrageous notion, and the culmination of months of work, fear, and desperate hope. And the finds themselves had been beyond even his most daring imagination. Despite himself, he could not help but wonder what might happen if his methodology was one day accepted by the established scientific community.

For James Wescott, the cave also represented a breakthrough but of a far different kind. For here, far below the surface of Arizona, a new era of man's understanding might be born, and the tool he had long sought had at last been found in the person of the young man standing next to him. But prudence and caution were still paramount, for he had no idea how Vesco might react to his proposal.

The young archaeologist was the first to break the eerie silence. "I still haven't figured out how Thornton got in here. This cave was sealed, and had no openings that I could find." He swung the flashlight around for emphasis. "There is no evidence of entry anywhere, though this wall here-" the light stopped opposite them "-shows signs of having been created by a landslide. But that was ages ago."

"He must have been an expert in covering his tracks." Wescott commented.

"Or maybe whoever murdered him did it for him."

"I don't think he was murdered, Stefan."

"You don't? Why?"

"Call it a hunch. Now, where did you find your skeleton?"

Stefan arched an eyebrow at Wescott's sudden change of topic, then shrugged and pointed the flashlight at the center of the cave floor. "There, in that pit. The bones were extremely well-preserved and seemed to have been buried with no accoutrements of any kind. But I can't see an ordinary man being buried in the center of a cave like this. That would be reserved for an important person such as a priest or a medicine man."

"Yet only bones were found in the pit."

"Right. Nothing else."

"Hm. That is odd. Shine your light in there, won't you? I'd like to poke around a bit."

"Sure." As Stefan complied with his request, Wescott squatted and felt through the loose dirt at the bottom of the shallow pit. “That’s odd…”

“That fine white powder?”

“Yes,” Wescott answered. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It seems to have been everywhere, scattered all around. Since most of it seemed to be in this pit, we assumed it was part of the religious custom here – an anointing at death or something.”

Westcott gave him a curious look but said nothing. He resumed sifting and almost immediately his hand closed on a hard metal object. When he shook the dirt off it and showed it to his companion, all the latter could do was gape in astonishment.

It was a looped cross, the Egyptian hieroglyph for life, the ANKH.

They stared at the thing incredulously. The ankh was small and delicate, no more than three inches in length, and appeared to be solid gold. Obviously, it had been buried with whomever had been laid to rest in the pit, confirming Stefan's belief in the person's importance. But as beautiful as it was precise, the precious artifact was still a thorough enigma. At length, he found his voice. "All right, Doctor, you're the professional. You tell me. What the hell is an Egyptian artifact doing in a one hundred thousand year old Indian burial?"

Turning the relic over and over in his hands, Wescott shook his head. "This is most remarkable, Stefan. Most remarkable! As you imply, it has no business being here, yet here it is. Hm..." He twirled the object once more, then slipped it into his jacket pocket. "Stefan, do you think you can trust me?"

"Trust you? Doctor, I hardly know you except by reputation!"

"Then trust the reputation, if not the man."

Stefan considered but a moment. Something in Wescott's demeanor had struck him very deeply, and he knew, beyond any doubt, that anything, even his life, would be safe in Wescott's hands. "All right, Doctor," he replied softly. "What's on your mind?"

"This is indeed a misplaced Egyptian artifact, yet it appears to be indigenous. Its discovery dovetails with some private research I've been doing. Stefan, would you consider a psychic search in Egypt?"

Stefan was astounded. "Egypt?" he cried. "Why? And why me?"

"Because you're an archaeologist who uses his psychic ability in his work - successfully, I might add - and because I came here with the intention of asking permission to work with you on an experiment of this kind. The finding of this ankh makes my request doubly important. You see, I believe the ankh is much older than anyone suspects. Though commonly associated with the heretic pharaoh, Akhenaten, the ankh actually goes back to predynastic times in Egypt. Yet the obvious conclusions have never been drawn by Egyptologists."

"Now you've lost me. What conclusions?"

"Those dealing with the indisputable connection between Akhenaten's religious revolution and the great age of the ankh! If what I suspect is true, Akhenaten was not a true reformer, or even a revolutionary, but was instead a revivalist! As I've said, and as we now see here, the ankh was an incredibly ancient symbol. Moreover, the name of Akhenaten's sole god - ATEN - was merely the more ancient Egyptians' name for the physical disk of the sun, a concept which also goes back to predynastic times."

"Okay so far, but what am I to look for?"

Wescott shook his head. "I can't say for certain, not now at any rate. But you don't have to make up your mind immediately. The most important thing is to keep this dig open and to have it properly manned. Having seen what you've done here and what you've found so far, it shouldn't be too difficult to convince my department to help fund this project. With a little luck, you might wind up with more money than you can handle!"

"Doctor, there's absolutely no chance of that happening!" Stefan grinned. "When do you think I could expect the funding?"

"Oh, it shouldn't take more than a few weeks to get things moving. I'll contact you before the month is out. But I caution you - this ankh is at once more important and potentially more explosive than your Indian bones. Tell no one of its existence - no one - not even Professor Bernhardt. Do you understand?"

"Okay, but if I'm to go to Egypt for you, I have to bring Mackenzie with me. She's my control when I'm in trance, and if it wasn't for her, I might never have made these discoveries."

In the darkness, Stefan never saw Wescott's enigmatic smile. "Of course, my friend. She must come as well. Shall we go up now?"

"Yeah, I think we're done for today." Extending his hand, his eyes met the older man's. "I hope everything works out, Doctor."

Wescott clasped the younger man's hand in a surprisingly gentle grip, the way a father would greet his favorite son. "I hope so, too, Stefan," he murmured. "I do indeed."



"This is your captain once again. Thank you for your patience. We've cleared the turbulence and should begin our descent to Newark-Liberty International shortly. Thank you for flying with us and we hope to serve you again soon."

Stefan let out the breath he had been holding with a great "whoosh!" and stared at a still shaking hand. At the sound, Mackenzie turned from the window. "Were you really that frightened?"

"No, not especially." he lied.

"Then why is your face ten different shades of green?" she teased.

"Because I've never been a great fan of vertigo," he grumbled. “Never thought a 767 could bounce like that…”

She nodded absently, turning back to the window. In the short month they had known each other, she reflected, they had achieved a closeness usually associated with couples who had been together many years. She had often wondered if that was because they had spent several lifetimes together, as his readings had suggested. Had they been lovers previously? The question was intriguing, and certainly plausible, but there was no question about the present lifetime. Mackenzie was certain that she loved him, unquestionably and undeniably, and the love went far beyond the times they had slept together, though she swore she would never forget the first time. For them, lovemaking had become the stepping stone to a greater depth of understanding, a transcendence of the mundane, and a connection with a reality that was theirs and theirs alone, and one which was far grander than the world in which they lived. During their loving, and frequently while sleeping afterward, she believed she had caught glimpses of those past lives, though never anything truly concrete that she could consciously retain. /But perhaps that doesn't matter/ she smiled. The important thing was that the shadowy impressions had left her with a deeper, more powerful feeling of - what was the term? - connectedness! - with the man whose body she had so recently shared. Stefan had never said if he had seen the same visions but the manner in which he had caressed her - as much with his voice as with his hands - had told her that her feelings were not her imagination, and that they went both ways.

Through scattered, billowing clouds, Mackenzie caught blurred glimpses of the ground far below. It was like looking through floating cotton balls at a magical landscape etched in miniature; seemingly floating high overhead in a near-soundless environment, she could occasionally pick out snail-like movements: a car here, a train there. But they kept disappearing under the clouds just as she would get a fix on them. Many of her visions of Stefan and herself had seemed like this - frequently obscured, frustratingly enticing, and maddeningly just out of reach. Worse, whenever she had desired to come closer to them, they would always fade away. And yet, through all of the frustration, she felt irresistibly bound to Stefan's inner self through her past-life glimpses, and they made her all the more aware of how little she knew of his present incarnation. Was it her imagination, or had he been deliberately elusive about his past? All she knew for certain was that he was in his early thirties and...

"Thirty-two, to be exact, and my past before I came to Arizona just never came up, as you well know. We were too busy with other things." Stefan chuckled. "Sometimes when your mind floats like that, I can see right in. Like an open window."

She shuddered visibly. "I'm getting used to it," she admitted, "but it still throws me sometimes."

"Like now?"

"Especially like now! Stefan, I'm apprehensive enough about meeting Wescott, and if that's not scary enough, I'm going to be introduced to him by someone I know very little about!" She touched his cheek and smiled. “I adore you, Stefan Vesco, but-“

He nodded. "I understand your concerns. Really, I do. Let me try and set your mind at ease." He sat back and pressed his fingertips together under his chin. For a moment, he seemed to Mackenzie to be completely oblivious to his surroundings. Watching him only slightly calmed her nerves and did nothing to ease her worries about what she might tell him. After an interminable wait, he opened his eyes, and without focusing on anything in particular, he began.

"My main reason for coming to Arizona, as you know, was to work on my psychic methodology. But there was another reason. My family never had a whole lot of money, and by the time I wanted to go to grad school, I had to go to work to support myself. But good jobs were hard to come by near Clarkston College, so it was quite a struggle just to make ends meet. More than once, I came to the brink of giving up and moving back home. I don’t think I’d have made it through without the trucking job I was lucky enough to find.”

“A trucker? You?” she laughed.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. But the pay stabilized my finances enough to see me into grad school. I was also fortunate enough to land a scholarship. Things started to look up for me, and then I did the most sensible, most respectable thing any young man could do. I got married."

Mackenzie felt her heart plummet through the floor of the plane.

"I thought I was doing the right thing, you know," he continued, oblivious to her emotions. "She was a real sweet kid, a dispatcher at the trucking firm, and all my family loved her. So did I, at least at the beginning."

"Then it didn't last?"

"Not for very long. There were numerous conflicts, ones which I knew were there even before we were married, but ones I'd chosen to ignore. Basically, she wanted kids at the same time I was beginning to hit my stride in my metaphysical development. Neither of us had anything against the other's wishes but we just couldn't seem to coordinate things - like teeth in gears which refused to mesh."

Mackenzie nodded, embarrassed at the tear sliding down her face. "Did you get a divorce?"

He shook his head. "No. After one of our more celebrated rows, I just walked out. To this day I'm not sure if she'd finally gotten fed up with me and thrown me out, or if I could no longer stand to be with her. Probably a combination of both. Anyway, I was able to get most of my things and move in with some friends; one of the first moves I made was to apply to Arizona. After my marriage fell apart, I couldn’t wait to get out of Dodge. The rest you know." He drummed his fingers on the arm rest. "In all this time I haven't heard from her. There's unfinished business between us and I'm afraid it won't be laid to rest in this lifetime." He paused, contemplating. "There were no children, thank God. Of that I'm sure."

They sat in silence, listening to the faraway sound of the plane's engines, and the occasional quiet words between passengers and flight attendants. Unburdening himself about his past had brought a glow to Stefan's features, as though he had finally released a demon which had been eating him alive from the inside. He turned to her, a peculiar glow in his eyes, and took her hand. Startled, she almost pulled away - for all his warmth and tenderness, he was not usually demonstrative in public. But he caught her hand, holding it gently but firmly, and gazed deeply into her eyes. She beheld an unusual radiance in his, the colors in his irises swirling and falling upon one another, and felt mysteriously drawn to them, as though she was being compelled to immerse herself in them. Without warning, a quiet interior voice told her to let go, and she knew it was completely right, unquestioningly proper, and gave herself over to the feeling. Instantly, she was bombarded with a mass of information concerning their past lives, which she instinctively knew could not be processed by her conscious mind, and so let pass to her unconscious, to be stored and processed for later use. She blinked, and felt his lips upon hers, though no physical action had taken place. Mentally, she imagined herself returning the kiss, and felt herself bathed in a vortex of pink and purple light. The feeling was exquisite and she prayed that it would never end.

Stefan finally broke the stillness. "Wescott's an interesting character. I haven't felt anything that tells me not to trust him, though part of his personality is deliberately enigmatic. Remember the first trance-reading you conducted? We were told that we were being directed and that we would continue to be directed. I'm convinced that Wescott is the next step in that process."

"Do you think there will be more people involved?"

"That's hard to say. Perhaps we can do a reading on it, if we ever get the time. We could be pretty busy in the next several weeks."

"I'm sure. But as much as I want to see Egypt with you, I can't go unless something is done about Uncle David."

"Well, Wescott seems pretty certain that he can get the sponsoring for the dig; once that's done, he should be able to do something for you."

She nodded. "Okay, but what does Wescott want us to search for in Egypt? I imagine it has something to do with your Indian ankh?"

Stefan smiled and shifted his position slightly. Despite Wescott's warning, he had decided to tell his lover about the discovery. If he could not trust her, he had reasoned, he could not - and would not - trust anyone. "You know that the ankh symbol is incredibly old, yet Akhenaten revived it for his own purposes - purposes which are still imperfectly understood. Now-"

She stiffened. "You don't think he wants us to try and find Akhenaten's tomb, do you?"

The psychic nodded. "That is correct, Miss Haverstraw. The tomb of Akhenaten."

She shook her head vigorously. "Stefan, I attended a special lecture series last semester on the problems of the Amarna Period. No one thinks his body is around to be found! He had a tomb made for himself at his capital, yes, but it was ransacked and demolished not long after he was deposed; in any case, there was no sign that it had ever been used! And forever after he was branded as a criminal in Egyptian literature - so much so that his name became abhorrent to be written!"

"And this suggests what to you?"

"That he probably was poisoned and his body burned. Or perhaps he was sent into exile - where no one knows. But in either case, he'd never have been mummified, so there still wouldn't be a body to be found. What do you think, Stefan? Is Wescott right? Will we find a sealed tomb?"

He stared past her, out the window of the now-rapidly descending aircraft. "Dr. Wescott has excellent reasons for believing that Akhenaten's body is out there, Miss Haverstraw, waiting to be discovered. We shall be directed to it. And when we find it, that which is meant to be revealed shall be made known to all."

She stared at him then, white-faced, as she realized that she had been carrying on a conversation with the voice of Stefan's trances.



"Ah, Signore Vesco! Miss Haverstraw! How nice to meet you at last! I trust you had a pleasant flight?"

Terminal C of Newark-Liberty International Airport was noisy and choked with people, and for a moment Stefan and Mackenzie could not place the voice. It seemed to be coming from everywhere. Rushing passengers pressed in from every direction as they strained to make out who had called to them. For a brief moment the crowd dissolved and they came face to face with an impeccably-dressed little man whose features told them he was from India. He smiled with just a trace of laughter in his deep-set gray eyes and bowed to them, his long, thin fingers pressed together in an attitude of prayer. "Dr. Wescott asks your forgiveness in not meeting you personally, but alas, some last-minute business occupies his attention. I am his secretary, Rajendra Prasad. Please, call me Raji."

Stefan returned the gesture. "How did you recognize us?"

"Oh, it was not at all difficult. Dr. Wescott's descriptions were very accurate; your aura has wonderful colors in it, you know."

"Wait a minute," Mackenzie broke in. "Wescott described his aura but didn't give you a physical description?"

Prasad laughed, a sound not unlike a bubbling brook. "Oh, no, no, no! That was not necessary! When one learns to read an aura properly, one sees not only the physical, he sees the mental and spiritual selves as well! In this manner, one can not only describe a person, but tell if he has an ailment in any of the three levels, or even what a person is thinking. One can even tell if a person is telling the truth. Better than a lie detector is the reading of auras, Dr. Wescott says, because one can see all, and nothing is hidden."

"But then how can you have any privacy?"

"Ah, Miss Haverstraw, this is not an ability to be used foolishly or indiscriminately. Untold amounts of information impress themselves upon your mind every hour, yet you are aware of only a fraction. Were anyone to be fully aware of all that goes on around him, his conscious mind could not possibly process all the information in a given moment! Thus, most of this input passes into his subconscious where it is processed and stored gradually. To open, then, to another's mind is to double this flow of information. This requires a high degree of training - few can do this without suffering in some way."

"It would be like feeding a higher voltage through a wire than that wire is equipped to handle." Stefan commented.

"Exactly," the secretary rejoined, "and an astute analogy, as the brain does, in fact, work on electric current. I myself can only read auras for brief periods - it is too taxing. Dr. Wescott is much better, but even he will not do it very often. It is a gift, he says, to be used sparingly, and only when necessary. I have not yet mastered the art, so today was a good exercise."

They had reached the terminal's exit. Stepping upon the rubber mats allowed the glass doors to swish open before them, and as they passed through they were greeted by a dingy-yellow cab against whose dented rear fender leaned its driver, his face obscured by the newspaper he was reading. "Ah, Jeffers, my friend!" Prasad greeted him jovially. "I have found our guests! Are you ready to travel?”

The newspaper bobbed up and down in response.

"Very good. Please assist them."

The paper dropped, revealing a rough, weather-beaten face whose nose looked as though it had been broken several times. Shocks of flaming red hair peeked out from under a chauffeur’s cap, and in a quick motion, Jeffers folded the paper, opened the rear door, and flipped the paper inside. It landed on the seat with an audible plop, not one page out of place. As Jeffers motioned for them to get in, Stefan noticed for the first time the man's intense, penetrating eyes. A riveting blue, they carried a powerful impression of belligerence, anger, and revenge, yet Stefan knew that the fierceness was directed neither at him nor his companions. With a flash of insight, he realized that they were impressions of debilities long since overcome, and of powerful energies now used for higher, more noble purposes. He unobtrusively glanced from Jeffers to Prasad and back again and knew that there was an inseparable bond between these two vastly different men, and that it was greater and far more important than he could imagine at the moment; two brothers could not have been closer. As he sat and watched Jeffers slam the door, he heard Prasad's voice in his mind: /Very good, Mr. Vesco, I congratulate you on your penetration and intuition. You can indeed read auras, though you have never been trained to do so in this lifetime. This is an excellent and encouraging sign. We are pleased./

As the cab pulled away from the curb and eased into the flow of traffic, Stefan settled himself and felt his mind flow gently into meditation. Prasad's words slid away from his conscious self, falling into a special compartment in his subconscious, there to be stored and processed. He tried to retrieve the information but found that he had forgotten what to look for. He wondered precisely what he had been searching for, then wondered why he was looking for anything at all. Something had made an impression on his consciousness but it was no longer there, if indeed it had ever been there. He was no longer certain. But as he finally let himself go over to the meditation, his mind felt a soothing, cooling presence, a familiar yet elusive voice, telling him to be at peace and not to worry. /All things at the proper time/ it seemed to say.



The cab pulled up in front of a plain, unimposing three-story frame house on a quiet street just outside Princeton University. Sturdy oaks and hardy ash lined the broad avenue, their empty branches anxiously awaiting the return of their avian occupants. As Stefan stepped out, he saw that the place badly needed a painting; a cracked gutter and several broken shutters on the third floor veritably screamed for repair. Prasad and Mackenzie quickly joined him, the latter taking a moment to stretch her legs and inhale deeply of the crisp air. Jeffers quietly closed the cab’s doors behind them and followed behind with their carry-ons. "Come," Prasad murmured, and indicated the rickety steps leading up to the front porch. "Dr. Wescott awaits within."

Their eyes took several minutes to adjust to the darkness inside, a darkness which was accentuated by the rich darkwoods with which the vestibule had been constructed. Directly in front of them rose a wide staircase with the main floor hall running past it on either side; both the floor and the stairs were luxuriously carpeted with thick Persian rugs. A sharper contrast with the building's outside they could not have imagined! “Jeffers, my friend,” Prasad murmured, “kindly take our guests’ belongings to their quarters.” As the chauffeur bowed and disappeared down a side corridor, Prasad quickly led Stefan and Mackenzie up the staircase to the second floor landing. A large crystal chandelier shed a pale light on a pair of solid oak doors off to their left. The secretary stepped to them and, without a word, worked the twin brass handles and ushered his charges into the study. Noiselessly, he closed the doors behind them and departed.

Sitting sidesaddle at a large mahogany desk, Wescott glanced up from an animated telephone conversation and waved his guests to an overstuffed couch while continuing his discussion. Rather than sitting, the pair took the opportunity to familiarize themselves with their surroundings. One corner was occupied by a large, ornate stone fireplace within which several logs were blazing. The mantle above it held a model of an ancient Egyptian papyrus boat which was being watched over by an exquisite oil painting of a man they did not recognize. The rest of the room and all it contained - desk, couch, chair and lamptable - was completely overshadowed by a huge, over-stocked library. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the paneled walls, their contents in an impressive state of disarray. More books were stacked on the carpet, chairs, and even the windowsill – these threatened to tip over at a mere glance. Clearly, here was a man whose mind was never at rest in the ceaseless quest for knowledge. They peered closer, hoping to discover something about their enigmatic host. But for a man whose passions were reputed to be archaeology and the ancient Middle East, Wescott possessed surprisingly few works on these subjects; many more were on topics as diverse as early Christianity, Eastern mysticism and metaphysics, abnormal psychology, the Middle Ages, lost continents and antediluvian cultures, the Kabbalah, Freemasonry, pyramidology and ancient measuring systems, reincarnation and karma, and not a few on European history since the rise of Bismarck. Scattered among these were selections speculating on Gnosticism, the Essenes, the Shroud of Turin, the Maya, King Arthur and his Knights, secret societies such as the Rosicrucians, the Knights Templar, and the Golden Dawn; several volumes on the Mysteries of the Holy Grail, and an entire section devoted exclusively to the collected works of Rudolf Steiner, H. P. Blavatsky, Schwaller deLubicz, and Manly P. Hall. The dissimilarity within the collection was astounding, and on the surface emblematic of a man with many and varied interests. But as he examined his host's odd assortment of books, Stefan came to understand that there was a connecting thread running through it all, if he could only discover the key. A singular feeling arose within him that that thought was itself a key - a key which could unleash a Pandora's box of answers...

Wescott dropped the receiver into its cradle with a sigh of immense satisfaction and turned to face them. But before he could speak, Mackenzie gasped audibly. "Uncle David!"

The consultant looked thoroughly confused. "I beg your pardon?"

Mackenzie flushed as she recognized her error. When Wescott had moved, the light playing upon her features had created a near-perfect replica of David Thornton. But upon closer inspection, she saw that the resemblance was not as great as she originally had supposed. /Besides,/ she reflected ruefully, /David Thornton died in 1980/ She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Doctor Wescott. For a moment, you looked just like my great-grand uncle."

Wescott rose, smiling broadly, and extended his hand. "You flatter me, Miss Haverstraw. Welcome to my home." She took the proffered hand and was instantly impressed by the warmth and gentleness of the grip. "I take it you mean David Thornton?" he added rhetorically.

"How did you know that?"

"Professor Bernhardt filled me in on the background of Stefan's dig. Come, come, please sit down." Westcott hurriedly cleared a space on his couch for them, then as they sat, he returned to his desk and leaned back against it. From their angle, framed against a large bay window, he seemed to Stefan and Mackenzie to become larger than life-sized. They were suddenly aware of tremendous power and majesty behind the man, a magnitude which threatened to dwarf everything they knew. As exhilarating as it was frightening, it nevertheless vanished as quickly as it had come, like a door opening for an all-too-brief glimpse of shadowed glories beyond, then closing again. They stared at him, as though seeing him for the first time. /Whatever Wescott is,/ the thought rang simultaneously in their minds, /university consultant is the least of it.../

Without giving any indication that anything untoward had happened, Wescott fixed them with a steady, penetrating gaze. "Shall I assume, Miss Haverstraw," he began, "that Stefan has filled you in on our previous conversation?"

"He has," she replied cautiously, with a sideways glance at her companion. "What now?"

"First, allow me to apologize for leaving Arizona so abruptly. I had to return here to personally insure that Princeton University would indeed help underwrite the continuation of Stefan's dig. I am happy to say that my efforts have been successful. Also, I was just now speaking with Professor Bernhardt. Not only has the University of Arizona agreed to co-sponsor the project, their Board of Trustees has put Philip in charge during Stefan's absence. I trust this will be satisfactory?"

Stefan nodded. "Bernie and I have had our differences but he's a good archaeologist. I think things'll be okay. I take it this means I'm free to vacation in Egypt?"

"Indeed it does, Stefan. Miss Haverstraw, Philip has spoken to your advisor and she has given her enthusiastic approval. Consider this a field research project." He chuckled. "I suspect she will expect a major paper from you!"

"Okay." Stefan fished into his jacket pocket and produced a well-worn Savinelli Linea which he proceeded to pack with considerable care. A habit from his early college days, the drawn-out ritual often helped settle him when he needed to think deeply on serious matters. He carefully lit the pipe and blew a succession of smoke rings at the ceiling, staring after their progress, temporarily lost in thought. "I think I know what you want us to do." he said at length.

Wescott's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Indeed? What?"

Stefan sat back and clasped his hands behind his head, the pipe held loosely in his mouth. "I've been thinking about it ever since we boarded the plane in Phoenix. You want us to find Akhenaten's tomb."

Wescott half-closed his eyes and nodded slowly. "Very good," he whispered. "Very, very good!"

"Doctor," Mackenzie broke in, "is his body really out there? Surely you're familiar with the various theories concerning his demise?"

"Speculation!" Wescott snorted. "Imbecilic nonsense! Miss Haverstraw, what all these theories constantly fail to take into account is that previous to Akhenaten, the priesthood of Amon determined the pharonic succession through their powerful oracle. They were, for all practical purposes, the real power in Egypt throughout the Eighteenth Dynasty! That Akhenaten could obliterate them, renounce Thebes as his capital and build a new city in the desert, inaugurate a religious revolution that uprooted the very foundations of Egyptian society, and continue to rule for seventeen years strongly suggests that he must have had help! Human nature being what it is, my friends, even the belief that Pharaoh was God incarnate is not sufficient reason to explain why Akhenaten continued to rule an apparently unhappy country for as long as he did. Eventually, they did overcome that belief, you know."

"What kind of help do you think he had?" Stefan asked.

"The trail is a thin one but it seems that very soon after he constructed his new capital, Akhenaten brought in priests from Heliopolis in the Delta to form a cadre for his god, the Aten. Recall, Stefan, that the symbol for the Aten was the ankh, and that Aten had been worshipped at Heliopolis since pre-dynastic times."

"And this is why you think that Akhenaten was a revivalist rather than a true revolutionary."

"Exactly. So it is entirely possible that the Heliopolitan priesthood helped him when he came to the throne!"

"Then what of Akhenaten's downfall?" Mackenzie interjected. "Wouldn't his followers have been killed?"

Wescott nodded grimly. "Sadly, many were. But I think some survived, including an inner circle close to the pharaoh. They may have appropriated Akhenaten's body in secret and buried it, probably on the grounds of his city. This possibility has been raised by the traditions of several secret societies and mystic brotherhoods which claim descent from what Akhenaten established, traditions which have been scoffed at by staid Egyptologists."

"I see," Stefan murmured, relighting the Savinelli "And you think these traditions have some basis in fact?"

"Many traditions do, Stefan, the world over. This one, if proven true, would answer a great many questions. Even a hasty internment, without mummification, would contain valuable information about the period. I'm convinced you'll find something of import. At worst, you may prove the conventional view. Or you may make a discovery which would solve a mountain of Egyptological puzzles, and one which would far outstrip King Tut in importance. Will you do it?"

Several minutes passed anxiously as Stefan considered. "All right, Doctor," he said finally, "I'll go. You obviously have a great deal of faith in my abilities. But no matter what, when this is over, I want to return to Arizona and continue to work there. I think there's a lot more to be found."

"There is, Stefan, I'm sure of it. And I'd like to be there to see it, if you'll have me. Miss Haverstraw?"

"Doctor, what about my uncle? He's the reason I became involved with Stefan in the first place, and I can't just run off somewhere without finding out what really happened to him."

Wescott crossed his arms on his chest, one hand absently scratching an elbow. "I see. And believe me, I quite understand how you must feel. Hmm..." His voice trailed off and for several minutes there was silence. Now it was his turn to deliberate. He hadn't counted on this. Tactical errors were foolish and inexcusable, he knew, and there was too much at stake to be caught unawares. At all costs, she had to be reassured that he was genuine. "I was considering going with you," he resumed, "but I've been debating it as I might attract undue attention. I'm fairly well-known in Egypt and once the authorities learn of my presence, they'll want to know if I'll be sponsoring a dig. If they find out even the slightest, we'll never know a moment's rest. I assume you'd wish to work with as little distraction as possible?" They both nodded. "Of course," Wescott continued. "I'll tell you what, Miss Haverstraw, if you go with Stefan now, I will stay behind and try to dig up your uncle's report. That should not be difficult. Finding out what happened to him may be another matter, however, but I shall do my level best to see to it that David Thornton's name is credited properly and linked, as it should be, to Stefan's dig. Will that be satisfactory?"

Mackenzie frowned. "Not entirely, but under the circumstances, it'll have to do. I'll go with Stefan - both because he needs me and I really do want to see the place - but when we return, I want to accompany him back to Arizona. I have a strange feeling about the dig there - like it's a crux of some sort I can't quite explain - and I want to help him finish his work there. But if you can't find out about David Thornton, then I'll do whatever I have to in order to discover the truth. I won't rest until I know!"

"Agreed, Miss Haverstraw."

Stefan removed the pipe from his mouth and began tapping out the spent ashes. "Then I guess our next question must be: 'when do we leave?'"

"Not for a while yet. I have rooms here for the both of you and I think it would be wise if you learned a bit of the ancient and modern languages you'll encounter, as well as the present Egyptian customs. There will be ample time for this while travel arrangements are made and your passports are updated. No sense sending you out there not knowing what to expect." Wescott relaxed visibly, with an air of pristine satisfaction. "Shall we toast our success? Some brandy, perhaps?" Without waiting for an answer, he went to the wall next to his desk and opened a panel, rapidly producing a bottle and three glasses. But even though he maintained a cheerful attitude, Wescott's inner self harbored serious misgivings. He had not told his young charges the entire story, nor could he yet. Mackenzie had come perilously close by asking about Thornton, and he had been fortunate enough to tap-dance around that particular problem. And what of Stefan? How would he react when the full truth was revealed to him? That he had won their trust Wescott was certain, but would that be enough to sustain them? He lifted his glass to his new friends and drank heartily. /No,/ he concluded, /such misgivings are premature. There will be ample time for confronting such concerns later. For now, my task is to instruct them as best I can and send them on their way. They'll probably learn much of the truth on their own.../



“I could not believe it when the phone rang and it was Dr. Wescott!” Moustaph Awayan exclaimed as he gunned the accelerator of his pick-up truck and pulled away from the Mallawi railway station. “I have not heard from him in years, and he tells me to meet you and to take good care of you! You had no trouble?”

“No, none at all!” Stefan smiled. “Dr. Wescott’s advice to board the train in Cairo and just take a seat worked out well. We had to pay a little more for buying tickets on the train, of course, but we were easily able to secure first-class seats.”

Moustaph nodded as he swerved around the traffic flowing out of the plaza and made for the main road heading south. “He knows this land well, my friends! Some of my countrymen like to give foreigners, especially Americans, a difficult time, but most of us are not like that. Egypt is renowned for her hospitality, and I hope you will excuse the few who do not see it that way.” They gained the main highway and eased into the flow of traffic leaving the village. “So you are a psychic archaeologist, Mr. Vesco? You see old ruins in your mind, is that it?”

Stefan nodded. “Something like that!”

“But for some reason, you need to get into el-Amarna, correct? And not be seen or noticed?”

“Yes. Can it be done?”

Moustaph grumbled in Arabic. “No, it cannot – it is impossible! Ever since that terrorist attack at Deir el-Bahri, our government has tightened security at every archaeological site. No one can get in without a special pass, and at Amarna, you also have to cross the Nile by ferry, and access to the ferry is strictly controlled. The police are very serious about these things.”

“Well, one of Stefan’s dreams said we would find people to help us,” Mackenzie interjected. “Perhaps Dr. Wescott thinks you can get us in there somehow!”

Moustaph grumbled again. “He has a long memory, that one! I owed him a favor from years ago, which I thought he had forgotten! But now-“ Moustaph stared at the road ahead. The heat radiating from the asphalt seemed to make the air ripple in front of the truck as his mind raced. “In fact, I do know a way into the Amarna area, my friends, but you must promise me that you will never tell a soul that I have done this! Do you understand?” They nodded. “I have relatives who live in Beni Mûhammadîyât, a small village about sixty kilometers southeast of here. We will have to cross the Nile at the Amarna ferry, of course, but when I explain that we will not be going to the Amarna site itself, but instead I am taking my American friends to meet my family, there should not be a problem. Once past the police check point, I will take the local roads that will bring us to an area that borders the eastern slopes of the Amarna cliffs. You will have to walk a considerable distance just to get to the hills, then climb them and descend the other side. That is where the royal tombs are. There are no police patrols in this area, especially at night, as they think no one in his right mind would ever do this!”

“Now there’s a cheery thought!” Mackenzie quipped.

“How high a climb is it?” Stefan asked.

“Not very far. If you are not skilled in climbing, it may be difficult for you, but it is not impossible.”

“Then we are in your hands, my friend. And grateful for your assistance.”

Moustaph grinned. “Then may Allah protect you!”



The dusty pickup truck came to a stop near a small range of hills. Even in the early evening, the burning sun shone down on a deserted expanse of barren ground, filled with broken rocks scattered in every direction, contrasting sharply with the acres of irrigated farmland they had passed through earlier. “This is as far as I can take you,” Moustaph said. “Dr. Wescott said I was to help you get around the security measures, and this I have done. The rest is up to you.”

“We are grateful for your help, Moustaph.” Stefan replied. “How will we get in touch will you?”

The big Egyptian shook his head. “Remember, no one is to know what I have done! The government takes security very seriously, and I will get into much trouble if I am found out! But Dr. Wescott is a good man, blessed by Allah, and so I have paid my debt to him!” He pressed his hands together as if in prayer, then wrote on the back of a business card and gave it to Stefan. “Here is my private number to my mobile phone. Share it with no one, please. Call me when you are ready and I will come for you. Day or night, it does not matter.” He pointed towards the base of the slope. “There is a trail there which should get you to the top where there are a few small grottoes. After nightfall, you can descend the other side towards the site. Be very careful, my friends. The moon will be bright, so you should not have to use a flashlight to see where you are going, but remember that small noises travel far in the dark.”

“You are a good man, Mr. Awayan.” Mackenzie smiled. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”

They got out and Stefan and Mackenzie shouldered their backpacks. Moustaph pulled two walking sticks from under the back seat and handed them to Stefan. “You will need these. Now go, and may Allah be with you!”

As the truck sped away, Stefan hefted the walking stick. He had never used a cane before, but he noted that it had a comfortable familiarity to it. /Perhaps in another life/” he mused.

“We’d better get going,” Mackenzie said. “We certainly don’t want to be out in this sun for much longer.”

“Agreed,” Stefan replied.

As the more experienced hiker, Mackenzie led the way, often stopping to allow her companion time to catch his breath as they climbed. Their ascent took the better part of an hour before they found a grotto that was large enough for them both as well as their gear. They entered, and sank to the floor of the cave, exhausted.



Stefan sat quietly at the mouth of the cave waiting for the moon to rise, peering anxiously over the desolate plain below. Somewhere down there, among the rocks and wind-blown sand that was once the proud city of Akhet-Aten, rested the tomb, and possibly the remains, of the builder of the ill-fated city - the pharaoh Akhenaten. But where? The ruins stretched for several miles along the riverbank, running inland right up to the base of the cliffs into which the tombs of the nobility had been cut. These had all been excavated and Egyptologists had concluded that if Akhenaten had ever been laid to rest in one of them, then surely his body had been taken and destroyed when the tombs had been violated during the city's destruction. Stefan smiled inwardly. Such a conclusion, based on physical evidence alone, was hardly surprising. But now, a new factor was about to enter the equation.

He settled himself, then relaxed and entered a light meditation. He recalled their long flight from New York and their landing in Cairo. Seeing the pyramids for the first time from the air during their final approach had been an breathtaking experience, their squat, somber majesty seeming to reach into the plane's interior as they flew over them. As compelling as they were, Stefan had had to mentally assert that he would one day come to them - only then had he been able to put them out of his mind and concentrate on the task at hand.

A restless night in their Cairo hotel had produced his first-trance reading. He had psychically seen the entrance to the tomb but had been told, in no uncertain terms that they would be led to it by a spirit guide. Mackenzie had been skeptical but Stefan had reassured her. Since the guide had been mentioned in the reading, he had felt that they should follow through on it. It might, he had argued, be a further indication of the assistance they were to receive. Not fully convinced, Mackenzie, nevertheless, had agreed.

Stefan came out of his meditation, refreshed, to see Mackenzie standing next to him. "Hi. Did you bring the arc-lamp?"

"Sure," she replied. “You got the digital camera?”

“Of course! One should never travel without one!”

“Well, then we only have one problem.”

"That being?"

"We have no tools for excavation, even in broad daylight. How are we going to get into a sealed tomb at night?"

He sobered immediately. "I don't know. But I felt something in my trance last night, that there was a relatively simple way to get in, if you just knew the key. I'm not sure what that means but I think we'll be shown when the time comes. If not, we'll contact Wescott and let him decide the next move. Okay?"

“Guess it’ll have to be.”

"Good. Now come, it's time to go." He rose and took her hand and together they set off down the slope on the final stage of their journey.

Their descent was not as difficult as they had feared – the ground was much smoother than the eastern slope – and as Moustaph had assured them, the swelling moon shed more than enough light for them to navigate. Once on level ground, they kept close to the base of the cliffs, staying as far away from the scattered resurrected columns and reconstructed building foundations as they could, lest a stray night patrol spot them. Save only for the soft crunching of the sand beneath their feet, there was no sound. Stefan's eyes were half-closed as he psychically felt his way along, and Mackenzie remained close to him, guiding him along the ground before them. Slowly and cautiously, they made their way forward.

They had not gotten very far when Stefan abruptly gripped Mackenzie's hand tightly. "This way!" he said tersely. In spite of nearly falling flat on her face, she stifled a laugh as the absurd image of a bloodhound tugging at the leash of its master came to her mind. "Don't laugh," he whispered, quickening his pace. "That image is entirely appropriate."

"Are you reading my mind?" she asked, breathlessly trying to keep up with him.

"Yes, and I'm a little surprised myself. I seem to be operating on several levels at once - like I'm receiving different channels of information. One part of my mind is entirely in the physical world - that's how I know what you're thinking. Another part is on the astral plane, watching an image of myself being led by that guide."

"The same one? Who is he?"

"I don't know - I can't make out his features. "

"Then why don't you ask him his name?"

For a moment there was dead silence. "That's odd," Stefan said finally. "He told me his name is Ineni and I know I know him. But when he turned towards me to answer, I saw a veil over his face." He paused. "But I also know that the face under the veil was not Ineni's, whoever he may be."

"No? Then whose was it?"

"Damned if I know!”

Mackenzie grabbed his arm, pulling him to a halt. “Then I’m not sure we can trust him.”

Stefan took a breath to calm himself. “You may be right, but I don’t think we have much of a choice. I think we have to chance it, and see how it plays out.”

“Well, if you’re sure-“

“Not entirely. Look, Ineni is leading us along the astral plane,” he added in a reassuring tone, “a direct counterpart of the physical world, and the way is clear to him. Try to let yourself go, and not be concerned." As she gripped his arm and nodded, he added, "That's better. But watch your step. We're going up now."

They climbed a short, rough slope - agonizingly slowly as Mackenzie had to be guided every step of the way - and came to the entrance to a small defile hidden among the rocky crags. Eyes wide open now but still sensing his guide, Stefan swung his head from side to side, nodding his satisfaction. "This is it! Can you feel it?"

"Feel what? Stefan, I-" Then it hit her. "You’re right, there is something familiar about this place, like I've been here be-" She broke off, disbelieving her own words. Accepting reincarnation as one's personal philosophy was one thing, but to be brought face-to-face with its reality was quite another. Stefan grinned. "The entrance is at the end of this corridor," he said. "Let's go."

Some twenty yards ahead of them, the passage veered sharply, then ended in a tight cul-de-sac. Stefan took the lamp, and shading the lens with his hand, switched it on, and aimed it at the rock wall. They saw nothing to indicate a tomb entrance. "What now?" Mackenzie inquired.

"Wait, I'm getting something from Ineni." Stefan shut the lamp off and stood quietly for awhile. "Take it!" he said abruptly.

As soon as she had taken the lantern, Stefan clapped his hands twice and raised them, palms up, as if in supplication to the moon. His brow furrowed in concentration, he began to chant in a tongue that Mackenzie did not recognize but which sounded vaguely like a cross between Hebrew and what she believed was ancient Egyptian. During the recitation of his mantram, Stefan's voice varied in both pitch and volume, and he finished by chanting the names of three ancient Egyptian deities, 'HAT-HOR - ANPU - PTAH!!' three times, drawing out the final syllable until it faded into the night, then bowed his head in silence. Mackenzie thought she saw a thin beam of intense emerald fire dance from Stefan’s forehead and strike the rock wall. Before her uncomprehending eyes, the rock wall wavered and vanished, revealing a short passage obviously cut by human hands. "Shall we go in?" he asked nonchalantly.

She eyed him, thunderstruck. "Would you mind telling me what you just did?"

"Ineni told me that this passage was concealed by a mystic spell which bends lights waves, making visitors see only a rock wall. Mundane thieves would never find the place, and even those who knew how to see through the spell could do nothing without the countersign."

"And who would know that?"

For the first time that night, Stefan's face registered surprise. "Ineni says that only those who placed the spell would know the countersign!"

Mackenzie whistled and stared down the shaft. "Only those who placed the spell, huh? I wonder just how much Wescott really knows?"

...and Ineni softly laughed...



The corridor had been cut in typical Egyptian fashion, though it conveyed the subtle impression of having been freshly excavated. Their path lay straight before them, angling slightly downward, but after a scant ten feet, they came to a flight of stone steps descending into the darkness. As they went down, Mackenzie remarked that though the air was somewhat dank and musty, it was surprisingly breathable, and considerably fresher than what might have been expected.

At the bottom of the stairwell, the corridor turned in a wide arc, almost coming back upon itself, and continued at a shallow downward angle for a considerable distance, then leveled off for the last twenty feet, ending at another door. Mackenzie shone the light on it and in the glare they could see clearly the unmistakable Aten sun-disk, the symbol of Akhenaten's religious revolution, its myriad rays ending in stylized hands, each grasping a tiny ankh. Hieroglyphs carved on either side claimed the site as the king's final resting place, and Stefan haltingly translated the short text below:



Nefer-khepru-Re wa'enre Akhenaten, beloved Pharaoh and High Priest of the New Order of the Sacred Brotherhood, who survived to Live Long. He who knows the Mysteries, give Life by his father, the ATEN, confers, from this place, the Peace of ATEN upon all those who would, with open hearts, seek the Light of His TRUTH.



“Not exactly your standard entrance-way curse text, is it." Mackenzie deadpanned.

"True, but remember, we're not dealing with a typical burial or a typical monarch. If we find anything that's 'standard', I think we can regard that as abnormal. And if my sense of direction hasn’t completely eluded me, I think we’re now almost exactly under the center of Akhet-Aten!”

“I think you’re right! Interesting – Akhenaten had a tomb carved for himself in the cliffs above, alongside everyone else’s, but all along planed a secret crypt down here! Impressive!”

Stefan nodded. “The only question is – how the hell do we get into it?” But even before he had finished speaking, he had raised his arms the same way he had above ground, and began to repeat the mantram. Moments later, the door swung open, and the two explorers finally beheld Akhenaten's tomb.

But it wasn't a tomb, not by any stretch of the imagination. The air was neither dank nor stale, but was as fresh as the night air above, augmented with vague hints of juniper berries and acacia plants. On the walls exquisite murals greeted their eyes: a vibrant sunset along a range of snow-capped mountains, a shimmering scene of a primeval forest, and a glistening reproduction of a placid nighttime seashore, watched over by thousands of seemingly pulsating stars. Behind them, on the wall through which they had just entered, spread the most magnificent mural of all. They stood in silent awe and reverence as they beheld Akhenaten himself worshiping the sun-disk. Behind him stood twelve figures – seven carved in vibrant relief and carrying ankhs, the other five carved with indeterminate features, indicating that they were not among the living. Following these was a grand procession of what looked to be priests accompanied by temple servants carrying incense burners surrounding a wooden coffin supported by eight bald men clad in leopard skins. As they walked deeper into the chamber, the pungent aroma of bitter frankincense almost clogged their nostrils. The central floor of the chamber was dominated by a large rectangle composed of alternating black and white squares which Mackenzie counted as they walked. “Twelve on the long side, nine on the short, making a total of one hundred and eight. Interesting number.”

“Yes, a number sacred to many faiths, as well as some so-called secret societies. What we’re walking over is, in fact, the tessellated pavement of a Masonic Lodge.”

“A what? Oh come on, those old geezers were in Egypt, too?”

“No, but their ancestors were. They were part of a spiritual elite, answerable only to Pharaoh himself. Schwaller deLubicz called them ‘The Inner Temple’, and they were celebrated as guardians of sacred knowledge not meant for the profane.”

“You mean ‘The Mystery Schools’, right?”

“Amounts to the same thing, I would guess.” He looked up. Towering over the center of the chamber, and extending into the seashore scene, spread the magnificent canopy of a massive luminous starfield. Mackenzie followed his gaze. “Stefan, this is supposed to be an Egyptian tomb, right?”

“Supposed to be, but it’s not like any that I’m familiar with. Remember, I said that if we found anything that’s ‘standard’, that in itself would be abnormal.” He pointed to the mural of the forest. “And so far, it’s running true to form. The flora and fauna depicted here are clearly not from dynastic Egypt!”

“It’s more than that!” Mackenzie indicated the depiction of large, elephant-like creature with huge curved tusks. “THAT is a Columbian mammoth!”

“A Columbian mammoth? They flourished in North America 100,000 years ago, particularly in the American southwest!”

“Which would be right around the time of our dig! Damn-!” She stopped and turned around. “Then these others should represent scenes from the same time and place?”

“Hard to tell.” Stefan swung the lamp around to illuminate the other walls. “The mountains could be generic, and the arrangement of the stars on the ceiling looks just like the night sky outside.”

She whistled softly. “So WAS there a connection between Akhenaten and Arizona, or wasn’t there?”

“An intriguing question. If he’s in here, he might be able to tell us.” Stefan replied. "What's over here?" But as he swung the arc-lamp on the easternmost wall of the chamber, they both stopped cold. Directly in front of them - as though not revealing itself until the last possible moment - was a dais of three granite steps, at the top of which lay a simple cedarwood coffin, completely devoid of ornamentation. Behind it continued the mural of the crystalline heavens, and now the explorers saw that the pulsating stars formed familiar constellations – Taurus, the Bull, home of the seven stars of the Pleiades; Leo, containing fiery Regulus; and Canis Major, adorned with brilliant Sirius. Awe-struck, they mounted the steps of the dais, and turned their attention to what lay before them.

Out of all the surprises of the night, they both later swore, the body in the coffin far outweighed the others. Though they had been prepared for the remains of an un-mummified corpse, what they found was, still, completely unexpected. The emaciated body of an extremely old man greeted their eyes, one which looked like it had but recently suffered death. The shriveled figure was garbed in a simple traveler's cloak, a walking staff by its side. Ill-fitting sandals adorned scarred and swollen feet; a filthy blindfold lay almost hidden under masses of long scraggly hair. But the worn, leathery face wore a peaceful smile, as though death had brought welcome relief to a man who was exceedingly tired of life. Stefan whistled. "In addition to the spell of concealment, there must be one working here that actually suspends time!"

For what seemed ages, they simply stared at Akhenaten's body, not able to move or speak, not even knowing if they cared. Mackenzie finally put their joint thought into words. "What could have happened to turn a pharaoh of Egypt into a homeless wanderer?"

Stefan raised his head, and gazed at the funeral mural across the chamber. "Relax, and let the answer come to you. It is why Ineni directed us here."

Mackenzie closed her eyes. Myriad sparkles of light and color swirled and fell upon one another within her mind, then dissolved into a nighttime scene in which shadowy figures transported a plain cedarwood coffin down a shaft cut into living rock. Chanting, prayers, and frankincense flooded her senses. Her mind's eye, directed by a will of its own - or was it directed by Ineni? - focused on two figures. One - a tall, lithe, exquisitely beautiful woman - supported a much older man who appeared to be blind. She strained to make out their facial features but failed. This scene, too, dissolved, and she felt directed to open her eyes. The first thing she beheld was the Akhenaten mural. A warm smile found its way into her features as she realized that the two figures in the mural immediately behind Akhenaten were the same as the man and woman in her vision.

And she knew that they were...themselves...

A glance at Stefan showed that he, too, had shared her vision and her understanding. "I guess that explains why this place was so familiar and why you knew the countersign."

"It would indeed," he agreed. "We have been here before, both of us, and I think I know exactly-" Before he had finished, he was on his hands and knees at the foot of the coffin, excitedly running his hands over the granite floor and muttering incoherently. With a strangulated cry, he pressed his fingers into two nearly invisible depressions, and a square block rotated upward in response. He grabbed it and pulled it aside, then thrust his hands into the receptacle below. "Mac, look! Papyrus! And fresh, like the day it was written!"

With trembling hands, she brought the light closer as he produced the first of several scrolls. "Open it!” she breathed. “What does it say?"

Far more nervous and excited than even his companion knew, Stefan Vesco carefully and painstakingly unrolled the precious record of the past. "The suspension of time has worked on this, too! Now I'm certain that whoever put this tomb together wanted it to be found, but only by the right people." He looked up at her, his face a mixture of exaltation and awe. "And I think we are the right people!"

She nodded. “Okay, but why?”

"Mac, every step of the way we've been guided - first by my dreams in Arizona, then by Wescott, and now Ineni. There's a reason why we were meant to find this! It makes no sense otherwise!"

She sat next to him, stunned. The implications of his words were enormous, and she could hardly bring herself to confront them. She thought again of the recent visions they had shared. David Thornton suddenly seemed far away, almost inconsequential. She took a deep breath. "All right. Lets say there is. Translating that papyrus should help. Can you do it?"

He stared at the scroll for a time. "It's no use. This writing is a far more sophisticated text than the one on the door, like the words of a polished scribe as compared to those of a neophyte. Even the preamble is beyond the crash course Wescott gave us. I can pick out a few words, a phrase or two, but that's abou...wait a minute…"

"What is it?"

"Give me a moment." He stared at the papyrus again, concentrating deeply. "I'm getting a translation, but not directly...it's almost as if the hieroglyphs themselves are singing to me..." Suddenly his eyes grew wide. "This is written by a man named Thoth, who describes himself as 'once a son of kings, now a servant of the One.' The text purports to be 'a true history of NeferkhepruRe-wa'enre Akhenaten and his earthly life, and of the Seer who returned the Work to its True Path' !"

"'The seer' ? Who's that? And what's 'The Work' ?"

"Wait, I'm getting more." Stefan shifted to a more comfortable position and angled the light onto the papyrus. "He says that in the twenty-third year of the pharaoh Men¬kheper-Re Dhutmose, the seer, whose name was Amon-hotep, the son of Hapu, developed his blindness - 'the blindness which at first was his curse, but which came, in time, to be the foundation of his enlightenment...'"

As Stefan continued to read, their perspective underwent a subtle shift, and soon Akhenaten's tomb, the world outside, and even time itself, dissolved into meaningless patterns of color, even as their consciousnesses flowed backward in time, to when the world's greatest civilization flourished on the banks of the Nile...