MOBIUS INSIGHT ©

By Allen D. Furford

CHAPTER 5

"Knife..?"

Miles nodded. "One could transport messages in the handle and it would be unexpected as everyone in those days carried some kind of cutting tool."

"So the handle was hollow!"

"Yes, Mr. President. When there was nothing in the handle, the dagger would float in water. It was a seafaring fighting knife. Shark skin was for a non-slipping grasp. The blade could be recovered if it were dropped over the side of a boat or while working on line at the dock."

"The Mycenaens were thinkers, it seems."

"They covered all fields for their time very well. We found out something else because of the purchase of that knife, something that had been missed in our own scientific community, and that was the fact messages could be saved on thin annealed gold foil. We knew they used bees wax and clay, papyrus, stone, and leather for written communications, but it seems the fact that gold, which is fairly chemically inert, was over looked."

"Expensive writing material."

"Clandestine activities sometimes are expensive, sir."

"Miles, that is an understatement if I have ever heard one..." Suddenly the most powerful man in the United States started laughing. "Sorry, but something just occurred to me about native intelligence. This day and age the spy sells information under some circumstances. If the information is worthless, the paper it is written on is also of little value. At least the Greek spy could melt down and sell the gold. I must be sure to tell the intelligence agencies about this bright idea..."

Miles scratched his brow and grinned. " I didn't know they still used paper. I thought they sold the tape recorders..."

Smiling, the president leaned back in his chair. "What was in the handle, Miles?"

"A personal scout diagram and something had been added to a small map portion. An arrow, an island, and the symbol "E". George knew instantly what the location point of the island meant, though he did not say anything at first."

"How was the Mossad's boy taking all of this?"

"David? Well you see sir, we were cultivating him just a little..."

for the rest of the story. "Go on..."

"Back in the late 80's and early 90's strange things happened in Texas and Colorado to some cattle. The information focused on blood and was publicized, but ran into a quick dead end. The government was implicated in some way and took steps to kill interest in the story. This should be nothing new to you."

"How does he associate cows with our work?"

"Miles looks at the total evolutionary impact on man, including the genetics, politics and religious aspects right to present day India and Texas. Where the origin of the dairy cow was traced to is part of it, and the breakout of the dairymen is another bit of information, as well as the sacrifices to and worship of the cow. Remember Baal? You should. Your people got in deep trouble for that mistake."

"As it comes to mind, this seems to have occurred on several occasions. For such a popular god, the end was far from noble. The problem with that religion seemed to be the fact it had deteriorated to human sacrifice. Originally, when the going got too tough for the ruling faction, they could call on their god by sacrificing their oldest child, ostensibly to pass the problematic message through the spiritual plane. Then some bright attorney type invented adoption and the ruling elite took advantage of this by making older slave children the eldest in the family. The built in deterrent then became an excuse. Keep in mind Baal lasted longer than Christianity has run thus far."

"Judaism, also."

"A fact noted. All the tribes were supposed to have descended from Jacob's line but we have good cause to doubt this also. That is why we would like to find the original history, not one that was worked over by some enthusiastic scribe or king. To be Jewish, Doc, does not mean to be blind. Now what about the vampire bit?"

"Transylvania has several interesting historical points to dwell upon. As you know, it is in Rumania, was populated later by the Mygars, for one, but the areas history has been somewhat dark. Tribes stayed clear of that area for a very long time."

"The Roman made note of the area. They called it Dacia."

"That is what George also maintained. Even the Roman did not have that much knowledge about the area and had to ultimately evacuate the place themselves, for several reasons according to George."

David laughed. "Maybe they were getting bitten on the neck."

Doc grinned. "Miles only deals with possible facts and he breaks these down, also. The Transylvanian stories merely mean someone had a use for human blood. The vampire bit was thought to have originated with a demented nobleman during the dark ages, but some of the stories went farther back then that, according to the Roman.

Transylvania is located on a highly eroded plateau, a possible landing site, and the area has abundant mineral wealth and natural gas. Natural gas is like oil, life created and an energy source. It is not located in space. It can be highly compressed. It can be used to smelt metal, and it is close to here. The area there also has radioactive ores."

"The space bit again."

"How do you explain the hole patterns uncovered on the mountain tops you investigated?"

George cut into the conversation while David hesitated. "Remember the Maya? Blood was important in their ritual, because the blood of god and man were mixed when god created man. The Sumerians stated the same thing, and the Torah as well as the Koran and Bible do not allow blood drinking because the spirit is passed through the blood. Some religious groups today forbid blood transfusions for that very reason. The Indians from the Americas drank animal and human blood in their ritual because they sought the spirit of the provider of the fluid, man or beast.

David nodded his head. "O.K. The man has point. The next time he drools from the corners of his mouth, I'll ignore him. My men won't, but I will."

"You are not going to explain this to your men?"

"No! They would think I am just as wacko as he is. You explain it to them. You don't have them for neighbors."

Doc was still chuckling when the Israeli walked out of the room. Doc decided to get some rest, thinking about the next day's shopping trip.

Ancient pottery was being manufactured out of sight just as fast as it was clearing the shelves and carts. The beautiful carpets and textiles were no illusion, however, and Miles carefully chose and purchased three for his home in the U.S.A., paying the going rate and buying himself right into the local information hot line.

George found some items he wanted and purchased these also, full well knowing what the engineer was up to. They bargained stubbornly enough to be considered shrewd, but not so hard as to cause any bad feelings, had coffee with the merchants, and arranged for their purchases to be flown home. The trail of gratuities they left insured their discrete inquiries would be looked into.

The Israeli shadows were used to the duty and did very well keeping the men protected, not that there really was anything they expected from the outsiders at this time. It was merely a precautionary measure that they were there at all. The Turkish government was doing the same thing. They wanted no incidents in their country and bodies had already appeared in conjunction with the expedition in the Ararat area.

"Hey George, lets stop in over there."

"The Christian shop?"

"Yeah..."

Kamal heard the two men come in and looked over the top of his bifocals. Americans, he thought to himself. If they were looking for wood from the true cross, they had come to the wrong place.

"May I be of service, gentlemen?"

"Possibly, George replied. You speak English very well."

Kamal laughed. "My cousin lives in Los Angeles and I went to U.S.C. for my degree in business and theology. Sometimes people never see the modern face of Turkey."

"They like the romance of the bygone age, I guess,"

George replied. "We are looking for odd antiquities, curios or the likes of the same."

"Christian origin?"

"Much older."

Kamal looked them over more closely. He specialized in icons and had some very beautiful ones for sale, but these men were not the idle curious, nor were they the religious fanatic type. The shorter one looked and talked like a college professor.

"Are you a teacher?"

"How did you guess?"

"Your mannerisms and speech gave you away. I specialize in icons but like anyone who is curious, other items travel through my doors from time to time and I do purchase some of these for my own collection. My personal items are not for sale, but you may look at them."

"We would be appreciative."

"Come with me into the back room. I keep my collection there."

Later, as they walked back toward the hotel, Miles could not help but to comment on the stop. "For something that was not for sale, the item cost enough."

George grinned. "He went to U.S.C, remember? Why did you buy the dagger?"

"I liked the balance. It is wrong for the blade."

"Which means?"

"The haft is hollow. This was a fighting knife and the mark on the blade is Mycenaen, as you pointed out. The fellow that sold it to us thought it was manufactured much later then it really was because the blade, deteriorated as

it was, is steel."

"Loss of metal could change the balance."

"Not that much balance, and this knife has a hollow handle. Under the shark's skin, I will guess cork was used as both a slight cushion and for flotation. There is something inside the handle, George. I know knives."

"What's inside?"

"Some kind of tightly rolled foil, Doc. George is getting some tools to remove it. Take a look under the magnifying glass."

Doc took the dagger and glass from Miles hand. " The balance is wrong..."

"That is what I noticed. Now add the butt piece and it is really haywire. With the loss of steel accounted for, the weapon is still too light in the butt." Doc gently slid the end of the knife back in place and satisfied his curiosity. "I see what you mean. I wonder who owned it?"

One by one, the Mycenaens were removing their armor and crawling into the cave. So far, so good. Chronos felt for his dagger. He had made and placed a foil map inside showing the location based on mountain top triangulation. It was the best he could do for the moment.

They passed the torches in last and re-donned their armor inside when they had gotten far enough in to stand up. What good armor was against the gods was questionable, but as fighting men, they felt naked without it. The Sea People carefully muffled all the metal with their woolens so sound would not give them away. As it was, they had to risk the light and smell of the flaming brands.

Water had made it's way through the passageway and that was not really a surprise. Most caves had that problem from the Great Flood, or so they said. Before long they noticed the passage way was ascending and as they turned a corner, they suddenly were in an area that had several passages leading into it. They would have to take them one at a time.

All of them were leads to the outside and all were blocked save two. At least there were two ways out. Where was the house of the gods? Chronos was sure they were in the right place. He led them back to the central area and they began to closely inspect the floor and the walls. If anything was a down shaft, it was full of sand and dirt, ending their quest.

Chronos looked up, but the torches were weak. Someone would have to climb, but where would they start from? How would one get up the chimney if it were indeed one? What purpose did it serve? They had come to far to walk away now.

"Cut niches in the wall, we have to go up."

The men began to work and when they were four man heights up the torch revealed a ledge just a little higher. Before long they were all standing on the next level. It was a duplicate of the lower area except for a hole in floor which they had ascended through. The side tunnels were all blocked, this time. The direction was still up and they knew what to do.

George frowned. The language was Mycenaen trade but there also was some sort of code involved. "We are going to need the computer, Miles."

"Earthed?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Just be careful what you put in. The memory is clear right now."

George nodded in agreement. He knew what Miles did not want to happen. They could not use the scanner.

It was some kind of code the expedition wanted decrypted. Individual word meaning or possibilities, not sentences, were sent down the line. As the main computer sent back the data and waited for another request, it suddenly lost contact with the small computer.

The problem was the tourists. Odd groups of them traveled the area from time to time, and they could cause trouble under the right circumstances. Andersen decided to cross that bridge when he came to it.

The basic fish hook landmark depicted by the map was going to be their starting place. Getting the elevation correct would take a little time, but the men were confident of the map putting them right on. The Mycenaen who had drawn it was very meticulous about the detail and elevations.

Doc had bad dreams the night before departure, and he never had bad dreams. Certain modern painkillers took care of that, insuring restful sleep and yet a quick and fairly alert wakening. He dreamed of his mother and father greeting him in a beautiful garden, such as an idealistic Eden would have been. Goldstein did not tell his friends about his fears, just as he never revealed his aches and pains.

George Landau also was focused on the mountain. His feelings were divided and his worst fear was finding something that could not be revealed to the world, not that he would not try to. The professor originally had anticipated piles of clay tablets, until they had found the ancient map in the lead cylinder. Now he was very broad minded about any materials discovered.

He kept thinking about the old set of what appeared to be dry cell batteries, dug out of the 30,000 to 60,000 year strata during the turn of the century. Since this was supposedly impossible, they were pushed aside as a curio...

Miles had slept well, too well. He knew that something bad was going to happen when he rested like that. It always did. Concealed weapons would have to be employed this time, more than he had been carrying, some which would have to pass a body search just to be safe. He was worried about Doc. The surgeon still refused to pack a weapon of any type. He looked like hell this morning, Miles thought. At least old George was no pacifist. He would have some tricks up his sleeve.

Miles looked at the dagger one more time before carefully packing it away. He wondered what story it could tell...

They chewed their dried goats meat and drank sparingly from their water bottles. Any water they had found in the underground facility was scummy and no one wanted the cramps it most likely would produce. If worst came to worst, they would not die of thirst. On the ninth level they saw light in the next vertical shaft...

Doc grunted. "Looks like the face of Mars."

"That used to be a nice flat mountain plateau before thousands of flash floods worked their force on the land. Surface water is over there where the river pops out at it's head waters. There is underground water as that river starts with springs in that area over there."

"What are you getting at, Miles?"

"At one time aircraft might possibly have landed here. Not now, of course, but thousands of years ago. I am going to put the marking laser on the spot and when I say O.K., launch the dye rocket."

And so they marked the spot on the side of the mountain, hoping their small ultrasound would pick up some sort of buried tunnel. They were being watched the entire time by Andersen and his men, who also noted the splash of dye appear on the rock slide. Hours later and no more than fifty feet from the marked area, they found where the entrance originally had been.

"How deep below this stuff is it, Miles?"

"Eight to ten feet according to this equipment. Shovel time is upon us and we will be exposed to the world during daylight hours."

David looked the area over. "Our friends are out there somewhere."

"They most likely are watching every move we make. Let's mark a few more areas with dye and give them something to think about."

"It will not hurt to try." David swung his glasses around in a circle and he settled on an area behind them. "I saw a flash. Their watching us, all right."

"We dig tonight."

He was perplexed about the expedition's use of the small computer. Someone either suspected something, or these men had data at their disposal from some other source. It

was of no consequence in the long run. The New World Order was right on schedule. It was amazing what the word "new" could do when reselling the same package, the one invented by his ancestors back in the sixteen hundreds.

He smiled to himself when he thought of the formula. Put the world on a gold standard, amass all the scarce metal and control the governments through their respective economies until such time as all population stabilized the way the elite envisioned it. When gold lost its value, replace it with something else. The step after that was to eliminate the elite until only one person, group or family was running the total show. The masses would not even realize they were being manipulated because they would not be able to see the complex fence that surrounded them. That is, until it was too late.

Take now for example, he thought. A handful of people world wide actually controlled the manufacturing base. Less than 100 people actually controlled a planet with a population of over six billion souls...

It had started long before the sixteen hundreds, however. The Babylonians were credited with the system, but the idea was far older then their civilization. Before the Mesopotamians refined the financial dealings, it had been stated the Mycenaens were truly the masters of the game. The world standard was metal and the Sea People controlled both the shipping and the metal. His people had learned much from these seafaring business men. It seemed these early Greeks had a World Order of their own. They controlled the money, the metal and the arms. He had a good idea of how they brought that about...

In time the Sea People set the standards and everyone was satisfied except some of the outlying world provinces which were still getting took in regard to overall quality. For them the Mycenaens would thoughtfully add a little lead. If the servants had to polish the mirrors more often, so what? The outer most tribes that even had a monetary system also paid higher interest rates. They called it supply side economics.

To make everything work, outsiders also had to sit on the council. The Assyrians, Egyptians, Canaanites and Mitanni had their top men at these meetings. What was ludicrous about this situation was the fact these people actually thought they had something to do with the process. These people were paid twice, once by their respective governments, and once by the Mycenaens. Pepolis was the one who arranged the payoffs. He liked his work. It was highly interesting.

They had their agents in place in every major counting house in the world, even as far as what would be known later as China. They set the policies and those who did not care for the arrangement either had a personal accident befall them or something went badly wrong with their respective country's economic system.

War was very profitable. When things were running too consistently smooth and prices stabilized to the point mass profits could not be sustained, a little conflict here and there would allow the insiders to gross quicker gains. People didn't want war, the economists did. There was always some leader who could be convinced he was ordained to conquer someone else's system.

Of course they had to get the metal to make arms, if they could handle the process themselves. Most of the time the finished metal items were supplied. Anyone could fix a spear tip in place on a wooden shaft, or add an handle to an ax or a sword. Bearings were always important. Pepolis wondered what the world would think of this when everything came to light, which at sometime it would. He just hoped the average person would not be armed when he found out.

Now there was something else to contend with. There was one thing that was difficult to control and that was knowledge and the engineering spinoffs. Too many times the smooth running Mycenaen engine was diverted by some invention that they had to scramble on to monopolize. The fact a religious sect had a map to the house of the gods had set many things in motion, one of which was the race for the knowledge. New types of arms meant new and higher profits. The Hebrews had a religious reason for getting to their goal, the Mycenaens were much more pragmatic about it.

Pepolis wondered how the expedition in Anatola was getting along. His grandson suddenly appeared in the street and ran to his side.

"Grandfather, can I come with you?"

Pepolis stopped and swung the boy into his broad arms. "It will be too boring for you", he laughed as the other men smiled and patiently waited for him. "There will be time enough for you to see this thing called business, Milos."

The boy slipped from his arms and stood before him. "Is it true my namesake was there when the old Hebrew king Joshua blew his trumpet and made walls fall down?"

Pepolis looked down gravely at him, then said, "There was an earthquake at the same time the horns blew, little man, and more towns than Jericho fell down. Now go find your grandmother and tell her I will be late for the meal so the servants can set something aside for me."

He watched the boy disappear into the crowd and turned to the waiting men. "Come, and I will tell you of the best business deal my family ever made...."

"Nervous, Doc?"

"Damn right. How is the air?"

George turned around as he had just gotten the results. We will have to vent this place, he thought to himself. The smoking flame indicator told him there was very little air movement, if any. Just the atmospheric pressure should start something flowing if this place was of any size. "Not good! No bats, either. This place was sealed up tight sometime after the flood. We may need the O.B.A's before this one is over."

David turned to the men he had with him. "Remember, no F.M...none! Do I make myself clear?"

It was obvious he had.

By the time they had gotten to the fourth tier, they finally found a tunnel that sounded out thin enough to punch through to the outside. It thus far had been like climbing through the trunk of a large tree. Whoever had mined it liked smooth tunnels, at least from an engineer's standpoint.

For the first time in all of his years, George Landau was really nervous. Old tombs and possible curses did not bother him. He loved it. This bothered him. The place was too intact. The engineering too perfect for ancient man. It looked like Miles was going to be correct, and they would be up to their necks in deep trouble. Archaeological finds that were not in the realms of the current theory, ridiculed by those who thought they were doing the right thing, became deep cover ups that also buried people, academically as well as physically.

Doc was grateful for the fresh air. That just made the O.B.A.'s good for the amount of time it took them to get up to this level. They had a safety factor going now. Come what may, he was mentally ready to face his Creator if need be. He was in the hands of God.

Miles was too busy to think about spook stories or dwell upon the fact this had been the biggest taboo man had ever stumbled across. He was inspecting and noting everything right down to the individual rock cuts. The tunnels had been round and somewhat crude on the first level, but by level four they were tapered from three foot square at what would appear to be the outside vent areas to a full ten foot square tunnel for most of their length. The chimney up was round and appeared natural in some spots, being about six foot in diameter at this level though it varied somewhat.

When they had opened the tunnel at this level to the outside, a natural pressure began to build and is was not long before the dust started moving, forcing them to move to one of the other side tunnels just to breath. This went on for over an hour and then tapered off to clean air once more.

"They evidently were using natural engineering principles that just plain old physics has supplied us. I think the tunnels revolving about the trunk or chimney were for storage and housing, as well as ventilation. Where we entered at was not the actual bottom, but was the portion that had not been buried in silt and flood debris. There was more below that point, there had to be."

"Didn't the enemy try to stop your ascent?"

Mile nodded. "They tried with gas but it did not work. You see, Mr. President, we were high enough and in oxygen breathers when the gas was evidently released."

"Go on."

Miles paused for a moment before he continued. To get his message across was all a matter of timing, he liked this man but he was pragmatic. He wondered how many agencies were now checking on his bonifieds.

"We found discarded Mycenaen armor on the eighth level."

"We are going to dig that out..."

Miles smiled tiredly as he glanced at his watch again. "I think all you would find was empty and choked tunnel systems, possibly mine activities also. The place had been cleaned out and not by earth man. Mr. President, you have to quit envisioning this as a hole in the ground or mine, and start thinking of it as a foundation of a facility that people lived in."

"Too structured in my thinking, huh?"

"That will change..."

As nearly as he had it figured out, the expedition had a few at their disposal now and anything they did over the air would give away his plans. They could be zeroed in on. Radio silence would be maintained after his last transmission.

There was no sound of conflict carrying any great distance. Guns had silencers and flash arrestors, while knives were the tool of the day. It worked both ways.

"To hell with it, we are going in. Get the sleepy gas ready."

"How much, boss?"

"Two canister should do it. Any more might kill someone before we can make sure we want him dead. The big boys would frown on that one."

His team mate looked at him and nodded. No one wanted to fall from the grace of the company. It was better to fall off the face of the Earth and even then the odds were not good for staying alive. Executions were not simple, either. One found himself wired up to a nerve machine and it took days to die that way. The machine made crucifixion appear as euthanasia.

They gassed the tunnel.

He watched all eight mercenaries don their gas masks and slide into the hole before he made his move. His men took out the remaining mercenaries, then moved as close to the entrance as their own wounds would let them. When Shem counted noses, he had only five men left.

"Red" Accabar waited patiently as Shem bound up the deep cut on his forearm, not even flinching as heavy tape stitches closed the cut. Local anesthesia was long lasting and wonderful, allowing a man to briefly fight on with his guts hanging out if need be. "They gassed the tunnel?"

Shem grunted as he wrapped the gauze in place. "I would have done the same thing. We know one thing, though. They have to come out at this point. We will be ready."

"What about the others inside?"

"David has seven men with him, not counting himself or the other three. They have O.B.A.'s to help counter the effects of the gas, and hopefully an O.B.A. will. Our orders are to protect the flank and not to move in for twenty four hours. We are going to follow our orders and someone should get out to get the backup reinforcements. That means you."

"I hear and obey..."

A skinny little commoner not only joined the elite of Europe, but had brought the gift of uncontrolled bleeding while he was at it. The inbreeding experiment had been going on for centuries, and much had been learned. Natural selection by the natural coding had to be broken down genetically, and altered that way. His great grandfather many times removed had even written that eventuality down.

What good was a plan if it could not be changed? What had his ancestor seen down the road, taking into consideration he was a man of his times? Had the originator of the plan foreseen him?

The entire world was on the gold standard again, thanks to his ancestor, and the practices for banking, though started by a pope who had taken the advice of someone unknown, were older than the Hebrew.

When the Christians decided money handling was sinful and should be left to the Jews, they really blew it. In short, the practices developed by the Mycenaens and the Babylonians were still functioning. Who had talked whom into what, not with standing.

He idly wondered who was the most corrupt, modern day man or his ancient counterpart? He wondered what the Mycenaen approach would be to his dilemma...

There were no footprints in the dust but that did not mean there was no activity. The gods could levitate, couldn't they? He wondered about his father's meeting in Mycenae and how they were going to handle the Assyrians this time. They normally pitted the Hittites against them...

Pepolis listened as the Hittite ranted and raved about the injustice of the monetary system because of it's condensations to the Assyrians. The Egyptian, Ras, was doing the same thing Pepolis was being bored with the same old routine.

Being in the direct service of the Pharaoh had its rewards, but those rewards were not in Mycenae, if one did not count the beautiful blonde barbarian women. Three times a year he had to make the trip from the Nile to Mycenae, which only left him two months at home per annum, the rest of the time being taken up by travel and business.

As for the concessions, they had no real direct effect on Egypt as his country was insulated by the Sinai and had it's own secret agreement with the Sea People. All the others had learned it was not wise to get into a conflict with Pharaoh, as he would kick their butts. The facts were it was the Egyptians who really taught the world how to wage war, when they smashed the Chaldeans for stopping the trade caravans bound for the Nile. That had taken place three thousand years before, approximately 900 years after the last flood.

In fact it was the Egyptians who contracted out the first shipping cargoes to the Minoans because of the losses crossing the wilderness of the Sinai. The Minoan/Mycenaen had the lumber to build ships and straight grained wood was scarce in Egypt.

There was no love lost between the peoples, however. Somehow honesty had gotten somewhat lost in the original agreement. The scribes of Egypt had fast penciled the Sea People for years and piracy was invented because of this. All civilizations had their criminal element, and the smart crooks liked Mycenae's weather.

In short, Pharaoh viewed the world as his own personal belonging, a true aristocrat of his day. His vessels could seize anything on the sea because he owned it. The Sea People made him understand he was incorrect, and when Egypt's ships disappeared one by one, Pharaoh became somewhat of a believer. His priests kept telling him it was because of the powerful god who protected the Sea People. This was a grateful out.

The priests told the populace the same thing, and that is why the prices of certain goods had to go up. That is why Pharaoh liked the priesthood. It was invented to keep the masses from interfering with profit structure. Imhotep, the Sumerian, had seen to that. The royal house of Egypt never lost a talent of silver because they passed the savings to the masses.

What would pass for an Egyptian middle class had to foot the bill, so to speak. Ras well understood all of this. In the final analysis, Egypt had an entire continent to themselves to play with and the others were still tearing up ancient ground.

Then the order of business changed and the grain crop was discussed. It was always the grain crop. Egypt always had a surplus and a constant wheat crop because of the Nile flooding and good storage practices. Lately, however, the population had grown to the point Ras's country had become grain dependent. Goods could not move down the Nile fast enough to feed the people. Egypt supplied the gold and Mesopotamia supplied the grain.

Egypt now supplied clean gold, that is. The Mycenaens had ways of testing every metal, secret ways at that. Of course the grain was clean, also. The cats saw to that. Egypt had the best grain storage in the known world, thanks to the domestic cat. Rodents were not a problem in the granaries, nor in the houses of those who could afford to feed the feline. When cats were starving, they had done their job.

"Our granaries are full, the harvest went well this year," Ras stated to the assembly.

"How much surplus will you need?" Pepolis asked.

"That depends on how much you wish me to arrange to have destroyed. An accident, of course."

"Of course! It would offend the gods if it were done on purpose." Pepolis paused. He knew that water or fire was the only way to destroy grain, and that Ras's brother had a contract from Pharaoh to repair and build granaries. Ras would win, being paid off by three parties every year.

"Perhaps we should wait for the report from our Kassite friends. We know where Assyria stands. Somehow we have to keep the prices up, or our futures will lose money."

"Supply and demand..."

"Let's discuss this at lunch."

"Very good..."

While Pepolis and Ras were planning their next moves, the Oracle on the hilltop was making appointments and accepting payment for glimpses into the future. The Oracle did have certain gifts for seeing into the future, though they were not constant at all. He also was not happy with the chicken guts he was forced to use to focus his inner self on. This had to cease. They really needed a rock that talked, or at least something different. He would talk to his brother, Pepolis about it. After all, Pepolis was in for a third of the take. Every business man in Mycenae used his services and even a few people from other countries were seeking him out now.

The other thing that bothered him was the location. It just was not really suited for the scope of operations they should have, and in reality it would be much more attractive to the clients if a woman did the job, a virgin at that. Now the old temple on the island of Pythos would be perfect, taking in account the old mysticism that prevailed about the place, and the real estate was cheap enough.

Pepolis used the private inside information to further the position of the family. They had to be careful to keep their collective wealth and power hidden from those who would usurp them. The Oracle checked his appointment tablet. The Kassite was next. A true believer...

It had to hold to the plan, and controlled enough stock, banks, trusts, foundations, jewels and gold to dictate desires by merely buying and selling. It was the human factor that the machine was still learning about.

Humans were unpredictable. Some transactions could only be traced to a certain point. The New World Order was in trouble and that was the reason for the birth of the big machine in the first place, but this occurred after the fact. It was working as fast as it could, but human programming had to be changed when it failed, a daily occurrence now.

Thus far the super computer was holding his own, and possibly even making a little progress. It helped that the systems were rotten to the core. There was no real public person who was not on the take one way or another. They were all effectively controlled. Brainwashing by way of television media was virtually instantaneous for the masses. Subliminals were even employed in most countries, legally or illegally occurring as the various governments desired.

Niacson often referred to the big machine as his "oracle."

Pepolis grinned in reflection of the hair incident. One customer would add one piece of his hair under the wax across the sealing area. He made the mistake of letting his wife cut his hair. Everyone of Pepolis's agents carried a lock with him, now. So much for brother and sister marriages in the land of the Pharaohs.

The northern trading centers were becoming city size now, with wooden buildings going up as fast as the lumber could be cut and sawed into beams and boards. Lumber was the cheapest material to build with in Europe, and it was better than sticks.

Pepolis had been there as a young man, but did not care one whit for the beauty. The climate was too cold for him. It rained far too much. His oldest son had just returned from one tour of the Isle of Tin before being sent out to sack the home of the old gods, just which ones he was not sure of. It was a gamble and he wanted his family to have the gains. He did not want those gains loose in Europe, disrupting his cheap labor and arming the ignorant populace with facts.

The petty chiefs of the far north were satisfied with their portion of the take, but they would not be if all the information in the world was at their disposal. The metal smiths guild was a good example of that, even if they did come first.

Knowledge could be a bad thing in the hands of the wrong people. His son had yet to learn that lesson, due to the fact he was still young by his fathers standards. Pepolis wondered how he was faring. The map they were using came from an old tomb which had been robbed somewhere along the Euphrates river, and it was a copy. At first they were not interested in purchasing it until Chronos spotted certain symbols he recognized, Minoan symbols far older than Hurrian, yet supposedly younger than the cuneiform still universally used on the caravan routes.

The original map was said to have been a ceramic wall of the priest's tomb, which seemed reasonable enough. As for the Minoan part, it was well known by his people that Minoa, not Canaan, used the new style of writing first, and some tales say it was part of the Atlantean heritage and far older even than the language of the fabled old city of the god Ea, buried in the sand somewhere in Babylon. There just might be something to the tales of Ea, he reflected. The old temple on Pythos still had his mark above the door, and that is why he had just purchased it. Both the Earth goddess Gae and Ea were worshiped there by some of the old diehard religious fanatics isolated on the island. It had mystique...

On each side of them were rows of some sort of metal boxes, all attached to strange machines by snakes. At least the cables looked like snakes to the Mycenaens as they sped by looking for some foe to slaughter as they secured the area.

A few moments later the head scout reported back to him. "No one!"

"What did you expect? Zeus? He died a thousand years ago at least, according to the priests."

"The priests are not always right."

"Try to tell them that! The important thing is the Arzawa are not here and from the dust covering everything, they have never been here. We are the first in a long time. Now let us see what treasures the gods have left for us. The metal boxes are a good bet for a starting place."

Chronos walked over to the closest box and noted the inch of fine talc like dust that covered it. He began to clear the dirt from the top of the box, suddenly jumping back and drawing his dagger. "There is a man in this thing. There is glass that one can look through, clear glass like I have never seen before."

His men, swords drawn, approached softly toward the case and surrounded it. They were not that impressed with the box. The Egyptians put their dead kings in much nicer gold containers than these plain old things.

George Landau walked over to peer at the metal objects. "We can disturb it. There is nothing on the floor that suggests a final resting place."

Doc reached down and picked up the helmet, gently shaking the dust off. Steel, he thought. Priceless now and doubly so in it's time. These men were equipped with the finest technology the Mycenaens had to offer. "There are no identifying marks, George."

"A truly clandestine operation, right up David's alley. Get him over here."

David looked every piece over, then put his breather back on when he started getting dizzy from lack of oxygen. Level eight was clean except for this armor. They still had to go up...

"Each time we stop to vent, we lose time, David."

"I know, Miles. This is just a precaution. We still cannot get out except at the bottom, and there is a good chance we will have company in that direction. Besides, it save the breathers."

"Are my eyes fooling me, or is there some kind of weak light available here?"

David frowned and shut down his high intensity torch. "Everyone kill their lights!"

In the ensuing darkness they could see a faint glow emanating from the walls and ceiling. Some kind of fluorescence was employed to coat the areas, but it was almost energy dead. Whatever it was, it lasted thousands of years, Miles thought.

David motioned his men upward again. There was nothing more on level nine.

Shem watched the opening through the field glasses and waited for the circling helicopter to land. It was nice to have reinforcements, if nothing more, to bury the bodies or remove them to some other location.

The expedition had been inside for two days now, and some of the wounded outside were getting sick. The helicopter was timely in that respect. Shem glassed the natural stone edifice again. There must have been air inside, or everyone was dead. The breathers did not have canisters for two days constant use.

The rest were sleeping quite soundly as Miles got to his feet after raising his hand to signal the first watch. The other men were down the tunnels and Miles knew better than to walk in those directions. He was libel to get thumped on the head or worse in the faint light. Everyone was enemy conscious.

It would be on the next level, he thought. I can feel it in my bones. The engineer looked up the chimney, where the light seemed brighter, or was that just his imagination? George had been checking the radiation levels constantly, and there was nothing other then normal background count. Whatever the coating was on the walls, it did not give of radiation that was harmful.

He wondered what the effect of this place had on the Mycenaen mind when they entered. At least they had air.

Like everything else, the object was covered with dust and he gently brushed it off, jumping back when colored light winked back at him from under the dirt. Something was alive! There truly were great powers to be learned about in this place. His father was right, but then he usually was.

"What is this ugly thing, Chronos?"

"Something that talks to the gods through the metal snake that connects the two boxes, I think. If the man in the box opens his eyes while I look into this, cut the snake with your sword."

"I hear and obey."

Chronos cleared the rest of the boxes surface and exposed even more blinking lights and strange yet familiar writing here and there on the case, which also was protected with a clear window that had obvious fastenings to lift the cover. He had never seen a control panel before, but he was familiar with the methods of sealing boxes. All sailors were. Wet cargo was no good to anyone.

"I can open it, but we had better check the rest of this place out after we get some rest. Post the guards"

The chief scout began to direct the rest of the men as Chronos began to look around at the other objects in the passageway.

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