Knight of Times

Knight of Times

by

E. VanAngle

Brighton Publishing LLC

501 W. Ray Road

Suite 4

Chandler, AZ 85225

www.BrightonPublishing.com

Copyright © 2013

ISBN: 978-1-621831-30-3

e-Book

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Cover Design: Tom Rodriguez

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Chapter One

Paine! How the hell are you? a confident young military man said as he stepped out of the G.I.-chauffeured, sand-colored Humvee and onto the familiar tarmac. He recognized Paine’s sandy red, short-cropped hair.

We have to stop meeting in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere.

Hi Ram! Paine mauled his young military acquaintance in his signature bear hug.

It’s good to see you, Ram, you are a sight for sore eyes! I still think about our days back at BUDS—those were the days. Paine laughed. I’ve been standing here sweating in this unbearable heat for five minutes and had no clue why I was out here, but now I know we’re in trouble. Paine was happy to have an old friend around on the dark confines of the military base.

It was late at night but still there was an impressive amount of activity around them at this air base on the Eastern Seaboard. High-security helicopters with advanced hovering technology were taking off and landing all around them. The heat was intense, radiating off the asphalt, from the heat of the day and the numerous aircraft that frequently used the facility. They could almost taste the sulfur gas fumes as they cycled in a strange pulsing pattern where Ram and Paine were standing.

Why does it always have to be this way? Paine said under his breath, shaking his head in lament. The last time he’d seen Ram was during a Black Level, top-secret mission in Pakistan to some hell-hole in the desert. You know, Ram, someone always gets killed when we meet like this, Paine told him with a look of the unknown and a certain excitement on his face.

Yeah, I know, Ram said. I guess I just expect it now. You know what they say, Paine—the only easy day in our line of work was yesterday! Ram cracked a clichéd smile. What’d they tell you?

Oh, you know, the same song and dance as usual, Paine said. They told me I was selected because of my specific training to be involved in a top secret mission to save the world—blah, blah, blah. I guess I’ve learned what to expect from this type of mission, and I really don’t ask questions anymore. I actually kinda trust them these days, even though I am on a need-to-know basis with them.

The last mission Paine and Ram were on together was in Pakistan a couple of years ago to find one of Bin Laden’s buddies. It was a smooth and typical Special Ops mission with minimal casualties and surgical precision that they had trained for and were used to. One thing they could always look forward to during these missions was the testing of new and top-secret weapons systems. Men in their line of work looked forward to being on the cutting edge, quite literally, with all the new toys. But Paine was right, someone did get killed. One of the bad guys.

Ram was the kind of person to instinctively look deeper into the world around him. He had always tried to put two and two together in his head once he saw who was involved in a mission. Ram had always questioned everything, even if that meant putting his military career in jeopardy. He had always been looking for the eternal answer to the questions, Why are we here? and What are we doing?

Ram could recall how, on many occasions, he had personally seen how Paine’s specialty of communications had been incredibly useful on dangerous missions in the field. Paine always had the newest technology and knew how to get the best out it. Ram had thought satellite communication was the most advanced technology available, but Paine had told him recently that it was old school, but he couldn’t comment on how he was sending his signals now.

Paine was also probably the best language specialist Ram had encountered in his time in the service. Paine knew languages that governments thought were dead or did not know were ever in existence on the globe. He was one of the smartest and most philosophic guys Ram had known, despite his outward appearance and his command of his native dialect.

Ram was highly aware, because of his high level of security clearance, that Paine taught Black Ops classes on covert operations and concealment. Paine was apparently still the best in the business. He could still blend in with his local environment like a chameleon. Ram thought that guys like Paine tried to blend in and hide themselves from society because of their reclusive personalities and their inherent distrust of people in general. Paine just took it to another level of human nature in his natural environment.

Once Ram had asked Paine if he could disguise himself as a magician and just disappear. Ram had said it jokingly, but the look he got from Paine was more like, Ram, you have no idea. Disappear?

Where do you think we’re going this time, Paine? Ram asked.

Just as Paine was answering the question, two helicopters were right on top of them, about to land.

Where did those things come from? Ram yelled.

Wow, they are getting stealthier all the time; I didn’t even hear those choppers on the way in, Paine said with a smile on his face.

Small particles from the ground were stinging their skin as they put their forearms up to shield their eyes. One of the choppers was nearly touching down as two large bags of gear came flying out of the cargo bay and crashed to the ground. Moments later two clean-cut, athletic looking guys jumped out with the rest of their gear. The wind from the rotors was oddly pulsating all around them, and in the next seconds the helicopter was climbing away, making space for the next one to touch down.

Fly boys! Ram said out loud.

How can you tell? Paine yelled back.

I don’t know, just one of those feelings I get, Ram said. Paine already knew how he sometimes got strange premonitions of events before they happened.

We’ve never been on an op with Air Force Special Forces before, Paine said.

No surprise, I just do what they tell me to do—and remember Paine, don’t ask questions! said Ram.

This must be the spot, the guy with the freshly shaved head said as they approached. The sounds of the commotion around them were diminishing now, even with the other chopper still in the air. My name is Steve Griffin—you can call me Griff—and this is my O.R. buddy Tim Coyle, he announced to the group in an unintelligible dialect, expecting a non-answer.

I am Hugh Paine and this is a friend, Ram Joseph, Paine quipped back to him, not missing a beat, and in some language Ram couldn’t understand while extending his hand for a shake.

Just back from Somalia after we got yanked for this mission. What do you know about this one? Griff asked, now speaking English so Ram and Coyle could follow the conversation as well.

We were in the O.R. stitchin’ this guy up from being disemboweled by some drug-induced tribal gang banger when we got the orders to get back to the States ASAP.

Typical SNAFU, Ram said, looking for some smiles.

Both you guys surgeons? he asked, knowing the answer before he asked.

The best! Coyle smiled. How’d you know?

Ram didn’t answer and acted like he didn’t hear the question.

So what are you two suckers here for? Coyle said while wondering if he could put any of his intel together for himself.

Well Paine here, as you already know, is one of the best linguists, or so I’ve heard, in Special Ops, Ram said as he poked Paine in the ribs with his elbow, looking for the same reaction he always got.

That never gets old, Ram, it never gets old, Paine said with notable sarcasm.

Paine and I went through SEAL training together several years ago, so we have worked with each other off and on through the years. Now it seems we get to do the dirty work, apparently like you boys, Ram told them. Paine knows languages that people don’t even speak on the planet any longer. Can you imagine learning to speak a language that nobody has spoken for hundreds of years? Boring! Ram shook his head and gave a big laugh. I keep asking him if he is ever going to be able to actually write in Egyptian hieroglyphs. They tell me he has been trained in mastering disguise from shaman magicians around the world, Ram said, a bit tongue in cheek.

Paine says he can blend in to a local environment in just minutes, given the proper equipment. Ram was enjoying prodding his old friend, trying to keep the mood light.

"Actually I have seen him do it. He fooled me once and just about got himself shot.

That damn sniper training got into his head, and now he thinks he can look like a horned frog in the desert—or maybe a horny toad."

It’s all about the skin color and clothing. Everything else is a breeze because I know the language so well. People don’t even question you if you look like them and talk like them. It’s amazing what you can learn about people and their culture if you’re just willing to observe for a while. I was once so close to Bin Laden that I could smell his gingivitis, Paine said, boasting of his skill and encounter with the infamous terrorist.

How ’bout you? Griff said to Ram, pointing his chin at him.

"Well, aside from my formal military training, I have an interest in tactical war history.

I’ve studied every battle ever fought, from sticks and swords to cyber-attacks. I know why battles are won and lost. Sometimes I feel like they are sending me on some of these missions just to be the battle secretary. I also study ancient cultures and how they relate to modern time. But don’t be alarmed, I’m not just an academic; I know my way around the combat zone. Just ask those jackasses in Yemen we took care of last month," Ram informed the group.

I don’t tell many people this, but I sometimes get a funny feeling or a premonition of events just before they happen. I don’t have anything scientific to back it up, but I always seem to be in the right place at the right time, and the brass has taken notice. That’s why I’m here, I can guarantee it! I knew you were both doctors before your feet hit the ground.

Like you couldn’t see the big neon medical caduceus patches on the uniform, Nostradamus! Coyle laughed and pointed at the chest patch.

What’s my sign? he asked sarcastically.

Just kidding, man. Actually, I study psychology and psychics in my line of work too, and I know some people really do have an incredible gift of seeing events. I’ll bet you are more observant about your surroundings than most other people, and in this line of work that’s saying something. Do you feel a greater conscious awareness to your environment?

I do, Ram told him.

I study people like you—maybe that’s why I’m here! Coyle said with a smile.

What about you, Griff? Ram asked, turning his attention to the other doctor.

I assume I’m here because someone is going to get hurt or that someone is already hurt and needs a damn good surgeon, he told Ram a hint of arrogance.

"You should see some of the new toys we are working with in the field that are saving lives. It will blow your mind. We have new sterilization materials, injectable antibiotics, blood monitoring systems that look like wrist watches. Field digital x-ray equipment that’s no bigger than the heel of my boot. Portable oxygen, hemoglobin, copper ion exchangers that look like a charm on a necklace. Intravenous digital diagnostic pods that transmit vital signs and other information to us in real time. I’m telling you, man, it’s James Bond crap. We are the next generation of life savers on the battlefield. I just hope it’s not you that they flew me all this way to stitch up," Griff told Ram.

Me too! Ram blurted.

Can you bring anyone back from the dead? Paine asked in all seriousness.

That’s classified! Griff rubbed the sweat off the top of his finely shaved head with the palm of his hand.

No, not really, but I think they are working on it, he said, putting his cap back on his head.

I do know that they are studying the effects of aging and how they think they can reverse it. It has something to do with how our cells are always replicating themselves, but the next copy of the cell is not taken from the master copy of the DNA but instead from the parent cell. It’s like a copy of a copy of a copy. I think that’s why we age, and I’m telling you, man, just think of what it would mean to slow down or stop aging of a human being. Deep and philosophical, I know, but just stop and think about it.

Well, they better get busy ’cause we’re burnin’ daylight, and I might not see tomorrow at the pace I’m on right now, Paine said, halfway serious.

Scary stuff, man! Griff said with a smile and a nod.

What’s the story with you, Coyle? Ram asked him politely.

Head and neck trauma, plastics, neurology, psychology. You know, just the important stuff, Coyle said.

"Oh, and plastics, the kind that go boom! And, like I said before, I dabble a little in parapsychology and metaphysical culty crap. I love this crap!" Coyle gave them a toothy smile and a flick of his bushy eyebrows.

The other helicopter was now on the ground, and the pilot motioned to the team to get in.

This must be our ride, Griff said as he and Coyle gathered up their gear.

As they neared the chopper the pilot said coldly, Get in!

You’re late! Ram snapped back at him, knowing those pilot guys took pride in their precision scheduling. Ram knew it would get under the pilot’s skin. And he was right. The other guys just about came unhinged with laughter but were able to contain themselves, in order to not get the mission started off on the wrong foot.

The chopper quickly and quietly ascended into the night sky, nearly leaving Ram’s stomach on the ground.

Coyle shifted in his seat and pulled something out from under his collar that was hidden by his longer-than-regulation, wavy brown locks. He placed the small devices in each of his ears.

What, deploying the toys already? Ram said to him in the dark cabin of the chopper.

Yeah! he said. Don’t you fly with your iPod? I have to finish listening to a master piece of a guitar solo. Can you name one of the top five best guitar solos of all time?

I don’t know—Eruption’?" Ram said.

Yes, that’s right, very good, that’s probably number one, but I’m listening to the late great Randy Rhoads pull off the ‘Mr. Crowley’ double guitar solo brilliance, Coyle said.

I should have figured you for a metal head! Ram yelled back.

They had been airborne for about forty-five minutes by the time Paine got restless. They all sensed that they were beginning to lose altitude and might be nearing their destination, which left them all a bit uneasy—not knowing where they were, where they were going, or what they might be doing when the team got there.

Moments later, the helicopter touched down on a pitch black landing pad.

Chapter Two

Nearly two thousand years ago, in a cold stone room with a granite casket, a ceremony was ending.

There was a dim light in the room, coming from oddly glowing lamps on the four granite walls. A man wearing a white robe with blue adornments and a silver serpent emblazoned on it was speaking.

Truth, it seems is the most difficult to recognize, and thus truth is the most difficult to achieve. Truth has been long since neglected! The secrets of nature and the principles of intellectual truth have been unveiled to you!

The man began to walk toward the casket.

Reflect on this awful subject, and learn to feel that to a virtuous man death has no terrors equal to the stain of falsehood and dishonor. This was a great truth to our Master, who was slain three thousand years after the creation on the world, he continued, while the audience of nine others stayed silent. You must lose your own life in order to save it! You must surrender all that you have hitherto felt in this life in order that you might find what it is you seek: a higher Order.

The man was now standing next to the stone casket as he continued his appeal.

You are now the high priest of your own personal temple. You must nurture a greater strength of character and of will to find a higher state of consciousness in order to be unaffected by the many seductions that lie at your feet.

Now the man raised his symbolic staff. The soul of man has ceased to be God conscious and has degenerated into the limited terrestrial consciousness of the ordinary human being! You must also be possessed of the same spirit and resolution as our Master, which was to prefer death to the divulging of the mysteries of the Order. Now I charge you with preservation of your soul and this Order.

The man reached into the casket and grabbed hold of something while he said, With a firm grasp of the sinews of your wrist, I shall raise you to the Sublime Degree of our Order.

Amen Ra! the nine in attendance said in unison.

***

Get this motley crew off this chopper and down to 2637 ASAP! a loud voice boomed as soon as the chopper door was opened.

The first thing the team could see was a muscular guy in a dark suit barking orders at two other guys in dark suits. The man was quite an imposing figure, standing at the door with a look of irritable arrogance on his face. His skin was dark, and Ram immediately placed him as someone who might have Egyptian or South American heritage. Ram spotted it quickly, because his mother was from Peru and this man’s skin tone instantly reminded Ram of her. The man’s hair was short and well kept, as it was with both of his buddies. They moved with purpose, getting the four team members off the helicopter and shuttled them quickly toward a small, old-looking building not far from the landing pad. The air was cool, and there was an odor with a hint of salt water wafting in it, along with the gas fumes. It was very dark; only one small light on a decrepit old building illuminated their path toward it.

They got to the door in a matter of seconds as one of the guys pulled back a covering over what looked to be a security keypad and punched in some numbers. A solid-sounding bolt detached with an audible clank. Ram noticed the helicopter was already airborne in a heading from which they had come.

The other guy opened the door and gestured for them to proceed inside. They all walked carefully through the darkened doorway to a small room with one table that was manned by an obvious colleague of theirs. He told them he had been expecting them.

All four of the team stayed quiet throughout this ordeal, taking in their surroundings and taking mental notes. They knew better than to make jokes or ask questions when an operation started like this one had.

The men in dark suits quickly herded the team over to another door, and again the man lifted the keypad protector and entered the appropriate digits to open the door. This time the door opened quickly, revealing what looked to be a small room just big enough for four or five people. This room did not fit into its surroundings, as it had almost a mirror-like stainless steel finish and a hand rail completely around the room. As they stepped in, there was a slightly hollow sound to the space. The space was well lit from a grid in the ceiling. Another lighted keypad became apparent as the four team members and the guy giving orders stepped inside. The well-dressed gentleman pulled a card from under his coat and inserted it into the appropriate slot and began to press some buttons.

It had become obvious to the observant team, standing there in silence, that the little shack had very high security.

Hold on, the guy said as he typed the final number.

They immediately sensed that they were on the move—and quickly. Their bodies’ momentum told them they were moving rapidly. The doctors grabbed the hand rails and held on until their bodies adjusted a bit to the movement. By now they knew this was an elevator, and it was going down.

Hey, Ram, Coyle whispered.

Ram didn’t respond audibly but just turned his eyes toward the doctor.

He called us Motley Crue, man. Coyle flashed Ram the Mano Cornuta devil horns with his index and pinky fingers extended while sticking out his tongue and shaking his head back and forth in a crude, childish gesture.

You know, Motley Freaking Crue! Like the ‘Girls, Girls, Girls’ guys.

I know who they are, you freakin’ metal head, Ram said to him quietly.

If we get to be Motley Crue, I get to be Mic Mars the guitar player, and you can be Nikki Sixx, he whispered to Ram with a big smile.

What about Tommy and Vince? Ram said to him sarcastically, expecting a look of amazement.

Wow, Ram, I’m impressed! Coyle said, tilting his head to one side.

I didn’t know you actually liked good music.

By now the boss man had picked up on the conversation and was shaking his head in a way that said, You immature morons!

The elevator continued its smooth decent, and the room was now quiet. Ram began to study what looked like a small tattoo coming out of the collar and onto the left side of the neck of the large man in the suit. It looked like colorful feathers of some kind. Ram thought to himself what it could be, but all he could think of was a rainbow-colored eagle.

That would look horrible, he thought.

Other thoughts were cycling through his brain about the mission in front of them. He began to feel for the first time that this was not a typical military operation, and his intuition was usually right on. Ram followed the numbers on the elevator light indicators and deduced that they were more than twenty stories underground. He remembered the first thing the guy said was, Get these guys down to 2637.

As they were nearing level 24 they could feel the elevator change speed slightly to prepare them to stop without a jolt.

We’re here? the man in the suit said sharply.

Where’s here? Ram asked.

Nowhere! was the response.

Ram was fully aware that it irritated authority figures when he asked rhetorical questions, but Ram just couldn’t help himself. He continually collected details in his head, and any information he could acquire by badgering the witness was fair game. The guy, however, was pretty icy and didn’t give up much in the way of information. Not that Ram expected him to. Ram got the idea the man was good at his job and that was exactly why he was here. But Ram was just doing his job as well—seeking answers.

The door to the elevator opened quickly, and the team got their first view of a long, sterile-looking corridor. They exited the elevator, and the man directed them to the right and down a long hallway. All of the rooms had numbers and steel-gray doors. Some had rows of windows with safety glass. Inside the windowed rooms it looked like there were laboratory spaces, with people in white lab coats carefully performing their duties. None of them looked up as the group passed. It was as if they were used to a parade of strangers passing by.

Griff was in front, leading the group by a couple of paces, when Paine noticed he had stopped at one of the window bays and was peering inside.

I recognize some of that equipment, Griff said with a bit of wonder in his voice.

That looks like the hemoglobin CU transfusion system they gave me to play with last month… only mine is much smaller, he said under his breath.

I can’t tell if this is a functioning operating room or if this is research and development for the new equipment we are using today.

Or both! Coyle blurted out.

Keep moving, we’re almost there, the man in the suit said.

Ram noticed that the room numbers all started with 26 but were not necessarily in consecutive order—2655, 2600, 2666, 2611. There was certainly no clear pattern to their numbering system that he could decipher quickly. The hallways were plainly tiled and had a typically cold and sterile feel to them. Very little ambient noise was echoing down these halls as they moved along. Then they saw it: 2637.

The man opened the door. There was no apparent security system applying to this door, which surprised the team a bit, after seeing such high security elsewhere. The room had a small conference table in it, and the periphery of the room was lined with bookshelves that were completely full of books, papers, and periodicals in total disarray. There was a mobile chalkboard with a curtain over its face to one side of the room and a large, dry-erase board lining the back wall, with what looked like engineering diagrams and chemical or mathematic equations all over it.

Ram noticed a large locking chest on wheels behind a desk. The desk was steel grey, and the items on the top showed the same pattern of organization as the book shelves. He also noticed what looked like some sort of small, old device that reminded him of an electric motor sitting on the left-hand side of the desk. It had copper wire wrapped around armatures with a halo of possibly magnets on all sides. His intuition told him it was a scaled-down working model of some electrical or magnetic scientific experiment. There were a couple of very old looking pictures hanging in the room and one on the desk. He tried to make them out, but only one of them had anything familiar in it. It looked like it had been taken on board a warship. This room appeared to be an office more than a conference or briefing room like they normally encountered for military briefings.

The door to the office opened, and a woman in a white lab coat came in hastily. The first thing that struck Ram about her was her unkempt hair. He thought this must be the woman’s office, judging by the similar appearance of both.

She quickly shuffled to the desk to take a seat.

Have a seat, gentlemen, the man that had been accompanying them said.

"This is Professor—Doctor—Nikkoli, but you can call her Nikki.

Nikki is the current head of this project," He said.

Ah, no way, Ram—now you can’t be Nikki Sixx! Coyle whispered to Ram.

Ram just shook his head and pretended he didn’t hear the comment.

Thank you, Manco, for helping them find their way here in such a hurry tonight, Nikki said.

"Our window of opportunity is very narrow, and we need to get these guys on their way. So, gentlemen, welcome to Camp Hero! Everything from here on is highly classified.

This mission, Code Name: Operation Dagger Hurt II, has been in the planning stages a very long time. Earlier today our team informed us that the next forty-eight hours was the best insertion time we will see in several years, and this operation is very time sensitive in order to ensure the health and survivability of a VIP, she continued.

Camp Hero…Camp Hero. I’ve heard of this place, Ram thought. His brain was already thinking that the code name of the mission implied that there was an Operation Dagger Hurt I and that they were not the first. He also wondered if that implied that the first mission was unsuccessful if they were going on it again?

Ram shook his head to try to get back to what the professor was saying, but now he was equally distracted when his eyes locked onto her frame, and a more primal feeling told him that Dr. Nikki had very attractive qualities, despite the flowing black, mad scientist hair and glasses on the end of a very cute nose. She had a sparkle in her eyes and purpose to her words in the way she enunciated with a slight Eastern European accent.

This lady gets what she wants, Ram thought.

Listen, Hiram, listen! he told himself, trying to focus all his attention back on the conversation.

You have all been handpicked for your specific abilities and talents, so don’t let us down, Nikki said in a very serious tone. "This mission may be more important to national security and global stabilization that any other operations we have authorized.

This mission has Black Level security clearance and is ultra-top secret. You must leave no trace of anything. No shell casings, no wood or metal objects of any kind, especially any weapons, and by no means anything that can identify you in this time or place. No money, no dog tags, no names. You must make every effort to bring back any casualties and most importantly, secure our