The Alarm Clock at the End of the World

Part 44 

Much Too Early the Next Morning

Mephis gasses the engine and gently slides the slim black vessel into ‘drive,’ pulling away from my house, ripping down the street.

“What kings?” I demand.

“Why?” he stonewalls. When I prepare to resist, he says, “Tell me.”

I shake the last remnants of sleep from my eyes. “Don’t worry about it.” Outside the window, evergreen trees race past the car at about 100 MPH.

“I was doing some reading this morning,” Tyr says as we hit the highway. “This temple, it’s old, Graham Hancock believes it might be the sight of a pre-Flood temple to Tiamat. The Essenes erected their community on top of it.” He glances over his shoulder to take in all of my shock. “I saw an ariel of the plateau. It can’t be natural. The whole plateau is shaped like a sundial, complete with numbers.”

“Real numbers?” Nepotism asks.

“Well, they aren’t numbers now, but it’s definitely man-made. The structures are perfectly aligned, and I’m sure it’s worn away as fuck, who knows what they could have been.”

“Like the Greenland Clock.”

“What?” Nepotism asks.

“A Nordic legend of a clock marking the eras of human civilization. It’s related to a Nordic myth about a clock started at the advent of human civilization to time the eras of human existence. At the end of recorded history, it would signal the event that would end society as we know it.”

“An alarm clock to the end of the world?” Nepotism demands. His eyes narrow suspiciously. “Where did you hear about this?”

“You lent me the book.  It was about that guy from Air Supply looking for the Ark of the Covenant in his back yard. He had all these whacked out theories backed up with some stones he dug out of his garden.”

“I remember that,” Nepotism says. “Nothing about a Greenland clock though. Are you sure it was him?”

“Maybe it was the guy who thought the Templars built the Oak Island Money Pit,” I say. “This guy says the Templars found the Alarm Clock at the End of the World, but they couldn’t get in without an access code that would open the gate.”

Mephis snorts. “Templars are more overused than serial killers these days,” he says. “You can’t turn on the TV without some kind of ‘Templar plot’ beating you over the head.”

“I didn’t make this shit up,” I say.

Nepotism stares out the window several seconds. “So who are these friends we are supposed to meet up with?” he asks in a monotone.

Mephis glances over to confirm he is in fact the one being spoken to. “Well,” he says, and clears his throat in a short burst, pulling in the left lane to glide effortlessly past the brown Jaguar that stands in our path. “Most of the stuff these guys have done, they like to keep it under wraps.”

“How do we know we can trust them?” Nepotism asks. “How do we know we won’t get there to find the place bristling with guns?”

“Trust them because I trust them.”

“But...”

“Trust them because I trust them.”

I trust the gun under my armpit a lot more than I trust Mephis Tyr.

Go to Part 45