21 December 2012 - The Calendar Beckons Page 2

  This actual date “21 December 2012” has never before been observed on any ancient monuments, stone structures, writings or pictorial records.

  * * * * * *

  The photos sent to SCAR show at the very top of the tall square obelisk calendar column four glyphs whose meanings SCAR understands, ah, so well. This is not the first time SCAR has encountered these four symbols. They know exactly what they mean. Actually mean, is too strong a word...let’s just say that have seen them before and know with whom they are associated.

  This will have to be further explained later, for now it has to remain a mystery.

  Each side only contains a single glyph displayed in a single Mayan square. The first glyph on the south side has a figure of a man’s face; the second on the east has a bull; the third on the north is a jaguar or could this be a lion? No one has ever seen a lion in Central America! And the final glyph contains a bird possibly an eagle?

  Oh yeah, most definitely, the Director of SCAR Robert Edward Scarburg Jr., the ‘Captain’ and his Deputy, son Robert Edward Scarburg, III recognize these glyphs – why do you suppose they had a research team traveling thousands of miles to a remote Mexican’s plowed field?

  * * * ~ ~~ * * *

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Explosion

  The flight to Mexico City from Atlanta was calculated at roughly three hours, which required an in-flight evening meal. The six SCAR scientists, having just finished their dinner meals, were beginning to settle down and relax in their huge Continental© 757-200. A check with a flight attendant indicated they were in the process of descending and would arrive in Mexico City in a hours or so.

  Dr. Buddy “Bud” Scarburg was the co-leader of this Mexican expedition along with his older brother Robert Scarburg IV, nicknamed ‘Forrest’. Their oldest sister, Olive Maria or just Sister as the brothers referred to her was sitting in seat 9A. Sister was fluent in Spanish and had always wanted to get out of SCAR’s lab and do some real ‘field’ work. Captain Scarburg, her granddad, thought this trip would do her good.

  When Forrest was born he was christened Robert Edward Scarburg IV. He great-grandfather Robert Sr. was nicknamed “Big ‘S”; his grandfather Robert Jr. was known as “Little ‘S’. His father Robert Edward Scarburg III was called “Trey.”

  Forrest, at first was “Four ‘S’ for being the fourth in the line of Robert Edward Scarburgs, this gradually changed to “Forrest.” Big ‘S’, Little ‘S’ what in the world? Well, as founding directors of the SCAR facility in Washington an explanation of their unusual names will be in order later.

  Forrest and Bud were both Department heads at SCAR - Forrest in the Huntsville, Alabama Facility Bud at Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado. Both were also grandsons and great-grandsons of two of the six principal co-founders of SCAR, Robert Edward Scarburg, Sr. (Big ‘S’) and Captain Robert Edward Scarburg, Jr. (Little ‘S’)

  Dr. Bud Scarburg, a PhD in Forensic Anthropology, was one of SCAR’s lead investigators. His thick black hair showed no signs of thinning but was beginning to take on a premature salt and pepper look.

  He sat, with his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, observing intently the passenger who had just passed his economy class 9C aisle seat. Forrest sitting to his left in seat 9B also watched as the stranger opening the metal door to the lavatory situated immediately in front of 9A, 9B and 9C.

  The remaining three members of Bud’s team were seated behind him in row 10. The entire SCAR team was traveling 'Economy'.

  The lone passenger making his way to the bathroom generally would not have aroused any suspicion with Dr. Scarburg but he seemed to inadvertently slip as he passed and stumbled awkwardly into Bud’s lap.

  “Oh,” softly speaking, “excuse me.” Almost at a whisper he followed, “I am sorry for my…my...I cannot walk good…I very sorry…,” he said stammering and speaking so quietly his words were barely discernable as he righted himself.

  Dr. Scarburg extended his assurance all was fine but couldn’t help noticing two things. First was the unusual accent the stranger exhibited; although, for some strange reason he was making a futile attempt to disguise it. Bud was cognizant of numerous languages and dozens of regional dialects but this one was a mystery - he could not identify the country of its origin.

  It seemed very alien to him.

  Secondly, Bud could not help but observe the beautiful round ivory medallion hanging from an exquisite silver chain. He only had a second but he did notice a bird, a man’s face and a couple of other things he didn’t have time to identify on the face of the medallion. ‘Beautiful work,’ Bud thought, ‘ancient looking too. Wish I could examine it closer.’

  The man was slightly less than average in height, large dark eyes set under a bargain priced rug almost certainly obtained at a rummage sale. His skin tone, at least his hands and part of the arm observed by Dr. Scarburg had a washed out ashen grey look.

  Although dressed in a light silver-grey knee length tunic, Bud, a trained observer, could tell if this man was in economy or as some say the ‘business’ section his business at the moment should certainly be to get himself to the nearest doctor, and quick. Something was definitely wrong with this gentleman.

  He appeared to be well build but not athletic or so it seemed by the small portion of his facial muscle tones Bud could see over the heavy wool grey scarf he had wrapped around his neck.

  ‘Scarf...? Scarf...?’ Thought Bud. ‘Why would someone be wearing such a cold weather article of clothing in a plane destined for the scorching hot desert environs of Mexico?’ Bud did not dwell on the scarf for very long - his attention was drawn to the man’s upper torso. It seemed disproportioned to the rest of his body. His shoulders were broad but his waist was abnormally small. It appeared this ‘bulge’ was something strapped to his back.

  ‘Strange’ thought the expedition chief as he continued watching the ‘gentleman’ enter the toilet just a few steps away from his portside aisle seat.

  At the same time he looked down on the floor next to his seat and noticed his metal briefcase, containing all the details of the new Mayan calendar find including the photos and the minute details on how to reach the farmer's house after arriving in Tonina, was missing.

  A quick search of the immediate area confirmed, indeed, the brief case was gone – the bumping by the stranger was no accident – a subterfuge to steal Dr. Bud’s case of documents?

  He distinctly heard the lavatory latch turn indicating the facility was “OCCUPIED’. There was no way to exit the restroom except through the same door he used to enter. Bud turned to Forrest. “Forrest...! Forrest...! Look at the guy going into the lavatory! He just stole our document briefcase.”

  “Come on,” Forrest said jumping up from his seat. “Let’s go get him there’s no other way out of that lavatory.”

  Man oh man...was Forrest’s utterance ever going to be proved so wrong!

  Dr. Scarburg and Forrest positioned themselves at the lavatory door awaiting the thief’s exit. Huddling around the door the two men waited. Sister gazed intently at her two brothers but remained buckled in her seat.

  In the meantime a cute, sparkling blue-eyed blonde flight attendant with a pixyish nose and pert ruby red alluring lips approached. She was inquiring as to the reason for the congregation at the door and requested the men return to their seats. Upon hearing their explanation she let them wait and decided to join the vigil anticipating the reappearance of the stranger, now the thief, and Dr. Scarburg’s briefcase.

  After a wait of just a brief few minutes the door slowly began to swing open – only an inch or two at first then it swung out into the corridor revealing the ‘thief’ dressed in a silver jump suit apparently made of something akin to aluminum foil. Some type of mask obscured his face. Dr. Scarburg’s metal briefcase was securely strapped to his chest.

  “What the…”, were all the words Dr. Scarburg had a chance to utter before... before...it seemed as if everything and everyone went into
slow motion. His eyes were blinded by a sudden flash of intense white light - at the same instance he felt he was standing in front of a blast furnace...then nothingness...he didn't even hear the...the...explosion.

  An ear shattering, tremendous noise erupting explosion shuttered the whole aircraft.

  All those standing around the lavatory were blown to their feet by the blast.

  Papers and loose objects inside the cabin were being sucked to the vicinity of what used to be the airplane’s restroom. The only thing left of the compartment was the metal door. The 'stranger/thief' had used it to shield himself from the blast. This remnant of door was now standing wide open supported on nothing but its metal frame.

  The explosion had created a large gapping hole obliterating seats 4A and 4B, along with the passengers who had been securely buckled tightly within them. The bulkhead wall and Seats 8A, 8B and 8C were also annihilated. The other three SCAR members in row 9 had also been eradicated as if a vacuum cleaner had sucked them out into the otherwise tranquil appearing sky above the huge sapphire blue Gulf of Mexico.

  Fortunately Forrest and Dr. Bud had not been sitting in their 8B and 8C ticket locations. Those two seats had been unoccupied. Luckily the two ticket holders, for those seats now hurling earthward at 120 mph, had been standing guard at the lavatory door when the blast occurred. Unfortunately sister Olive Maria who sat mesmerized by the events unfurling with the stolen briefcase was now falling, securely lashed to her 8A seat, helplessly, toward the ocean far below. Hopefully her death would be swift, merciful and painless.

  The enormous hole was allowing all the debris within the airplane to be sucked out and plummet to the white-capped blue-green waters of the giant Gulf waters nearly two miles below.

  All the clear plastic oxygen masks with the bright yellow nose-pieces stored above each seat instantly dropped down for use but at this altitude oxygen was totally unnecessary; however, the passengers hysterically grabbed the plastic lifesaving apparatus’ and strapped them to their faces as if air was now being doled out in individual breaths, all the passengers that is but one. This unearthly appearing being sat in the very rear, seemly unconcerned with the turmoil, panic and fear unfolding around him. All that could be seen of him, slightly visible above the seat to his front, were the head and shoulders of...of...

  ...a small man in a golden suit adorned with an ethereal golden medallion and golden chain - watching their every move.

  * * * ~~~ * * *

  CHAPTER FIVE

  FORREST DYING

  Dr. Scarburg, shaking his burnt face and head to regain his consciousness, was struggling to get back upon his feet. His effort was being severely hampered by the vicious barrage of trash and personal items flying from the cabin out into the nothingness of the beautiful white cloud filled sky over the water below.

  His first thoughts were for his severely injured brother Forrest and the disappearance of the seats in Rows 9 and 10 that the explosion caused. He did not want to grasp the fact that Sister was gone; however his scientific analytic mind told him that was a truism. Certain he could not alter nor correct that situation but Forrest lay right before him on the cabin floor, blood gushing from a sucking chest wound. He was hoping that he might do something to help him.

  To Bud it was apparent his brother was seriously hurt, probably dying. The explosion had hurled a large piece of metal deep within his chest as if a bullet from a pistol had hit him. Actually it was more like an RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenade) strike.

  Whatever lifesaving measures must be taken must be taken immediately. Looking over his left shoulder Bud noticed a large burly professional looking man fighting his way toward them. “Out of my way, move! I’m a doctor let me get up there.”

  Approaching Bud and his blood soaked brother lying prostate on the floor the doctor knelt down in a pool of Forrest’s blood - deep red blood drenched the entire floor around his body. Without asking, he began ripping the bloody shirt from Forrest’s body He bent over and placed his ear to Forrest’s chest.

  “Damn...collapsed lung.”

  Yelling over the roar of the wind screaming past the large hole in the side of the airplane, he screamed for someone to find the plane’s first-aid kit. A flight attendant had already anticipated his request and handed the Red Cross embossed white medical box to his outstretched hand.

  Opening the kit he grabbed a roll of white adhesive tape, scissors, a pair of latex surgical gloves and a 14 gauge needle and yelled for someone to cut a piece of the plastic sliding curtain from the storage locker.

  “How big?” A voice asked.

  “About 12 inches by 12 inches, hurry.”

  Someone quickly accomplished the requested task and passed the square piece of plastic film-like material to the doctor. He turned to the flight attendant, “Hand me a couple of those miniature Seagrams© and a bottle of water. Quick.”

  The attendant yelled back at the doctor, “Hell Doc... now is not the time to take a nip.”

  “Damn woman. Get me that whiskey and water - Now!”

  She turned and retrieved a couple of the little bottles of Seagrams 7© whiskey and a 12 oz plastic container of bottled spring water and handed both to the doctor.

  Using the alcohol rich whiskey he cleaned the skin around the wound as best he could; washed the wound clean with the bottled water and applied the piece of plastic over the hole and proceeded to firmly seal the edges with the white tape thus sealing the hole allowing the lung to operate as required.

  To get the lung to re-inflate it needed some help. The doctor cut one finger from the surgical glove. Sticking the 14-ga needle through the end of the cut-off rubber finger he inserted the needle into Forrest’s chest wall letting the trapped air escape thereby enabling the lung to refill itself with fresh air. The floppy edges of the rubber glove finger prevented air from re-entering the chest cavity.

  Turning to Bud he asked, “You with him?”

  “Yeah, he’s my brother. How bad is he?”

  “Bad. Real bad. We need to get him on the ground and into surgery ASAP. He’s loosing blood, a lot of blood - we’ve got to keep him from going into shock. I’m afraid he has less than an hour to live without proper hospital attention. “Here,” said the Doc, “let me look at your head.”

  With his total attention focused on his brother Forrest and the loss of his sister Olive Maria Bud had not realized he had been bleeding from a big gash at roughly his hairline over his forehead. Bright red blood was trickling down across the eyebrows and into his eyes. He had been wiping them clear but never grasped the fact he was bleeding. He mentally thought it was sweat he was wiping with his shirtsleeve. The doctor sized up the situation on Bud’s head, “Your going to need some sutures...the best this first-aid kit has to offer are suture strips. I think they will be sufficient until we get on ground.”

  The Good Samaritan doctor cleaned and suture stripped Bud’s forehead...the blood began to slow and finally stopped. Bud’s white shirt was now crimson red - not his alma mater’s, the University of Alabama’s crimson but the real blood crimson. Luckily he looked worse than he actually was.

  Bud, speaking to the doctor, moved close to the doc’s ear so the others could not hear said, “Doc I don’t believe we have an hour - when the explosion occurred we were still about an hour and half to two hours out of Mexico City.” With desperation in his voice he asked the doctor, “Is there anything we can do for my brother, anything...?

  The doctor, not wanting to look directly into Bud’s eyes, turned his head slightly and shook it from side to side and muttered, “No, nothing, but pray and hope for a miracle. Maybe there is an airport or landing strip closer than Mexico City. I know there is a strip at Cancun. Maybe there are more.”

  “Yeah Doc, your right but I don’t think we have enough time to reach land!”

  Bud tried to survey the tumultuous scene to account for the other members of his team – after a cursory glance he validated the fact his sister and his fellow three team member
s along with their accompanying seats were currently hurling toward the distant ocean far below. He did notice two other persons were also missing – the perplexing stranger that stole SCAR’s metal briefcase and the cute blonde flight attendant.

  The ‘foreigner’ had been wearing a silver jump suit and something that resembled a parachute; the flight attendant had been only wearing a white blouse, black pants, a black apron, a gorgeous smile and a dazzling ivory medallion hanging on an elegant silver chain.

  The ‘interloper’ and the flight attendant had now disappeared - obviously sucked out through the roaring fuselage hole that once had been the exterior wall of the pride of Continental© Airlines. Dr. Bud now realized the irony of brother Forrest’s previous utterance - there WAS, indeed, another way out of the lavatory....

  It seemed apparent that Dr. Scarburg, Forrest, and all that was left of the passengers, and crew were within mere moments of falling like a rock out of the sky three miles to a horrific death below.

  “Mexico City. Mexico City. Continental 1425 our EICAS (Engine Indicating & Crew Alerting System) is warning we are losing power in our port engine. Our rudder, elevator and aileron warning lights are blinking wildly also. We are leaking hydraulic fluid too. We have fatalities and severely injured passengers on board.

  We’re at One Five Thousand (15,000 ft) and descending fast.

  It is my professional opinion we are going down... I believe we are crashing... do you understand? We’re going down. Repeat… we… are… going down....”

  “Affirmative Continental 1425. Going down. Was this (inaudible) attack?”

  “Mexico City Continental 142…… (Indistinct words... then static).”

  “Continental 1425… reply… Continental 1425 comeback….,” Mexico City asked over and over. Their only response… radio static...

  * * * ~~~ * * *

  CHAPTER SIX

  SCAR HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, DC

  A little after 9 pm 5 August the intercom buzzed on Captain Robert Scarburg Jr’s desk. Annoyed at the interruption he pushed the ‘talk’ button and responded. “What is it Krista? I’m busy’’. He always called her Krista instead of his normal ‘Krissy’ when he was upset or annoyed.