the amber room - teaser (prologue)
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DESCRIPTIONTeaser (prologue): The Amber Room was a phenomenon I came across many years ago. It is a story that has intrigued for centuries. Did it really have special powers, it certainly captured people's imagination and awe? Was it really lost at the end of the second world war? A lot of people think not, something so valuable would not be allowed to be destroyed. Then where is it?
H D Evans
Published by Pipeline
Hugh Evans 01 November 2011& 20 August 2012
3This book is dedicatedto my daughter Jessica Evans,
without whose inspirationI would never have
completed this work.
5Prologue SmithsonianEverything is about control; once you understand, then you have a chance.
Late in the evening it was normally quiet, he didn't know it wouldn't be like that again. Tonight was different. The Smithsonian's 130 million artefacts of the liberal arts and sciences were the perfect place to hide a secret. A secret is something worth knowing; anything worthless can't be a secret. The location of the Amber Room valued at half a billion dollars, was a secret worth knowing. The secret was hidden in a number of places, each facet was unrecognisable in isolation, together only discernible by someone with the knowledge, the spirit, an illuminated master, someone who had inherited the code. This was the first time since the Amber Room had been made that it could all come together.He was almost sure that someone else had been looking for the secrets, at these pages in front of him. No, not possible. He had covered his tracks perfectly, every facet had been given numerous false trails, yet the interest in each part had been increasing recently. What was that? He sensed, rather than saw a movement, a presence. He looked about, it was dark, the only light came from his laptop screen and a few lamps about the office. The shadows in the dimly-lit room suddenly appeared sinister. LEDs winked at his paranoia; a fridge hummed in the next room. He folded down the laptop screen, closed the journal and stared into the darkness, sure now that someone was there, watching. The hairs rose on the back of his neck and his blood ran icy cold. He sat still, breath shallow, listening, pulse racing, blood pressure ratcheting up the stakes. His fingers reached over his desk and felt the familiar, silver embossed shapes on the leather bound journal, checking it was still there. He could read the letters by hand, like Braille: Libellus Marcus Aurelius Juvenis, the Journal of Marcus Aurelius.The unrelenting hunting, his patience, diplomacy, charm, ingenious trawling and the spider algorithm had finally allowed him to access and search the Vatican Archives. He knew it had been there all along. Did they? Perhaps. Must assume that they did. Only a few people knew he had borrowed this journal, but he felt sure no-one beyond his Order knew of the other one, its companion. He just wanted to be sure the author was the same, then all the suppositions subside, the doubts disappear. Maybe the Holy See allowed him to have it because they wanted to know where it would lead. He suspected they were using him, their electronic chatter had increased dramatically. Too late to worry about that now. He looked up at the security camera in the corner of the room and it blinked red back to him as if to warn someone was watching. If he could establish that the authors were the same it would mean
6that the lineage was established beyond doubt, the connections to the Amber Room and that the spirit of the legends were not fiction, but fact. He stood up and walked across the room, down to the corner and peered around into the dark corridor. Nothing. He felt really uneasy about being here so late, sick, but he had to make the connection tonight, the cross-quarter day was nearly upon them. He had been way ahead for so long but he had found out that some negative group had been reworking his experiments and caught up, they weren't far behind. His assistants had been charting the planetary alignments for him and correlating these with historical events. All the other signs and stars were right, the probability was peaking at a high this November cross-quarter day, there was still chance but it had to be now.He was certain that only he knew about the third and fourth journals, because the writer of the last had told him so, had given them both to him and him alone. For the first time, all four journals together, one in his hand, one as files on his laptop, one in his rucksack and the last one in his mind. This last journal was the cipher; he knew no-one else had this. But it wasn't a great leap for any sinister organisation to suppose that it existed, that he knew its contents and that they may want his mind, do anything for it. He had fielded all sorts of enquiries about the Amber Room, from the tabloid press to fabulously wealthy collectors to shadowy cults, more so recently.The titian-haired woman was a common subject in all the four journals, she occupied the mind of the author intimately. This beautiful, fair skinned, mystical woman had become the soul-mate of the authors, had children, had loved profoundly. It was the strength of this deeply shared love that had kept the dynasty on course for two millennia through the most difficult of times. When they were together everything was well with the world.Bruuuuup, bruuuuup, bruuuuup, the cell phone vibrated on the desk. It was snatched up and silenced, John, was whispered, his eyes darting about, checking the shadows.Yeah dude, you sure you wanna go to the Nat History lecture again? We trashed that course last year, it stank, 'member?Yeah, I'm sure it'll be okay this time, was the hushed response.Okay, just checkin', you're on your own fella'. Okay...er Christina I think... anyway someone booked you in and bought the flights to Newark, times to JFK were lousy. I said that would be okay, okay?Great, what about the amber artefacts? He hated travelling across town from Newark.Should be there if you think so.Fine, I'll see you Friday.Sure, after we can go through the amber resonance data that arrived today, anyhoo, have a good trip buddy, give us a shout if you need anything.
7Sure, thanks, bye, call ended.Even John didn't know about the journals or the red headed woman. Couldn't talk about that sort of thing on the cell phone or email, best way of giving all your secrets away. No doubt someone's html spider was crawling over his electronic life reporting on keywords. The office was quiet. He waited a little longer then reopened his laptop. On the screen were encrypted images of the Journal from Jungingen. The paper was in very poor condition, but was legible, it was written in a mixture of Latin, which he knew, and ancient Alemanni, which he had to translate with a short, rough guide from the Romano-Germanic Museum in Cologne. The beautiful pale blue leather - bound journal of Roman Army officer Tribune Marcus Aurelius Juvenis courtesy of Vatican Archives lend programme to the Smithsonian, was opened to the last entry. The Roman Emperors had become Popes who had ruled the Holy Roman Empire. This journal was found in Rome and been taken by the Vatican Library and hidden, it was now back in the light and the Latin was translated thus:'By the Gods, bless my family this day and for ever more.... no doubt the quest beyond the mighty Rhine in Magna Germania will be hard, may the Gods look favourably upon my mission and allow success and safe return....The mysterious woman Mea, like the goddess Gaia, enthralling, maybe I will see her again when I cross the Rhine? Beauty, she has, more than a man could comprehend, rich, red hair like my long departed wife, my love, much missed. Time has passed, the memory, the grief fades, my body yearns for life. I think of Mea and my heart racesShe touched me, I felt something never before experienced. Full of life, calm, understanding, the world; so powerful, I need it again. I still have the amber gift she gave me, it is electric, it is warm, I can feel something about it, it has an aura, there is power inside, if only it could be unlocked, harnessed, the power could be used for great good.'He was sure it was the same handwriting, the signature and icons were definitely the same and the woman Mea was the same. He looked up at the screen and read to himself, My beauty Mea...queen of the Alemanni, the forest...my life, my love....never ages....full of life....mother of my sons....He scrolled down to a separate decorated page recognising the icons as a pagan funeral ceremony, there were images of a strange wheel with cranked spokes referred to as the Black Sun, and images of the Valkyrie and the chariots taking the dead from the battlefield, Queen Mea, queen of beauty and life is taken this Full Moon Samhain....of the forest...found in the forest...gored by the forest....now returned to the forest. There were hand written notes that followed, the words smeared by drops of water, The queen
8is dead, my grief overwhelms me. My love, my life, my amber queen, the eternal youth of our people has been taken from us by the wicked forest in a storm. She guided us through the droughts, the darkness, she kept the light, brought the Spring, knew the way...pulled me from the river...the strength in me to continue fades...We were one, now our sons will continue, I will soon join my love in the Alemanni Solar Mausoleum and the afterlife.That was it, the link. The Spring Goddess Mea was the same woman and so was the author of the journals. He wanted to shout but kept it in, instead, punching his fist into the air.He got out the beautiful, light blue, silver-embossed, leather-bound journal from his tatty rucksack, the journal of Prussian Noble Marco von Jungingen and flipped through the pages. There was a loose leaf towards the end, it was a Funeral Order of Service. The same runes in gold and black decorated the edge of the page as the page shown on his laptop screen, the connection was certain. The funeral was for Mae von Jungingen