The visualizer terrifying dreams

But the work of all these people served not humanity’s good, quite the opposite. They sought to make ordinary lives harder, even to wipe people out, by developing new diseases and viruses.

The goal was singular: the global extermination of millions. They even welcomed such unnatural practices, condemned by every major world religion, as euthanasia , breaking fundamental moral and ethical norms. Their open support for various sexual deviations was just as bewildering.

Kirill conducted his own investigation. It turned out that all these people belonged to a secret Masonic society with an extensive hierarchy. Its influence extended far beyond the United States.

Branches of the order operated in every major country of the European Union and even in the former Soviet states, Russia, Belarus, Ukraine, and Georgia. In each, regional Masonic lodges were established, all governed from a single center.

The populations of these countries had no idea what danger loomed over them. The development of deadly pathogens, viruses, and bacteria could easily spark a true epidemic, drastically reducing the world’s population if those viruses were ever released into the environment.

The Masonic society’s tentacles had penetrated deep into the government apparatus of several European states. Even in the United States, both among Democrats and Republicans , powerful lobbyists were already at work, pushing for greater funding of government programs in bioengineering and medicine aimed at creating biological or other weapons of mass destruction. Those viruses could be introduced into society in many ways, including through mass vaccination campaigns against some infectious disease.

The only real weapon against this evil was freedom of speech. That was why Kirill had created his website, a platform for publishing exposés about the secret organizations engaged in developing biological weapons and running covert biolabs.

The site had both open and restricted sections, which made it possible to earn money. The income wasn’t for personal gain but to fund further growth, and it worked. The project expanded quickly, its audience soon numbering in the millions.

Access to the restricted section was paid for. To enter, users had to register, and registration was no simple task. Zimmerman had designed a clever questionnaire that practically forced visitors to provide truthful information about themselves and their accounts.

The materials posted there were exclusive and often sparked loud political scandals , drawing even more attention from the press and public organizations.

After Julian Assange’s arrest, the Masons tried to silence the truth everywhere in the Western world. They launched an all-out hunt for his platform, and for anyone who dared to speak, or worse, to write the truth.

Registration helped Kirill weed out unwanted accounts. He could ban overly aggressive users at any time, anyone who might threaten his work.

That way, Kirill always knew who was interested in his site and why. Unfortunately, many users turned out to be active members of intelligence or law enforcement agencies trying to identify the real owners of the site and arrest them. But there were also ordinary people, people who simply wanted to know the truth. For their sake, he kept going.

The “cream of society” had no use for the truth. The scandals stirred up by his site provoked only anger and rage. And if it hadn’t been for the mobile PSY device they’d smuggled out of Russia a few years earlier, they never would have escaped the chase.

Around the perimeter of his house, Kirill had also installed special miniature sensors and cameras that alerted him whenever someone tried to enter the secured property.

Chapter 7

Your suffering is caused by resistance to what is.

Siddhartha Gautama (Buddha)

Without realizing it, Kirill had fallen asleep. His thoughts drifted far, far away, and he never noticed when it happened. Along with sleep came the nightmares. His subconscious pulled him downward, deep into its own depths, to that place where memories of forbidden Greek mythology lay stored, the stories he’d loved to read as a child, the ones that had shaped his worldview and sense of self.

Kirill looked around. The world he found himself in was strikingly real. Some instinct whispered that it was only a dream, yet everything around him felt tangible, almost lifelike. His mind rendered the smallest details with such precision that it took his breath away and stirred his imagination.

Everywhere he looked, stretched swamps. A narrow path wound between them, leading somewhere into the distance. He was standing in a small clearing surrounded by wild rose thickets. Luckily, the ground here was firm enough that he felt steady, almost as if everything happening was real. In his hands, he held an ancient Greek weapon. And he himself was dressed exactly like a warrior of ancient Greece.

A solid silver breastplate covered his chest, and on his head gleamed a massive helmet crested with a plume that made him appear taller, more imposing. Beneath the armor, thrown directly over his bare skin, hung a spotless white tunic. Every piece fit his body perfectly. He felt the fabric against his skin as vividly as if he had put it on that very morning.

In the distance, horses neighed. Kirill turned; he was sure a chariot stood there, the one that had brought him to this place. He dimly remembered being here before, searching for something, some ancient mythical creature. The beast had long terrorized the locals, killing livestock and any stranger unlucky enough to wander into this mysterious land. In places, he could even see bones, remnants of travelers who had vanished in these stinking swamps long before Kirill arrived.

He had to act. Instinct urged him forward, toward danger. Kirill was a brave man in real life, too, and sometimes that courage bordered on recklessness.

He began to walk carefully along the narrow path. He didn’t want to slip into the foul sludge surrounding him, turning the whole region into a mire of death. In the distance, mountains rose, the swamps ended there, and that was where he was heading, stepping cautiously over the trembling ground that seemed to draw him toward the heart of this bog-ridden land.

Now and then, from the center of the swamp, noxious vapors rose, forcing Kirill to cover his face with his left hand, the one not holding a weapon. Over that arm was slung a bow and a quiver full of arrows, both sturdy and finely crafted.

Long ago, in his childhood, Kirill had loved archery, though back then his bow had been a harmless sporting one, incapable of hurting anyone. The weapon on his shoulder now was very different, made for war, its arrows tipped with sharp metal points.

The quiver itself was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, adorned with silver inlays sewn into the leather. One design showed the Greek god Apollo aiming his bow; others depicted trees with animals hidden beneath their branches. The quiver was so beautiful that Kirill would gladly have paid a small fortune to own one like it in real life.

The path ran on and on toward the mountains. Kirill realized he was on an island at the very center of the swamp, surrounded on all sides by the black, stinking sludge. Only here was there solid ground. The path grew narrower and narrower, and now he had to move with great care, making sure not to fall into the bog that stretched for miles around.

At last, Kirill crossed the final stretch and reached firm land. He sighed with relief. Standing on solid ground felt far better than balancing on the shaky path that wound through the fetid swamp, trembling with every step. The mire could easily have swallowed a man whole, and clearly had, many times before.

He looked around. The landscape was strange, almost exotic. Ahead rose a high mountain surrounded by stunted shrubs and twisted trees. The sight reminded him of a place he’d once seen in the north, when his mother had taken him to visit her elder sister in Yakutsk. The trees there had been just as small and bent low to the earth, nothing like the tall, full-grown ones back home in central Russia.

Not far from where he stood gaped a cave leading deep into the mountain. From that vast opening came a sense of danger. The black maw seemed to watch him, both drawing him in and repelling him with its empty, ominous depth. It felt as if some invisible, dreadful being was observing him, unseen but close.

All around lay an unnatural silence, the stillness that sometimes precedes a heavy rain or snowstorm. Then, suddenly, from the cave came a furious roar, so immense and terrible that it jolted him awake.

Kirill opened his eyes, disoriented, struggling to remember where he was. The nightmare that had haunted him for days began to fade. Someone was ringing the doorbell, over and over, interrupting his dream at its most intense moment. He got up, went to the door, and looked through the peephole.

Outside stood his friend Zimmerman, along with the rest of the old crew he’d left Russia with a couple of years ago. Kirill reached for the keys lying on the bar counter and went to let them in.

A new workday was beginning.

Chapter 8

Just as plants grow from seeds, so too do joy and sorrow arise from past actions.

Siddhartha Gautama (Buddha)

Stephen listened carefully, giving his superior room to speak. Though the man belonged to a secret society, he had no one to confide in. Excessive candor wasn’t encouraged there, and yet there comes a moment in every life when a person needs to talk, needs to pour out the thoughts that have weighed on him for years.After a few glasses of whiskey, the boss grew talkative.

Besides, Stephen might soon become part of his family. And really, there was nothing much to hide. In any family, the hidden sooner or later becomes known. He knew that well enough; he’d seen his own family fall apart for lack of money.

“In our Jewish family, surnames are passed down through the mother, not the father. The women in our line are strong-willed, passionate, and fond of wealth. They strive to be independent, yet loyal to the man they’ve once chosen as their fate, and perhaps that’s why men love them so.”“As you know, my last name is Schleiter,” the boss began.

He glanced at Stephen. “You know this yourself. I can see things are going well between you and Eugenia, and that’s no coincidence.”

“In a way, it’s a family tale that’s been passed down through generations.”“My grandmother, Hortensia Schleiter, was married to a Daily Mail journalist named Arthur Weigall. He’s the one who told her the legend I’m about to share with you,” he went on.

“Arthur Weigall was the very journalist invited by the English archaeologists Howard Carter and Lord Carnarvon to witness their excavations. So he knew everything that went on there. Some of it appeared in print; some was classified, known only to a select few, including my grandmother, his wife, who told me the story when I was still a boy.”

“You know those excavations in the Valley of the Kings took place under difficult conditions. The heat was unbearable, the work was done entirely by hand. There were no modern instruments or devices like the ones archaeologists use today to locate ancient tombs. Everything was guided by intuition, with little study of the terrain or papyri. Eventually, that disheartened Lord Carnarvon. He wasn’t a professional archaeologist, and he wasn’t prepared for such a long, fruitless search for treasure.

By 1922, he was so discouraged that he stopped funding the expedition altogether. But the work didn’t end there, and in the end, patience was rewarded.

God blessed the archaeologists for their perseverance. On November fourth, purely by chance, Carter discovered the entrance to a new tomb. The sealed doorway bore the mark of royal blood, the sign of a noble burial. That tomb, later unearthed in the Valley of the Kings, made Carter, his assistants, and his colleagues famous.

“It also became the starting capital for our family,” he added thoughtfully.

“That was the tomb of the famous Tutankhamun. Much has been written about it, then and now, and I won’t repeat what you already know. But few realize that it wasn’t the only royal tomb Carter found, and that’s what I want to tell you now, because it ties directly to your upcoming trip to Egypt, as we agreed.”

“In the cache of Deir el-Bahari, on the west bank of the Nile directly across from Thebes, modern Luxor, was discovered another tomb, belonging to Pharaoh Amenhotep I of the ancient kingdom. Few know this, because it never drew the kind of attention Tutankhamun’s untouched tomb did.

Still, the discovery was known within academic circles. That pharaoh was one of the founders of a new Egyptian dynasty, which ended with the reign of the cursed king Amenhotep IV, who called himself Akhenaten. And that reformer-pharaoh is no less famous than Tutankhamun, for he tried to spark a revolution in Egyptian society.”

“The warning inscription about the danger of being in a sealed chamber, where the mummy was found, referred not to Tutankhamun, as many modern writers and collectors of Egyptian artifacts claim, but to Amenhotep I.”

“Sadly, his tomb had been plundered. Yet the sarcophagus and its contents survived intact, and the mummy, sealed in that vault three thousand years ago, is now kept in the Cairo Museum’s archives. Reaching it is no easy task.

Incidentally, it floats in a strange black substance in which the body was immersed for preservation.”

“That substance hasn’t dried or evaporated in all this time, three thousand years. That fact alone fascinates the scientists who study Egyptian mummies.”

“No one escaped retribution. The bodies of the grave robbers were later found nearby, buried in the sand about two meters deep. They had all died in terrible agony from an unknown illness. That same illness caused the mysterious deaths among the English archaeologists who handled Amenhotep I’s artifacts, without protective suits or even masks to shield their lungs.”

“Some of the relics had been spared by the tomb raiders, and it was those very items that became the source of the strange disease that struck the archaeologists digging there.

One after another, people died, and no medicine could save them. The epidemic lasted until their bodies were buried, and then it vanished as suddenly as it had begun.”

“My consultants in bioengineering tell me that working with the mummy of Amenhotep I could still be dangerous. Before embalming, his body had been infected with spores of an unknown disease. The harmful bacteria that killed those people didn’t die; they remain active even now.

Certain modern scientists need those bacteria, for study, to develop new pathogens or medicines, and they’re willing to pay well for access to that mummy, if they can obtain permission to work with it.”

“The Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation is offering a sizable grant for such research. I intend to claim it before my competitors find out. There’s serious money involved.”

He gave Stephen a knowing look. “And you’ll get a share, if we pull this off.”

“Your task,” Aaron Schleiter continued, “will be to arrange with the Cairo Museum staff to let us borrow the mummy for examination and computer tomography. If you manage that simple assignment, I’ll give my blessing to your marriage with my illegitimate daughter, and you’ll be welcomed into our family and into our Masonic circle as well. You’ll have my word of honor.”

He lifted the bottle. “Now, let’s finish what’s left. One for the road.”

Stephen hesitated, then nodded. They raised their glasses and sealed the deal with a firm handshake. Both men left the conversation satisfied. Each had fulfilled his purpose.

But Kubrick’s mission was far more dangerous than his companion’s, and he didn’t yet realize it.

Chapter 9

Fear not what will happen to you. It won’t change your future, but your present will become calmer.

Siddhartha Gautama (Buddha)

Stephen Kubrick had always taken his assignments seriously and, in most cases, achieved the goals set before him. This time was no exception. Before setting out on his difficult mission, he decided to learn who Pharaoh Amenhotep I really was and what had caused his death.

He was also curious about what disease the pharaoh might have contracted, and where, so that the bacteria of that illness could have survived for more than three thousand years and remained viable to this day. Back in his student years, he’d studied such questions, and now that knowledge was proving useful.

Normally, bacteria perished within a couple of centuries after their host’s death, but this case was different.

According to ancient Egyptian sources, Amenhotep I reigned for twenty-one years and died of an unknown illness, together with his wife. Evidently, a sudden epidemic had struck the Egyptian kingdom. The king hadn’t even been properly entombed in his royal burial chamber, which at the time was still unfinished. His mummy was hastily placed in a secret cache belonging to his mother in Deir el-Bahri. As for his wife’s remains, the sources said nothing. Most likely, she had been cremated or buried somewhere nearby.

It was precisely this obscure ruler’s grave that Howard Carter, to his misfortune, had discovered while conducting excavations in the northwest section of the Valley of the Kings. Pharaoh Amenhotep I was the son of the famed Ahmose I, celebrated for continuing the war against the Hyksos and driving them forever from the land of ancient Egypt. Afterward, for a long time, a religious cult flourished in Egypt that glorified the pharaoh’s deeds and those of his closest companions.

Before that, Lower Egypt had long been under foreign rule, and only this pharaoh had managed the impossible, defeating the oppressors and freeing the people from the power of cruel invaders.

In this, he had been aided by the Ancient Greeks, with whom he maintained close economic and political ties. They also left behind records of his reign and that of his sons. Ahmose I had several children, yet for some reason the royal title was passed specifically to Amenhotep I, and only after his death did it go to his half-brother Thutmose I, also a son of Ahmose but by another wife.

Stephen paused, thoughtful. What if Pharaoh Thutmose I had a hand in his half-brother’s sudden illness? For more than twenty years, he had lived in Amenhotep’s shadow, a ruler of immense power who built those majestic temples in Thebes that still stand today, awing tourists who come to Egypt from around the world.

But Amenhotep I had other enemies as well, men who wished him dead. Unlike his father, he was not feared by those around him, and so someone might well have coveted the throne of this pharaoh who, like any dictator, wielded absolute authority.

That very power was the cause of his death from an unknown disease, thought Kirill as he read the Greeks’ accounts of this extraordinary man of the past.

The first suspects, of course, were the priests. During the Hyksos rule, many cults had arisen to reinforce the conquerors’ authority. When the invaders were expelled, those sects were persecuted, and many priests were put to death.

It was at that time, too, that the Jews were driven out of Egypt, people who had lived quite freely under the foreign rulers. And the one blamed for all this was not the liberator Ahmose I, but his son, Amenhotep I.

Continuing his study of the records left by the Greeks, who had observed Egyptian customs and daily life, Stephen finally discovered a clue as to how the mysterious disease that caused the epidemic, and took the lives of the king, his wife, and his court, might have entered the land.

Toward the end of his reign, Amenhotep I launched several successful military campaigns that expanded the borders of Upper Egypt. These conquests were quite fruitful, and he managed to annex several new nomes to Egyptian territory.

Under the next pharaoh, those lands were permanently absorbed into Egypt. Yet the wars had devastated the local populations. Hunger and malnutrition brought on epidemics common to the African continent. Even today, most dangerous viral outbreaks originate in Africa, and how much worse must it have been in the age of the pharaohs, when medicine barely existed and there was no way to halt the spread of disease.

One papyrus described Amenhotep I’s campaign in Nubia. The chief oarsman, a man named Ahmose, wrote:

“And I ferried, by rowing boat, the King of Upper and Lower Egypt, the late Amenhotep I, when he sailed up the Nile to Nubia to extend Egypt’s borders. After we landed, there was a great battle, and His Majesty struck down the chieftain of the nomads in the midst of his warriors. Rich spoils were taken. The captured nomads were bound tightly so that none could escape. Those who tried to flee we slew, and they lay dead as though they had never existed. Yet they could not resist the Egyptians much, for among them were many sick and crippled.

“I fought in the front ranks, and His Majesty honored my valor. I, too, captured a prisoner in fine raiment, who was brought before the pharaoh. Then we returned, and I delivered His Majesty back to our capital in only two days. I was rewarded with gold and became a wealthy and respected man. Besides that prisoner, I seized several beautiful slave girls, concubines of the former ruler, and they were brought into the sovereign’s tent.”

Evidently, a genuine epidemic had been raging in Africa at that time, and it had helped the Egyptians defeat the Nubians, who until then had never lost to them, whether in open battle or countless skirmishes. This time, though, things were different, and the difference was telling. Most likely, the prisoners had infected the renowned ruler of antiquity, who died young, not yet forty.