Tug and the Holy Grail

There was a ferry dock at Pictou. We were too big for the little marina. So, we tied up adjacent to the maritime terminal. Pictou isn't the Bay of Fundy. But we still made sure that we had plenty of depth under the keel when we parked it, since the tide in that area is ferocious.

We then launched the skiff for a quick ride up the eastern arm of the bay to New Glasgow. That was where the car rental place was located. Maria picked up the car and I drove the skiff back. We had one of those old-fashioned garages at the end of the dock and they let us park there.

We had stocked up on camping things in Portland Maine. We loaded the Expedition with our gear and all the other necessities to stay out on the mountain and decided to call it a night. We were eager to get going on the hour drive over to Dalhousie mountain the next day.

It had been a month and I was still trying to get my mind around the Athenian angle. We hadn't seen or heard anything to make us think that the people we met in Bermuda had followed us. But we were still aware of the possibility.

The story of the war between the Atlanteans and the Athenians was passed down by Plato in his musing about the origins of the universe. I knew about that stuff; because, I had slept through a class in philosophy at our local community college. I was "furthering my education" at the time. Otherwise my parents would have kicked me out of their basement, and I was only twenty-six.

The Atlanteans were portrayed as the bad guys. That was understandable given that Plato was an Athenian. Of course, Plato wrote in the fifth century BC which was at least eight thousand years after the fact. And there was a big difference between Plato the Athenian and an Athenian named Plato; unless they were one-and-the-same. I wondered how many of the great men and women of history were not who they were billed as.

Dalhousie mountain isn't Everest. In fact, it reminds me of several mountains in Pennsylvania. That isn't a coincidence since they are both part of the Appalachian chain. Like a few the mountains in western Pennsylvania, it had a big wind farm.

The terrain was short scruffy pine trees. It gave the impression that there had been a lot of clear-cutting going on at some point in the history of the place. Of course, all that occurred hundreds of years AFTER Henry Sinclair had visited.

In terms of access, the fact that the mountain wasn't a huge granite barrier worked to our advantage. The problem was that the entire place was infested with hikers and other outdoorsy types. So, we had to lose our romantic ideas about treasure hunting in remote trackless wastes.

Even worse, the locals were going about their business everywhere. In fact, rather than worrying about braving the wilderness. We were more concerned about a nosy neighbor wandering over to ask us what we were doing.

We had spent the morning getting our bearings. Sinclair must have landed at the end of the Pictou inlet and hiked directly to the mountain. That was logical. It was about a ten-mile walk from that point; directly to the mountain.

Nevertheless, the whole area is settled now and the line of march was mostly private property. So, we took the Millsville road instead. We parked at a little cut-off that hikers use to walk the mountain trail. We left the Expedition there and gathered our backpacks.

Maria was in a pair of olive hiking shorts that were particularly complimentary to her backside and a hooded Ex-Offico, BugsAway jacket that she filled out nicely on top. She had one of those wide brimmed fishing hats pulled down over her head and a pair of Bulgaris that made her look more like Smokey the Bear, than a Priestess of the Sun. She set a jaunty pace up the trail, like we didn't have a care in the world.

As soon as we got completely out of sight, we deviated back to the northeast along the face of the mountain. It was more a steep rise than it was an actual mountain face. But the trees were close together and the navigation through the underbrush took time, particularly with bulky backpacks on.

Maria was the only person who could read the journal. But, between the two of us we had made a detailed map, with GPS coordinates built in. Hence, we were geo-tracking our way to the area that Bertrand said was the entrance to the vault.

The trees were scrub pine, not towering firs. The branches were at our level and we were also being careful not to get our gear caught in them. I was looking up to try to clear my pack frame from a tree branch, when I stepped off into thin air. I swear that I spent a couple of seconds blinking like Wile E. Coyote, before I disappeared bouncing and tumbling down the rift in the mountain and into a natural fissure.

Maria arrived quickly, sliding down the side of the cut. She said concerned, "Are you hurt?"

I said laughing, "Only my pride."

The we looked up the length of the fissure. There were much taller trees, which made sense. The walls of the cut were too steep to harvest timber there. So, the area we were in was semi-dark and the branches much higher.

I looked at the GPS and saw that we were very close to the location we had plotted. I nodded to my right, which was further into the cut, and we moved that way.

The space in between opened into a reasonably navigable path between the trees. But the overhanging walls essentially closed in over us. As a result, it felt like we were moving up a tunnel. Ambient light was still filtering down from above, which was perhaps thirty feet overhead now. But, it was getting darker.

I turned on one of our PowerLights and its halogen beam revealed the end of the cut. There was nothing there but a rock face. We both dropped our packs and walked up, side by side, to inspect it.

The face was perhaps twenty feet tall and about eight feet wide. It was local granite with rough protrusions. I looked at Maria. Her expression was puzzlement. She looked at the GPS and said, "This is the place. But it's nothing but solid rock."

I suspected that this was a door. There's always a huge rock door in the Indiana Jones movies. I stuck my hand into one of the pits in the face of the rock. I was waiting for the inevitable "click" and rumbling of an ancient mechanism; which would then swing back to reveal a fantastic treasure.

The stone was smooth and round, nothing there. I worked my way around and there was still nothing. Maria did the same thing. It was just a big slab of granite. Well, we didn't really expect to find the thing right away. That only happens in the movies.

I turned and leaned against the side of the cut. Maria braced her back against the other side. Her side was more granite. We looked at each other. Then, Maria got a perplexed look and said, "I'm picking up something."

I said confused, "What are you taking about? Are you sensing something?"

Maria said, "Yes, it is like a beacon. It is coming from this spot." She turned around and began frantically searching along the rock facing on the side of the cut.

Then she stopped concentrated and I felt one of her psychic blasts. There was a soft click and the side of the cut swung open. She said excitedly, "Of course they would do it this way!! It's failsafe. Only another Atlantean could open this. Bertrand himself must have sealed it."

What we saw was an opening approximately four feet by eight feet. It led into a tunnel that was the same approximate size. The rock facing that Maria had been leaning against was just that, the facing of a door. The door would be nothing but rock until another Atlantean sensed it.

We both lit up a PowerLight and walked gingerly into the entrance of the tunnel. As soon as we did the door slammed shut!!! I was about to have a claustrophobic conniption when Maria said calmly, "Don't worry, I can open it."

We shone our lights around. We were in an earthen tunnel. It looked a lot like the stock mining tunnels you see in all the old westerns. Every ten feet there was a thick beam shoring up the walls and roof. I marveled. Those beams were last seen in 1398, ninety-four years BEFORE Columbus "discovered" America.

There was granite facing on the right side of the tunnel, dirt on the other. Henry's men were simply tunneling through the dirt that was covering of the mountain. Thus, our path led around the mountain rather than into it. The smell of old earth mixed with ancient air was intimidating. We had walked perhaps 200 yards then things changed.

The tunnel ended in a blank timber faced wall. We both scratched our head. I could sense Maria probing along each side of the tunnel. Finally, she stopped and there was another psychic surge. It was as powerful as the last.

There was the familiar click and the door, to a much more enclosed space, swung open. This was a tunnel through the stone. So, the dimensions were a lot more limited. Eve's slim body fit in the four by six space perfectly. Another fit of claustrophobia was coming over me.

The tunnel itself appeared to be secure. But I was very uncomfortable, with the walls passing so close and my head bumping on the ceiling. The halogen flashlights illuminated the scene in a garish white light. I kept my eyes on my wife's full round ass to distract myself. The sight was indeed very comforting. She twitched her way along perhaps fifty yards and we came to another granite door.

Maria gasped and said, "There's Atlantean writing on it."

I looked and there were two lines of characters. One was in Latin, one was in Atlantean. I had as much hope of reading the Atlantean as I did the Latin, so I said, "What does it say."

Maria said, "Only a Penitent May Approach." The Templars were religious. So, the reference made perfect sense. But what did it mean?

I said, "You need to be penitent?"

Maria said, "That's what it says."

I pondered some more; Penitence? Then it hit me. I said, "These guys were knights, right?"

Maria said, "Yes, Bertrand was Grand Master of the Knights Templar. I am sure he had other Templars with him, maybe the entire Order. After all, the horde IS Templar treasure."

I didn't spend much time in school after age fourteen. I was too busy making my fortune blackmailing the industry. But there is one image that I recalled from a fifth-grade textbook.

It was of a knight going through an induction ceremony. In it, he is prostrate in front of an altar, professing penitence.

I said, "Open the door and then let me do this." There was the anticipated surge of energy and the door swung open. The tunnel disappeared off into the darkness. I got down on my stomach and began to crawl along the rough granite floor.

Maria said mystified, "What in the world are you doing?"

I said, "Shush," and proceeded to crawl along the floor into the darkness, keeping myself as close to the ground as possible. About five yards past the door I tripped a wire with my head and I heard a godawful screech above me. It was like an old metal mechanism had sprung into action. If I had guessed right that mechanism was over 700 years old. Then, I heard a "WHOOSH!!! CLANG!!!" about a foot above my ass.

Maria shrieked in shock, and dropped her torch. I rolled on my back and shone the light overhead. A bright array of 9 blades in a three foot, by three-foot pattern, projected out of one wall and touched the other side. Anybody who was not crawling would have been spitted.

She said, "My God Tug!! Are you all right?!!"

I laughed weakly and said, "I'd have been shish-kabob if the door hadn't warned us. Come on over the same way I did and let's see what other surprises your great granddaddy Bertrand left for us."

We proceeded perhaps another fifty-yards and encountered another door. Maria did her usual trick but nothing happened. We looked at each other puzzled. She said, "It should have opened. I can sense something incredibly powerful behind this door. Perhaps my mental powers are diminished by it."

I said, "Then how did Bertrand get in? And more important, how do we?" Maria just shrugged.

I'm particularly good with puzzles. It's the reason why reverse-engineering came so easily to me. I had always wondered where the ability came from, since it is almost uncanny. Now that I knew about my thought-provoking genetic makeup I had a much better idea why.

This door had a perfect two-foot, by two-foot, cube of very high quality marble set into it. I walked over and studied the pure, white stone. It was glowing with internal energy. It was pristine except, there was the same Atlantean and Latin writing on the front.

Maria told me that it said, "Behold, I lay in Sion a chief corner stone, elect, precious: and he that believeth on him shall not be confounded." She began to closely examine the cube and said astonished, "Bertrand has signed his name here, in the upper right hand corner. It's in Atlantean, not Latin."

Now what the heck did that mean?

I looked at her beautiful puzzled face and said, "I need to research this and we can't do it here. We've uncovered enough for one day and the treasure has been sitting here for 600 years. So, let's go back to the tug and work this out."

It was a fair statement. It wasn't like the treasure would disappear, and we had clearly hit a dead end. It was a little frustrating to be so close. But we weren't going to get through the last door unless we figured out the secret, and the place was still as obscure as it had ever been.

We had gotten closer in one day than anybody had in the prior six centuries. It was one of the advantages of having an Atlantean Princess for a wife. But, even Maria couldn't take us any further. So, we returned the same way we had come; crawling under the Templar blades and closing the doors behind us. We exited into heavy rain; naturally!!

We hurried into a couple of ponchos. It was surprisingly late in the day and the overcast made it hard to see. There was no point in pitching a tent there, when the tug had everything we needed, and it was only an hour away. It was slippery as we made our way back. We were soaked and freezing by the time we got the heat going in the Expedition.

We showered when we got to the tug. Yes, it was one of THOSE kinds of showers. After we finished the unavoidable next round, we dressed and walked over to the Lobster House. It was late and most of the places weren't open. It wasn't a hard decision between lobster, and pizza.

While we were eating, I raised the lingering question. I said, "Let's assume that we get through that last door and find what we're looking for. What do we do after that?"

Maria laughed like I was an idiot for even asking and said, "My people take all of those dangerous things back to New Atlantis, silly."

That was comforting. I said, "Do THEY know what we are doing right now?" I knew that she had some way of communicating with them but I wasn't sure how it worked.

Maria said, "I only have a limited number of space-time dilation pods. I wanted to be certain before I sent the message. It involves a flash-bang, just like our ship. But because the pod is infinitely smaller it will not attract attention, especially if we send it from the mouth of Bertrand's cave."

Maria sat on the couch and played with Bastet, while I fired up the internet. I was looking for any clue regarding the mysterious cube. The obvious place to start was with the Templars. The clue about the penitent was easy, once you made the right connection. I was wondering if the cube would be something like that as well. I tried every permutation of "knight" and "Templar" that I could think of and came up blank.

Then I remembered that Maria had mentioned that the Masons had inherited a lot of their ritual from the Templars. I tried Masons; and there it was. It seems that the cube symbolizes the cornerstone, which is the basis for the "foundation" in Masonry. That is a lot more than a building construct. It represents the Masonic concept of spiritual discovery.

The proof was in the signature that Maria found on the cube. As part of the process of discovery, the Mason signs the cornerstone on the northeast corner of the block. That was roughly the upper right hand corner of our mysterious cube.

I remembered that George Washington was a devoted Mason and he was the person who laid the cornerstone for the Capitol building. I wondered if he had signed it the same way.

I read a little further and found that the Masonic cornerstone is consecrated by an offering of corn, wine and oil. That supposedly goes back to King David's allusions to the "Corn of Nourishment, the Wine of Refreshment, and the Oil of Joy, which are the promised rewards of a faithful and diligent performance of duty."

I couldn't believe that the key to the Atlantean artifacts was an ear of corn, a bottle of wine, and some scented bath oil. But we could probably scare those things up. So, it was worth a try. I searched for another couple of hours but I couldn't find anything more than what I had already learned.

~

We left a little later than we expected, the next morning. That was because of a slightly disturbing incident. Maria sleeps naked. I've gotten used to having that lush body, pressed against me all night. You would have to if you wanted to get any sleep. I was just waking up when I heard her softly murmur, "Mmmmm!" Suddenly, I was on alert. THAT sounded sexual.

I rolled over and slipped the duvet down. What was revealed made me marvel. Maria was lying on her back her boobs were pooled in a heap on top of her chest. The nipples on top of those wonders are dark, with big aureoles. When she's especially aroused, they stand out like little brown watchtowers. That was the case here.

She startled me by restlessly turning over on her side and facing away from me. That move displayed another of her glories which is the complex of muscles around her ass. It was time to get up and frankly Maria naked and moaning was getting way too hard to resist, particularly with the heavy breathing that she was doing. So, I reached over and began stroking her muscular flank.

Rather than waking her, that activity just caused her to sigh, moan and push her butt back. The heat as my cock slowly disappeared between her legs was incredible. I could feel the slickness of her pussy and then she began very gentle movements; which instantly drove any ideas about breakfast out of my head. Especially since she was now moaning louder and in a regular tempo.

She had worked herself to a point where her sexy back was arched and her incredibly hot and dripping wet pussy was a perfect target. So, I slipped between those lovely lips and into that familiar tight hole. That happened with surprisingly well lubricated ease.

Her response to my slipping into her was an epic snort. Maria burns at a different temperature than mortal females. So, entering her is an otherworldly experience in wet and heated; in her case, literally otherworldly. I pushed all the way in until I came up against her magnificent butt and was rewarded with a loud moan and then a groan of regret when I withdrew.

At which point she came.

That was an unwelcome surprise. It usually takes a little time for Maria to respond let alone come. It wasn't a big orgasm, just an appreciative moan, a solid flexing of those marvelous legs and a quick tightening and fluttering of her internal muscles, followed by an extended sigh.

Then she turned over on her stomach, with her big boobs tucked under her like a couple of pillows, and went back to snoring.

I didn't know what she thought she was starting. But at that stage I wasn't about to countenance any "sleeping on duty." So, I spread her sleeping legs and got on my knees between them, while marveling at her two jutting buns. I rubbed around in the pool of fluids at the juncture of her legs, and plunged back in.