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CHAPTER 2


THE BURIED BUILDING

The next morning Robert hauled a small gas generator and a few power tools up to the caves. Among his dad’s art-studio equipment, he found some lamps and tripods, and set up a lamp on a tripod in each of the three chambers.

He went back to the house for lunch, where he got a call from Mr. Pearson in Manhattan, who asked him to stop by to sign some papers. Robert made an appointment for the next day. Then he returned to the site to continue to map and photograph the cave complex.

The next day, Wednesday, he drove down to the city, arrived at the lawyer’s office a little after noon, and signed the papers. He spent the night in his apartment on West 72nd Street.

On Thursday, Robert went to a hardware store on West 3rd Street and bought a second generator, some lamps, and a couple of SureFire flashlights. He left the city in the late afternoon and arrived at the house in the Catskills that evening. Intending to break through the inscribed doorway in the third room the next day, he went to bed.

In the morning he received an e-mail from the lab with the results of the radiocarbon tests. He was stunned. The lab dated the plant remains to 13,730 ± 300 years Before Present (BP) and the wood to 13,890 ± 300 years BP. Because the plant parts had been associated with a planter, and the wood clearly had been attached to the wall, Robert felt sure the results truly reflected the age of the nonorganic objects, which meant the car and bird had been sitting in their sealed chambers for an incredible fourteen thousand years.

How could these plant and wood remains have survived for fourteen thousand years? he wondered. The lab techs must have been surprised too. Older plant remains had been found at Ohalo in Israel, but those had been carbonized, and Robert knew that some researchers believed that uncharred, dry, botanical remains could not be ancient. The cave-in might have unsealed the chambers as recently as, say, a few hundred or a thousand years ago, but that would only partially explain the survival of the plant stems and wood. Nevertheless Robert could not easily discount the results.

Everything pointed to the fact that there existed a sophisticated culture, unknown to archaeology, in this part of the world at that time.

He sat at his computer, thinking about how and when he might inform others of his momentous find. He faced a dilemma: The public needed to know about this ancient site—this was the bottom line for Robert—yet the finely detailed, obviously purposeful mechanisms on the car had by now convinced him that the vehicle may well have been the product of a technology more advanced than our own. Disclosing such a find in the wrong way could cause problems. Not only would the history books have to be rewritten, but also this single find, as incredible as it seemed, could actually have a significant and unpredictable impact on industry and the economy. The civilization whose artifacts he was uncovering was in no way primitive, and Robert knew that these ancient people may have discovered technologies and methods that surpassed those of the modern world. He thought about how, in recent times, the mass-produced automobile had destroyed the horse-drawn vehicle market and he imagined that such disruptions, as wonderful as their results would be in the long run, could follow from the revelation of his discovery. He felt uneasy being alone at the center of something that could change the world. What weighed most heavily on Robert, however, was his realization that the government, foreseeing military applications, might not only cover up these newly discovered technologies, which, he thought, might be a legitimate thing for them to do, but also cover up the find in its entirety. To do so, he felt, would be criminal.

He decided the best way to continue would be to keep investigating on his own, to keep good records of his work, and to put into safekeeping some pieces as evidence until he could figure out a way to ensure that an attempted disclosure wouldn’t result in a complete cover-up.

Now it was time to break through the doorway.

He went up to the site and walked through the caves to the third chamber. Studying the smooth wall, he noticed an irregularly shaped area of the doorway with a slightly different color than the rest of the wall. Perhaps at some point this door had been breached and repaired. A few quick tests of the wall appeared to show that it was made out of some kind of plastic-like substance, slightly translucent and soft enough to cut through fairly easily; obviously it was a material that hadn’t broken down with age. Robert first drilled a small hole all the way through the wall at a point within the doorway markings. Not detecting any noxious fumes, he decided to keep at it. He found that if he cut well within the doorway outlines, his jigsaw blade was long enough to saw through the material to the other side. He slowly cut out a large block of plastic at about eye level. When he shined a light through the opening, he saw a big, decorated, wooden door about twelve feet away. The space was enclosed by walls and a ceiling that were made of the same plastic material as that of the cave wall. Cutting out sections of the plastic doorway, he created an opening large enough to walk through. Then he set up a lamp inside the newly opened space, close to the wooden door. Examining the door, he identified it as being made of ebony. There was a blue, metallic U-shaped latch on the right side of the door attached to a metal plate with a narrow slot in it that might have been a keyhole. He looked for hinges, but none were visible. He pulled on the latch, but the door was closed tight. The next challenge would be to get through this door without damaging it. It was past 9:00 p.m., and since he had shopping to do and hadn’t eaten since breakfast, he left the site for the night.

After dinner, Robert went to bed but couldn’t sleep. How would he get to whatever was on the other side of that ebony door? He imagined there might exist another wall that the door was set into and thought he might uncover that wall by cutting into the plastic enclosure—but he wasn’t at all sure this idea would work. Maybe he could dig under the door to see what was there. Or perhaps, if that slot was a keyhole, he could pick the lock.

Suddenly he sat upright in bed. “Could it be a key?” he said out loud. He jumped out of bed, turned on the light, went to the desk, and picked up the little silver-and-gold artifact. He looked at it carefully; it seemed to be too smooth to function as any sort of key. Sitting at the desk, he retrieved a tiny screwdriver from the top drawer. He had tried to pull off the gold finials several times before but had given up each time, assuming they couldn’t be removed. But now he would try again, harder. He put the screwdriver blade into the crack between the silver part and one of the finials and very gently tried to pry the crack open. The blade slipped out. He tried again and again until he managed to fit the blade into the crack in just the right way so that when he pried, the crack opened a tiny bit. When he applied more pressure, the crack opened wider. With a tug he pulled off the finial and placed it on the desk. When he tipped the artifact over, a tiny black key fell onto the desk.

A picture of the iron key

The iron key

It was clearly a key; it looked to be made of iron, with a square bow, a three-part shank, and teeth of different lengths.

“OK!” he said. He jumped up, got dressed, and slipped the key into his pocket. Could a lock mechanism still work after fourteen millennia?, He put on his coat and grabbed a flashlight. It could. It could, if it were made to last. Anyway, he thought, even if it doesn’t work, the key will give me a clue about how to pick the lock.

He left the house with a flashlight and walked up toward the site. It was well past midnight when he arrived. He started the generator, turned on the lights, and went down into the now well-lit cave. When he got to the ebony door, he held his breath and inserted the key into the slot. He felt the key’s teeth engage something inside the door—a little more pressure, and suddenly he heard a loud click. Grabbing the handle, he pulled on the door and felt it move. With more effort he pulled it open farther. Grasping the door with both hands, he opened it more and more until there was just enough space for him to fit through. He slid through the opening far enough to be able to stand on the other side of the door. The air inside was musty but breathable. He took out his flashlight, turned it on, and shined it into the space.

What Robert saw astonished him: he was in a room filled with a marvelous jumble of objects. There were parts of what was once a wooden throne-like chair; big metal bowls of various sizes and shapes; a large, decorated, spoked wheel that appeared to be made of bronze; and several wooden boxes. The objects were strewn around in something of a clutter; the thought occurred to Robert that whoever had broken through the sealed door the first time may have tossed things around, looking for something. That was exactly what had happened to King Tutankhamun’s tomb; in fact, he thought, This is how Howard Carter must have felt when he peered into that tomb and saw “wonderful things.”

A picture of the first room Robert

The first room Robert entered

Robert trained his flashlight on a model bird, its wings outstretched, which sat atop a vertical pole. Having had a lifelong interest in prehistoric life, he recognized the bird as an archaeopteryx. He assumed it was a model, because archaeopteryx had become extinct many millions of years before the end of the Pleistocene epoch. As he walked farther into the room and looked back in the direction he had come, he saw on the wall a map covered by a thin layer of dust. It was a map of a land he couldn’t identify. To the right, in an alcove, on a boxlike pedestal, sat a large sculpture or model of a strange animal that Robert thought looked prehistoric. In the middle of the room, half buried in the rubble, lay a statue of a human figure that he judged to be made of polychromed metal. The figure wore a robe and a strange mask. On the floor, Robert noticed what appeared to be the pieces of a game set.

The room Robert entered, as it looked long ago

Reconstruction: the room Robert entered, as it looked fourteen thousand years ago

The game in the room

Reconstruction: the game in the room

Shining the flashlight onto the wall opposite the entrance from the cave, he saw black wooden shelves divided into large square compartments, each containing a rolled-up bale of fluffy, cloth-like material. Between two sets of shelves was an open door. He carefully made his way to the door and went through it into a spacious, mostly empty room that reminded him of the interior of an old barn. The floor was stone, mostly covered by old boards—clearly the floor was originally wood. He shined his flashlight around the room, focusing on a group of objects near the far wall. He walked carefully toward these objects, glancing back to make sure he could see light through the door he’d just come through; he wanted to be able to get back there if his flashlight failed.

At first he thought he was looking at a group of large jars, but when he got closer, he had the distinct impression that the elongated spheres and the cylinders, interconnected by wires, were parts of a machine of some sort. It represents our solar system, he thought. This big object is Jupiter. This one has a ring around it; it’s Saturn. And that greenish one on its side is Uranus, and the other green one is Neptune—and there’s Pluto.

He noticed some paper or parchment pages hanging off a little assemblage that might have represented the asteroid belt. Looking at them closely, he saw that these ancient papers had diagrams on them that exactly resembled modern astrological charts—though the symbols on them were different from those with which he was familiar.

A picture of the astrology machine

Reconstruction: the astrology machine, as it looked fourteen thousand years ago

On the wall was a metal box that looked just like a modern electrical panel. He saw what appeared to be indicator lamps, as well as buttons and what he looked like incoming and outgoing wires. The panel had the same symbols on it that were on the parchment astrology charts, so Robert surmised it might control the solar system machine. Since the symbols seemed to label the lamps, he guessed the panel simply turned the planet units on and off.

A picture of the astrology-machine control panel

The astrology-machine control panel, with electricity applied

He noted that if the operation of this machine somehow was supposed to simulate the workings of the solar system, then these ancients had conceived of the planets as functioning astrologically in pairs: There was a control lamp on the panel for each pair. Robert thought he could identify the pairs from their relative positions on the panel: sun and moon, Venus and Mars, Jupiter and Saturn, and Uranus and Neptune. Neither Mercury nor Pluto was a member of a pair.

But what in the world did this machine actually do?

Robert noticed a staircase in the middle of the room that led up to another level. As he shined his flashlight up to that level and saw wooden structures there, it dawned on him that he was in a building that had been buried under the earth.

How could a building be buried? It could, if it were enclosed in a mound.

The only other fixture in the room was an enigmatic round table surrounded by a circular arrangement of bars.

A picture of the enclosed table

The enclosed table

Shining his light in the direction from which he had entered the room, he noticed two other doors along the same wall. Each had a different word inscribed above it. He walked closer to the door he had come through to get a better look at the word, but the letters, like those on the key case, were totally unfamiliar to him. He decided to call the cluttered room through which he had entered this building from the caves the “Entrance Room.”

The writing above the other two doors was equally enigmatic.

A picture of the door through which Robert entered the room

Reconstruction. The door through which Robert entered the big room

A picture of the writing above the door

Reconstruction. The writing above the door through which Robert entered the big room

There also was an open door on each side of the room. Robert walked through these doorways into alcoves, and found an ascending staircase in each one.

He didn’t want to stray too far from the door through which he had entered until he had set up lighting; besides, he was feeling a bit overwhelmed and figured he’d better get some rest, so he went home and to bed.

The next morning he returned to the site and installed lamps inside the big room. Then he carefully studied the wood of the central staircase. It seemed solid; there was no detectable degradation. Perhaps the wood was treated, he thought, to prevent fungal and bacterial damage. If there was any degradation due to physical or chemical mechanisms, it was undetectable. So, flashlight in hand, he walked up the stairs. On the next floor, he found himself in a very long hallway that led to a door at the far end.

A picture of the upstairs hallway

Reconstruction: the upstairs central hallway, as it looked in antiquity

At the top of the stairs, he found three large cubical stands; on top of each was a large closed book. This is amazing, Robert thought. But can they be read? Noting that the people who had occupied this building used books in codex form rather than scrolls, he went to the book farthest from the stairs. He shined his light onto the book and, with extreme care, opened it just enough so he could see one page. Small pieces of brittle paper or parchment fell out as he held the book open. The page was filled with simple color drawings of people doing various things: Two reddish-skinned men with blond hair and beards, and dressed in robes, stood in a street beside a building and talked to a man wearing a squarish red hat who peered out of an upstairs window. In another picture on the same page, the two men on the street stood talking to a woman in a beige dress patterned with small red flowers at the building’s open door.

On the page he also saw writing that resembled the writing on the key case, as well as on the stone that covered the entrance to the caves and above the doorway through which he’d entered the big room.

He knew these marvelous books would be a major focus of his work in the coming weeks. He would allocate time to study them while continuing to explore and document the rest of the building.

He discovered that the door at the far end of the hallway couldn’t be opened. The only way he could get out of the hallway was to go back down the way he had come.

Over the next two days, Robert explored the rest of the building, setting up lamps in each newly entered area. He found that this very large wooden building seemed to be divided into three parts; in his notes, he simply called them “left,” “right,” and “middle.” The big room with the astrology machine in it, as well as the central upstairs hallway, constituted the entire middle part of the building.

Most of the left, or western, side of the building was composed of rooms that contained what seemed to be hundreds of bookcases, the shelves of which were bare, except for a few wooden bookends here and there. If the shelves were filled in the past, Robert thought, someone must have removed all the books. Also in this wing he found a group of rooms on different levels, connected by staircases. In one of the rooms, he found a table, on top of which was a stack of three slide mounts, not much different than modern mounts, each of which contained a film frame that appeared to be solid black. On the uppermost level, he saw a telescope aimed at a screen some distance away in the building’s right side—on this level, just below the roof, there were no intervening walls.

A picture of the telescope

Reconstruction. The telescope

A picture of the sculpture-filled hallway

Reconstruction. The sculpture-filled hallway

On the right side of the building, a curved hallway filled with abstract sculptures led to a room with a large pedestal inside. On top of the pedestal was a large projector. Also in this room was the screen at which both the telescope and the projector were aimed. In the center of the room, next to a bronze sculpture of a tree, stood a small templelike building that contained a desk, a chair, an ivory box on a table, and an open book. Robert inspected a few of the book’s pages. They weren’t paper but were made of a flexible, plastic-like material. At first all the pages seemed to have nothing on them, but as Robert looked more closely at the two on top, he made out very faint images of the interior of a room. He could make out walls, some furniture and a round window. The pages underneath the top ones were blank.

A picture of the first page of the book

The image on the first page of the open book. Restored

A picture of the second page of the book

The image on the second page of the open book. Restored

He walked over to the ivory box and lifted its lid. The box contained a smaller, similar box, which contained an even smaller box, which seemed to be empty.

A picture of the sculpture-filled hallway

Reconstruction: Another view of the sculpture-filled hallway

A picture of the first landing

Reconstruction: a chair and desk on the first landing below the telescope room

A picture of the templelike building

Reconstruction: the templelike building

A picture of the projector

Reconstruction: The projector

A picture of the the projector in operation

Reconstruction: the projector in operation fourteen thousand years ago

A picture of the interior of the templelike building

Reconstruction: the interior of the templelike building, as it appeared in the distant past

In the building’s left side, near the foot of the stairs that led up to the rooms that ascended to the telescope, Robert found a closed door that he was able to push open easily. He entered the space and looked around. Aiming his flashlight at a group of boxes on the floor, he saw that each box sat at the foot of a stand topped by a small shield. The room showed no sign of having been rummaged through, as the Entrance Room had. Perhaps whoever had broken into the building had been quickly removed and the entryway resealed. Robert’s attention was drawn to the box/shield assemblage in the center. Although a thin layer of dust covered the shield, he could make out the painted image on it: a wheel surrounded by clouds and red flames. What had attracted his attention was a piece of parchment that hung from the stand. Looking closely at it, he saw it was a handwritten page. He made a mental note to photograph this page as soon as possible.

A picture of the room of shields

Reconstruction: the room of shields, as it appeared in the distant past

Robert spent the next three and a half months cataloging and documenting everything. Of course this wasn’t what he’d agreed to be doing on his sabbatical. In his application to the dean, he’d promised to travel to Greece then Turkey for the purpose of expanding his expertise in classical archaeology. Normally a change like this would require a professor to submit a statement of revision of plans for approval, but doing so was out of the question. Furthermore Robert had no idea what kind of report to submit upon his return to the university, if he returned at all. He had made up his mind to refund his salary for this period and felt sure no one would blame him for what he was doing.

Robert turned his attention to the two unopened doors just to the west of the Entrance Room door. When he opened the door in the center, he found that it led to a room about the same size as the Entrance Room. Although the Entrance Room was in shambles, the objects in this room were intact and clearly all in their original positions. Poles supporting short horizontal beams leaned against all four walls, and from these beams hung clumps of silvery threads that reminded Robert of hair or moss. Scattered here and there among the hanging strands were small gemlike ornaments. Centered in the room was a large, decorated mahogany desk that would have been imposing when new. On the wide front panel of this well-crafted piece of furniture was carved a six-letter word in the same unknown language Robert had seen before. Seated in a chair behind the desk was a sculpture that, like the one in the Entrance Room, seemed to represent a masked person. Here, though, the mask had the form of a round, yellow head without ears, nose, or mouth, but with small black dots for eyes. The life-size body of this doll-like sculpture was dressed in a heavy, quilted cloth robe whose original colors—rose, purple, green, and orange—could still be made out.

Robert eventually was able to open the third door along the same wall and enter the third room. This room was filled with hundreds of pieces that fit together as parts of a machine. After looking closely at the pieces, he realized they hadn’t formed a functioning whole; rather, the objects formed a sculpture that represented a machine.

He found a structure below the left wing of the building that seemed to be some kind of furnace. He also found an electrical generator and located electrical outlets throughout the building. He discovered a kitchen and bathrooms, and made plans to map the building’s plumbing.

Robert now turned his full attention to the three large books, which he called the “Hallway Books.” He had already spent weeks photographing all the pages of these books and had set up a space in his house to study the photographs.

Eventually Robert realized that the Hallway Books constituted keys to three different languages. The first book, the one farthest from the stairs, was a universal key to what he assumed was the natural language of the people who had built this edifice. It was universal because it taught the language, defining its words and illustrating its grammar, by means of pictures. Although the pictures fairly quickly gave way to pure text further into the book, there nevertheless were many interesting images that illustrated activities, costumes, animals, and vehicles of land, sea, and air. The book also contained a guide to pronunciation, using illustrations that depicted, in cross-section, the lips, palate, and tongue. Robert discovered that the language itself was called “Atl” by its speakers, who called themselves “Atlanians”; their land was called “Atlan.” It may have taken twenty years for the Rosetta stone to be deciphered, but because the pictures in this book so clearly conveyed the meanings of the words, because Robert had some linguistic training—he’d studied ancient Greek in graduate school, and taught himself to read Sumerian cuneiform in college—and because the author, or authors, of the book had laid out the order of lessons so well, it was only a matter of three months (of very hard work) before he had created a fairly complete—although basic—Atl-English dictionary.

The similarity of “Atlan” to “Atlantis” wasn’t lost on Robert. Before his discovery of this place, it seemed to him unlikely that a great civilization could have existed at the end of the Pleistocene epoch only to disappear with barely a trace—and that’s why he found it difficult to fully accept Plato’s story of Atlantis as a true account. But now it was clear to him that an advanced culture had in fact existed at the end of the last ice age and had in fact left barely a trace. So now he had no problem accepting, as a working hypothesis at least, that Atlan and Atlantis were one and the same place. Although Plato had claimed that Atlantis was an island in the Atlantic Ocean, not a region in the Catskills of New York State, Robert suspected that the land of Atlantis could well have been large enough to encompass many regions.

It occurred to him that this first book, which he had come to call The Universal Dictionary of Atl (UDA), because of its clever pictorial definitions, which built complex notions out of extremely simple ones, could be of interest to philosophers.

A picture of the UDA

The beginning of The UDA

The second book translated Atl into a universal artificial language that the Atlanians had invented and that they called “Wahte.” Robert called this book The Atl-Wahte Text (AWT).

The third book was, according to its introduction, “essentially a textual and diagrammatic representation of a philosophical analysis of the world.” Robert called this volume The Philosophical Language Text (PLT). He tried to follow the exposition but couldn’t make sense of it and decided to put it aside for a while.

Now, in late April, he was able to translate the writing on the silver-and-gold key box. The thrice-repeated line on the left read, “Heroes speak.” The three lines on the right each read, “We flourish.” Robert wondered what the purpose of the repetition might have been.

The single line on the stone that covered the cave entrance said only, “Heroes speak.”

And now Robert could read the word above the door to the Entrance Room. Tasatl meant “truth.” The word above the center door was shanshal, meaning “goodness,” and above the third door was lyytoy, “beauty.” He discovered that the word carved into the desk in the center room, talaso, meant “examiner.” He decided he would now call the Entrance Room the “Room of the Truth Examiner.” The next room would be the “Room of the Goodness Examiner,” and the last would be the “Room of the Beauty Examiner.”

Robert also was able finally to translate the handwritten note in the Room of Shields. This note, in a hurried hand, read as follows.

Today, as I directed that the last volume of soil be placed upon this venerable building, they told me they will immediately plant grass on the new hill. I was buoyed by my premonition that this wonderful place will not be forever hidden beneath the earth. But the destruction of our institutions has been so complete that it will not soon be rediscovered either. The chaos that has taken over our country has destroyed much but also permits much to be put aside for you—you who discover these products of our labors of more than five thousand years. You may have entered through the caves. I know this is not the end of our Truth Engine but is merely an interregnum. I implore you who find this to carry on our work—please let the work of our ancestors not have been in vain. It may even represent your own salvation. But do not make the mistakes we made. Beware of the Anti-Engine. Be clear about the nature of the cycles. If you do not yet know of it, seek out and find the Great Place for Humankind, which contains the deepest secret of the Engine. Look in the room of the double glass.

I am now ready to leave this place for the last time. WheelCloudFire will carry me through the air to my home, which I also will bury. We will encase the house; we will build the plastic (?) shell above and below, treat everything with kalmat and mix shuutek into the air, and seal the shell. Then earth movers will be brought in from the sea to finish the hill, and in years to come, travelers will see only a natural hill there. In the box below, you will find the coordinates of my house—they are extended (?) from the center of the earth, from the Map of the First Time that was carved from the living rock and that became the face of the lion, near the wide northern river. I will now live a simple life with my wife. We will live by my secret place that I have called the “Great Stream.”

The note was signed “Kholoruuf, chief logician of our beloved Truth Engine.”

Robert had no idea what kalmat and shuutek were, but at least the note supplied a small clue as to how people in Kholoruuf’s day would have preserved a building and its contents and as to why the organic material he’d found in the cave might have been preserved for such a long time. These people had developed a science dedicated to this kind of preservation.

The note left Robert with many questions: What was this “Truth Engine” of which this Kholoruuf spoke? What was this engine that was so valued by these people? Since the UDA covered only a somewhat basic Atl vocabulary, he could find no answer there. And what was the “Anti-Engine”? What did Kholoruuf mean by “cycles”? What was the “Great Place for Humankind”? Could Kholoruuf’s buried house be found? If so, could the answers to Robert’s questions be found there?

Indeed, in the box below the shield, Robert discovered a map showing the East Coast of what we know today as America and, across the Atlantic, the entire continent of Africa. There was a dot apparently at the location of the very building Robert was presently exploring and where the map had been left. Next to the dot was the two-rings symbol and a rectangle that was given a length of “1.” From the dot a roughly horizontal, straight line was drawn, which ran through a point in what is today Egypt. Down from that point, two straight lines extended; one was offset ninety degrees from the first line, and the other, offset at a specified smaller angle, precise down to four decimal places, intersected with a dot near the South African coast. This line was associated with a number, again extremely precise, which presumably specified its length.

Robert assumed that the rectangle represented the building that he was at this moment exhuming, and took its length as the unit. He had a hunch that “the First Time” in Kholoruuf’s note referred to something at Gizah. He knew that the Sphinx, since it had been carved from the local bedrock, had been “carved from the living rock” near a “wide northerly river,” and that maybe “the First Time” somehow related to the Sphinx, a statue of an animal that, presumably, once had a lion’s face. It was an extremely tenuous connection, he knew, but it was all he had, and he accepted it provisionally. He’d discovered in the UDA that the Atlanians had divided their circle into 384 degrees, so he could determine the exact angular offset of the second line. Based on this data and these assumptions, by making use of the Internet and the public library in New York City, he came up with a very precise location for the third dot on the west coast of South Africa, not far north of Cape Town, very near a coastal town called Melkbosstrand.

Also in the box under the shield, Robert found a second key, much like the one he’d used to unlock the ebony door.

Robert knew what he had to do now. He had no teaching duties to fulfill—he would deal with the issues concerning the sabbatical requirements later—and because of his inheritance, his financial resources were, practically speaking, limitless. He would put off renting out the house in the Catskills. There was absolutely nothing preventing him from fully investigating the South African connection.

 

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