Ancients

8

Collins, Everett, Mendenhall, and Ryan stood outside the offices of the law firm Evans, Lawson and Keeler, easily identifiable to the public by the lines of bright yellow police tape surrounding the old brownstone. The Boston Police Department had several bright-light stands placed in front of the building and several uniformed patrolmen were watching the bystanders closely.

The black windbreakers the four men wore had ATF on the back and on the left breast. Jack walked to the front of the building and presented his identification.

"ATF out of New York," Jack began. He found that he didn't need even that small opening for the policeman standing on the large stoop leading into the offices. The man just pointed to the double front doors.

"Robbery-Homicide is set up right inside the lobby, mac. Coffee's there too."

"Thanks," Collins said and gestured for his three men to follow him.

The smell of death hit Jack as soon as he stepped inside. The fluorescent lighting illuminated the reception area of the prestigious firm and belied the fact that so much violence had taken place there less than twenty-four hours before.

"Coming onto scenes like this is getting to be a habit I can really learn to live without, Jack," Everett said, pulling his ID as a detective walked in from the long corridor behind the reception and eyed them.

"Still a hard world," was all Collins said in return.

"Can I help you?"

Jack looked at the man in civilian clothes with his shirtsleeves rolled up and saw that he was wearing a shoulder holster.

"ATF. Our people called today and spoke with a Captain Harnessy. We had a match hit on the ballistics report filed by your department."

"The warehouse thing, right?" the detective said.

"Can we have a look around?" Everett asked as he started to skirt the detective.

"We haven't finished the CSI yet, so--"

"Look," Jack leaned over and looked closer at the man's badge, "Lieutenant, we're willing to share our information and we do have a lot of it. Willing as long as we don't have to play any of these jurisdiction games. Believe it or not, we're on the same side here."

The lieutenant looked around and then nodded. "All right, but I go with you, and don't touch anything. My captain is a real stickler for this clean crime-scene stuff."

Jack smiled and started through the reception door. "I know what you mean; our director can also be a stickler for rules."

As they passed through the door, Carl stepped up and whispered, before the Boston cop caught up to them, "Especially if he knew we were here."

"Oh, man," Ryan hissed, as he saw the first bloodstain on the carpet, where the first victim had been killed.

"They capped the security guard here. The rest of the victims were split into six different offices and shot execution-style."

Jack walked through the first door he came to, which was the main conference room. It looked to Collins that four or five people had been killed in the large room. There were stains on the carpeted floor and on the wall.

"The second batch of people died here, we think. One man, three women, all popped once in the head. The ladies were shot execution-style against the wall."

"Jesus, who in the hell are we dealing with here?" Ryan asked as he stepped from the room.

Mendenhall didn't say anything as he joined Ryan. The exact same thoughts had crossed his mind when he saw the death at the warehouse, and after two days he still could not fathom the type of man who would kill so callously.

"You claim the motive was robbery?" Jack asked as he followed the detective out of the room.

As they entered the hallway, several crime-scene people walked past with large cases. At the end of this line was a man in a white coat who snapped several pictures of a large bloodstain on the wall. As the five men walked off, the police photographer took several more shots and then left. He did not hurry or otherwise attract attention to himself as he made his way to the front after picking up a black case. He nodded at the uniformed officers outside and then moved past the onlookers, walked easily across the street, and disappeared.

Collins and the others were led into a very well-appointed office. A large bloodstain had soaked into the beige carpet in front of the oak desk. The detective pointed to a large portrait that stood out from the far wall. Jack saw the open safe built into a cavity behind it.

"The safe was found like that with only the fingerprints of the senior partner...." He looked into a small notebook. "Mr. Jackson Keeler. Twenty thousand dollars in cash was found, along with several keepsakes and legal papers."

"What was missing?"

"We don't know at this point. Mr. Keeler has no living relatives, and his partners were among the dead."

"It had to be something pretty good to have murdered this many people," Ryan said as he looked into the safe.

"At this point it could have been anything, or nothing. Whoever killed Mr. Keeler took a lot of pleasure in doing it. He was shot ten times."

"So maybe they didn't get what they wanted. Maybe that's why he angered his killers," Everett commented as he looked at the large bloodstain.

"Did the bullets from Keeler match those of the others?"

"We don't know yet; he hasn't been autopsied yet. The coroner seems to be a little bit behind schedule. Guess he wasn't ready for the rush."

"Anything caught on security cameras?" Jack asked.

"No, the cables were--"

"What in the hell are you doing, conducting tours?"

Jack and the others turned at the sound of a booming voice with an Irish lilt. A large man stood in the office doorway with his hands on his hips, glaring at the detective.

"Captain, these men are from ATF and wanted--" 'I don't give a damn what they want. Get them the hell out of here! Did you know you have more people in here than Fenway! One of our CSI photographers was mugged outside just twenty minutes ago. We found him beat to hell. Now, all deals are off. You ATF guys go through channels."

Three minutes later, Jack and the others were standing on the other side of the police cordon.

"What now, Colonel?" Mendenhall asked.

"The coroner's office--maybe he has something we can use."

Their false ATF IDs worked again with no difficulty. The office of the coroner was packed with next of kin and extra medical examiners brought in from other towns to assist the Boston office with the massacre victims. Jack grabbed the first harried-looking white coat he could stop.

"Jackson Keeler--has he been autopsied yet?" Collins shouted above the din of crying family members and tired medical examiners.

The young woman wanted to pull away from Jack's grip, but when she found it locked around her wrist, she quickly looked at her clipboard.

"Number three. They're just starting."

Collins let the woman go and she dashed into a mob of people and started explaining the hold-up on the identification process. The four men watched for a moment and felt for the families suffering from this cold-blooded tragedy.

They turned away and went to two side-by-side doors. One said EXAMINING ROOM 3 and the one next to it was marked VIEWING.

Jack chose the latter. As the four men entered, they saw two medical students standing at the glass. They looked at the four men in black wind-breakers with the curiosity one would show a bug that had just crawled onto ones' sandwich. Everett held up his ID and the two students swallowed and stepped to the far side of the glass.

Inside, the autopsy had already started. On a chalkboard in front of the stainless steel table was a hastily written identification: JACKSON KEELER, 78 YEARS, 4 MONTHS.

The speaker inside the viewing room was connected to the microphone used by the ME as he started to work on the elderly attorney.

Twenty minutes later, Everett leaned toward Jack.

"Well, I guess all we're going to get is the cause of death."

"Dammit. I was hoping something would come out of this," Collins said as he turned and sat in a chair next to Will and Jason.

None of the four men paid any attention to one of the medical students when she stood up and walked to the intercom.

"Dr. Freely, when your assistant removed the subject's dentures, something fell out of his mouth."

Everett watched as the assistant in the autopsy room bent over, retrieved something from the floor, and held it up to the light.

"Jack, you may want to see this," Carl said as he watched closely.

"It's a torn piece of paper. Looks like four names here; it's hard to make out," the assistant said, holding it in front of the ME.

Jack looked at Everett and they both made for the door.

"Ryan, you and Will go get the car started and meet us out front."

The ME was just reaching for the torn piece of paper when the door opened and two men in black windbreakers stepped in.

"Don't touch that, Doctor, please," Jack said.

"Hey, you can't be in here, there's an autopsy going on!" the assistant said as he tried to step in front of Everett, who just picked the smaller man up and set him aside.

Jack snatched a pair of rubber gloves from the counter and pulled the right one on and easily removed the paper from the shocked ME's hand.

"Call security and get these men out of here!" he said as he watched Collins hold the paper up to the light.

The assistant looked as if he wanted to follow the orders of his boss, but Everett was still standing in front of him with his brows raised.

"ATF, Doctor. We'll need this," Jack said as he lowered the paper and made for the door, followed quickly by Everett.

"What is it, Jack?" Carl asked as he caught up with Collins.

"Names; I can't make them out, but they are names. Keeler obviously didn't want his killers to have them, so he stuck them in his mouth before he died."

They were ten feet from the door when the large Boston police captain entered with the detective that who had given them the tour of the law office; they stood toe-to-toe with Jack and Everett.

"Hey, stop those men! They just took evidence from the autopsy room!" the whiny little assistant cried from the open door of the examining room.

"Okay, give it--"

That was as far as the police captain got, because right at that moment Jason Ryan pushed the double doors open as hard as he could, sending the two policemen sprawling onto the green tiled floor. Everett and Collins did not wait to offer apologies and followed the smaller Ryan out of the door and into the car, and Mendenhall sped away as if they had just robbed a bank.

As their car took off, another vehicle, this one a white van, pulled out and sped along in pursuit.

Sarah had called a two-hour break for the science teams so that they could recharge their batteries. Thus far, the group had come up with no theory that would pass muster as to the validity of the manmade-earthquake theory. Virginia was very close to calling Niles at the White House and informing him that in the opinion of the Group, while not impossible to do, the expense and labor-intensive problems would be too much to overcome with today's technology. Which in and of itself was not gospel, but close to it, with the minds they had working the problem.

Virginia and Alice sat next to Sarah in the large cafeteria. They both had tea and they looked at Sarah's unfinished sandwich.

"Are we interrupting something?" Alice asked with her pleasant smile.

Sarah snapped to as if she had been in deep thought.

"Oh, hello, ladies. No, you're not interrupting anything more than the contemplation of failure."

"Failure? I wouldn't say that, Sarah. You weren't ordered by the president to start a manmade earthquake, only to prove if it could possibly be done by others. You failed at nothing."

Sarah looked from Virginia to the face of Alice and she smiled sadly.

"You know, this may sound strange, but I think it could be done. Oh, I know the North Korean claims are probably just a smokescreen, but I think the answers are out there and we just failed to find them."

Alice patted her small hand. "Well, don't take it so hard. You should spend the rest of your break down in the artifact-cataloging room--that's where the excitement is happening."

"Yeah, I was down there earlier and saw that large map and the other one with the strange lines running through it," she said, taking her spoon and playing with her cold soup.

"Not only that, but they came across scrolls from Rome. Julius Caesar, of all people," Alice said as she lifted her cup of tea and sipped.

"Caesar? Why would his scrolls be mixed in with the ancient texts? Don't tell me Jack and Carl screwed up when they crated them and just threw everything together?"

"No, no. That collector had them cataloged like that. Everything placed together by date. They're working on them now. There is really a lot of excitement, especially about those scientific scrolls and other things that are definitely strange," Virginia said. "So even if your team fails to come up with a way to start earthquakes, we still have plenty for everyone to do."

Alice and Sarah noticed that Virginia had lowered her tea and looked distant.

"What is it?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, I just realized how ridiculous all this is when you think about what's happening in the world around us. I mean we have kids, American boys, dying, and here I sit acting like a schoolgirl about a bunch of stuff that really means nothing when compared to the lives of people."

"Now who's being hard on herself?" Sarah said as she patted Virginia's hand.

"No, sometimes the foolishness of people makes me want to scream so loud I could shatter that glass."

Sarah smiled, but then a strange look crossed her face.

"What did you just say?"

"Oh, please, I could go on forever about the foolishness of--"

"Shatter glass," Sarah said instead of waiting for Virginia to finish.

"Excuse me?" Virginia asked.

Sarah picked up her water glass and looked at it. She then set it down and looked at Virginia and Alice in turn.

"What happens to a glass when an opera singer hits a certain decibel level?"

"Well, I've heard that they can ..." Virginia trailed off as she thought about what Sarah had asked. "You mean sound?"

"Sound and earthquakes, Sarah?" Alice asked, lowering her teacup.

Sarah stood up and smiled.

"Excuse me, ladies, I have some calls to make."

"Dammit!" Jack exclaimed from the front seat.

"What?" Will asked as he took a corner as fast as he could without losing traction.

"We should have brought a laptop so we could tie in to Europa!"

"Wait a minute, Will; pull over here by those kids," Ryan said from the back.

Mendenhall pulled into the curb and Ryan jumped out. Everett, Collins, and Will watched as Ryan spoke animatedly to them about something.

For the past fifteen minutes they had been trying to read the names on the wet paper, and now they thought they finally had all four: Henry Fellows Carlisle, Davis Cunningham Ingram, Martha Lynn Laughlin, and Carmichael Aaron Rothman. None of them recognized these names, but they meant something to someone, that much was clear. Jackson Keeler had wanted them protected enough to die for, and the people who had killed him had ruthlessly sought them.

"What in the hell is that flyboy doing?" Everett asked as Ryan finished with the young teenagers and then trotted back to the car and jumped in.

"Third and Argyle," he said, settling into his seat.

Everett looked at Ryan with a blank stare. "You need a patch-in to Europa--well, there's a cyber cafe on the corner of Third Street and Argyle."

"You navy types never cease to amaze me," Jack said as the car sped away into traffic.

The man who had taken the photographs of Jack and his team at the law firm sat in the back of the white van and directed the driver to follow them into the heart of downtown Boston. The white lab coat he had used and the ID he had taken from the police forensics technician lay crumpled on the seat beside him. He was using a portable film developer on the pull-down table in front of him. The first photo of the man came out crystal clear as he pulled the still-wet eight-by-ten from the mouth of the machine. He snapped on an interior light and examined the face. He now knew for sure that it was the same man he'd seen in the warehouse.

He bypassed the five other shots on the reel, setting them aside as he placed the photo of Collins inside a scanner and closed the top. Then he opened his laptop and examined the black-and-white photo more closely. He centered the cursor on the identification badge and zoomed in a hundredfold. The name came into focus.

"John Harriman, ATF," the long-haired technician mumbled under his breath. "Let's just see if you are who you say you are, John."

The man picked up a cell phone and made a call. He gave the name and the department of the subject and then waited.

"There is no John Harriman at Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, huh? I kind of suspected that; this guy is a little too efficient for government work." The man thought for a moment. "Look, can you get a trace-visual ID on this man and see if you can come up with any matches? I'll wait."

The person he was speaking with was a deep-cover operative run by Dahlia and used sparingly because of his position in the federal records division. You didn't burn someone who was in a position to give you that kind of information.

The cell phone rang.

"What have you got?" He listened as he wrote down the information. "That's all? Colonel Jack Collins, U.S. Army Special Forces on detached service, and then nothing? I'll pass it along to Dahlia you were a great help," he said angrily.

"They're pulling over in front of that cyber cafe," the driver said.

"Park somewhere nearby and for God's sake don't be seen. These guys are starting to make me a little nervous."

The man opened the cell phone and hit a single number.

"Keyhole here. I'm faxing you some photos. Our friends from the warehouse are back. They went to the law offices and then to the morgue and they left there in one hell of a hurry. Listen, Dahlia, I used our source in federal records and we're dealing with an unknown here--a Colonel Jack Collins was ID'd. U.S. Army and a former Special Operations guy who is on detached service to an unknown entity, and I believe he and his men may have uncovered something from the coroner's office because they left there in one hell of a hurry. I'm going to keep a tail on these guys but I need some major backup. Is the Boston strike team still in town? Thank you. Now I'm going to see if I can eavesdrop on what they're doing. I'll call back."

The man shook his head, knowing that Dahlia failed to realize that somehow she had allowed a possible federal agency of unknown prowess to tag her movements. Oh, she acted calm enough, but then again she was safe in New York, while he had his ass hanging in the wind, tagging a damn Green Beret and his people who scared you just by looking at you.

"Damn, this is just too much," he mumbled as he brought his telephoto lens up to his eye and started perusing the cafe, looking for Jack Collins.

Jack felt exposed as he and Carl made the link with Europa. Everett kept an eye on the cafe's patrons to make sure no one moseyed by for a look-see. Luckily, most of the cyber kids were their doing homework or chatting up on MySpace and none of them seemed interested in the two adults. They were stuck in at a table that faced the rear of the cafe, so Everett kept most of his attention focused on the people nearest the plate glass window as Jack started his conversation with the Cray computer in Nevada.

Jack typed the names they had read on the piece of paper and asked Europa for any sort of record on them. It did not take her long on the first two.

HENRY FELLOWS CARLISLE, DECEASED, 81 YEARS OF AGE, DIED 1999. FORMER CHAIRMAN OF THE FELLOWS GROUP OF COMPANIES.

"Damn! Strike one," Jack said.

DAVIS CUNNINGHAM INGRAM, DECEASED, 90 YEARS OF AGE, DIED 2004. FORMER CEO OF INGRAM FIREARMS COMPANY, CEO INGRAM METAL FABRICATION, FORMER CHAIRMAN OF THE ADALAY SHIPYARDS IN MARYLAND.

"Strike two."

MARTHA LYNN LAUGHLIN, 1932-? CHAIRPERSON OF LAUGHLIN LABORATORIES, FOUNDER OF DEELEY PHARMACEUTICALS.

"Okay, that's better," Jack said, as he copied down the information. CARMICHAEL AARON ROTHMAN, 1921-? FORMER CEO OF ROTHMAN INDUSTRIES, FORMER BOARD MEMBER GENERAL DYNAMICS CORPORATION, FORMER BOARD CHAIRPERSON LOCKHEED MARTIN AERONAUTICS.

"Whoa, that's a couple of heavy hitters," Everett said as he looked over Jack's shoulder.

"They sure are. They were the last two names on the piece of paper that Keeler hid in his mouth and also the only two that are alive."

"You think our attorney friend kept a list of his friends?"

"Or enemies. These two may be responsible for his death, and he wanted the authorities to get their names."

"Well, we're not in authority, but finder's keepers, Jack," Everett said.

Collins typed in the two bottom names and asked Europa for their current addresses.

"Virginia. So I guess we're headed south, huh?"

"Why not? Let's just go and ask them who in the hell they are and why their names are connected with over sixty-five deaths in the last twenty-four hours," Jack said as he terminated the secure connection with Nevada.

"Now, this should be interesting," Everett said as he led the way out of the cafe.

The man in the van had barely caught the last two names on the list and their addresses in his telephoto lens. He wrote them down and then picked up his cell phone and punched the one number as before.

"Martha Laughlin and Carmichael Rothman--mean anything to you?"

"I will pass this on to my employer."

"I suspect they're heading to the airport," he said to the driver. "Follow and confirm and then we're done here; Dahlia can have them."

William Tomlinson had decided to stay at the office and work on the final plans for staging the Wave operations from the sunken city where the Coalition would be protected by two miles of water and another half mile in seafloor. Ever since Caretaker had left for the night, he'd felt more at ease. He supposed that he would have to get used to the old man looking over his shoulder, but when you were used to privacy it was hard to take. As much as he needed some new rules and changes for the Coalition, he knew the value of tradition, and Caretaker was at least that.

His private phone line buzzed. He took a deep breath, tossed his pen onto the seagoing-operations plans for the Mediterranean, and picked up the phone.

"Yes."

"I'm afraid we have a problem that was not foreseen in your plans."

"I thought we had eliminated most of the obstructions, Dahlia."

"I have, but the items that were missing from Keeler's journal have turned up."

"Okay, Dahlia, bury them. And good work, by the way. How did you uncover their whereabouts?"

"They were hiding in plain sight in Virginia. We gave them too much credit for subterfuge."

"Live and learn. Get to them before they acquire the needed courage to do some name-dropping. Keeler's death may have made them nervous."

"William, we did not uncover the names."

Tomlinson sat forward in his chair. "What?"

"The people that showed up at the warehouse in New York--it was confirmed by my source that it was they who recovered the two names and addresses. They are on their way to Virginia as we speak."

The new chairman of the Coalition eased back in his chair.

"Salvageable. Hit these men in Virginia when they show up there. I want these pests out of the way. No, wait ... I want to know when they arrive and enter one of the houses. I want to say good-bye to the two Ancients and to this ... what is the man's name?"

"Collins; Colonel Jack Collins."

"I think it appropriate that I terminate this last threat. Very good, and I can finally say, very thorough work, Dahlia."

Dahlia ignored Tomlinson's snide comment.

"Now, I suppose you are off to Hawaii?"

"Yes, I leave within the hour. I will have my strike team in Virginia inform you on when to make your call. Good night, William."

It had taken just two hours to fly south to Richmond. Jack had decided to go to Carmichael Rothman's house first, for no other reason than that Rothman was the last listed.

The countryside was beautiful as Mendenhall drove them through rural areas of large and very expensive houses. It was a full thirty minutes until they found the right address. The house was set deep in the woods and had a long concrete drive leading to it. The large iron fence coursed around the manicured lawns. There was a small building next to the thirty-foot-high gate and they could see two guards sitting inside.

"Tell me what-all you see, Lieutenants," Jack asked Ryan and Menden-hall.

"Ah, the test continues," Ryan said. "Well, besides the two guards, the gate is crash-proof. There are two-foot-thick steel posts descending from the gate to the cement, anchoring it firmly."

"There is a laser-security perimeter around the entire property. They didn't hide the power source well enough, as it can be seen coming directly out of the gatehouse to the first laser reflector. Knock out the gate-house, take the property," Mendenhall said as he pulled into the drive and stopped.

"Very good. But you failed to notice the small building across the street. It has no business being there. No house, no drive," Collins said as he watched the first guard come out to greet them.

"But plenty of extra guards ready to take back the gatehouse you guys just took," Everett finished for Jack.

"Oh," Ryan said. "How--"

"Separate power source. See the generator at the side of the building? No reason for that in a neighborhood like this. In addition, can you see the landline leading from the gatehouse to the structure across the street? This Rothman character takes his security seriously. But hey, you guys are learning the craft ... almost," Everett said, looking at Ryan.

Mendenhall rolled down his window as the well-uniformed guard approached. Jack saw that the second guard had disappeared from the window.

"Can I help you?"

"We're here to see Carmichael Rothman," Jack said from the backseat.

The guard shook his head. "Mr. Rothman does not accept visitors. No exceptions."

Jack thought for a moment. "Inform Mr. Rothman we're here to see him about the death of Jackson Keeler."

The guard looked into the car. "I will inform the housekeeper. Please remain in the vehicle."

The four watched the guard turn and head back into the gatehouse and saw him pick up the phone. The other guard was still nowhere to be seen.

"We have company behind us and to the right. The large bush next to the gatehouse--the second guard, I suspect--and he has a rather large weapon trained ... well, trained on the back of my head."

"It's that take-charge personality you have, Jack," Everett said as he slid farther toward his door.

"Funny."

Suddenly the large twin gates started to part. The guard reappeared and stepped to the car's front window.

"Please keep to the paved drive until you arrive at the front porch, where you will be met by Mrs. Laughlin, a very close friend of Mr. Rothman. I have been instructed to tell you that you have only one minute to convince Mrs. Laughlin of your sincerity. If you fail, we will remove you from the property."

The guard abruptly turned and walked back into the gatehouse. Mendenhall drove slowly through the gate.

"Lucky we have both of the people that interest us the most," Jack said under his breath.

When they arrived at the front porch, they saw an elderly woman standing in front of the ornate and gilded front doors. She slowly made her way down to the car as it stopped. Collins stepped out of the backseat and looked at the casually dressed woman, who was short in stature. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for Collins to speak.

"Ms. Laughlin? Martha Laughlin?"

If the woman was taken back because Jack knew her first name, she didn't show it.

"Yes."

"My name is Colonel Jack Collins, of the United States Army. You were informed that we're here to see you and Mr. Rothman about the death of Jackson Keeler. I assume you have heard of this man?"

This time Jack saw the woman blink. That was all she did, but in that brief moment he saw sadness there, but not shock at the news of Keeler's death.

"Why is the army interested in the death of an attorney, Colonel?"

"You and Mr. Rothman's names were on a slip of paper Mr. Keeler hid in his person before he died. Do you know why he would do that?"

"Colonel, this line of questioning has no interest for me or Mr. Rothman. I do not see any reason to share information of a private nature with U.S. Army, which, as I understand it, is not tasked to do the work assigned to agencies far better equipped to deal with the matter of Mr. Keeler's death."

"Well, I can start with the death of thirty-six of my colleagues for doing nothing more than examining artifacts from antiquity."

Jack once more saw the woman blink, and now she switched the weight of her body from foot to foot.

"Artifacts. The army is dealing in artifacts now? Can you explain this sudden change of direction for a branch of the armed services, Colonel? I mean, with all that's happening in the world, I would think you would have your hands full instead of antiquing."

Jack smiled but said nothing.

"Very well, Colonel, you have piqued my interest. You and your men can come this way."

Jack watched the woman walk up the four steps leading to the door. He knew that she smelled something that didn't sit right with her. That and the fact that the woman was fully clothed at four o'clock in the morning told him that there was little relaxation occurring behind these closed doors. He waved the others out of the car and followed the woman into the house.

Two white vans pulled into the drive and waited for the guard to exit the gatehouse, while another van pulled in across the street. Four men exited that van and knocked on the door. As soon as it was opened they pushed the man who had answered backward and then tossed something inside and close the door again. They heard a muffled whump and then they pulled on black hoods and entered the building. Inside there were five men in total, the one who had answered the door and four other guards who had been sleeping in bunks that lined the wall. All were gasping for air. Very carefully and silently, the guards were dispatched with one round to the head in very short order.

Across the way, the first guard out to meet the white van met a similar fate. Shot once in the forehead, he fell backward and hit the concrete. The rear doors opened and two men exited and ran into the gatehouse. One soon reappeared and held up a hand and then closed it. The second man saw the signal and started firing with his silenced MP-5 into the bush where they had observed the guard previously when the car arrived. The man was satisfied when he heard a loud grunt, and then he made sure by going to the back of the bush and firing three more rounds into the guard who had thought himself well hidden.

The elimination of Rothman's security element was accomplished in thirty-two seconds. Then both vans, filled with fifteen heavily armed men, started making their way up the drive.

Jack, Carl, Ryan, and Mendenhall were led to a large den, where Martha Laughlin told them to take a seat at the large table in the center of the room. Then she turned and left.

Collins looked at Everett as he sat and nodded. Carl, with a blur of movement, removed his Beretta 9-millimeter and pulled the slide backward, chambering a round, and then allowed his hand to vanish beneath the table. Mendenhall did the same thing.

Soon Martha returned. She was helping a man who was fully clothed in slacks and a white shirt. He wore a dressing gown over his clothes and looked as weak as a newborn. The man, obviously Carmichael Rothman, was small in stature at only five-foot-five and he held the arm of Martha Laughlin as if he could fall at any moment. Collins looked at Everett, and Carl in turn felt silly for having his weapon out.

Jack stood and watched as Rothman was led slowly to the table. The old man did not meet any of his visitors' eyes as he slowly sat down. Jack sat too.

Martha stood by his side for a brief moment and then sat next to him. The man finally looked up and found the man who he assumed to be in charge. It just happened to be Collins.

"Jackson Keeler was ... was our friend."

The old man said the words slowly, his eyes never leaving Jack's face.

"Why would he and other innocent people be slaughtered like that? What was being sought that all that blood would be spilled?"

Rothman looked from Jack to Martha, who squeezed his arm in support.

"If I ask you who you work for, Colonel, would I receive truth in your answer?"

"I work for people who lost thirty-six men and women to the same murdering bunch that killed your friend, Mr. Rothman."

"I see. That explains your interest in that regard." He turned and accepted two pills from Ms. Laughlin and swallowed them without water. "Martha here has informed me that you said your people were examining artifacts, I believe?"

Jack did not respond. He was not in Virginia to be questioned; he was there to get his questions answered.

"Could this be the artifacts recovered from New York, an account of which I have read in the newspapers?"

The four men before them sat motionlessly.

"I'm afraid the men who are responsible for the death of so many were not just after the names of Martha and myself. They were chasing something much more valuable to them. We were just a bonus. We knew our old friend kept a journal, and we couldn't convince him that it was dangerous, not only to himself but to others."

"Like you two?" Jack asked.

Martha smiled and her look never wavered away from Collins.

"Yes, like us, Colonel."

"There are people in the world, Colonel, who don't wear their intentions on their sleeve. Very powerful men and women who ..." Rothman looked at Martha for support.

"They seek power and continuity. They want the world as a whole, a nice dream of one central government, but separate races. Their willingness to attain such a utopian society has been a rather ruthless one throughout the years. These are the people responsible for the death of your men and women and our friend. As I said, they have sought to bring about their way of life for many years. They actually have an ancient precedent of that utopian society, Colonel."

"Do you mean Atlantis?"

Martha went silent. Rothman only smiled.

"Colonel, you have said nothing, but told us everything," Rothman said, patting Martha's hand.

Collins and the three other men saw strength returning to Rothman. The pills he had taken must have been taking effect.

"I really didn't believe you and your people existed any longer. My father told me about a wonderful organization that was in existence many, many years ago. However, he lost track of your organization just before World War Two. Do not look so shocked, Colonel. It was the mention of artifacts that gave it away. For the life of me, I can't remember the name of your Group, though."

Jack remained silent but he see that Everett, Mendenhall, and Ryan were having a harder time of it.

"Yes, I can now see why you angered certain people. It was your organization that conducted the raid on their storage facility, was it not? No need to answer; your statement about Atlantis is circumstantial, but makes sense."

"You seem to be a very informed man, Mr. Rothman," Jack said, unsmiling.

"Yes." Again he patted Martha's hand. "We used to be. We are old now and just want the world to go on. Colonel, we are informed because at one time, very many years ago, my father assisted President Wilson in the writing of your organization's charter."

"Department 5656. The funny little moniker attached to that agency slips my mind, though," Martha said, looking at Rothman.

"What a wonderful concept, I have always thought, learning all there is to know about history and studying ways to prevent the horrid parts from happening again. Throughout our long lives and vast knowledge, your Group remained deeply hidden to the point that I did not believe it existed, even though my father said it did." He fell silent for a moment as he went into deep thought. "Group ... Group." He smiled and slowly looked from face to face. "The Event Group!"

Jack exchanged looks with the others. They had come to get answers, but these two very strange people had turned the tables on them somehow and now they had guessed at one of the world's foremost secrets.

Rothman looked at Martha and seemed happy. They stared at each other for the longest time and then Rothman turned and looked the men over.

"Do not worry, Colonel. Martha and I can keep a secret as well as anyone in the world."

Jack watched as Martha covered her mouth and he would have sworn that she chuckled at Rothman's small joke.

"Our time is short and Martha and I have wasted a lot of it because we do not normally interfere with the affairs of your ... well, the affairs of the world. I think, though, and I'm sure Martha would agree, that you may just be the people who could assist us."

"Colonel, it's not just a coincidence that you and we have been thrown together. The situation in the world is dire and we believe we know who is behind it. I speak of the actions in Korea and the murders here; they are tied together," Martha said.

Jack was beginning to feel as though he had stepped down the rabbit hole. He looked at Carl, who was looking at Martha as if she were an alien.

Collins was about to ask just what in the world these two were talking about when a servant stepped into the den through the sliding doors and approached Martha. He watched as a concerned look crossed her face. She thanked the man and then excused him. She looked closely at Jack, then she stood and made her way to the small desk and removed the phone there and placed it on the center of the tabletop. Jack saw a flashing light, which meant that someone was on hold. Martha sat back and looked at their guests.

"It seems we have a call, Colonel. A gentleman has asked to speak to you, Carmichael, and me."

"Don't tell me the director has learned we took the plane already," Everett said, half joking, as he stood and went to the large window that looked out on the pool in the back. He gestured for Mendenhall and Ryan to cover the other windows.

"I assure you men that this property is well guarded," Rothman said as he watched the three men at the windows.

"Nothing personal, sir, but we have already discussed the shortfalls of your security arrangements, and I'm sorry to inform you they are sorely lacking."

Rothman looked from Everett to Jack and nodded.

Martha reached out and placed the call into conference mode by pushing the flashing button.

"Hello," she said as if the call were anything but unusual.

"I assume I am speaking with Martha Laughlin?"

"I don't believe I recognize your voice."

"That is not a concern at the moment, Miss Laughlin. I take it I am being listened to by Carmichael Rothman and a Colonel Jack Collins?"

The three remained silent as Jack quickly glanced at Everett, who stood to the side of the window frame. He shook his head to indicate that the yard was clear. Jack did the same with Mendenhall and Ryan, who had a view of the front. They had the same answer.

"Your silence is answer enough. There is no need to tell you who I am. That does not matter. What does matter is that individually you three are bothersome, but together you are a threat. Colonel Collins, I do not know whom it is you work for, but as of this moment you will not interfere with me again. I suspect it was you and the three men you have with you that played the role of hero in Ethiopia. Well, I am here to tell you that such actions have an equal and far harsher reaction. This is a lesson I'm sure you have learned in the past few days."

"Something tells me you're not the type to carry threats out yourself. By the sound of your voice, I assume you order others to do the dangerous stuff while you manicure your nails and watch."

Martha and Carmichael watched Collins silently.

"Very good, Colonel. Your wit in times of stress tells me you are a man used to danger. The real point here is that I have the power to do it, as the body count of your people has clearly shown. Now, Carmichael and Martha, I believe you to be the last of our brothers and sisters. Mr. Keeler failed as his father and brother before him to protect that which was not his, nor yours. You may eventually guess at my identity and that is fine. I do, however, know yours. You and your kind have always been sorely lacking in strength and you are no exception. Your forefathers should have remained with us, because as a split entity, you have no spine."

"We are aware of what you are doing and now have the spine to tell the world about you. We may have been weak in the past and allowed you certain liberties in regard to world affairs. Now that it only Martha and myself left, what the hell, we are letting the world finally know about you and your people and all the misery you have caused throughout history."

"Your story should make very interesting fodder, Mr. Rothman. Far more interesting is the fact that I would have looked forward to your explanation as to why you and your kind allowed it to happen without helping those poor, poor people throughout history. You and that bitch beside you deserve to die with the colonel and his backward monkey-people."

"Hey!" Ryan said from his place at the front window. "Monkey-people?"

"Good-bye ... Oh, one last item, Colonel. Tell your men at the windows to duck."

The line went dead just as the windows on every wall in the den exploded inward in a hail of bullets. Jack threw himself to the floor, crawled quickly to Martha, and pulled her roughly out of her chair. Mendenhall duckwalked from his spot at the now-nonexistent front window, pulled Carmichael from his chair, and then covered him with his body.

"I think you pissed him off, Jack," Everett said as he fired three quick rounds out the window frame and then pulled back.

"That's what monkeys do," Collins said as he looked at Martha. More bullets flew through the windows and slammed into the expensive paneling. "We need a not-too-obvious way out of here."

"There is a passage that Carmichael uses to reach his helicopter at the back of the property. It's through the basement, but the electric car is on tracks and only carries two people at a time," she said, as something hit the table and thumped to the floor.

Jack looked until he found the object and then decided very quickly that he had no time to dispose of it. Suddenly Ryan was there; he picked up the grenade and threw it out the window, barely missing Everett's head. They heard the crump of the grenade as it went off in the pool.

"Colonel, this place has too many holes in it; maybe we should move someplace else," Ryan said as he hit the floor next to Jack.

"As I said, you're learning, Ryan. Come on, we're heading for the basement. Help Mendenhall with Rothman. Swabby, we need cover fire now!"

Everett fired six quick shots out the window and then turned and fired five more out the window that Ryan had been covering. He heard someone outside cry out in pain and then was quickly rewarded with a hundred return rounds slamming into the walls and artwork around them.

"Go, Jack!" Carl shouted as he quickly placed another clip into his Beretta and repeated the same sequence of cover fire.

Collins pulled Martha to her feet and ran to the double doors of the den. He opened the doors and went into the long hallway. He slammed Martha against the wall and waited for Ryan and Mendenhall to get Rothman out of the den.

"Get the hell out of there, Carl!" Collins ordered. "Lead the way, Ms. Laughlin."

Jack fell in right behind the older but agile woman as she went from the hallway into a large kitchen. Ryan, Will, and Rothman caught up through the swinging doors and then Ryan turned and held the door for Everett, who fired three times at an unseen entity behind him.

"At least ten, maybe more, Jack, and they're hot on our ass," Everett shouted and then quickly fired five times through the swinging doors. Another yelp of pain and then blood ran underneath the door. "Not bad for monkeys, huh?"

"This way," Martha said as she pulled open the door leading to the basement.

Jack pushed Will and Rothman ahead, and then Ryan quickly went by and down the stairs just as Everett ducked and the swinging door above him jerked as ten bullets punched through the wood.

"These guys are getting serious, Jack."

Collins fired his entire clip through the splintered doorway and then pulled Everett after him.

Once in the spacious basement, they heard the attacking force above them as they moved about. It was only a second later when they heard several objects bouncing down the stairs. Collins and the others ducked quickly behind one of the reinforced concrete walls as the three grenades detonated. Shrapnel spread out in a deadly arc and punctured everything exposed in the basement.

"It's right there. There's a small landing; the tracks and car are there behind that steel door," Martha said as she pointed.

"Carl, move in and check it out and make sure these guys didn't come across that little bit of information, too."

"Right," Everett said as he moved to the door and quickly opened it. He jumped out and made ready his response, but there was no fire. "It's just stairs, Jack."

"Get going, all of you. Mr. Ryan, assist the lady."

The others quickly made for the door and the stairs beyond. Jack waited one minute and then turned and followed.

A moment later, they found themselves a hundred feet down in the earth, staring at a small electric car that sat on tracks. The small tracks led upward and they saw light illuminating the tracks.

"Okay, Ms. Laughlin, you and Mr. Rothman get moving. We will cover you for as long as we can. But pretty soon these guys are going to smarten up and cut the power, so send that thing right back here." Jack looked at the locked door, just waiting for a satchel charge to blow it inward. "If for any reason we get separated, you have got to tell your story, either at the White House, where my director is--his name is Compton--or out at Nellis Air Force Base. If that's the case--"

"If that's the case, I know the base commander there. I got him appointed to the Academy," Rothman said.

"That's nice," Everett said as he pulled Rothman to the small cart.

The four men watched as the two old people moved off in the electric cart. Martha turned and Jack would have sworn she mouthed the words, I'm sorry.

Several explosions sounded through the steel door as the assault on the basement began in earnest. Dirt settled onto them from the tunnel above and around them.

Jack looked closely at the incline of the small tracks as they disappeared into the distance. Then he made a decision.

"Look, I don't feel like waiting here for our company to just drop in. Let's make this more expensive for them and head up toward the surface. Maybe we can pick a few off."

"I'm for that," Everett said as he caught a clip of ammunition from Mendenhall.

"Then let's catch the number nine, boys. Will, lead the way."

As they started out, they heard the first real explosion against the steel door. Jack motioned to Everett to catch up with Mendenhall and Ryan.

"Dammit, that's enough! Let me take the risks once in a while."

"That's an order, swabby. Now move it."

As Everett obeyed, Jack hunkered low and waited. He did not have to do so for long. He heard whispered orders as the attackers made it through the steel door. He cocked his head to listen. Jack knew that he was high enough on the incline of tracks that he was not seen. He would have to make that advantage count. The first four men came into view. They wore black Nomex and covered like professionals--two men forward, two squatting and covering. He waited for the optimal shot.

As the first two went low to cover the second, Collins aimed and fired at the two, who had just stood to run. He fired four times. Both men crumpled and fell onto the tracks. Then he adjusted and fired at the kneeling men before they knew what was coming. Two shots apiece. But this time only one man fell. The other, on the right, was only wounded and he nearly made Jack pay for missing. On full automatic, the man fired as he fell backward. The bullets hit the metal track to Jack's front and then stitched their way up into the concrete wall of the tunnel.

"Dammit!" Jack said as he quickly recovered and took hurried aim and fired. His rounds caught the man in the thigh and then the stomach. He was rewarded by the view of the man dropping his weapon and letting out a sigh.

Suddenly more men appeared and this time they let their automatic rifles do the covering. Bullets started hitting everywhere and Jack knew that he did have a chance to get off any return fire.

Everett had caught up with Mendenhall and Ryan just as the firing below began.

"Dammit. You two get to the top and find the damn light switch. These guys are well-equipped enough that they probably have night-vision gear." He looked at his watch. "Give me exactly three minutes and then hit the lights. Thirty seconds later, turn them on again. Got that?"

"What if there's no switch at this end?" Ryan asked.

"Then you may be moving up in rank real quick."

"Really!" Ryan said with all the false levity he could muster.

Jack knew that he was in trouble. He would stop for a split second and then fire blindly, hoping to hit one of the assailants with a ricochet. Then he would run, stop, and do the same again.

As he turned a third time, the lights went out.

"Oh, oh," he said to himself.

As he strained to listen, he remained perfectly still. He could hear quiet orders being voiced by whoever was in charge; he also heard the noise of men as they shuffled around in the darkness. He aimed toward some of that noise but held his fire, hoping that his eyes would adjust to the sudden darkness.

The withering fire opened up right at Jack's position. Chunks of concrete flew and struck him as he tried to back off on his stomach. The assault was too accurate for men blinded by darkness; they had to have night-vision goggles. Which he knew spelled disaster for him.

Above the din of exploding rounds, Jack heard a familiar voice.

"Stay down, Jack, and be ready!"

Suddenly, the lighting in the tunnel came to glaring life. The men in black Nomex screamed out as the brightness struck their eyes after being enhanced a thousandfold by the ambient light devices. Men fought as the tried to raise the single-lens goggles.

Everett, who was only ten feet from Jack, opened fire with deadly accuracy. Jack didn't hesitate as he sighted and added his 9-millimeter to the fray, hitting screaming men in their chests, faces, and arms. The two military men had caught each of their supposed killers in the open.

Three men turned and ran back the way they had come, but the rest would never return to the man who had ordered them to Rothman's house.

When it was over, Jack stood and hurriedly replaced his spent clip. He scanned the area around him and then looked at Everett.

"When in the hell are you going to follow orders, Captain?"

"Maybe when you start giving me orders that make sense by allowing me to assume some of the risk, Jack."

"Okay, Captain," he said, letting a smile finally crease his tanned face. "That wasn't a bad makeshift plan, by the way. Especially since we didn't know if they had night-vision gear. Also the part of the plan where you assumed Ryan would find the right switch for the lights."

"Nah, I knew he would just hit them all; the odds were with us."

Collins stared at the empty cart and the open door. Mendenhall and Ryan stood next to it and they did not look happy.

"The helicopter?" Jack asked.

"Gone," answered Ryan.

"Maybe that bad guy on the phone had a point about those two, Jack," Everett said. "I mean, leaving us to fend off the wolves while they run is not the makings of people with a whole lot of character."

Jack grimaced and then looked at the others.

"Well, we learned a few things. Let's go home and see what comes of it. We'll call the locals and use Europa to see if we can pin some names to the Virginia hospitality down in the tunnel."

"Yeah, we learned a few things all right, like not to trust anyone over fifty," Ryan mumbled as he turned and left.