Ancients

9

Sarah had been on a conference call with Bell Labs for four hours and had even awakened the chief design engineer for Bose. She had to run some questions by the chief engineers of both facilities after Niles Compton, in Washington, had pulled some powerful strings and cleared the way for her to speak directly to the labs. When she was done with her questions, the Group's Engineering Department ran her theory in model form on Europa.

With some success in the theory end of things, they needed an actual working model to prove it sound. They set up a mechanical model inside one of the many workshops of the complex. They had engineered two sandstone slabs, each eight inches thick, and it was these strange items that the Earth-Sciences team was currently examining as the communications division hurriedly set up their equipment to be used in the experiment.

"I don't get what you're suggesting, Sarah," said the young doctor from Virginia Tech. He looked over at a room monitor and into the face of Niles Compton, who was on the line from the White House subbasement, where he had set up shop with the new science adviser to the president.

"I think I do, and if she can pull this off, we have at least a theory to advance to the Russians and Chinese, and maybe, just maybe, they can convince the Koreans," Niles said from Washington.

"The key here is our naval-communications gear." Sarah nodded at the com techs and they gave her a thumbs-up.

The summoned scientists and engineering personnel assigned to the earthquake investigation stood around the lab, and all were wearing goggles. Most shook their heads in doubt at what Sarah was trying to do. Most of them had heard of sound as an impact carrier, but few believed that it could actually be used in real-world situations. As they watched the final connections being made, each was handed a pair of earphones and earplugs. They were instructed by the communications men--an army sergeant and a navy signals man--to insert the ear-canal plugs first and then place the headphones over them.

Sarah was nervous but she knew that this experiment should work. She was standing next to Jerry Gallup, who held a PhD from Harvard in telecommunications. He had informed her, after seeing Europa's results, that she had a very viable theory.

Sarah thought briefly of Lisa Willing, her roommate who had been killed in a field operation close to three years before. She was in communications and had once that sound decibels could penetrate aggregate formations in just the same manner as an opera singer could break glass when a certain pitch was reached. It was very rare in that scenario, but she and Gallup had received startling information from Bell Labs and the corporations of Audiovox and Bose that such theory was in practical use inside their own labs.

Sarah watched on closed-circuit television as Professor Harlan Walters of the University of Hawaii and director of the Trans-Pacifica Institute of Seismic Studies on Oahu started the experiment.

"Okay, I think we're set to begin," he said from Hawaii. "The hydraulic rams you see on the bench are set at scale level to two hundred billion metric tons, an estimate to be sure, of the pressures some of our continental plates induce on their leading ledges. The two sandstone slabs that you see represent the plates. The hydraulic rams are exerting this pressure on them at this moment, just as our real plates are doing below our feet. Now on top of these sandstone slabs we are placing a piece of granite with a hairline surface fracture that will act as our fault line."

Sarah looked at the sound technicians and nodded on her cue from Hawaii.

As the gathered witnesses watched, the communications men placed small domes in a long line two feet from the surface crack of the granite and then attached electrical leads to them.

"Now, what you see being done is the small domes placed on the granite have what the audio scientists call 'sound-inducing tone forks.' A small electrical current is sent through to the forks, which will act just as a real tuning fork will when struck; only we will control the amount of vibration by electrical current, thus controlling the power of the decibel output. While no sound-wave energy will be strong enough to damage strata that are as hard as granite, our intention is not to attempt that. Instead, we will strike at what supports the granite, or the upper crust of the earth, the actual tectonic plates that support the upper crust and are responsible for continental movements throughout earth's history. Since these plates all have leading edges that are uneven and the thickness varies to some degree, we presuppose that they can be attacked, for use of a better word, by audio waves."

There was loud mumbling as people in the engineering lab disagreed with one point or another about the theory.

"Lieutenant McIntire, you may begin," the professor said from Hawaii.

"Sergeant, if you will start the decibel assault on the plates, please."

A large console hurriedly pieced together by the Communications Department came to life. The sergeant and naval signals man started manipulating the knobs and switches that would activate the current, which would in turn start the minute motion of the forks inside the small domes.

One woman--a young first-year PhD from Stanford--shook her head and became unsteady on her feet. When she became nauseated, she was assisted out of the lab by another lab technician who was not feeling well.

"Some of the wave will escape. It will affect people differently, as our inner ears are not identical. Some will feel queasy and light-headed, while others may feel nothing at all. Once we interview survivors of the quakes and determine if any of them felt these same symptoms just before the earthquakes hit, that will add punch to the theory," Walters explained over the closed-circuit television link.

Sarah winced, as she too had felt uncomfortable as the wave started its assault. Then she felt better after a moment.

"They will start adjusting the pitch of the wave at this time," she said. "The pitch refers to whether the sound is a high or low note. High frequencies create high pitches and low frequencies produce low pitches. The human ear can process frequencies between twenty Hz and twenty thousand Hz. These are audible sounds. Sound waves with frequencies above twenty thousand Hz are called ultrasonic. Dogs can hear sounds up to about fifty thousand Hz. So a whistle that only dogs can hear has a frequency higher than twenty thousand but lower than fifty thousand Hz. Sound waves with frequencies below twenty Hz are called infrasonic. We will begin at the lower end of the ultrasonic scale and work our way up."

At first, they watched the sandstone a foot beneath the slab of granite and connected by several steel rods holding them together. Nothing was happening. A white cloth was placed under the stand-in for the tectonic plate to catch debris, so that they could see clearly any small granules of sand that fell.

"Take the wave to five hundred thousand Hz, please," Sarah ordered.

As the two technicians adjusted the frequencies on their makeshift board, a few more people in the room started to feel the effects. It was nothing that they could really describe as they placed their hands on their heads and temples. Another tech was feeling it in his stomach and his dental fillings, and all symptoms ended in a nauseating cramping.

As Sarah and Virginia watched, they saw the first grains of sand start to hit the white cloth. Then more and more granules started to fall. Then a small piece about one inch thick fell off the bottom of one of the sandstone slabs. Then another, even larger section fell free at the opposite edge.

The hydraulics kept up a steady pressure, pushing the two sandstone slabs together with great force.

Sarah nodded and the power was increased. More large pieces from both ends started to fall. The leading edges started to crack as the sound bells penetrated the granite and passed through it to strike the sandstone below. Suddenly, the leading edges went with a loud snapping sound as they mimicked the movement of the continental tectonic plates during an actual seismic event. As they broke apart, the hydraulics continued their pressure, thus moving the connection rods attached to both sets of stone.

"My God," Virginia said to no one but herself.

The connection rods pulled inward as the sandstone beneath came apart and suddenly the granite with the weakened fault on its surface cracked with a loud pop, as the fault line in the granite completely separated and then broke into two pieces, one half sliding completely over the other. As the pressure continued from the sandstone beneath, the entire structure of granite caved in.

The room was silent as the hydraulics shut down. The experiment had worked. As some of the professors and techs smiled and patted Sarah and Professor Gallup on the back, they saw that Sarah in her triumph was not smiling at all. She slowly removed her headphones and looked at the engineering model. She turned to Virginia.

"We may be in serious trouble," she said as she turned from Virginia to the monitor that would pass her image on to Niles in Washington and Harlan Walters in Hawaii.

"But, Sarah, it worked. That proves that--"

"Dr. Compton, please listen closely to what Sarah has to say. I just thought the same thing myself," Walters cut in.

"Director, the experiment was a success, yes, but it proves one thing: if these incidents were created by human manipulation, we are sitting on a time bomb."

"How do you mean?" Compton asked.

"When the plates move, even if it's only measured in mere feet, it would be enough to cause a fault line to fracture, creating an earthquake. If the wave is increased and the plate crumbles, by, say, a mile or maybe two, the main reaction of any fault that the assault is directed at may not just take out the desired targeted area, but continue on down the line. Another, even worse reaction could be thousands of miles away on the other side of the plate. Do you see what I mean? Because the actual tectonic plates aren't elastic in the least, they will pull at another point, affecting every fault line along the way."

"God," Niles said. "Virginia, get a copy of the experiment over to me double quick."

"Yes, sir."

"Dr. Compton, someone out there may be playing with a doomsday weapon that could crush an entire continent.

"Or open up a hole in the earth's crust large enough to swallow an ocean or a continent that may not have been an intended target," Walters added bleakly.

Second Lieutenant Will Mendenhall yawned as sat at his desk inside the security center on level three. He'd been virtually sleepless since the return flight from Virginia.

He yawned again as he was filling out the new duty rosters for the expanded staff brought in from field operations. The colonel was uptight about their little secret in the desert, now known to the man on the phone the night before.

The door opened and Lance Corporal Donny Sikes stuck his head in.

"Sir, field-unit three is reporting a helicopter flying over the north range."

Mendenhall looked up and wondered how an unauthorized aircraft had entered the restricted area without the Nellis air police being all over it.

"Have you monitored anything on the radio from base security?"

"There was nothing on the airwaves, sir. No authorization and no order to vacate the airspace."

"Is the air force asleep up there?" Will asked as he stood and made his way into the command center.

The lance corporal went to the large bank of monitors and gestured at the correct screen. Mendenhall watched as a large helicopter circled the old World War II hangar that the Event Group used for clandestine entry of large loads into the secret main facility.

"Europa has identified the craft as an executive-style Sikorsky S-76. The number on the tail boom is 4907653, listed as corporate 310 out of Virginia. Privately owned, and the listed owner of title is Carmichael Rothman of Rothman Industries."

"I'll be damned; the chickens have come home to roost."

"Sir?" the lance corporal asked, confused.

"What ground-security team is the closest?"

"Three, sir; they have the craft covered, three Stingers are currently tracking the inbound. With the mood the colonel's in, I thought it better to err on the side of covering our asses."

"Good. Now get onto to Nellis base security and ask why they allowed a civilian aircraft onto the northern firing range, and find out why that same craft is in a no-fly zone."

Yes, sir."

Mendenhall watched as the helicopter started to settle onto the scrub of desert three hundred feet from the hangar. Gate one was a kill zone for Event security, but Mendenhall was not one to order the death of people just for being stupid, or cowardly. Instead, he watched as the large helicopter landed. As the rotors slowed to an acceptable speed, a door opened and a set of steps automatically lowered. Then a woman appeared and she was holding the arm of a man who looked unsteady on his feet. Mendenhall visually confirmed the identities of the two people and then quickly took the field radio from the desk at his side.

"Team three, observation only, safe your weapons. I repeat, safe your weapons."

"Roger, weapons safe, observation only at this time."

Will relaxed when team three confirmed that they were nowhere in sight because they were invisible against the terrain of the high desert. Dug in and deadly, as their training dictated.

As the elderly couple walked away from their transport, the large Sikorsky started spooling up, kicking up sand and scrub as it went. Carmichael Rothman held on to his hat and Martha Laughlin bowed her head as the helicopter lifted off and peeled away to the north.

Mendenhall was amazed as he saw that the man and woman were just standing there looking at the hangar and not moving. They seemed to be looking at the hidden camera just inside the old structure. Just standing and waiting.

He reached out, picked up the phone, and punched in the clean-room section, where he knew his superiors were.

"Collins."

"Colonel, you'll never guess who appeared out of nowhere at gate one. You have to see this."

"Pipe it down, Will."

Mendenhall tapped a few commands into the duty sergeant's keyboard and the live video feed wound its way to Jack in the Europa clean room.

"Got it. Fill me in, Lieutenant."

Mendenhall described everything they had on the helicopter and security situation, and as he did so, he watched the old couple on the screen. They still had not moved and they did not speak to each other. They were just waiting, just as if they knew that the Group was watching them.

"Bring them in with all due courtesy and take them to the holding room," Jack said. "I'll be right up. Inform Captain Everett to meet me there. And, Lieutenant, no one talks to them, and they talk to no one, clear?"

"Yes, sir, we'll put them on ice," Mendenhall answered, and then he said to himself, "Before they decide to split again."

Martha Laughlin and Carmichael Rothman sat in a small white room. The hoods that had been placed on their heads upon entering gate one had been an inconvenience, but they had endured it without complaint. Two large marines in blue jumpsuits removed their coats after they had walked through a body scan hidden in the seemingly simple doorway. The weapons search was conducted without the usual full-strip search.

The special room they were taken to was stun equipped, meaning that they would be gassed at a moment's notice if they were deemed hostile during their interview. As they sat and waited, another man dressed in blue overalls, this one with a U.S. Army insignia, brought in two glasses of water for the two visitors. Rothman used his water to wash down two morphine tablets that security had allowed to keep.

The door opened after ten minutes and Everett followed by Collins stepped in. They both wore the same blue jumpsuits as the other military men and women, with their officer's rank being the only difference.

Jack looked into their eyes, one face at a time, and then he punched a button on the tabletop.

"For the record, your names are Carmichael Rothman and Martha Laughlin, correct?"

"Correct," Rothman and Martha said simultaneously.

"And I assume you know you have entered a restricted area of a United States government reservation--am I correct on that point also?"

"You are."

"Can you tell us how you received permission to enter restricted airspace?"

"Not officially, no, I cannot."

"You are protecting a United States Air Force officer, I assume, namely the commanding officer of the Nellis base, but we'll take that little crime up later."

"Yes, Colonel Collins, we may, but you'll get no admission from me as to who my friends are. He happens to be a very nice young man and all I had to do was explain why we needed to be here. After all, you told us to come," the old man said and winced as he did so.

"You're in pain; may we get you a doctor?" Carl asked.

"I have seen many doctors, Mr. Everett, and they also know I'm in pain, will be for the next eight to nine months. They guarantee the pain will stop at that time."

The two officers said nothing. They understood that this man sitting before them had a death sentence over his head.

"As I said, we will talk about the base commander's impropriety at another interview. Right now, I would like to understand what kind of people would leave the men defending their lives behind when all they had to do was wait," Jack said, looking from Martha to Carmichael.

"To put it frankly, Colonel, we did not know your capabilities at that time. You were in a rather bleak situation and the knowledge we carry needed to be saved, thus it looked as if we left you in a rather bad situation. Now we understand that your abilities far exceed first impressions. Now we must get on with the business we have come to discuss. Things that could have been said last night before the Coalition tried to murder us," he said as he reached over and took Martha's hand.

"The Coalition?" Everett asked.

"The phone call last night was from a member of the Coalition," Martha answered. "I do not know exactly which member, but he was definitely Coalition."

"Again, what is the Coalition?" Collins asked.

"The Coalition is a new incarnation of an older group called the Juliai. You see, Colonel, when you look deeply into money, corporations, conglomerates, and the like, you may find that the wealthiest of these individuals are Juliai, or Coalition. They are secret and have been since the time of ancient Rome." Martha looked at Rothman for the briefest of moments. "Their aim, at least at first, was the control of wealth. With that, the control of people first, and then governments would naturally follow."

Jack had seen Martha's brief look at Rothman during her explanation at that very moment and knew she had left something out. For now, he kept his silence.

"The original Juliai started at the time of Julius Caesar. It was his brainchild, Colonel. He was born unto a great family of an ancient and lost civilization. When Caesar became power-hungry, this family split into two separate entities. The Juliai, named after his own family, became lustful for true power over the world. The other faction, led by his co-counsel of Rome, Pompey Magnus, tried to stop Caesar, but the newly proclaimed emperor went to war and killed Pompey and most of his followers."

"The Roman civil war was about power between the two men," Everett said.

"History has always been shaded by those who are the victors. Surely you have learned this in this magnificent facility," Martha said as she smiled. She nodded to Rothman to continue.

"The few remaining followers of Pompey banded together. Hiding from Caesar and the Juliai Coalition was not easy. Some had to become a part of that power-mad society. Until finally they saw the Coalition's power under Caesar was rising beyond all effort to stop it. Therefore, they acted. The followers of Pompey struck Caesar down just as the history books will tell you. The history passed down to us didn't outright lie in telling it this way, they just omitted some of the facts as to the why of it."

"How do you know all of this?" Jack asked.

"It was our group that broke away from Caesar. Jackson Keeler, his father, his brother, they were our people."

"What separates you from the rest of the world?" Everett asked.

"Let's just say for the moment that we are different from you and the Colonel here." A light seemed to come to Martha's eyes, as if she'd hit on a thought. "For instance, the artifacts your men confiscated in New York? Well, in a way they belong to us, Carmichael and myself, that is."

"You're the real owners of the stolen artifacts?" Jack asked.

"Yes ... well--"

"For the sake of argument, yes, we own them," Rothman answered for her. "Now, the newspaper accounts of the attack on your facility in New York stated that only hard artifacts were stolen--armor, swords, pottery, things of that nature. The news reports never mentioned anything about histories, scrolls, maps, or diagrams. Please tell me that they were not present in New York."

Jack did not answer their question. He was far from satisfied that these two people were being straight with him. He just watched the pair.

"Colonel, this is most important. Last night you proved to us that you are indeed capable men; let us prove to you that we are also of some value. Do you have the scrolls?"

"Yes."

Everett and Collins saw the relief on their faces when Jack answered.

"In that case, we can prove to you the fantastic story we have to tell," Martha said, squeezing Rothman's arm.

"Who in the hell are you people?" Jack asked calmly but firmly.

"Last night Carmichael and I reached a rather bleak crossroads. Our kind has always been content to allow your people to deal with the Coalition in their own ways, using your own devices. We were never brave, not like you and the captain here. We just wanted to live and blend in. Carmichael made me see last night after we left you and your men behind that this cowardice could not continue. We have had renegades in our family before who tried to help the world in small ways fight against people such as the Coalition, but they were few. But Carr convinced me your Group could be trusted with the truth of things."

Jack and Carl exchanged a look that begged the question, What in the hell is going on?

"Carr is dying; I imagine you have guessed that. I am doomed also. We are the last of our kind. The Keelers were the last family that was capable of having children, Jackson being the last. Our line may have continued a bit further, but Jackson Keeler lost his brother in 1941 at Pearl Harbor. He may have been capable of having children like his grandfather, but we'll never know."

"This is making no sense at all," Everett said, frustrated.

"We are the last people of Pompey, the group that split off from the Juliai over two thousand years ago. Now, we have inbred with other Pompey families until the practice weakened our bodies' ability to reproduce."

"I find your story hard to believe," Collins said, wanting to stand up and leave these two nuts alone with their fantasies.

"We knew you would. Nevertheless, you will believe, Colonel. We will make you." Martha looked at Carmichael and gathered strength. "The Coalition is entering its final days also. They may have one or maybe two generations left to them, but they are finished, just as we are."

Jack finally made at least the edges of the puzzle fit together.

"You are one and the same, the Coalition and you, the same bloodline."

"That is correct. However, it is not the whole tale. As I said before, the scrolls in a roundabout way belong to Carr and me. The Coalition can claim them as theirs also. It was our ancestors who made the scrolls you have in your possession. They made them as far back as fifteen thousand years ago."

"You're not saying--"

"I'm saying exactly that, Colonel. You saw the large relief map in New York, I presume." She stopped and looked at Rothman, hesitating before saying it, hoping the old man would relieve her of that burden.

"What Martha wants to say, Colonel Collins and Captain Everett, is that we and a few members of the Juliai Coalition are the last descendants of a civilization that dreamers and fanciers of fiction call Atlantis."

Jack and Carl were patient as they listened to the strangest story they had ever heard. They were stunned at the history Martha and Carmichael recounted as to how two thousand of their ancestors had been hidden away as small children, saved from the destruction of Atlantis. Their small society had learned to blend in with humankind as a whole, but kept themselves separate and pure through inbreeding. With the initial intent not ever again to allow such arrogance to enslave the lesser people of the world, the Atlanteans became observers of the destructive societies around them. Until, that is, the start of the Juliai, who remembered the power of rule.

They had made minor attempts to sway power to their side of the game board many times, but had never chosen a proxy wise enough to handle the money and power they offered. From the Holy Roman Church, to Spain, England, Napoleon and Hitler, they had failed at every attempt. While race purification is a goal of the Coalition in all its forms, it never was the intention of the ruling body to eliminate races as a whole. In their eyes, that would have been foolish. Why eliminate those who can best serve the ruling class? Keep them fed and allow them their liberties and they will fall in line. Theirs was a class system of master and surf. If you know you are the master race, does it take a brilliant mind not to say it to those who are not? Alternatively, is it not far wiser to allow the illusion that all people are of equal value?

Jack and Carl exchanged looks of incredulity when Martha stopped her version of a world-history lesson.

"We need to bring the people that murdered your friend, his employees, and our people to justice. Not the ravings of a subsociety that could never pull off what you are suggesting. The murder of innocents is what concerns me," Jack said.

"No, Colonel, there is quite a bit more that should concern you," Martha said as she offered Carmichael another morphine tablet. "We suspect the Coalition is bypassing a proxy nation this time around and making a play for their form of domination directly. One that makes mankind rely on them instead of governments."

"Time is now growing short, young man. They are already replacing world leaders with their own people, two already and more to come. It is right there in the newspapers."

"What are you talking about?" Collins asked.

"The assassinations in Germany and Japan--link those with the earthquakes and then the murder of Jackson Keeler. The pieces fit."

"In your warped Picasso-painted puzzle, maybe," Everett said.

"The explanation is not a simple one, Captain. All of our lives, from childhood to adult, stories have been passed to us. Tales from our ancestors handed down word of mouth, generation by generation, that told how our ancient civilization was lost beneath the sea. One was the tale of a great weapon that used the very power of the earth to destroy its enemies. A machine that was capable of making the earth tremble and move under the feet of whole armies and destroy them."

"We're getting a little off the beaten path here. I mean, fairy tales? Now, come on," Everett said, but Jack placed his hand on Carl's arm as he started to rise and leave.

"Continue, Martha."

"The scrolls were originally found by a man, an archaeologist who was part of our society. He sought out the financing of the Coalition in a vain attempt to bring the two sides together in a mutually beneficial endeavor--his archaeological dig to find the hidden scrolls. Well, he did exactly that: he found them. They were unearthed in Spain, right where the old tales said they would be. Only in the scrolls, the Coalition discovered the design for the Wave of the Ancients, the very same device of legend and the very weapon that destroyed Atlantis thousands of years before."

"Are you buying this, Jack?" Carl asked, but he saw that Collins was listening intently.

"The device was going to be built and tested. At least that was what this simple man of science suspected from his financial backers, the Coalition. The design was incomplete because of three lost items that control the device used in creating earthquakes. They were known as the Atlantean Keys. Industrial blue diamonds that were so large that none has ever been unearthed to match them. Two of these diamonds were lost with our civilization, while one other was buried in secret ..." Martha looked at the two men closely in hopes of a reaction, "in Ethiopia."

Everett suddenly became still in his chair. The story had just taken a more realistic turn toward the area of believability.

"The discoverer of the scrolls knew that he could not allow this device to be constructed. Therefore, he absconded with the map found with the scrolls. A bronze plate imbued with strange properties that held the exact coordinates of where to find the buried Atlantean Key. The plate map was sent to America."

"The family Keeler," Jack said.

"Correct, Colonel; the father of Jackson Keeler, to be more precise. Well, after the disappearance of the only means to discover the hiding place of the last Key, the poor professor was murdered and the scrolls disappeared until you uncovered them in your daring raid. However, that did not stop the unscrupulous men of the Coalition. It is told that a German industrialist built the audio-wave weapon anyway. Only instead of using the giant blue diamond, he used a crystal and based the Atlantis design in that. Without looking at the scrolls We know nothing of the details of the engineering. His experiment occurred on a small island in the Java Sea. A place called Krakatoa."

Jack glanced at Carl and allowed him to state the obvious.

"I take it you really need that blue diamond in order for it to work?"

"Yes. However, Carmichael and I believe they are not waiting for the Key to be unearthed. We were told that the weapon would work on a small scale and still be able to target areas indirectly. We have learned this from Coalition members that have left their society from time to time. The earthquakes in the Middle East, the strikes in North Korea and Russia--coupled with the murder of Jackson, it adds up to Coalition involvement."

"Wait. You're basing all of this speculation from a story handed down to you? You're just guessing at this weapon's strength and the entire story on just hearsay. That's a stretch," Everett said.

"Normally I wouldn't expect you to believe it, Captain Everett, but in this case it's just a bit more than mere hearsay. The professor that discovered the maps and the scrolls and studied the designs in detail was named Peter Rothman--Carr's grandfather. The man the Coalition murdered in their pursuit of the weapon."

Everett remained stock-still and Jack nodded in understanding.

"Okay, so it's a little more than hearsay. Sorry to hear about your grandfather," Everett said, feeling like an ass.

"What would be the gain if North and South Korea went to war?" Jack asked, to get the conversation moving again.

"The gain is a weaker United States, Colonel, one that would no longer have the moral high ground on any world matter. With the harvest failures in Russia and China and their capitals and major cities leveled by earthquakes by the Atlantean Wave, the governments would not survive unless they were propped up by someone, or some entity."

"The Coalition," Jack said.

"Correct."

"Why the murder raid on Mr. Keeler's office?"

"That is the point we need to get to," Martha said. "As you know, the plate map was sent to Jackson Keeler's father. Just before the Coalition traced it to him with the help of the Nazis, he sent it away to a secure location. His son was the first recipient and then it was given to another Ancient for safekeeping."

"Who was it given to and where is it?" Carl asked.

"Where it's been for the past seventy years, young man: in a safe."

"Where's the safe?" Jack asked.

"Aboard a warship of the U.S. Navy--the very ship Jackson Keeler's brother was assigned to. Lieutenant Keeler did as instructed by his father and passed it to a secret member of the last family of Atlantis--the captain of his ship. The plate map remains onboard to this day."

"What warship is still active where the plate could be after all of these years?" Jack asked, perplexed.

"The USS Arizona," Martha answered.

Jack and Carl looked away from the two old people and stared at each other for a moment. Collins wanted to say something but was speechless. Everett, on the other hand, was not.

"Jesus, Jack."

Collins and Everett were almost running down the hallway to get the information to Niles in Washington, when they heard a female voice call out from behind them. Jack saw Sarah McIntire running toward them, but the two military men did not slow down. Collins just waved her forward.

"Don't have time, McIntire," was all he said when she breathlessly caught up to them. "You'll be given a new assignment as soon as we clear it with Virginia and Niles. You're going to start reading some ancient scrolls."

"But, Jack, we have a sound theory about the earthquakes. We now know that they were possibly manmade and they may be caused and activated by--"

"Sound?" Jack said, cutting off her dramatic news.

Sarah skidded to a halt. "How in the hell did you know that?"

"Two Ancient Atlanteans told us," Everett said as he continued walking. Sarah watched the two men hit the elevator button and she ran to catch up.

"I think you have to explain that 'Ancient Atlantean' crack to me, boys."

Virginia felt out of place as she sat at Nile's Compton's desk. She was looking at a monitor that showed the faces of Martha and Carmichael and shook her head as Jack explained.

"And you're convinced they're speaking the truth?" Virginia said, not taking her eyes off the old couple.

Jack tossed a rubber-band-restrained scroll of paper onto her desk. "According to voice-stress polygraph, yes."

"We have to get this off to Niles and hope he can convince the president of its validity."

Virginia finally turned away from Martha and Carmichael on the wall-mounted monitor and tapped in her commands on the computer. After a moment, another monitor came to life and Niles was there, looking haggard and worn.

"What have you got?"

"Niles, as you know, Sarah here has come up with the way the earthquakes could have been initiated. But Jack here has just confirmed the theory and the people responsible for it."

"What?"

Collins stepped to Virginia's side to see Niles. Sarah was biting her lower lip as she looked at Carl, who stood grim faced.

"Niles, get to the president and make him understand that we now know something of the people who are responsible for all the unnatural phenomena happening around the globe. They are also the ones that hit our team in New York and also murdered Agent Monroe and his wife."

"I'll do my best, but Jesus, this is like something out of a bad spy movie."

"Maybe, but I believe them, Niles."

Niles just nodded and then the picture went blank.

An hour later, Alice brought in coffee for the four people in the conference room. She stood next to her seat and looked from Sarah to Jack to Carl.

"You three did a good job. If you don't need this old woman, I think I'll stroll down to security and take our guests Martha and Carmichael to the cafeteria. I'm sure they think our hospitality is left wanting to some degree."

"Just call and ask them to meet you there; they just may already have the keys to all the doors anyway," Carl quipped.

"What do we do now?" Virginia asked, as she sipped her coffee and grimaced, finding out that she didn't want it at all.

"We have alerted the National Parks Service in Honolulu and they will add on extra security until a detachment of marines arrives on station. The navy will provide around-the-clock surveillance and backup, and Carl and I are going there in about thirty minutes. Carl has asked for SEAL Team Six to standby also. These people do not mess around when it comes to getting what they want. Ask Niles to get his old friend the president to get clearance to dive on the old girl. The Parks Service is cooperating fully but is still very picky when it comes to the Arizona."

"Well, it is a naval gravesite," Sarah said.

"Nonetheless, we have to dive on her. We must secure that plate map for two reasons. One--it proves that the Coalition is behind this mess, and two--we can't let these power-mad people get their hands on it."

"Good luck. In the meantime, I'm sure the FBI and the rest of law enforcement are going to be quite anxious to get the names of the men and women of this so-called Juliai Coalition," Virginia said as she finally slid her coffee cup away.

"Carmichael and Martha only have the name of one American Coalitionist that they know of through rumor only, a William Tomlinson. They think he's a pretty high up in their ranks, but are not sure. That's it."

"Lieutenant Mendenhall is about to throw the hatches of this place down tight, no one in or out. We just don't know how much knowledge these people have and what information they gained by torturing our people in New York. We have to base our reactions on the message left to us at the warehouse," Everett said, as he and Jack stood to go.

"We have redistributed the brain power around here now that we're relieved of the earthquake question. Sarah and the rest will be put to use with historical forensics, engineering, and reading ancient languages and deciphering the scrolls and maps. We need to know exactly what kind of science we are dealing with here."

"Well, if anyone can get a jump on fifteen thousand years of history, it's this Group," Jack said, standing up to leave.

"You two be careful, I know how much bullets are attracted to you. One of these days one may get up close and personal," Sarah said as she locked eyes with Jack.

"Are you kidding? We're faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a loco--"

"Go catch your plane," Sarah said, cutting off Everett's teasing.