Ancients

PART TWO ON THE TRAIL OF THE ANCIENTS 4

William Tomlinson accepted the drink from his assistant as the other members of his inner circle waited. On the large liquid-crystal screen was a broad view of the conference room in Norway. A test of wills was so palpable that the air was as thick as molasses.

"You have missed the point entirely, sir. The weapon has caused damage to the two American carrier groups en route to the Sea of Japan. This is jeopardizing the American and Korean lines of resistance if the North attacks. They will be overrun, and that, regardless of your bravado, is not now nor ever was the goal of the test strike. And your blatant disregard for the loss of life in Japan and China was never in the Russian plan."

Tomlinson did not even look up from his drink as the Austrian spoke his condemning words.

"We weaken the old enemies, not destroy our own governments. We need them, for the time being!"

"You gentlemen may need them; we, on the other hand, do not." Tomlinson placed his drink on the polished tabletop and stood, knowing that the camera would stay on him. "This organization made the fatal mistake three times in three hundred years of trusting existing governments to bend to our will, only to have these power-mad individuals balk at our orders and deviate from our hard work and intricately detailed plans. This," he turned and faced the camera lens with steady eyes, "will never happen again. The plan has evolved from our original strike plan and this executive council has overruled the initial strategy in favor of utilizing the drought and flooding in Russia and China and forging ahead. We will bring down those who would eventually stand in our way, just ahead of the schedule we had deliberated upon."

"Have you all gone completely mad? Who will control these governments when anarchy tears them apart?" Zoenfeller exclaimed, slapping his hand on the conference table. "Russia first, after we have the Atlantean Key. You went against our vote and struck anyway!"

"May I say a word?" A smallish man stood and buttoned his jacket.

Tomlinson had coached him on when to talk and what to say. He gestured to the owner of a large consortium of Japanese electronics firms.

"You are judging our small enclave too harshly. Yes, we have changed small parts of the offensive to take advantage of Russia and China's weaknesses in the present time. The weapon was precise and did no more damage than a natural quake would have caused in the same target area. It was, after all, part of my own nation's coastline that sustained damage by the residual effects of the wave. Yet I am still wholeheartedly onboard this accelerated plan."

"That does not give you the right to--"

"Russia, along with China must be out of our way. Let us do it now. This is the moment to act. As soon as the Atlantean Key is in our possession, we can get back on schedule and deal with the western governments. Then, when countries start crumbling from natural disasters, it will be our corporations and leadership worldwide that step in. We will be hailed as deliverers of new hope and then we will all at last have total control. Now is the time for resolve," the Japanese council member waved his hand toward the video screen, "not for timidity. The Juliai and Caesarean Reich will prevail."

The sixteen council members of the inner circle patted their hands on the conference table in total agreement as the Japanese representative bowed and sat down.

The next person was an elegant woman from Great Britain who slowly stood and smiled. She looked at Tomlinson and then spoke.

"Ethnic purification, economic control, and the elimination of formal governments have always been the goal of the Juliai. Regardless of who is struck and when, it cannot help but destabilize the West. As Mr. Tomlinson has stated repeatedly, we have our people ready to step in and take control, but we cannot do so until the destabilization process has begun." Dame Lilith opened her folder and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Germany, Japan, and America must be the first to fall. Therefore, it has been determined that the leadership in these countries must be eliminated, and a timetable within the framework of three weeks is not impossible," she stated in the matter-of-fact way that she would give instructions to one of her servants.

"Again, this is at least four years ahead of schedule. We must--"

"Now, to give you gentlemen and lady a dose of faith in what we have planned, I will now inform you on what is currently happening," Tomlinson said, yet again interrupting Zoenfeller. "As you know, the setback that occurred in New York at our study facility was at first worrisome. However, I am very pleased to announce that the fat fool you gentlemen had placed so much trust in many years ago, has been eliminated before he could cause harm to us by any plea bargain he could have eventually made."

Again, the others on the opposite side of the Atlantic were shocked that death orders had been issued without their conjoined approval.

"The second fact is that the agent in charge of that raid is now dead, along with his entire team. The material from Westchester has been recovered intact," Tomlinson said, smiling, not even flinching when the small lie flowed from his lips.

Again, the younger members gathered in Chicago started slapping the table with the news just delivered.

"Now the good news. Our operative Dahlia has also learned that the location of the plate map that was stolen by Peter Rothman over a hundred years ago has finally been traced to an Ancient in Boston. We will soon have it in our possession."

"Then why not wait for the recovery of the Key before any more strikes?" the Austrian asked as many of the heads nodded agreement on the other side of the Atlantic. "If you're so sure--"

Tomlinson cut the Austrian off brutally.

"The Key is recoverable and will soon be here; that is all you need for the moment. Our efforts are also almost complete in regard to Crete. They broke into the city just hours ago. We will have the location from which we can strike the rest of the world with impunity. After all, how can you trace us to a site that most of the world does not even believe ever existed?"

The elderly members of the Juliai Coalition looked away from the screen on their side of the Atlantic Ocean. Zoenfeller looked around him for support but found that even the elder membership, for the most part, had been swayed by Tomlinson's arguments and by the audacious actions of their once-junior members.

Tomlinson straightened his suit jacket and slowly sat down. He looked at the screen and smiled.

"Our long quest is finally at hand. From the time of the Caesars, through the Templar quest for the burial site of the scrolls while feigning a search for a ridiculous Grail, to our Germanic and Napoleonic attempts, we have learned the hard lesson that the world will not just fall into our hands. Now, with this adjusted plan, the world will actually beg for deliverance. No more foolish ideologies and no more patriotic zeal to stand in the way of an orderly world."

"What of the claims now circulating by that fool in North Korea?" Zoenfeller asked in a last-ditch effort to regain some control.

"There is not one entity in service to any government on this planet that can discover what it is we are attempting. There is no hard evidence to back those claims. Just follow our lead and we will soon inherit the earth much sooner than the original plan called for."

The new president was late for a briefing downstairs in the Situation Room but the last-minute restructuring of departments was of a higher priority, due to North Korea's absurd claims that country's ills had been manmade. He had to start with the very department he had visited just the day before.

"I'm sorry, Director Compton, for your losses, but I can't concern myself with this matter at the moment. Am I clear as to the staffing requirements I have outlined?"

The phone line went quiet for a moment and then Niles Compton said, "Mr. President, giving you my earth-science departments is not a problem. But if you take one hundred percent of our computer sciences, we have no way of tracking who hit my warehouse this morning in New York."

"That matter will be turned over to the FBI and local law-enforcement authority. Is that clear?"

"You're breaking apart the best chance we have at finding out what's happening here. My people are capable of multitasking beyond anything and any entity in the world. They work as a team and separating them is a mistake. It takes away their ability to think together. Something is wrong here and you are condemning my Group to facing the deaths of many of their colleagues without a chance to find out why."

"Mr. Director, I assume you are on a speakerphone?"

Niles looked around his office. Virginia and Alice were the only ones present.

"Yes, sir."

"Please pick up the phone. I wish to speak to you in private."

Niles leaned over and picked up the receiver. Niles listened, his eyes intentionally focused on the top of his desk. The conversation was one-sided as Virginia and Alice exchanged curious looks.

"Yes, sir," Niles answered, and then reached out and punched a button, placing the call back into conference mode.

"Dr. Compton, who is your assistant director?" the president asked.

"Professor Virginia Pollock, Mr. President," Niles answered as he looked at Alice and shrugged.

"Professor, are you listening?"

Niles stood and then sat on the edge of his desk and looked at Virginia and nodded. The tall woman with dark hair and sharp features stood and walked closer to the speakerphone.

"Yes, Mr. President?"

"Professor, I have ordered Dr. Compton to Washington for direct consultations with me. I am placing you in temporary command of Department 5656. I am ordering you to transfer control of your Group's science departments over to my national security Adviser. You are also ordered to utilize your agency's superior computing power to help discover if the allegations put forth by the Koreans have any validity. Is this order understood?"

"All but me reporting to your adviser Mr. President, because according to our agency charter, the national security Adviser is not a cabinet posting, therefore he cannot have knowledge of our department, and as we are--"

Niles cleared his throat, interrupting Virginia. She looked up and he shook his head.

"Excuse me, sir. All departments are standing by to assist in any way we can."

Niles nodded and then walked behind his desk and sat down.

"Very well. Dr. Compton is hereby ordered to stand down and to report to Washington for consultation with my science adviser, and to act as liaison between myself and your Group. He is to be on a plane in the next half an hour. Is this order clear?"

"Yes--"

Virginia stopped short when she realized that she was speaking into a dead phone.

The president set the phone down and looked over at the initial casualty report from the artillery exchange in Korea. Then he removed the top page and looked at the estimates of the damage suffered by the two carrier groups in the Sea of Japan because of the earthquake.

The squadrons onboard both Nimitz-class carriers were down to 53 percent on the George Washington and 68 percent on the John F. Kennedy. There had been a loss of life of more than two hundred when the last vestiges of the tsunamis struck the two groups' smaller escort vessels.

The secretary of defense opened the door and stepped in. He looked subdued as he handed the president a note.

"The North Koreans informed us through the Chinese government that any attempt to reenforce ground or air forces by NATO or any of her factions will be construed as an imminent attack on North Korean forces and they will be forced to defend themselves."

"Jesus. What are the Russians and Chinese saying?"

"Nothing other than they support the North Koreans in the defense of the border and have asked us to show good faith and recall the task force heading for the Sea of Japan."

"Dammit, that's not exactly saying nothing." The president turned away, examined the note again, then tossed it onto his desk. "We have freedom of the sea here and I am not going to allow a buildup on the border to go unchecked. I can't," he said as he turned and faced his adviser. "The task forces continue. I'm not leaving those boys without naval support. Send a message to the Koreans that it is in their hands. Get away from the border. Allow relief efforts in and then we can talk."

He watched the secretary leave and then looked out at the clouded sky through the window. He shook his head as he was beginning to wonder if there was a serious attempt by an outside or otherworldly influence out to thwart his every move toward peace. He knew that he needed help from someone he trusted beyond any other in assessing all that was happening. He hoped he had it coming from Nevada.

Niles attempted to smile but failed. He removed his thick glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"What are your immediate orders to the Group, Virginia?" he asked, finally looking up at the two women. "It's all over the news about that listening post in the Sea of Japan picking up those strange signals just before the quake hit. So that crazy bastard may have reason to believe the stuff he's spouting."

A knock sounded at the door and one of the secretaries stepped in and offered Niles a note.

"The president just sent this over, sir."

Niles took the offered note and excused the assistant.

Virginia calmly took a seat and then looked Niles straight in the eye.

"Thirty-two people, Niles--that's what we lost this morning in New York. Compared with the nation's losses in Korea and those two carrier battle groups, and all those poor souls in Korea, a very small number. I will follow orders of course and do what I'm ordered to do. But I refuse to just forget about our own people in New York."

Niles waved his hand for her to continue. He was still looking at the president's note.

"The science departments will be put to work finding out if this ridiculous claim by the Koreans could be true in the fact that the earthquake that struck there was manmade and intentional. But computer sciences will be allowed to have fifty percent of the computing power of Europa to help find the killers of our people, and to find out how they could have known about us, and why those artifacts recovered from Westchester were so important."

"Thank you, Virginia," Niles said as he replaced his glasses.

"It's not for you, or me, or even the Group. I just don't want to be the one to explain to Jack why we're not looking for these murdering bastards."

"My thoughts exactly," he said. Then he looked at Virginia closely and slid the note over to her. "But the priority here is no longer finding the murderers of our people. Keep that segment of research small."

"Why?" Virginia asked as she picked up the note and started to read.

"Because now we don't just have North Korea claiming this stuff; it seems the Russians also picked up a strange signal seconds before another quake. This one happened just an hour ago and explains the president's mood.

"What is it?" Alice asked.

"The Russian port of Vladivostok has just been wiped off the map."

The shipment of artifacts and maps had finally arrived and been transferred down to the sciences level to be carefully cataloged and photographed.

Sarah McIntire had been there at the dock to greet Jack, Carl, and Mendenhall and to offer her condolences on the loss of Lance Corporal Sanchez and the other members of the Group at the New York warehouse. Being secret lovers with the colonel, had not prevented Sarah from getting an icy and distant look at first from Jack as she looked into his eyes. After a moment, he had come around and nodded his head and then lightly touched her right shoulder before moving off to report to Niles. Sarah had started to tell Jack that Niles had been ordered to Washington, but then she'd thought it would be better if Virginia informed him. After speaking with Carl for only a moment her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she'd taken the elevator down to level thirty-two to see the wonders that had been recovered in Westchester for herself.

Ten minutes later, Sarah was watching the Cataloging Department as they lifted items out of their transport crates. Others had joined her and were oohing and ahing at some of the more brilliant pieces. Soon the overhead speakers called most away, as the individual departments were receiving their new assignments, per the president's orders.

As a geologist there was one artifact in particular that Sarah spied that made her pulse race. Two men had lifted a large, framed maplike parchment from an art sleeve. As she stepped closer to the thick glass, she saw that it was a rough rendering of the world, as an ancient society would have painted it. The colorful scope of Europe, the Mediterranean, Africa, and Asia was almost as she knew them today, except for the strange ring of islands in the center of the Med. Depictions of North and South America looked as if the mapmaker had drawn them after looking into a fun-house mirror. They were wobbly and misshapen, as if a child had drawn them.

What really caught her eye and gave her the feeling that she should recognize something on the strange, ancient atlas were the lines that coursed through it. They seemed familiar to her somehow.

Sarah tapped on the thick glass and got the technicians' attention. The white-gloved navy specialist waved when he looked up and saw that it was Sarah. He knew her from Saturday-night poker. Sarah pointed at the eight-foot-by-five-foot map and waved for the two technicians to bring it closer to the glass. The men exchanged looks, shrugged their shoulders, then hefted the heavy frame closer so that Sarah could view it better. Then the man Sarah knew hit the intercom.

"I know what you're looking at. It's that strange island in the middle of the Med, isn't it?"

Sarah did not respond. She took in the strange lines, wondering where she had seen them before. Then she smiled thinly and looked at the man through the glass.

"What's that, Smitty?"

"That's what I'm saying, the island with the rings around it."

"No. I mean, yeah, that's a little strange, but I'm interested in the lines going through this weird world more than the ringed islands."

"Maybe some sort of latitude and longitude markings. They're a little screwed up, but that may be what they are." The tech looked from Sarah to the map he was helping to balance in front of the glass.

"Yes, they are latitude and longitude markings, but the thicker lines running beneath them--they zigzag crazily throughout all the continents and all the oceans. What in the hell are they supposed to be?"

The techs shrugged, and then as they saw their supervisor coming and they shooed Sarah away and lifted the large map over to a table where the photographer was at work.

As McIntire walked away, she could not help but feel that she knew exactly what those strange lines were. She tried to concentrate but the wisp of memory flickered just at the edges of her mind.

Jack sat at the conference table with the other department heads of the Event Group. Most were still curious as to why Niles Compton had been relieved and flown to Washington. Virginia had stunned them even further when she told the gathered doctors, physicists, engineers, and computer and historical staffs that they would not be devoting their full resources to looking for the people who had murdered their colleagues in New York. Instead, most departments were now under the direct, personal control of the president. When the protests started, Virginia rapped her knuckles on the polished table. As she did so, she took in Jack at the far end, who had not uttered a word.

"Everyone, listen. We are close to a full-scale escalation in Korea. Many soldiers, just kids for the most part, have lost their lives already. Soldiers like the ones we lost this morning. We will do as the president has ordered. The department heads excluded, they will report to Pete Golding in the computer center and he will coordinate the effort to find out who killed our people. The rest of your teams will put their effort on the problem of this wild claim of the Russians and Koreans. After the quake in the waters just east of the Russian coast, you can see why this is a priority."

"And that claim is outrageous, Virginia," Clark Ortiz of the Earth Sciences Department said. "A science-induced earthquake? Hell, even if someone could target something like a country, how in the world could we even begin to initiate a seismic event?"

"Lieutenant McIntire, any ideas on the geology side of things?" Virginia asked.

"We can model recent seismic activity on the computer, but to actually start an earthquake? No. It would take thousands upon thousands of pounds of explosive material to initiate something like that. Even that scenario would be no guarantee you would get as much as a vibration out of the known surface faults. The tectonic forces start well below most fault lines and can't be reached by anything outside of a massive drilling operation."

"So, you believe it not feasible?"

"Not to my understanding. But I would like to hear this mysterious monitoring tape the Russians and Koreans claim they have."

"I understand that the Korean government is making it available through the United Nations as proof that seems to indicate a rather firm belief in their claims," Alice stated from her seat next to Virginia.

"Then we start from scratch. Sarah, you will head up the effort here and be the team leader of the geology and engineering departments. In addition, I am throwing the entire weight of the Earth Sciences Department in with you. Your job is to find a way to manipulate the earth to move. If we can construct a working model, then maybe we can prove or disprove this claim. Prove it or lay it to rest quickly. Luckily, you will be coordinating with Director Compton; he will be your sounding board."

When the meeting broke up, with department heads moving off to give orders to their people, Virginia saw that Jack and Carl had not moved. Alice Hamilton stayed also, and was sitting calmly in her seat at the table with her pad and pencil in her lap.

"Corporal Sanchez was a great kid, Jack. I'm sorry," Virginia said as she held Jack's blue eyes.

"They all were."

"I know that. But I also know that Sanchez was close to you two; therefore, I am truly sorry."

Jack did not respond. He was freshly shaven and cleaned and in his normal blue jumpsuit. He opened a red-bordered file folder in front of him, then picked out one and slid it across the table to Virginia. She looked from Jack to the picture and then closed her eyes.

"Not so secret anymore," Virginia read aloud and then slid the picture to Alice Hamilton.

"Someone knows about us and at least the warehouse in New York, and also the part of our national charter that states we are to be kept covert," Jack said, looking directly at Virginia, unblinking.

Carl cleared his throat. "This is unlike anyone we've come up against, Virginia. They hit us with complete surprise and they didn't seem to care that it was right in the heart of the busiest city in the world. Massive fire-power and complete surprise--this was a pure military strike against the Event Group for recovering what we thought were just some stolen artifacts." Carl looked from one woman to the other. "This is more than just what we lost, but what we could lose."

Collins sat motionlessly, his face calm.

"What do you want?" Alice asked, cutting off Virginia before she could tell Jack what she had planned

"Simple: carte blanche. I want my entire Security Department pulled off every dig, university campus, and research site around the world. I want them here. We're going to need everyone. The country is almost at war and we have very few options as far as protecting this complex. If they have knowledge of one of our satellite facilities such as New York, it could be they know about the main complex. That strike this morning was not just to recover pretty paintings and suits of armor. What they were looking for is right here and they know it. Whatever they want, they want it badly enough to send a small army out to get it."

"But, Jack, this is the Group. We're situated underneath one of the most guarded air-force bases in the entire world. They couldn't possibly get through that security and get in here."

Again, Carl spoke up. "Forty thousand."

"Excuse me?" Virginia said.

"There are forty thousand policemen in New York City. That small fact didn't seem to deter this force from attacking a building in the heart of downtown Manhattan. They assassinated a prisoner at a federal courthouse, and walked into the home of a senior FBI agent and murdered and tortured him and his wife."

"Do what you have to do to secure Group and its personnel."

The three white Chevrolet vans pulled into the adjacent parking garage and waited. This particular law firm was large enough that it had a private lot with an express elevator that led down to the large four-story brown-stone that served the firm. The vans were nondescript and windowless. They were parked, their motors shut off. Now, they waited.

It was only a minute later when a black Mercedes SL pulled up and over the steep incline that served the lower level of the garage, which sat a full story above the firm. It backed quickly into a space that faced the three vans. The lights flashed once, then one more time. At that signal, the sliding side doors of the vans opened and ten men from each quickly stepped out. They were wearing black overalls and black nylon ski masks and each was heavily armed.

Lorraine Matheson, better known as Dahlia, watched the northeastern strike team of the Coalition expertly check their weapons on the way to the elevator. This would be a ruthless theft, acted out quickly and murderously. The men doing the job had become millionaires while in the Coalition's service. They paid for the best soldiers from around the world. These men were not timid in the taking of life, nor were they afraid to die. Danger was more of a drug to them and money was only a means to that drug.

One man exited the first van and approached her. He was dressed not in the BDU gear of her strike element but in a button-down shirt and sport jacket. He was carrying a manila envelope. She lowered her window and accepted the package. She opened it and looked through the abundance of photos. She quickly dismissed all the uniformed police. Then she saw three men who caught her attention. She went through the stack and found more eight-by-tens of the same three. She studied their faces and decided that she had what she wanted.

"These three men are not part of the NYPD. This one in particular." She tapped the man in the center of the first photo. "He is definitely no cop. Fax this to Tomlinson over a secure line and tell him I suspect these men were conspirators in the raid in Westchester and that they may be a part of this mysterious Group in the desert that the recently departed technicians told us about." Dahlia thought for a moment as she replaced the photos in the envelope. "Tell him they seem to be very resourceful and may be a problem. This one man in particular, I don't care for him at all."

The man saw her tap her finger upon a man in the picture.

"That's the one who scared me when he faced the camera. There is something about him. The only word that comes to mind is menace."

Dahlia studied the face closer before sliding it in with the others. She kept quiet as she passed the envelope back through the window. She did not want to say that she had been thinking of another word as she looked upon that man's countenance: nemesis.

The man took the envelope and disappeared back into the first van to carry out his orders.

The blond woman forced herself to relax, then the image of the man and his two companyions quickly fading.

Three minutes after entering the law offices of Evans, Lawson and Keeler, thirty-six employees, attorneys, and visitors were lined up and on their knees in the main meeting room. Their hands were on their heads, and most were in shock at the sudden death of their elderly security man. The former Boston police officer, who'd had the nerve to confront the leader of the assault, had been shot at point-blank range. He now supplied the example of what would happen to any others who didn't follow instructions. His body was still slumped on the floor just outside the meeting room, where many could still see the body.

"We carry no money here, and if it's revenge for something our firm has done in the past, I assure you that--"

"Your name?" the smallest man of the assault element asked. His 9-millimeter silenced handgun moved toward the well-dressed man who had spoken.

"Anderson. I'm a junior partner and--"

The women screamed and the men were stunned when the bullet hit the young man in the forehead, blowing his brains all over the white-painted wall behind him and knocking his body into the screaming woman behind him.

"You savage, why would you do that?" an elderly man demanded defiantly from his kneeling position.

"Your name?" the assailant asked in accented English.

Expecting a bullet also, the man faced the masked assailant. "Harold Lawson, senior partner of this firm."

"Good. Could you point out the other two senior partners, please? Most notably," the man pulled a scrap of paper from the inside of his black glove, "a Mr. Jackson Keeler."

Another man in his seventies cleared his throat. "I am he," he said shakily.

"You are the youngest son of Jackson Keeler the third, born in 1930?"

"Yes."

The smallish man nodded at two of his men and they moved forward to lift Keeler to his feet.

The man then looked at three of the female paralegals who were cowering together by the far wall.

"Mr. Jackson Keeler, you will be asked a series of questions about your father, your older brother, and also about your affiliations, most notably your private affiliations. You will answer these questions in the most direct and honest way possible. If you do that, this will not happen to any more of your people." The man quickly fired three shots at the cowering women he had picked out and lined up against the wall. The bullets struck cleanly and the women were dead before they hit the expensively carpeted floor.

"You murdering bastard!" Keeler shouted.

The gathered employees and visitors prayed that Mr. Keeler, whose father was the founding partner of the firm, was indeed forthright in his answers.

"I believe we should retire to your office for our conversation."

As the two men with Keeler between them left the meeting room, the smaller man hesitated and leaned closer to a large man standing near the door and whispered instructions.

"Separate them into other rooms and dispatch them all."

The large man nodded and then looked at the hopeful men and women around the meeting room. As the people watched him, he gave them a reassuring smile.

Jackson Keeler was taken into his spacious office and was made to sit down in his chair. The small man nodded to the two men who had escorted Keeler in, and they left the office to join the rest of their team.

Keeler closed his eyes when the killer removed the black mask he was wearing, as if not seeing him would somehow save his life.

"Relax, Mr. Keeler. Do you mind if I pour myself a drink?"

The older man opened his eyes in time to see the man with the mustache pour a drink from the expensive decanters at the small bar.

"The plate map, Mr. Keeler, where is it?" he asked as he walked to the desk and set an identical glass of bourbon on the maroon blotter.

Jackson Keeler picked up the glass and drained the bourbon in one large gulp. He set the glass down with a shaky hand and then wiped his mouth.

"Distasteful business, I know. But we do need to get this behind us and all you have to do is tell me where the plate map is."

Keeler knew that there was no use in denying the map existed or that his family indeed did at one time have it.

"I only know what my father told me when I was a young man. Anything other than that, I can't say."

The man took a small sip from his glass and then smiled. "That is good. You see, there is willingness on your part to get this bad business finished. Tell me, what was said to you by your father?"

"The item you are looking for, it's not here. It was sent to my older brother many years ago, before the war."

"Indeed? Please continue."

Keeler looked around, the hope of rescue now completely gone.

"The plate map was sent to Hawaii just before the start of the war and my brother was directed to give it to someone else. That's all I know."

The man finished his drink and then placed the glass back on the bar. He turned and looked at the old man but did not utter a sound.

"I know nothing else. Please allow those not involved with this to leave the building."

The man still said nothing.

The door to Keeler's office opened and Dahlia walked in. She nodded at the small man and then removed her coat, with his assistance. She smiled and turned to Keeler.

"Now, this is an honor. I never thought I would get to meet one of your kind face-to-face. I mean, my employer is a brother of yours, but to actually meet one of the last of the Ancients, well, I just can't tell you what an honor it is."

Dahlia turned and looked at the small man, who was watching her work with a smile etched on his harsh features. He shook his head negatively and then whispered something into her ear. The blond-haired woman turned back to face Keeler once again.

Dahlia looked around the richly appointed office, her eyes passing over the paintings and settling back again on Keeler. She removed her gloves and then sat in one of the chairs facing the old man.

"Your older brother, at least from what my employer's records show, was a nonconformist who didn't like the dirty little secret about the Ancients and wanted nothing to do with your family. Maybe the old boys and girls were a little too cowardly for his taste. Therefore, he went his own way. That makes me curious as to why your father would have sent him the plate map. You tell my man here your brother passed it on to another. However, your father would never have entrusted an item so valuable to an unworthy person. So I must conclude that it was passed to an Ancient, and I believe you know who that is."

"Like I told your assassin here, I don't know."

"Will you open your safe, please?"

"I don't have an office safe."

"Mr. Keeler, I have had a very long and tiring day. Must I order the deaths of more of your friends in the outer office?"

The old man lowered his head and knew he would have to give this woman the name she sought. The betrayal that he felt was choking him, just as it had his brother that night long ago in Hawaii.

"The map was ordered turned over to an Ancient."

"Ah, I knew your father was an astute man," Dahlia said as she smiled brightly. She then placed a black glove back on her right hand and held it out. Her man placed a glass of whiskey in her hand and then just stood there as she sipped. "I thought a drink would be in order. You don't know it, Mr. Keeler, but this is a very historic day." She smiled again and held the drink with only the one gloved hand. "The name?"

The old man lowered his head and then gestured to the far wall.

"Behind that picture is my safe. May I?"

"By all means, please."

Keeler walked slowly past the woman to a large portrait of his father. He pulled on the right side and the painting swung outward, revealing a small wall safe.

"Now, I wouldn't want you to open that and try and surprise us with a weapon. That would not be at all like your bloodline, would it? It would go against your nature to get directly involved."

"No weapons," he said as he reached out and started dialing his combination.

Dahlia nodded for the small man to step closer to observe Keeler.

The old man pulled the handle on the safe door as he felt the presence of the assassin as he stepped up behind him. He knew that he had to proceed delicately. He reached into the opened safe and started to remove a large book as he blocked the view with his thin frame. As he did so, he slipped his right hand under the thick pages.

The small man started to step forward to snatch the journal from him. Keeler had to think quickly before his deceit could be discovered. He allowed his knees to buckle; he moaned and collapsed, dragging the journal out of the safe as he did so. He fell to the carpet and rolled as if in the throes of a heart attack. Praying, he slowly and quietly ripped out the bottom of the last page and quickly slipped the folded paper into his mouth, between his cheek and dentures. He closed his eyes and waited.

The man rolled him over and pulled the journal from his hands. Keeler was breathing deeply, acting his part to perfection.

Dahlia held her hand out for the journal, looking at Keeler with the mild curiosity one would give an annoying child.

"Please assist Mr. Keeler to his feet and give him some water."

The small man heaved the thinner Keeler to his feet with not much grace. He placed him in a chair beside the desk and then poured him some water. Keeler in the meantime allowed his breathing to slow as his one-act play came to its end.

Dahlia was not watching him; she was already examining the thick journal with the name Jackson Keeler embossed in gold on the front.

"The location of the plate map is in here?"

Keeler nodded as he watched the woman, relieved that he had not been observed when removing the bottom portion of the last page. He accepted the water and drank.

"The names of your remaining brothers and sisters are listed?" she asked as she started thumbing through the pages.

The old man saw what she was doing and stood, allowing the glass of water to fall from his grasp. He stumbled forward angrily, still feigning weakness, until the smaller man stepped between him and the blond woman. He knew he had to stop her from getting to the last, incomplete and torn page.

"I am finished answering your questions. You have what you want, so please leave here."

His face showed no relief as Dahlia looked up in surprise and closed the book.

"Indeed, you have been most helpful, and I am so sorry for causing you distress."

Jackson Keeler, as afraid and ashamed as he felt, could not help but show a thin smile. He knew that he couldn't just let her walk out of there without letting her know that the book would now do her no good as far as the location of the plate map went.

"Van Valkenburg is the name you need to look up in my journal in order to find the location of the plate map."

"Very helpful once more. Thank you. Now, wasn't that easy?"

"Surprisingly easier than I thought it would be, miss," he said, the smirk growing on his age-lined face as he stood shakily before her.

For the first time, Dahlia felt uncomfortable as she watched the confidence return to the old man, who should now have been begging for his life.

"In all of your research of my brothers and sisters and the Ancient line we belong to, miss, did you not ever learn what ship my brother was assigned to? You now have the name of the man he passed the plate map to for security. Van Valkenburg was his commanding officer. The ship he captained was the USS Arizona." Keeler finally had to chuckle because, as sure as he was that he was a dead man, he knew that he had stunned the woman staring at him.

Dahlia clenched her teeth as she tried not to show the old man any emotion, but, by the arrogant look on his face, she knew that she had failed. She leaned over, placed her unfinished drink on the desk, and, with the journal clutched in her other hand, stood. She pulled her glove back on and looked around at her man. The unvoiced order was clear.

Jackson Keeler, while still smiling, nodded at her.

"It has been a pleasure, miss. I assume you have resources to go digging around a national monument that has the potential to fall down around your ears at any time? A monument that is guarded twenty-four hours a day? Also one that is revered and is set in the middle of one of the most guarded harbors in the world?"

Dahlia turned and her smile had again spread brilliantly.

"The few brothers and sisters of the original bloodline that are left in the Juliai Coalition are far more resourceful than your cowardly faction ever has been. I will recover the plate map for them and your line will slip quietly into extinction. Even without the plate map, that fact alone may have been worth it to my employers."

"Someone will stop them; they always do."

"I'm afraid some stories just don't have the cavalry saving the day in the end. Mr. Keeler, you have been most helpful and informative. Now I would like to do something I so rarely do." She held out her gloved hand once more and her man placed his silenced weapon into it. "The arrogance on your face as you told me about the location of the plate map, well, it irritated me."

She raised the automatic and fired ten bullets into the thin body of the old man. He fell to the floor, where his blood spread into the thick carpet.

The look on Dahlia's face was blank. She lowered the weapon and held it out to her man, who took it from her grasp. He had never seen Dahlia do as much as speak in anger, so the display of violence she had shown was a side she had always hidden well.

"No, no heroic cavalry, Mr. Keeler." She started to turn but stopped short. "Our photographer is waiting outside. I would like him to stay here and check to see who shows up here. Tell him to stay at least twenty-four hours. He has the same orders as before."

With those orders, she turned and left the office. With her she carried the journal that would lead her not only to the location of the plate map and in turn the Atlantean Key, but the names of the last remaining Ancients.