The Atlantis Prophecy

26

CONRAD LISTENED to the soft strains of Mozart on his iPhone's earbuds as he walked along Constitution Avenue in the rain. The dome of the Jefferson Building at the Library of Congress gleamed proudly under dark skies tonight, its grandeur almost eclipsing that of the U.S. Capitol across the street. It was already a few minutes past midnight, which meant it was already July 3, and meant he was running out of time. He turned up the collar of his trench coat and walked into the researchers entrance.

The guard on duty looked up from his station and immediately recognized Conrad from all his previous, legitimate visits to the Library over the years. Conrad's heart sank. Good ol' Larry was shaking his shaved head, whistling the spooky theme song to Conrad's old reality series Ancient Riddles of the Universe, which could be seen only in syndicated reruns on late-night TV and which said everything Conrad needed to know about Larry's social life.

"The Library closed to the public at 5:30 p.m. and to researchers at 9:30 p.m., Dr. Yeats. Only congressmen or their staff allowed now. You know the rules."

"Still a little wet behind the ears, Larry, as you can see." He wiped his wet hair back and put on a smile, his gut churning at the thought that Larry might get hurt.

"If you'd just stick to the tunnels connecting all the buildings here, Dr. Yeats, you'd stay nice and dry on a night like this." Larry, unable to resist, had to repeat the show's tag line. "After all, 'the truth is DOWN there.'"

"You know I'm claustrophobic, Larry. Besides, I needed some fresh air."

"What you need is to get yourself a date," Larry said. "Say, whatever happened to that blonde Nazi babe from Fox News Channel? She didn't like your salute?"

"My salute's just fine, Larry. It seems I have trouble following orders."

Larry chuckled, but Conrad could tell he was disappointed. The guard's head was filled with images of Conrad in Egyptian pyramids and Mayan temples, with beautiful graduate "researchers" assisting him on his digs-when they weren't working auto shows. What on earth was an astro-archaeologist like Dr. Conrad Yeats, "the world's foremost authority on megalithic architecture and the astronomical alignments of Earth's oldest monuments," doing roaming the musty hallways of Washington, D.C.?

Conrad emptied his pockets of his wallet and keychain and made a face.

"Let me guess," Larry said. "You forget your user card again?"

Conrad nodded. In truth he had a bogus ID card with another name, which he obviously couldn't use now. And even if he had his own ID, Larry wouldn't be able to swipe it without all sorts of "apprehend and detain" directives popping up on his screen.

"I won't be long in the stacks," Conrad promised, looking at his watch. "Just give me twelve minutes."

Larry looked doubtful as he handed him a clipboard. "Just give me your John Hancock and ID number."

Conrad scribbled a signature, put down a bogus six-digit number and hoped that Larry would manually key it in later.

Larry took the clipboard without a glance. "Come on through."

Conrad turned up the volume of his iPhone and approached the multisensor detection gate. Serena had told him this particular piece of music would throw off the new brainwave scanners the feds had installed around the Mall. As he passed through the gate, he watched Larry study the thermal-like images on the bank of monitors. It was the curious monitor at the end Conrad kept an eye on, which could detect what the feds called "hostile brainwave patterns." The colors changed, and Conrad could see that Larry saw it too. But Larry's voice betrayed nothing, and his hand hadn't reached for the silent alarm yet.

"Your iPhone, Dr. Yeats."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Conrad removed his earbuds and handed the iPhone to Larry. "You want the fedora and bullwhip, too?"

"Hee, hee."

Larry passed the phone through the detector, but Conrad only motioned to pick it up along with his wallet and keychain.

"You have yourself a good evening, Dr. Yeats. Don't go reading so many old books you scare yourself shitless."

"Too late," Conrad said as he walked away.

"Hey, Dr. Yeats," Larry called after him. "You forgot your-"

Conrad turned, pressed the remote on his keychain and heard the crack of the iPhone explode behind him. Larry started coughing, and Conrad waited for the invisible knockout gas to work. But it wasn't. Larry staggered a bit, down but not out. He was reaching for his radio to call for help.

Damn sufentanyl, Conrad thought. So much of its effect depended on the biology of the individual.

Holding his breath, Conrad marched over to Larry and gave him a good, sharp chop to the back of the neck, knocking him out the old-fashioned way.

"Sorry, Larry."

Conrad removed Larry's radio transceiver along with his iPhone and earbuds and walked away. He looked at his watch as he entered a low hallway with yellow walls and white trim. Larry would be up in a few minutes if he wasn't discovered sooner.

Conrad's twelve minutes had just been cut in half.