Ancients: An Event Group Thriller

by David L. Golemon

  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, bu
t, 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.

  5

  RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

  The sixty-six-year-old man sat and watched CNN without really seeing the images of North Korean troops on the move. The man knew that it was file footage, so he had no need to see the small disclaimer at the bottom of the screen. If there was one thing the man knew, it was the troop strength of the North Korean army; and he could clearly see that the uniforms worn by the PRK troops were old in style by at least fifteen years, thus he knew it had to have been file footage.

  The glass of milk before him on the coffee table remained untouched since the housekeeper had brought it into him. The pills that kept his pain at a minimum sat unnoticed on a small silver serving tray next to the glass. Finally, the man blinked and brought his attention back to the screen when the announcer out of Atlanta switched from the deteriorating situation in Korea to happenings a little closer to home.

  As for local law enforcement authorities in the Boston area, there was no clue left as to why thirty-one employees and clients of the prestigious law firm were found murdered execution-style in the most horrendous crime in Boston history. Authorities are baffled as to who and why—

  Carmichael Rothman sat bolt upright, causing the pain in his upper back to flair excruciatingly when the camera panned to the front of an old brownstone office building. The gold script on the front of the building was there for the world to read. Ignoring the reporter currently framed in the cameras lens, he just stared at the names behind her. EVANS, LAWSON AND KEELER was only partially hidden behind the female newsperson, but Rothman saw the gold-plated letters clearly.

  Still not hearing the words of the reporter, he absently reached out, took the three small morphine tablets from the silver tray, and shakily placed them in his mouth. He reached for the glass of warm milk, but instead of grasping it his fingers refused to open, and he succeeded only in knocking it over.

  “Sir, are you all right?” The housekeeper had entered his study unnoticed and was at his side instantly. “Let me get a rag and I’ll clean this up for you.”

  With the bitter-tasting pills dissolving in his mouth, Rothman violently shook his head. He slapped at the air as the elderly woman started to pick up the fallen glass. Finally, he managed to slap the housekeeper’s hands away. She looked up at him, but his eyes were still staring at the television screen.

  “Martha, get—Martha on the phone, immediately.”

  The housekeeper remained kneeling next to the coffee table. “Ms. Laughlin is on the telephone right this moment—that is why I came in: I didn’t know if you wanted to be disturbed.”

  Rothman did not say anything. He just leaned back in the red leather easy chair and closed his eyes. The pills were slowly taking their desired effect and the cancer that was killing him momentarily eased his pain and released its hold.

  “The phone, please,” he murmured.

  The woman stood, removed the wireless phone from its cradle, and placed it in his hand. With eyes closed, he started to gather his thoughts.

  “Carr, are you there?”

  At first, he didn’t answer as he waited for his strength to return.

  “Carr, this is—”

  “I’m here, my dear. What are we to do?”

  “Listen, you relax. I have our contacts in Boston sending me a few things from the crime scene. One of our informants absconded with evidence before his superiors found it. I do not need you collapsing on me because we have a lot to talk about in a very short time frame.”

  “I knew it wasn’t a coincidence—the Wave is activated—I should have known right away—you should have also—what were we thinking?”

  “Whoever the Coalition used was very good. Who would have believed they could track the Keeler line after all these years. Listen, Carr, we don’t know for sure that whoever did this has gained any knowledge as to where the map is hidden. We just can’t be sure.”

  Carmichael Rothman sat up and waved his housekeeper out of the room. Alert, he watched her leave and then watched as the two cherry-paneled doors closed behind her.

  “We overlooked three coincidences when Korea, Iran, and now the Russian naval base were struck with no apparent aftershocks. Now this gruesome act in Boston that wiped out the last fertile line is just too much! They have the location of the map and probably our locations as well!”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone as his point became clear.

  “Martha, this is no time for secrets to be kept. We need help!”

  “Yes, but whom—the new American administration? They will think we are insane when we tell them. Our assets in Washington cannot even begin to approach them. From my understanding, the new president has his hands overly full and he’s not listening to a lot of reason right now.”

  The old man grew silent.

  “We both have enough security around us to fend off an army. The Juliai would be foolish to come after us. We must assume they have the information they sought.”

  “So we do nothing as usual? We wait for our darker brothers and sisters to take control?”

  “Our influence has waned, Carr. Our time has passed.”

  “That has always been our failing, Martha. Let others do the dying. We were always content to allow governments to stop the Juliai. Never once did our ancestors or we place ourselves in danger, or take even a stand. The Coalition has always been ruthless far beyond our understanding, yet we spring from the same fathers and mothers. I find this hard. I am old as you are. We are the last. Can we not just this one time assist with no thought to our own safety?”

  The other end of the line fell silent. Carmichael Rothman sat and listened, but even as he did so, he felt his brave words starting to crumble in his memory. He and the
Ancients had always been afraid of their far more aggressive brothers and sisters who had followed Julius Caesar down a path of separation and ruthless domination. Now, he sat there in his magnificent house and felt his desire for action failing.

  “Carr, in the beginning, our side was no better than theirs. We were mirror images of one another. We were just as hateful as our ancestors were and that is our crime. Just because we are the last, does not mean anything. We will be hated for our pacifist leanings of the past by the entire world. I am just not brave enough for that. I’m sorry.”

  Rothman heard the phone line go dead. He felt the shame of their non-action throughout history flood into his memory. He slowly placed the phone down and lowered his head.

  So, the last two free-thinking Ancients would stand by and let the world come apart, only to have the Coalition pick up the pieces and put it back together again in their image.

  Carmichael Rothman placed his head in his hands and sobbed, more ashamed than he had ever been. For the grandson of the man who had risked his life to thwart the Coalition over a hundred years before, this was too much to bear.

  TASK FORCE 7789.9

  USS THEODORE ROOSEVELT

  Steaming at twenty-six knots, the Roosevelt was making good headway against the high seas, which were still a reminder of the massive underground quake of the day before. The Nimitz-class carrier and her escorts had been dispatched two days prior for deployment as a rear guard for the George Washington and John F. Kennedy groups, now in the Sea of Japan. Her latest flash message had ordered her directly into the hot waterway directly between Korea and China at flank speed. She was now cruising five hundred miles off the coast of Sakhalin Island.

  Her captain was a man known for thinking outside the box. He was going to take a large risk, and a lot depended on the actions of the U.S. State Department. They were seeking permission from the Russian government to enter the Strait of La Perouse, a slim breadth of water between the Russian-controlled Sakhalin and the Japanese island of Hokkaido, and thus far the State Department had been thwarted at the United Nations Security Council by both the Russians and the Chinese—the two nations struck the hardest by the recent earthquakes. If the captain of the Roosevelt did not receive confirmation soon, he would have to alter course and head for the Sea of Japan through route farther south.