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.”
Ancients: An Event Group Thriller Page 23