Atlantis a-1

by Robert Doherty

  “Oh, geez!” Beasley whispered.

  “It means we made the right decision not to try to fly in or even to fly this close,” Freed said.

  “You think walking in is going to be any better?” Dane asked.

  * * *

  The screams of the helicopter pilot reverberated through the commo section, then there was an echoing silence.

  Mike Herrin suddenly jumped up. “They’ve got to get us! We’ve got to get out of here! They’re up there waiting for us. I can hear the helicopter.”

  He jumped on top of the table and reached up for the top hatch, hands gripping the opening lever. Ariana and Carpenter grabbed his legs, but he struck out with a vicious kick that hit Carpenter square in the face, sending her tumbling back, taking Ariana with her.

  The hatch opened. Ariana could see past Herrin and that the swirling fog was allowing a dull light from the sun to penetrate.

  “Mike!” she yelled, holding onto his legs. “Come back in!”

  Ingram had taken Carpenter’s place and had Herrin’s other leg, holding him half inside the hatch. Ariana was looking up when a large shadow suddenly appeared in the space around Herrin’s torso filling the hatch. She heard Herrin scream and felt his leg spasm in her arms. The scream ended as abruptly as it had begun, replaced by a very loud clicking sound, and then Herrin fell back inside the airplane; the bottom half of him at least. Ariana looked up from the twitching legs. There was surprisingly little blood oozing from the bisected torso.

  The sound was back, as if something was sliding over the top of the plane, but now she could see the massive scales through the open hatch as they slithered by. She pulled out the Berretta and aimed up.

  “No!” Carpenter yelled, grabbing her arms. “Don’t!”

  Ariana staggered back as Carpenter swung the hatch shut. They could feel the entire plane moving now, rolling slightly to the left. The noise continued for another ten seconds then was gone and the plane was still.

  Then the speaker came alive again, this time with the dots and dashes of Morse code. As Ariana covered the lower half of Herrin’s body with a cloth, Hudson anxiously copied down the message.

  D-O-N-O-T-U-S-E-V-O-I–C-E-O-N-R-A-D-I-OD-O-N-O-T-U-S-E-V-O-I–C-E-O-N-R-A-D-I-O

  C-U-T-P-O-W-E-R-T-O-C-O-M-P-U-T-E-RO-R-D-I-E-T-I-M-E-I-S-S-H-O-R-TC-U-T-P-O-W-E-R-T-O-C-O-M-P-U-T-E-RO-R-D-I-E-T-I-M-E-I-S-S-H-O-R-T

  “A little advice on how to do that would be helpful,” Ariana said as she saw the letters. “Ask them how!” she ordered Hudson. Ingram and Carpenter were staring at what remained of Herrin, blood slowly seeping through the cloth.

  “Do it!” Ariana snapped at Hudson. The radio man pulled out his knee key and began tapping out the question, sending three letters repeatedly:

  H-O-W-H-O-W-H-O-W-H-O-W

  Ariana watched as Hudson’s hand wrote out the letters to the reply:

  T-R-Y-D-O-N-T-K-N-O-W-H-O-W-W-I–L-L-T-R-Y-T-O-H-E-L-P O-N-O-U-T-S-I-D-E

  “Ask for some identification,” Ariana told Hudson.

  W-H-O-A-R-E-Y-O-U

  The dashes and dots came back immediately.

  R-T-K-A-N-S-A-S

  “I don’t understand,” Ariana tried to make sense of the letters.

  “I do,” Carpenter said.

  The other three turned and looked at her.

  “RT Kansas stands for Reconnaissance Team Kansas,” Carpenter informed them. “That’s the code name of a Special Forces team that went into this area in 1968.”

  “1968?” Ingram repeated.

  “How do you know this?” Ariana demanded.

  “It’s in the classified CIA file for this area, which goes by the code name Angkor Gate,” Carpenter said.

  “How do you know that?” Ingram demanded.

  Ariana stared at the other woman. “You’re CIA?”

  Carpenter nodded. “Yes.”

  “Is anyone here who they’re supposed to be?” Ariana asked.

  “None of that matters right now,” Carpenter said. “Our priority should be to get out of here.”

  “How?” Ariana gestured up at the hatch. “You saw that thing. You know that I was telling the truth about the seven-headed snake. I don’t know how or why it can be, but it is.”

  “Someone’s trying to help us,” Ingram said, pointing at Hudson’s notepad with the Morse messages.

  Ariana ran a hand through her long hair, feeling how dirty it was as she thought furiously. “Who’s trying to help us? Who is RT Kansas and how can they still be here since 1968?”

  “There were four men on RT Kansas,” Carpenter said. “Three of them were listed as missing in action. The team leader’s name was Sergeant Flaherty.”

  “Ask it that’s Flaherty,” Ariana ordered Hudson.

  He tapped out the question.

  There was a terse reply.

  “Yes,” Hudson said, not bothering to write it down.

  “Flaherty was the one that got away?” Ariana asked.

  “No. Flaherty was one of those listed as missing in action,” Carpenter said.

  “How can that be?” Ariana asked.

  “I don’t know,” Carpenter said, “but maybe if we do what he wants, he can help us get out of here.”

  Ariana slapped a palm on top of the communications console. “All right. I’m tired of sitting around here and just reacting. Anyone have any bright ideas how to shut down Argus without getting fried in the process?” Ariana asked.

  “We destroy the plane,” Carpenter said.

  “We happen to be inside the plane,” Ingram said.

  “We’re going to have to leave one way or the other,” Carpenter said.

  “How do we destroy the plane?” Ariana asked.

  “We blow up the fuel tanks,” Carpenter said.

  “Can’t do,” Ingram said. “Haven’t you listened? The wings are gone, which means the fuel tanks are gone.”

  “Not all of them,” Carpenter pointed down. “The center section fuel tank is below the main fuselage between the wings. It holds over ten thousand gallons of fuel, more than enough to blow this plane into tiny little pieces.”

  “But how do we ignite that tank?” Ariana asked.

  “I can do it,” Carpenter said.

  Ariana turned to Hudson. “Tell Flaherty we’re going to blow the plane. Tell him we’re going to need help getting away once we have everything rigged.”

  * * *

  “You do not have to worry about Hie-Tech,” Sin Fen informed Paul Michelet.

  Michelet pulled the seat belt across his lap and buckled it as the pilots added power to the turbine engines. “How do you know that?”

  “I have communications with someone who knows,” Sin Fen said.

  “If my daughter wasn’t involved in this, I’d-”

  “Please do not threaten idly,” Sin Fen said. “We can work together; you just have to do what I tell you to.”

  A truck raced up to the helicopter and screeched to a halt. Two men dressed in black fatigues stepped off, duffel bags on their shoulders. They strode up to the chopper and threw the bags in, before taking seats themselves. Sin Fen glanced at Michelet who smiled coldly. “Insurance,” the old man said. With a shudder the helicopter lifted off the tarmac. Sin Fen took off her headset so she didn’t have to listen to Michelet any more.

  She reached down and stroked Chelsea’s ears. “Good dog.” Chelsea turned her head and her golden eyes looked up at Sin Fen. “He’ll be all right,” Sin Fen said. “He’ll be all right.”

  * * *

  “We’re getting strange readings, sir.”

  Captain Rogers looked over at his senior science officer. “Clarify,” he snapped. The control room of the Wyoming was a far cry from the crowded, dark metal rooms of World War II submarines. Rogers sat in a leather chair, securely bolted to the floor, overseeing the rest of the occupants of the high tech facility. The room was lit by subdued lighting that allowed each crewmember to focus on their computer screens and equipment displays.

 
; “Radioactivity is higher than normal. We’re also getting some electromagnetic interference.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Not at these levels.”

  “Source?”

  “Something in the water ahead of us.”

  “Distance?”

  “Eighty kilometers.”

  “All right. Our orders are to close on the boundary. Let’s do it. Keep monitoring and let me know if there’s any change.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “This is simply amazing!” Beasley was running his hands over the stone and the drawings etched on it. “No one’s ever found anything like this. No one even suspected something like this existed. There’s nothing like it at Angkor Wat. And this is older. Much older.”

  Dane listened to the historian babble while he watched Freed. The security man was scanning the area where the helicopter had crashed. The Canadians had also seen the helicopter destroyed and Dane could sense their unease about going into the valley.

  “There are no survivors,” Dane said.

  Freed pulled the binoculars down. “How do you know that?”

  “You’re going to have to start believing what I say,” Dane said, “or else what is the point in having me along?”

  Freed stared at Dane. “I don’t like this.”

  “That’s good,” Dane said.

  “No, not that,” Freed jerked his thumb at the fog. “I don’t like having you along; I don’t like that strange woman who showed up at the airfield; I don’t like things going on that I don’t understand.”

  “Join the crowd.” Dane pointed across the river. “I think that should be our focus. My suggestion would be that you and the Canadians stay here and let me go in alone.”

  “I can’t do that,” Freed said.

  “I didn’t think so, but I’m not sure you’re going to be able to get the Canadians to go with you.”

  “They’ll move,” Freed said in a tone that told Dane they probably would. They both turned at Beasley’s exclamation.

  “I’m beginning to see it now!” Beasley was still focused on the imagery on the stone wall, oblivious of all that was going on around him, the destruction of the helicopter already fading in his mind.

  “See what?” Dane asked.

  Beasley shook his head, his eyes wide in surprise. “It’s outrageous.”

  “What is?”

  Beasley staggered back. “What these writings and symbols suggest. If it weren’t right in front of, I wouldn’t believe it was real.”

  “Tell us,” Dane said in a measured voice, trying to calm the other man.

  “OK. Let me think for a second.” Beasley rubbed his forehead. “According to this, the kingdom of the Khmers was established here over five thousand years ago. It says the Khmers came here from somewhere else where they had ruled a massive kingdom for five thousand years before. But that can’t be.”

  “Why not?” Freed asked.

  Dane watched Beasley force himself not to explode at that question. “Because according to our accepted concept of history, human civilization didn’t begin until only three thousand years ago! The Khmers couldn’t have had an empire that predates that by seven thousand years.” Beasley was fingering his beard. “But this says they did.” Beasley pointed at a section. “Not only that but-” he paused.

  “What?” Dane asked.

  Comprehension came over Beasley’s features and his voice changed, suddenly becoming more confident. “No, it’s not impossible. It makes sense.”

  “What make sense?” Dane once more asked.

  “The Khmer. Where they came from. Civilization.” Beasley’s word were clipped as he moved along the wall, reading further.

  Dane forced himself to wait on the Professor. Finally Beasley came to a halt and turned to face both he and Freed.

  “According to what is written here, the Khmer’s empire before they came to Southeast Asia was a large island located in the sea beyond the land beyond the sea.” Beasley went on quickly. “I read that to mean an island in the Atlantic, with the land beyond the sea being the Americas.”

  “But-” Dane began, but Beasley cut him off.

  “It mentions a dark Shadow. Here it tells how the Khmer left their ancient homeland and traveled across the ocean to escape the Shadow, but it followed them. How the warriors stood guard for generations against the Shadow.”

  “And?” Freed asked.

  “I don’t think there was a happy ending,” Dane said as Beasley read further.

  “There some talk of battling the-uh-” Beasley paused.

  “The what?” Freed demanded.

  Beasley gave Dane a smile. “The monsters. The Naga and others.” He pointed to the eastern wall. “There it talks about the time further back. Before the Khmer came here. When the island, their home, was destroyed by what they call the ‘fire from the dark Shadow’ and the people were scattered across the Earth.

  “But the way they describe the island. Rings of land and water surrounding a central hill on which stood a temple and the palace of the rulers. There’s only one other place I’ve heard of that was described like this. That fits the ancient legends exactly!

  “The island was Atlantis!” Beasley said. “It had to be.” Beasley closed his eyes and recited. “’Atlantis was the kingdom of Poseidon. When Poseidon fell in love with a mortal woman, named Cleito, he built a palace in the center of the land and surrounded it with rings of water to protect her.

  “Cleito gave birth to five sets of twins, all boys, who were the first rulers of Atlantis. Atlas was the name of the first king of Atlantis. They built a large temple to worship Poseidon and cut a canal through the rings of land to facilitate trade.’” Beasley opened his eyes. “There’s more but I figure you don’t want to hear it right now. All from Plato, written in 360 BC.

  “Think about Angkor Thom and Angkor Wat,” Beasley said. “The moats the Khmer put around the city. I’d say the Khmer were trying to imitate what was done at Atlantis except they didn’t have the ocean. They had to make their own water supply and insure that it would always be there.”

  Dane was listening to Beasley but he was more concerned about what was across the stream. If that radio call had been real and Flaherty was really out there then-Dane started. If Flaherty had sent that message just a few days ago…

  “Let me have the PRC-77,” Dane said to Freed cutting off Beasley’s excited rambling.

  “Why?”

  “If that message you played for me was legit, then my team is still in there and they have commo,” Dane said.

  Freed pulled his backpack off. Dane took it and lifted up the top flap. He saw the faded green paint on the top of the radio. He turned the frequency knob, the clicking noise almost comforting, reminding him of missions long ago, dialing up frequencies in the dark by feel. He screwed in the whip antenna, then turned the radio on. He dialed up the emergency FM frequency for that last mission, then took the handset.

  “Big Red, this is Dane. Over.”

  Dane waited for five seconds, then pressed the transmit button again. “Big Red, this is Dane. Over.”

  Still nothing.

  “Big Red, this is Dane. If you can hear me, break squelch twice. Over.”

  “Watch out,” Freed hissed, grabbing Dane’s arm and pointing to the west. A large golden circle was forming directly opposite them in the mist, a mile away.

  The radio crackled with two squelch’s, then a quick burst of Morse code. Dane’s mind was still working on the code, interpreting the letters, making them into words, as he raised the mike again. “Big Red, this is-” Dane paused as the letters came together in his head:

  N-O-V-O-I–C-E

  He dove down as a lightning bolt of gold flashed out of the center of the circle, heading directly toward their location. Freed grabbed Beasley and pulled the portly scientist down behind the cover of the stone rampart. The bolt struck with a thunderous crack. Dane heard stone shatter and felt himself peppered with fragments. He rolled onto his
back and looked up. A large chunk of the rampart had been blown out, the stone splintered.

  “You OK?” Freed asked, slowly getting to his feet.

  “Yeah,” Dane said. Beasley was staring at the hole in the wall.

  “No voice,” Dane said. “That’s what the Morse was.”

  “Figure it out a little faster next time,” Freed said.

  “You all right?” A voice echoed up to them from below, McKenzie calling out.

  “We’re OK,” Freed yelled back.

  “What the blazes was that?” McKenzie demanded.

  “I don’t know. Get back to your security position,” Freed ordered.

  “Security?” McKenzie was incredulous. “Against thunderbolts out of the mist?”

  “Get back,” Freed said.

  Shaking his head, the Canadian did as ordered.

  “Do you have a Morse key?” Dane asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Damn,” Dane muttered.

  The radio came alive again with dashes and dots crackling out of the speaker. Dane pulled a small pad out of his breast pocket and rapidly copied them down. When he recognized that the message was repeating itself, he stopped copying and began translating.

  D-A-N-E-B-I-G-R-E-D-D-O-N-T-S-E-N-D-V-O-I–C-E-G-O-T-O-G-R-I-D-7-8-2-9-4-3 W-I–L-L-T-R-Y-T-O-C-O-V-E-R-Y-O-U

  Dane looked up from the pad and through the newly blasted hole in the rampart at the mist. Flaherty was out there. Alive.

  Freed had his map out, checking. “That coordinate is north of where the plane is down. About ten klicks.”

  Dane stood. Without a Morse key he couldn’t ‘talk’ to Flaherty and it was obvious his former team leader wasn’t going to be sending much more than the terse message they’d just received. There was no way he could check on the MILSTARS issue like this. He looked at the map.