The Sam Reilly Collection Volume 2

by Christopher Cartwright

  Sam flashed his light to the other end of the cavern. “There’s a second lava tube heading vertical over there.”

  Tom studied the spot where Sam had shined his light. No moonlight fell from it, which meant the opening didn’t reach the surface.

  “Okay, let’s try that one.”

  Tom swam to the vertical opening. He ascended twenty feet before reaching the surface of the water. He took his dive regulator out of his mouth and breathed the air. The water height varied with each wave, but never rose anywhere near the top of the vertical lava tube.

  Sam surfaced. Looked around the tunnel. “Are we going up there?”

  “I guess so.” Tom held onto the porous rock and began to climb.

  At the top the tunnel dropped down again. He followed the ancient lava tunnel until it came to a dead end. He shined his flashlight around the room. It was spherical and most definitely man made. The black obsidian, into which the entire room had been carved, glistened like black glass.

  Sam walked in a moment after him. “Now this looks like the perfect place to hide treasure.”

  “Except there’s no treasure.”

  *

  Sam shined his flashlight around the room. It was definitely manmade. He couldn’t even imagine the amount of hours it would have taken to build such a place using primitive tools.

  He looked at Tom’s disappointed face. “Well that was somewhat anticlimactic.”

  “Yeah. I mean, any civilization that went to such lengths to protect something in here must have at one stage stored something pretty special. Heck, if the Antiqui Nautae stored an entire horde of gold in their hull, you’d think this would be teeming with rare stones, at least.”

  Sam ran his hand along the smooth pitch black wall. He was surprised to find that, despite its glassy appearance, the entire place was covered in tiny raised dots. They looked black just like the rest of the obsidian room. “Hey, turn your light off for a second. I think I might have found something.”

  “Gold?”

  “No. Possibly something better.”

  They both switched their flashlights off. Sam closed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. When he opened them again, the entire room was lit up with tiny blue stars.

  “What is this place?” Tom said without concealing his awe.

  Sam grinned. “I couldn’t tell you for certain. But if I had to guess, I’d say these are the main constellations of stars, as seen from all over the world. A perfect mathematical depiction of the stars as you move around each longitude and latitude. Each star was probably made by inserting fluorite or some other florescent mineral.”

  “Which means the Antiqui Nautae had travelled the entire world hundreds of years ago.”

  “That’s why they went to such lengths to conceal this place. It was sacred to them, because it was their map of the world.”

  “We still don’t know where they came from?” Tom pointed out.

  “No. But I wouldn’t be surprised if this isn’t the last we see of the Antiqui Nautae. Any civilization that far advanced in the 17th century couldn’t have been killed off by the European colonies without a trace. They’re out there somewhere.”

  Sam then removed the golden eagle from inside his carry bag.

  “What did you carry that heavy thing all the way into here for?” Tom asked.

  “A hunch,” Sam replied.

  He then examined the marking on the eagle, which represented the constellation of the Southern Cross. Matching it up with the constellation depicted on the wall, he placed it hard against the wall, so the glowing blue stones on the wall shined through the holes in the eagle.

  Nothing happened immediately – then the golden bird pulled solid against the wall, as though a secret magnet had been activated. Sam tried to pull it off, but it was locked hard. The glowing blue then increased as it radiated through the holes and then out the open mouth of the eagle, and then glowed on a single rectangular stone in the floor.

  “I’d say that just pointed directly towards something,” Sam said.

  He and Tom took a few steps and stood on the stone.

  Still nothing happened.

  Then the ground below their feet moved. A series of steps formed below. They both had to crouch down to follow the secret passage.

  Sam’s heart raced in anticipation.

  The ancient staircase descended fifteen feet, and then leveled out into a short rectangular chamber. They followed it until it reached a dead end.

  There, a single stone table held something more valuable than any of Sam’s prized possessions. The remains of long since used candle wax stood next to a book.

  *

  Sam carefully opened the book.

  One glance at the ancient writings and he knew what he was looking at. “This is the ancient journal of the Master Builders.”

  It’s a recording dating back so far that I don’t even understand the system of calendar being used. It was written in the language of the ancient Master Builders. Sam started to decipher some of the words. It would take weeks to make sense of it all, and he wished he could contact Dr. Billie Swan, the archeologist who had helped him prove the existence of the unique race who built a number of extraordinary wonders of the world, over the millennia.

  The last time Sam had seen her, they had discovered Atlantis. After that, she’d disappeared following a lead about the existence of a fabled City in the Clouds in which the Master Builders once lived, like gods who watched over mere mortals.

  “Make any sense of it?” Tom asked.

  Sam nodded his head. “Some words and numbers – looks like a journal of events. It will take time to understand all of it, and it would be easier if I could track down Billie.”

  Tom’s eyes drifted over the incomprehensible writings, his face pensive. Tom and Billie had been close, and Sam knew he would have liked their relationship to progress, but finding the home of the Master Builders was an obsession for Billie more important than love. She would sacrifice everything else in her life to get closer to finding the truth. “Still no word from her?”

  “Not since we lost Atlantis.”

  “She would be thrilled if she knew this existed,” Tom said.

  Sam nodded his head in agreement. Then he gently opened the next page of the ancient book. The writings only covered two thirds of the page. Like the entry to a journal, it appeared the author stopped and hadn’t yet returned to make another entry.

  He then swore.

  “What?” Tom asked.

  “These are definitely journal entries, dating a long way back. So far back, I don’t even know what type of calendar system was being used for the older entries. But this page is using our current system measured in months and years A.D.” He then pointed to the final entry. “And this one here – shows the emergence of Atlantis just three months ago!”

  Tom looked at him. “That means at least one of the Master Builders is still alive!”

  Sam grinned. “And he or she was here only a few months ago.”

  *

  After taking a detailed recording of each page of the ancient book, they decided to leave it there in the hope that they might still find the last author when he or she returns to make a new entry. They then returned to the Maria Helena. Sam and Tom had barely climbed out of the moon pool and entered the dive room before Matthew and Elise approached them, looking concerned.

  “We’ve had a call for assistance in Antarctica,” Matthew said. “The Pegasus Station, a research lab, has declared an emergency. Apparently we’re the closest vessel capable of making the rescue.”

  Sam unclasped his BCD and lowered his dive tank into its holder. “What’s the problem?”

  “Their vessel was crushed against the ice shelf by the movement of a floating island of ice. They’ve managed to return to the station by foot, but they’re not equipped to last the approaching winter.”

  Elise brought up the satellite images of the area. “Have a look at this. The first image was taken a few day
s ago, now look at this one.”

  Sam studied the image. Without recognizing the exact location, he could see that the landmass in the bay had nearly doubled in size.

  “That photo was taken today.”

  Sam shrugged his shoulders. “So, we’ve had another break away from the continental ice shelf?”

  “That would make sense, but there’s no place missing such a massive landmass of ice.”

  “Have you looked everywhere? I mean, that’s a lot of ice – it’s going to stand out on satellite imaging somewhere that there’s a new coastline.”

  “That’s just it.” Elise showed him the satellite image of the surrounding coastlines. “It appears the island just arrived from nowhere.”

  Sam studied the two images intently. “And you’re certain that this hasn’t broken off any known ice formation?"

  “Certain.”

  Sam shook his head. He would have gone to save life, but the deal just got sweeter with such a puzzle.

  “Then I guess we’d better pack warmly. It’s going to be cold in Antarctica.”

  The End.

  The Cassidy Project

  Prologue

  Johnston Atoll, North Pacific Ocean – July 9, 1962

  It was 9 seconds past 9 a.m. precisely – Greenwich Mean Time – when the Thor Rocket, carrying a W49 Nuclear Warhead exploded at an altitude of 250 miles. Robert Cassidy clicked the stop button on his pocket watch to record the time. In the sky above, an explosion which would later be recorded as reaching 1.44 megatons, erupted – sending an artificial aurora borealis of splendid colors across the North Pacific Ocean.

  Approximately 900 miles from the detonation point the city of Honolulu in Hawaii experienced the effects of the subsequent and powerful electromagnetic pulse. Approximately 300 streetlights went out in an instant and the island’s only microwave tower was destroyed. The strange events were followed by the eerie sound of the air raid siren, sending terror into the hearts of those who had survived the attack on Pearl Harbor over two decades earlier.

  On Johnston Atoll, Robert noticed beads of sweat form inside his protective goggles, which had allowed him to stare at the blast without incinerating his retina. He removed the eyepieces and let them hang below his neck. A few moments later his eyes adjusted to the new and magnificent horizon. Filled with a myriad of reds, ochre, and yellow lines, the artificial aurora borealis dazzled onlookers from Hawaii through to New Zealand for the next three days.

  Robert heard the loud ring of the launch station’s phone. He answered it immediately. Listened to the report. Wrote down a few notes on a piece of paper, and then hung up. A wave of relief washed over him at the news. The military project, code-named Starfish Prime, had been a success.

  But would they let him continue with his own special project?

  His eyes turned to several observers twenty feet back. They were mostly military, but included some civilian engineers, politicians and science reporters. He could guess which of them worked for which organization. All except for one man.

  He wore a big smile that expressed the wonder of science while at the same time saying, I told you we could do this. His brown hair was thick and tousled. Giving him the boyish good looks of a young movie star, despite his age possibly being closer to fifty. His brown eyes stared in awe of the event he’d just witnessed.

  Above all, he had a deeply pensive quality about him – like he was trying to decide the fate of an extremely important decision. Robert watched the man speaking with some of the military brass involved in the experiment.

  The phone rang for a second time.

  There would be a number of reports coming in over the following hours. His pulse quickened. He calmed himself – it might not be the report he’d been waiting for. He listened intently. Wrote down a single line of notes. Then carefully crossed them out entirely.

  He grinned with pride. It worked! My equation is possible in practice.

  The man in the suit approached him. He looked like a bureaucrat not a politician, Robert decided. The man smiled at him. Robert thought it was a kind face. More like a model or movie star. He couldn’t care less which one he was. Someone had mentioned to him that the man was an independent civilian who was here to review the launch. Robert didn’t care who he was, so long as the man gave him the green light to the funding needed to complete the project. The decision to fund the project was too important to leave in the hands of a pen-pusher or the military.

  The man approached him. “Mr. Cassidy?”

  “Yes, sir.” Robert held out his hand.

  The man took it. Gripped it with both hands and said, “My name is Ronald Reagan. That was quite a show you put on today.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “May I see the report?”

  Robert handed it to the man. Reagan read the notes. Grinned. “The resulting electromagnetic pulse took out the lights as far away as Hawaii, did they?”

  Robert wasn’t sure if the man was pleased or upset by the discovery. No one could have predicted the EMP would travel that far. He looked at the man’s eyes. They gave away nothing. “Yes sir.”

  Regan’s almost permanent grin changed to a frown. “What about the second set of notes? The ones you crossed out?”

  Robert remained silent.

  The Commander of the Joint Task Force 8 approached. His ordinarily surly face, now beaming with pride at their success. “You can tell him, son. He’s part of the secret committee reviewing your theory. His vote will ultimately decide if your project gets to continue or not.”

  Robert smiled. He’d made the right choice in picking out the man who held the power over all his hopes and dreams. He’d been polite, bordering on obsequious, to the right man. And then he told him about the unexpected finding.

  Mr. Reagan stared at him. Sizing him up, as though he was determining if he could be trusted. “I hope you understand this changes everything. None of this can be reported now.”

  “But sir, this only proves that my theory was correct! I must continue my research – now more so than ever. If we want to have any control over its outcome, we need to start now!”

  Reagan’s movie star smile returned. “Oh no, no. You don’t understand me, son. I mean, your work definitely needs to continue. In fact I can guarantee the government will be willing to double your funding. Only that from now on, none of it can ever be made public. In fact, we’ll need to move you, your team and your research to a secret location – another island. This one’s a little more private. Somewhere you can commence preparations for your next attempt away from prying eyes. And you’ll have to start immediately.”

  Robert laughed. “More private? What’s more private than Johnston Atoll? We’re in the middle of the North Pacific!”

  Reagan ignored his question. “Someone will come shortly to pick you and the team up. Then you’ll find out where our most top secret research and development in the history of the U.S. government will take place. I think you’ll like the island.” Reagan then embraced his hand again. “Well done, Mr. Cassidy. I wish you the best of luck with your research. The American people will never know how much you did for them, but just remember I will. And I thank you.”

  The man turned to walk away.

  “Oh, Mr. Reagan. You know the project is going to take a long time to reach fruition, don’t you?”

  “Of course. Our entire plan may take decades to succeed, but it has to be done.”

  *

  Three days later, Ronald Reagan, a lifelong Democratic Party member, became the most ardent supporter of conservatism, and a devoted Republican. He never spoke of the reason he left the Democratic Party.

  There is no documented reason to suggest that he was involved in something much larger than an American political party. That he was involved in a league of men who wanted to change the world for the better.

  Over the course of his political career, he would make many important decisions. But none of them would potentially have such far reaching effec
ts as the one he’d just made. The decision to fund the Cassidy Project.

  *

  King Salmon Air Force Station, Alaska – January 4, 1983

  Major James Maverick stared at the B52H Stratofortress Bomber. She was the deadliest machine ever built and the head of the 705th Aircraft Control and Warning Squadron. Designed as a weapon capable of the extreme destruction required to provide a deterrent against nuclear attack, she protected the north-western corridor of the U.S. mainland. To Maverick, she was the single most beautiful machine in military aviation history.

  She was certainly the largest and most formidable bomber in the history of the U.S. Air Force. Powered by eight Pratt & Whitney turbofans she created enough lift to allow for a theoretical maximum take-off weight in excess of four hundred and eighty-eight thousand pounds. Of course, some of the cowboys were confident that given the right length of runway, she could take-off with just about any amount of weight. She was equipped with an armament of both traditional and nuclear bombs, as well as a pneumatically driven M61 Vulcan, six-barrel, air-cooled, Gatling-style rotary cannon which fired 20 mm rounds at an extremely high rate typically exceeding 6,000 rounds per minute. A smile formed on his otherwise serious face – he was proud of her.

  And she was his to command.

  Outside the hangar the wind howled viciously. He thanked God his beautiful aircraft was protected tonight. Already registering gusts of up to eighty knots, the storm was by far the worst he’d witnessed during his total of twelve years maintaining aerial surveillance and security in the area. And it was getting worse. Predictions from the guys in meteorology suggested the strength was going to double through the night.

  Maverick cautiously slid the large metal hangar door open a fraction to examine the force of the blizzard. It was a complete whiteout outside. The wind howled in through the gap with such vehemence it knocked him off his feet.

  Three of his men rushed to get the door closed.

  Maverick stood up and tidied his ruffled uniform. “Thank you gentlemen. I guess we can all go to bed early tonight. There will be no attacks in this weather – no one can fly in or out.”