Incarnate: Mars Origin I Series Book III

by Abby L. Vandiver

  I handed her the phone, and pulled myself out of the car. “Are you going to leave the car running?”

  “Yeah, they’re coming out to get it. Here’s the new car.”

  The Hertz attended pulled up and jumped out of the black jeep. He tossed Logan the keys and we loaded me and my stuff in. After few minutes after we took off, it was Logan that started the conversation about what she had found.

  “So. You asked me how I found it. Okay. I decided to just go out and walk around in the area still unexcavated. Just to get a feel of it. Possibly expand this session out farther. Show some initiative.” She glanced over at me. “Cover new ground.”

  “Yeah, I get it. And?”

  “And I found a large – I don’t know, it must weigh at least three thousand pounds – carved stone panel. Laying face up. From the looks of it, I’m thinking at some point it had to have been attached to a pretty large pyramid.”

  “Like the one where you’re excavating?”

  “Yeah. Maybe that one. Maybe one not yet discovered. I did go back and look to see if there was an area on the pyramid at my dig where it could have been attached at one point.”

  Logan was maneuvering through the streets like she had lived there for years. I pulled at my clothes trying to get them unattached from my damp skin.

  “Did you find one?” I asked her.

  “Not definitively.”

  I frowned and looked over at her. “What does that mean?”

  “You know, I could see a lot of places where something could have fallen off. And I did find one spot . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  We pulled up to the hotel and Logan turned into the underground parking garage.

  “Come on, Mommy. I got a room for you already. I’ll grab your suitcase and satchel.”

  I looked at my daughter as she got out of the car and threw her canvas knapsack over her head, stuck her arm through and let it rest on her hip. All grown up on a dig of her own. She looked just like an archaeologist. Her long black hair pulled back in a ponytail pushed out the back of a baseball cap that had “DIG” written across the top, khaki-colored cargo shorts, and a white cotton shirt.

  “So,” she said as we headed toward the elevator to take us up into the hotel. “The slab could have come from this one part and then slid – on its own, or was pushed down one set of the steps. There were some areas on the steps that looked as if the stone had been dragged over it.”

  “So, what’s the problem with that being where the slab fell from the pyramid?”

  “Because of what else I found.”

  “So, wait.” I interrupted her. “This stone slab was just laying out in the open? How come it hadn’t ever been found before?”

  “No. It wasn’t laying out in the open.” She let her eyes roll back and let out a sigh.

  Dumb question I guess.

  “I stumbled on the edge of it. And then I uncovered it. Well, I uncovered part of it.” She paused and looked at me.

  “Go ahead.”

  “That’s how I found it.” She shot a couple of glances over at me out of the side of her eye, but said nothing more. She pushed the button for the hotel elevator.

  I didn’t say anything either.

  “So. That’s what you asked. Right?”

  I guessed I was supposed to say something “Uhm . . . So . . . What? It had inscribed on it “Follow the Corn?”

  “Yeah, it did.”

  We got on the elevator and off on the main lobby before I spoke again. “Logan. I don’t get it. What’s the big deal?”

  “What’s not to get?”

  “It was written in Mayan hieroglyphics?”

  “No. I mean, yes. That’s the problem, Mommy. I mean it had hieroglyphic text carved in it, more than anything uncovered at the site in years. It was quite a find. But I couldn’t let anyone know about it.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Because on one of the edges was carved . . .” She looked down at the floor and then back up at me. “There was an inscription, ‘Follow the Corn. L.S. II 1968 AD.’ In English.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  San Diego, California

  The hotel banquet room’s occupants were rambunctious – laughter and music vibrated from the poster and banner covered walls. The celebration was no less exuberant than if the contest hadn’t had such an easy victory. The smell of liquor permeated the room decked out in red, white and blue streamers. Stars hung from the ceiling and waiters clad in black and white passed around trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne. Senator Bruce Cook, sitting in his hotel suite, knew he had won his primary handily. And the democrat that was set to oppose him in the general had been diagnosed with cancer and had dropped out of the race. It was a sign that the path to the larger victories that he wanted to claim would come.

  Tucked away in a corner suite of the 11th floor of the hotel where he’d ceremoniously watched the election results, the Senator mentally checked this victory off of his To Do List. He was taking care of last minute matters before he made his way down to greet his supporters and the media. He took one last look at his acceptance speech and tossed it on the table, He had it memorized. He was ready. Ready for the big league and tonight there would be something more added to his usual “Back to Capitol Hill” speech.

  .

  The Senator walked over to the wet bar and poured himself a scotch on the rocks. “Were you able to find Simon Melas?” he asked his assistant campaign manager.

  “No. I haven’t been able to get in touch with him.”

  The Senator ran his hand over his face. “We’ve got to do something about this.”

  The assistant campaign manager sat slumped in an arm chair. Tired from the day’s activities, he was trying to grab a last minute recharge before heading to the banquet room. He yanked at his tie and opened his shirt collar as he spoke. “I agree. But we need to do the right thing.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” The Senator gave his assistant a hard stare.

  “You know exactly what I mean.”

  “Look. Don’t beat around the bush with me. You got something to say, spit it out.”

  “You know what I’m aiming at.” The assistant campaign manager returned the stare. “I can’t understand why you’d grab her like that. What in the world were you thinking?”

  He shook the highball glass, the ice cubes clanked against the sides of the glass. “What I was thinking is I need the information she has. I need it to move forward with my plans. And she was okay with it.” He raised his glass up to his mouth and looked over the rim. “Once she found out it was me.”

  “I thought you had someone else on that. The scientist over at NASA.”

  “There is a reason ‘assistant’ is the first word in your title.” The senator pointed at the man in the chair with his glass. “You don’t get to know everything. You just get to do what I tell you to do. And what I told you to do was to find Simon for me. You failed to do it.”

  “And you need me to find him because you don’t know what happened to him? Right?” He leaned his head on the back of the chair. “Didn’t you give him money?”

  “I gave him lots of money. Don’t rub it in. That won’t get you points with me. I don’t need a conscience.” The Senator took a big swig out of his glass, clanged it down on the bar top, uncapped the scotch bottle and poured another glass. “Yes. I gave him money. To set up a dig site. We got permits. Worked it out with the local government. Everything on the up and up. He said that’s what we needed to do to get her to cooperate.”

  “Did he do that?”

  “Well isn’t it obvious?” The Senator came and sat in the couch opposite his campaign assistant’s chair. “I just saw Dr. Justin Dickerson in a conference room in Cleveland, Ohio. A far cry from Central America.”

  “You should have had the man checked out before you shoveled out campaign money to him.”

  “Look. I just need to get out in front of this. I have to be in control of it when I m
ake my bid.”

  The campaign assistant shook his head. He leaned forward in his seat and looked the Senator directly in the eye. “This is a bad move. You do not want what this Dickerson woman has to offer on your platform when you run for higher office.”

  The Senator threw his head back and chuckled. “Oh yes I do.”

  “Why is that? This is pseudoscience, UFO bull crap. You can’t believe that aliens came here. You don’t, do you? They didn’t build Stonehenge you know? Or the pyramids. The public will think you are living outside the realm of reality if this is what you’re going to run on.”

  “No way. This is how I’m going to win. I’ve got proof of what she said. I know it’s true.”

  “What kind of proof.”

  “NASA. Because of the information we’re getting from NASA. From their missions I know what she said is true.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In my capacity as the Chair of the Science and Space Subcommittee, the head scientist for the NASA Mars’ team came to me. He told me about some information he had on Mars. His fear, based on scientific evidence, that not only was there a probability of Mars sustaining life, he was sure that it was more like a probability – no, a certainty that there had been life there. Just like Dr. Dickerson wrote in her book. And on top of that, she’s got proof.”

  “What kind of proof.”

  “She wouldn’t share it completely with me when I spoke to her.” He eyed his assistant campaign manager. “And yes, probably was a bad idea to snatch her off the street – although my men did ask her nicely to go with them. But I’ve got to get this ball rolling.”

  “So, I’m confused. NASA is in agreement that there are men from Mars?”

  “Can you imagine how people would react?” The Senator took a gulp of scotch and swallowed hard. “The fear that would come about from the knowledge of a otherworldly threat. And they would look to their leaders – to me – for answers.”

  “Are you saying there was life there?”

  I’m not saying anything. Yet.”

  “Is this some Area 51 bull? Because you know, once you’re elected, if you win-”

  “Oh. I’m going to win.”

  “Yeah, well when that happens no one is going to hand you the secret file on Area 51 showing that there really were aliens that landed in Roswell. That just doesn’t exist.”

  “I want to be remembered as the one who first broke the news with actual proof that there is life on other planets. I want to have that legacy. And she has proof. I don’t know what it is. Yet.”

  “You believe her?”

  “Yes. I do.” Senator Cook looked at the disbelief on his assistant campaign manager’s face. “I believe NASA,” he spoke firmly. “And you should too. Anyone that works for me would have to believe in this.” He stood up. “I actually thought you were already on board with this.”

  “I don’t know that I can be. I’ve been turning this over in my mind.”

  Cook eyed him.

  “I just don’t know, Bruce. I was more on board before you took up criminal activities.”

  “Ah. Does that scare you?”

  “I’m good with a bribe here or there. Or finagling with finance contributions. Like dishing out money to that absconding Simon Melas.” The assistant smiled. “But not those offenses of the criminal kind. Like kidnapping.”

  “Excuse me, Senator Cook.” Elaina, his chief staff assistant stuck her head in the room. “I thought you were by yourself.”

  “He was just leaving.” Senator Cook nodded at his assistant campaign manager. “Weren’t you?”

  “Uhm. I guess I was.” He looked from the Senator to Elaina back over to Senator Cook. He stood up to leave. “Think about what you doing.” He buttoned the top button on his shirt and tightened the knot in his tie. “And I’ll give another go at finding Mr. Melas.”

  “Close the door after you,” Bruce said, not bothering to respond to what his campaign assistant had to say. He walked to the window, his back to the two in the room, stared out of it and said nothing more until he heard the door close.

  “I don’t think we’ll be working with him any longer,” Senator Cook said, he turned and smiled at his staff assistant. “I don’t think he’s on board with all the things we want to do.”

  And Justin Dickerson’s claim wasn’t all he was planning on springing on his unsuspecting constituents. As the Chair of the Bilderberg Group he had his hand on the pulse of what the world was engaged in and what the best in their fields thought about it. Perhaps ancient aliens hadn’t come to Earth and built the pyramids but that didn’t mean that that they didn’t exist and hadn’t been here. His fellow Republicans hadn’t wrapped their heads around climate change, but he was going to skip that argument for something much more pressing.

  “Did you tell him about the second part of your platform?” Elaina asked as if she could read his mind.

  “No. I had planned on it, but we couldn’t get past what I want to do about Mars.” He smiled at her. “You have a breath mint for me?”

  “Sure do.” She handed it to him and he popped it in his mouth.

  “He ran his hand down the front of his suit and then over his hair. “How do I look?”

  “Like the next president of the United States.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Caracol, Belize

  He had followed and watched as Logan climbed into her car that morning and hit the highway. He looked down as his gas gauge. He didn’t have enough to follow her out of town, especially not initially knowing where she was going or how far she would be traveling. But it hadn’t mattered. She could do what she wanted, as long as at some point she got her mother down to Belize.

  He pulled out his satellite phone. An exact replica of the one he got for her. The cornucopia of equipment he had delivered to the site – benefit of the gracious anonymous benefactor. He smiled to himself. What a great cover. Logan none the wiser, although she probably wouldn’t remember him, she’d been a child the last time he saw her.

  The equipment was the best that money – the government’s money – could buy. And it had more uses than Logan could have ever dreamed of, including the technology to keep up with her comings and goings. He pulled up the tracker app, and hooked up to Logan’s phone. The little red circle marker popped in and started beeping.

  “There you are,” he whispered at the phone.

  He went back to his hotel, laid the phone down where he could keep an eye on Logan and contacted the liaison he used to communicate with Logan.

  “How’s everything going at the site, Jairo?” Simon spoke from his hotel room phone.

  “Everything is going well. Nothing significant found, but there is so much more left there to still be found,” the liaison replied.

  “No doubt. No doubt,” Simon answered.

  Not that he was in it to find something, but that would be a good thing if she did. He could use it to get back in with the Senator. The Assistant Director had paid him a visit, saying that someone in the United States was trying to find him. When Simon asked had he told them his exact location he told him, “If your government doesn’t know what you’re doing, neither does my government. We only need them when we need to have someone extradited. They don’t tell us what to do.”

  While he did appreciate that response, he didn’t want to be found just yet. He did need to get back in the good graces Senator Bruce Cook, but he’d figure that out later, after he got Justin.

  Simon knew that his liaison knew that he kept an eye on the excavation site. He glanced over at the beeping dot on his satellite phone. He just didn’t know how close of an eye. “So how is Dr. Dickerson this morning?”

  “She’s doing good. Working long hours, you know.”

  “Yes. I know. Got a call this morning,” he lied, “saying she wasn’t there, yet. No problems down there is it?”

  “Not sure. I’m on my way out there in a few minutes. My usual drop by. I’ll report back to you if you wa
nt.”

  “No. No need.” He checked the GPS. Logan was headed toward Belize City. Simon thought his heart might stop.

  Could she be going to the airport?

  He ended his call and sat on the chair, holding the phone firmly in his hand. He watched the tracker as it moved along the map on the screen.

  The dot indicated that she’d reached Belize City. Was she stopping? Simon held his breath. If she drove past the city limits, she wasn’t going to the airport.

  C’mon Logan. Didn’t you call your mother to come help you? What are you doing?

  So it might have been a long shot. Putting the young, inexperienced Logan Dickerson in charge in the hope she’d call her mother. But he didn’t know what else to do. The government wanted her information. And he needed the government to forgive him of his past indiscretions. And he could get his revenge. It seemed like a win win . . .

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Giza Plateau, Egypt

  Aaron took the ancient stool he’d found under the Sphinx and threw it against the wall. As it splintered he slammed a small statute on the floor and ground parts of it with his foot. Two of the pitifully few items that he’d found in the tunnel. The tunnel that he hoped was the passage to the Hall of Records.

  Coursing through his veins was the same abundance of pure adrenaline he had felt the first days of the dig, but this shot of epinephrine was due to anger.

  After receiving his permits, even the first few weeks of grunt work – readying the area for the twenty-something scientists he’d chosen, waiting for equipment – had given him exhilaration like nothing he had ever known.

  The grounds had been a bustle of activity inside and out. The ropes around the Sphinx that had kept visitors from getting too close, were now fixed with people more interested in the dig than the monument itself. Fewer and fewer people, it had seemed to Aaron, were interested in taking that dusty five-minute walk to the Pyramids and were more interested in possibly seeing the discovery to be heralded from underneath the paws of the monolith. And that suited him fine. He enjoyed it. And it would be even better when he rose from the depths of the Sphinx, his arms filled with the contents of the library he’d found.