The Atlantis Prophecy a-2

by Thomas Greanias

  But the only thing new he noticed in the portrait was the column-or rather, two columns on either side of the panoramic view of the Potomac. Mount Vernon, of course, had no columns like that.

  He remembered the giant Masonic board depicting King Solomon's Temple in the secret chamber beneath the Jefferson Building. It, too, had similar columns. But something about those pillars was different from Savage's. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he was sure of it.

  Then it hit him: The columns at the entrance of King Solomon's Temple had two orbs on top of them.

  Two globes.

  The Savage portrait hinted at it all along. That's why there were two suns on the celestial map.

  There's a second globe!

  But, of course, he realized. They always came in pairs.

  Old Herc must have known there were two. Why didn't he tell me?

  He looked again at the Savage portrait, realizing that if there were two suns representing two globes, there were probably two landmarks designating their location. If Martha Washington's fan pinpointed the cornerstone of the U.S. Capitol in the east then perhaps…yes, young Eustice-a virgin, no less, at least in symbol-was holding the L'Enfant map at the western horizon. Her fingers pinched the horizon just behind the starburst in the guard of Washington's sword-surely a symbol of the sun.

  That would place the location of the landmark somewhere in…Georgetown.

  Only there was no celestial landmark in Georgetown, at least none that Conrad knew of, and he knew them all, or so he thought.

  Conrad sat quietly, running through any correlation he could think of when he heard a knock at the door.

  He rose to his feet and walked over to the door. He looked out the peephole to see Brooke standing in the hallway.

  His heart stopped.

  "I know you're in there, Conrad," she said. "I saw you in the lobby. Please let me in. Everybody's been looking for you, and I've been worried sick."

  Conrad, his mind racing ahead to Serena's impending arrival and the resulting fireworks, realized it was better to have Brooke inside the room than outside, so he opened the door.

  Brooke came in wearing an expensive but modest dress that still managed to show off her amazing figure. Her eyes swept the room, resting on the silver cornerstone plate on the dresser. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.

  "Thank God you're OK, Conrad. Where the hell have you been? What's going on? The police have been asking questions, the FBI, and now your face is plastered all over the news. My news director called me and asked me if I had seen you and said you were about to join America's Most Wanted."

  "You'd never believe me."

  "Try me."

  "The feds think I attacked the U.S. Capitol and Library of Congress and killed some people."

  Her eyes widened. "And did you?"

  "Well, yes. But I didn't kill the people they say I did."

  "You just killed different people?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh, my God, Conrad. You better tell me everything."

  34

  GODDAMN YOU, Yeats.

  Minutes after refusing treatment at the hospital, Max Seavers was back at the Library of Congress. He ordered it sealed in the name of national security. Kicking over what was left in the secret chamber Yeats had discovered, he nursed his bandaged stump of a finger and examined the split-open celestial globe in the corner.

  The globe was an incredible work in its own right, Seavers thought, and looked like it had been fashioned from a single block of fiery bronze or copper.

  But the globe was empty.

  Yeats had gotten away with whatever was inside.

  Until now Seavers had convinced himself that the Alignment's quest for the celestial globe was a distraction from its mission. But now that Conrad Yeats had cut off his finger and gashed his head, he was furious. The smooth, unruffled veneer he had cultivated since his days at Stanford had been punctured forever. Never again could he do a handshake deal with somebody without the knowledge that he was missing something, even if it was only the tip of a finger. For that he would always hate Yeats.

  Worse, Seavers knew he would have to report his failure to Osiris, something he had never had to do before.

  Seavers stared at the globe in morbid fascination for a full minute before he heard footsteps and turned. It was the wide-eyed black cop, Sergeant Wanda Randolph, nipping at him like some federal terrier with two of her R.A.T.S. The Marines shouldn't have let her in.

  "Sir, we've got a problem."

  Once again, he'd have to set her back on her heels. "You lost the suspect again, Sergeant?"

  "The security tapes from the processing room where you were shot, sir. They're gone. Without them we can't verify your story."

  "Why don't you stop trying to cover your ass and start looking for Yeats, Sergeant. While you're at it, maybe you could find my finger, too."

  He saw the fury in her eyes, which he actually thought made her more attractive.

  "Yes, sir," she said.

  The sergeant turned and vanished into the tunnel.

  Seavers waited until she was gone before he turned his gaze to the Masonic mural depicting King Solomon's Temple on the opposite side of the chamber. The two pillars in front with the orbs atop caught his eye. Like a gateway.

  He walked over and ordered two of his Marines from Detachment One over. They lifted the mural away to reveal a small alcove with a Mason's compass symbol to the side. He pushed it and the wall slid open.

  So this was how that son of a bitch Yeats got away.

  Whatever cool he still possessed disappeared as he ran through the damp tunnel like a madman, even though he knew the chance of catching up to Yeats was nil. A minute later Seavers emerged through a metal door into an alcove in the corner of the ghostly, empty Main Reading Room.

  He stopped and looked around. And it suddenly hit him that the silver plate and whatever else Yeats may have taken could still be in the Library, buried somewhere among the thousands of stacks with millions of books. Even if he found Yeats, it could take days or weeks to find whatever the Alignment wanted, if ever.

  He looked up at the statues of the world's great teachers ringing the dome looking down at him. He could almost hear their jeers at his failure.

  Suddenly all the anger, the frustration and fury building inside him burst forth. In that moment he knew he would do whatever it took to get back whatever Yeats stole from him-starting with his own dignity.

  You goddamn bastard, Yeats. I'm going to slice you alive and make you eat your own brain.

  He listened to the deafening silence around him, feeling only his raging pulse. And vibrating cell phone.

  He had a text message from Brooke:

  YEATS AT THE HILTON.

  ROOM 1013.

  Seavers smiled. He wouldn't be making that call to Osiris after all.

  35

  "MY FATHER always said your father was one sick bastard," said Brooke, who sat on the bed after Conrad finished the pastrami sandwich that room service finally delivered and recounted the events since his father's funeral. Everything except Serena, which admittedly was leaving out a lot. "You can't actually believe you're a sleeper agent sent by George Washington into the future to save America? This isn't about the future of the republic, Conrad. This is about your father continuing to mess with your mind from the grave."

  Conrad paced back and forth, aware of Brooke looking at him like a crazy person and all the while expecting a knock on the door from Serena.

  "Brooke, this is what I know: Washington entrusted a secret to Robert Yates, a secret passed down through the generations to my foster father, who then spent the better part of my childhood training me to unlock it. And I also know that the L'Enfant map, the celestial globe, and the people trying to kill me are for real."

  "Who is trying to kill you, Conrad?"

  "I told you, the Alignment."

  She sighed. "A mystical group of warriors who use the stars to chart the rise of
their master civilization?"

  "Yeah, and Max Seavers is one of them."

  She blinked. "The head of DARPA?"

  "Yep. This belongs to him." Conrad showed her the finger of Max Seavers.

  "Oh, my God!" She stared at it in horror and looked like she was about to vomit. "What have you done?"

  "Relax, he's alive." Conrad pocketed the finger in his bathrobe. "Which is more than I can say about the guard he shot in the head."

  Brooke sat still on the bed, her eyes darting back and forth as if she was processing everything he was telling her. He realized just how crazy it sounded. But at some point he was going to have to deal with the feds, and Brooke through her father Senator Scarborough was his best shot for exoneration. Unless, of course, he wanted to spend the rest of his days hiding out in a monastery and refurbishing toner cartridges.

  "Show me this document you found inside this globe."

  "I hid it somewhere."

  She narrowed her eyes. "You don't have it with you?"

  "No, but it had a kind of star map on one side and George Washington's signature at the bottom of the other side."

  "And this is the reason you walked out on me and got mixed up in this crazy conspiracy? Some map and a signature?"

  "Maybe," he said. "I think the star map was originally drawn in invisible ink. But it's what's on the other side that got me into trouble."

  "But you said there's nothing on the other side, just a signature."

  "I think the rest of that side was written in dissolvable ink. Washington sometimes signed iffy contracts in an ink that would dissolve after a while, effectively making them disappear."

  "And you found this invisible-visible parchment in a golden celestial globe?"

  "It looked more like copper, really, but yes. And I think the star map leads to the other globe."

  Her eyes widened. "There's another globe?"

  "Yeah, but I don't know where just yet. I can't believe I was so stupid. There are always two-a celestial globe and a terrestrial globe. Even the old Mason knew it, I could see it in his eyes, but he said nothing."

  He was aware of her looking at him in shock and awe. Shock at his lunacy and awe that he apparently thought it was true.

  "Do you hear yourself, Conrad? How am I or my father or anybody else supposed to believe you? Show me something other than chopped-off fingers to back up your story, Conrad!"

  "How about this?"

  He showed her the silver cornerstone plate. The markings captured her attention immediately. He recalled her family had some Masonic background.

  "This is the cornerstone plate, Conrad. You actually found the cornerstone of the U.S. Capitol."

  "I told you I did."

  She looked up at him, hope in her eyes. "No, you don't understand. This is a legitimate story. This is something you unveil on July 4, a piece of Americana. I'll get you to tell your story on Fox. Whatever crazy-ass stuff you add, well, nobody can deny you found this."

  "Or that I was the one responsible for the incidents at the Capitol and Library of Congress."

  "Let me work on this, work with my dad, bring you in somehow."

  "Bring me in? You make me sound like a dog you're afraid is going to come in out of the rain and crap on your carpet."

  "If the paw fits, Conrad. Now get dressed."

  Conrad walked into the closet and removed his bathrobe. He slipped the finger from Max Seavers into his expensive suit pants and put one leg in after the other.

  "Say, Brooke," he called out. "What was his name?"

  "Whose name?" she answered from the bedroom, sounding preoccupied, like she was on the phone.

  "Your dog's name."

  "His name was Rusty," she called back absently as she spoke quietly in the bedroom.

  That's right, he thought, remembering that day in the park. Her dog was named after some early American scientist her father admired-David Rusthouse or something like that.

  Conrad slid his belt through the last loop of his pants, eager to bolt. Any minute Serena would walk in and find him with Brooke, and then he would have still more explaining to do. But the reality was that after what happened at the Library of Congress tonight, nobody was going to believe anything he had to say. Not Serena nor the feds.

  His only hope was to find that second globe. To do that he had to find some kind of landmark in Washington, D.C., that aligned with the setting sun, just like in the starburst on George Washington's sword at the western edge of the L'Enfant map in the Savage portrait.

  The problem was that the land at the western edge of the district was developed as residential housing or preserved like Rock Creek Park. In other words, there were no obvious monuments or landmarks he could think of.

  And then it hit him.

  Ritty. The name of Brooke's dog wasn't Rusty. It was Ritty.

  As in David Rittenhouse, a famous astronomer during the founding of America who worked closely with Ben Franklin and Benjamin Banneker.

  As in Sarah Rittenhouse, the grand dame who two centuries later "saved" Montrose Park in Georgetown from development.

  But what was Sarah Rittenhouse really trying to preserve the parkland for?

  Conrad felt his pulse explode:

  The terrestrial globe!

  The armillary dedicated to Sarah Rittenhouse was in fact the landmark he was looking for-a monument to the terrestrial globe that Washington buried somewhere below!

  How could I have missed it?

  Then he knew the answer: In his mind he had always associated the armillary sphere with Brooke's dog, who was urinating on the memorial's base that day he followed the canine back to Brooke's shapely legs and they reconnected.

  He quickly tucked in his shirt, and then froze.

  How could Brooke forget her own dog's name?

  Suddenly their meeting in the park-their entire "reconnection"-smelled like a setup from the start. She must have known that he liked to jog in the park and simply put herself in his path. The irony was that he must have jogged past that armillary a thousand times and never imagined its secret. And neither, he guessed, did Brooke.

  Brooke had stopped talking in the bedroom.

  From behind Conrad could hear the click of a slider. Slowly he turned and saw her pointing an automatic pistol at him.

  "I'm sorry, Conrad." She shook her head. "That fucking dog."

  36

  CONRAD STARED IN SHOCK at the 9mm Glock in Brooke's manicured hands, his mind trying to make sense of how he could have so thoroughly misinterpreted the nature of their relationship, and how long he had before whomever she called arrived.

  "You've got to understand, Conrad, I had no choice," she said. "But you, you still have a choice: Give up the globe or die."

  She's either with the feds or the Alignment, he thought. If it's the feds, he could live with it. But, God, not the Alignment.

  "Some choice," he said, and coolly walked into the bedroom. Brooke followed him, and he could sense her gun pointed at his back until he sat down in a chair and looked up at her. "So everything we had was a lie?"

  "No, Conrad," she said, her voice shaking with emotion. "Everything but us is a lie."

  "Like you and Max Seavers?" he said, putting it out there.

  "Tell me where you put the star map from the first globe, Conrad, and I'll let you go before he gets here."

  Damn. She's Alignment.

  He said, "What about the second globe?"

  "Max doesn't have to know. But I need something to give him."

  Conrad nodded, trying to figure his way out of this. "Does your father know about any of this?"

  "No. He's a Mason. That's why it was a coup for the Alignment to nab me as a teenager and then use me to get to you, the son of General Yeats."

  "But I'm not his son. Not his real son."

  "No, you're much more special," she said. "I know about Antarctica, Conrad. I know about your blood."

  Conrad looked at her. "What about my blood?"

  "It's the
basis for Max's flu vaccine."

  Conrad started. "And how's that?"

  "Max came to DARPA to genetically engineer the perfect American soldier," she said. "Along the way he discovered certain immunities to disease in the bloodlines of native Americans, specifically the Algonquin Indians. Immunities that had been diluted over the generations. So Max launched a global DNA testing program to connect the lost cousins of the Algonquins in the Americas, Europe, Africa, the Middle East, and Asia. It was called Operation Adam and Eve. By studying the mutations in Y chromosomes and mitochondrial DNA, Max was able to reconstruct their tribal migrations throughout the globe and trace their roots to Antarctica and one common ancestor: You."

  "Me?"

  "You're more American than any of us, Conrad. The last of the Atlanteans."

  "Atlantis?" Conrad had thought he was ready for anything, but not this. This was over the top even for Brooke. "What on earth are you talking about?"

  "You may be of this earth, Conrad, but whatever is in some of your dormant DNA strands isn't. You're one in six billion. Why else do you think your father was so hell-bent on going to Antarctica in the first place? Or didn't Her Holiness, Sister Serghetti, and her friends in Rome tell you?"

  No, she hadn't, Conrad thought, and he hoped to God she was going to beat Seavers to the room so he could personally hash this out with her.

  "So I take it you're not going to help me with the feds?"

  "The Alignment IS the federal government, Conrad. That's what I'm trying to tell you."

  "You cannot seriously expect me to believe that every low-level grunt in the federal government is Alignment."

  "No, but they all work for the Alignment, whether they know it or not."

  "Not me," he said and with a quick move of his right arm grabbed her arm holding the gun, slammed her body against the wall with his own, and then with a hard twist snapped her wrist.

  "Ahh!" she cried, but wouldn't drop the gun. She was almost as tough, physically, as Seavers.

  He gave her a sharp elbow in the stomach, spun out as she doubled over and then hit her on the neck, sending her to the floor.