The Founders

by Richard Turner

  “Yes. She’s a friend of mine and won’t say a word.”

  Gabrielle made a quick call. “Sharon is busy right now, but she said we could swing by her office later in the day.”

  “Okay then, what time should we come back to pick you up?” asked Maclean.

  “I think three o’clock should work.” Gabrielle eyed the map. “I don’t suppose you’d be open to leaving me the map until you return?”

  “Sorry,” said Hayes, placing the map back in the case. “However, I can leave you with this.” Hayes handed Gabrielle a memory stick. “It has pictures of the map and the other scrolls on it. I’ll trust you not to make any copies, and to return it to me when we come back later today.”

  Gabrielle grinned widely as she accepted the stick. “You have my word that I won’t make any copies.”

  Maclean locked away the map and picked up the case, and the two men made their farewells. At their car, he placed the briefcase back in the trunk and looked around. “Where to now, Professor?”

  “Have you ever been to the Smithsonian?” said Hayes.

  “No. But it sounds like a good way to while away a few hours.”

  As their car pulled away, a dark blue van farther down the street started up and began to follow them at a discreet distance. A man in blue coveralls sitting in the passenger seat picked up his phone and dialed a number.

  “Yes?” said a metallic-sounding voice.

  “Sir, I have positive ID on two Gauntlet personnel,” said the man.

  “What are they doing?”

  “I’m not sure. They just left an apartment belonging to Doctor Gabrielle Collins and are currently driving south on Canal Road.”

  “Do you have any information on Doctor Collins?”

  “Yes, sir. She works for the Smithsonian and is an expert on ancient cartography.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Follow them, but do not attempt to engage them without my express authority.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The line went dead. The man put his phone away and turned in his seat to look at the four rough-looking men sitting in the van behind him. “Our orders are to follow but not to engage at this time. Questions?”

  None of his men said a word. All ex-Special Forces operatives, these people knew their jobs and the rewards that came from being members of the Aurora Group.

  12

  Charlotte, Montana

  The mouthwatering aroma of pancakes and bacon greeted Grant as he slowly opened his tired eyes. He sat up in his chair and brought his arms up over his head. Grant leaned his head forward causing it to pop like a firecracker.

  “Hey, sleepyhead, welcome back to the land of the living,” said Elena as she handed him a cup of coffee.

  “How long was I out?” asked Grant.

  “Just over three hours. After what happened last night, I was amazed to find you snoozing in that chair.”

  Grant stood. “Losing an hour of your life is not something I’d recommend to anyone, but the one thing the Army taught me to do well is to sleep when you can. You never know when you might get another chance to rest.”

  “Convinced yet that we’re dealing with a close encounter of the third kind?”

  “Until I see one of these little gray aliens waving to me while holding up a sign that says I’m an alien, I’m still going to remain skeptical.”

  “But what about the hour we lost last night? Surely that wasn’t just a coincidence?”

  “I might have been sleepier than I realized and nodded off.”

  Elena raised her right eyebrow. “Captain, do you honestly expect me to believe that?”

  “Lunch is ready,” called Rebeca from the kitchen, ending the discussion.

  Susan ran up from the basement and shot past Grant. He smiled at her energy. “Someone’s hungry.”

  “Pancakes are her favorite,” explained Rebeca.

  They all sat down for lunch and ate a hearty meal. There was no rehash over the events of the previous night. Instead, they talked about Susan’s love of horses and her wish that Santa Claus would bring her one of her own for Christmas. Afterward, Grant was about to help clean up, when he felt Elena nudge his foot under the table.

  “David, why don’t you and Susan take a walk around the farm,” said Elena. “I’m sure the fresh air will do both of you some good.”

  Susan’s eyes lit up. “Can we, Grandma?”

  “I don’t see why not,” said Rebeca. “Just make sure you bundle up. There’s a cold wind out there this afternoon.”

  “I’ll make sure she dresses for the weather,” said Grant as he got up from the table.

  Elena waited until Grant and Susan were out the door before setting the picture drawn last night on the table. She looked at Rebeca. “Has Susan ever included numbers on any of her other drawings?”

  Rebeca shook her head. “No. Never. This is the first time she’s ever done that.”

  “Do these numbers mean anything to you?”

  “No. They could mean anything.”

  “Or nothing. Time will tell. What about this mountain? Does it look familiar to you at all?”

  Rebeca looked at the drawing for a few seconds before shaking her head. “First time she’s drawn anything other than her gray visitor.”

  Elena frowned slightly as she looked at the older woman. “Please don’t think this an odd question, but do you know your blood type?”

  Rebeca sat back in her chair. “I don’t understand. How will that help put an end to what is going on around here?”

  “Please, indulge me.”

  “If I must, it’s A-negative.”

  “Was your husband a Native American, like yourself?”

  Rebeca nodded.

  “He must have had A-negative blood like yourself, or you could have potentially miscarried your child.”

  “I don’t see where this is going. What is your fixation with blood type?”

  Elena leaned forward. “A-negative blood is rare and is even scarcer among Native Americans.”

  “So?”

  “It has been reported that the majority of people who have experienced contact with aliens have A-negative blood. It is also documented that these people have higher than average intellect, have demonstrable psychic abilities, and have a feeling that they are an outsider.”

  “Susan’s just a child. It’s too early to tell if she has any of these traits.”

  “That is true. Did you daughter exhibit any these abilities?”

  “Her grades were never good in school, but she often used to say that she felt like she didn’t belong in our family. I thought she was just being rebellious. I don’t understand. Why do these visitors seem preoccupied with people who have A-negative blood?”

  “Some alien theorists believe your DNA was changed in the distant past, and that you are the creation of otherworldly visitors.”

  Rebeca canted her head. “This all sounds so fantastic. Why would they do that?”

  “Unfortunately, that riddle has yet to be answered.”

  The front door flew open. Grant and Susan ran inside, laughing.

  Elena looked over. “What’s so funny?”

  Grant scratched the top of his head, looking perplexed. “I don’t know. I think Susan told me a really bad joke, and we both started laughing.”

  “Well, whatever it was,” said Rebeca. “It’s nice to hear her laughing.”

  Grant helped Susan take off her jacket. He was about to remove his when he looked at Rebeca. “Say, is there a shop in town where I might be able to buy some flares?”

  “Flares?

  “Yep, and the more powerful, the better.”

  13

  Washington, D.C.

  Maclean parked his car in the visitor parking at George Washington University’s College of Arts and Sciences. He got out and looked around at the tall, red-bricked buildings. “Which one is it?”

  “Follow me,” said Gabrielle. “Sharon works in the Department of
Archeology.”

  They walked across the parking lot, entered a three-story building, and made their way to the second floor. Gabrielle stopped at a door with a nameplate that read: Doctor Sharon White. She gave a short knock, then opened the door, and ushered everyone inside.

  A small woman with long, blond hair and black-rimmed glasses stood up from her desk and smiled. “Afternoon, Gabrielle. Are these the people you were telling me about?”

  “Yes, they are.” Gabrielle made the introductions and then moved aside so Maclean could set his briefcase on the desk.

  Sharon rubbed her hands together. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve got locked away.”

  “Feast your eyes on this,” Maclean said, handing her the plastic encased map. This time the world outside of the Mediterranean Sea was hidden under a black piece of paper.

  “Oh my,” she said with a gasp, her eyes widening. “How old is it?”

  “I had it radiocarbon dated, and it’s from the third century BCE,” said Hayes.

  “Amazing.” Sharon took a seat. “I take it you’d like me to verify the ink’s chemical composition compared to other scrolls we have examined from that time period?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “You do realize that I’ll need to remove a tiny portion of the papyrus to get at the ink?”

  Hayes nodded. “That’s quite acceptable.”

  After cutting off a minuscule piece of the map with some writing on it, Sharon said, “So, who’s paying for the procedure?”

  “Uncle Sam is,” said Maclean. “Professor Hayes will furnish you with an address to send the bill.”

  “Yes, of course,” Hayes said, handing Sharon a business card.

  “How long will the procedure take?” asked Maclean, putting the map away for safekeeping.

  “No more than a couple of hours,” replied Sharon. “Come back at six, and I’ll be able to give you a chemical breakdown of the ink and let you know if it’s authentic or not.”

  “Sounds good. Are there any decent coffee shops nearby?”

  At precisely six that evening, Maclean, Hayes, and Collins returned to Sharon White’s office. Maclean was carrying a cup of Americano. “Here you go, Doc,” he said, setting the coffee down on her table.

  She lifted the coffee cup to her nose and inhaled. “It smells delicious. Thanks.”

  Maclean grabbed a chair and sat. “It’s the least we can do for you.”

  “So, what did you find out?” asked Gabrielle, her voice high-pitched with anticipation.

  Sharon handed over a piece of paper. “It’s all in there.”

  Gabrielle picked it up and skimmed it over. She shook her head and handed off the report to Hayes. “This can’t be right.”

  “I thought so, too, so I double-checked my work, and got precisely the same result.”

  “Hey, don’t keep me in the dark,” said Maclean. “What did you discover?”

  “The ink is from the right period; the problem is that it’s not an ink that was used by ancient Egyptians.”

  “So, where did the ink come from?”

  “South America. Bolivia to be precise.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Centuries ago, ink was made by burning organic material, such as wood, and pulverizing the ashes before mixing them with water. A binding agent was then added. The ancient Egyptians normally used the gum from the Acacia tree family. The binding agent used on this map is from a palm tree. A Parajubaea torallyi, to be precise, which grows wild in the mountains and ravines of central Bolivia.”

  Maclean scratched his head. “So, you’re telling us that a centuries-old map written in ancient Greek on Egyptian papyrus came from South America?”

  “No, I never said that,” Sharon said, waving a finger. “What I said was the ink was made with a binding agent found in Bolivia. How it got to Egypt is a mystery.”

  Maclean looked at Hayes. “Come on, I know it flies in the face of existing history, but the evidence for pre-Colombian contact is there on that map.”

  Hayes’ face blanched. “I need to take a seat.”

  “Me too,” said Gabrielle.

  “What’s going on?” Sharon’s expression turned puzzled. “We have a mystery on our hands; it’s not the end of the world.”

  “We should really show her the rest of the map,” said Gabrielle to Hayes.

  Hayes hesitated for a moment before nodding.

  Maclean opened the case, removed the map, pulled off the sheet covering Antarctica, and handed it to Sharon.

  “This can’t be true!” blurted Sharon the second she saw Antarctica well to the north of its current position.

  “If both the ink and the papyrus date from the third century BCE, then it may have to be viewed as authentic,” said Hayes.

  “But the world didn’t look like that five centuries ago.”

  “Correct. This map is based on earlier maps, credited to these three people,” explained Hayes, showing Sharon the names on the margin of the map.

  “Well, whatever you’ve got there, it’s either the find or the hoax of the century.”

  Gabrielle held her hands up. “Whoa. I’m as excited about this as you all are, but let’s keep this in perspective, people. Until this map can be corroborated by other sources, it still has to be taken with a large amount of skepticism.”

  “Okay, if we discount Antarctica, there’s still the issue of the coastlines of North and South America on the map,” pointed out Maclean. “The first European visitors didn’t arrive until the Vikings stepped foot on the shores of Newfoundland, and that would be some thirteen centuries after this map was made.”

  “I can’t dispute what you’re saying, but we need something concrete to back up this discovery, or our fellow scholars will rightly dismiss it as a hoax and our academic careers will be ruined,” said Gabrielle. “If only you had been able to retrieve some more scrolls from the cave before it collapsed.”

  Sharon leaned forward. “What cave?”

  After getting her assurance that she would keep what was about to be discussed to herself, Hayes and Maclean told her about what happened in Libya, leaving out any references to the UFO or the men who had attacked them.

  “My head’s spinning,” said Sharon. “This is almost unbelievable.”

  Maclean grinned. “Trust me; it’s true all right.”

  “So, Professor Hayes, what are you planning to do next?” asked Sharon.

  “I’m not sure,” he replied. “I suspect we’ll head home and decide what to do from there.”

  “Whatever you do, please keep me in the loop,” said Gabrielle.

  “Me too,” added Sharon.

  “I’m sure something can be arranged,” said Hayes.

  Maclean glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late, and I’m sure you two ladies have better things to do.” He looked at Gabrielle. “Let’s make sure you get home safely.”

  She smiled and nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  Outside, they all climbed into Maclean’s car, failing to notice the dark blue van parked several vehicles behind them. They drove out of the university and headed north toward Washington Circle, in the direction of Gabrielle’s apartment. As he slowed down just before the roundabout, Maclean checked his side mirror and noticed a blue van merge into his lane two cars back from him. At first, he thought nothing of it until he merged with the traffic on the roundabout and saw the van weave its way past a bus so it could remain two cars behind him. The hair on the back of Maclean’s neck stood up.

  “Uh, folks, I think we’ve got company,” said Maclean.

  “What do mean?” asked Gabrielle.

  “Two cars back, there’s a blue Ford van. I think it’s been following us since the university.”

  Hayes turned in his seat and looked back. “Are you sure it’s following us? It just could be a coincidence.”

  “True,” said Maclean. “There’s one way to make sure. I’m going to make a complete loop of this roundabou
t, and if he’s still back there when we reach Pennsylvania Avenue, we’re being tailed.”

  As he completed his circle, Maclean bit his lip. The van was still behind them. If Grant had been with them, he might have suggested pulling over and trying to see who it was tailing them. However, with only himself armed and Gabrielle unable to run should things turn bad, he quickly came up with another plan.

  “Professor Hayes, I’m going to go around again. See if you can get their license plate number.”

  Hayes fumbled for a pen and his notepad.

  “I got it,” Gabrielle said, sounding triumphant. “It’s a Maryland plate, 8UL B99.”

  Hayes jotted down the information. “Now what?”

  Maclean grinned. “Gabrielle, call 9-1-1, and tell them that you’ve spotted what you believe to be a drunk driver on Washington Circle. Make sure you tell whoever you’re speaking with that the vehicle is swerving in and out of its lane, and be sure to give the dispatcher the license plate number and a good description of the van.”

  Gabrielle reached for her phone. “With pleasure.”

  Maclean turned the steering wheel in his hands. “I’m going to lead our friends up Pennsylvania Avenue,” said Maclean. “That should give the police plenty of time to react and catch up with the van.”

  Less than two minutes later, the sound of a wailing siren heralded the arrival of a police cruiser. Maclean watched in his rearview mirror as the police car pulled over the van.

  “How did you know that would work?” asked Gabrielle.

  “I didn’t,” replied Maclean. “But no one likes a drunk on the road, so I thought this might help waylay our nosy friends for a few minutes.”

  “Yeah, but once the police realize that the men in the van aren’t drunk, then what?” said Hayes.

  “We’ll be long gone by then.” Maclean glanced over at Gabrielle. “Is there any reason why you couldn’t take a few days’ holiday?”

  She shook her head. “Where do you suggest I go?”

  “If you’re open to the idea, why don’t you come with the doc and me back to North Carolina, where you can continue to work on the map? Trust me, where we’re going, no one will be able to bother you.”