The Atlantis Ascent

by S. A. Beck

  “Maybe to manipulate this general here,” Mateo said. “This other guy, General Corbin, he’s the real puppet master, just like Jaxon suggested. He’s been leading Meade on and making him do his dirty work while he hides in the shadows. You said maybe this Atlantean army was being made as a private force in order to stage a coup in the United States.”

  “The American people wouldn’t stand for it,” Otto told the Peruvian.

  “They would if they were scared,” Mateo replied.

  “Scared of a UFO invasion? Come on,” Otto replied.

  Mateo shrugged. “Why not? Half the population believes in them already. There are even UFO cults that try to contact aliens. There are some in my country, and I’ve heard there are some in the United States too.”

  “It just seems a bit too far-fetched to make people accept a coup,” Otto said.

  “General Corbin is probably working slowly, adding more and more UFO reports to the news and getting people riled up,” Grunt said.

  Otto scratched his head. “Come to think of it, there have been more UFOs in the news lately. Some pretty cool sightings. Some looked pretty real.”

  “Or well faked,” Mateo said.

  Jaxon shook her head. “The real question is, what is Corbin going to do next?”

  No one had an answer to that.

  And so the meeting broke up with them having more questions than answers.

  The day dragged on. They had decided not to travel during the daytime because the dust plumes kicked up even by a few vehicles were visible for miles around. There was nothing to do and not enough water to wash. A gritty wind picked up that made Jaxon’s eyes itch and put a bitter taste in her mouth. The children cried.

  All through the day, Tuareg warriors came up to her and Elaine to thank them for healing them. One even bragged that he had been shot, healed by Elaine, then got shot again and healed by Jaxon and what he called her “magic water.”

  “We’re getting quite a reputation here,” Jaxon told the Atlantean healer.

  “A bit too much of one,” Elaine replied, looking worried. “I don’t really want everyone spreading around the idea that the People of the Sea have all these powers.”

  “I don’t see how we can stop it after what we did at the battle. And did you see the prisoners? They tore open the fence and knocked over a tower with their bare hands.”

  Elaine made a face. “We’ve always survived by being anonymous.”

  “Yeah, and we’ve always been on the run and persecuted. Maybe it’s time for another strategy.”

  Winston turned to her. “You’re right that we’re always running, always hiding, and while that hasn’t secured our rights, we’ve survived, haven’t we? How many other ancient civilizations are still around after all this time? Do you know any Canaanites? Or Aztecs? Have you ever met a Sassanid? We predate all these civilizations and we’ve outlived them all.”

  Jaxon didn’t reply. What they said made sense. It didn’t sit well with her, though. It seemed too much like giving in to bullying, and she had done that for far too long in her life.

  Funny how all those schoolyard bullies who had tormented her, all those rich girls who called her names and laughed at her not having any parents, how petty they seemed now. Their perfect hair and fashionable clothes wouldn’t count for anything out here in the desert, or in a fight with Russian agents. Nothing they could say could touch her now. If she met someone like that she would just laugh in their face.

  No, she faced bigger bullies these days.

  When night fell, the camp prepared to move out. They drove a long time through the night, Jaxon not knowing where. Occasionally the crackle of the radio broke the silence of the Land Rover, as other groups called in with coded updates.

  They stopped before sunrise, and Vivian and Jaxon gratefully pitched their tent and laid down in their sleeping bags, hoping to catch a few hours of rest before the broiling sun made it too hot to sleep.

  She immediately plunged into the dream world, catching fragments of visions of Timbuktu and the people she knew there, and of the alleys of Marrakech. Edward’s plump face appeared before her. He seemed worried, his mouth working as if shouting something at her, and yet she heard no sound.

  What? Her sleeping mind asked her dead friend. What are you trying to tell me?

  Then there came a sound, but not from Edward’s lips.

  It was the dull thud of flesh hitting flesh right beside her. She struggled to awaken.

  A firm hand clamped on her mouth.

  Chapter 12

  AUGUST 28, THE SAHARA DESERT ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF NOUAKCHOTT, MAURITANIA

  5:30 A.M.

  * * *

  The sun was just rising over the desert, turning the sands to gold when General Corbin made his move. They had driven all night, Vice President Salek sitting in the passenger’s set and covering him with a pistol, giving him directions to the capital Nouakchott some 250 miles away. Corbin was surprised they didn’t go to the town of Tidjikja, which was so much closer, but maybe there weren’t enough troops there to help him. Or maybe he didn’t trust them since their neighbors at the prison camp had just turned on the government. Or maybe Salek just wanted to get as far away from the Tuaregs as possible.

  Corbin allowed himself to remain a prisoner. Salek was easier to handle if he thought he was in charge and besides, the guy knew the way and Corbin didn’t. But as the sun came up in the east and they got onto a well-driven desert track and the smoke fires from the outlying areas of Nouakchott appeared on the horizon, Corbin slammed on the brakes. Salek lurched forward, hitting the dashboard. Corbin grabbed the politician’s gun while he was still stunned and turned it on him.

  “This is where you get out, Mr. Vice President.”

  Salek looked around at the bleak desert. There wasn’t a vehicle in sight. Corbin handed him a canteen.

  “We passed a village about ten miles back. You can make it. Get out.”

  Salek reluctantly stepped out of the Jeep, his expensive leather shoes crunching on the sand.

  “You leave me in the middle of the desert?”

  Corbin smiled. “You’ll make it. You’re a survivor. You’ll get some killer blisters walking all that way in those fancy shoes, though.”

  Corbin stepped on the gas and left the corrupt politician in the dust.

  After he had stopped laughing, Corbin considered his options, and his resources. This Jeep looked in good repair and he had spare Jerry cans of fuel in the back. He could drive all day and well into the night. The problem was that the Jeep had military markings, and seeing a white man in an American uniform driving it would raise uncomfortable questions wherever he went. Besides the suspicious Jeep, he had a 9 mm automatic pistol with eight rounds of ammunition, a box of flares, and enough water for a day. He was safe for the moment. Some food would be nice. He had plenty of local currency in his pocket and some American dollars as well, but he didn’t want to go into any towns with this Jeep. Every settlement of any decent size had troops in it.

  So where should he go? He needed to avoid towns as much as possible and get back into contact with Isadore and the McKay twins, but they were all the way down in Mali and he no longer had his satellite phone. Even worse, if he didn’t check in with the Pentagon pretty soon, they’re going to wonder if he had disappeared. It wouldn’t take long for the local CIA office to hear about the fighting at the prison camp, and they’d put two and two together. His own government trying to save him might ruin all his plans.

  Might? No, would ruin his plans. There was no way they weren’t going to hear of this and go looking for himself and General Meade, and when they did they would start asking uncomfortable questions about what he was doing here. The damage had been done. It was time for damage control.

  General Corbin did a hard U-turn and headed back toward the capital. He drove as fast as the rough track would allow. He had to get somewhere safe before Salek managed to spread the word.

  Briefly he wondered wha
t had happened to Dimitri and Nadya. He hadn’t seen them when he was planning the lab explosion or trying to survive the attack. Had they been captured? That could be a problem. They knew enough about his plans to cause some real trouble.

  But would they? And did they even know that he was working without the knowledge or permission of the U.S. government?

  He sped up. The sooner he got to civilization, the better.

  As he drove he noticed a smile had come to his lips. He even allowed himself to whistle a happy tune. It felt refreshing being out here in the warm early morning. The problem with getting promoted to a high level of command was that you never got to go into the field anymore. Your subordinates did all the fun stuff. General Meade had complained about the same thing before Corbin enslaved him.

  Then he started to wonder what had happened to his two slaves. Meade may or may not have survived. He had no doubt the Orion had survived. If Meade had made it through the night, he was now a prisoner. That was too bad, but Corbin wasn’t particularly worried. Meade wouldn’t be able to tell the Atlantis Allegiance or the Mauritanians anything of value that they didn’t already know. The real danger was if he fell into the hands of the CIA. That would be a disaster. He’d need to be taken care of before that.

  Orion was a wild card. Right at the start of this trip, General Corbin had left him with simple instructions—capture Jaxon, and if that wasn’t possible, kill her. Orion would be out there somewhere, awaiting his chance. He was much more awake than Meade, and much more resourceful. While Orion had been drugged and hypnotized and experimented on, his mind had remained far more intact because he had been an Atlantean in the first place. He hadn’t been through the dulling effect of the serum Dr. Jones had created. The human subjects, while developing some impressive abilities, were simply too brain dead to function independently. Corbin had to prompt Meade every morning before Meade went to work, and endure countless phones calls about simple decisions.

  Corbin could see the outskirts of Nouakchott now. He could smell the salty tang in the sea breeze blowing in off the Atlantic, tinged with the pollution emitted by the city’s one million inhabitants. Soon the first houses appeared—low concrete buildings in dusty lots. Herds of sheep and goats nibbled on the sparse grass. He passed a gas station with a line of trucks waiting to fill up. The traffic began to pick up and the road turned from a dirty track into a paved highway.

  Corbin got ready. He would be stopped any moment now. On his way out of the city a couple of days ago he had noticed several police checkpoints. Mostly they just waved everyone through, but a Westerner in a military uniform driving a Mauritanian army Jeep wouldn’t not get the same courtesy. He had to keep cool.

  A few minutes later, a policeman waved him to a stop.

  General Corbin parked next to the two police cars sitting by the side of the road and got out with his hands plainly visible. He left his pistol under the driver’s seat.

  The police officers looked more confused than suspicious and after some unsuccessful attempts to speak with him in French and Arabic, called in a commander who spoke English. General Corbin tried to look anxious and exhausted, not difficult considering the night he had been through.

  He was in luck. The police commander had heard of his arrival in the country on a “diplomatic” mission, and he had heard a vague initial report of the attack on the prison, so he was prepared to believe Corbin’s story when he said he had been on a state visit and went with Vice President Salek to visit a camp where the captured “terrorists” were kept. He explained that the Tuaregs had attacked the camp to free the terrorists and he had escaped. The police commander looked like a conservative guy, with a permanent scowl and a look of intolerance. He probably mistrusted the People of the Sea for being different even before the government ordered them rounded up. It was easy to play on people’s fears and prejudices.

  The police commander radioed in to someone and began speaking in Arabic. Corbin tensed. If Salek had gotten back in time to spread his side of the story, he was in deep trouble.

  But when the commander turned back to him, he looked at Corbin with concern and sympathy, not distrust.

  “I have asked some more about the attack. Our vice president is still missing. My superior is very glad to hear you are alive. I am sad to say that we have not heard what happened to General Meade.”

  The police commander did not mention Orion. Perhaps being one of the People of the Sea, he was beneath the policeman’s notice.

  Corbin affected concern. “That’s too bad. I lost sight of him during the fight. I suspect he was either killed or the Tuaregs captured him.”

  The commander straitened. “I swear we will do all in our power to ensure his safe return.”

  “What’s being done to find Vice President Salek?” Corbin wondered if he had died in the desert after all, but he doubted it. That guy couldn’t be knocked off so easily.

  “All the troops in the region have been mobilized. There have been a couple of skirmishes with the Tuaregs and that is slowing down the search, but a major force left here a couple of hours ago.”

  Corbin nodded. Considering how far outside of town he had left Salek, he might only be getting access to a phone right now. Time was of the essence. If Salek called in while he stood here chatting to the police, he’d be behind bars before breakfast.

  “I need to get to my embassy and speak with my government,” Corbin said.

  “Of course. I will take you there myself.”

  That wasn’t the answer Corbin wanted, but he could think of no way to say no.

  They hopped in a police cruiser with another officer and sped off through the streets of the capital. The city was spread out with mostly one-story buildings and many empty lots, land being cheap in the desert. It took time to get to the embassy. Corbin felt tense the entire way, especially whenever the radio crackled to life, and yet he also felt incredibly alive. It was good to be at the center of the action for a change instead of commanding it from afar. He told himself he should savor these moments. Once he ruled the United States he wouldn’t get any more of them.

  Every time the radio spoke with some message in Arabic he wondered if that was the message that would turn the car around and make it head for the nearest jail instead of the embassy, but his luck held. They came to a large compound surrounded by a high, smooth concrete wall. From a corner tower flew an American flag. Four Marines guarded a steel gate. General Corbin leaped out of the car, thanked the police officers, and strode up to the Marines. When they saw the general’s stars on his dusty uniform, they snapped a salute.

  Within a minute he was in the embassy, which meant he was on U.S. soil. Salek could call all he wanted now and the Mauritanians couldn’t touch him.

  The Americans could, though.

  Clifford Owen was the head of CIA operations in Mauritania. He was a middle-aged man who wore a conservative suit, spoke with a quiet voice, and had eyes that missed nothing. He kept a poker face as he sat behind his tidy desk in his large office in the embassy. Owen had a secretary fetch some breakfast for this general who had shown up unannounced on his doorstep, and Corbin dug in gratefully.

  Corbin stayed on his guard, though. Owen was studying him like he was some sample under a microscope.

  “It’s a pity the ambassador is away in Dakar for a conference,” Owen said. “He’s been notified and is taking the first plane back.”

  “Good,” Corbin said, although he actually meant that it was good that he was away, not that he was heading back.

  “Could you tell me what happened?”

  Corbin repeated the story he had given the police commander, which was accurate as far as it went. Owen listened without saying a word, and then asked a few more details about General Meade and his last known location. Then he asked the question he really wanted to know the answer to.

  “General Corbin, I’m a bit unclear as to the nature of your mission here.”

  Here we go.

  “That’s cla
ssified.”

  “Surely you must know that I’m privy to any classified material relating to events in Mauritania.”

  “That’s true, and you’ll see the full report once it’s written up.”

  “The reason I ask, sir, is because it seems strange that General Meade came here without his usual staff, in the company of a civilian who does not have security clearance, and with another general who does not have this region under his responsibility.”

  “I understand it might look strange, Mr. Owen, but this is a very specialized mission. We are liaising with the Mauritanian government regarding a new terror organization being organized among the ethnic group called the People of the Sea.”

  “I’ve heard of them,” Owen said with a nod.

  “The civilian is an American who originates from this ethnic group and is an expert on their culture. He was brought in as a consultant. I was brought in for my expertise in counterinsurgency and also because I, too, have some knowledge of this ethnic group. They have an interesting history and studying them has been a hobby of mine for several years.”

  Owen’s face remained a mask. “That should be in your CV.”

  “It wasn’t relevant until now, but I will certainly add it.”

  “General Corbin, an American officer and an American civilian are missing in a terrorist attack, most likely either dead or captured. I’ve already been on the phone with the president.”

  Corbin shifted in his seat. Of course the President of the United States had been informed. This would hit international headlines within the hour if it hadn’t already. Owen must have anticipated his thoughts because he said,

  “We’re keeping this out of the press for the time being. Our Mauritanian allies are giving us their full cooperation. The last thing we need is a bunch of reporters sniffing around. But we can’t keep it out of the press for long. What if the Tuaregs or this new terror group decide to put Meade or the civilian in a video? What if the press hears about their capture from YouTube before they hear about it from us?”