The Atlantis Gene

by S. A. Beck

  Grunt put a hand on his shoulder. “Dunno, Pyro. Maybe the signs are all around us, and we just don’t know how to see them.”

  Chapter 12

  JUNE 28, 2016, LANGLEY AIR FORCE BASE, VIRGINIA

  11:45 AM

  General Meade and General Corbin strolled along a circular running track at Langley Air Force Base. No one was using it at the moment, and they could speak freely without fear of being overheard. The regular troops were all going about their duties, and the new recruits were off training elsewhere, or perhaps observing the artillery practice that Meade could hear booming in the distance. A light rain fell, but the two men didn’t dare have their conversation inside. Even the office of a general could be wiretapped. The government spied on itself as much as it spied on the people.

  Meade admired Corbin’s caution. He was a man after his own heart. They had already exchanged memory sticks containing their latest findings so nothing could be tracked of their activities online.

  “What I don’t understand,” Meade said, “is why the aliens reveal themselves to us. If they’re advanced enough to make an interstellar journey, surely they have the technology to hide from us. Our own military is already experimenting with an invisibility cloak. That must seem like medieval technology to them. Hell, with most of the nighttime sightings, all they’d have to do is turn their lights off. It’s like they want us to know they’re coming.”

  General Corbin nodded. “There’s a theory that the aliens are preparing us for their visit, gradually getting the people of Earth used to the idea of their existence, so it won’t be so much of a shock when they finally make contact.”

  “I’ve heard that theory too. Most people who suggest that think the extraterrestrials are friendly and are coming here to take us into some new age of wisdom and harmony, but the search patterns of the UFOs over military bases and other important spots prove they’re planning an invasion. So why are they revealing themselves?”

  Corbin shrugged, the rain dripping off the brim of his hat.

  “It’s strange, I agree. We’re dealing with an alien intelligence here, or actually several alien races judging from the evidence, so it’s difficult to tell what they might be thinking. One possibility is that they’re playing a double game, that the optimists are half right. The aliens might reveal themselves to us, act like they’re here to help, and then hit us unawares.”

  Meade rubbed his jaw. “Yeah. They could even recruit some humans to their side. Divide and conquer.”

  “Another possibility is that they want to test our response,” General Corbin went on as they continued walking around the track. “It could be a kind of psychology experiment. See how quickly we accustom ourselves to their presence, and what we do about it. They could be so confident of their technological superiority that they don’t need to worry about broadcasting their intentions. It’s like a cat playing with a mouse before biting its head off.”

  “We’re just going to have to be the mouse that bites back,” Meade said.

  “You mentioned that you’re training one of the Atlanteans.”

  “Orion. Yes, he’s quite a specimen,” Meade said with pride. “If we had a regiment like him, we would never have to worry about a terrestrial enemy ever again. The problem is that we don’t know what kind of weapons the aliens have.”

  “Actually, we do.”

  Meade turned to him. They stopped and faced one another. The nearest people were a group of soldiers marching on a road almost half a mile away. Even so, General Corbin lowered his voice as he spoke.

  “I have access to some information you don’t.”

  Meade nodded. Corbin was a four-star general, one of the highest-ranking military leaders in the country. Meade himself was only a one-star general, which made him feel as if he had won a bronze medal in the Olympics. That was impressive enough to the common rabble, but really all it meant was that he was a leader among the losers.

  “What’s this information?” Meade asked, hearing his voice come out breathless. The whole conversation had been like a dream come true. Finally he was getting some straight answers to a lifetime of questions.

  Corbin looked around again before answering. “I’ve seen reports on the UFO that crashed in Roswell, reports that people at your level aren’t allowed to know even exist. The consensus among our scientists is that the Roswell craft was simply a scout craft, not a main war vessel. Even so, it had lasers far in advance of anything we can replicate. In fact, the American ‘invention’ of lasers actually came about thanks to engineers analyzing the laser cannon on that craft and reverse-engineering it. Our lasers are barely one percent of the power of that thing, and that’s because the Roswell laser cannon is made from material not found on this planet. The ship also had a disintegration ray, but the engineers haven’t figured it out yet. It got badly mangled in the crash. The craft was highly armored too, and with an incredible maneuverability. Most air-to-air missiles would barely dent it, assuming they could hit it in the first place. So that scout vessel that crashed near Roswell back in 1947 could shoot down half our Air Force before we could take it out. Think what one of their warships could do!”

  “Plus they’ve had half a century of technological advancement since then, just like we have,” Meade grumbled, shaking his head. The whole thing looked hopeless. He looked out at the base, one of the biggest in the United States. Artillery boomed in the distance. The latest models of cannon could flatten a building in one hit. To the aliens, they’d seem like water pistols.

  “We’ve seen evidence that they have advanced.” Corbin nodded. “I’m sure you’re aware of the wave of sightings of triangular UFOs over Belgium back in 1989 and 1990.”

  “You were stationed there at that time. What do you know?” Meade asked eagerly. Very little had been revealed about those sightings except vague and hysterical stories in the press.

  “Not much more than you, except for something vital that never got out beyond some high-ranking officials in Belgium and the US. During one of the sightings, we scrambled six teams of F-16s to intercept. This was standard procedure because we wanted to get a closer look. Usually the UFOs just zipped away before we could get close, but this time one of the craft appeared directly between a Belgian base and two of our own bases. The Belgians sent up some of their guys, and we sent up some too. The craft had nowhere to go, and we managed to get closer than ever before. Too close, it turned out. One of the American pilots got overeager and made directly for the craft, powering his afterburners for all they were worth. He was still more than two miles away when the UFO fired a disintegration ray. The F-16 turned into a cloud of atoms.”

  Corbin fell silent, his face grim. Meade thought of the young man who had been piloting that jet fighter. He’d given his life to protect his country, his planet. They owed it to him to make sure the planet stayed protected. Finally Corbin spoke.

  “Our engineers estimate that the range of the disintegration ray on the Roswell craft couldn’t have been more than one mile. Something to do with power requirements and the nature of the beam. I’m afraid I don’t understand all the technical details. The ray the UFO over Belgium used went twice that distance.”

  Meade shook his head. “Even if we had an entire army of Atlanteans, I don’t see how we can defeat them. All they have to do is stay out of reach and blast us.”

  Corbin met his eye. “So what does a military commander do when he’s hopelessly outgunned?”

  Meade felt as if he was back in a strategy class at West Point.

  “Trickery. Guerrilla warfare.” Meade snapped his fingers. “We make contact! If the aliens are looking for traitors to help with their invasion, we can pretend to be those traitors. We get them in close and then hit them with all we got!”

  General Corbin smiled and put a hand on Meade’s shoulder. “Exactly.”

  “But how do we make contact?”

  Corbin inclined his head. “That’s the problem. So far as we know, the aliens have never tried t
o get in touch. All the accounts of alien contact and abduction seem to be by lunatics or hucksters trying to sell books. I set up a team to investigate every single claim we could trace, and not one turned out to be legitimate. Also, the writing we’ve found in the Roswell wreck has never been deciphered. Even if we could get them to talk to us, we couldn’t make ourselves understood.”

  “They might solve that problem for us,” Meade said. “I’m sure they’ve been listening in to our communications. It’s easy enough even with our level of technology. They must be able to speak all the major Earth languages. Archaeologists decipher ancient languages with far less to work with. They must have a computer that can speak English as good as you or I. We just have to get them to talk with us.”

  “You’re right. I’ve been dealing with this stuff in isolation for so long that my thinking has become narrow. Thank God I’ve finally found another man to trade ideas with.”

  “Are there any other generals we can trust?” Meade asked. He realized he was already committing himself to the plan. Of course, a general contacting a foreign power without orders from the president could be considered treason, but he and Corbin had already committed treason when they exchanged information about their secret projects. They had gone too far to turn back.

  Corbin thought for a moment. “There are a few we might be able to talk to, but that would be risky. Let me feel them out a bit. In the meantime, let’s just stick with each other. I’ve spent years assembling a staff of junior officers I can trust, and I’m sure you’ve done the same. First thing we have to do is accelerate the training of this Orion fellow. Do you have any others you can train?”

  Meade nodded. “Several. Plus there’s a teenage girl who has lots of potential. She’s already being manipulated by two of my best agents. She’ll be ready soon enough. Once she is, we’ll bring her in, work on her with drugs and a hypnotist I have on the payroll, and get her ready. We’ll make her disappear. It happens to kids all the time. No one will suspect anything. She’s got some interesting powers beyond the physical ones. She could be the best soldier we have.”

  Chapter 13

  JUNE 28, 2016, TUCSON, ARIZONA

  10:30 PM

  Otto and Grunt returned to Dr. Smith’s house to find him, Yuhle, and Dr. Yamazaki studying several large maps spread over the coffee table. As they entered, Vivian called out from a chair in the corner, “Hey, boys, ready to go on vacation?”

  Otto thought she sounded a bit drunk.

  Grunt laughed. “When was the last time either of us had one of those?”

  “No, I’m serious,” Vivian said. “The professor here says that if we are going to find the Atlanteans, we’ll have to go on a world tour. Maybe this mission will finally get us somewhere with nightlife.”

  Dr. Smith looked up from the map. “A world tour? No. More like a stop in two or three likely spots. We’ve looked at concentrations of the Atlantis gene correlated with likely traditions of the location of Atlantis.”

  “I thought Atlantis sank,” Otto said.

  “In most traditions, including the famous Greek one, it did, but not in all stories. Some say Atlantis was on land that still exists and got wiped out in a natural disaster or invasion. Even if it was on an island that sank, the nearest existing land would be a good place to look.”

  “Where’s the most likely place?” Grunt asked.

  “Morocco.”

  Grunt’s face clouded, and his face turned red. Otto unconsciously took a step away from him.

  “Why Morocco?” Grunt demanded.

  Dr. Smith pointed to the map, seemingly unaware of Grunt’s reaction. “Northwest Africa is the most likely spot for the Atlanteans to have originated. Several scholars during the Renaissance looked at ancient texts and found that Atlantis may have been just off the Atlantic coast of Morocco. When it sank, the Atlanteans would most likely have come ashore there. The population in that region has always been mixed, with Arabs, Berbers, Europeans, and black Africans all mingling. The Atlanteans would fit right in.”

  Grunt scowled and walked out. Vivian got a worried look on her face and hurried after him. Otto glanced at the two curiously and then sat down on the sofa to study the map.

  “Where else could they be?” he asked.

  Dr. Smith’s finger traced a route down the west coast of Africa.

  “Farther south, just off the shore of Gambia, and also on the islands on the eastern fringe of the Caribbean,” he said. “Morocco looks like the most promising start, though.”

  “Why?” Otto asked.

  “Several researchers and ancient travelers put it there. A historian named D. A. Godron wrote a book all the way back in 1868 claiming Atlantis was in the western Sahara, what’s now the southern part of Morocco or perhaps northern Mali. Maybe the fabled city of Timbuktu is a remnant of that civilization. A more detailed account comes from Félix Berlioux, who in 1874 wrote a book titled Les Atlantes: Histoire de l’Atlantis et de l’Atlas Primitif. That translates to The Atlanteans: History of Atlantis and the Primitive Atlas Mountains.”

  “When did you start reading French?” Dr. Yamazaki asked.

  Dr. Smith smiled at her. “Have to do something with my retirement. Anyway, Berlioux traveled all over northwest Africa. He found evidence that Atlantis was once situated where the Atlas Mountains slope down into the Atlantic Ocean. There are a number of archaeological sites between Casablanca and Agadir that show signs of great age and sophistication. He claims the Atlanteans ruled over a great empire in North Africa but were eventually defeated by the Egyptians and Phoenicians in the thirteenth century BC. One interesting thing he noticed was that many people in that region have brilliant blue eyes despite having otherwise African features. He theorized that the Atlanteans looked like Scandinavians and mingled with the black Africans to create these blue-eyed dark people.”

  “We know better,” Otto said.

  “Yes,” Dr. Yamazaki said, nodding eagerly, “the Atlanteans have a mixture of features, but a Frenchman in the nineteenth century would have still been thinking along the old racial lines. A lot of European researchers thought the Atlanteans were white simply because they couldn’t conceive of any other race having an advanced civilization.”

  “So what about Gambia and the Caribbean?” Otto asked. “From what I’ve read, there’s plenty linking the Caribbean to Atlantis. There’s some huge ancient ruins on some of the islands, and even more underwater just off shore. It’s pretty cool.”

  Dr. Jones nodded. “Yes, those are interesting. There’s no proof they’re ancient, though. And many geologists say those underwater ruins are simply natural formations. But the Caribbean is close to where many accounts put Atlantis, so it’s a candidate.”

  “What about Gambia?” Otto asked, looking at the unfamiliar country. It was on the west coast of Africa, a little strip of land on either side of a big river.

  “Gambia is a possibility thanks to one of the oldest accounts of Atlantis,” Dr. Smith said. “Around 500 BC, an admiral from Carthage took a voyage down the west coast of Africa.”

  “Carthage? Where’s that?” Otto asked.

  Dr. Smith sighed. “I see kids aren’t getting any classical education these days. Carthage was a powerful kingdom in what is now Tunisia in North Africa. Their capital city was founded by the Phoenicians, the greatest explorers of the ancient world. The Carthaginians even fought off the Roman Empire for many years and dominated the Mediterranean. This admiral, who was named Hanno, wrote about his voyage, and his story has been preserved until modern times. Hanno talks about reaching an island called Kernë, which many scholars associate with Atlantis, at the mouth of the River Gambia on the west coast of Africa. The ancient civilization was long gone even in Hanno’s day, but the island remained a center for trade between foreign ships and the local natives.”

  Dr. Yamazaki studied the map again. “So I guess in order of likelihood, Morocco is our best bet, followed by Gambia and then the Caribbean.”

  Dr. Yuh
le chuckled. “Then I guess we’re going to Morocco. I’ve always wanted to see Africa.”

  Otto looked at Yuhle. “We can’t go anywhere until we get Jaxon out of trouble.”

  Yuhle raised a reassuring hand. “We won’t leave her behind. It’s why we sprang you, remember? You’re the only one of us she knows and trusts. So the first thing to do is plan how we can get her out of there without putting her in worse danger than she’s already in. Once we have her, we can get out of the country. We had been talking about doing that anyway. We need to get out of General Meade’s reach.”

  Otto’s heart raced. He might see Jaxon soon! What would he say to her? Would she still want to date him? Otto brushed that thought away. The first thing to do was make sure she was safe, and Edward had said General Meade had put her in a house with two deadly agents. Getting her free without any of the team getting killed would be tricky. He could worry about Jaxon’s feelings for him later.

  The scientists had gone back to talking about genetics and archaeology. Their conversation became increasingly technical, and soon Otto was lost, so he got up to follow Vivian and Grunt. He needed to know what was wrong and get it fixed. The mercenaries were their best chance at saving Jaxon.

  He found them in the front hall, angrily whispering to each other. Grunt’s face was contorted with rage, and he was violently shaking his head. Vivian was talking to him in soothing tones, stroking his muscular arm like a mother comforting an oversized child.

  “What’s going on?” Otto asked.

  “I ain’t going,” Grunt declared.

  “Why not?” Otto asked.

  “None of your damn business, but I ain’t going.”

  “We finally have a clue to this mystery, and now you want to bail?” Otto couldn’t believe it.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna bail.”