Herrin gave a sharp laugh at that, but he didn't say anything as the glares of the others kept the words from coming forth.
Hudson pointed at a small panel above his workstation. “That's how you get into the access crawlspace.”
Mansor stood on the front of the desk and pushed the panel out of the way. He stuck his head into the darkness and then turned a flashlight on and looked about.
“Do you see a group of wires to your right?” Hudson asked.
“Yes.”
“That's the commo leads to the rotodome. The HF goes forward, so all you have there are the SATCOM and FM. The FM goes down to the FM antenna in the belly. The ones that go to the rear; those are the SATCOM cables. Just follow them.”
Mansor looked down. “Mighty tight up here.”
“You can make it,” Hudson assured him. “When the cables disappear up, you'll be right below the rotodome. Let's hope the break is before then.”
“Yeah, right,” Mansor said. He grabbed the edge of the small opening and pulled himself up.
The last glimpse Ariana and the others had of him were his boots disappearing, heading toward the rear of the plane. They could hear him slowly moving above their heads and as he began making his way to the rear, they followed inside the plane, just below him, everyone tensed, waiting for a hissing noise.
* * *
The door to his glass cubicle was shut, isolating Foreman from the others in his operations center. He flipped a lever putting the satellite call he had just received on the speakerphone.
The voice that echoed off the glass walls was incredulous at what Foreman had just told him. “You've been doing this since 1946 and you don't have any idea what you're dealing with?”
“Mister President, I have some idea of what we’re dealing with,” Foreman's voice was level. He had long anticipated this moment and he had known it would not go pleasantly, but that was not a concern of his.
There was the sound of paper rustling on the other end. “I'm looking at a report here from 1968. It tells me we lost a nuclear submarine checking out, what do you call it, this Bermuda Triangle Gate?”
“That's correct, sir. The USS Scorpion. “
“This Bermuda Triangle Gate is the Bermuda Triangle, isn't it?” The President didn't pause for an answer. “A myth.”
“No, sir, it's not. The crew of the Scorpion was not killed by a myth.”
“What were they killed by?”
“I don't know, sir.”
The explosion from the other end caused even Foreman to stiffen in his hard backed seat. “Good Lord, man! Fifty years and you don't know? An entire submarine lost with its crew and you don't know? And what else? I see here a spy plane working for you was also lost. And a Special Forces team that you sent in to recover the spy plane's black box never made it back out.”
Foreman leaned forward. “Someone came out from that Special Forces team, sir.”
“One man? So?”
“It looks like he's going back in, sir.”
“And?” The President’s voice was sharp. “We just lost a satellite and a nuclear reactor. God help us if any of that radioactive material comes down over a populated area.”
Foreman glanced at the papers taped to the glass wall. “Sir, we've got a bigger problem than that.”
There was a long pause, then the President's voice came back, under tight control. “And that is?”
“Our spy satellites are picking up electromagnetic and radioactive disturbances at various places around the globe.” Foreman paused, but no one interrupted him so he continued. “The signature of these disturbances is the same that always presages activation of the Angkor, Devil’s Sea or Bermuda Triangle Gates but this is occurring in greater quantity than we’ve ever seen and at some locations where we suspected there might be Gates but weren’t certain.”
“How many signatures?” the President asked.
“Sixteen, sir.”
“Where?”
“All over the globe.”
“Where in United States?” the President clarified.
“The readings aren't exact, sir, but Bermuda Triangle Gate appears ready to open again. If it expands twenty percent from the largest perimeter we’ve recorded, it will touch Miami. But we've also got two new sites, one on the Baja Peninsula south of San Diego and one just off the shore of Alaska, near Valdez, the southern terminal of the Alaskan Pipeline. There's also one in Canada, north of Calgary. From what I'm reading, the Gates that could open at each of these sites would be roughly triangular and almost two hundred miles along each side.”
Silence reigned for a few moments, then the President spoke again. “Going back to the start of this conversation, Mister Foreman, can you give me any idea what these Gates are, other than whoever and whatever goes into them never comes out? A Gate indicated to me that you think these things lead somewhere. Where?”
“Sir, I've had the best minds study the available data, unfortunately we don't have much information other than the facts you just received. As far as we can determine, we believe Devil’s Sea, Bermuda Triangle and Angkor Gates to be any of several things:
“One possibility is that they could be a door to another dimension that we don't recognize yet with our current level of physics. Another is a gateway to an alternate universe coexisting with ours. Another could be an attempt by an alien culture to open an interstellar gateway from their location to Earth. Another could simply be a physical anomaly of our planet itself, which we have not yet figured out. Or it could be something totally beyond our capability to understand.”
“That's not helping much,” the President said.
“Sir, I haven't been the only one interested in this phenomenon. The Russians and Japanese have also studied them. In fact, over the years, the Russians have been much more interested in this than we had been. They do have two Gates inside their borders.”
“And what have they discovered?”
“Not much more than we have, sir. Besides investigating their two Events, I know they've managed to lose two submarines investigating Bermuda Triangle Gate and several planes over Angkor Gate. I also believe they've sent two ground elements into the Angkor Gate in Cambodia. One in 1956 and one in 1978. Both disappeared without a trace.”
“What about their Gates?” the President asked.
“Naturally, I don’t have much information on that. One is in Lake Baikal. The other-” Foreman paused, then plunged in. “The other is located right around Chernobyl. The Russians believe that the disaster at that plant was somehow connected to this.”
“Yeah, they’d like to believe anything,” the President snarled, “but the fact that they couldn’t build a decent nuclear power plant.”
“I can’t really comment on that,” Foreman said. “But I also know that the Japanese have lost ships and submarines in what I call Devil’s Sea Gate and they call the Devil’s Sea. The latest intelligence report indicates that they have an active cell inside their government that is keeping tabs on the Devil’s Sea Gate, much like what I am doing. There are some who believe their recent earthquake and resulting tsunami might be related to the Devil’s Sea Gate.”
Foreman could sense the growing frustration on the other side of the world. He continued on. “But the Russians do have a theory, sir, and some of this new data our satellites are collecting, these new locations, tends to support that theory somewhat in some of its aspects.”
“What do they think it is?” the President asked.
“In the 60's, three Russian scientists published an article in Khimiyai Zhizn, the journal of the old Soviet Academy of Sciences. The title was: Is The Earth A Large Crystal?”
There was no comment about that. Foreman knew that the seriousness of what was going on was finally sinking in to warrant the silence after such a statement.
“The three Russian scientists had backgrounds in history, electronics and engineering, a rather eclectic group. They started with a theory that a matrix of cosmic energy was b
uilt into our planet at the time of its formation and that we can still see the effects of this matrix today in such places as Angkor Gate or Bermuda Triangle.”
“Oh, give me a break,” a new voice exclaimed, “I've never heard such poppycock.”
“That's Professor Simmons, my science adviser,” the President informed Foreman. “He just got here a few minutes ago and I wanted him to listen in on this.”
“Should I continue?” Foreman asked, “or perhaps Professor Simmons has a better theory.”
“I'll discuss what he has to think when I'm done with you,” the President said. “Continue.”
“The Russian theory divides the world into twelve pentagonal slabs. On top of those slabs are twenty equilateral triangles. Using this overlay, they point out that these triangles have had a great influence on the world in many ways: fault lines for earthquakes lie along them; magnetic anomalies exist; ancient civilizations tended to be clustered along some of them.
“What’s most interesting to our current situation is that there are places called Vile Vortices at the juncture of some of these large triangles. One such place is Bermuda Triangle Gate also known as the Bermuda Triangle. Another is Angkor Gate in Cambodia, which we believes centers around an ancient city called Angkor Kol Ker. Devil’s Sea Gate, called the Devil’s Sea off the east coast of Japan is another. Chernobyl was built adjacent to one of these sites. The Lake Baikal site is also at one of these junctures. These new Gates that are now showing magnetic anomalies are also at Vile Vortices.”
“Why are these places acting up now?” the President asked.
“I don't know, sir. Over the years I've seen quite an ebb and flow to Devil’s Sea, Bermuda Triangle and Angkor to the point where there is no trace of them at all at certain times. The Russians feel that there is an internal mathematical harmony to this entire crystalline structure and that explains the rhythmic nature of the disturbances.”
“Do you believe this Russian theory?”
“I don't disbelieve it, sir, until I know exactly what is causing it.”
“Ahh-” Simmons’ voice sounded in the background.
“Go ahead, Professor,” the President said.
“The Earth as a big crystal theory is a bunch of poppycock,” Simmons said. “The lithosphere, the outer surface of the planet, which is where these Events are located, has been moving for millions of years. Thus any crystal formation would be so disfigured by continental drift as to make such patterns unrecognizable. Also, there is no evidence in the first place of the planet having any sort of massive crystalline structure.”
“Anything to say to that, Foreman?” the President asked.
Foreman could picture the President sitting in his office with his advisers; a man who had not even been born when Foreman was flying combat missions in World War II; sitting among other men who had not known the strife of world-wide conflict. “No one has conclusively proven the continental drift theory or-”
“What is your degree in?” Professor Simmons demanded.
“I don’t have a degree,” Foreman said. “I was discussing a theory and all I want the President to know is that you were discussing a theory also. I think we take too much for granted as fact that, although most evidence points that way, might not indeed be fact. I’ve been studying these Gates for over sixty years. I would say I know more about them than you do, Professor Simmons, but at least I can admit what I do know isn’t much.”
“So obviously you knew something was strange about this area in Cambodia before Michelet Industries sent its plane over the Angkor Gate?” the President asked.
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“You didn't think it proper to warn Mister Michelet?”
“Sir, how could I warn them? You've seen the data on Bright Eye getting destroyed and still you doubt what I am telling you about these places. We gave Michelet the data on the Angkor Gate area. The planes lost. The Special Forces mission lost. We did warn him as best we could. He still went ahead.”
“What happened to his plane?”
“It's down, sir, inside the borders of the Angkor Gate. Bright Eye did manage to get a picture of it and pinpoint the location. I’m having that picture forwarded to Mister Michelet to aid him in trying to recover the plane and his daughter.”
There was a short silence, then National Security Adviser Bancroft spoke. “You wouldn’t just have happened to have set all this up, would you have Foreman?”
“Set what up?” Foreman asked.
“Michelet sending his survey plane over Angkor Gate?”
“Sir, Michelet Technologies has been interested in that area for many years. It was inevitable that they would eventually send some sort of reconnaissance. As I said earlier, there was no way I could directly warn Michelet against doing that. I did send him enough information so that he had an awareness of the danger.”
“A very carefully worded reply,” the President noted. “What if these Gates appear elsewhere? What happens?”
“I can only make an educated guess at that, sir, based on Devil’s Sea, Bermuda Triangle and Angkor. There is a legend of an ancient capitol city of the Khmer Empire, a city called Angkor Kol Ker. Apparently the Angkor Gate overran it in 800 AD.”
“And?” the President impatiently demanded.
“And the city was devastated. An empire that was perhaps the strongest on Earth at its time disappeared and its capitol is now only known as a legend.
“And that was only one Gate, not sixteen, like we’re seeing now. I also have a suspicion what is happening now predates even that long ago event. I’ve talked with Professor Takato Nagoya, who runs the Japanese team that is investigating the Devil’s Sea Gate. Based on various data, he thinks that what is happening now happened once before in Earth’s history.”
“When was that?”
“Ten thousand years ago. Nagoya believes that the legend of Atlantis, as related by Plato in the Timaeus and Critias, two of his dialogues, tells the true story of what happened when all these Vile Vortices grew into Gates and tried to connect. He believes that a highly advanced human civilization was destroyed to the point where it is only a legend. That one of the Vile Vortices, now known as Bermuda Triangle Gate or the Bermuda Triangle, opened on top of Atlantis and destroyed it.”
“Hogwash!” Simmons exploded.
“Doctor Nagoya does has several doctorate degrees, Professor Simmons; in fact he is one of Japan’s foremost scientists. Mister President, I believe we are facing a dire threat not only to these specific areas but to mankind as a whole. It wasn’t hogwash or poppycock that destroyed Bright Eye; or made the Scorpion disappear so many years ago; or that knocked Michelet’s plane out of the sky.
“I believe we are being invaded through these Gates, sir, and we cannot sit on our current level of scientific knowledge insisting that it can’t be so, when in fact, it is already happening. We cannot intellectually appease this threat. Something’s happening, sir, and I don’t believe we have the time or the latitude to stick our heads up our asses and ignore what is going on.
“Sir, there is a long history of men in power, men who have the responsibility given to them, of not waking up to threats before it is too late. Remember Chamberlain in 1939 with Hitler? They had facts then, which they chose to ignore or squeeze into their own fanciful imaginings.”
“You’re walking a very dangerous line there,” the President’s voice was ice cold.
“Sir, if you think I am worried about my career or my pension or my position or anything else other than this threat, you are wrong. This invasion is real and this time there won’t be anywhere for people to run to and our country won’t be left alone.”
There was a long silence.
“And now?” the President finally asked. “What do we do now?”
“Sir, I'm hoping to find out what is on the other side in the Angkor Gate and then to formulate a plan of action.”
“How are you going to do that? Nothing has come back from there.”
/> “As I told you earlier, sir, one man did. He is currently with Mister Michelet. When he went in, he was contacted in some manner by something or someone inside that area. There was also a radio transmission to him just before Michelet’s plane went down from what appears to be one of his old teammates inside the Angkor Gate. I don’t know how that could be, but it’s the best lead we have. The man went in once and came out. I'm hoping he can do it again, this time with more information. In the meanwhile, I do have a list of actions that will put us in position to respond in a variety of ways once we find out what is really going on.”
“And if we don’t find out what is really going on?” the President asked. “God help us then, Mister President,” Foreman said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Even though it was three in the morning, a blast of heat hit Dane as he stepped onto the short staircase pressed up against the plane's door. But more than the heat, the smell brought back a cacophony of memories. An odor of exotic food, human sweat, and the faint tinge of disease and dirt made him feel for a moment that he was back in Saigon so many years ago.
Dane looked at the lights reflecting off the runway: Don Muang Airport was not that much different than it had been when he'd come here on R & R. Dane felt the same rush of bad feelings come over him that he had then. This was a sick place. Dane had only spent a day in Bangkok, holed up in a motel room before catching the first flight back to Vietnam and, for him, the peace and security of MACV-SOG's base camp. There was too much human misery in Bangkok, too much hopelessness and he couldn’t block it out.
“There's our man,” Freed said, nudging him and bringing him back to his present circumstance.
Dane saw the black limousine waiting for them. Chelsea at his side, he followed Michelet, Freed and Beasley to the car. Chelsea leaped in and curled up in the spacious center between two wide leather seats that faced each other.
An old man was inside. Michelet sat next to him, shaking his hand. “Lucian, it is good to see you.”
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