Atlantis Quadrilogy - Box Set

by Brandon Ellis

  “I should have known.”

  19

  June 1st, 2018 ~ Charlotte, North Carolina

  Drew sat on a white bench, his mother next to him. He eyed his mother’s pink sweatshirt with blue letters that read Tanner Springs Assisted Living Center. It was kind of gaudy, but she didn’t seem to notice or care.

  “How are you liking it here, Mom?”

  His mom’s curly, gray hair bobbed up and down and her chin shook but her eyes were devoid of expression. “I like it a lot.” She extended her hand, shaking Drew’s. “I’m Laura.”

  Drew nodded, squeezing her hand.

  Then her eyes went vacant again and she asked tentatively, “Who are you?”

  “I’m your son, Mom. Drew Avera.” He’d already told her half a dozen times today.

  “How old are you?” she questioned.

  “I’m twenty-two.”

  “How old am I?”

  Drew hated this question, and even though she asked it every time he visited, he always told her the truth. “You’re forty-eight.”

  Her eyes widened. “I’m what?”

  “You’re still young, Mom. Don’t worry.”

  She squeezed his hand tightly, then patted his hand with her other. “Oh, wouldn’t that be quite the news story.” Her curious eyes gazed into Drew’s. “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a news reporter of sorts, or a journalist. I’m kinda both. In my position, they can be the same thing.”

  Drew’s phone rang; the Caller ID read Hobbs Howell. He answered, saying, “You didn’t air it. It’s been almost a week.”

  “We’re not going to air it.”

  “Hobbs, you know I’m going to send this to every major and minor news outlet. Why aren’t you airing it?”

  “To keep peace and order.”

  “I’m disappointed.”

  “You did an excellent job with your source and getting him to send you those satellite images. We’re cutting you a big check as I speak.”

  Drew closed his eyes. “That’s not why I’m a journalist. In fact, I’m already a pretty damn respected one, so I’d appreciate it if you’d treat me that way. If I cared about money, I’d have worked for a tech company that would give me twice the pay. I’m a bona fide genius and you know it, which is one of the reasons why you hired me so young. Companies are banging down my door just about every day trying to get me to work for them and for a lot more dough.” They weren’t, but it sounded impactful. “I’m not doing this for the money, Hobbs.”

  “Drew, we respect you, but you can’t get your way on this one. Plus, I’d get blasted by the GSA, the NSA, and the fucking President, pardon my French, if I were to let this story out into the open.”

  “Why would GSA have any leverage?”

  “Don’t send the pictures out to anyone. This story is done.”

  “The hell I won’t!”

  “I can’t defend you, your credentials, or this station if you talk about ridiculous structures on another object in our solar system. I will discredit you in every way possible. You know we can do it. And you know Joe Public will believe us and not you. We’ve got the clout, you’re a brainy, weed-smoking flake, with a couple of DUI’s and an underage pornography habit.”

  Drew stood. “I do not. I’ve not even had a parking ticket and I’m no pedophile. You’re an asshole, Hobbs.”

  Hobbs was silent.

  “You wouldn’t really do that to me, would you?”

  Hobbs sighed. “It’s out of my hands, my friend. This is a matter of national security. We do not dick around with those guys. We’d be in a Federal prison faster than you could say jackfuckingrabbit. Let it go. For all our sakes.”

  How Drew wished he was recording their conversation. “You are supposed to defend the station no matter what news is aired. It’s our job to tell the truth.”

  “Noted.”

  If he couldn’t convince Hobbs, he’d have to convince someone else. Otherwise, the death threat would become his reality.

  “I’m sending my emails and pictures to alternative media outlets and major news outlets.”

  “Your pictures won’t go far. They won’t air. The story’s too complicated and far-fetched.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Fine,” said Hobbs. “It’s your funeral.”

  Drew hung up and tried to rub the stress off his face. He turned, smiling at his mom.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I’m your son, Mom. Drew Avera.”

  She observed him for a moment. “You’re pale.”

  “Yes, I’m very stressed, mom. I just got a bad phone ca – ”

  “My son used to play guns with his friends in the forest behind our house. He was such a spirited young man. I remember one time when he broke our window and blamed it on the girl down the street. I wasn’t there, so I didn’t see him break the window, but when he blamed the poor, poor girl, you know what I said?”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I told my son that the girl had moved away more than a week ago.”

  “And I still went with the story. Didn’t I?”

  “She didn’t do it. My son did.”

  “Why do you always talk about your son’s childhood?”

  “It’s something all parents share.”

  Drew rubbed her shoulder. “What do you all share?”

  She patted his hand. “No matter how old my boy gets, he’s always my baby. That’s how we moms see our kids. Your mom probably sees you the same way as I see my boy.”

  “Do you remember anything else about your boy?”

  “He carried a camera around everywhere he went, and took pictures.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’m twenty-two.”

  “I bet my son is around your age. Do you know him?”

  “I do.”

  “I bet he’s out there with his camera.”

  “He is.”

  She smiled. “Tell him to visit once in a while. Tell him to bring his camera. Tell him his ma wants to know what he’s been up to. It’s been so long. I bet he’s still spinning tall tales and impossible yarns.”

  “I will.”

  A bell rang and she glanced behind her. “The door is opening.”

  “You don’t have to go inside whenever the door opens.”

  She fussed. “Oh, yes I do. How will I get inside when the door closes?”

  “You can simply open and close the door yourself. You see, someone’s just leaving.”

  She wiggled her finger at the door. “No! It’s closing. Get the door!”

  Drew exhaled sharply. “Okay, Mom.”

  “It’s closed.”

  He walked a few feet to the door and opened it. He gestured for her to walk through the entrance. “You see? You have access to Tanner Springs Assisted Living Center at just about any time. If you can’t get inside for some reason, then you can press the handy little doorbell and someone will come and let you in.”

  “Aren’t you a gentleman? You have to teach my husband sometime. Where is Sir, anyway?” She shuffled through the doorway.

  Sir, his father, had been out of the picture since Drew had been two years old. He was either dead or living a second life with a new family. Sir was an odd name and for years, Drew hunted for a “Sir Avera,” but could never find him. “I’ll tell him, Mom.”

  “Can you show me to my room?”

  “Of course.”

  “That’s a boy.”

  Drew showed his mother to her room. Today he’d be emailing the news world. World News Network wasn’t going to get their way, neither was GSA.

  He placed his hand in his pocket as he walked out of the assisted living center and pulled out his confirmation plane ticket, eyeing it for the fifth time since he’d printed it out earlier in the day.

  Departing Charlotte Douglas International Airport. Arriving Dallas Fort Worth International Airport. Date, June 4th.

  In a co
uple days he’d be checking out Terra Energy Corporation, which as luck would have it, was connected to the Global Safety Administration’s building.

  He’d be killing two birds with one stone. If he wasn’t killed first.

  20

  June 2nd, 2018 ~ Underfoot Black, Grenada

  Rivkah closed her eyes and held her breath. A man in a white doctor’s coat, wearing a mask and holding a spray canister, frothed her face. Her damaged skin, scarred from burns, tickled at first, but then the burn set in. She thought her epidermis would surely be stripped from her muscles, leaving her worse off than she’d been before. She fell to the floor, screaming.

  The doctor grabbed her arms. He wasn’t going to let her rub the treatment away.

  “It burns,” she yelled.

  “It’s reversing the damage. In a few seconds, the sensation will change.” If that was his effort to console her, he was doing a piss-poor job. The burning sensation deepened. They’d moved from “fire” to “acid.” And she should know.

  She wanted to scratch her face off. The doctor held her by the wrists, his grip firm and unrelenting. She kicked at him, aiming for the place that would hurt most, rather than do the most damage. She wasn’t trained in Muay Tai martial arts for nothing. She could ninja his ass to the damned ground.

  He didn’t let go.

  “It now itches...like hell. What did you do to me?”

  “This will be over soon.”

  She kicked again and then, in a move that defied gravity, kneed the man in the groin. “Let me go.” He about lost his breath and doubled over but managed to continue to hold on to her.

  A rush of adrenaline rose. Her heart thundered up from her chest and into her throat. She didn’t know if the burning or the itching was causing more pain, but she didn’t care. They were killing her. That was the plan all along. The pyramids were bogus. Just a ploy to get her to leave the house. The treatment was a joke and she was being eliminated. Did she accidentally leak confidential military information when she was in the service? If so, when?

  Blood trickled down her chin and she shrieked in agony.

  She failed this life, maybe she’d be more competent in the next.

  “Get it off me,” she cried.

  He cringed, still trying to rebound from the shot to the groin. “It’s too late, ma’am.”

  Yes, this was torture for making a mistake. For entrusting her junior pilots on missions meant for her. No, that couldn’t be it. She was training them. It was the time she misspoke, the time she let her mother know what she was chasing UFO’s. No, that couldn’t be it. How would they have known that? If they would just tell her what she did, she could correct it.

  “What did I do?” she asked, her face contorting.

  She knew what she did. She volunteered to come to this project to heal her body from the scars that kept her hidden from the world for so long. To bury herself away from the mess she made of herself. Today, another misstep, she’d willfully walked into her own death.

  “Just tell me what I did,” she muttered, her eyelids opening and closing. “I can fix it.”

  A stench rose in the room. A smell she was familiar with, burning skin. Then it started, the sizzling, as if her face was on a hot greased pan, her tissue melting away, bringing a face to the surface of her mind. A face she’d pushed far back into her consciousness long ago, the man who caused the ultimate failure in her life, the man who left her to die in the flames of her starfighter.

  Kaden Jaxx

  She howled and leaned forward, vomiting.

  “Kill me. Just end it,” she said under breath, spitting remnants of vomit on the floor. Then, her skin abruptly tightened and a chill engulfed her.

  She relaxed and went limp, not able to move, although her mind was on overdrive. One minute she wanted to die, the next the pain had disappeared.

  “What’s happening to me?”

  “Stage two,” the doctor bellowed.

  A door opened and in marched medical technicians with wet towels. They patted her face down. A technician picked up a bowl and the doctor tilted Rivkah’s head back. Someone poured the bowl’s oily contents over Rivkah’s face and spread it around her nose, under her eyes, and over her lips.

  “It’s thick aloe, enhanced with crystal flecks and colloidal silver,” the doctor said.

  They picked Rivkah up, her listless body making her heavier than normal.

  “Where...are you...taking...me?” Rivkah asked, oil dripping in her mouth and down her throat. She could barely keep her eyes open. Her body wanted to shut down. Did she need sleep or was she truly going to die? She didn’t know.

  “The energetics room. Energy medicine; lights, sounds, and lasers,” the doctor replied, helping carry her out of the room and down a hallway.

  Rivkah closed her eyes. “Please...no more...hurts too much.”

  “The hurt is over for today,” the doctor responded. “It’s time to relax and regenerate. You’ll be flying a ship in no time.”

  They rested her on a table in a dimly lit room. She heard a door close. “Help. Where – ”

  Everything faded to black.

  21

  June 4th, 2018 ~ Plano, Texas

  It had been twenty-four long hours since Drew had sent satellite images of the structures on Callisto to every major and minor news media outlet, along with his email communication between Jaxx and him, plus a recording of being threatened on his voicemail.

  He’d emailed radio shows, talk show hosts, and even mailed off physical copies of the photos to the old fashioned news reporters and anchors that couldn’t stand using the computer.

  No one had responded yet. Odd. In his line of work, and being a reporter himself, he’d thought the curious minds he sent his information to would at least get him one or two replies. Or, you know, all of them.

  In truth, they probably had responded and the responses were either intercepted and erased, or his email was blocked, and no one received his emails. That meant someone was on to him, which meant he had to work hard and fast.

  Why did TEC have to have their offices in Texas? It was worse than the Carolinas. It was so humid, even his clothes perspired. He closed the door to his rental car, reached into his pocket and took out the joint he had crafted to look like a cigarette. He lit it up and took a few puffs, taking in a nice buzz. He couldn’t, however, get too buzzed. Just needed a little to take the edge off. He wasn’t used to tracking down leads as a fugitive. He checked his phone. Still no calls. Not from his media contacts or THEM.

  “Should have just leaked the pics to my underground buddies. That would have gotten me more traction. Used the Dark Web, gone undercover, been a true whistle-blower, rather than trying to play by the rules. That’s always been my problem. Note to self, stop playing by the rules.”

  He took one more drag, just for luck, then spat on the ground, gently dabbing the end of the joint on the spit, successfully putting it out. He touched the joint’s end, making sure it wasn’t still hot, then placed it in his pocket. A little now, a little later, a little buzz, and the Drew cats were all happy bunnies. He opened the car door and grabbed his cologne, spraying it all over him. He popped a piece of mint gum in his mouth and walked up to a large, three-story tan building with the words TEC Center emblazoned near the top of the building. Cars filled the parking lot and the stench of hot asphalt filled his nostrils. Why would anyone live in the city, man? It reeked.

  Next to the main entrance was a sign listing businesses and their locations within the building. GSA had one office, while Terra Energy Corp had the entire third floor, plus a warehouse behind the building.

  He made his way to GSA’s office, passing IRS auditing and a small firm of lawyers. An attractive woman walked down the hall, looking at Drew as if he was unkempt and creepy.

  He turned, watching her walk away, nearly bumping into a wall.

  Stop gawking, you idiot. He rolled his eyes, thinking how being so young and horny all the time had its disadvantages.
I just need a damn girlfriend.

  He smelled his armpit. Oh my God, I smell like three-day-old garlic and onions.

  He stood outside the GSA office. Colonel Slade Roberson, GSA Head was embossed on a placard on the door. Just below it was a woman’s name he didn’t recognize. The door was locked. The lights were turned off. They had either left for the afternoon or were on a break.

  Peeking through the large window that framed the office wall, he saw that the place was nice and tidy. A main desk, perhaps for the receptionist, sat on one side of the wall and a separate office with a door was on the other side.

  There was a problem, though. Not one piece of paper was on the main desk. No pens, sticky notes, or anything that would tell Drew someone had been recently working there. The dust on the computer screen, plus the cobwebs in the corner verified his suspicion.

  He tried the door again, jiggling the knob a few times and pushing into the door. It didn’t budge. He turned around and exited the building. The warehouse was large for a reason. He wanted to see why.

  Walking around the building, the warehouse matched the size of the TEC Center, telling Drew it was just as significant, if not more so, than the building he was just in. He knew he was right when a guard post near the entrance came into view. It was occupied by two guards. Uniformed guards. Frowning guards. Guard guards. All they needed was a German Shepherd and the tableau would be complete. They were guarding some serious shit.

  At the post, Drew held out a press badge, wondering if that would get him anywhere. “Drew Avera, WNN reporter. Can I speak with someone inside the warehouse please?” Maybe that would garner him admittance.

  The guard shook his head. “What is this in regards to?”

  Drew sighed, needing to give a good show. “Why is everyone giving me the run around today? I arrived here on Colonel Slade Roberson’s orders. I was supposed to interview him in his office and then he was going to give me a tour of the warehouse. Yet he’s not here. I’ve tried to contact the colonel several times, but no answer. Where is he?”