The Founders

by Richard Turner

  “Really? Like what?”

  Elena turned the tablet so Grant could see it. “What do you see on this engraving that you haven’t seen anywhere else?”

  Grant looked over the stone and then shrugged. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s different?”

  “Boats,” said Elena. “Look closely, and you’ll clearly see a row of boats sailing toward a distant shore.”

  Grant took the stone in his hands. On it were three large ships, accompanied by a few smaller ones. “Okay, now I see them. I wish we could decipher what the hieroglyphs underneath the boats mean.”

  “I’ve taken dozens of pictures,” said Hayes, “but with the sat phones not working in here, I’ve been unable to send any of them back to Gabrielle.”

  “What do you think this represents?” asked Grant as he gently handed back the tablet to Elena.

  “It could be anything,” said Hayes. “I’m inclined to think it shows a time when people used to fish these waters.”

  “Or it could be proof that after the great catastrophe at the end of the last ice age had wiped out much of the old world, the survivors fled for their lives in these ships and spread their advanced knowledge throughout the world,” said Maclean.

  Hayes shook his head. “Sergeant, we went over this back in my office. There is no known evidence to support the theory of hyperdiffusionism.”

  Maclean grinned. “Not until now.”

  Grant raised a hand. “Folks, I’m tired, and it’s been a long and stressful day. What are you going on about?”

  “Hyperdiffusionism is an unproven theory in which one great civilization was responsible for spreading its knowledge around the world,” explained Hayes. “Proponents of this theory argue that certain religious and cultural practices, along with the building of stone pyramids around the globe, can only be explained by the diffusion of one civilization onto another.”

  Elena sat up. “Jeremy, if you look at what we’ve found so far, from the map to the temple in Mount San Fernando, to the carvings in this cave, even you have to agree that we’re on to something. I know it’s hard to digest, but the scientific community may have to reexamine its understandings of our earliest civilizations, and how they came into existence.”

  “I will do no such thing. For every theory you put forward, I can counter it with a more plausible and coherent argument. Until we can decipher what is written on the map and the carvings we have found to date, we’re still just fumbling around in the dark.”

  “Whatever it all means,” said Grant, “I’ve a feeling you two are never going to agree on all of the facts.”

  “And I, for one, like it that way,” said Maclean. “It makes life way more interesting.”

  Grant checked his watch. “Jim, you’re up,” he said, handing over the M203 to Maclean.

  “Who am I on with?”

  “Specialist Wood.”

  Maclean stood, checked the weapon, slung it over his shoulder, and walked off to find the Ranger.

  “Time for some shuteye,” said Grant, stretching out his legs next to the fire.

  “How can you sleep with the knowledge that those things are still out there?” asked Hayes.

  “Trust Jim. He knows what he’s doing. If you don’t rest, when the time comes you’ll have no strength. Trust me, sleep when you can. You never know the next time you’ll get the opportunity.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. So, get some sleep. Tomorrow’s shaping up to be a long day.” Grant leaned his back against a rock and tried to get as comfortable as he could. He closed his eyes and let his fatigue wash over him. In less than a minute, he was fast asleep.

  No matter how hard he tried to ignore the person tapping him on the shoulder, Grant found he was losing the battle. He opened his sleepy eyes and rolled over. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was lying on the couch in Rebeca Dove’s home. He stretched his arms over his head and sat up.

  “Hey, sleepyhead,” said Susan.

  Grant turned his head and saw her standing there in her pajamas with her favorite doll in her arms. “Susan, what are you doing here?”

  “I live here with my grandmother.”

  Grant shook his head to help clear the fog in his mind. “You can’t be at home, you’ve been abducted.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why are we here?”

  “I came to wake you up, you big silly.”

  “Why?”

  Fear filled Susan’s eyes. “Because they’re coming.”

  With his body covered in sweat and heart racing in his chest, Grant instantly woke and sat straight up. He reached for his MP7 and jumped to his feet. His chest heaved as he gulped in deep breaths of air. Grant felt as if he had just finished running a marathon. He brought up his SMG and looked around. The cavern was quiet. Maclean, who was checking on the prisoners, turned to look at him curiously. At Grant’s feet, Elena and Hayes both lay soundly sleeping.

  “I must be losing it,” said Grant.

  With an ear-shattering boom, the Claymore covering the entrance to the cave detonated. A bright light flashed through the cavern as hundreds of tiny pellets shot forth and struck one of the robots. Damaged but not destroyed, the thing staggered into the cave, only to be hit in the chest by a high-explosive shell fired by Maclean. Another explosion rocked the cavern as the grenade detonated, ripping the creature apart.

  “Stand to!” yelled Grant.

  The Rangers, who had been sleeping, ran to their defensive positions and waited for the next attack.

  Grant dropped to one knee and looked through his weapon’s sights. He swung the barrel over toward the U-Boat pen. As he had predicted, another robot climbed out of the water and stood there for a moment, apparently picking its next victim. With its clawed feet digging into the sandy ground, the creature sprinted forward. Like its counterpart, it was doomed. It had gone less than ten meters when one of its feet tugged the tripwire leading to a hidden Claymore mine. Struck in the midsection, the beast fell back onto the ground. Before it could stagger back to its feet, Specialist Wood blasted it in half.

  Grant ran over and kicked the creature’s body parts back into the water. He waited a minute before turning and saying, “All clear.”

  “Do you think we got them all, sir?” asked Wright.

  “I hope so, but you never know,” replied Grant. “Let’s remain at one-hundred-percent manning for the next couple of hours.”

  “I doubt anyone’s going to go back to sleep, not after what just happened.”

  “I know I won’t be,” said Grant, walking back to his friends.

  “Are they dead?” asked Hayes.

  “I’m not sure if robots really do die,” said Grant. “But I can assure you they’re in hundreds of tiny pieces.”

  “I’m so scared; I have to go to the bathroom again,” said Elena.

  “Unless you want to go where you are, I’d give it a little bit of time before we venture off again.”

  “I can wait. The last thing I want is to be caught by one of those things with my pants down.”

  Grant chuckled briefly. “It would make for a good story after a couple of beers.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  43

  The fools, thought Charles. No one is watching us.

  He inched his fingers along the back of his belt until he felt a tiny ridge. Charles moved his fingers between his belt and his back and pulled up on a small knife he had hidden there. Made of flexible carbon, the knife could be hidden anywhere on a person’s body and be all but undetectable. Charles flipped it around, so the razor-sharp blade rested on his restraints. He knew it was now or never and began to cut at the plastic holding his hands together.

  Grant stood and clutched his rifle tight in his hands. Something in the back of his mind warned him that their troubles weren’t over. He scanned the cavern and saw the Rangers patrolling the perimeter while Maclean watched over the jumpy civilian survivors. The cavern seemed secure, but Grant fel
t uneasy. All of a sudden, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charles jump to his feet and charge the nearest Ranger. Before he could bring his weapon up to fire, the mercenary tackled the soldier from behind and jammed a knife to the man’s throat.

  “Drop all of your weapons, or this man dies!” yelled Charles.

  Every weapon in the cave swung toward the hired gun.

  “I mean it! I’ve got nothing to lose. Now do it.”

  Grant approached Charles, keeping his weapon’s sights trained on the man’s head. “You know we’re not going to let you go. So why don’t you put down the blade and stand up, with your hands above your head.”

  Charles dug the knife deep enough into the Ranger’s throat, causing him to bleed. “Back off or he dies!”

  “Easy does it, mate,” said Maclean, moving in to get a clean shot.

  Grant was about to take another step when the cavern was unexpectedly bathed in orange light. He glanced up and saw a glowing orange ball descend through the opening in the roof. It hovered in the air, not making a sound. It was identical to the one Grant and Maclean discovered in Libya.

  “What the hell’s going on?” shouted Charles as a beam of light shot from the ball and lit up the mercenary.

  Grant was at a loss for words. A heartbeat later, everyone in the cave was bathed in the same glow. Everyone but him.

  “David, I don’t like this!” cried out Elena.

  “It’s okay,” said Grant, trying to soothe her fears. “Everyone just try and stay calm.”

  In the next breath, the beams all turned bright blue. Anyone touched by the light dropped to the ground, unconscious.

  “Jesus,” Grant muttered under his breath.

  The orange ball dropped lower until it was floating a few meters away from Grant. “Captain Grant, I want you to disarm the second Claymore overlooking the U-Boat pen,” said a voice from inside the ball.

  Grant couldn’t believe his ears. “Pardon?”

  “The second Claymore. Disarm it.”

  Grant turned, walked over to the last mine in the cave, and made it safe.

  “Thank you,” said the voice.

  The sound of water bubbling and foaming made Grant look over at the pen. To his total amazement, the conning tower of a submarine breached the surface, followed right away by the outer hull of the vessel.

  “Drop your weapon,” ordered the ball. “You won’t be needing it from now on.”

  Grant tossed his MP7 to his feet, as well as his pistol.

  A hatch on the conning tower flipped open. A man dressed in a dark blue nautical uniform climbed out of the tower and stood there, looking over at Grant. “Good morning, Captain Grant,” said the man with a slight Scandinavian accent.

  “Good morning to you,” replied Grant, wondering belatedly if he had also been knocked out and was having some sort of crazy dream.

  The man climbed down from the tower and out onto the ship’s hull. A couple of crewmen came up through another hatch and extended a gangplank from the sub to the concrete walkway. The man walked over and extended his hand in greeting. “Captain Grant, let me introduce myself. My name is Captain Albert Niskala.”

  Grant shook Niskala’s hand. The man looked to be in his mid-twenties. He was slender, with jet-black hair and glacier-blue eyes.

  “I take it you’re not here to rescue my friends and me,” said Grant.

  “Sadly, no. You and your colleagues are to consider yourselves my prisoners.”

  “And what if I don’t want to be your prisoner?”

  Niskala smiled. “Come now, Captain, even you must realize the hopelessness of your current predicament. The orb can be programmed to kill as well as stun. Shall I start killing off your friends, one by one, until you agree to be my prisoner?”

  Grant gritted his teeth and raised a hand. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll come willingly.”

  “That’s good, because Susan has been dying to see you again.”

  The mere mention of her name filled Grant’s heart with hope. “Is she all right?”

  “Yes, of course she is. Now, no more questions. We have a two-day trip ahead of us, and I want to get going right away.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see soon enough.”

  From out of the dark, a tranquilizer dart struck Grant in the neck. Before he knew what was going on, his feet gave out from under him, and he tumbled to the ground, unconscious.

  Niskala snapped his fingers in the air. “I want all of the prisoners secured below and the charges rigged to bring this place down in the next thirty minutes.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied a stocky sailor.

  “Make sure you separate the soldiers from the others, and I want Grant and his team locked up in a room by themselves.”

  The stocky sailor saluted and ran off to pass along Niskala’s orders.

  Niskala felt a pang of remorse at giving the order to destroy the pen. It had served him well over the years. However, it couldn’t be helped. Times had changed, and things that had once been a secret were in danger of becoming known to the outside world. Niskala and his masters could no longer afford to take the risk. It was time to erase the past.

  44

  Gauntlet Headquarters

  A terrible silence gripped the room. Everyone in the duty center stared in shock at the image on the screen.

  “Play it again,” ordered Colonel Andrews.

  “Sir?” muttered a stunned technician.

  “The satellite feed—play it again.”

  The sergeant sat in her chair and typed the commands into her computer to bring up the image of Bouvet Island on the large monitor.

  “Run it again, but this time at half-speed,” said Andrews.

  The island was pictured in the center of the screen. A few seconds passed before there was a bright flash of light, which blinded the incoming picture for about a minute before it began to clear. When the satellite high in orbit over the South Atlantic reestablished a clear image, the entire western portion of the island was gone. The Norwegian station, along with the beached ship, was no longer there.

  Andrews looked over at the duty officer. “What is NASA saying about this?”

  “Sir, they’re reporting this as a possible meteorite strike,” replied the officer.

  “Were there any sizable meteors being tracked before the impact?”

  “Three, sir,” replied a technician, looking up from his computer. “Two smaller objects came down in Siberia, and the other was tracked entering the atmosphere over the South Atlantic.”

  “What about comms? Have you been able to reach any of our people via their sat phones?”

  “No, sir,” said the duty officer, sounding glum. “We’ve been trying for hours. Unfortunately, none of our calls have been answered.”

  Andrews drummed his fingers against his thigh. “I don’t like this. It’s all too damn convenient, if you ask me. A meteor just happens to hit the one place in the world we have people? I’m calling BS on this one. How long until the Farragut is in range to launch her choppers?”

  A blue icon appeared on another screen’s image of the South Atlantic. “Sir, it will be in range in thirty-nine hours.”

  “That’s too long. Something catastrophic happened on that island. What it was, I have no idea at this time; however, if we’ve got severely injured personnel awaiting medical attention, thirty-nine hours might as well be thirty-nine days. They’ll die before anyone reaches them. See if we can get the Farragut to increase her speed.”

  “Colonel, I’ll pass your request to the secretary of defense,” said Mason, reaching for a phone.

  Andrews nodded his thanks. He looked around the room and saw the fear and concern in the eyes of his people. “Folks, I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that everything is all right, because as of now we have no way of knowing that. Keep trying to reach them on their phones. Perhaps we’ll get lucky, and they’ll answer the call. Until then, all we can do is wait for the Far
ragut to dispatch a helicopter to the island to look for survivors.”

  Andrews turned to leave and spotted Captain Erica Jones staring forlornly at the monitors. He walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Erica, it hadn’t escaped me that you and David had started seeing one another. He’s tough and resourceful. If anyone could come out of this unscathed, it will be him. Whatever you do, don’t lose hope. I’m sure he and all of our people are going to be found alive.”

  “Thanks, sir,” replied Jones. “But I just don’t see how anyone could have survived such a catastrophic blast.”

  “Have faith, Erica.” With that, Andrews carried on his way to his office, wondering if his words had made any difference. He prayed they would, but only time would tell if any of his people were still alive.

  45

  The South Atlantic

  Grant sat back in his chair and smiled grimly as Maclean rolled over on his bunk and opened his tired eyes. “Glad to see you could join the rest of us.”

  Maclean let out a deep yawn. He sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and looked around the cramped room. Grant and the rest of their group were sitting at a small table. “How long was I out for?”

  “I can’t be sure, as I was shot with a tranquilizer dart after all of you were stunned by the orb,” explained Grant. “I was the first to wake up, followed by Elena, then Jeremy, and now you.”

  Maclean slid down from his narrow bunk and joined the others. “My mouth feels drier than the Sahara.”

  Elena poured him a cup of water from a jug sitting on the table.

  “Cheers,” he said, toasting her.

  “How do you feel?” asked Grant.

  “Like I’ve been on a weeklong bender with my mates from back home.”

  “That’s exactly how Elena and I felt,” said Hayes. “Keep drinking water, and you’ll feel more like yourself in about an hour.”