ICE GENESIS: Book 2 in the ICE Trilogy

by Kevin Tinto

  “Now, when searching for similar complexes, one signature that we can use is heat. In the case of the Antarctic complex, heat escaping a jammed airlock entry for centuries literally melted a large crevasse, leading directly to the entry. The power system not only did its job for nearly a thousand years, but generated significant heat to melt that amount of ice.”

  “Dr. Gupta,” the President said, “what theories do you have concerning the extraordinary power system that sustained this complex for centuries?”

  “We don’t have enough data supporting specific theories.” Kyra used a remote to advance through a series of slides. She stopped on one of the architectural drawings featuring the complex’s exterior. While the station was circular in shape, three pipe-shaped features extended out like a fan from the dome.

  “From an initial survey using ground-penetrating radar, the ground team identified three extraordinary culverts. While they might have been tasked to melt ice and pump water for personal or lab use, these culverts exceeded three meters in diameter. The teams used GPR out to a distance of a thousand meters from the complex. The culverts remained contiguous and unending—before the complex was destroyed, that is.”

  Kyra focused on the Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “Admiral Rush has a long and distinguished service record commanding both attack and ballistic nuclear submarines. Perhaps he could make an educated deduction.”

  Admiral Rush didn’t miss a beat. “Electrolytic Oxygen Generators.” He shrugged. “These conduits exceed by a huge margin the diameter necessary to supply the complex with pure oxygen, if that was the purpose. Of course, EOG also produces hydrogen. Hydrogen offers an excellent choice for power generation. Extending the culverts well beyond the complex tells me the non-terrestrials funneled a massive volume of water to the complex. Otherwise, the foundation of the complex would be immediately undermined, melting that much ice nearby.”

  Kyra nodded in agreement. “Our conclusions exactly, Admiral. If the non-terrestrials used known technology, breaking H2O into its base components of oxygen and hydrogen, they could theoretically have used the hydrogen byproduct of EOG to create power on a massive scale—perhaps enough to run a large city. The water pipes could also have been used to cool a large, traditional-style nuclear reactor. Our teams have not identified mechanisms photographed within the complex that we recognize as traditional nuclear reactors, however.”

  “Regarding our search for other possible ‘complex’ sites….” Kyra handed Jack the remote control. “Jack has come up with some unorthodox search methodologies that we estimate offer a Vegas longshot at best.”

  Jack stood. “The heat signature created by the complex in Antarctica was the result of an accident. It’s notable, but not a solid search-and-locate parameter, unless more such accidents occurred. However, we can assume that power generation on a large scale would be common component to all complex sites.”

  Jack paused. It was dead quiet in the Situation Room. Everyone from the President on down were so focused that even the normal shuffling, side chatter, and coughing had come to a halt.

  He continued, knowing he had a captive audience. “Cliff or cave-dwelling cultures are not common, but neither are they rare.” Jack clicked through a series of slides. “Examples include these dwellings in Mali, a near duplicate to the dwellings in Mesa Verde.” Additional slides flashed on the flat screens. “Cappadocia in central Turkey, Kandovan in Iran, and the Matmata subterranean dwellings in southern Tunisia are other excellent examples. And then there’s Guyaju, an ancient cave house located sixty miles from Beijing. Origins unknown. The complex has more than one-hundred and ten stone rooms, the largest cave dwelling ever discovered in China.”

  Jack paused briefly. “Native Americans lived—in fact, thrived—on the mesas for thousands of years prior to and nearly a thousand years after confining themselves inside the cliffs. Science struggled for years to come up with a logical reason for stuffing yourself into an uncomfortable, dangerous, and illogical cliff-dwelling existence. Can you imagine having to carry water up hundreds of feet from the river, then scaling bare wall in some cases, and then having to do the exact same thing the following day?” Jack grinned. “Well, now we know the why. The question is, did any of these other cultures around the world make a similar sacrifice for the same reason?”

  A couple of hands raised as new slides flashed up on the flat screens. For the moment, Jack ignored them. “Perhaps the best example is Cappadocia, Turkey, located near Mount Ararat. Here we have mysterious cliff and cavern dwellings, also quite ancient. As a bonus, they’re physically located alongside the biblical references of Noah’s Ark…. But…I hasten to add, not all cliff dwellings have mysterious beginnings or endings. The Tunisian dwellings, for instance, make perfect sense if you’re living in a desert, where hurricane-force sandstorms shred other house-building materials and temperatures commonly run at triple-digit levels. In that context, living underground is a common-sense survival tactic.”

  “I’d like to add”, Kyra said, “that Jack Hobson has climbed on and around Mt. Ararat on three occasions.”

  Teresa Simpson slapped the conference table, grinning broadly. “Jack! You’ve been holding back. You found the Ark, and you’re keeping it a secret.”

  Jack played along. “Well, the Catholic Church does have quite a sizable ‘keep-quiet’ slush-fund.” He paused while some at the table scowled and others chuckled. “In all seriousness, though, I saw no Arks and no evidence of a Hyper-Technology Cache on Ararat. There were plenty of ways to get killed, ranging from Kurdish rebels to Kangal dogs the size of small ponies, wild dogs and more—way more.”

  Wheeler grimaced and crossed his arms. “So, you believe the biblical scripture concerning Noah’s Ark could have been an ancient civilization’s interpretation of seeing objects they couldn’t explain?”

  Jack hesitated. “I’m sure we could debate the religious significance and importance of the Ark long into the afternoon. I want to stress that I’m simply tying together facts that match our search parameters. My own personal belief is there’s a better chance at finding the Ark than another alien complex buried on Mt. Ararat.”

  A slide lit the flat screens, featuring an aerial image of Mt. Ararat. “Ten years ago, Jacob Badger, a well-known Ark hunter and pastor of a large ministry located in northern Idaho, said he found a geothermal spring near the summit of Ararat. He reported the pool as measuring some ten meters across where it bubbled up out of the mountain. At some undetermined depth, it appeared the hot spring opened into a vast cavern. Badger and his team of Ark hunters used two-hundred and fifty feet of climbing line, weighted with a rock-filled, nylon bag, in order to measure the depth. According to Badger, at two-hundred feet, the weight hit bottom. He insisted the water was clear enough, even given the depth, for the team to identify a large, ‘non-natural’ structure. Now, if you’re familiar with the physical dimensions of the Ark, the ‘find’ didn’t match the biblical description.”

  People around the room nodded.

  “Badger was pushing sixty-five, but one of the younger guys on the expedition had free-diving experience. Despite Badger’s warnings, the kid stripped to his skivvies, ignoring the near-freezing air temperatures and thirty-knot winds on the surface, donned a pair of beat-up plastic swim goggles one of the other climbers used for swimming in hotel pools, tied the climbing line around his waist, took along a knife in case he needed to cut the line, and, splash, went into this spring. The water, at near seventy degrees Fahrenheit, felt like jumping into a kettle of coffee compared to standing out in the that icy wind tunnel near the summit of Ararat. He made several attempts to dive, without success. The kid was already sucking air at sixteen-thousand feet altitude; there’s hardly enough oxygen to have a conversation, much less hold your breath and kick down without fins.

  “After a few attempts, the kid said he needed weight—and suggested the nylon bag filled with stones. They
gave it to him, despite the obvious danger. When he submerged this time, he dropped…well, like a bag of rocks. They’d agreed to a maximum depth of fifty feet for safety. The kid went through fifty feet like greased lightning, and before Badger thought to brake the line, it went slack. The kid had sunk two-hundred feet straight down on one breath of air; nearly impossible for anyone to survive that except world-class free divers. Badger panicked. They hauled on the line, but it got hung up for more than thirty more seconds before they finally managed to reel him to the surface.”

  Eyebrows arched around the Situation Room. Jack had their full attention now.

  “When the kid reached the surface, he yanked off the swim goggles and blood gushed from his eyes. The water pressure at that depth had compressed the swim goggles down on his eye sockets with such force, well…with standard swim goggles, there is no way to equalize pressure like you’d have with a diving mask. Badger tried dragging him out of the water, but the kid pushed away, blinded by the blood flooding his eyes and hysterical. His last words were: ‘Pastor Badger! I found it!’ Badger and the others tried to force him out of the hot spring, but the kid used the knife he’d carried and slashed Badger across the face, nearly blinding him in one eye. He cut the line above the rock-filled stuff bag, flipped back head-first, and submerged, blood streaming from his crushed eyes.” Jack drew in a deep breath. This part was never easy. “He never resurfaced.”

  A collective exhale sounded around the room.

  “Badger took this as sign that he had indeed found the remains of the Ark, and the kid’s horrible death was Jacob Badger’s punishment for seeking out what should have remained concealed: God’s direct handiwork on earth. He returned to the States, left his ministry, and has been a hermit ever since.”

  Wheeler tossed down a pen. “Surely, others have found this spring, investigated further?”

  “Search? Yes—for years now. But no one’s relocated the spring, which was named ‘Jacob’s Well’ soon after he returned.”

  “This preacher—he must know how to find it?”

  “If he does, he won’t tell.” Jack shrugged.

  Fischer said, “I believe this should be investigated, as soon as possible. While the chances of finding anything related to non-terrestrials seems remote, we cannot leave one stone unturned if there’s a hint of evidence that would reveal another complex.”

  Jack put up his hands. “Well, I’d hardly call this evidence. I was asked to help come up with ideas on how and where we might use the limited data we have to provide search parameters. You can’t land a bunch of army rangers in eastern Turkey and start searching Ararat. The Turks aren’t ISIS. They’ve got a formidable military.”

  Admiral Rush spoke up. “Do we pick this Badger fellow up, hard-court-press him to talk?”

  Teresa Simpson made a disgusted sound. “Are you really willing to water-board this old preacher?”

  Again, Jack held up his hands. “If I might offer a suggestion here?”

  The President nodded.

  “Badger and I share common experience. We’ve both climbed treacherous, high-altitude mountains, and people in our care have died. I’ve been on Ararat. From a climbing perspective, it presents none of the problems you’d encounter on Everest. In fact, Everest base camp is at a higher elevation than Ararat’s summit. If I approach him, on a personal level, perhaps he’d agree to share the location of his spring—as a national-security matter.”

  Teresa Simpson leaned back in her chair. “Don’t you think Badger will put two and two together? Hermit or not, everyone’s connected these days. What prevents him from running to the media and selling his story to the highest bidder? ‘Jack Hobson, the climber from the mysterious events in Antarctica, is off to find a mysterious hot spring on Mt. Ararat.’”

  Jack shrugged. “Aside from my charm and general trustworthiness? Climbers who’ve survived tough expeditions have a certain bond. Plus, I’ll have my armed security along. He’ll get the gist of what happens if you leak national secrets.”

  Chapter 17

  President Wheeler sat on a couch inside the private White House residence. Behind him, through a picture window, the Washington Monument glowed under night lighting. A knock came at the door to the residence. Wheeler opened it and Stanton Fischer stood in the hallway, alongside a secret service escort. Wheeler ushered Fischer into the residence, led him back to the sitting room, and invited him to sit where he liked.

  “Stan…we have a problem that needs a solution.”

  “Would that be Al Paulson?”

  Wheeler nodded. “You were in the Situation Room today. He’s undermining the authority of the presidency.”

  “I agree, sir. How can I help?”

  “We need a plan to divest my administration of Mr. Paulson.”

  Fischer blinked. “I don’t know if that is possible. We have opposition senators and congressman responsible for the situation we find ourselves in. Any move against Al Paulson would result in an immediate action from them—and others, including the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and elements within the military.”

  “Agreed.”

  Fischer hesitated, then said, “Either Paulson decides upon his own volition to resign, or, he must be removed in a way that appears we had no hand in it.”

  Wheeler nodded. “He won’t resign voluntarily. No question about that. He’s power-mad and he operates well outside rule of law. He’s a threat to our country and constitution.”

  “That leaves only three options,” Fischer said. “Accidental death, suicide, or some fatal political action that his allies cannot defend.”

  “Your critical analysis is astute and on-target, as usual, Stan.”

  “Do you want me to come up with options, Mr. President?”

  Before Wheeler could respond, another knock sounded at the front door. Wheeler answered it, and the same secret service escort waited with another man. Wheeler nodded for the man to enter and closed the door behind. He escorted the man to the sitting room, where he took a seat on the couch opposite Stan Fischer.

  “Stan, I’d like you to meet Mr. Krause.” Krause nodded but didn’t bother to shake Fischer’s hand. “Mr. Krause has a remarkable resume.”

  “Active military?” Fischer asked

  “Not for some time,” said Krause.

  “An interesting name, Mr. Krause. “German ancestry?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Krause glanced at Wheeler, irritation clearly bordering on anger.

  Wheeler intervened. “Let’s say that Mr. Krause operates under a number of identities. I think it’s better if we stick to business and avoid the personal pleasantries.”

  “Of course.” Fischer shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

  “Mr. Krause has unique experience in a variety of black operations. He’s also a true patriot and has agreed to provide whatever assistance necessary in returning our government to the proper constitutional balance.”

  Krause remained stoic and expressionless.

  “I’ve briefed Mr. Krause on everything except the most sensitive elements of the Antarctic operation, so consider him up to speed on our history with Mr. Paulson, including our current predicament and potential solutions.”

  Finally, Krause spoke up. “You’ll find me to be forward, so I apologize in advance. My first question: Why worry about Al Paulson? You’ve got a war with Russia over what transpired in Antarctica. Rumors are flying about the ‘sensitive elements’ of that incident, including the discovery of a crashed alien spacecraft. That’s currently the best bet in Vegas, but there are others, ranging from a cave full of Nazi gold to a deadly virus discovered under the ice.” Krause paused. “Care to enlighten me on which one I should place my bet?”

  “I wish I could, Mr. Krause. These are crucial National Security matters.”

  Krause said, “And Paulson has knowledge of these issues—along with t
he rest of his entourage. Or so says the news.”

  “Yes—another reason he’s an issue that must be dealt with as soon as possible.”

  Krause nodded, crossed his arms. “You haven’t asked for it, but I’m going to give you my advice—before we get to the point-of-no-return here. Do your job as President: Focus on the Russians and this bizarre blackout situation over the southern end of the globe. Whatever happened in the past, it will be forgotten and forgiven if you get a handle on these challenges and bring them under control.”

  Fischer raised his hand, as if he were back in high school. “Excuse me, Mr. President. Does Mr. Krause have the details concerning our overriding problem, in New Mexico?”

  Krause looked from Wheeler, to Fischer, and then back again. “What problem is that, exactly?”

  “Thank you, Stan. I thought I should save that until I had a firm agreement from Mr. Krause to go forward.” Wheeler looked Krause directly in the eye. “We do have an agreement?”

  “Provided I know all the details that concern this operation, I have agreed.” He glanced at Fischer. “However, if your plan is to dribble out the information, then I will disagree to agree.”

  Wheeler nodded. “Before we can move on to Mr. Paulson, there’s something we must have back in our possession—and other, related details.”

  “Possession and details. Really?” Krause didn’t bother to hide his sarcasm. “I’m getting the distinct impression that my initial briefing from you was woefully inadequate.”