Eden Two

by Mike Sullivan

  Seabury looked at Hornsby. A male bond had developed between them. Seabury liked the elderly man and marveled at how soon they’d become friends. “It’s okay, Harlan,” he said. “I’ve changed my mind. Lois can pick us up after your presentation. I’ve decided to go.”

  “Really?”

  “I like the topic you’re presenting,” said Seabury. “Interesting stuff. I’m sure it’ll raise some stiff, academic eyebrows.”

  “Indeed, it will.” Hornsby grabbed a notebook. “Notes,” he said as they headed out the door. “I never leave home without them.” In the hall, he said, grinning, “Gosh! They might pelt me with eggs after what I have to say.”

  * * * *

  The Southeast Asian Archeological Society met in a conference suite at the Grand Plaza Hotel. The topic being presented by Doctor Harlan J. Hornsby was titled: “Fact or Fiction: Atlantis the Lost Continent & the Mythical Garden of Eden.”

  Seabury took a seat in an aisle near the back door. Journalists, academics, history and archeology buffs, and society old-timers sat closer to the podium. The room contained over a hundred people.

  “Quite a long title, I’ll admit,” said Hornsby.

  He adjusted his red tie at the podium and cast a serious glance out toward his audience. A light entered his pale blue eyes behind his wire glasses. He looked alert and professional. The group no longer sipped coffee or engaged in academic shop talk, but sat up straight in their chairs. Eyes turned toward the front of the room, locked on Hornsby. Hornsby took a sip of bottled water and began.

  “I’ll cut to the chase,” he said. “Most academics won’t go out on a limb immediately. I’m not one of them. It’s no secret that my allegiance to one man and his immeasurable work in the field of archeological research is well-known. I am talking about my good friend and colleague Doctor Stephen Oppenheimer. His book, Eden in the East, is really quite remarkable. No, I’m not here to promote the book but to present some of its conclusions. I suggest that it is entirely possible for the Lost Continent of Atlantis to have existed here over nine thousand years ago. I suggest that the extensive land mass could very well have been the home of a second Garden of Eden.”

  “That’s a lot of suggestions,” a heckler chimed in from the audience.

  “Who said that?” Suddenly, Hornsby’s mild-mannered voice became defensive. He pointed out toward the audience. A flippant journalist squirmed in his seat. Hornsby located him and said, “Did your mother let you out of your room, today?”

  Hornsby’s voice oozed with sarcasm. People in the chairs next to the journalist looked at him and laughed. The man’s face flushed. He lowered his head, embarrassed. In the back row, Seabury smiled gleefully. Hornsby’s got spunk.

  “Okay, let me repeat,” Hornsby said. “A second Garden of Eden could have existed here in Southeast Asia. That’s what I’m here to talk about.”

  The audience stood in stunned silence. A few academics smirked, journalist took notes, and society members whispered among themselves in their tight little cliques.

  Hornsby continued, “I’m not trying to ruffle the feathers of the Judeo-Christian community. I’m here to present evidence—factual evidence to support my theories and conclusions. “First, visible signs suggest that a settled agriculture existed here in the Southeast Asian region at least as early as those in the Middle East. Rice was cultivated in the Malay Peninsula nine thousand years ago, two thousand years before its cultivation in India and China. More evidence suggests early signs of irrigation by New Guinea Highlanders. They grew crops such as taro. These people were undoubtedly descendants of refugees from the Sunda Shelf region. The region flooded during the last Ice Age, approximately twelve thousand years ago. The descendants survived and provided very early signs of irrigation in the Asia-Pacific region.”

  The lights in the room dimmed, and Seabury could see a slide tossed up onto a screen. Heads lowered, bodies leaned forward listening. Hornsby clicked on the first slide. To his left, a massive land mass leaped up onto the screen.

  “Eons ago, this region was called Sundaland. Malaysia, Sumatra, Indonesia, and Borneo joined together to form one continent. Could this have been the Lost Continent of Atlantis? Evidence suggests that it could have been. Remember, folks, that we’re talking about a very sophisticated, well-established, well-constructed, totally remarkable society. Trade routes flourished, Southeast Asia became a hub of oceanic commerce, and language barriers proved non-existent.” He paused for effect, let his words settle in, and added, “Do you see what I’m getting at?”

  Seabury leaned forward in his seat and stared at the screen. The audience sat motionless in their chairs. No one whispered or squirmed about. A hush fell over the room. All eyes focused on Hornsby.

  He clicked on another slide. “As Doctor Oppenheimer suggests, evidence existed of a map called the Cantino Map, circa 1502. Please listen carefully, because the map and its significance are extremely important.”

  He took a sip of water and went on. “This early Portuguese map of the world shows Southeast Asia as it would have appeared during the Ice Age—namely, a massive peninsula comprising of the area known as the Sunda Shelf. The Portuguese only reached Malacca on the Malay Peninsula in 1509. Therefore, someone had seen the need and had the ability to map the Indonesian region upward of seven thousand years ago.

  “The region flourished. Large cities, temples, and gardens were built in the region of East Central Borneo–a region known today as Kalimantan. Four main rivers drained from the Biblical Garden of Eden, mentioned in Genesis. Here in Borneo, there is a similar drainage system. Four rivers drain from the Muller Mountain Range and empty into the sea. I’m going on record to suggest that current archeological evidence suggests that a second Garden of Eden existed here in Southeast Asia after the Great Flood. The early Church Fathers—clever as they were and deep into their own self-interests and political agendas—had omitted writing about its existence in their Bible. There was a second Garden, and for that matter, evidence based on years of geological research suggests that the lost city of Atlantis existed here as well.”

  He took another sip of water and continued, “Accounts of a City State mentioned in Plato’s dialogues Timaeus and Critias—written about 360 B.C.—come into play. Here, if I may, I would like to quote from the dialogues about the existence of a powerful island City State…Atlantis…which was part of a continent.

  For in front of the mouth which you Greeks call, as you say, the Pillars of Heracles, there lay an island which was larger than Libya and Asia together, but yonder is a real ocean, and the land surrounding it may most rightly be called, in the fullest and truest sense, a continent. Now in this island of Atlantis there existed a confederation of kings, of great and marvelous power, which held sway over all the island, and over many other.”

  Seabury was impressed. Hornsby, a gifted speaker, knew how to work his audience. Now, he had them absorbed, captivated, and hanging on every word. “Ladies and gentlemen, the evidence is overwhelming. A second Garden existed here, refuting the teachings of the Judeo-Christian Bible. Why was it here? I don’t know…honestly. Maybe the true God knows, if one exists at all.”

  A roar of disapproval sprang up from the audience. Seabury saw heads move close together and people looking, whispering.

  “Oh, come on,” Hornsby said. “ I don’t want to get into an argument here on religious belief systems. Let’s just say, for the sake of discussion, that the God who destroyed the original Garden of Eden during the Great Flood had a change of heart. He felt sorry for His people and built a second Garden here in Asia—an Eden Two, if you will—for post-flood migrations inhabiting the earth after the Great Flood.”

  Hornsby took a drink of water and paused briefly before continuing, “What the original Church Fathers failed to include in Biblical text, Science has refuted. I’m convinced that the lost continent of Atlantis and a second Garden existed here in the region of the Sunda Shelf. I will spend the rest of my life searching for this Ga
rden.”

  Seabury stared at the audience, stirring in disbelief, awe, and wonder. In his mind, he saw the papyrus map. One strip of parchment. One chance for Hornsby to prove the naysayers wrong. His chance to discover the discovery of a lifetime. His chance to prove that certain, valuable information was purposely excluded from the Judeo-Christian Bible.

  Hornsby clicked off the last slide, and lights came on inside the room. Seabury stood back in the shadows while Hornsby took questions for a half hour and left the podium. Seabury stood near the back door, and Hornsby crossed the room to him.

  “I need to get out of here,” he whispered to Seabury.

  “But Professor…” a voice sprang from the crowd. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Temples, trade routes, a well-developed Agrarian society,” he said, rushing out the door with Seabury. They hurried down the steps of the hotel onto the street, where Lois pulled up to the curb in a dark SUV. Hornsby and Seabury rushed into the backseat.

  “Vultures, all of them, ready to pick my bones,” Hornsby said.

  Seabury beamed. “You put on quite the show.”

  The old man took a moment to catch his breath. Then, he said, “I can’t wait to get started on our journey.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Seabury had visited the area known as East Kalimantan, Borneo before. He docked several times in the shipping port of Balikpapan on trips up the South China Sea, going north toward Vietnam, Hong Kong, and Japan. He’d gone in the opposite direction as well, steaming through the Straits of Malacca into the Andaman Sea and west toward India and Kuwait. There were voyages up the Red Sea into Cairo. Farther still, across the Mediterranean Sea and around Gibraltar into the Atlantic. He’d sailed to London, Hamburg, and Rotterdam, hauling cargo for the big, commercial shipping companies.

  However, for all the time he’d spent in Southeast Asia, he had never once set foot inside the interior of Borneo. All around him, now in the late afternoon, the scenery was scrub and green wetlands. Off in the distance, the clear blue waters of the Makassar Strait loomed in the distance.

  Seabury realized the further he distanced himself from Jakarta, the safer and more secure he felt. Although disguised, he’d avoid venturing too far out in public to play it safe. They’d traveled over 900 miles from Jakarta and arrived on the shores of what was essentially another country. Still, Seabury couldn’t grow complacent. They had a long way to go to reach the foot of Muller Mountain. Watchful, he kept his eyes peeled and remained cautious.

  “Fifty-six miles to Samarinda,” Lois called out from the backseat. “That’s not so bad. We should be there in less than one hour.”

  Seabury nodded his head as he drove. “If the weather holds out,” he said.

  A mass of dark clouds formed above the horizon. Streaks of lightning shot through them. The air smelled warm and thick with moisture, and the wind began to gust on the road outside the car.

  Lois brought a travel guide out of her handbag. Opening it, she said, “We’ll take the boat tomorrow from Samarinda. I can’t believe how long the Mahakam River is. According to the guide, it’s five hundred and fifty-eight miles long. It must be pretty good fishing for the natives.” She laughed at her own frail joke. No one else responded. “Am I all alone in here?”

  She shrugged and continued. “It says we’ll make stops at Long Iram, Long Begun, and then further up, we’ll stop at the Dayak village of Long Apari.” She stopped and giggled. “The long and short of it.” She stopped again, grinning. “Get it? The long and short of it? Long…long…long, after the names of the villages.”

  “We get it,” said Gretchen. “But it’s not funny.”

  Lois gave her a harsh, sisterly look. “What a bunch of dead-heads. I don’t know why I even bother. Nobody seems to appreciate my effort.” She paused before saying, “Well, anyway. It’s not too far from there to the foothills. It’s a gradual ascent to reach the Muller Mountains. They’re fairly large—about fifteen hundred to two thousand meters high.”

  Seabury smiled. “You sound like a travel guide.”

  “I like books as much as you like Mexican beer. Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Sam.”

  “Think I drink too much?”

  “No, not at all. I would classify you as more a social drinker rather than a drunk.”

  She thought that was funny too and chuckled slightly. Gretchen rolled over and tried to sleep in the backseat beside her. Hornsby sat up front studying the map.

  “That temple is out there somewhere,” he said. “I can just feel it. It’s my dream come true if we find it.”

  Seabury drove the SUV at a steady speed over the asphalt road and continued to think about the weather outside. At this latitude, in this part of the world, it was either hot before a storm or hot after one. The temperature outside burned the air like heat from a stone oven. He figured heat like this could dehydrate the body in no time. Leave it like a flower wilting on the vine. Not to mention breakdowns or bandits on the road. Traveling over unfamiliar terrain in this part of the world wasn’t safe.

  Putting the grim thoughts aside, Seabury continued to labor at the wheel. At four o’clock that afternoon, he drove head on into the fierce jaws of a tropical thunderstorm. The wind and rain rose quickly. The vehicle careened back and forth on the road, battered by the force of gale-like winds. The vehicle shook, and the undercarriage rattled.

  Seabury gripped the steering wheel. Blood drained back off his hard, thick knuckles. Thirty miles from Samarinda, Seabury let up on the gas and slowed down. “It’ll pass soon… I hope,” he said. “Not a good time to go out and spread a picnic blanket.”

  In the backseat, Lois winced. Gretchen, awake now, laughed a little, finding some sort of sick humor in the remark. Sitting on the passenger’s side, Hornsby studied the map, hardly aware of the storm outside. A powerful gust of water blew over the hood and caught Hornsby’s attention.

  “Better pull over,” he said to Seabury, his thin, pink face blanched with fear.

  Rain mixed with hail and sand pellets rattled off the roof. The debris hurled high into the air and swept off into the vast jungle terrain bordering the road. Another salvo of sand and grit followed, then another. The rain pounded and battered them back and forth across the road. Seabury had to do something fast. He couldn’t hold the vehicle on the road much longer.

  Up ahead, a gray funnel of wind and rain lashed at the windshield, pounded the glass, and shook the car. Through the darkness, Seabury spotted a rare patch of sunlight. It pierced the clouds and shot straight down onto a grove of trees beside the road. They swept by in a surge of wind and rain as the car labored down the road. Suddenly, Seabury dynamited the brakes. The car fishtailed then skidded two car-lengths down the road and came to a stop. He reversed gears and backed up. He shot across a narrow space and gunned the car inside the trees. A place of refuge, out here in the middle of nowhere, he thought. He turned off the engine and leaned forward across the wheel. A sigh of relief gushed from lungs.

  “Hey, nice going, Seabury.” Gretchen’s voice sprang up from the backseat. “Another minute out there in that storm. Ach, I don’t even want to think about it.”

  Lois leaned over the front of the seat. “That was quick thinking, Sam. I’m impressed.” He said nothing. She leaned closer. “How long do you think the storm will last?” she asked.

  Hornsby, visibly shaken, stared across while waiting for a response. Seabury took a few minutes before answering. “It’s hard to say,” he said finally.

  “We’ll just have to sit and wait it out. It looks like it’s letting up a bit now.” He pointed northeast down the highway. Then, trying to minimize what could have turned into a disaster had he stayed on the road, he said. “Let’s eat some of those sandwiches in the cooler. I’m starved.”

  Outside, the long branches of a legion of palm trees lashed the roof of the car. Rain pelted the hood. The wind howled. Sand and grit swept past the windows. Seabury ate a ham sandwich and washed it down with black cof
fee. A half hour later, the winds died down. The sun poked out from behind a band of dark clouds on the horizon.

  Seabury checked his watch. “We should be in Samarinda in less than an hour. We’ll check into a hotel and get a fresh start in the morning.”

  Everyone agreed with sighs of relief and enthusiastic smiles. Seabury had no idea of the trouble that awaited them out in the wilderness of Eastern Borneo.

  * * * *

  Driving into Samarinda, the provincial capital of East Kalimantan, Seabury noticed the rivers. The majestic Mahakam flowed down from north of the island into the city. It was bordered by the Karangmumus east of town and the Karangasem on the western side. A lot of water, he thought, slowing down and aware of Hornsby’s tired old eyes glued to the front window. They’d traveled over a vast expanse of jungle marshland and dense tropical forests. The elderly man looked tired. Dark circles pocketed both eyes. His face had that sodden, wasted look. Seabury wanted to find a hotel quickly, so they could shower and freshen up before dinner.

  Lois and Gretchen sat erect in the backseat and stared out the side windows. In the late afternoon, boats and shipping docks lined both sides of the Mahakam River. Thick clusters of tin sheds and shacks stood back from the shoreline. The dark, stick-like figures of villagers scurried about, cooking meals near open fire pits.

  Further in, traffic funneled into a main boulevard. Later, it separated into two lanes to accommodate the flow of commuter traffic moving in and out of the city. Samarinda occupied a space of over 100 square miles with a population of approximately half a million people. At this hour. Seabury noticed the traffic gridlock and tried his best to avoid most of it.

  He drove north on Jalan Jelawat toward boat docks on the river. Along the way, billboard displays dotted the skyline. A huge shopping mall called Arena Promosi Citra Niaga spread out along the street. A cluster of commercial buildings loomed high above the traffic, and a wide expanse of asphalt parking lots stood below them. Cars jockeyed for limited parking space inside the lots. Shoppers scurried in and out of the gleaming glass doors at the front of the buildings. The air bristled in a vibrant display of commercial consumption.