The Atlantis Secret

by S. A. Beck

  And with that, they led her back to where she had met the snake charmer and departed. Jaxon trudged back to the hotel, confused and dejected.

  The scene back at the hotel was predictable. Edward was there freaking out, actually out of his room and standing in the main courtyard, trembling and soaked with sweat. Everyone else had scattered across the city to search for her.

  Jaxon got Edward calmed down enough to call everyone in then led him up to his room, where he could rest. Each member of the Atlantis Allegiance came back one by one, so she got five different chewing-out sessions. Grunt’s was the scariest, and Otto’s made her feel the guiltiest.

  She stood her ground.

  “This is my life and my heritage, and I’ve found out something none of you have. We’re meeting in my room in an hour.” That was all she would say.

  They all met there as she had told them to. Even Edward showed up, still looking exhausted from the daylong panic attack Jaxon had inflicted on him. She would apologize to him later. Right then, those people needed to listen to her.

  “I met an Atlantean. His name is Moustafa, and he’s some sort of folk healer. He comes from Mali and says there’s more of my people down there than there are up here.” She turned to the two scientists. “What do you know about that?”

  Yamazaki and Yuhle had been seeing some historians and geneticists at Cadi Ayyad University. Yuhle answered her.

  “The local experts we’ve been talking to noticed several years ago that the Atlanteans were a separate people with a long, distinct history. They hadn’t made a connection to Atlantis or any special abilities, though.”

  “Looks like they haven’t read any of my articles,” Dr. Yamazaki grumbled.

  “Where do they think the Atlanteans came from?” Jaxon asked. “The snake charmer who introduced me to them called Atlanteans the ‘People from the Sea.’”

  Everyone did a double take at her mention of the snake charmer.

  Yamazaki looked at her curiously and said, “They admit they don’t know. They say the population suddenly appears in the ancient records about three thousand years ago. The thing is, written documentation from that far back is sketchy in this part of the world—only a few monumental inscriptions on the bases of statues and things like that. There is some oral tradition, though, and it says that the population arrived from the sea and became leaders in the ancient settlements here. Of course, empires rise and fall, and there’s been a lot of fighting in this region, so eventually the Atlanteans scattered.”

  “So why would they flee to Mali? Isn’t that all desert?” Jaxon asked.

  “Most of it is,” Grunt replied. “Fighting tends to be around important places like cities and river fords. If you want to run away, going into the Sahara pretty much guarantees you won’t be followed.”

  “So where is Timbuktu, exactly?” Jaxon asked.

  “In Mali, to the southeast,” Yamazaki said. “Here, let’s look at the map.” The scientist spread a map out on the table and used a compass to hold it down against the light breeze blowing through the window and ruffling the map’s edges. “As you can see, Morocco hugs the northwest coast of Africa. To the east is Algeria. Now, you can see to the south is this country called Mauritania. It’s one of the poorest in Africa, and just east of that is Mali. Timbuktu is here, in northern Mali, right in the middle of the Sahara.”

  “So why would Moustafa tell us Timbuktu is the place to go to learn about my history?” Jaxon asked. “It’s so remote.”

  “It’s remote now, but once it was a center of trade for caravans crossing the Sahara. It became a center of learning and culture too. The town has the oldest library in all northwest Africa. There was a university there, starting in the thirteenth century, and lots of families had traditions of being scholars and kept their own private libraries, some handed down over centuries. If any place is going to preserve knowledge of Atlantis, it will be Timbuktu. Silly of me not to think of it before.”

  “Wait, didn’t al-Qaeda take that place a few years ago?” Otto said. “They destroyed a bunch of Muslim shrines.”

  Yuhle nodded. “Yes, killed a bunch of civilians too. But the locals snuck the books out of the city, and they survived. According to BBC News, they’ve brought them back. I just read about that a couple of months ago.”

  Dr. Yamazaki peered at the map. “Judging from the Moroccan studies our colleagues here have been doing, it seems that the further south you go, the more people there are with the Atlantis gene. I’d love to do a regional genetic sample here!”

  Grunt laughed. “I don’t think the government is going to give you permission to jab a few thousand people for some genetic test. How would you explain it?”

  The scientist shook her head. “No, I guess it’s impossible. The thing is, though, if Atlanteans are common down in the Sahara, the scholars in Timbuktu would know about them, just like Moustafa said. Maybe they kept some knowledge from ancient times.”

  “There’s only one way to find out. The question is, how best to get there?” Yuhle asked.

  Edward spoke for the first time. “I don’t think flying would be a good idea. Not many foreigners are flying to Mali these days, thanks to the war, so we might get noticed.”

  Yamazaki rubbed her chin. “Then it looks like we’ll have to drive. The most direct route would be to go straight south, cutting through Algeria, but there’s a nasty civil war there, so we have to avoid that. The only other way is to swing around the border then cut southeast through this little bit of northern Mauritania here before getting into Mali. Then we can drive southeast to get to Timbuktu.”

  Grunt jabbed a thumb in the direction of Otto and Jaxon. “So you want to take our teenage sweethearts into a desert filled with minefields, Islamic militias, an active slave trade, and the occasional suicide bomber thrown in just for chuckles? And you want to do this in the middle of summer? If this is your idea of history homework, I’d hate to see your idea of mixed martial arts.”

  Dr. Yamazaki grinned. “Do you want to learn the secret to Atlantis or not?”

  “I’m more into killing General Meade and his goons before they overthrow America. But this will piss him off, so I’m in,” Grunt said.

  “Wait.” Otto held up a hand. “So this place is still dangerous? I thought the terrorists were gone.”

  “Gone out of the city,” Vivian said. “There are still plenty of them in the region. They blow up bombs in the main cities sometimes, too. Plus, both Mauritania and Mali have rebel groups trying to overthrow the government or separate some of the provinces into their own countries. Some of these groups are fundamentalists who pledge allegiance to Al-Qaeda and ISIS—some aren’t. None of them would really be happy having us drive through their territory.”

  Otto and Jaxon stared at each other. After a moment, they turned back to the rest of the Atlantis Allegiance.

  “So no one else has a problem with this?” Jaxon asked.

  Dr. Yuhle chuckled, adjusting his glasses. “I think we all have a problem with it. I just don’t see any other way we’re going to learn what we’re after.”

  “I don’t want to put Jaxon in danger,” Otto said. “It’s too risky.”

  Jaxon frowned at him. “Hello? That’s my decision.”

  “But it’s crazy!”

  Jaxon paused. Yeah, it was crazy. She was objecting to Otto speaking for her, not what he’d actually said. It really was too risky.

  She looked at the map, studying the unfamiliar names and the vast empty spaces in between. The compass at the edge of the map made an appropriate symbol. She felt like some old-school explorer. This was a dangerous part of the world to explore, though.

  And that was the temptation. She’d seen so much already, all the hints and clues that didn’t quite add up but pointed in the right direction. She was getting close to finding out the truth about herself. She could sense it.

  The idea of going to Timbuktu made her heart race and her skin go cold. She’d seen plenty of news reports
of Iraq and Syria. If Mali was anything like that…

  “I’ll go,” she said.

  Jaxon felt a delicious spike of anticipation, a surge of adrenaline. It was that same wonderful feeling she’d gotten when she waited for Brett so they could go hunting in the bad parts of LA. It made her feel awake and alive, as if she were at the center of the universe. Her senses intensified, and colors seemed brighter and sounds clearer.

  She’d had that ever since she’d gotten here, but the thought of going farther into the unknown, really pushing her luck and doing something she would have never pictured herself doing a few weeks ago, made her feel ten feet tall.

  Everyone was staring at her, jaws slack.

  She laughed. “What, did you expect me to say no? You got the wrong girl!”

  She waved the compass at Vivian. “You’re going to have to show me how to use this. It looks like I’m going to be a world traveler before this is all over.”

  Jaxon froze. The compass was in her hand.

  She hadn’t picked it up.

  Dr. Yamazaki pointed a trembling finger at the compass. “Have you ever moved objects before, moved them from a distance?”

  Jaxon licked her lips, embarrassed, like some sort of sideshow being stared at in a circus. “Um, yeah.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Yuhle asked. “We even tested you for that power.”

  Jaxon shrugged. “It kind of freaks me out.”

  She glanced at Otto, who had edged away and was looking at her with wide eyes.

  “Plus, I don’t want people thinking I’m a freak.”

  “No one thinks that, Jaxon,” Otto said, looking embarrassed. “We just need to find out more. Even the scientists don’t have any real answers to all these questions.”

  “All the more reason to go ask the experts in Timbuktu,” she said.

  Otto shook his head. “It’s too risky.”

  “Don’t go, then,” Jaxon snapped.

  He looked her in the eye. “I go where you go.”

  Yamazaki leaned over the table to peer at her. “Could you move another object, please? Here, let me lay out some objects of different weights, and we’ll see how much you can move.”

  “We should try it from different distances too,” Yuhle said, helping her lay out a pen, a lighter, a pair of binoculars, and a bottle of water on the table. “I’ll get my notebook and take down the readings.”

  Jaxon raised her hands, suddenly annoyed. “Wait! I’m not some lab rat. I’m sick of these tests.”

  The two scientists stared at her as though she was speaking some strange foreign language.

  “But this is important data,” Yuhle said.

  “I’m not a lab rat,” Jaxon repeated, “and I’m sick of being treated like one. If we want to find out about my people, let’s find out from my people. Those old manuscripts will have the answer.”

  Otto looked at her nervously. “So we’re going to Timbuktu?”

  Jaxon took a deep breath, her heart racing. “Yeah, it looks like we are.”

  Chapter 14

  July 28, 2016, LANGLEY AIR FORCE BASE, VIRGINIA

  3:45 PM

  * * *

  General Meade had decided to grab the lion by the tail. He flew to Virginia, planning to show up at General Corbin’s office unannounced. He’d called in sick to work and paid for a civilian flight instead of taking one of the many military planes that flew between bases every day, just in case Corbin was monitoring his movements.

  Now he was driving a rental car up to the gate of Langley Air Force Base, where Corbin served as commander. It was actually a joint base with the US Army’s Fort Eustis, which made it one of the biggest military bases in the world. It included several jet-fighter squadrons, bomber squadrons, an intelligence unit, and several thousand infantry soldiers. Corbin commanded all of it.

  If he wanted to overthrow the government and could get his troops to support him, he could strike at Washington, only three hours away by car and about fifteen minutes by air. No major military installations lay between him and the nation’s capital. Corbin was a knife poised to strike at the soft underbelly of the nation’s democratic institutions.

  General Meade fumed as he drove up to the gate. To think he had toyed with the idea of joining that traitor! He’d been fooled, just like so many others had been fooled, into believing there was a greater danger facing the country, one that justified suspending the will of the people. Meade felt embarrassed that he had been duped and deeply ashamed that he had gone so far down the road to treason.

  Well, he would change that. He was going to get to the bottom of this. He would confront Corbin, and if the man didn’t give him all the right answers, Meade would arrest him for treason. The nation needed to be secure against people like Corbin.

  After Meade’s ID got him through the front gate, he drove to the main parking lot near the administration building where Corbin had his office. At the main entrance, Meade had to show his ID and pass through a metal detector. The general put his keys, phone, and coins on a tray and passed through. The detector didn’t beep. The guards nodded and gave him back his things. They didn’t notice the slight lump his firearm made in his side pocket.

  One of the many pieces of equipment in the Poseidon Project laboratory was a 3D printer. General Meade had the specs for a plastic gun. The government had banned printing such a gun or even owning the program to make it, but there were larger issues at stake. Meade wasn’t about to go into the lion’s den unarmed. The gun was a fully functional .45 automatic with an eight-round clip of high-density ceramic bullets, undetectable to metal detectors.

  Fully armed and ready to shoot General Corbin if necessary, Meade walked down the hall past officers hurrying to their daily tasks. He followed the signs to the high-command wing of the sprawling building, passed through another metal detector with no trouble, and announced himself to Corbin’s orderly.

  The orderly, a shifty-looking major who looked Meade up and down without meeting his eye, said in a brusque manner, “I don’t see you on the appointment list, sir.”

  The “sir” came out weak, almost as an afterthought.

  “Tell him I’m here. He’ll see me.”

  The major made a call. After talking for a moment in a low voice, he put down the phone and studied Meade for a moment. “The general will see you now, sir.”

  Meade was ushered into Corbin’s office. The general, a lean Vietnam War veteran with deepening lines on his face, gave Meade a firm handshake.

  “Good to see you again, Hector. This is a surprise,” Corbin said.

  Meade waited until Corbin dismissed his orderly, asking him to close the door behind him. Corbin quietly locked it.

  “We’ll go for a walk in a minute,” Corbin said. Like Meade, he did not trust the military enough to have frank conversations in any building—they were all probably bugged. “Take a seat. Want some coffee?”

  “All right,” Meade said, sitting down in front of Corbin’s desk. Best to bide his time and put Corbin at ease. Meade’s hand rested near the hidden pistol.

  Corbin went over to a little kitchenette on one side of his office and opened up an Italian stovetop coffeemaker. Filling the bottom steel container with water, he scooped out some ground coffee from a bag into a central pan then screwed on the top, which had the handle and spout. He turned on the stovetop.

  “We’ll go for a walk in a minute. I’d like you to see our new football field. Just got it finished. How have you been?”

  They chatted about trivialities for a couple of minutes. Meade understood what he was doing. Corbin wanted to lull the suspicions of anyone listening in. That made sense, and Meade would generally agree, but he wanted people to be listening in. He wanted someone to hear what he was about to say. Still, he waited as he needed to catch Corbin off guard.

  The water boiled up from the bottom of the coffeemaker, through the central pan, and into the top container. Meade had seen those fancy coffeemakers before but had never used o
ne. Regular American pot coffee was good enough for him. A rich aroma filled the room. Corbin switched off the stovetop and filled two cups. Meade watched carefully to make sure he didn’t slip anything into one of them. He wouldn’t have put it past Corbin to try to poison him.

  But perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps Corbin had been duped, too. Meade had to tread carefully.

  Corbin handed one of the cups to Meade.

  Meade took a sip. It was rich and flavorful and smelled heavenly. In fact, it was the best coffee he had ever tasted.

  “Like it?” Corbin asked, sitting down behind his desk. “It’s Ethiopian. I buy it from a distributor direct from the country. I was stationed in Ethiopia for a time. I can’t share the details of my mission, but while I was there, I got hooked on the coffee. The Ethiopians discovered coffee, you know. Centuries ago. They have a legend about it. Once, there was a goatherd named Kaldi. He noticed that when his goats ate red berries from a certain bush, they’d get all excited, jumping around like crazy. Well, Kaldi tried some of the berries himself and got all jumpy too. He showed some of the berries to a monk who lived nearby, but the monk through they were unholy and threw them in the fire. Then the monk smelled the scent of the roasting beans inside the coffee berries and got tempted. He and Kaldi ground up some of the beans, put them in water, and drank the first cup of coffee. Of course, the monk decided they weren’t unholy after all. A fun little story. Who knows? Maybe it’s true. We live in a strange world, and it’s hard to know what’s the truth and what’s simply legend.”

  The two generals locked eyes. For a moment, there was silence. Meade took another gulp to fortify himself and spoke.

  “Yes, I’ve been trying to figure out some legends lately. I’m thinking one that I believed in might not be true after all.”

  “Oh?” Corbin inclined his head.