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Project Atlantis/Brandon Ellis - 4th ed
ISBN-13 - 978-1-913769-62-8
For Audrey
Prologue
May 7th - Plano, Texas - Global Safety Administration
A loud buzz catapulted Jon to attention. His feet fell off his desk as he sat straight. His eyes wide, his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. Pushing his glasses up, he studied the image that filled the largest of the screens on the wall in front of him. He froze. Tingles traveled down the back of his neck. “What the hell?” He dug into his pocket, pulled out a flip phone, and dialed a number.
“Paul…Paul. Get up here. No. Just—” Jon sighed. “I don’t care how late it is. Get your butt up here and see what TECS IV sent back.”
Paul cursed in English, Japanese, and Urdu, just to make his point. “Tansho,” he said. “Better be worth it.”
“Quit your bellyaching. We have data like you would not believe.” Jon hung up. He wheeled his chair over to a keyboard, pressing the right arrow key, bringing up the next picture.
He ran his hands through his receding hairline and squinted, not understanding exactly what he was looking at. “Are those…? Seriously? Are those jet fighters?” He eyed row upon gleaming row of craft. Surely, they had to be shadows? “Yeah, doofus, like there are ‘jet fighter’ shaped shadows on one of Jupiter’s moons.” The craft were bulkier than any jet fighter he’d ever seen. He hit the right arrow key. It took him to the next image.
The office door opened. “Jon, why the hell did you get me out of…?” Paul stopped, mid-stride. “Holy shit! No way. A pyramid?” His mouth hung open. He stared at the image for several seconds. “Do we call the Colonel? I mean, what do we do?”
“Hold on. You’ve got to see…” Jon pounded his keyboard. “Satellite TECS IV recorded these images two days ago. The cameras were at twenty-nine degrees north, thirty-one degrees east, and this is what they recorded on Callisto’s surface…”
Paul slumped into his chair. None of his training had prepared him for what he was seeing.
“That’s right,” said Jon. “There are holy-shit jet fighters on one of Jupiter’s moons.”
Paul stood slowly and slunk towards the screen. “Go back a frame, back to the pyramid.”
Jon hit the backspace key.
“Can you zoom in on that?” Paul tapped on the screen on the wall. He pointed to a symbol embedded into one of the stones near the pyramid’s capstone.
Jon clicked on his mouse, highlighted the area, and zoomed in. “There you go.”
The symbol had two circles inside a larger circle, like a bullseye. A perfect cross stood in the middle. One line extended the length of the symbol and the other line extended the width. Paul spun around. “What does the symbol mean?”
Jon wheeled over to a laptop, hitting the keys as fast as he could to pull up the internet and search the symbol's meaning.
Paul leaped over a chair to get to his own laptop, snagging his ankle and crashing face first onto the floor. Piles of papers slid off the main desk and on top of him.
“Can’t find the meaning,” Jon blurted. “Too many options.”
Pushing himself up, Paul looked over at Jon. “This whole thing has to be some shitty practical joke. Check to see if anyone hacked the system. We’re being played. No, more like punked.”
“I’m already on it.” Jon perused the firewall. “No prompts. Checking for remote users.” He buzzed through screen after screen, his lips a tight, straight line. “No, nothing. And, no odd updates either. We’re clean.”
Paul rubbed the back of his neck. “What the hell is a pyramid doing on a Jupiter moon?”
“Pyramid? What the hell are jet fighters doing on Callisto?”
“Sure, sure,” said Paul. “But jet fighters could come from anywhere. So, there are alien races with advanced tech. Big deal. We always knew that was a possibility, but pyramids, man. Do you know what it takes to build a pyramid?”
“There is more than one,” Jon said, clicking through images.
“How many more?” Paul asked.
“Three, on some type of hill in this crater.” He pulled up another image.
“The surfaces of those pyramids are almost untouched. They are damned-near perfect. This is amazing.” Paul plopped down on a chair beside Jon. “Pull up the symbol again.” He traced the symbol with his finger. “A religious symbol?”
Jon leaned back and shook his head. “You’re not seeing it yet, are you?”
“What do you mean? The pyramid is right there.”
Jon couldn’t suppress his grin. “You haven’t seen what they are emitting. Look at the energy gauge on the side of the screen. That’s the energy signature the pyramids are giving off.”
Paul studied the gauge on the screen’s upper right corner. His hand flew to his mouth. “That’s the mother of all energy signatures.”
Jon picked up his phone and dialed his boss’s emergency line—the only way to get the boss to answer his phone at this hour.
Colonel Slade Roberson answered.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Sir. TECS IV found something…” Jon nodded a few times. “We’re looking at a very high energy concentration on Callisto, a Jupiter moon.” A pause. “What exactly are we looking at? Uh...pyramid structures with enough energy output to power New York City. And jet fighters. Uh-huh, you heard me right, jet fighters and pyramids. We found the golden egg, Sir.” Jon hung up.
Paul held his hand up for a high-five.
Jon slapped his hand. “History just got a kick in the damned pants, man. Shit just got real.”
1
May 21st
Tucume, Peru
Kaden Jaxx’s shoes were caked in dirt. He’d have scraped the muck off, but his toe box would be crusted over again within the hour. No point. He might as well hunker down and concentrate all his attention on his most recent find. The work of an archaeologist was, of necessity, slow. You couldn’t rush history. It was too fragile, too breakable, too close to his heart.
He stood in front of the Temple of the Sacred Stone, a pyramid he’d been studying for the last two years. It was one of twenty-six pyramid-like structures in the region. His job was to take pictures and decipher the ancient writings etched in the pyramids. He also wanted to see if his hypothesis was correct, no matter where a pyramid was built, over time it slowly raised the ground it sat upon. In this case, it had. The observable evidence was everywhere, if you knew what you were looking for. He didn’t care what the experts said, these magnificent structures were not created by the Lambayeque people in 1,000 AD, but were in fact yet more strategically-positioned Atlantean pyramids.
Jaxx planned to write the heck out of his hypothesis, with foot-notes, references, cross-references, and scholarly citations. He knew what he knew and the world needed to know it too. These pyramids were built for a reason; these pyramids would save the Earth from its slide back into the Dark Ages; these pyramids—simply put—were the single greatest source of untapped energy on the planet. If only the powers that be would listen to him.
They wouldn’t.
He’d send his hard-won findings into the world and, as always, be critiqued, shut o
ut of peer circles, and mocked to the high heavens and back.
He pulled off his backpack and unclasped a water bottle. Twisting the cap off, he touched the bottle’s mouth to his lips and froze. A sound carried across the wind, shattering the calm and erupting across the sky.
Thrump thrump thrump thrump.
A helicopter?
He spun around. A huge, black chopper closed in on him. The thrum of the blades became louder. It came in low. His stomach tightened. Something didn’t feel right. He studied it for a moment, observing the trajectory of its flight.
It headed in for a landing.
He racked his brain. Was anyone else in the vicinity? He didn’t believe so. No travelers, no locals. And since he liked to work alone, no workers. He only brought them if he absolutely needed them. He was alone. The chopper couldn’t be for him, though. That wouldn’t make sense. He was nobody, nothing, a blip on the underside of the archaeological radar. No one would send anything as flash and imposing as a chopper for him.
The giant metal bird slowed, coming in for a landing. The closer it came, the more the wind picked up. It whipped Jaxx’s hair across his face and pressed his clothes against his body.
Touching down, the helicopter’s engine died and the titanium rotors came to a gradual halt. The cabin door opened and a man with brown hair, graying at the temples, jumped out and marched toward Jaxx. Even if he hadn’t been in camo, his gait, the lack of facial hair, the way he stared ahead, all screamed “military.” Muscle bound in the way certain military men were, when they’ve been bench-pressing three-hundred pounds for too many years.
“Kaden Jaxx?” he yelled.
Kaden didn’t want to respond. Was he in trouble? If so, what had he done wrong? He wiped the sweat from his forehead, but there was nothing he could do about the stains spreading out from his armpits. “Yeah?”
The man smiled—if you could call the break in his face and shine of his too-white teeth a smile—and extended his hand, a smell of mint wafting off his breath. “Colonel Slade Roberson.”
Kaden shook his hand, his mind racing. “Professor Kaden Jaxx.” His eyebrows squished together. “What can I do you for?”
“I know this is abrupt and I apologize. We are in need of your services.” Slade motioned to the helicopter. “If you step this way, we’ll get going. You’ll be briefed when we reach Grenada.” The Colonel glanced at his watch.
“Excuse me?”
Slade pulled out a piece of gum and popped it in his mouth. “We don’t have much time.”
Jaxx held up his camera in a feeble attempt to ward the Colonel off. It wasn’t adding up. Something had gone seriously wrong. Military men and choppers didn’t just plunge from the sky and take him god-knows where. That wasn’t how his world worked.
Slade winked and gave an ill-attempted grin. He smacked his gum. “I’m not here to hurt or scare you, my friend.” He placed his hands on his hips. “I’m here to change your world.”
Jaxx stepped into the helicopter’s cabin. The smell of sweat and jet fuel filled the air. He bent over, avoiding the shallow ceiling. The titanium rotors started up, drowning out all sound. The pilot looked at Jaxx and pointed at his helmet, “Put it on!”
Jaxx couldn’t hear a thing. “What?”
The pilot raised his eyebrows at Slade who had already taken a seat near the bulkhead and was strapping in. Slade patted the seat next to him and pointed to a helmet on the rail.
Jaxx sat, and placed the helmet on his head. The ear-muff like padding fit snugly around his ears, drowning out most sound. The roar of the helicopter instantly faded. He had a brief flash of the joy stick in his hand, the chopper banking left, the glorious patchwork of fields, towns, and mountains below. Odd. He’d never been inside a chopper before, let alone flown one.
Slade pushed his microphone close to his mouth. “Strap in, Jaxx. Once we’re up in the air, it feels like a dishwasher in here.”
“A dishwasher?” questioned Jaxx.
Slade knocked on the side of his helmet. “Listen, I don’t like echoes. You heard me the first time. Yes, a dishwasher.”
“You gentlemen ready?”
Slade glanced at the pilot and gave a thumbs up. “Fox, take us up.”
Fox had a hardened look; a look Jaxx had seen on countless combat-weary faces over the years. Like the man killed one too many men and crushed part of his soul in the process.
Fox gave a nod and pulled up on the collective lever. The helicopter lifted in the air.
Jaxx buckled in his last restraining belt. “This isn’t a joke, is it?”
“A joke? What the hell makes you think this is a joke?” Slade stared at Jaxx for a few moments, lips tight.
“I—”
“The United States military is no joke. It’s not every day we’ll fly in over damn pyramids to pick up one of you sons of bitches.”
The terrain widened and the pyramids below became smaller.
“Where are we going and why…?”
“Grenada in the Caribbean.” Slade narrowed his eyes. “We need information about something we’ve found. You’ll be doing our country a great service by helping us.”
It almost felt like he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Jaxx rubbed his chest. “Me? I’m not exactly filled with information that’s accepted in many circles.”
“Precisely.”
“Precisely?”
Slade closed his eyes. “Get some rest. We have a long trip. Many stops. And, again, I don’t like echoes. If you keep your mouth shut and follow our instructions, you’ll see the greatest discovery mankind has ever seen.”
2
May 22nd
SAINT GEORGE, GRENADA
Jaxx’s backpack was strapped across his shoulder, his clothes wrinkled, and he reeked of helicopter. His boots still caked in dirt, his white socks stained in brown, perspiration welled from his skin. It was hot and humid on Grenada. He didn’t know the temperature and didn’t want to.
He followed Slade up a windy cobblestone path and into a courtyard. It was run down. For years, hurricanes chipped at the buildings and surrounding walls. The lack of care astounded him. The lack of tourists, understandable. The air of foreboding, overwhelming.
In the corner stood a basketball hoop, old and worn out. A half-broken chain attached to the rim acted as the net and the backboard was rotting away.
Slade halted in the middle of the courtyard. He folded his arms across his chest. “You play much?”
Jaxx rubbed his chin, confused. Why would a Colonel be asking him about basketball? “I played in college. I was okay.”
Slade titled his head. “You like Shaquille O’Neal?”
“I guess, why?”
“Something I’d like to name my ship.” He popped a piece of gum in his mouth and winked. “Space Shaq.”
A ship? Kaden kept his mouth shut. He figured it wiser to do so. Perhaps this great discovery the colonel boasted about was somewhere on or in the fort.
Slade gestured for Kaden to follow him. He took out some jangling keys as they approached a door, which was missing a door handle and a lock. So, why the keys?
Slade surveyed the courtyard, then studied his watch for a couple of seconds. He pressed on the watch’s face several times. “Good. We’re alone.” He gave a quick kick to the bottom of the door. It popped out and fell a few inches before Slade caught it and set it to the side. A metallic door stood behind it, with several locks attached. “Welcome to Fort George, home to Underfoot Black. We don’t come up surface-side much. We’re down below, bottled up like fenced cattle.”
“Ah.” Jaxx had no clue what Slade referred to.
After a few clanks and clicks, Slade pushed the metallic door open.
“Jaxx, put the first door back in place.” Slade observed Jaxx’s confusion, then rolled his eyes. “It’s leaning up against the entryway behind you. Hurry up.”
This Slade guy lacked manners. Still he was military, which meant he knew how to handle the gun he had
at his hip, but more importantly, he’d promised to show Jaxx something that would change the face of history. Jaxx twisted around, grabbed the door, lined it up and secured it as best he could. The entryway darkened except for a small slit of light that came through the bottom of the makeshift door.
A ding sounded and a door slid open. Light splashed against the walls.
Jaxx jerked back. “An elevator?”
Slade stepped inside. “Shut the metallic door behind you. When you do, the doors will automatically lock. And pick your mouth back up. Yes, it’s an elevator. You can drop your chin when you see what I’m about to show you below.”
Slade leaned against the back of the elevator waiting for Jaxx to finish his quick assignment. When he did, Jaxx stepped inside.
“Welcome to Fort George, originally established by the French in the early 1700’s. Beneath the fort we have built a facility. ‘We’ being the Global Safety Administration, or GSA. The facility goes by the moniker, Underfoot Black. We chose Fort George, because it's situated close enough to the United States border for easy access to adequate supplies, expert personnel, and anything else needed at a quick click, but also far enough away as not to be too suspicious. Only those with the highest security clearance ever set foot in Underfoot Black, with one exception. You.” Slade chewed loudly and called out, “Level One.”
“Excuse me?”
The elevator doors closed, then started to descend. “You’re excused.”
Another ding, the door opened. Jaxx’s eyes about popped out of his head. His mind spun. He took a few steps out of the elevator, gazing at a large dome-shaped ceiling hundreds of feet above. Gorgeous bowl-shaped crystal chandeliers of different lengths hung, each one complimenting the light from its neighbor.
He did his best to take everything in, but the place was overwhelming, and all he registered were snapshots. People worked on disc-shaped computers with glass-like screens projecting holographic images. Their hands worked rhythmically with the computer screens, touching this and that, and dragging holographic digitized items closer to make them bigger, or moving them farther away.
Ascendant Saga Collection: Sci-Fi Fantasy Techno Thriller Page 2
