David Golemon - Legend

The nineteenth-century mansion seems out of place amid the more than 250,000 military grave sites that stretch out around it. Yet, when construction began in 1802, the estate had been intended as a living memorial to George Washington. It had been built by the first president's adopted grandson, George Washington Parke Custis, and eventually became the home of one of the most beloved men in American history, Robert E. Lee, and his wife, Mary Anna Custis. They had lived at the house until 1861, when the Civil War broke out. During the succeeding occupation of Arlington, several bases were constructed on the 1,100-acre site, including what would later become Fort Meyer. The property was eventually confiscated for the official reason of back taxes, but many influential people saw it as a punishment for Robert E. Lee for his participation in the rebellion. It became a cemetery in 1864.

As they went past the many-columned facade of the mansion, they followed the drive around to the back of the property. They saw several National Parks guards eyeing them. They drove directly to the maintenance shed adjacent to the back of the grounds, entering its open double doors. Once they were inside, the doors closed automatically and several dim lights came to life around them. Ryan reached to open his seat belt but was stopped by Niles, whose hand eased over and grabbed his arm as a hidden speaker gave an order.

"Please remain in your vehicle, Lieutenant Ryan."

Ryan grinned and looked around the dimly lit shed. He could see no one. "I take it we're in for more Event Group spooky crap?" he asked Niles.

Niles just shrugged and let go of Ryan's arm.

Suddenly Ryan felt his stomach lurch as the dirt floor of the maintenance shed began to descend into the ground. He couldn't help but become a little queasy as he watched the sides of on unlit giant elevator shaft quickly lower the car into the Virginia hillside.

"Don't like it, do you, Mr. Ryan? It's a lot harder when you don't know it's coming and some wise guy starts messing with you. Stomach a little upset?"

"Okay, I'm sorry for the barrel roll. I won't do it again. I get your point."

Niles smiled in the darkness surrounding them.

The elevator finally came to rest 1,700 feet below ground. As the lights of level one came into view, Ryan could see two men in Event Group coveralls awaiting the car. Then the two security men came forward to open their doors, inviting Niles and Ryan to step into the very first Event Group compound, which had been built in 1916.

"Welcome to the depository, sir."

"Thank you, gentlemen. This is Lieutenant Junior Grade Ryan; he's one of your security department officers."

Ryan nodded his head and glanced around the first level. The cement walls were clean and white in the overhead fluorescents and looked as if they were well maintained.

A lance corporal came forth and wrote the names of the visitors onto a clipboard. "Where will you be going today, Director Compton?"

"Archives. I take it the old Cray is up and working?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Golding keeps to a rather strict maintenance schedule."

"Good, good."

"Will you be going to level seventeen today?"

"No, we'll not be touring today, just research," Niles answered, even though he would have loved to show Ryan some of the first discoveries of the Event Group. Not the Ark of the Great Flood, which had been moved to the Nellis facility, or the other large finds like that, but the smaller ones such as the body — replete with armor — of Genghis Khan, or the mummified corpse of Cochise, the Apache leader thought to have been secretly hidden away by his people. Just the samples of the original plague from the Dark Ages would be enough to scare the bejesus out of poor Ryan. But that would have to wait for now, as they were desperately short of time.

"Very well, this way, sir," the lance corporal said.

Niles and Ryan fell into step behind the two security men. They walked down a corridor beyond which the secrets of worlds past surrounded them.

As Carl drove among the old docks, he could see his country's naval history as it was scrapped: cruisers, tin cans, and frigates were being dismantled and sold for recycling. There was nothing sadder to a naval man than seeing these magnificent ships meeting such an inglorious end.

Upon arriving in New Orleans, they saw a city that was still rebounding from the hurricane of '05. The people had returned in record numbers to rebuild to try and make the Big Easy the city it once was. The U.S. Navy had helped out by positioning ships earmarked for the scrapyard here, their part in easing the rampant unemployment of the damaged city.

As Carl counted down the numbers painted on the sides of the buildings, he saw that most of them were now rundown and dilapidated. They had gone unrepaired while the U.S. Navy decommissioned the entire dock area. The navy was now in the process of turning over the acreage to the money-strapped city.

"There it is," Danielle said, as she pointed out the large building coming up on their right.

Carl eased their rental car into a space that was crowded with old ship parts and skeletons of boats of all kinds. Some were navy, whereas others were nondescript and nothing more than junk. They could hear the barely audible thump of heavy metal music coming from inside the building in which they had been searching.

"What an awful place for your navy to put a man. Did you say he was once a master chief in your SEAL unit?" she asked.

Carl walked up to a large steel door and slammed his fist against it several times, making a loud banging that they could hear echo inside. "Still is a master chief and the meanest son of a bitch I've ever met in my life," he said turning back toward Danielle. "He was a SEAL before it was glamorous to be one. He was in on the Son Tay raid in '70 before I was even born."

"That was where your Special Forces tried to free your prisoners of war?"

He was impressed with her knowledge. "That's right," he said, banging again on the steel door, but keeping his eyes on the woman.

"I did my thesis on colonialism and the French involvement in Southeast Asia, particularly Vietnam. You look surprised."

"I admit, I may have underestimated you."

"Score one for the enemy," she said, her own eyes locked on his.

Carl stepped back from the large metal door and looked around.

"Go away, this is government property, dickwad," said a voice from the other side of the door.

"That's Master Chief Jenks all right, not a good word to say to anyone," Carl said as he stepped back up to the door. "Watch that mouth, Chief. You're addressing a United States naval officer!"

"I don't give a flying fuck if it's John Paul Fucking Jones, get the hell out of here. This is my project and I let in who I want."

Danielle placed her hand over her mouth, hiding her smile.

"Told you, Father Flanagan he's not," Carl said jokingly, then turned back to the closed door. "All right then, Chief, how about there's a lady out here who needs to use the head; she's been on a plane for three and a half hours."

"Lady? She good lookin'?"

Carl turned to look at Danielle. "Gorgeous," he said as he quickly turned away from her.

There was silence on the other end for about two minutes, and then they heard the hum of an electric motor and the music inside came blaring out of the opening door. "Welcome to the Jungle," a song by Guns N' Roses, drove Carl back a step.

The music was lowered. After their eyes adjusted they saw they were looking at a giant tarp that had been hung from the old rafters. It covered most of the interior of the building from view. A man in dirty overalls approached them, down a set of stairs. He was wiping his greasy hands on a red rag.