Thomas Greanias - The Atlantis Prophecy

If nearby, grab Go-Kits and personal belongings. Close doors behind you, but do not lock. Remain calm. Await further instructions outside. Do not remain in the building.

Seavers heard a loud whine and a thud and looked up. They were shutting the ventilation system down to prevent the spread of any biotoxins.

He tugged at the multisensor badge on his lapel. Developed by the counter-bioterrorism group at DARPA, the badge could detect the presence of biotoxins in the atmosphere in real time. That's because DARPA was able to package dozens of photothermal micro-spectroscopy procedures onto a single microchip, including the electrokinetic focusing of bioparticles. Durable, lightweight, and with no external power requirement, this "lab in a badge" provided an immediate visual indication of the presence of any contaminants.

Except there were no contaminants, according to his sensor.

Outside on the east lawn of the Capitol, Senator Scarborough was waiting for him, his face red and puffy.

Scarborough said, "This sure as hell better not be some stunt you're pulling to convince us to go ahead with your program, Seavers."

"Absolutely not, Mr. Senator," Seavers replied hotly. As a billionaire he hated begging for federal funding or agency approval, especially from politicians. They were worse than his private equity investors. "And I don't think there's anything to worry about."

"Why the hell not?"

"My sensor says so." He handed the senator his bio-detector.

Scarborough turned it over in his hands and glanced at Seavers with the faintest hint of respect. "Maybe I should have one."

"I think you should. I think all senators should, along with a shot of the SeaGen vaccine."

Scarborough grumbled something about waving the white flag and walked off toward a cluster of his staffers who were waiting for him by a police barricade.

Seavers looked at his badge detector again. There was nothing, absolutely nothing in the air that was deadly, not even in trace amounts.

He looked back at the building. False alarms happened all the time in Washington, D.C. But something felt wrong as he paced outside the Capitol's east entrance. Beyond the police barricades, rows of news vans crammed the street, and he could hear the reporters breathlessly blathering on about nothing. There was little to report so far. Everybody was standing around talking or watching the Haz-Mat teams enter the building and people coming out: senators, staffers, and Serena Serghetti.

An alarm went off in his head, the one that never gave false readings. What was she doing here?

Then it hit him: Conrad Yeats.

A FEW MINUTES before the alarms went off, the public tour of the U.S. Capitol was running behind schedule. So Conrad was still inside the original north wing, impatiently standing outside the Old Supreme Court chamber, staring at a plaque that read: Beneath this tablet is the original cornerstone for this building.

Like most things coming out of Washington, D.C., the plaque wasn't entirely true, as the pleasant docent explained to the group, which included a dozen Boy Scouts from Wyoming.

"The plaque on the wall refers to the tablet on the floor before you, and the tablet on the floor only marks the spot where a former Architect of the Capitol once believed the cornerstone resided."

Conrad looked down at the stone, which was about four feet wide and two feet tall and embedded into the floor, and read the engraving:

LAID MASONICALLY SEPT. 17, 1932

IN COMMEMORATION OF THE LAYING OF THE ORIGINAL CORNERSTONE BY GEORGE WASHINGTON

"So we've got plaques commemorating stones in commemoration of other stones," muttered the scoutmaster next to Conrad in the back as the group finally headed to the crypt. "Am I missing something?"

"Just your federal tax dollars," Conrad replied and looked at his watch. The Capitol Police were probably already sending text alerts to higher-ups and it was all going to trickle down in a very loud display of alarms any second now.

The tour ended at the crypt under the rotunda, where George Washington was supposed to be buried. It was a vast chamber with 40 massive Doric columns of Virginia sandstone, upon which rested the rotunda and dome above, much like America itself rested on Washington. In the center of the black marble floor was a white starburst.

"This crypt is the heart of Washington, D.C., and the end of our tour," the docent said. "Following Pierre L'Enfant's design, the city's four quadrants all originate at the U.S. Capitol. The starburst on the floor of this crypt is the center."

The starburst marked what was to be a window into the tomb of George Washington beneath the crypt. The idea was that Washington could look up from his tomb and ultimately see his glorified self in heaven as painted on the ceiling of the capitol dome. Only Washington wasn't in the tomb below-his widow Martha had insisted he be buried at the couple's Mount Vernon estate.

As the tourists took turns standing on the starburst, Conrad drifted off to the wide marble staircase nearby and walked down to the subbasement level of the Capitol, passing several glass-enclosed offices packed like mouse cages.

He took an immediate right back under the stairs and passed a sign that read "No visitors allowed," just as the public alarms went off.

Now he had to move fast. He had only minutes to find the cornerstone before the Haz-Mat teams reached the subbasement levels.

He glanced back at the small warren of offices behind him. Staffers, mostly scruffy middle-aged types with PDAs, were shaking their heads, gathering belongings and heading for the exits. Conrad proceeded up a few crumbling stone steps, passing a nuclear fallout shelter sign as he entered a long, yellow brick tunnel.

He pulled out his modified smartphone and looked at the screen with the schematics and GPS tracker. Conrad was the white flashing dot in the maze.

At the end of the tunnel was a black iron gate like something out of a medieval church, and beyond the gate the tomb intended for George and Martha Washington. The only thing inside the tomb was the catafalque, the structure on which the corpse of Abraham Lincoln, the first president to die in office, rested when he lay in state for public viewing in the rotunda after his assassination.

Conrad turned to his right and saw the rust-colored access door he was looking for. It was marked:

SBC4M

DANGER

Mechanical Equipment

Authorized Personnel Only

It had no handle or knob, but he thought he could pry it open. As he did, he heard the scrape of metal against stone behind him, and turned to see the metal door marked SB-21 on the opposite side of the tunnel open.

A technician emerged in a work outfit and a look of surprise when he saw Conrad. "There's an evacuation alert, sir."

"Yes, they're passing these out." Conrad pulled a surgical mask from his suit pocket. "Take it," he said and smothered it over the man's mouth.

Conrad pushed him back through the door, and the man crumpled to the floor next to some electrical machinery. Conrad closed the door behind him, picked up the chloroform-soaked mask and dragged the technician past a bank of equipment and exposed piping to a utility room.

Inside he found a single marble bathtub, a relic of the old Senate spa that offered members of Congress and their guests hot tubs, haircuts, and massages. He put the man inside the tub, closed the utility door and moved down to the old furnace area.

According to the GPS marker on his phone, he was near enough to the northeast corner of the central portion of the Capitol to use his pocket sonar. He popped what looked like a memory card into the slot atop the handheld device. A thermal-like image of red and yellow splotches against a glowing green backdrop filled the small screen.