Thomas Greanias - The Atlantis Prophecy

This picture of the Temple portal was itself a portal.

The smell was rank as Conrad ran up the spiral staircase and into a sewer tunnel. He was a hundred yards down, sloshing through God knows what, when he found a stairwell to street level. A moment later he burst out a metal door and found himself not in some alley between a couple of federal buildings like he had hoped, but inside a small book bay in the Main Reading Room of the Jefferson Building.

Damn.

He could feel his heart pounding in the silence of the cathedral-like room. Father Time and his clock said it was a quarter past midnight. The life-size statues of history's greatest thinkers looked down on him from near the top of the dome. The room was empty. Not even a lone Library or Congressional staffer was around here this time of night. Security cameras would catch him the second he stepped out from the alcove and into the open.

His only choice was to turn left and run along the stacks of books through the exit to the yellow corridor which led back to the researcher's entrance. Overhead he noticed what looked like a large metal duct running along the ceiling of the corridor. It was the conveyor belt that distributed books throughout the Library and U.S. Capitol complex.

He followed the beltway to two metal doors, which automatically slid open to reveal a large processing room. Large bins of books surrounded a conveyor belt on which blue bins carried books to an elevator-like chute. They were too small to carry a person. There was no escape.

He pulled out the parchment he had taken from inside the celestial globe and gazed at it. On one side was a strange sort of celestial chart or star map. The other side was blank save for a signature at the bottom-President George Washington.

He stared at it intently to burn it into his memory. Then he folded it several times over and removed a book from a bin-Obelisks, of all things. He carefully inserted the star map into the spine of the book and placed it back in a blue bin. Glancing at the code key sticker on the wall, he tapped a four-digit code into the chute's keypad and sent the book on its way to join the millions of others in the Library of Congress, the world's largest.

As he watched it disappear he heard the doors slide open from behind and turned to see Larry the security guard stagger in, gun waving at him.

"Hands up where I can see them, Professor Yeats." His voice broke above the low hum of the processing equipment.

"Larry," Conrad said, slowly raising his arms. "This isn't how it looks."

"I'm sorry, sir. But it looks pretty bad. You can't just go around stealing books."

"Larry, it's not a book. It's something very different."

The doors opened again and Max Seavers stormed in with a gun pointed at him.

"Excellent job, officer."

Larry nodded, his eyes on Conrad. Then Conrad watched in horror as Seavers turned his gun to the security guard and shot him in the head.

"Larry!" Conrad shouted, but the bullet had already blown splinters of skull fragments and brain against the machinery. Stunned, Conrad watched the security guard crumple to the floor.

Seavers bent down and picked up Larry's gun. "So you found the globe, Yeats."

Conrad put this reference to the globe together with the brazen slaying he just witnessed and instantly knew that Max Seavers was not acting on behalf of the United States but the Alignment. And Seavers knew he knew.

"Yeah, it's in front of the Cartography Room," he said, referring to a public display globe in the basement of the Library's Madison Building. "I can show you if you want."

"Your file said you were a cool one in a tight spot," Seavers said with a hint of admiration. "There might even be a place for you in our organization if you hand over whatever you found inside."

"Oh, so they didn't tell you? I bet the Alignment's having second thoughts about you already. What happens to you when you can't deliver what I stole?"

That seemed to touch a nerve. Seavers pointed Larry's gun at him. "I'm thinking this poor son of a bitch you killed got a lucky shot off as he went down and hit you in the heart."

"Really? Because I'm thinking I have a better chance of walking out of here alive with what I know than you do with what you don't. And all your billions won't save you."

"No, but maybe this will," said Seavers as he extended his gun to Conrad's chest and fired.

The bullet pushed Conrad back against the conveyor belt, knocking two blue bins to the floor. He slid down, breathing hard as Seavers marched over.

Conrad lay there, the world spinning around. Then he felt Seavers's hands patting him down. He opened his eyes a crack to see Seavers remove the silver cornerstone plate from Conrad's inside coat pocket.

As Seavers stared at it in wonder, a small piece of metal fell from it into his hand. Seavers studied it before realizing it was the slug from his gun, and that the silver plate had stopped it cold.

Conrad grabbed Seavers's balls and squeezed hard. Seavers winced and fell back, then swung Larry's gun at him.

Conrad slammed Seavers's hand against the conveyor belt and the gun went off. They wrestled as Conrad tried to pry it loose from Seavers's grip. Again he slammed the back of Seavers's hand against the belt. This time the fingers loosened and the gun dropped onto the belt.

Seavers tried to grab it, but Conrad tackled him from behind, driving him into the machinery. Seavers tried to strike back, but seemed to have caught his finger in some gears. With a shout Seavers pulled out his bloody hand, sending a severed finger flying through the air.

The finger landed on the conveyor belt, Seavers helplessly watching it make its way to the inner recesses of the Library.

Conrad grabbed his hair and slammed his head against the conveyor belt. Seavers crashed to the floor, out cold.

Conrad quickly fetched the severed finger from the belt before it disappeared and put it in his pocket. At some point, if he ever survived the night, it might prove useful when the police ran the ballistics on who shot Larry.

He then pried loose the silver cornerstone plate from Seavers's other hand and stood up and stared at the two bodies on the floor, aware of shouts outside growing louder.

WHEN THE U.S. CAPITOL POLICE burst into the processing room on the main level of the Jefferson Building, Sergeant Wanda Randolph found three bodies on the floor: Max Seavers, a security guard with bloody hair matted across his face, and a third man with a bullet hole in his shaved head-obviously the perpetrator who detonated the explosives.

A few minutes later, outside the researchers entrance on 2nd Street, she watched the coroner zip up the corpse of the stranger when Officer Carter, one of her R.A.T.'S., walked up.

"So who is he?" she asked.

"They're telling me his name is Dr. Conrad Yeats," Carter reported. "But I couldn't run the security feeds through the facial recognition software to confirm, because somebody up there pulled them."

Wanda could feel her blood begin to boil. "Did they make that secret tunnel in the subbasement disappear, too?"

"No, but there's a detachment of Marines down there now."

"Marines?"

"Sealed the tunnel off and won't let us in."

She looked on as two emergency technicians used backboards to immobilize an unconscious Max Seavers before placing him on a stretcher and securing him in the ambulance for transport to George Washington University Hospital.

"This is our turf, Carter, not theirs."

"Sure, and you can bring that up with the president next time you lunch with him," Carter said. "Meanwhile, what do we do?"

The EMTs moved the big stretcher with Seavers to the side and put the folding one with the security guard on the bench seat next to him in the back of the ambulance. An attending paramedic was on hand to check his wound.