Thomas Greanias - The Atlantis Prophecy

The president looked at her. "And I'm to understand that the Vatican has been helping Dr. Yeats?"

"No, Mr. President, but I have," she said boldly, seeing the shock in Packard's face. "You should, too. And he did not kill Brooke Scarborough."

She slipped her hand inside her blouse and removed Washington's letter to Stargazer. Packard looked like he was going to pass out at the very sight of it.

"I had hoped to press my case with you once I had everything, Mr. President, but I'm afraid I don't." She handed him the letter. "But you have everything I do, sir."

The president looked it over and handed it to Packard. "DARPA will analyze this?"

"Right away, Mr. President."

Serena watched Packard slip it inside his dress uniform pocket. She doubted it would ever see the fluorescent light of a lab at DARPA or anywhere else if Packard were foolish enough to pass it along to Max Seavers.

She said, "What you'll find out, Mr. President, is that Dr. Yeats is simply following the orders of George Washington, commander-in-chief."

"I'm the commander-in-chief, Sister Serghetti," the president said emphatically.

"What I'm trying to say is that he believes he is serving the highest interests of the republic. If you could offer him immunity from prosecution, he might come in and give you whatever he took from the globe."

"I appreciate that, Sister Serghetti, and maybe yesterday we could have cut him some kind of deal," the president said. "But now that he's been caught detonating explosives on U.S. landmarks, slaying federal agents, and has murdered the daughter of one of America's most prominent senators, well, I don't think even I can help him. I swore an oath to protect America."

"No, Mr. President, you swore an oath to protect the Constitution."

The president was not pleased with her impudence. "I'll say a prayer for Conrad Yeats, Sister Serghetti. God bless you."

"And you, Mr. President."

With that the president marched up the spiral staircase behind two Secret Service agents. He was followed by Packard, who looked back at her with undisguised animosity. She saw a square of light thrown on the curving wall and heard the roar of running engines outside before the thud from an unseen door left her alone in the room.

She pulled out her cell phone and pressed a button. Benito answered. "Bring the car around. We're leaving."

INSIDE THE HILTON'S underground parking garage, two policemen stood on either side of the service door as dozens of waiters carried crates of fruit, muffins, and croissants from the prayer breakfast to awaiting vans, which in turn would deliver the food to local homeless shelters.

One of those waiters was Conrad Yeats. He carried not one but two boxes of ice-packed fruit on his shoulders to the nearest van, but he never went back inside. Using the vehicle line to shield himself from the policemen, he walked out into the garage in search of Benito so he could hitch a ride in Serena's limo with the Vatican emblem and secret cargo compartment.

The garage was alive with activity now that the president had left and the senators, congress members, and foreign dignitaries were free to leave as well. The limousines and SUVs were already lining up to pick up their VIPs in front of the hotel entrance.

"Conrad Yeats?" a voice called from the shadows.

Conrad cursed himself for having ended up in a well lit place in the garage. He turned to see a young brunette whose face he recognized but whose name he had forgotten. She was in her mid-20s, an aide to a female senator from California.

"Hi, there!" he said, faking excitement as he walked over to her.

She frowned at his generic response. "It's Lisa from San Francisco," she said. "And what are you of all people doing at a prayer breakfast?"

"Mending my ways, Lisa."

He pulled out a knife he had taken from the kitchen and put it to her side as she gasped. He hated himself for doing this to her, but he had no choice.

"OK, I confess," he whispered in her ear. "I haven't really changed. If you scream or make a sound, I'll kill you. You've seen the TV reports. You know I will."

"Please," she begged him. "I'll be better for you next time. You can wear the fedora and I'll learn to like the whip."

"Quiet," he said, jabbing the knife in the fold of her skin. "You're going to help me get out of here, Lisa. Nod if you understand."

Lisa nodded.

Seavers stationed himself outside the main entrance of the Hilton and watched the VIPs get into their taxis, limousines, and SUVs. The prayer breakfast was over, incident-free as far as its guests were concerned. The announcement about Brooke Scarborough's death would not reach them until they were on their way back to Kansas or Iowa or wherever the hell they came from. By then, of course, the Alignment's agenda would be unstoppable.

The only X factor, he thought with rage, was the elusive Yeats.

Seavers watched the junior senator from California and her aide get into her limousine and drive off as a sleeker limousine with a Vatican flag pulled up. He turned his head to see Serena Serghetti emerge from the front entrance and make her way to the open rear door and climb in.

Seavers motioned two Secret Service agents to the limousine. They halted the driver and swept the underside of the car with long, extended mirrors.

The rear door opened and Serena stepped back out and watched the scene. And because she did, a small crowd behind her did also.

"Lose something, Max?" she asked, putting on a great show of being held up. "I confess I brought out a couple of chocolate croissants for Benito. He loves them so."

"Tell your driver to open the trunk," Seavers demanded and walked to the back as two agents drew their guns.

He was aware of the scene he was causing with the curious dignitaries, but he didn't care, even when a press photographer started taking pictures. He knew he couldn't force her to open up-the car had diplomatic plates, after all-but if she didn't the world would know she was hiding something, and so would he.

Her swarthy driver came out and, getting the nod from Serena, opened the trunk. Besides a garment bag and small suitcase, it was empty.

Serena put her hands on her hips and an amused expression on her face for the cameras. "You want to search those, too, Max?"

Seavers turned red with rage when one of his agents came up. "Sir, we found something," he said and led Seavers to the rear seat of the cabin.

Seavers then waved the good Sister over from her photo op and pointed into the limousine. "Open that seat compartment or I'll tear it open with a knife. Your choice."

"Max." She turned serious. "You do understand that in some countries I've been forced to smuggle out missionaries and political prisoners. If you let the press and public know about this, then some of those prisoners will lose their last option."

"Your choice, Serena."

She leaned into the back of the limousine and felt for a hidden latch that released the flap beneath the rear seat. As it opened, she was pushed back by one of the Secret Service agents.

"Step back, please, ma'am," he said and pointed his gun into the secret compartment.

But it was empty.

Seavers burned inside as Serena turned to face him with her beatific smile. "Told you, Max."

Aware of the television cameras, he leaned over and whispered. "Your friend the fugitive is a murderer and an American traitor. You don't want anything to do with him."

"No, Max. I don't want anything to do with you anymore. You can keep your vaccines." She got inside and nodded to Benito to go.

Seavers watched the limousine drive off and turned to the Secret Service agent who had examined the secret compartment. "Did you place the GPS nano tracker on her person?"