David Golemon - Ancients

"Yeah, I was down there earlier and saw that large map and the other one with the strange lines running through it," she said, taking her spoon and playing with her cold soup.

"Not only that, but they came across scrolls from Rome. Julius Caesar, of all people," Alice said as she lifted her cup of tea and sipped.

"Caesar? Why would his scrolls be mixed in with the ancient texts? Don't tell me Jack and Carl screwed up when they crated them and just threw everything together?"

"No, no. That collector had them cataloged like that. Everything placed together by date. They're working on them now. There is really a lot of excitement, especially about those scientific scrolls and other things that are definitely strange," Virginia said. "So even if your team fails to come up with a way to start earthquakes, we still have plenty for everyone to do."

Alice and Sarah noticed that Virginia had lowered her tea and looked distant.

"What is it?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, I just realized how ridiculous all this is when you think about what's happening in the world around us. I mean we have kids, American boys, dying, and here I sit acting like a schoolgirl about a bunch of stuff that really means nothing when compared to the lives of people."

"Now who's being hard on herself?" Sarah said as she patted Virginia's hand.

"No, sometimes the foolishness of people makes me want to scream so loud I could shatter that glass."

Sarah smiled, but then a strange look crossed her face.

"What did you just say?"

"Oh, please, I could go on forever about the foolishness of--"

"Shatter glass," Sarah said instead of waiting for Virginia to finish.

"Excuse me?" Virginia asked.

Sarah picked up her water glass and looked at it. She then set it down and looked at Virginia and Alice in turn.

"What happens to a glass when an opera singer hits a certain decibel level?"

"Well, I've heard that they can ..." Virginia trailed off as she thought about what Sarah had asked. "You mean sound?"

"Sound and earthquakes, Sarah?" Alice asked, lowering her teacup.

Sarah stood up and smiled.

"Excuse me, ladies, I have some calls to make."

"Dammit!" Jack exclaimed from the front seat.

"What?" Will asked as he took a corner as fast as he could without losing traction.

"We should have brought a laptop so we could tie in to Europa!"

"Wait a minute, Will; pull over here by those kids," Ryan said from the back.

Mendenhall pulled into the curb and Ryan jumped out. Everett, Collins, and Will watched as Ryan spoke animatedly to them about something.

For the past fifteen minutes they had been trying to read the names on the wet paper, and now they thought they finally had all four: Henry Fellows Carlisle, Davis Cunningham Ingram, Martha Lynn Laughlin, and Carmichael Aaron Rothman. None of them recognized these names, but they meant something to someone, that much was clear. Jackson Keeler had wanted them protected enough to die for, and the people who had killed him had ruthlessly sought them.

"What in the hell is that flyboy doing?" Everett asked as Ryan finished with the young teenagers and then trotted back to the car and jumped in.

"Third and Argyle," he said, settling into his seat.

Everett looked at Ryan with a blank stare. "You need a patch-in to Europa--well, there's a cyber cafe on the corner of Third Street and Argyle."

"You navy types never cease to amaze me," Jack said as the car sped away into traffic.

The man who had taken the photographs of Jack and his team at the law firm sat in the back of the white van and directed the driver to follow them into the heart of downtown Boston. The white lab coat he had used and the ID he had taken from the police forensics technician lay crumpled on the seat beside him. He was using a portable film developer on the pull-down table in front of him. The first photo of the man came out crystal clear as he pulled the still-wet eight-by-ten from the mouth of the machine. He snapped on an interior light and examined the face. He now knew for sure that it was the same man he'd seen in the warehouse.

He bypassed the five other shots on the reel, setting them aside as he placed the photo of Collins inside a scanner and closed the top. Then he opened his laptop and examined the black-and-white photo more closely. He centered the cursor on the identification badge and zoomed in a hundredfold. The name came into focus.

"John Harriman, ATF," the long-haired technician mumbled under his breath. "Let's just see if you are who you say you are, John."

The man picked up a cell phone and made a call. He gave the name and the department of the subject and then waited.

"There is no John Harriman at Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, huh? I kind of suspected that; this guy is a little too efficient for government work." The man thought for a moment. "Look, can you get a trace-visual ID on this man and see if you can come up with any matches? I'll wait."

The person he was speaking with was a deep-cover operative run by Dahlia and used sparingly because of his position in the federal records division. You didn't burn someone who was in a position to give you that kind of information.

The cell phone rang.

"What have you got?" He listened as he wrote down the information. "That's all? Colonel Jack Collins, U.S. Army Special Forces on detached service, and then nothing? I'll pass it along to Dahlia you were a great help," he said angrily.

"They're pulling over in front of that cyber cafe," the driver said.

"Park somewhere nearby and for God's sake don't be seen. These guys are starting to make me a little nervous."

The man opened the cell phone and hit a single number.

"Keyhole here. I'm faxing you some photos. Our friends from the warehouse are back. They went to the law offices and then to the morgue and they left there in one hell of a hurry. Listen, Dahlia, I used our source in federal records and we're dealing with an unknown here--a Colonel Jack Collins was ID'd. U.S. Army and a former Special Operations guy who is on detached service to an unknown entity, and I believe he and his men may have uncovered something from the coroner's office because they left there in one hell of a hurry. I'm going to keep a tail on these guys but I need some major backup. Is the Boston strike team still in town? Thank you. Now I'm going to see if I can eavesdrop on what they're doing. I'll call back."

The man shook his head, knowing that Dahlia failed to realize that somehow she had allowed a possible federal agency of unknown prowess to tag her movements. Oh, she acted calm enough, but then again she was safe in New York, while he had his ass hanging in the wind, tagging a damn Green Beret and his people who scared you just by looking at you.

"Damn, this is just too much," he mumbled as he brought his telephoto lens up to his eye and started perusing the cafe, looking for Jack Collins.

Jack felt exposed as he and Carl made the link with Europa. Everett kept an eye on the cafe's patrons to make sure no one moseyed by for a look-see. Luckily, most of the cyber kids were their doing homework or chatting up on MySpace and none of them seemed interested in the two adults. They were stuck in at a table that faced the rear of the cafe, so Everett kept most of his attention focused on the people nearest the plate glass window as Jack started his conversation with the Cray computer in Nevada.

Jack typed the names they had read on the piece of paper and asked Europa for any sort of record on them. It did not take her long on the first two.

HENRY FELLOWS CARLISLE, DECEASED, 81 YEARS OF AGE, DIED 1999. FORMER CHAIRMAN OF THE FELLOWS GROUP OF COMPANIES.

"Damn! Strike one," Jack said.