David Golemon - Ancients

"Yes, this will be very helpful, and of course, as you know, the Juliai side has always been able to maintain their secrets well," he said as he pulled out his top desk drawer.

Peter nodded. "Again, my hope is that I didn't hurt you too much with my unthinking and very harsh words. You are a patriot for all the family, all Aryans, to emulate and I--"

His words froze in his mouth as he watched Karl raise a small pistol and point it at him.

"I have no animosity toward you for the things you said; I am only sorry you didn't listen to reason, Peter. Your side of the family has always been so weak when it comes to controlling the proliferation of the weaker and fouler races, and the sheer disrespect for world power--it really is quite boring."

"You are willing to murder me for those ancient designs and even more outdated dreams of the Juliai?"

"Yes, I believe I am. I find my arguments have outweighed your own; the need for science, race control, and the protection of the West is a far more noble cause than the propagation of fairy tales, don't you think?"

"You're absolutely mad! A fairy tale is a make-believe story, but I now have the proof that our kind really existed, that our severed factions can bring about change peacefully, slowly, and with forethought. If you kill me, I will take the secret of the Atlantean Wave with me to my grave, and furthermore I--"

The bullet struck him in the heart. His eyes widened at the suddenness of his death, and all he could do was mouth the word, Why?

Heinemann laid the still-smoking pistol upon his desktop and turned his swivel chair around to blot out the view of his dying friend. He saw that the gardeners had looked up at the gun's sharp report. Then he watched as they slowly went back to their work. He was content to look at the garden until he heard footsteps rushing down the hallway. The door opened but Heinemann did not turn around.

"God in heaven, what have you done?"

Karl closed his eyes in thought. He heard his assistant lean over the stricken Peter.

"You need not concern yourself with Professor Rothman; he has gone to a place he is most comfortable with. He has joined our ancestors."

The large assistant removed his bloody hands from the chest of Rothman and looked into his eyes. He blinked once and then his eyes slowly dilated in death.

"You have murdered a man who adored you. Have you gone insane? This can only cause more trouble between the Juliai and the other Ancients. You do realize that, don't you?"

Karl turned slowly in his chair and looked at his tall German assistant. "Humorous, he said the same exact thing to me only a moment ago. I have answered him; do I need to answer your concern also?"

The assistant got the clear meaning of what his employer was hinting at and immediately stood up straight and clicked his heels together. "My meaning is only that ... this ... was unexpected."

"Yes, I would have preferred to go another route myself, but things are much too important to leave to chance." He looked from Peter's body to the large German. "Do you agree?"

"Yes, Herr Von Heinemann, I--"

"Has the equipment I ordered been received?"

The question took the man by surprise. This monster had one of his best friends and a member of the Ancients sitting dead right before him and he had the gall to ask about scientific equipment? He truly was mad.

"We received a cable from our offices in Singapore; sixteen tons of material was received two days ago."

"Good. Of course you have contracted for shipment of the material to the island?"

"Yes. I thought you would want it delivered as soon as possible because I assumed you would sway--"

"As you can see, I swayed the argument to my side. Now get a hold of yourself, man. He was my friend and my student, and what had to be done was done. We cannot go back, so stop acting like a schoolchild. Get his body removed and don't get any more blood on my Persian rug than is already there."

"Yes, Herr Von Heinemann."

"The archaeological site?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"Destroy it. Leave no trace Peter was ever there."

"And the warehouse full of artifacts?"

The older man looked him in the eye. "They cannot remain in Austria. Contact Joseph Krueger in America. Tell him we are sending crated material for study at a highly secured location. I will have copies made of the material I need, so the originals can stay with the rest of the scrolls. Now, since the main component that the diagram scrolls call for will be missing, have you started a search for the crystals needed to replace them?"

"Yes, but we may also have diamond replacements from Rhodesia."

"Excellent. Now please remove Peter's body, he will be a deterrent to my lunch. And make arrangements for my passage to the island within the day, fastest possible route."

"Yes, I understand," the manservant answered. He started to turn away and then stopped, hesitating to give this cold-blooded man another reason for showing his infamous temper.

"Do you have something to add?"

"Before your meeting this morning, Professor Rothman imparted to me a parcel he wanted placed into the morning's outgoing post."

"Yes?" Von Heinemann asked, becoming agitated.

"It's just that he mentioned it was from the site in Spain, and very valuable."

The color drained from the industrialist's face. Then he sniffed. "Unless it was the size of the Key, it has no value to our design and is of no concern to us." He turned away from the servant to watch the activities of the gardeners. "But, out of curiosity, where was this package being sent?"

"Boston, Massachusetts."

Von Heinemann swiveled back to face his assistant. "America." It was not a question but a statement. His gaze was that of a man deep in thought. Then he waved the manservant away.

Karl Von Heinemann watched as the German struggled with the weight of the dead professor as he handled the body carefully through the ornate library doors. Von Heinemann wasn't in the least bit saddened by the fact that he had killed for what he believed would be the alteration of world power. The situation dictated harshness. He could never allow the fools outside the Juliai to know that at least one of the old tales was fact.

Karl stood and made his way to the large world map hanging in a magnificent gilded frame on the wall. He placed his hands behind his back, then rocked on his heels and back again. He couldn't help but wonder if the parcel Peter had sent to the United States happened to be the source of where the Atlantean Keys were buried. Then he shook his head to clear it of his paranoia as his eyes fell on the lone red-topped pin stuck in the map by a small group of Pacific islands where his and the Coalition's work would take place in the coming years. He smiled at the name indicated, a small island known only for its export of pepper seeds in the East Java Sea.

He spoke the name written in English on the world map, letting it roll off his tongue repeatedly until he thought he had the pronunciation correct: "Krakatau."

In just eight short years, in 1883, the island's name would be synonymous with complete and utter destruction to any person saying it: Krakatoa.

Lieutenant JG Charles Keeler knew that the men standing in front of him were not the real menace. The antagonist, or the real bad guy, as the movie serials would say, was in the chair in the far corner, bathed in shadow. The man had not moved since he had been brought into the small store in downtown Oahu. The tape holding his mouth closed was making him sweat even more than were the serious-looking men before him. It was as if he could not breathe adequately through his nose to maintain his hold on consciousness.