Chapter 21

John sat at his desk, and looked thoughtful. As pleasant as it was for him to think back on his wives, and his ‘wedding nights,’ many other things had happened as well.

The surfacing of Radkenian and New Atlantis, was one. Damn if that didn’t cause quite a stir, worldwide.

As Radkenian broke the surface, the first thing he did was commandeer satellites all over the world. He issued a message that was translated into every language and dialect. It was broadcast simultaneously, with each variation being on a favorite station.

“We offer greetings to our fellow citizens of Earth. Many centuries ago, we removed ourselves from the general populous, partly because of the covetous actions of other countries. They wanted our technology, but they were not ready to possess it. Since then, we have remained silently hidden below the waves, waiting and watching. We have been hoping for an improvement in human ethics (an oxymoron then, and sadly, still an oxymoron now).

“Sadly, time and our absence have done little to improve humanity. We Atlantians were, and still are, a proud people. In our pride and arrogance, we nearly destroyed that which we love more than anything else, this planet. In penance, we relegated ourselves to the bottom of the ocean.

“In that time, we have not slowed our intellectual pursuits. In fact, the Atlantis that is rising to the surface now, bears little resemblance to the simple island that we sank into the sea so many years ago. Therefore, it is our wish to introduce to the world, the New Atlantis.

“We have risen from the depths, because we feel we must once again take our place among you. We must do what we can to stop the rape of this planet, which is our home, as well as yours. Your culture has become overly dependent on fossil fuels. That is one of the first things that we, as co-residents of this planet, need to address. At this moment, being released on the world wide web, are plans for a power plant. It does not use fossil fuels. It is designed to be retrofitted to all the vehicles of which you are so fond. It can be made at various power levels, and can be attached to a generator, to produce as much free electricity as desired, anywhere it is desired. We encourage all industries to use this new inexpensive energy source. We have no desire for any industry to be ‘put out of business’. We do encourage Electric Companies to diversify, though.

“For those who do not have the talent or inclination to build their own Power Supplies (PS’s), there is a place on the website where complete units can be purchased at our cost, plus shipping. We have already been in touch with garages worldwide. Most have agreed to install the units at a set price. See the website for garage locations, and further information.

“Because of our past mistakes, we have decided on an ‘open door’ policy. All visitors, scholars, scientists, or simply the curious, are welcome. Come enjoy our climate, and our Entertainment Theme Park: ‘Atlantis Rising’. We will be providing free transportation entrance to the park is a nominal fee. Special transportation arrangements for those with special needs, are provided on the website. Most international airport terminals already have agreed to allow our vehicles to land. Our hotel accommodations are all not-for-profit businesses, and offer accommodations at very attractive prices.

“More information on flights, reservations, and available recreational activities can be found on our website at: www.AtlantisRising.com.

President Paul Prescott sat at his desk. He found the oval office the most relaxing place for him to find a bit of solitude. Today he was reading a few passages in his King James Version bible, which had been recommended to him by the Reverend Thomas Goodfellow. He found the time he spent reading the Bible very calming.

It wasn’t meant to last. Halfway through the second passage, the phone began to ring. He had left word with his secretary that he was not to be disturbed unless it was a dire emergency. That meant it had to be his wife, or Reverend Goodfellowwill on the phone. If it were anyone else, he (Prescott) would be looking for a new secretary. Paul marked his place, and set the bible aside before reaching for the phone.

President Prescott scowled at the phone when the voice he heard was neither his wife nor Reverend Goodwill.

“Sir, this is Daniel Markie.”

Presidents Prescott’s expression changed from anger over his secretary letting the call through, to curiosity about why the Director of the CIA was calling him.

“Sir,” Markie continued, I was just contacted by our satellite surveillance division. Though I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. President, I did not think this could wait. Not after you made it clear that you wanted to be notified of any anomalous activity no matter where it occurred. After we regained use of our satellites, we focused one on area that the supposed Atlantian advised we stay away from. We discovered that there is something rising up out of the ocean, Sir.”

Paul felt numb. He had hit speakerphone when he’d first answered, now he simply stared at the unit. This wasn’t the first time he had felt completely clueless, but to lose control of their satellites, why hadn’t he been informed sooner? And what was all this talk about an Atlantian? There was no such place, there never was. It was just a myth, made up to describe a utopian like society. Everyone knew that. Reverend Thomas Goodfellow had said it didn’t exist, therefore it didn’t exist.

Still, he had a problem, and this wasn’t first time he’d had no advance warning. The first time, those ICBMs launched by some rogue military group that somehow vanished, then the ice pushing up in the Antarctica and the unknown object splashing down in the Pacific. He didn’t like the way things were going so he told Markie to start at the beginning, and not to leave anything out.

When Markie was done, he promised to forward a copy of the feed that had been sent through their satellite system, and the call ended. Paul realized that he had no idea what direction to go with this. Then it came to him, the only person that would know how to help him in this situation, was the Reverend Tom.

Pushing a button on the phone, he activated the intercom to his secretary.

“Sarah, put a call through to Reverend Goodfellow. Let me know when you’ve reached him.”

“Yes, Mr. President. Right away, Sir.”

Paul sat there, trying not to think about anything. This was just the sort of thing that tested ones faith.

“Mr. President,” came from his intercom causing him to jump, “Reverend Goodfellow is on line 2.”

“Uh, thanks, Sarah”

This time Paul picked up the receiver. He didn’t know that his office was bugged, but he had suspected it for quite some time. No matter how many sweeps the idiots from NSA made of the room, guaranteeing him that it was clean, this way they would only hear half the conversation.

Their conversation lasted all of fifteen minutes. A very pale President replaced the phone into its cradle. He then pushed the intercom button again.

“Sarah.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“Please get me the Joint Chiefs and tell them this is a matter of National Security. If necessary arrange a conference call.”

“Yes, Sir, Mr. President. Right away.”

Sarah was in the middle of trying to set up the conference call, when a member of the household staff approached. He was carrying a tray with a coffee carafe and a single coffee mug with the presidential seal on it. It wasn’t until then she realized how bad things were. The only time the president ever drank any stimulants were in times of crisis. The last time had been when that thing had appeared on the White House Lawn. It was supposed to be a secret, but everyone knew about it anyway. That didn’t mean that any of them were stupid enough to talk about it. Not where anyone could overhear them, anyway.

Before that, it was the night he’d leveled Baghdad with high altitude bombings. If he was drinking coffee, nothing good could come of it. She buzzed the man in. He stayed only long enough to deliver the coffee before hurrying away. He was glad his shift would be over before the President had a chance to order a second carafe. That was when things normally turned sour.

Sarah saw the face of the man leaving and felt nervous. Though she hadn’t been on duty during the more recent things, she had heard rumors. ICBMs being launched and vanishing before detonation. The Antartica thing was all over the news and the President had been in a mood that day. She had to wonder if this was more of the same or something unrelated. It wasn’t worth losing her job to be become that inquisitive.

The Joint Chiefs had been expecting the inevitable phone call from President Prescott. Nor was it a surprise that he wanted to send planes to do a visual inspection. His mistrust of satellite intelligence was well known. However, what did come as a surprise, was his insistence that the Oval Office be wired into the loop. Prescott, it seemed, wanted to receive real time comments from the crew members in the planes. This was not to mention that they were all going to be in a meeting in the Oval office, at the time planes reached their objective. Since they already had the President’s approval, they ordered the launch of two EA-6B Prowlers.

Paul Prescott was in rare form. In fact, none of his staff had ever seen him like this before. His tirade had already lasted for over two hours, which was a new record for Prescott. Though it was common to hear ranting and raving coming from his office, it was unusual to hear him doing it while he was in his office alone. He had been like this ever since shortly after he had contacted the Joint Chiefs of staff. The events that preceded that, were the worldwide loss of satellite feeds and controls, even the military ones. Following that loss, came the strange message that they had received from someone claiming to be an Atlantian. That last fact seemed to be the worst, since comments about Atlantis rang clearly through the thick doors.

Oh, granted, he did stop when they delivered and placed the seating in the Oval office. He stopped again, when all kinds of electronic gadgets had been taken into the office and set up. But those pauses only seemed to allow the President to catch his wind. For after each reprieve, he would renew his ranting with heretofore unknown vigor.

General Burton approached the President’s Oval office. He was comforted in the fact that he was not going to this meeting alone. Defense Secretary Crandell was at his side. Burton had been keeping the Prowler’s flight schedule in his mind, checking his watch occasionally, and running through his mind where they would be at that point. It was something he had been good at when he attended Annapolis. He could see things in almost a three-dimensional way, and could keep track of multiple goings on.

The original flight time said the flight would take three hours to reach the anomaly. However, things were not staying constant. Satellite photos showed that the amount of the object above the water was constantly increasing. Slowly, but it was increasing. This was giving credence to the idea that something was rising up out of the ocean.

It had been over two hours since the Prowlers had been launched from the USS Kennedy, just outside of Jacksonville, Florida. Since it was unknown how many passes they might be required to make, an in flight refueling had been scheduled at about thirty minutes before they reached the anomaly. Burton glanced at his watch again. It was about five minutes until the refueling would begin. The Oval office was just down the hall, so he didn’t quicken his step any.

The desk that normally held the President’s secretary, was occupied by a man. Burton assumed that it was a member of the secret service, filling in, since it was well past normal office hours. The man looked at their IDs and waved them in. This was Burton’s first clue as to just how big this was. Seats were arranged in a semi circle facing the President’s desk. He saw members of the Joint Chiefs, the Presidents cabinet, NSA, CIA, FBI, NSO, and he thought he recognized a couple he had been told were members of Homeland Security. Seemed a bit of overkill, but who was he to judge? He was only a two star general, who happened to be in charge of this mission.

A few moments later, the hubbub in the room was drowned out by the crystal clear transmissions between the fuel plane, and the two Prowlers. Everyone listened to the cockpit chatter as the two planes went about the business of refueling. General Burton found it amazing that both planes had reported that they were still carrying two full drop tanks. He tried to do the math in his head, but was interrupted by the Joint Chief of Staff, Admiral Walters. After Admiral Walters had introduced himself, he asked Burton to follow him. Walters led Burton over to the communications center that had been set up, and then left.

There was some cockpit chatter between the two pilots, and their ECMOs (electronic countermeasures officers). The two rear ECMOs were initiating the AN/ALQ-99 jammers, while the ECMO/Navigator, who sat front right, had already given the pilot the final navigational co-ordinates. He was now busy double-checking communications, and defensive electronic countermeasures.

Lieutenant Commander James Gann gave one final glance at the call signs, and shook his head. He didn’t know who thought these things up, but these were down right ridiculous. Someone had definitely been reading too much popular fiction, but what choice did he have.

“Quidditch Pitch this is Seeker One, on final approach to the Golden Snitch.”

“Seeker One, this is Quidditch Pitch. You have a go to catch the Snitch.”

“I can’t believe this bullshit,” James Gann mumbled in a low voice.

“Seeker One, this is Quidditch pitch, please repeat your last transmission, it was garbled.”

‘Shit!’ James thought, but came up with a reasonable answer.

“I apologize, Quidditch Pitch, I was just verifying the final coordinates with my navigator.”

He saw his navigator cover his mouth in an attempt not to laugh.

Burton moved closer and whispered something to the communication operator who relayed it to the flight.

“Seeker One, I have been asked to remind you that The Headmaster is watching this match.”

Lieutenant Commander Gann sobered at the thought that the President was listening in on all their transmissions. He decided from here on he would do this strictly by the book.

“Seeker One, satellite intel shows that you will be in visual range in two to three minutes. Confirm.”

“Quidditch Pitch, Seeker One confirming visual range in two to three minutes.”

To General Burton’s right he heard techs working on something totally different. They were positioning one of the NSAs real-time spy satellites over the target area.

“We have confirmation. NSP-18 has reached geosynchronous orbit over the target. Now increasing magnification.”

A bank of screens that had been blank came to life. They were now showing a section of the ocean and what appeared to be a small white dot. Two indicators came up showing the location of the two planes. They weren’t that far from the target. A wave of distortion passed over the screens and they were showing an even closer view of the target. It was an off white color, more like a pearl. The two planes weren’t on this screen. There was a distortion again, and all that was on the screen was the white swirling mist-like surface of whatever it was. The satellite panned to the left, until it had the two planes centered.

“We have visual lock on Seekers One and Two.”

General Burton turned his attention back to the two Prowlers.

Lieutenant Gann and Lieutenant Mitchell moved a preset distance away from one another to give the best blanket coverage to their electronic jammers. Just as they got into the right position, the target came into sight. All that Lieutenant Gann could make out was something white was protruding out of the surface of the ocean. As he was about to radio in and begin to make his visual descriptions, he heard,

“Holy fucking shit what is that?”

“Cut the chatter Seeker Two. The Headmaster is watching this match.”

James looked to his navigator and said, “You take over. Tell them what you see.”

His navigator, who had only been assigned to this crew for this mission, knew there was no use trying to argue. The pilot was in charge.

“Quidditch Pitch, this is Seeker One. We are still two hundred miles out, but the target is visual. It is whitish in color and protruding from the surface of the water. It appears to be dome shaped. For us to see it at this distance, it has to rise at least two to three hundred feet above the surface of the ocean. Quidditch Pitch, as we make our approach, the dome shaped protuberance is not a solid substance. In fact, is looks more like swirling mists. However, at this distance it is impossible to see if there is anything beyond or under the mists. Request permission to close on the target.”

“Seeker One this is Quidditch Pitch. Headmaster has given a go. Capture the Snitch.”

Then something unexpected happened. They were addressed on their secured and scrambled frequency.

“Attention EA-6B Prowlers originating from the USS Kennedy, ported in the United States of America,” Radkenian’s voice sounded over all their ‘secured’ channels.

“You are violating Atlantian air space. However, for the safety of your aircraft you will not be permitted to approach to closer than fifty miles from the section of Atlantis already above the water.”

Every eye in the room had turned to the President. He was red faced. He looked more volatile than a vial of nitroglycerine, sitting in the Mojave Desert at noon, on July the fourth. A white-haired gentleman walked up to the President and began whispering in his ear.

“Fuck that!” rang across the room. Anyone who hadn’t turned to watch the President, did so now. “I will not back down from some fucking nutcase, claiming to be an Atlantian. Tell those planes I want a fly-by. Whatever’s out there I want to know exactly what it is.”

“Quidditch Pitch to Seekers One and Two. The Headmaster insists you catch the Golden Snitch.”

Lieutenant Commander Gann shook his head. He wasn’t opposed to taking a few risks. Hell, he had been on the front lines more than once, while aiding operational missions. But sending two unarmed aircraft into a completely unknown situation was asinine.

“Seeker Two, take high cover. Seeker One will attempt to catch the Snitch.”

James watched as Lieutenant Mitchell veered off to the left. He knew his wingman would circle around while gaining altitude. He continued at a reduced speed, to give his wingman time to go to ‘high cover’, while he maintained a fairly straight line towards the target. Then he got the odd feeling of butterflies in his stomach, that he often felt when he hit an air pocket. He looked at his altimeter. It was still showing two thousand feet. He did a double take on his gauges when he saw his airspeed. According to the gauge, he wasn’t moving, which of course was impossible.

“Quidditch Pitch, this is Seeker One. I have had an instrument malfunction from my air speed indicator. I’m continuing on task.”

There was something about that statement, that caused Burton to look from the communications center, to the satellite displays. It only took a moment to see the truth of the situation.

“Son of a Bitch!” Burton said to no one in particular. “His instruments aren’t broken, he isn’t moving!”

No one seemed to pay any attention to Burton, as they were focused on the radio transmissions.

“Seeker One to Seeker Two. Verify my altitude and air speed.”

“Seeker Two to Seeker One. My radar shows you at an altitude of two thousand thirty-two feet, with a forward air speed of ... Wait! This is impossible! I m showing no forward airspeed, but I do show a northward drift of seven knots.”

Lieutenant Commander Gann could not believe what he was hearing, “Quidditch Pitch can you confirm Seeker Two’s readings.”

“Seeker One, satellite intel verifies the numbers given to you by Seeker Two. You have zero knots forward air, and 7 knots drift, at 008 degrees, true.”

Not knowing what else to do, Lieutenant Gann leaned to his left to look out his window hoping he would see something to account for his drift in that direction. As he moved he pulled the stick slightly, and the plane shuddered.

“Seeker Two to Seeker One. I’m not sure what you just did, but try it again because your plane moved a bit, and then stabilized again.”

James looked down and realized he had yet to let go of the stick. He wondered if he might have pulled on it when he leaned over to look out the window. Since he was already drifting to his left, he pulled on the stick as though he were banking hard to the left. Another shudder ran through the craft.

“Seeker Two to Seeker One. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. Your aircraft is starting to move again.”

James moved the stick at a severe left bank, and he began to feel motion. He kept it that way while Seeker Two kept up an ongoing play-by-play. James reached to the throttle, and pushed it all the way forward. That was all that it needed. The plane was his again. It took him a moment to regain control. He’d had the controls well past the point of where the plane could bank. It had tried to roll on him as he pulled away. He continued away from the target and called Flight, who gave him the recall order. He had never received an order that he was happier to obey.

General Burton heard the President say, “What in the hell are you doing calling those planes back, I told you I want to see what’s out there.” It was a relief to see several of the Joint Chiefs heading him off. He didn’t hear all of what they were saying, but he heard enough to know they were telling him things similar to what he would have said. They had just watched one of their planes get stopped, and be suspended in mid-air, until the pilot had veered away. There was no doubt in Burton’s mind that the pilot’s turning away as he had, was the only reason the plane wasn’t still stuck in whatever it was that was protecting Atlantis.

Yeah, he believed it was Atlantis rising up out of the ocean. Not that he would ever admit to that here in the Oval office. He had already been warned that belief in such things was severely frowned upon. Burton was then brought out of his private thoughts, by the most ridiculous thing he had heard all evening.

“Fine, if we can’t find out who in the hell they are, then I want to nuke the bastards.”

“Mr. President,” Joint Chief of Staff Johnson reasoned, “the whole world is watching. We simply cannot launch a nuclear attack without any provocation.”

“Provocation my ass! Were you watching the same screen as I was? We just had our asses handed to us by an unknown threat. That threat still exists. Do you think it is simply going to go away?”

His rant continued for another twenty minutes until the Joint Chiefs relented. In Burton’s opinion, they only did so because after watching what had happened to the planes, they believed it had little chance of success.

In the Atlantic, on the Tropic of Cancer, something was occurring, even though no one with only Earth technology was aware of it. Radkenian was in contact with his mother, and through his mother in contact with John and the geostationary satellite over Washington D.C. John had suspected that the approaching planes would only be the United States’ initial foray. As such, Radkenian and his mother had modified four drones. They had stronger cloaking capabilities and were able to atomize and collect non-organic matter. If John was right, what was sent Radkenian’s way this time, wouldn’t be as harmless as a couple of Prowlers. John wanted Radkenian to begin establishing his borders, as he slowly brought Atlantis to the surface. The satellite data was only confirmation of their suspicions, so Radkenian launched the drones.

Since he wasn’t involved in the new mission, General Burton tried to stay with the details of recovering the two Prowlers. Then his end of this cluster-fuck would be finished. However, there was bluster of activity going on around him. It wasn’t until the seemingly unassuming area of sea the satellite had focused on began to show a disturbance, that his attention wandered even slightly. Soon the conning tower of a sub was breaking the water, Burton recognized it immediately as the tower of a Seawolf-class fast-attack submarine. It only took a couple more minutes for the sub to fully emerge. He wasn’t certain, but he was pretty sure that he was looking at the USS Jimmy Carter.

Two hatches on the sub slid back. Flames jumped up and out of the openings, followed by the noses of two Tomahawk missiles. The two missiles arched away from the sub, as their wings snapped out. He knew by the way the missiles were staying centered in the screen, that the satellite had a lock on them. It was also apparent that they were practically skimming the waves in an attempt to avoid radar. If he had been anywhere else, General Burton would have shaken his head in disbelief.

He looked around the room, and even the communications officers who were still performing their tasks were watching the screens. The sub had to have been fairly close because thirty minutes after launch, the missiles left the waves they had been skimming and began their climb before they made their final course corrections, before it came down and well...

He tried to keep focused on his own tasks, but his eyes kept wandering back to the bank of screens. Then the same voice that had commandeered their secured channel before, returned. The message was a simple one.

“Aggressive actions towards the people and domain of Atlantis, will not be tolerated.”

As that was said, the two cruise missiles vanished. They didn’t explode, as they would have if they had been shot down, or had self-destructed. One moment they were there, and the next, the satellite had an unobstructed view of the Atlantic. While a short ways off, the missile’s target was serenely unharmed. It was all Burton could do to keep from laughing. Fortunately, he was distracted from the urge. It was as though all hell broke loose in the Oval office.

President Prescott was jumping up and down shouting, though not a single syllable was intelligible. Some years back Burton had seen similar actions from a rather spoiled young nephew, when his parents had refused for the first time, to give in to one of his demands. Though understandably his nephew was four at the time.

The white-haired gentleman, who had tried to calm the President earlier, approached Prescott. He laid his hand on the President’s shoulder. Prescott stopped jumping up and down. He turned on the man, and sprang at him, tackling the poor man to the floor. To Burton, it looked like fists were flying as they went down.

Burton stood open mouthed, as three of the Joint Chiefs wrestled Prescott off the man. Prescott then turned on the three rescuers, and tackled one of them. Burton watched the pair go to the floor while Prescott was kicking, biting, scratching, and screaming incoherently as he bore an Admiral to the floor.

History was made. For the first time ever, the Secret Service had to rescue someone from the President, rather than the President from someone else.

A man with a syringe came in shortly afterward. Burton assumed it was a doctor who was on call at the White House. Anyway, Prescott calmed within a very short period of time after the injection. Bethesda was mentioned, as the President was escorted out of the room.

Unfortunately, things were far from settled. Burton was ordered to turn control of the mission back to Kennedy Flight Control. Then he, and everyone present, was sequestered. They were reminded about national security, the secrecy act, and blah blah blah, yadda yadda yadda. What it boiled down to was threats. Threats against their family, their careers, their very freedom to walk down the street! Whatever the Secret Service thought it would take to insure that they would keep their silence.

It didn’t matter to Burton. He was finished, through, done. This was the last thing in a long line of things his country had performed that he didn’t agree with. That didn’t mean he loved his country any less, because he loved it with all his heart. But that didn’t mean that he had to like the things being done under the thin disguise of ‘national security’. He had the papers on his desk. He had been planning to re-up which would have taken him to mandatory retirement. Well, unless he landed a Pentagon job, something, that was now unlikely.

He had three months left in the service, and a lot of life a head of him. His son had mentioned something about having found something he thought the two of them would enjoy doing together. It would be good to spend time with family. His son, daughter-in-law, and his two grandchildren were all he had left, now. His wife had been killed in a terrorist’s bombing. It was time he got to know the rest of his family better.