“What do you mean? The pyramid is right there.”
Jon couldn’t suppress his grin. “You haven’t seen what they are emitting. Look at the energy gauge on the side of the screen. That’s the energy signature the pyramids are giving off.”
Paul studied the gauge on the screen’s upper right corner. His hand flew to his mouth. “That’s the mother of all energy signatures.”
Jon picked up his phone and dialed his boss’s emergency line—the only way to get the boss to answer his phone at this hour.
Colonel Slade Roberson answered.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Sir. TECS IV found something…” Jon nodded a few times. “We’re looking at a very high energy concentration on Callisto, a Jupiter moon.” A pause. “What exactly are we looking at? Uh...pyramid structures with enough energy output to power New York City. And jet fighters. Uh-huh, you heard me right, jet fighters and pyramids. We found the golden egg, Sir.” Jon hung up.
Paul held his hand up for a high-five.
Jon slapped his hand. “History just got a kick in the damned pants, man. Shit just got real.”
1 May 21stTucume, Peru
Kaden Jaxx’s shoes were caked in dirt. He’d have scraped the muck off, but his toe box would be crusted over again within the hour. No point. He might as well hunker down and concentrate all his attention on his most recent find. The work of an archaeologist was, of necessity, slow. You couldn’t rush history. It was too fragile, too breakable, too close to his heart.
He stood in front of the Temple of the Sacred Stone, a pyramid he’d been studying for the last two years. It was one of twenty-six pyramid-like structures in the region. His job was to take pictures and decipher the ancient writings etched in the pyramids. He also wanted to see if his hypothesis was correct, no matter where a pyramid was built, over time it slowly raised the ground it sat upon. In this case, it had. The observable evidence was everywhere, if you knew what you were looking for. He didn’t care what the experts said, these magnificent structures were not created by the Lambayeque people in 1,000 AD, but were in fact yet more strategically-positioned Atlantean pyramids.
Jaxx planned to write the heck out of his hypothesis, with foot-notes, references, cross-references, and scholarly citations. He knew what he knew and the world needed to know it too. These pyramids were built for a reason; these pyramids would save the Earth from its slide back into the Dark Ages; these pyramids—simply put—were the single greatest source of untapped energy on the planet. If only the powers that be would listen to him.
They wouldn’t.
He’d send his hard-won findings into the world and, as always, be critiqued, shut out of peer circles, and mocked to the high heavens and back.
He pulled off his backpack and unclasped a water bottle. Twisting the cap off, he touched the bottle’s mouth to his lips and froze. A sound carried across the wind, shattering the calm and erupting across the sky.
Thrump thrump thrump thrump.
A helicopter?
He spun around. A huge, black chopper closed in on him. The thrum of the blades became louder. It came in low. His stomach tightened. Something didn’t feel right. He studied it for a moment, observing the trajectory of its flight.
It headed in for a landing.
He racked his brain. Was anyone else in the vicinity? He didn’t believe so. No travelers, no locals. And since he liked to work alone, no workers. He only brought them if he absolutely needed them. He was alone. The chopper couldn’t be for him, though. That wouldn’t make sense. He was nobody, nothing, a blip on the underside of the archaeological radar. No one would send anything as flash and imposing as a chopper for him.
The giant metal bird slowed, coming in for a landing. The closer it came, the more the wind picked up. It whipped Jaxx’s hair across his face and pressed his clothes against his body.
Touching down, the helicopter’s engine died and the titanium rotors came to a gradual halt. The cabin door opened and a man with brown hair, graying at the temples, jumped out and marched toward Jaxx. Even if he hadn’t been in camo, his gait, the lack of facial hair, the way he stared ahead, all screamed “military.” Muscle bound in the way certain military men were, when they’ve been bench-pressing three-hundred pounds for too many years.
“Kaden Jaxx?” he yelled.
Kaden didn’t want to respond. Was he in trouble? If so, what had he done wrong? He wiped the sweat from his forehead, but there was nothing he could do about the stains spreading out from his armpits. “Yeah?”
The man smiled—if you could call the break in his face and shine of his too-white teeth a smile—and extended his hand, a smell of mint wafting off his breath. “Colonel Slade Roberson.”
Kaden shook his hand, his mind racing. “Professor Kaden Jaxx.” His eyebrows squished together. “What can I do you for?”
“I know this is abrupt and I apologize. We are in need of your services.” Slade motioned to the helicopter. “If you step this way, we’ll get going. You’ll be briefed when we reach Grenada.” The Colonel glanced at his watch.
“Excuse me?”
Slade pulled out a piece of gum and popped it in his mouth. “We don’t have much time.”
Jaxx held up his camera in a feeble attempt to ward the Colonel off. It wasn’t adding up. Something had gone seriously wrong. Military men and choppers didn’t just plunge from the sky and take him god-knows where. That wasn’t how his world worked.
Slade winked and gave an ill-attempted grin. He smacked his gum. “I’m not here to hurt or scare you, my friend.” He placed his hands on his hips. “I’m here to change your world.”
Jaxx stepped into the helicopter’s cabin. The smell of sweat and jet fuel filled the air. He bent over, avoiding the shallow ceiling. The titanium rotors started up, drowning out
