them.
'I ask that you believe me when I say it is an honor to be chosen for this duty. You in this room are much respected, and Mr. Tomlinson offers his sincere gratitude for all that you have done for the cause.'
They all saw that the man actually managed to look magnanimous and sorrowful as he pulled a large handgun from his suit jacket.
Tomlinson leaned back in his chair, knowing that he would never have to deal with the older faction of the Coalition again. Since the formation of the Coalition, after the split of the Ancients, never had they been so close to finalizing the plans for the formation of one order to rule all.
Tomlinson knew that some thought him mad or at the very least unbalanced. They also knew that he was the only man capable of carrying out the dreams of Julius Caesar and his original ancestors. Caesar had been a man of vision who wanted nothing more than justice for the children of the Ancients, to once again live in a world ruled by men of vision and race responsibility.
The thought that maybe theirs was a warped and intolerant view never entered their thinking. Tomlinson always tempered the argument with his own: absolutely nothing in this world had worked as men thought it would. Pure races and economic power equaled stability the likes of which the world had not known since the time of the Atlanteans. He was not a hater of lesser people. On the contrary, Tomlinson knew that every race had its place in the order of things, just as his ancestors and Julius Caesar had envisioned. They just could not be expected to reach beyond their grasp. The Coalition would be there to make sure they were fed, clothed, entertained, and taken care of. Their positions would be those of servants of the order and they would be happier for it.
His assistant who entered the office and made his way to the large desk interrupted his thoughts. That was when he noticed that Caretaker had not left after the meeting. He just sat quietly in the corner, watching him. Tomlinson looked at him and Caretaker just nodded his head.
'Sir, these were faxed to you earlier during your meetings. I thought you might be interested.'
Tomlinson accepted the clear folder and then excused his assistant. As he opened it, he momentarily turned his attention back to Caretaker.
'I'm sorry, I thought you had left. Can I help you with something?'
'As you must be aware, sir, as Caretaker of the law of the Juliai, I am obligated to remain at the chairman's side until dismissed for personal down-time. That is the way of things.'
'I see. I didn't realize I'd been elected to such an exalted office.'
'You haven't been. But I, like yourself, am a realist, and I feel it is only a matter of time before such distinctions are finalized.'
As Tomlinson pulled the pages from the envelope, he had to stop and look closer at the older man before him. The surprise on his face was hard to hide.
'I would have thought you would be leaning more toward the letter of Juliai law. So you think we are taking the right path by moving forward with the attacks?'
'No, sir, it is not that at all. My job is to make sure you follow the path of the Coalition and its aims. You have not deviated from that as of this moment.'
'Good, I am--'
'However, that does not presuppose that your plan will succeed. If there is a setback in finding the plate map, or the Atlantean Key, the plan must be terminated immediately. Then, after time has passed, a new council will start afresh. I believe that is a fair interpretation of Coalition mandate. The whole must be protected at all costs.'
'You have made your point. Now, if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to that does not concern Coalition mandates.'
Caretaker stood, buttoned his jacket, and left the office.
Tomlinson stared at the closed door for a brief moment and then looked at the faxed pages.
The photos were the first to catch his eye. The three men captured in them were formidable in stature. The notes tagged to each of the five photos said that they had possibly been involved with the raid in Westchester; thus, these men might have been connected with the botched attempts to collect the Key in Ethiopia. Dahlia claimed, in her attached note, that it was a logical step in the chain of actions to this point. She also wrote that she was hoping to run into these three again.
Another note was attached, reiterating what she had told him earlier about tracing the plate map to Hawaii. She foresaw no problems in attaining the artifact soon.
The second note had been timed thirty minutes after the first. This one made Tomlinson clench his teeth. He was not used to Dahlia making errors in judgment, but this time she had. Instead of making sure that Keeler's journal contained the complete list of the remaining Ancients, she had killed the man. She informed him that Keeler had ripped out the last page with the names of the surviving members of the children of Atlantis.
'Damn,' he said as he laid down the note. The fact that they had missed a chance to rid the world of the remaining few old ones made his skin crawl.
As he shook his head, the picture of one man in particular caught his attention and he picked up the close-up taken from the second floor. The man looking out the landing window was a serious-looking man who was different from his companions: he was more focused as he looked around. This intrigued Tomlinson and he felt a chill pass through him as he memorized the face.
'If Dahlia is right, you have cost me valuable time, my friend,' he said as his index finger popped against the fax paper right over the face of Jack Collins.
Jack Collins and Carl Everett were waiting for the Europa technician to arrive from the computer center. Pete Golding was angry that he had to release one of his people from duties involving the investigation of the seismic occurrences, but he calmed significantly when he was told that it was Jack requesting the Cray-computer time to assist in the New York incident.
Everett looked at his watch, furious that it was taking so long. Jack, meanwhile, was calm, his face showing none of the angst that Everett was dealing with.
'Damn techs, they think they run this place.'
Collins finally looked at him without much emotion. 'They do run this place.'
'Yeah, I guess so.'
Finally, the elevator that led down to the clean room opened and a familiar face stepped out.
'Ah, shit,' Everett mumbled under his breath as he rubbed his forehead.
Dr. Gene Robbins was the assistant director of the computer center under Pete Golding. His performance in the use of the supercomputer Europa in the Event with the UFO a couple of years back had endeared him to Niles and the rest of the sciences departments. But he was a royal pain in the rear as far as Europa protocols were concerned, as Jack and Carl had found out personally.
The bespectacled Robbins looked up and grunted. 'I should have known.'
'Look, Doc, we don't have time for all of this clean-room stuff. We shaved this morning and are ready to go,' Carl said as Robbins slid his ID card into the electronic lock beside the door.
'Gentlemen, today you don't have to put so much as a lab coat on.' He opened the door and then stepped aside to allow the two very shocked men into the sanctuary that housed the Cray supercomputer Europa.
'What happened, Doc, you get electrocuted or something? I mean, you're almost like the rest of us humans.'
Robbins pulled out one of the eight chairs that sat in front of the thick glass that housed Europa and her automatic program-loading system. He hesitated for a moment and then removed his glasses to look at the two men.
'Colonel Collins, Captain Everett, I requested this detail from Pete Golding. Sergeant Sanchez was always kind to us when he was on duty in the comp center. You see, while you only suspect we are human, he actually treated us as such.' He placed his glasses back on and almost choked on the rest of his words. 'He was my friend.'
Jack stood silent and Carl felt like an ass. He just nodded and sat next to Robbins.
