Ancients

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.

HONOLULU, HAWAII, 1941

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.

He heard the man in the shadows clear his throat. In the dimly lit room the young lieutenant couldn't see the nod of the man's head toward one of the brutes standing in front of him. Then one of the men reached out and pulled the tape from his mouth. The pain was sudden but was something the lieutenant could handle. He had expected it. He did his best to give the giant of a man the appropriate glare of rage. The brute only smiled and nodded, as if he understood.

'Your father, he sent you a package three weeks ago, yes?'

The naval officer tried his best to penetrate the shadow where the voice had escaped. He shook his head and tried to clear it. The chloroform used to subdue him earlier was still clouding his mind, but not as much as these men might have believed. He knew he had to fight for time to understand what this was all about.

'I will inquire only once more. Your father sent you a package three weeks ago, yes?'

The man in the shadows crossed his legs, the only part of him to emerge from the darkness since the lieutenant had regained consciousness. The young man wanted to smile. The mysterious man was actually wearing spats on his shoes. Who wore spats anymore? He cleared his throat instead of allowing the smile to cross his face.

'My father lives in Boston.... I ... I haven't received anything from him in five months.'

Silence.

The man who had ripped the tape from his mouth took two steps behind the chair, and without warning a flare of excruciating pain shot from the ring finger of his right hand to his elbow.

The young lieutenant let out a scream. Then, as he managed to open his eyes, he saw that the large man was holding something up for him to see. It was his finger, and on the finger was his Annapolis ring, class of 1938. The ring was removed, the finger thrown unceremoniously into his lap. The man who had so deftly cut his finger off placed the ring on the little finger of his own left hand, then he held it up to the dim overhead light and admired it.

'Now, Lieutenant, I will go through the bother of asking again. Your father sent you a package three weeks ago. Yes?'

'My father and I don't speak.'

'Yes, we know the family history, young man. He was not too pleased with your choice of careers. Nonetheless, he entrusted to you a package. Now, are going to confirm to us you received this package?'

Keeler lowered his face to stare at the bare concrete floor. He heard the honking of horns and curses of servicemen as they passed on the street above. How he wished he were among them right at this moment.

'Mr. Weiss, please remove his thumb. That should effectively end Mr. Keeler's naval career.'

The white class-A navy uniform jacket seemed to close around him like an anaconda. It grew tighter as the large man moved toward him.

'Yes ... Yes! He sent the package to me!'

'There, that wasn't at all difficult, now was it, Lieutenant.'

The boy lowered his chin to his chest. He had failed his father and the family once again.

He heard the man stand up and then finally step from the dark shadow in the corner.

The man was small. He wore a dark suit with very expensive lines. His dark, oiled hair was impeccably