One of our new company’s divisions was our environmental research department. Another was working with emerging artificial intelligence and aerospace-related technologies. With what Jeannie had already provided us, it was a logical move to help cover our activities. Anything she might provide us in the future could be run through the ET division in conjunction with Fitz’s group. Yes, I did intentionally name our division Emerging Technologies just so we could call it the ET division, a little homage to our benefactor, whom I have to say was the epitome of knowledge and grace.
Tess had flown in for a two-week visit, and, as usual, we “clicked” as if we had never been apart. I had almost forgotten how nice it was not to shower alone. I filled her in on some of our Ecuadorean adventures but left out some of the crazier aspects for her own safety. Frankly, much of our activity had to be kept on a “need to know” basis. Unfortunately, her job required her to head back overseas, but we agreed that we should both work a little harder on coinciding our schedules. I realized that Tess kept me grounded in reality in what had become an unreal world.
Did I mention the corporate jet? My bad. Yes, we bought a jet, a Gulfstream G-280—the baby brother to the one we chartered to fly back from Ecuador. We had a hangar at TICO airport, just a hop, skip, and a jump from our new offices. The jet has proven to be very useful, and its location convenient. Yes, it was expensive, but we did have the money. Besides, Wilson, our accountant who works for Fitz, told us it was a tax write-off. Cool.
I guess some of the biggest things that occurred were our recent activities concerning the environment. We had asked Jeannie for tools that would help, and she provided them, so it was up to us to get to work.
Dimitri and Joe had flown to drought-stricken Ethiopia and Sudan under the guise of doing environmental research. Chartering helicopters, they flew over the worst-hit parts of the country and used the device Jeannie gave us to scan for underground water. They found it, an underground river in Ethiopia. It seemed to follow an ancient riverbed that was still partially visible on the surface. They mapped the area and then drove into it at night. Joe said digging or drilling the wells was easy and quiet, using the device Jeannie had given us for excavation. Multiple wells were dug in the worst areas of both countries, and water began flowing from them immediately. They were sure that the water flow from the individual wells in Ethiopia would start following the old riverbed and bring water to one of the worst drought-stricken areas.
This all was accomplished undetected. They left the countries with information that would be beneficial for future drilling. The new water sources were reported in the media as the result of some kind of natural phenomena.
I sent O’Reilly and Reggie, when she arrived in the States, to Los Angeles to address the air pollution with Jeannie’s device. That was four days ago, and reports of gradually improving air quality in the region had started coming in. Being, L.A., of course, every politician around was eager to take credit. Hence, our activities were almost comically easy.
Doc and I returned from our road trip last night, and the memory lingered.
As we stood on the bank, looking out over the water, I threw one of the small balls we had gotten from Jeannie as far as I could into the river after having previously tossed one into Lake Huron.
We slowly and silently walked back to the car and drove away. As we merged onto the road to the airport, Doc said, “Do you really think this is going to work and actually restore water quality?”
I looked in the rearview mirror at the sign we were just passing.
“I know it will,” I replied.
So, that’s where things stand. The first testing phase of our plan has been implemented. This was only the beginning, and there was going to be a long road ahead, but as Jeannie had said, “You don’t have a choice to advance as a civilization; you must first survive.”
As I sipped my scotch and watched twilight approach through the big windows, I thought, my God, what a monumental task we have taken on. Is it even possible?
A voice, clear as a bell, startled me out of my reverie, “It is possible, Colt, and you are capable.”
Startled, I sat upright and said out loud, “Jeannie?”
I heard only faintly that familiar laugh and then nothing.
As I sat asking myself whether I was hallucinating or it was really her, my cellphone rang.
I answered it.
“Dr. Burnett,” a female voice said.
“Yes,” I replied.
“This is Lilian Morrison, Michael Rivers’ sister.” We met two years ago when you kindly shared the fate of my brother, the pilot who went down in Ecuador.”
Then I recognized the voice, “Yes, Lilian, how are you? Is everything all right?”
“It is, Dr. Burnett, thank you; I hope I’m not interrupting you.”
“No, not at all; what can I do for you?” I asked.
“I wasn’t sure if you would be interested in this, but an old friend of mine recently contacted me. We grew up together as kids on the reservation. Anyway, she called and said her grandfather had just passed away and left her a box that had a lot of his old papers and things that were from his father, her great-grandfather in it. While going through them, she came across a folded piece of animal skin, she thinks it’s deer, with a note inside. The note was rather cryptic and hard to read, much of it had faded out, but she said it mentioned warriors from the south, jaguars, and a golden eagle. There were two dates scribbled on the paper, 1905 and 1521, the same
