Babel Found Read online

  JUDGMENT

  1

  One Week Later

  Marriott Stanton Hotel

  South Beach, Miami, Florida

  “I got my toes in the water, ass in the sand, not a worry in the world, a cold beer in my—”

  “Hank!” a voice yells, making me flinch. “For the love of everyone on the beach, and the world itself, including Zac Brown, would you please stop singing? You’re tone-deaf and have no rhythm. Even the sharks are getting scared and beaching themselves with how you’re butchering that song!”

  Halfway through the rant my eyes snap open, startled by the outburst. I then proceed to spill some of my ice cold drink on my sunburnt chest. Apparently I started to doze off while still holding it.

  If that doesn’t wake someone from their half-drunken slumber, I don’t know what will. I leap out of my resting place, which is difficult, considering it’s a hammock. As I attempt the half-roll half-jump, it swings and flips me. I subsequently eat it…hard, tipping and slamming face first into the sand beneath me. And in true Hank Boyd fashion, I find the only rock on the beach with my head. Plus, to add insult to embarrassing injury, the rest of my beer comes with me, pouring on my equally scorched shoulders and back.

  But instead of reacting like I did the first time, all I do is lay there trying not to look up into my beach mate’s jovial face. And I know she’s laughing. A diver in Lake Michigan could hear this woman. It’s loud and Caipirinha-induced. The lime rum drinks have that effect on you after the second or fourth. They go down easy and well…easy.

  “Please stop…laughing at me,” I mumble, spitting sand out as I talk. “I’ve had…a bad couple of months.”

  Her guffaws immediately stop. She, more than anyone, knows what I’ve been through. Three months ago I lost the greatest man on Earth, killed right before my eyes. Dad was my hero and someone I will miss dearly. The woman who had just been laughing at my own clumsiness has been there every step of the way, tending to my every need.

  Which wasn’t much.

  I either wanted to work or be left alone. It’s why we came to my favorite spot. It’s actually the same exact beach I was on when Dad first called me to help him in Algeria.

  When we found him.

  Nannot was literally the devil himself. He hated mankind as much as I hate spiders, and that’s saying a lot. But the loathing he felt for his family was something else entirely.

  He and his brothers were abandoned at birth when their mother died shortly after labor. But thankfully, they were blessedly taken in by none other than the king of Atlantis himself. Thoth would eventually become the Egyptian god of math and writing, cementing himself as one of the most—if not the most—important of all the ancient deities.

  His kids would eventually become his students as well. They were called the Priests of An’tala—An’tala being the ancient name for the mythical island kingdom. Their jobs were to protect the city and their king.

  Why did the all-powerful Thoth need protection? I’d never thought about that until now. Huh…

  “Hank?” Her question is laced with concern. It’s normal, though. I’ve become somewhat of a downer lately.

  I look up and see the same beautiful face I saw outside Djanet, Algeria. She was instantly seared into my brain as the next major conquest I had to surmount. Something I couldn’t live without.

  Something I still can’t live without.

  “Yeah,” I say, lying, “I’m fine. Gonna need another drink, but other than that I—”

  “Hank…”

  Her voice is soft and smooth, laced in the Swedish accent I’ve come to adore. I could sit and listen to her read the “V” section of the dictionary for hours and not get bored. It’s seductive without trying to be, but man, can it acquire an evil side too—if, and when, I do something wrong. Like a female Bond villain or something.

  Hmph.

  I puff out a sigh and sit up, accepting the offered towel from the ever beautiful Nicole Andersson. I’m now sitting in front of her, barely a foot from her face. She’s lying face down on a lounge chair, tanning her already perfectly bronze skin. I see she has the back of her bikini top undone to even out the tan lines, making me instantly forget what I was thinking about. But her worried eyes kickstart my brain and I confess what she already knows.

  “I thought this was a good idea.”

  “Thought?” she asks, leaning on her elbows. It’s not enough to expose herself, but it is enough for her to get a really good look at me. I’m a disheveled mess. It’s plain to see. Everyone knows I’m this close to going bat-shit crazy. It’s why we’re here instead of back at the Smithsonian confirming our travel plans to the Middle East.

  “You thought all of this,” she waves a hand around her head, “was a good idea.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” I better get this right before I stick my foot deeper into my mouth. “What I meant was going on vacation wasn’t a good idea. We have so much to work on—to plan. We need to organize with our contacts overseas—”

  “Ben is handling that while in Algeria,” she says, cutting in. “He’s personally overseeing and cataloging the surviving necropolis tunnels, making sure the murals and carvings are properly recorded. He even brought in his son to help, remember?”

  I nod, knowing and approving. Dr. Ben Fehr was one of my father’s best and most trusted friends. After Dad died, Ben begged to come aboard and help us with our work. With the blessings of the CIA and a few other secretive people in Washington, he did, taking over the helm that Dr. William Boyd left behind.

  “Ben can only do so much,” I try to counter. “What about the logistics and equipment? We need to—”

  “Kane has that all taken care of already. He’s as prepared as a Boy Scout. Plus, anything he hasn’t done was given over to Todd.”

  Damn, I think.

  “Look, Hank…” she says, biting her lip. “I’m really worried about you. We may not have known each other as long as some other couples do, but we know each other better than most. What we’ve been through in these short months, regardless of the things that happened to us, was special. I know what you used to be like before Nannot showed up. You’ve changed.”

  I’m about to argue against it and tell her off, saying that she doesn’t have the right to say that. We’ve only known one another for three-plus months now, but alas…she’s right. No one on this planet knows me better than this woman. The last person that did isn’t around anymore.

  Plus, if I had actually voiced my opinion, she’d probably have kicked the snot out of me for doing so.

  “You’ve hardened, Hank. You’re not as jovial and happy-go-lucky as you were when we first met in the desert.” Her face softens even more. “You don’t even wear your Tigers hat anymore for what it’s worth. When we lost your father…” her voice catches. I instinctively reach out and hold her hand. She and Dad were close. They knew each other for years before this. Nicole’s late husband died working for him. She took his place as a project leader and the rest is history.

  She continues, choking back a sob. “When we lost him, a piece of everyone that knew him died too. Even Kane couldn’t hold back at the funeral. Ben was a mess—so was everyone else there.”

  I look away but get my chin tilted back in her direction. “But you weren’t… You were emotional for sure, but you haven’t properly grieved yet. You’ve surrounded yourself with work to keep it from happening.”

  “And the hat?”

  “You’ve buried your past, including the pain that comes with it.”

  She’s right of course—like always. I think about Dad all the time, but only until the memory starts to hurt. Then, the panic attacks start to kick in again, like they did in Chichen Itza.

  Like the night she told me about the trip.

  Ever since I was mentally and physically taken over by a bunch of dead Atlanteans, I haven’t been able to sleep for more than a few hours at a time, waking up screaming most nights. The doctors even prescribed m
e some really horrific antipsychotics. While they helped me sleep some, my dreams went from hellish to downright demonic.

  After I dreamt that I ate Nicole’s skin for breakfast, I stopped taking them, flushing the pills and throwing the bottle away.

  Her skin is perfect right where it is, I think, shivering at the memory.

  “Babel,” I say, shaking my head, still in disbelief, “I still can’t get my head around that. All this time we assumed An’tala was the beginning of—”

  “Can I offer you another drink, sir?”

  I look up at the interrupter. He’s young, slight, but strongly built…and Asian—not that it matters. Regardless, he’s way too good-looking to be standing around my half-naked girlfriend. It has nothing to do with me thinking that she would leave me—far from it. I just get really jealous and start to act like a moron when threatened.

  Shouldn’t be too hard since I’m lying in the sand with beer drying all over my body.

  “No thanks, I’m good, but…where’s Tiffany?”

  Our waitress had been waiting on us for three days now. It’s been her and no one else. We even found out that she’s working at the resort to pay for her medical schooling. She wants to become some sort of DNA specialist or something. I jokingly offered her a job once she graduated, stating we’re kind of in the same field.

  “Maybe someday,” she said, not taking the offer seriously.

  “She went home sick, Mr. Boyd. My name is Susanoo and I’ll be taking care of you for the rest of the day.” The man’s words are short and clipped, giving credence to his obvious heritage.

  “Okay…Susano-o…” I say almost questioning his odd name as I carefully pronounce it. I’m really itching to call the guy Susan but refrain from it. “So we’re stuck with you I guess.”

  I grin and try to loosen up the newcomer, but it doesn’t work. He just stares at me with these intimidating icy blue eyes. The rest of his face is hidden by the palm tree’s shadow, making his glare all that more uncomfortable.

  “Yes, Mr. Boyd,” he responds, his gaze burning holes in me, “you are.”

  2

  Site “A”

  Outside Djanet, Algeria

  “Daniel, please be careful. Don’t make me remind you how invaluable they are.”

  Dr. Benjamin Fehr was under a lot of pressure these days. He was solely responsible for taking over the reins at the Smithsonian, something he knew wasn’t going to be easy. His dear friend had died.

  “You just did, Dad,” Daniel said with an underlying snarkiness.

  Daniel was an archaeologist like his father, but he operated under the guise of being overprivileged at school. Being top of his class had only ballooned his head more. He was nothing like Ben was, and not even close to William or even the rascally Hank.

  William was as stern in his work as someone could get, but he treated everyone with respect and dignity, understanding the pressures of everyday life. Hank was, well, Hank. He had zero formal schooling and learned untraditionally while on the job, but Ben didn’t trust anyone’s opinion or judgment more. Hank had proven time and time again that he was truly the best at what he did. He took a real-world approach to things, often finding results where others only found dead ends.

  Regardless of his son’s shortcomings, Ben was just happy he followed his own footsteps. History was so important to the world. There just weren’t enough young people who cared about those who came before them.

  Sometimes thousands of years before them, he thought as he breathed in heavily, doing his best to not chastise his son. He was Daniel’s boss after all, but if there’s one thing Ben learned from watching William and Hank work side-by-side all those years, it’s that sometimes you need to step aside and let the boy work. He witnessed countless times where William would overly critique his son. The difference? Hank would tell his father so and get in his face about it.

  Hank brought results, though.

  Deep down Ben knew he needed to cut Daniel some slack. He was a new addition to the overseas team. He couldn’t possibly produce anything significant in such a short amount of time.

  Ben turned away from his son and headed down the underground tunnel system, back towards the vertical entrance of the thousand-foot-deep orichalcum lined shaft. The winch above was easy enough to work. It was still connected to the massive dump truck from before.

  From when Hank and the others first found this place.

  Eventually, they had set up a power station down below too, being able to call the specially made platform back down. The cable itself ran down the full length of the shaft and was then bolted to the base of the room below.

  A small, but sturdy two-by-two platform was then laced onto the cable like a piece of meat on a shish kabob. The unnerving landing was then ingeniously attached to a free-moving secondary pulley system, allowing travel up and down the shaft, held in line by the main stabilizer cable.

  We don’t need to be swung into the walls.

  The tunnels around them were something else altogether. Each side of the switch-backing passage was adorned with epically beautiful portraits and murals. Daniel was specifically working on cleaning and restoring a picture of Atlantis before it was corrupted and destroyed. It was his favorite from the time he saw them.

  Ben knew his son had an affinity for the ancient arts of past cultures. He loved them as much as someone would appreciate Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa or Van Gogh’s Starry Night. So he let him work down in the tunnels, quietly doing his duty. He also tried his best to not interfere with Daniel’s work.

  Like I just did, he thought, reprimanding himself for doing so.

  Ben continued forward, sometimes having to squeeze by others doing as his son did. There was a team of twenty on hand right now, which was fairly large considering they were simply cleaning and cataloging their finds. There wasn’t any real physical labor going on right now, just the tedious work they came here to do.

  Archaeology isn’t ‘all’ fortune and glory. It’s the passion for history. Ben used to constantly tell Daniel that when he used to ask about the far-off places and daring chases he’d seen on TV and in the movies. And before the last few months, Ben had been right.

  Until this place was discovered.

  Ben stopped and turned, facing back the way he’d come. The destroyed entrance to what was described as a ‘cavern of epic size and majesty’ was gone. But the eerie feeling was still alive and well.

  Hank wanted every single piece of information he could get, and Ben agreed. After what they had all been through in Washington, the government—more specifically Kane and the CIA—wanted to know what else to expect from their nemesis, Zero. Strangely, though, the criminal organization had gone silent with the death of Coaxoch, the Atlantean witch, as well as their mercenary-for-hire, John Frost, and his security firm, Broadsword Inc.

  “Dr. Fehr?”

  Ben quickly turned, alarmed by the disturbance.

  “Joshua…” he said, breathing heavily. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  “Sorry,” Joshua said, sheepishly, “but you have a visitor topside. He says he’s from Washington.”

  Washington? Ben thought but shrugged it off. He was out of earshot for hours at a time while down in the tunnels. Their man back at the Smithsonian Castle, Todd Jenkins, had been trying to figure out a way to boost their communications through their NVS4 system.

  Not only was the Night Vision Specs capabilities beyond impressive, but it had proven a priceless addition to archaeology as a whole. They were able to use its built-in TransPro language translation software to decipher everything they’d seen so far. All they had to do was visibly look at the ancient writings around them and the cameras built into the state-of-the-art Oakley-design would see to the rest.

  But the NVS4 offered something even more unique.

  “Hang on, Joshua,” Ben said, stopping and staring at the wall to his left.

  “Keyboard,” Ben said, calling up his virtual computer keyboard.
/>   Joshua wouldn’t be able to see it since he didn’t have a pair himself. Only the core team did, including Hank, Nicole, Kane, Olivia, Todd, and himself. It was a nifty invention by the team’s IT guru and hacker extraordinaire. Kane even so much as moved Todd out to D.C., giving him an office of his own near theirs. They wanted him fully engrossed in their work, only helping the agency on other matters if it was absolutely necessary, like he’d recently done in southern Africa.

  Ben stepped close to the wall, within arm’s length, and watched as an electric blue outline of a standard computer keyboard popped up. It came with everything you’d expect to see from a keyboard—letters and all. It even had a virtual scroll pad so the user could mouse around and browse the web, wherever they were.

  He quickly typed out an email, which would be sent to everyone on the network once he was above ground. The lack of a signal this deep really was a problem for everyone—Ben especially. It was moments like this that he wished he had a direct line through the bedrock. They weren’t supposed to have guests out here…ever. He turned and quickly made his way back to the entrance, relaying to Joshua, his personal assistant, what he wanted to be done when they reached the sun and sand.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Ben and Joshua arrived at the vertical shaft, moving as quickly as Ben’s fifty-eight-year-old body would let them. Joshua clipped on first, and then Ben on the other side. They were almost nose to nose when Joshua pressed a switch off to one side. The two men quickly shot straight up at an incredible speed, especially considering where they were.

  Ben watched as the younger man across from him closed his eyes and white-knuckled the cable. It made the older historian smile. He had no such fear. He was actually extremely grateful for the technological advancements given to them by the brain trust in Langley.

  Ben craned his neck up and watched as the small dot of light quickly widened and became that of a square. He breathed in, being able to smell the dry desert air rush in. It wasn’t nearly as cool as in the shaft as it was down in the tunnels, but it was fresh. He’d grown up in the oppressive heat, in Israel, secretly loving it.