Free Raising Atlantis by Thomas Greanias Page B

stone.”
    “Benben?”
    Now Yeats was just playing dumb, clearly eager to see if his investment in him was worth the cost. Conrad didn’t mind singing for his supper, but he wasn’t going to settle for crumbs.
    “An ancient Egyptian symbol of the bennu bird—the phoenix,” Conrad said. “It represents rebirth and immortality. It’s the capstone or pyramidion placed on top of a pyramid.”
    “So you’ve seen it before?”
    “No,” Conrad said. “They’re missing from all the great pyramids of the world. We know them mostly through ancient texts. They were replicas of the long-lost original benben stone, which was said to have fallen from heaven.”
    “Like a meteorite,” finished Yeats, staring at the rock.
    Conrad nodded. “But a benben this size means the pyramid beneath it would have to be enormous.”
    “A mile high and almost two miles wide.”
    Conrad stared at Yeats. “That’s more than ten times the size of the Great Pyramid in Giza.”
    “Eleven point one times exactly,” said Yeats. So his father had indeed done his homework. “Bigger than the Pentagon. And more advanced. Its exterior is smoother than a stealth bomber, which may explain why it’s been invisible to radio-echo surveys. These grooves on this capstone are P4’s only distinguishing exterior characteristic. Beyond its sheer size, of course.”
    Conrad touched the benben stone again, still incredulous that civilization existed on Earth at an earlier date and at a more advanced level than even he previously imagined.
    “P4,” Conrad repeated. So that’s what they were calling it. Shorthand for the Pyramid of the Four Rings. It made sense. “And it’s at least twelve thousand years old.”
    Yeats said, “If it’s as old as this benben stone, then P4
    is at least six billion years old, son.”
    “Six billion?” Conrad repeated. “That’s impossible. Earth is only four and a half billion years old. You’re telling me that P4 could be older than the planet?”
    “That’s correct,” Yeats said. “And it’s right under our feet.”
    7
    Discovery
    Plus Twenty-Four Days,
    Fifteen Hours
    YEATS COULD HEAR THE FAINT STRAINSof Mozart beneath the drone of two ventilation fans pumping air inside his compartment as he watched Conrad analyze the data from P4 on his laptop.
    Cupping a mug of hot coffee in his bandaged hand, Conrad shook his head. “Nothing ever changes with you, Dad, does it?”
    Yeats stiffened. “Meaning?”
    “You never taught me how to fly a kite or how to throw a split-fingered fastball when I was growing up,” Conrad said.
    “No, I had to learn that kind of stuff on my own. With you it was always, ‘What do you think of this weapons system design, son?’ or ‘How’d you like to watch the launch of my new spy satellite?’ And whenever I see you on this stinking planet, the scenery is always the same. It’s always some military base. Always dark. Always cold. Always snowing.”
    Yeats glanced out the picture window at the storm raging outside. The whiteout was so bad he couldn’t even see the ice gorge anymore. What was left of the C-141 was long buried by now. He was relieved Conrad had survived the crash, and he was happy to see him. But it was clear Conrad didn’t feel the same way, and that hurt.
    “Maybe I bring it with me.” Yeats poured himself a third shot of whiskey and nodded to the laptop data. “Anyway, the carbon dating appears conclusive.”
    “For the benben stone only,” Conrad began as another wave of those trainlike shudders passed through the room.
    “That was ours,” Yeats said, referring to the drilling being done to clear the ice around the top of P4 at the bottom of the abyss. “You’ll know the real jolt when you feel it.”
    “And you think P4 is causing the earthquakes?”
    “You’re the genius, son. You tell me.”
    Conrad sipped his coffee and grimaced. “What the hell is this? Diesel sludge?”
    “It’s the water. The station’s supply comes from melted