Free The Atlantis Legacy - A01-A02 by Thomas Greanias Page B

Antarctica.”
    Yeats paused. “You mean Atlantis.”
    “Atlantis? You think there’s a city down there?”
    Yeats nodded. “For all we know P4 is only the tip of the iceberg, so to speak.”
    “Atlantis is just a name, a myth,” Conrad said. “Maybe that myth is based on what you think you’ve found. Maybe not. Maybe it’s our long-lost Mother Culture. Maybe not. A proper excavation of P4 alone would require decades of research.”
    That was just like Conrad, Yeats thought. It wasn’t enough to findthe greatest discovery since the New World. No, Conrad had to be “right” about it, lest he be another Columbus who had discovered what had always been there.
    “We don’t have decades, son,” Yeats explained. “We have days. I saw one of your TV specials and you said flat out that Antarctica was Atlantis.”
    Yeats clicked on his computer and an Ancient Riddles promo popped up. Yeats glanced at Conrad, who grimaced in embarrassment.
    “Atlantis,” boomed the baritone announcer. “The ancient city of fantastic wealth and military power described by the ancient Greek philosopher Plato in his Dialogues in the fourth century B.C. An entire civilization swallowed up by the sea in a single day. Its survivors sought refuge all over the world and built the pyramids of Egypt, the ziggurats of South America, and other ruins of unexplained origins. Come explore the unexplained with astro-archaeologist Doctor Conrad Yeats.”
    Yeats turned it off. “Well?”
    “What I said is that Antarctica is the only place on Earth that literally fits Plato’s description of Atlantis,” Conrad explained. “I never said I actually believed Plato’s account was true. Remember, it’s a publish-or-perish world in academia, Dad, and only the wildest ideas garner attention.”
    Yeats frowned. “You’re saying Plato is a liar?”
    Conrad shrugged. “Plato was simply an idealist who dreamed up a perfect paradise, Atlantis, to express his yearnings.”
    Yeats was disappointed in Conrad’s flippant response and narrowed his eyes. “Whereas you have no ideals.”
    “Every archaeologist has his favorite address for Atlantis,” Conrad said. “Most think it’s the island of Thíra in the Mediterranean, which sank into the sea after its volcano exploded. That was nine hundred years before Plato penned his account of Atlantis. Others favor the North Atlantic or Troy in Turkey, a city which itself was considered a myth until its ruins were recently discovered. Still others suggest that Atlantis was really the Americas and that the lost city could well lie beneath Lake Titicaca, or Los Angeles for that matter.”
    Yeats said, “But none of these were anything like the high-tech civilization Plato insisted was destroyed almost twelve thousand years ago.”
    “True.”
    “So this could be Atlantis.”
    “It could be.” Conrad shrugged. “Look, all I’m saying is that if you throw a dart at a world map you’ll find somebody’s idea of Atlantis,” Conrad said. “Or, if you’re like my show’s producer, you could throw darts at solar systems on celestial charts. The possibilities are infinite. I can’t draw any conclusions until I get inside P4.”
    “I can’t promise you’ll get inside, son,” Yeats said. “Not yet. This is a military operation. So if you’ve got a theory about P4, put up or shut up.”
    “Fine. Then I’ll take my frequent flier miles and go home.”
    “Goddamn it, Conrad.” Yeats smashed his fist into the tabletop. “You’re not going anywhere. And if you want to get inside P4, you better tell me something I don’t already know.”
    Conrad stood up and walked over to the window. For a wild moment Yeats worried that Conrad would pick up a metal chair and try to shatter the reinforced glass. But he simply stared outside as the wind howled. The man had learned to master the rage that had consumed him as a boy.
    “OK then,” Conrad finally said without turning around. “My best guess is that P4 may