Free The Alignment Ingress by Thomas Greanias Page B

march of bound prisoners toward a black hole, where they disappeared into some abyss. The circle on the next page was obviously a more detailed depiction of that hole—or portal.
    “I can see why Zawas is interested in this, if he thinks it's the entrance to the Queen of Sheba’s mines.” Conrad closed the book and set it down. “What’s your angle? I thought you were a medical doctor.”
    “Not in the traditional sense.” Omar smiled. “I specialize in a particular field of alternative medicine.”
    “Really? What kind?”
    “Ancient biotoxins.”
    “Interesting.” Conrad unconsciously rubbed his arm again. Perhaps this whole ruse this morning was simply an observation of the effects of whatever concoction they had pumped into his bloodstream. “What kind of biotoxins?”
    “The kind that comes from metallurgy, and how elements can shape us in ways we are only beginning to comprehend,” Omar said, as two guards suddenly appeared beside Conrad to drag him back to the cellar. “I believe Colonel Zawas has a few blunt objects he’d like to try out on you.”

CHAPTER 12
    Congo
    A fter all his Sturm und Drang with the resonation of the ancient portal here in the heart of the African jungle, Hank Johnson should have been feeling on top of the world. He had found stone resonators and proof the ancients understood transdimensional portals. Still, he couldn’t fight the sting of anticlimax and frustration as he had yet to find any sign of the Queen of Sheba’s lost mines.
    Hank looked down and saw his own footprints in the mud, prints he’d made more than five hours earlier. Yes, he’d been here before. This was his third pass through the area. Other than a quarry site for the stones that made up the resonators, there was no hint of civilization here.
    What am I missing?
    He returned to the production van and reviewed Rosier’s footage of himself at the stone resonators. The drone video replay of his heroics deploying the power cube looked pretty cool in a sci-fi movie kind of a way. And Michaels caught some nice bonus footage of local militants fleeing in terror while the hardened mercs from Strategic Explorations retreated from the fireworks, mowing down the locals as they left. It was Antoine Smith’s doctrine. When there was a big find, dead men tell no tales.
    Too bad there was no way in hell Montgomery would let him air that footage as it showed a covert U.S. military operation inside a sovereign country, and American drones engaging international mercenaries in what appeared to be a mineral hunting expedition. Maybe there was something more politically toxic that could be aired, but Hank couldn’t imagine what it would be. This footage wouldn’t be declassified until somewhere around the year 3000.
    Hank suddenly wondered how Conrad Yeats was faring. He hadn’t heard from him lately, which was a sure sign Conrad probably had already found something big. He always did. Probably was in trouble for his usual practice of replacing the trowel with dynamite too. But while Hank could complain about Conrad’s techniques over a brew in Cape Verde and wax poetic about his resonation of a Bronze Age portal, Conrad was going to beat him to the Queen of Sheba’s secrets.
    As for himself, Hank’s work was done. He’d pack up his City of Sheba, edit the B-roll for the TV pilot and head back to Niantic. He could think of about 13 investigators who would marvel over the results of his resonation.
    Not much, Hank Johnson, but not nothing either.
    Outside, Hank was ordering the crew to break everything down when his Iridium 9555 satellite phone rang.
    It was Montgomery.
    “Sir,” Hank began, “I’ve got good news and bad news...”
    “That’s not what I’m calling about,” crackled the voice on the other end. “A distress signal came down off the OPS scanner. Relayed from the general himself. Top priority for the African theater. You’re gonna love this.”
    “Play it, I’m listening,” said Hank,