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That implied that a race of beings had been living beneath the Grand Canyon for centuries. As there had never been any problems with them, it was assumed that they, while not our friends, weren’t the enemy either.
Just the thought of it was enough to get Anna’s mind turning again!
Signs showed that before this species had retreated deeper beneath the Grand Canyon, they had been fiercely protective of their territory. While not interested in leaving the caves and actively seeking violence, they would kill anyone who managed to stumble too close to their home.
It was a blessing that they had gone deeper underground. That meant less unfortunate circumstances to try and cover-up. Unfortunately, it also meant that it was harder to find out any real information on them.
She was pulled out of her thoughts by someone knocking on the door to her office. It was her boss, Alan Schiff.
Anna asked, “What can I do for you?”
“A lot, I’m hoping,” answered Alan, his attempt at humour falling flat. “I’ve got a new assignment for you, Anna.” With that, he handed her a stack of papers.
She thumbed through them, frowning. “This sends me to the states, Mexico, and . . . Australia. That’s a wide array of locations, sir.”
“You’ll be dealing with a handful of soldiers in all three areas,” said Alan. “Read through the file carefully. This is important, Anna. We might be able to get some of them working for us.”
“All right, sir. I’ll make sure the job gets done.”
“Good. Thank you.”
When Alan left, Anna was sent down to look over the reports that she’d been given. The new job was strange, if only considering her normal line of work. It would be Anna’s job to case manage several soldiers that had seen too much for their own good. They would need to be recruited, and if that wasn’t possible, they would need to be put down.
Neither option was pleasant. One resulted in having no control over anything for the remainder of their days—always at the beck and call of the Orange Corporation—and the other was death. It was a bad hand no matter which way they went.
Anna hated jobs like this, but she would do it all the same. She knew her place in the company, even if she didn’t like it.
It would send her first to the Grand Canyon, where several soldiers had gone underground to assist another group of soldiers. Word had it that the first group had been attacked by angry greys that had been living underground in a DUMB that they considered their property.
They had received no briefing about who their enemy was. Their current report claimed that non-humans were shooting some kind of plasma from their appendages. The soldiers were Christians and heavily religious. They had no worldly knowledge of what these creatures might have been, and many weren’t handling it well.
Some had already committed suicide. Others were talking about going public with the events that had happened, sharing it with the news stations and paranormal researchers.
It would be Anna’s job to make sure that the leaks didn’t happen. Ideally, she would be able to do this by recruiting them into programs that were controlled and monitored by the CIA.
But one of them was younger. He was already talking about the things he’d seen on social media. He was sharing too much. Coming too close to revealing the truth.
He had to be taken out.
Anna made the call, and she stood by it, but that didn’t mean the decision didn’t haunt her. She made her own trip to the hotel mini-bar that night, drinking until she was certain that the nightmares wouldn’t haunt her.
The “wet works” team that worked for the CIA made it look like a suicide. The young man was found hanging in the bedroom of his house in a closet.
Anna’s interest in the Grand Canyon was officially sparked. She began to look all over the world to try and find other places where pyramids might be. She was amazed to learn that there were tens of thousands of them catalogued—and personally believed there to be even more than that.
There were pyramids in Antarctica and Alaska! They could be found in Bosnia, too! They were all over the world in fact!
One site had been found by a man who discovered four pyramids. The tunnels beneath them had been filled in by a long-forgotten race. The Bosnian pyramids had been discovered in the early nineties, but the information was kept on the down-low.
The number of mainstream archaeologists who claimed they didn’t exist—all paid off! It was a coverup attempt!
She also, in her searching, discovered that there had been a massive pyramid discovered in Alaska. It had functional power systems strong enough to run all of Canada!
And a Great Pyramid that had been discovered in Antarctica, too! Anna was so excited by this discovery that she brought it up to Alan.
Alan gave her a shrewd look. “You don’t need to be focusing on that. They’re under control. What we’ve lost control of is the Grand Canyon region. That’s where your attention needs to be.”
That wasn’t a denial!
Anna was thrilled. She slotted the pyramid information away with her recent discoveries about Pine Gap. While working there, she had discovered a 1,400-mile tunnel. It had been made for hiding submarines inland, right beneath Pine Gap. There were also large elevators that operated without a cabling system and instead used magnetism to help them go up and down. She had been told that there were many floors beneath the levels that she’d been on but she didn’t have enough clearance to go past the ninth level of the underground base. She had also heard rumours that the manmade tunnels joined up with an ancient tunnel system many miles beneath the earth and that they had been made millions of years ago by an ancient race. Whether or not that was true, she was unable to determine.
The subs could refuel there, but they could also use it to transport supplies and people. It was against every code of conduct between the American and Australian governments. Any leaks could severely impact the relations between those countries.
It was only recently that Anna realized that the US subs were powered by nuclear energy and that they were equipped with nuclear warheads.
She couldn’t wait until Darren returned. Surely his presence would help ease her sleep at night.
Tesla Tesla’s Lab
New York City, New York
March 15, 1895
Nikola Tesla watched from across the street and out of the way of the firefighters as they worked to save his fourth-floor laboratory, along with the rest of the building, from the flames that engulfed it. The entire South Fifth Avenue building had caught fire; for what reason, he did not know for sure, but he had his suspicions. None of them pointed to an accident.
He stood, mesmerized by the dancing flames flaring and shrinking as the firefighters attempted to squelch the blaze with their hoses. All of his work, his models, notes, data, tools, hundreds of pictures, projects both secret and declassified—all of it was gone. All he had on him was a single book, a pocket diary that he had only been writing in for a few days. It didn’t have nearly the amount of information in it that now fueled the fire above, and it would take decades—another lifetime—to gather it again.
Tesla frowned, and his eyes glazed over. He was silently running a census of his storage units. He had placed a great many things in holding facilities for just this sort of accident, so while he hadn’t lost his life’s work, everything he had been working on for the past three months was now gone. And there was no way to replace any of it. He didn’t give a rat’s behind about the possessions he’d now lost—he might later when he would be wanting for a change of clothes, but not at the moment. All he cared about was the years and years of hard work rising to the heavens in smoke.
He curled the hand not holding his diary into a fist and pounded it against the side of his leg in frustration and anger. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, which he quickly wiped away with his sleeve so that no one in the burgeoning crowd would see him showing vulnerability. He didn’t want to give whoever did this to him the satisfaction of knowing how they had affected him. He would show people that he could start over again. The fact that he had to, though, caused sadness to grip his heart.
Later that evening, after hours of watching flames devour his life’s work, including the oscillator he had just developed to power his entire laboratory, Tesla decided to take a walk to clear his head. He told himself again and again that it would do him no good to dwell on it. He must keep moving forward; that was the only way to prevent all his work from being entirely in vain. That was what he kept telling himself, hoping that the more he said it, the more likely he would be to believe it.
Tesla stopped at a hotel where he had stayed before. He looked the building up and down, and then circled it three times, before finally stepping inside. Three, six, and nine. Those were the most perfect numbers in the universe, and it was by those numbers, which Tesla liked to operate. This method never let him down before, and he didn’t see fit to break that habit now, especially considering all the bad luck that had already fallen upon him this day.
He took a seat at a table in the restaurant on the main floor of the lavish hotel and ordered himself a nice, steaming pot of black coffee. The waiter brought it promptly and asked if he wanted any food. Tesla politely declined and thanked him for the coffee. After the waiter walked away, Tesla poured out a cup and inhaled the fumes. He put his pocket diary on the table and opened it up, careful to not spill a drop of the warm brew on its pages.
Tucked between two pages of the diary were five photographs—the only pictures he had left of his homeland, Smiljan in the Austrian Empire—although his family was of Serbian descent. He picked up one of the photographs, an image of his three sisters, Milka, Angelina, and Marica, standing with their father outside of the Eastern Orthodox church where he preached. This had been long after their brother, Dane, was killed in a horse-riding accident.
Tesla frowned and shuffled the photographs to one of his mother, Duka. A smile lightly touched his lips. She had been such a brilliant and inventive woman. She had never received a formal education, but Tesla was certain he got his eidetic memory and creativity from her genetics and influence. He remembered fondly all the tools and mechanical appliances Duka had made at home all throughout his childhood and her love for memorizing and reciting Serbian epic poems. Yes, he most certainly got his talents from her. His father was a hardworking man of God but not quite at the same level of intelligence and ingenuity as Duka.
Tesla sighed and put the photographs back between the pages. He had missed his mother so much in the three years since her passing.
After replacing the photograph, Tesla wrote down a date: July 10, 1856—his birthday. His mother had told him that he’d been born during a severe electrical storm. He postulated that
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