Incarnate: Mars Origin "I" Series Book III (17 page)

Atlanta, Georgia

“Overpopulation results from an increase in births, a decrease in
mortality rates and an increase in technological advances. And for the United
States, a true threat to overpopulation is immigration.”

 “Human
population
control
comes in all forms. Legislation. Coercive measures.
War. Propaganda. Medical intervention. Introduction of a pandemic.” She pressed
the Enter button on her laptop, moving her PowerPoint presentation on the giant
projector screen to the next slide.

“It is not a
new problem. Throughout history, even in ancient times, there have been
discussions on the population. At times, the concern was how to increase the
rate of population growth, but for the most part, growth has been the concern.”
 

Dr. Russell,
paused from speaking. She glanced down at her notes and back up to her
audience. She was nearing the end of her speech and there were a few more
people that remained than what she expected. The muscles in her jaw relaxed and
she gently tossed her long red curls over the curve of her shoulder. Hers, she
felt, was a worthy cause and people – everywhere – needed to listen.

A doctor and
economist by education, an environmentalist by conviction, Victoria Russell had
chosen an area of expertise that often was met with brutal opposition. She was
from the UK. Prim and proper as many expected, always down for a cup of
afternoon tea, but only a hint of her accent noticeable when she spoke
publicly. She was beautiful and smart, an expert in her field, and she had a
stubborn streak that was off-putting to many.

Victoria stood
at the podium at the Albright Auditorium in Atlanta. The chairperson of the
Center for Ethical Population Command and a board member of the World Health
Organization she was a woman who knew how to change people’s minds. And for the
past five years, she had been working on doing just that.

“In 1798,” she
continued. “A British clergyman and economist wrote that ‘Population, when unchecked,
increases in a geometrical ration. Subsistence increases only in an
arithmetical ration.’” She advanced her visual presentation. A graph appeared
on the wall behind her. “Since 1900 the population of the world has gone from
1.6 billion to nearly seven billion. This kind of explosion stretches the
limits of our environment.” She paused, once again surveying her audience. She
was coming up on the part that most people didn’t want to hear.

“The effects
the population has on poverty, environmental degradation and political
stability are the driving forces in our concern today. And that’s why we have
to take a decisive stance.

“An American
biologist and environmentalist wrote that ‘A cancer is an uncontrolled
multiplication of cells; the population explosion is an uncontrolled
multiplication of people.’ I propose today that the cancer that is population
has metastasized. And soon it will kill everything in its wake. It’s time we
took action.”

Dr. Russell
spoke for a little less than twenty minutes. But in that time she felt she had
left a huge impact. She spoke passionately to the small crowd, she wanted to
persuade them - make them understand. The day’s talk was one of the many
seminars she gave to garner support for her initiative. Most audiences weren’t filled
with anyone that could help push her agenda into fruition, but with the
students, academics and the occasional passersby that attended she hoped to
plant a seed. Her own little method of propaganda. But she knew that if
effective and ultimate control of the population was going to be the end game,
she needed for this message to take concrete form. It needed to be in the game
plan of
political leaders and experts from every industry -
finance, academia and even the media
. All disciplines had to succumb.

She took a sip
of water from the glass she had on the table next to the podium before she
continued.

“Overpopulation
also puts limits on our personal freedom. It creates an unnatural convergence
of animal and humans which affects each species health and survival. Before
global warming will ever kill us, overpopulation will have desolated this
planet.

 “So, with
that in mind what is the best course of action to take?” She held her head up
and answered her question. “The best course of action is to devise the means
that would enable us to immediately decrease the current population by at least
half – approximately three billion people.” She heard gasps from the audience.
She waited to see how many left the auditorium before she continued.

“Of course,”
she said, “that would be amoral, and in many cases tend to include actions that
many societies deem illegal. But something must be done. And soon.”

More gasps.

She collected
up her notes, and shut the lid on her laptop and drew in a breath.

“I am open now
for any questions that you may have.”

There wasn’t a
flurry of hands that went up. There never was. By this point those people that
stayed were more than likely still in a state of shock over the comment that
most interpreted as her suggesting some form of genocide. And unlike most days
where she took time to help people understand her mission, today if the Q &
A didn’t last long she’d be okay with that. She’d plan to drive the two hours
from Atlanta to Elberton, Georgia. She wanted to see the Guidestones. A granite
testament to the ideas she espoused. Somebody, somewhere agreed with her.

She saw a hand
go up in the small crowd.

“Yes. Sir. You
have a question?”

“Yes. Thank
you. What do you mean when you say control comes in all forms-” The inquirer
looked down at his notes. “I quote. ‘Coercive measures. War. Propaganda . . .
Introduction of a pandemic . . .’ Are you condoning – supporting some sort of
mass destruction of the world’s population?”

Victoria folded
her hands on the podium and kept a composed façade. But inside she was filled
with butterflies. She loved when she was asked this question because genocide
was exactly what she was proposing.

At least until
the world’s population got down to a sustainable size.

Panama Rainforest

I had been with
Logan for over a month. I hadn’t the faintest idea what we were looking for and
neither did she. We had no clue that this chasing of corn would lead us to
anything significant. Or like Logan likes to say “definitive.”

True enough,
the tunnels were a good find and it was interesting that the inscription on the
slab we translated actually matched to something tangible. And instead of
trying to find more tunnels, I suggested that Logan go back to her site. She
had made sure that the dig continued and she made regular reports back to her
benefactor with the help of Jairo, but she needed to be there.

I needed to go
back home. I was on Sabbatical from the University and hadn’t started any
research. And I wanted to get my business done with Bruce Cook. Being out with
Logan, bits and pieces of things we found reminded me of what I had learned.
Reinforced it even. But I wanted to be done with it. I had made up my mind to
give all the information over and I didn’t want anything changing my mind.

I was having a
hard time leaving her, though.

We had worked
our way South to Panama. The country had over five hundred rivers laced through
the rugged tropical terrain. A place where our gods of the waterways, the four
Bacabs could have risen to seek revenge of those that destroyed their people.

And we did find
tunnels, tunnels connected to caves, just like in Belize, which added even more
fuel to Logan’s fire. It’s all she need to keep going. We found them in the
tropical forests that edged the Panama Canal. Jairo, usually acting the tourist
as we traveled, wasn’t interested in seeing the Canal. This close to South
America, he wanted to skip Mesoamerica and head straight over to Ecuador.

My son, Micah
was supposed to come down after my fall but once we decided to go to Georgia,
he postponed the trip. As soon as we got back, I called him and told him to go
ahead and come. I thought it would be easier on Logan with me leaving if her
father was instrumental in my departure. I had to call Micah back two nights
before he was scheduled to leave and told him I wouldn’t be in Belize, I would
still be in Panama. Panama City to be exact.

 “Be
careful, Ma. I don’t want you falling. Again,”

“Funny, Logan,”
I said stepping carefully through the tomb’s entryway. “Real funny. But you let
me get hurt again and your father won’t just send Micah, he’ll come himself.”

“I know. And
probably with Uncle Greg in tow.”

“Logan. Let me
help her,” Jairo said. He nudged Logan out of the way and took my hand. “Don’t
worry, I got you.”

Logan had become
a little more relaxed when it came to me and Jairo, which was good because I
enjoyed his company. Silly of her to have gotten upset about it.

We had followed
a trail of tunnels all the way to Panama and like the other tunnels we found
rooms and antechambers, but we hadn’t ever found anything that looked like the
room we were presently standing it.

It was a
tomb-looking room with broken pottery strewn over the floor just like in the
caves in Belize. A platform with a vault carved from stone sat atop. As I bent
down to look at the pottery, Logan did her usual check for levers and trap
doors.

“Jairo,” she
called out while crawling along the base of the platform. “Help me with this.”
She dug out a small trench with her hand. “I think it might be some kind of
lever and weight system.”

“Let me see,”
he said, getting down on his knees. “I wish I had something to dig with,” he
grunted and he pushed his hand underneath the vault stand. “I . . . I think. I.
Think. I. Have. Something.” Another grunt from him and the vault slid ajar.

“Oh man!” I
said. “What is that?”

“Can we get
down there?” Logan was ready to climb in.

“Wait,” I said.
“Let’s slow down. Shine a light down in it first. Or at least wait and see if
anything crawls out or if some vapors are trapped down there.”

“I’ve got a
lighter,” Jairo said. He flipped it open, looked at us, “Stand back,” he said.
He flicked the lighter, and threw the small torch into the hole.

We stood
quietly waiting. Nothing happened.

“I’m going in,”
Logan said.

“I don’t know
if . . .”

“I’m going with
her,” Jairo said. “I’ll go first.”

They shimmied
their way through, I stood on top and waited for them to say something.

“Are you guys
okay down there?” I shouted down the hole.

“Hold on, Ma, I
think I can make the opening wider. Make it easier for you to get down here.
You have to see this. You won’t believe it.”

Arlington, Virginia

“Father Chandra.”

Jacked walked into his office at
the Pentagon and Nikhil Chandra was sitting there, apparently waiting for him.

“Hi, Jack.” The Father smiled at
him pleasantly.

Jack went back to the door he’d
just entered, and peered up and down the hallway. He walked back in the room.
“How did you get up here?” Jack noticed the official badge that said “Visitor”
clipped to Nikhil’s suit jacket. He was dressed in priestly clothes - black
shirt, black jacket, spit-shined black shoes and a white color. The only
raiment not clerical was his tan trench coat and a black fedora he held in his
hand.

  “I know people, who know
people,” Nikhil said.

‘You must know some important
people. I can’t even get my twin sister in here.” Jack pointed to Nikhil’s
collar tab. “I guess that doesn’t hurt, huh, Father. Compels feeling of trust.”

 “Call me, Nikhil.”

Jack smiled. And Nikhil returned
the gesture.

“What do I owe the pleasure,
Father? Mmm, Nikhil.”

“Concern for a mutual friend.”

“Justin?”

Nikhil nodded. “Can we speak
somewhere in private? Some place more secure.”

Jack chuckled. “You can’t get much
more secure than the Pentagon.” Then Jack, remembering that Nikhil had gotten
all the way up to him unannounced added, “That is for most people.”

“How about if we take a walk
outside. Can you?”

“Sure can.”

They walked out of the Pentagon,
Nikhil nodding at a few passersby as if he knew them.

“You’ve been here before,’ Jack
stated.

“Just on one of the tours they
offer. Nothing official.”

He led Jack a few rows over and
then stopped at a black, late model luxury sedan. He leaned up against the door
and folded his arm across his chest.

“Nice car,” Jack said.

Nikhil twisted at the waist and
looked at the car. “Yep. It’s real nice.”

“So what’s going on?” Jack asked.

“Senator Bruce Cook.”

“Believe me, Nikhil, I’ve got him
on my radar.”

“So do I. I’ve got eyes on him. I
saw that you stopped by to speak with him.”

“How in the world could you have
found that out?” Jack stood facing Nikhil in an “at ease” position.

“I know people -” Nikhil said.

“Who know people,” Jack said it at
the same time he did.

“That’s right. So hopefully we
won’t have to do that song and dance again.”

Jack laughed. “No, Nikhil. I get
it now. Yeah. I talked to him and he talked
at
me. He didn’t have time
for me and my questions. Especially after I mentioned unlawfully detaining
Justin.”

“So you didn’t get anything out of
him?”

“No. Not really.”

“Justin’s seems to have made up
her mind about giving him what she has,” Nikhil said. “But I’d feel more
comfortable about her doing that if I knew more about him.”

“Same here.”

“I’ll share what I’ve got with
you. And you share with me what you know.” Jack nodded in agreement. “I found
out that this Cook guy had a Simon Melas working with him to try and make
amends for the way they left things the first time she met him,” Nikhil said.
“He’s using Simon because he’s an old friend of Justin’s. And, I’m guessing, so
she’d feel more confident handing over the information she has if it had the
endorsement of an old friend.”

“Simon Melas is bad news.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard. Got caught
up with stealing money and all.”

“You really don’t need any input
from me on this, do you? You already know what I know.”

“Just thought I check with you and
make sure.” He stood up straight in anticipation of ending the conversation.

“I met Simon,” Jack said. “Did you
know that? And he’s no longer a friend of Justin’s.”

“No. I didn’t know. That you met
him or that he wasn’t still a friend. When did you meet him?”

“In Jerusalem. The night I got
shot.”

Nikhil raised an eyebrow.

“He showed up at the hotel room.
Justin’s brother, Greg seemed not to like him too much. Was real rude to the
guy. Later I found out that Simon lied to Justin about the aggressiveness of
the natives over in the Bay of Bengal.”

“You’re talking about the
Sentinelese in the Andaman Islands?”

“Yeah. You remember when she went
there?”

“Yep. I remember.”

“Greg thinks Simon had been out to
hurt her. Well, set her up to be hurt.” Jack licked his lips. “Where is Simon
now?”

Nikhil stared out past Jack. “I’m
not sure.”

Jack smirked. “What about the
people you know?”

Nikhil chuckled. “I’m on my way
now to find out what they know.” He looked at Jack. “I don’t think it would be
good for Simon, if he’s tried to hurt Justin before, to have any contact with
her. I need to find out where he is and make sure he doesn’t get near her.”

“Are you able to take care of
that?”

“I can take care of it. Have a
little talk with him. Explain things to him. I’m sure we’ll be able to come to
some kind of an agreement.”

“Let me know if you need anything
from me. Justin’s a good friend.”

“I will. I’ll keep you in the
loop.”

They both nodded and silence filled
the air between them momentarily. Nikhil turned and left without a word. Jack
just shook his head as he watched Nikhil walk away from the car he’d thought
belonged to him and across the parking lot and down the street.