Atlantis Venture - Drone Pt. 02

"Naturally, bullshit sells," Rusty admitted. "People believe anything."

"No matter how stupid, yes they do," Myla added as she paced the room.

"Myla, my love," Sterling started as he chomped his cigar. "What's the London address of the Ledger?" He smiled and winked at the doctor. "Just a thought."

"Ah yes, to quote my sister, 'I'll be hornswoggled'", it's 3-6-9 Baker street," Myla answered eerily. "Add those numbers across and you get 18, then 9."

"And, to follow up to my beloved sister," Rusty beamed with every freckle on her face sparkling like a dew kissed morning in the country. "Multiply those numbers and you get 162. Which, added across the spectrum is 9. We can play this game all day."

"Bottom line," Striffe started to say. "We use the tabloid to exploit disinformation just like we did at Roswell." He gave his classic smirk. "In particular, we use Dweeb to further our cause, unwittingly he complies and thinks he's saving the world."

"Naturally, since most reporters aren't that bright to begin with," Myla said with a yawn. "Meanwhile, 80% of the public are pretty naïve and gullible. It all works. They'll believe anything no matter what the evidence says, so better for us all the way around."

"Except for a few pesky FBI agents," Rusty chuckled.

"Yeah, that, those, them," Myla snarled with clenched fists. "You need to let me take care of that problem, Sterling? That S-file unit needs to be shut down."

"We don't hurt FBI agents, my love," he fired back at her but his voice was calm yet had an authentic resonance that reflected his affection for her. "We're on the same team, just a different perspective, and we help them solve their cases. It all works out."

"The female is troublesome," Myla countered. "We shall see, very well then."

"As such, assorted terrorist cells have operational substations in Cuba," Sterling explained. "Likewise, the Ledger maintains an office there. Boat trip anyone?"

"We're in, my dear," Myla answered swiftly with a nod from Rusty.

"We'll finish up here and fire up the jet boat," Striffe advised. "Striffe to comm, chief, get the stealth craft up and running, usual paperwork and so forth."

"Affirmative, Doc, we're on it," the chief reported back for comm center.

"We start with him, squeeze him, make him spurt out info," Myla encouraged as to the suspect in custody. "By the time I get through with him, he'll be bone dry of every oozing substance in his body." she said with hands on hips. "If you'd let me terminate this worm, deliver his in pieces to the benefactors, we'll send a message."

"Well, no one's perfect," Sterling sighed and glanced at the doctor. She had started her final examination of the subject. "Prognosis? Did he burn out?"

"Uh huh, looks like it." She looked up at Striffe. "He's gone vegetable on us."

"Geezus, that elixir still has a few glitches," Striffe offered with a huff. With a wave of his hands, he tossed a glance at Myla. "Well, it's an improvement."

"What the hell, I could've have bled better than that concoction," Myla snorted.

"All we need now is something else silly to happen," Rusty teased.

"Oh, I wish you hadn't said that," Myla toyed and slung her arm over Rusty's shoulder. "We need to get moving and with no more distractions."

"Three, six and nine," Rusty repeated and toyed with the idea. "Hmm, let me see, there was this fishing hole back in Peach County, and..." She picked up on Myla's sly grin and lustful gaze. Both shared a brief roll of their tongues across their lips. "Anyway, back there was this small group of three special rocks that formed a delta. Uh you know like a V-shape. We used to go down there, me and five others."

"And, what about it, my dear? A group thing, like a gang bang?" Myla tossed her a sexy gaze and threw in a spicy wink as an incentive. "I'm fascinated by how these little riddles pop up every now and then. As though we're served a special cream filled desert." Myla shifted focus quickly. "I like the six and nine part, please continue."

"Uh huh, I know you do, honey," Rusty added. "We often watched nine tiny islands out there on the big lake. Each stuck up during the dry season. It's like the water had humps, one hump after another. Learned a lot around that watering hole."

"Fascinating, but what could that imply?" Myla asked with a serious slant.

"The Azores," Rusty said and looked at Striffe and Myla. "Off the coast of Portugal, the fabled point of origin for the lost continent of Atlantis."

"Hmm, you certainly have a special way of expressing those ah ha moments, my dearest," Myla came back with a flavor of amusement on that point.

"I like that, keep working on the details," Striffe told them. "Makes sense, due to the fact there's a cluster of three main islands, and six regional divisions in the surrounding collective. Not to forget of course, nine islands in the configuration."

"Well, at least it's a working hypothesis," Myla said to Rusty. "And, there's old fortress there from ancient times and pretty much abandoned. A good hideout.

"Control to Dr. Striffe, over," the command center signaled over their network.

"Striffe here," Sterling said after taping his concealed earpiece.

"Inbound air craft," the central console advised. "They're targeting us."

"Of course," Striffe sighed with a casual slant and stroked his chin. A sardonic look followed. "Wonder what took them so long? We left enough bread crumbs."

"Well, hush my mouth," Rusty drawled with a grin. "Uh huh, my goodness, that FBI broad wants your ass, Sterling." She tossed a glance at Myla.

"She nearly cost him his life as I recall," Myla snarled. "Let me put her down."

"No, my dear, we don't hurt the nice FBI agents, we guide them," he told her.

"Two black helos, each marked with yellow letters, F-B-I, sir. They're five minutes out and headed in low and fast, sir," central control advised him.

"My, oh my, what timing they have." Striffe glanced at Rusty with a broad smile. To Myla, he said, "The need to interfere with us to relevant, my dears."

"Hey, don't look at me, I didn't do this," Rusty played along with them.

"Maybe they don't like your helo antics," Striffe teased her. "Wonder who they're profiling today? As if that ever solved anything of importance." Striffe signaled the command center, "Advise them of the standard protocol. Tell them we're private property and contact our lawyers, etc. The usual delaying tactics and keep them hovering."

"Confirmed, sir. They have been so advised," the command answered. "Uh, sir, they're being insistent. A Special Agent Shard wants a meeting with you."

"Of course she does, but has an ulterior motive I'm sure," Myla taunted Sterling. She stared ruggedly at Striffe. "Just bang the hell out the broad and get it over with."

"Myla, not now, my dear," Sterling admonished very lightly. He held up a finger to stop her, as if that might work. "Let's think, go deeper, and consider the Atlantis angle on this venture. Something strange in this strife that threatens life."

"Sir," the command center signaled Striffe. "They're circling the helo-pad." A pause gave an intermittent static buzz. "They are threatening a search warrant."

"We're on our way to the control room, put them off as long as you can," Striffe urged politely. "Keep at it and make sure our law firm is fully informed."

"Geezus, she's got it real bad for you," Myla toyed with a grimace. She caught his glance as swiftly as a baseball catcher snatched a fast ball. "Ok, let me do her."

"Hotter than a young red heifer in heat," Rusty played him as well. "My goodness gracious she's just hanging around for the next sacrifice of her clover."

"Hmm, breeding, I like that, Rusty my love," Myla taunted.

"Sure enough," Rusty drawled. "Talk about breeding, wait until we get to Cuba and connect with our old pal, Polla Enorme'. My goodness that man is right proper." She sighed with a huge smile. "Quite the cow poke, he can plow my field any time."

"You two, you're gonna get it later, just you wait," Striffe poked back at them and shook his head with a grin. He closed his eyes, rolled his shoulders, and took a deep breath. "We can have fun with Polla later. He's a good friend and valuable asset."

"He's got a great asset," Rusty chimed with a wink. "Biggest one I've ever seen, you know." She gave Myla a side glance. "I've raised horses and they're huge."

"Yep, my darling, he's quite endowed, and he's Cuban," Myla quipped and caught a smirk from Sterling. "Ah yes, the Spanish heritage, can't beat it. Well, there are exceptions, my love." She blew Sterling a kiss. "Okay, let's focus on things at hand."

"Uh huh, yeah, yeah," Rusty stuttered slightly and met her green eyes. Together they smiled affectionately. "You know that old saying, hung like a horse?"

"Yes, my dear, all too well," Myla agreed with a hint of pleasure in her voice.

"I mean after all," Rusty added and remained fixated. "His name, loosely translated, means huge cock. Wow, that thing bottoms out, deep, hard and girthy."

"Of course, we've all been together in the spirit of team work," Sterling chuckled. "Okay, right now, we don't need these federal clowns promoting their circus. They oughta be somewhere making up another one of their silly criminal profiles and interfering with a local agency. So, here we go with another manifestation of the deception."

"She already has a profile," Myla continued to torture him. "And, you fit in nicely. Your little flirtations with that agent have come home to roost once again."

"Naughty, naughty boy." Rusty grinned. "You gotta think with one head at a time, my darling. You're a stallion in a pasture full of mares, you gotta control that thing."

"Nice, real nice, you two are no help," Striffe joked and smiled fondly at both.

"You know you're gonna have to take one for the team with her, right?" Myla added to the ongoing jest. "Couldn't be that awful, she's not bad looking, in a stiff uptight corporate kinda way. She's boringly vanilla, cheerleader type." She joined Rusty and Sterling as they headed for the command center. Neither one let up on him. "At any rate, if we triangulate the coordinates from the Azores to Puerto Rico," she intoned with a slightly heavier Spanish accent. "And, we extrapolate the mapping contingencies we did at Area-51."

"Ah, the things we do for our country," Sterling jested back at them.

"I want pictures of that," Myla snarled and led the way in.

"Oh yeah, I like this," Rusty said with fascination as they entered the control center. The whir of computers and monitors buzzed around them. "Please, tell us more."

"Attention on deck," the chief techy announced upon their entry.

"No, please, at ease people," Striffe told them. "Continue your ops." He strode with ease and confidence toward the master console. "Okay, what have we got?"

"I suspect, sir," the chief started to say. "They're running low on fuel."

"Nicely done, maybe we should keep them aloft for a while," Striffe answered.

"My dear, colonel, I mean brigadier," Myla murmured menacingly. "Geez these new rank postings are annoying. At any rate, if you keep annoying them, they are likely to come back with a larger force. Let's mess with them on the ground."

"Thank you my dear, makes better sense," Striffe agreed. "Let's see what Agent Shard has in her crystal ball." To the tech, he added, "Clear them to land on the east heli-pad. And, advise them to hold until further instructions."

"Roger that, sir," the techy quickly responded and signaled the helo. "Be advised, sir, that sandy pad area is being used today for water runoff. The pooling area is flooded this time of year. So, the ground is pretty mushy, but the helo can set down."

"Duly noted. In a perfect world, things would be perfect." Striffe nodded.

"Oh this will be fun to watch," Rusty chuckled and glanced at one of the Monitors. "You're gonna really piss that woman off, madder than a wet hen."

"Well, while that plays out, and to continue, in the last simulation at our Argos Island camp," Myla picked up the discussion. "We replicated a multidimensional hologram that would configure the electromagnetic resonance at higher intensifications."

"Yeppers, we did that," Rusty added, while she and he crowded around Myla.

"Okay, we speculated several contingencies, based on the probability of several what if scenarios." Myla manipulated the console with maniacal speed. "The conjecture we postulated, right in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle, would open an electromagnetic vortex. Remember our force field experiments in that location? That's where we like to hide secret things. The sub-sea area that looks an ancient settlement, and..."

"Wait, hold on to that for the moment." Striffe assessed one of three-D computer models. The revolving hologram, with an array of brilliant colors, testified to the precision of information analysis in real time. "So, the Myla theory is, if A then B and finally C, a doomsday event via this cultic inference. Not only that, but..."

"Before I grab your lovely butt, it is a contrived natural disaster," Myla confirmed. "It's a riddle within a puzzle and represents an allusion to underwater warfare. All they have to do is disrupt the natural cycle of oceanic currents and you get a domino effect..."

"Drop a nuke down there," Rusty completed her sentence. She sucked in breath, Sterling noted the rise and fall of her well-endowed attributes. "Scuba gear? We going diving?"

"We're gonna get wet, my loves," Sterling sighed with a smile.

"I'm already wet," Myla toyed with both of them. A moment of silence caught the salacious drift of that comment. "We've run all this through ALBIE, correct?"

"Of course, our very own, AI," Striffe answered and chomped his cigar. The Advanced neuro-Linguistic Biological Intelligence Entity possessed part of his DNA. "She monitored everything from the lab interrogation. She'll figure it out in a timely sequence."

"To quote my beloved sister here," Myla started to say, as she glanced at Rusty. "It all goes catawampus in a heartbeat if we miss a step. The Atlantean cover project is the target. Yes?" She slanted a sexy gaze at him, then Rusty. "If so, the telemetric potential would be cataclysmic. A tsunami of an earth orgasm. We've considered this possibility."

"Correct, my dear." Striffe nodded graciously. "Working with Naval Intelligence, we constructed our pyramidal gravitational refractor for time-phase analysis."

"That'll magnify the effect," Rusty said with a spooky tone. "The terrorists are using our techno creativity against us. That's just pig slop if you ask me."

"Excuse me sir," the chief tech interrupted. "The helo is setting down."

"Well then, we got another problem with FBI right now, how timely on their part," Striffe answered. "I suspect she'll have to wade over to the steps, climb up and use the boardwalk to get to the entry point. Send security to meet her."

"Roger that, sir, dispatching a team of two." The techy complied, at which moment, two tough bad ass women dressed in black suits headed out. "Agents in route." They were the men in black, of course, there were women in black too. "Standby."

"Hmm, new guys?" Myla marveled. "I don't recall interviewing them."

"We cleared them after you were last here, ma'am," the techy advised.

"Excellent physical condition, I should do a followup exam." Myla leaned closer to the techy and whispered with an eerie tone. "Don't worry, I don't bite. Well, at least not at this moment." She sucked in a breath and sighed. "Nicely done. Fine physical specimens."

"Just don't injure the staff, my dear," Striffe jested at her. To the techy, while they watched the antics at the landing zone, he continued, "Patch me through to the Looking Glass. Area-51 needs an update, and I need to speak to the admiral."

"You think the FBI knows something about that?" Rusty asked with a slight wrinkle of her brow. Her comments moved on from the momentary interplay of her antics. "I mean after all, they have used that Dweeb reporter character in the past. They're the primary national security agency and Shard's the lead agent."

"Yes, and that planted intel leak has been effective," Myla quipped.

"The Atlantis affair? I seriously doubt it," Striffe scoffed and noted the concern on Rusty's face. "That's way above their clearance levels. Agent Crystal Shard is solidly fixated in a single keyed direction that involves her conspiracy theories." He sucked in a breath. "Nice ass, but, she's typical status quo, not very imaginative."

"Uh huh, and that fixation would be you," Myla reminded in a tone that would not be described as gentle. In fact, there was not much gentle about Trench in most respects. "She would love getting her shards into you again, my dear, so to speak."

"Sir," the chief said to Striffe. "Lazarus at the Looking Glass, primary line, and speaker activated." He swiveled his bear-like bulk in his chair. "On secure channel."

"Back from the dead again, Admiral?" Striffe said into a shiny red microphone. "We've wandered into the Bermuda Triangle with a jihadi angle."

"Well done, we're analyzing related anomalies," the craggy aging voice said from the Nevada desert. Reserved, seriously brilliant and aged beyond wisdom, the chief of Area-51 spoke slowly and with a hint of granite toughness. "Coincidences don't happen, things are what they are, my friend. Random interactions are perceptible moments."

"Naturally, and we have more updates enroute, with video and projected assessments." Striffe paused for a second or two. "But here's the sales pitch," Striffe went on to say. "First, I need Agent Shard redirected immediately, she just arrived."

"Done." The Admiral's voice was crisp. "What else?"

"New crash proof aircraft for Major Petals?" Myla chimed in behind Striffe.

"I don't think our science has reached that level yet," the Admiral joked.

"Thanks, guys, appreciate the love," Rusty piped up at a nearby console.

"As to the FBI, for all we have done for them," the Admiral continued. "Very easy, that's done, poor lady, she must be very frustrated you, Striffe." A slight chuckle followed the comment. He puffed his pipe in vast bunker of Area-51. "I feel some sensitivity for her persistent plight. You have to admit she is quite dedicated to finding you."

"Yes, you could say that," Striffe said with a sly hint, but with a smile. "I may need to borrow her temporarily. Throw a cloak of national security so the feds don't get too rattled in the process." Myla gently stroked his neck. "Need full surveillance on this."

"Very well then, I can add to her continued anxiety." The venerable seer rotated smoothly in his custom-made black leather chair and signaled an aide. To her he said courteously, "Get me the White House on the red line, and the FBI director on the blue line." From within the cavernous underground dome of the Looking Glass, he continued calmly to talk with Striffe, "Next item of sanctification? If it's the Atlantean Mirror, then what else do you need? A seismic disruption we don't need. That's fragile."

"Uh huh, right now, I doubt we need an unscheduled ice age. Nor, do we need a hole through the planet that might take out Oceana? You can always depend on security leaks to mess up your day. I'll deal with the whistleblower in due time."

"Speaking of such efficiency how is my goddaughter?" The wise man asked.

"The black widow is as feisty as ever," Striffe answered with a raised eyebrow and affectionate tone. "Brutally as animated as ever. Nevertheless, I'll keep you posted; keep the watch on our world, Striffe out." Sterling disconnected the link and continued to observe Agent Shard's fragmenting progress. He gazed at monitor. "Water's about what, say six inches deep over the beach area? Winds picking up, waves slapping the retention walls, and not good weather conditions." He gauged the movements of the helo toward the landing area. "That chopper's not gonna land, she'll be on her own."