The Golden Crystal
contents
The Golden Crystal
Nick Thacker
Nick Thacker (2013)
Rating: ★★★☆☆
Tags: Adventure, Thriller
Adventurettt Thrillerttt
In 1791, two men began planning the layout for the nation's capital city. One is shunned and resigns in disgrace, and the other is all but forgotten. Years later, an original copy of the plans long thought to have been destroyed is found, with hastily marked notations by Thomas Jefferson and George Washington. During the second World War, American military scientists discover some fascinating properties of the hydrogen atom and its link to an ancient mystical number. The exact findings are never published, but a national laboratory is built in 1943 to further their research in covert silence. America is told it is a defense project, code-named The Manhattan Project. An ego-maniacal entrepreneur and his company, Vilocorp, will stop at nothing to build the perfect human specimen. His firm's research has been getting closer every day, but they seem to have uncovered a horrific, ancient secret that has been locked away for thousands of years. Now, it's up to two men to understand the mystery surrounding the events and ancient symbolism before Vilocorp unleashes a hellish fury upon the earth; one that hasn't been seen for ages...
For Grandpa…
No matter how bad this is… I know I still would have been your favorite author. Miss you, love you, and say Hi to Grandma for me!
Acknowledgements
I never thought I’d be writing the acknowledgements section of a real, live book. It’s been an amazing and thoroughly moving journey, and I’m more excited about this project than I thought possible. While I’m at the very beginning of (what I hope to be) my career, there are still — and will always be — people in my life who deserve my thanks and gratitude.
First, to my beautiful, amazing, and humble wife Em. You are a blessing in every way — I thank you for your undying love and support, and for pretending to like
all
the sections of this book — even the ones that never made it to print!
To my family and friends — thanks for putting up with me for all these years; you’ve guided me, taught me and corrected me along the way, and although I’ll always be stubborn, you’ve definitely worn off on me — however good of a person I am is a reflection of you all.
To my coworkers, church family, and others. I know it’s been unbelievably annoying to hear me call out daily word counts and “Look at this cover! How about this one!” constantly, but I hope this makes it worth your while (if you’re not into fiction or thrillers at all, then I’m just sorry to have bothered you so much!).
To Mike, my editor and friend who
literally
turned my hodgepodge manuscript into a viable story and (hopefully) a great read. You’re amazing, and I can’t thank you enough.
Finally, above all else, I thank God for giving me the life and blessings I have — none of what I do would be possible without Him, and I hope to live a humble, honoring, and honest life filled with His presence and grace.
FEBRUARY, 1791 - JUST NORTH OF the Potomac River
The bubble-shaped submarine came to a slow halt. Its pilot looked through the bent glass in the craft’s top section to get a visual of his target. This shallow section of the river was interrupted by a deeper divot in the river’s bottom; a small well-shaped valley that sunk into the riverbed about eight feet.
It was into this hole that David’s sights were set.
He maneuvered the small submarine — an exact copy of one of his previous inventions, the
Turtle
— into position at the edge of the small well. The watercraft wasn’t exactly easy to move — a combination of foot pedals and hand cranks were required in perfect unison just to move the semi-buoyant craft forward, much less side-to-side. He needed to turn completely around, slowly moving
Turtle II
‘s stern toward the hole.
His hands flew over the controls and cranks, ensuring there were no over-corrections or fast movements that might send the vessel spinning out of control. The
Turtle II
, and her predecessor,
Turtle
, were both groundbreaking in many ways. David Bushnell designed the first American submarine, and this second version, using a water-based ballast system for controlling depth. This newer version incorporated a screw-type propeller to push the craft forward through the depths. To the untrained eye, this newer copy was exactly the same as its first incarnation.
The major difference, however, was that
Turtle II
was not fitted with the large detachable mine that the
Turtle
employed. The
Turtle’s
mine had been something David included as an afterthought — given the turmoil of the British occupation of Boston and the surrounding colonies, he’d had enough foresight to fit his underwater vehicle with a functional — though limited — weapons system.
Combining the detachable mine with the stealth of a vessel that could travel sight unseen below the water’s surface, Bushnell had hoped to create a vessel that could one day be used in naval and military applications. If the
Turtle
succeeded in deploying its timed explosive onto the underbelly of a British battleship, the young nation might gain an advantage over its powerful British opponent. David hadn’t been able to get the mines to “stick” to the undersides of the ships, so while the intended effect — destroying British ships — hadn’t been achieved, the outcome was still the same: the timed mines erupted from the ocean’s floor, and the British pulled their fleet back out of the harbor, unsure of what had caused the explosions. Overall, Bushnell’s mission was a success.
Today, the
Turtle II
had a different mission. Rather than a detachable mine on the submarine’s backside, a 200-pound detachable box was added. Its contents were unknown to David — he was simply contracted to navigate to the proper location beneath the surface of the Potomac River and detach the box, placing it precisely where his employers designated — the well-shaped depression at the river’s bottom, the corners of it now marked with temporary wooden rods.
With his turn finally complete, David was now directly above the drop zone. He unscrewed the large connecting rivet and pressed the clasp holding the detachable unit in place. He heard a soft
pop
as the box disconnected from the rear wall.
After waiting thirty seconds to ensure that the box had reached the river bottom, he turned the submarine ninety degrees to his left — facing the craft almost due north. From this angle, he could see his handiwork through the submarine’s small, bubble-shaped viewing window. The large crate, bound with metal bands and locked in four places, sat nestled at the bottom of the shallow well, half submerged in silt and pebbles. Satisfied, David began spinning the propeller with his feet and guided the craft up to speed toward the shore. His work was done, and his payment could be collected.
FROM A RISE ABOVE THE northern edge of the river, three men watched silently — two on horseback, the third standing next to them. The
Turtle II
was submerged for an hour or so, yet the men looked on. They said nothing to each other until David’s ship resurfaced, proceeded by a growing circle of lapping water and bubbles from the emptying ballast.
As the submarine slid toward them, the man seated in the middle spoke to the man standing next to him. “Benjamin, the mission has met with success. Finalize the plans for the layout at dawn, then return here and deliver the letter to our associate, Mr. L’Enfant.”
“Yes, Mr. Washington,” Benjamin replied. He left on foot, heading west.
Bushnell disembarked and returned from the river’s edge. He looked up the hill at the two remaining men and gave a slight nod. It was finished.
Washington looked to his companion. “See that Mr. Bushnell is compensated for his fine work here today — the object should now be safe from prying eyes.” He let out a tired sigh. “I suggest that you forget it as well; all that is left in this matter is the drawing of the new city’s layout.”
The man responded, “I am afraid that our dear Charles will not welcome the news. He has struggled for months to perfect the layout for our nation’s capital, and he does not always respond well to criticism.”
Washington took a long moment to answer. “Mr. Jefferson, I have personally appointed Charles l’Enfant to oversee this project, but the situation has changed. Our enemy is close to discovering our secret; we cannot continue to burden our nation with its protection. We shall leave it for another generation.”
“Please see to it that Mr. Ellicott takes over the surveying and layout of this area, and that Mr. Banneker remains behind as his personal scribe and assistant. I am confident they will give our capitol a foundation worthy of the secret it is built upon.”
Washington knew the secret could tear apart the fledgling nation. He also knew from experience how the promise of wealth and prosperity could tempt even the best of men, and the contents of the now submerged box would prove a terrible temptation indeed.
Washington and his colleagues had come so far in this new land, and had taken great pains to ensure that they would leave their families and friends with a solid foundation. If left unguarded, the whispers and rumors of this secret could eventually lead to an uprising — men would do anything to possess the knowledge it would provide. Washington knew the young government was not yet capable of dealing with this powerful object. It must be hidden away, until someone worthy of its power might find it.
Jefferson and Washington continued watching the great river before them as the sun sank into the water’s far edge to their right. The Potomac would make a wonderful backdrop to a marvelous city, one that would hopefully see many centuries of growth and prosperity, and serve as a beacon for the people of the great land.
And one day, far beyond the end of the two mens’ lives, someone would discover the secret the Founding Fathers concealed in their capital city. Washington was sure of it, and he only prayed that it was someone worthy of the knowledge.
THE AIR SMELLED LIKE BURNING tar. Smoke, billowing from the mouths and openings of caves, blocked out the sun and caused a deep-gray shadow over the low, rolling dunes.
Captain Bryce Reynolds had a hard time breathing, and crouched lower still, his face nearly touching the gritty sand. He winced, trying to see through the thick clouds of fire and smoke, and crawled forward slowly. The top edge of the dune he was on was merely feet in front of him, and would offer his team much better visibility of the area in front of them.
