Atlantis Read Free Page B

encompassed water like the Bermuda Triangle, Foreman preferred to focus his attention on the Bermuda Triangle. There were also the reports he occasionally received of intense, covert Japanese interest in the Devil’s Sea Gate area. Somehow all the gates were connected and Foreman lived only to discover the true nature of what these Gates were, what was causing them and what was on the other side of the Gates.
    “Clearing one thousand feet depth,” the commander of the Scorpion , Captain Bateman, reported. “Heading nine-zero degrees. Estimated crossing of line of departure in five mikes. Status all good.”
    “Level at sixty thousand,” the pilot of the SR-71 called in. “ETA five mikes.”
    Foreman didn't say anything. He had personally briefed the pilot and the captain of the Scorpion the previous week. He had made it abundantly clear that timing and positioning had to be exact. He looked at the large clock in the front of the listening room, watching the second hand make another circle. Then another.
    “Three minutes,” Scorpion called. “All go.”
    “Three minutes,” Blackbird echoed in his other ear at the same time. “All clear.”
    Foreman looked down. A penciled-in line on the chart represented the Scorpion’s course. He knew that three minutes out meant that the submarine was less than a half-mile from the current edge of the Bermuda Triangle Gate along the western line drawn from Bermuda to Puerto Rico. A line on the map of southeast Asia had the SR-71's flight route, and Foreman knew it was ninety miles from the green line, heading in from the south, currently passing over Lake Tonle Sap. He had waited years to do this, watching, until both Angkor and Bermuda Triangle were active to this extent at the same time.
    Another circle of the second hand. “Transmitting via HF,” Scorpion reported, indicating that the special high frequency transmitter that had been attached to the sub's front deck the previous week was now active.
    “Ah, Foreman, this is Blackbird.”
    Foreman sat straighter. He could sense a change in the normally laconic voice of the SR-71 pilot.
    “I've got something ahead and below.”
    Foreman spoke for the first time. “Clarify.”
    “A yellow-white cloud. Maybe some kind of fog but it's growing fast.”
    “Can you go above it?” Foreman asked.
    “Oh, yeah. No sweat. I've got plenty of clear sky. Entering Angkor Gate airspace now.”
    “We're in,” Captain Bateman reported. “Still transmitting. We're getting some electric anomalies in our systems, but nothing major. Sonar reports the ocean is clear out to limits.”
    “How about HF?” Foreman asked, wanting to know if the SR-71 was picking up the signal from the submarine or vice versa. There was normally no way the HF signal could reach the SR-71 on the other side of the Earth. But the operative word in that sentence, as Foreman knew, was normally. There was nothing normal about either of the locations the two craft were closing on and the whole point of this exercise was to prove a link between the two Gates.
    “Ah, I have a positive on the high frequency. I’m picking up Scorpion’s HF signal.”
    Foreman tapped a fist against the desktop in triumph. The two Gates were definitely connected, and in a way that was not possible using known physics.
    He keyed the radio. “Captain Bateman, can you read the SR-71 HF transponder?”
    “Roger. I don’t know how we can, but we are. Loud and clear.”
    There was brief silence, then a startled yell from the pilot. “What the hell?”
    Foreman was leaning forward, his eyes closed. The feeling of triumph faded.
    “Blackbird,” Foreman said. “What is going on?”
    “Uh, this fog. I'm over it now but it's growing fast. It doesn't look right. I'm getting some electronic problems.”
    “Will you be clear before it reaches your altitude?” Foreman asked.
    “Uh, yeah.” There was a long pause. “I think so.”
    “What about HF from Scorpion ?” Foreman