Fic: The Age of Fire and Gravel, Part 1 (National Treasure, Riley Poole/OFC, Ben Gates/Ian Howe)

[niki_chidon]

Title: The Age of Fire and Gravel, Part 1
Fandom: National Treasure (movie)
Pairings: Ben Gates/Ian Howe, Riley Poole/OFC
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Disney owns most of the characters, Mina and Anne are mine.
Summary: Riley finally gets the girl. And, you know, some other stuff happens. Like discovering Atlantis.
Notes: My Yuletide story in 2007, written for azarsuerte. Never had as much fun (and desperate moments!) on a prompt... Million thanks to jane_elliot who made sure my language was English, my commas weren't unruly, and Mina wasn't too Mary-Sueish. Also thanks to Miranda for her canon-check, and lalaith86 for Anne's name and curses;) Finally, a hug to Mr. Niki for general historical advice.
Sequel to The More Perfect Union


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The Age of Fire and Gravel
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by Niki



Chapter I: The Characteristics of the Drift
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Okay, so he was bored. Riley had to admit – if only to himself – that being filthy rich wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. Oh, the apartment overlooking New York was neat. The Ferrari was a dream on wheels. And the chicks... well, what good did it do to be rich if it didn't help you get laid but...

The apartment was the problem. The Ferrari was the problem. They seemed to attract a certain sort of female he never felt at ease with. All he had wanted was to find a girl. Any girl, really, but preferably a pretty one. Not too butch. One that would laugh at his jokes, put up with his sarcasm, and... and not fall for his friends. Friend.

Ben was a great friend, really, but there had always been the problem that he was tall, good-looking, broody, and passionate – if not a little obsessive about his Quest. The great Quest that had brought them together in the first place. Anyway, the problem was that any girl they met would end up falling for *him* yet not getting anywhere with him because of the said obsession.

Until Abby, sorry, Abigail Chase. As obsessive about her field, bookish but spunky. By her sheer determination she made Ben notice her as a woman. It's not like Riley wanted her to himself, oh no, too scary by far. But still.

Ben solved the riddle, found the treasure, got the girl and the palace, worked on the treasure, sending bits of it to all corners of the globe, and... and then, somewhere during that first year, he decided he'd rather have the villain instead of the girl. Bet there was a story there. Riley wasn't sure he ever wanted to hear it. It was enough to have witnessed Ben's new quest to get Ian out of prison. They had both learned it was good to be rich and influential, every now and then.

Whatever. Abby hardly shed any tears, too busy cataloguing the Treasure (when she spoke of it you could hear the capitalisation), and writing intellectual papers on the new discoveries and their significance to their views of history.

It didn't even seem to bother her to be working with Ben. Those two... *things* and *ideas* meant more to them than people. Not so for Riley. He missed their adventure, the closeness and friendship they'd shared, even though the danger had not always been fun, and the others seemed content with the payoff - the treasure itself.

But back to his current gripe.

In the months that followed the discovery, Riley had gotten lots of girls. They dug the car, the designer clothes, the expensive presents. Had he just wanted sex with no ties that would have been cool, but he longed for feelings, conversations, shared laughter... and an IQ a little higher than that of a Bratz doll would have been nice, too.

Laughter was there - unfortunately, they laughed *at* him because he did not feel at home in his expensive clothes or fashionable apartment. His latest fling, Nicole, laughed dutifully at his jokes, but also at his tastes and habits.

"God, you're such a geek!"

It was said in as unbitchy way as one could, for she was a kind-hearted little blonde, but it still drove one thing home. He would never find his dream girl while driving his Ferrari.

And he missed Ben. When your best friend started dating it couldn't help but change things. Especially when, you know, his lover used to shoot bullets at you. The other bit, the guy bit, didn't really bother him. Some of his closest friends, and all that. But Ben was busy being in a relationship when he wasn't busy going through the Templar treasure.

And, quite frankly, Riley was bored with cataloguing gold piece after gold piece. This devastatingly important document and the next. Still, he *had* volunteered because his free time hadn't been any better with too much money to spend and too many women willing to help him spend it. Even Abigail's distracted commentary while they worked was better. And man, was *that* sad.

- - -

Chapter II: The Action of Waves
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After a weekend spent away from NY, Riley was woken up by an insistent doorbell way too early on a Monday morning.

"Riley! You'll never guess what we discovered!" Ben's enthusiasm greeted him after he'd fumbled the security locks open.

He blinked at the crowd outside his door. Ben, Ian, Abigail, and Patrick Gates. Oh joy.

"Ben, it's eight o'clock in the morning! Can't this wait, oh, three hours?" He made a show of checking his very expensive watch, then met the determined gaze of his friend.

Ben just stared back. "I guess not," Riley muttered, letting the four people pass him into his living room.

"You know what this is?" Ben showed him a photo of a round stone tablet thing with weird symbols on it.

"No," Riley said patiently, "but I'm sure you're going to tell me. Can I have some coffee first?"

"I'll make it," Abigail offered, and disappeared into his kitchen.

"Have you heard of the Phaistos disk?" Ben asked without preliminaries.

"No. Yes. Maybe. Is that it?"

"Yes. The actual disk is in a museum in Crete where it was found. It's a clay tablet, about 6 inches in diameter, with symbols on both sides in a clockwise sequence that spirals towards the centre. It uses 45 symbols, repeated to a total of 241 times. They depict different human characters, animal parts, everyday objects, flowers... you name it. It's considered the first evidence of printing because the signs were pressed on the clay with reusable model. The thing is, no one's ever seen similar symbols anywhere else."

"Let me guess... Until now?" Riley refused to get excited before coffee.

"Until now." Ben nodded. "We found a map."

"A... treasure map?" Riley asked carefully, looking around him. Ian and Patrick hadn't said a word after their short greetings but were following the scene as if monitoring Riley's reactions to Ben's explanation.

He turned his gaze on Ben, who continued.

"Sort of. It's a map made sometime in the 11th century. A map of the world, Riley. A map of the world showing America, Australia, and the poles, among other things. The Templar scholars presumably copied it from an even older map. They must have had some other sources as well because they, well, came to some conclusions about it. But more about that later."

"Right..."

"Here, this is a copy of the map." Ben reached for the folder he was holding and showed Riley a photo the size of a small poster.

"See those symbols?"

"They look like the ones on the disk," Riley concluded obligingly.

"Exactly. Now, as I said, no one has *ever* found anything like that writing anywhere other than on that piece of clay. Not even in Crete. The map is obviously a copy of an earlier map but the symbols seem to have been faithfully copied. And..."

"...and they look like text, situated all over the map that way." Riley finished for him, getting interested despite himself.

"Or navigational guides. Most of the supposed 'other sources' are missing but this text here," Ben said, tapping the upper left corner of the map, "is a note from a nameless scholar who refers to an object he calls 'a star tablet', and claims that if he could locate a copy he could, wait for it, sail to Plato's Atlantis."

"Atlantis? You have *got* to be kidding me."

"I seem to recall that's what you said when I first told you about the Templar treasure."

"Yeah, well, just because one of your crackpot theories was proven correct doesn't mean you'll hit gold every time you dig."

Riley sipped from the coffee cup that magically appeared in his hand, and took a deep breath.

"Atlantis?" he repeated, and looked around him, half expecting everyone to laugh at him, for believing the joke. No laughter. Ian and Patrick, who had been quiet the whole time were obviously familiar with all this, and they believed in it. Abigail, who had handed him the coffee and was now distractedly stacking the books and magazines littering the room, was, surprisingly, not displaying any of the sarcastic disbelief she had when they'd first met her a year or so ago, while trying to get to the Declaration of Independence. Somehow the fact that she was buying this helped Riley take it more seriously.

He looked back at Ben, who nodded.

"The nameless scholar wrote down, 'if only we had a Star Tablet we could find it'."

"And, the Phaistos disk..."

"We think. We hope. Riley, we're going to go look for Atlantis!"

"Yay, another quest." Riley was really too tired to share his enthusiasm. "Won't your children be pleased." He winced as soon as the words had left his mouth, and saw Ben and Ian share a look. Abigail seemed to be ignoring the rest of them in favour of an Indiana Jones poster on the wall, and Patrick looked uncomfortable. Go Riley.

"I mean... it took your family, what, seven generations to find the *previous* treasure. What makes you think..."

"Because this time we have a map," Ben and Patrick said almost in unison.

"How do you know it's real? Just because it's old doesn't mean it's accurate. It's not like this is Ben's field of expertise, after all."

"Remember those scrolls we discovered?" Ben asked.

"The Scrolls Abby claimed came from the Library of Alexandria?"

"Abigail," she corrected, then shrugged, "So that myth didn't quite prove true. I studied American history, not European or African, what do you want?"
"Lots and lots of money and a little red pig," Riley replied instinctively.

"You've *got* lots and lots of money, Riley. And where would you put a pig?" Ben asked, momentarily distracted from his explanation.

"Judging by the recent trend, in his bed," Abby muttered, having located a pink undergarment from a pile of comics. She had never bothered even being polite to his changing girlfriends, explaining that they would be gone soon, anyway. He'd never really cared, seeing that they were gone soon, anyway. Her tone was still surprisingly catty.

Riley cocked his head and said, "Why, Abby, I didn't know you cared."

"Abigail," she and Ben corrected at the same time, then shared a smile, and Riley couldn't help but wonder whether Ian cared. He couldn't tell as the man was studying the Indy poster now.

"So. Umm." He had completely forgotten what they had been talking about, and turned to Ben, asking the first innocuous question he could think of: "When did you come up with all this? I swear, I'm gone for two days, and you all decide to go insane... -er."

"We've been working on it for some time now... The question is, are you in or what?" Ben looked at him expectantly.

Riley pretended to think about it.

"What the hell, it beats cataloguing," he said in the end, and was rewarded by a grin from Ben.

What? He really thought Riley was in a position to say no?

- - -

Chapter III: Objections Considered
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"So. Where do we start?" Abigail asked, abandoning her cleaning efforts.

"I think we need an expert on the field because, as Riley so kindly pointed out, I am not one."

"Yeah, Heaven forbid you'd actually need to do all this research yourself," Riley muttered, not unkindly. It's not like he didn't know how much work Ben had put into researching his previous obsession.

"Haha," Ben said sarcastically. "No, I mean... there has to be someone who has done the research – a person to whom Atlantis is like the Templars were to me."

"Oh please. We'll get a nut case with a spirit guide ," Abigail snorted, then glanced at Ben. "No offense, of course."

"Naturally."

"But no serious scholar would study Atlantis!" Apparently Abigail still seemed to hold on to some illusions.

"I think I have the person we need..." Patrick started, then paused, looking uncomfortable.

"Yeah?" They all turned to look at him.

"Well, you put me in charge of finding people for your research team," he spoke directly to his son. "There was one woman whose resume looked good until we found out she was a reporter. Wrote a book about Templars a few years back, populist stuff. She's just published a book about Atlantis. She applied under a different name but as our background check is a bit more thorough... The books are not bad, mind you. No spirit guides or Martians, and her research seems good, though not exactly scholarly. But her bibliography and footnotes were academically sound. I checked. If only she wasn't a journalist..."

"What's her name, and where can we find her?" Ben asked.

"'Mina Goode' is the one which she used in her interview but the books were published as 'Scarlett Whiting'. I have her contact info back at the hotel. She's British, though, so she might have gone home."

"Not if she's a reporter who was only looking for a way to get more info about the find," Abigail reminded.

"Did it enter your mind at any point that she might just have wanted to work on the find? If she wrote a book on it..." Ben started and was interrupted by Abigail's passionate, "But it was a sensationalist book for laypeople!"

"Oh for... Who wrote *serious* books about any of those theories before we discovered the treasure?"

They stared at each other, preparing to go full ten rounds when Ian cleared his throat, and Ben met his gaze sheepishly.

"Right. Let's go."

"Go where? Ben, it's eight thirty and I need breakfast!" Riley was not whining, oh no, just trying to hold on to his rights.

"It's quite a fancy hotel, they do have room service," Ian reminded, hand resting lightly on Ben's lower back in a proprietary manner, guiding him towards the door.

Riley groaned, resigned, and went to dress.

- - -

Chapter IV: The Nature of Myths
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They were all grouped behind Patrick, who was struggling with the lock of his hotel room, when Riley noticed an attractive redhead exiting the neighbouring room.

"So, we find this Mina Goode, then..." Ben started, and started when a clear voice from behind him said, "Present."

They all turned to stare at the red-headed woman. At seeing Patrick her polite smile slipped. "Oh my gosh, Dr. Gates." Then, noticing Ben: "Mr. Gates!"

"Miss Goode, what a coincidence." Patrick's voice was filled with sarcasm and Riley noticed the woman actually seemed insulted by that.

"I'm not in this country as a reporter," she replied coldly. "Whatever you think, I have a degree in my field from a reputable university, and all I wanted was a decent chance at working on the most interesting find of the century!"

Riley couldn't top staring at her. She was in her late twenties, about his height, slender, with a good pair of... grey eyes. Her hair was metallic red, hanging free around her shoulders, and her face... wow. Even dressed in green cargo pants and a simple black top she was stunning.

"You're Mina Goode?" Ben checked.

"Or would that be Scarlett Whiting?" Patrick's tone was not very nice.

"My passport says H. P. Goode, you want to see it?" she asked, eyes flaming, "Your name is Gates, you of all people should understand the fact that I didn't want to publish my written-for-money book with the name I wish to make my scholarly career on. And that plan failed, didn't it?"

"So... you went from Dracula to Gone with the Wind?" Abigail enquired.

The Brit shot her a quick smile.

"I was thinking more about G.I. Joe, actually."

Now here was a bit of American history Riley was familiar with. He couldn't help but grin.

"Really?"

His enthusiasm was greeted with a grin from the woman.

"Yeah! Scarlett kicks ass – at least until that ninja bullshit got out of hand."

"You are so right. What..."

"Can we talk about comics some other time, please?" Ben interrupted their bonding.

"Scarlett," Abigail repeated, staring pointedly at the other woman's hair.

"Yes, it comes from a bottle. What, scholars can't dye their hair?"

"Down, Abby." Ben grinned and seemed to realise they were still standing in the corridor.

"Shall we?" He asked, taking the key from his father's hand.

Once in they moved the endless stacks of paper to find room to sit down in the living room part of the suite and Ian ordered the promised breakfast. Mina raised her eyebrows at his accent but didn't say anything.

"So. You wrote a book about Templars?" Ben asked politely.

"Yes. 'The Templar Conspiracies'. It described the different theories people have had about the Knights over the course of history."

"It was described to us as populist and not very scientific," Abigail said, not quite making it a question.

"People don't want scientific! Look, I'm a linguist. I was working on my Ph.D. and ran out of money – got bored with having to count pennies to decide whether I could buy two cans of tuna or one. I've been working in school papers ever since I was in a school that had them. When working for my BA I started writing more professionally. And, like I said, I know the feelings academicians hold for journalists so I want to keep it separate from my 'serious' work. Hence, Scarlett. And no," she looked at Abigail, "my hair wasn't red back then."

She went on, looking at Ben again.

"I got used to expressing scholarly ideas in a simplified, and, yes, populist way, so, while doing some light reading I realised the problem with the books about Templars were that they were either dry and academic, or filled with outlandish theories. I wanted to offer something easy and nice for the reading public. And I wanted to sell books. Naturally. I wanted money to concentrate on my Ph.D. studies.

"But the research was fun, and the money was even better. So, on my publisher's suggestion, I did the next one about the Atlantis research. Now, thanks to your discovery, my sales have rocketed, and, yes, I can afford to stay in a hotel like this, and yes, I could finally go back home to finish my work on the naming customs of the Anglo-Saxon era, but I wanted to be a part of this discovery! Screw the Sexburgs and Wolfheres, I needed to be here, I heard... Well, there was a reason I applied to the team going through the manuscripts. I love languages. I've studied dozens of them, some as part of my degree, some for fun. This seemed a perfect opportunity to learn more."

"Stop being so defensive, lady. You're hired," Ian told her, light-heartedly. Riley could see he wasn't the only one who had been won over by the obvious passion in her voice. Even Abigail had notched down her hostility a bit.

"I... apologise, Miss Goode. It seems our background checks weren't as thorough as we thought. But... We don't actually need Mina Goode, we need Scarlett Whiting," Patrick explained.

"Excuse me?" The smile that had blossomed on her face after Ian's declaration was replaced with confusion.

"We're going Atlantis-hunting," Ben grinned.

She stared at him as if he was crazy then smiled slowly, "If I heard that from anyone else..." She shook her head. "I have to admit, when I read about this discovery, I did start imagining what it would be like if the 'other' myth I researched had substance to it, too..."

"We found a map," Riley said, wanting those grey eyes to turn to him again.

"Many people have found maps," she said with a shrug.

"This one has the same symbols the Phaistos disk has," Ben hastened to explain.

"Oh... my... From when does it date?"

"A copy made around the time the Templars moved to France. Supposedly they found older maps, copied from even older maps during their travels. There were notes by different scholars."

"And the symbols?" She was excited, no doubt about it, and Riley couldn't help but notice how bright her eyes got and how attractive she was when glowing like that...

"Where do they place Atlantis?" She kept directing her questions at Ben.

"We don't know. You see, the map shows locations around the planet, locations that they shouldn't have known about. No big island in the middle of the Atlantic, mind you, but... Here," Ben dug up the printout he'd showed Riley earlier. "See, all the symbols around the land masses? The scholars of old believed one of these places was the mythical Atlantis. We believe they had some other sources to arrive to that conclusion. Or that they were able to decipher the signs based on this alone, but I doubt that, there's hardly enough info to go on."

She raised her eyebrow. "Some familiar places." She pointed to different places on the map, listing theories she'd run into: "Crete, naturally, the Mediterranean coast of Africa, South America, Sweden, Ireland, Iceland, Antarctica, Indonesia, Bahamas... All of these have been suggested by different scholars and amateur treasure hunters."

"Antarctica?" Riley couldn't help but interject, and got a distracted smile from the Brit along with an explanation.

"Some old maps, including the so-called Piri Reis map, allegedly show the continent – three centuries before its official discovery. Some have interpreted the coastline to be the actual ground under the ice coverage. As Piri Reis possibly copied from older sources, some have claimed the sources are as old as the original inhabitants, i.e. the Atlanteans. But I think the best evidence was shot down by Gavin Menzies when he provided evidence that much of the old maps showing supposedly modern information were copied from ancient Chinese explorers... the other proof seems to have to assume moving poles and much older civilisation than the modern science recognises."

"So it could be real?" Riley checked.

"Hey, anything could. Plato's text seems to refer to a place in the Mediterranean but Ignatius Donnelly," she grinned at Ben, "yeah, I figured you'd recognise the name – who is considered the father of the modern Atlantis research – was convinced it was in the Atlantic Ocean. Modern research on the planet, satellite aided geological studies for example, has disproved a lot of his hypotheses and, of course, his ideas on the development of cultures were naive, and the linguistic evidence just silly but still... There has always been enough there for people to hope and believe."

"Like the Templar treasure," Ben said, smiling.

"Like the Templar treasure." She smiled back. "The level of scholarship varies greatly. Atlantis is a popular candidate for the shared home of civilisation, and to prove this people take random aspects of different cultures, and random words from different languages and quote their similarity as proof. Some of the 'scholars' actually use the Bible as a historical source. The Bible! I admit that the similarities in myths of different cultures are appealing from the historian's point of view but, jeez..."

At this point they were disturbed by a knock on the door and as Ian went to open it the redhead took a deep breath, looked around the room, and laughed.

"Lecture mode. Sorry. Hi all, I'm Mina."

They laughed with her, even Abigail, though she still didn't seem as impressed as the others.

"Abigail Chase," she introduced herself and offered her hand.

"Do not call her 'Abby'," Patrick grinned, having tried that on occasion. "I'm sorry for our... previous meeting, Miss Goode. I'm looking forward to working with you."

"Ben," Ben simply said, as it was pretty obvious everyone knew who he was these days.

"Riley Poole."

"You're Riley Poole! You helped discover the treasure!"

Wow, she knew who he was. Riley beamed at her, but shrugged and said nonchalantly, "Well, yeah, I hang around."

"He's kidding," Abigail said. "Riley was invaluable."

Riley couldn't help but stare at Abigail. She was defending him? Since when? They got along, true, but had never really understood each other. And ever since Ben and Ian... he hadn't known how to deal with her. She drove him crazy at work, and it was mutual. Yet here she was, showing a unified front to this stranger...

"Hi, I'm Ian Howe. I'm the bad guy. Coffee or tea?"

"Tea, please. Didn't you...? Oh, excuse me. I'm not clear on what actually happened but I just thought..."

"We... fought over the treasure. I went to prison," he explained, and Riley had to bite his tongue. 'Fought over the...' Right.

"Only for a year. I got him out," Ben grinned, and threw his arm casually over Ian's shoulders.

Good, Riley thought. Maybe this one wouldn't fall for Ben instantly now that it was obvious he was batting for another team.

Mina smiled at the couple, with the universal womanly 'aww' look. "I bet there's a story here."

"Which we're not hearing. Ever. Please," Riley was quick to interject, and noticed Patrick looked relieved as well.

"But I would like to hear about our plans," Abigail said pointedly.

"The Phaistos Disk is on display at the archaeological museum of Herakleion in Crete. There are pictures and lists of symbols and even decipherment efforts all over the web but I believe we need the actual *disk* not just the symbols," Ben explained.

"I still don't understand why," Patrick muttered. They'd obviously had words on the subject before.

"I don't know, maybe it's a compass or something," Ben just said.

Riley grinned.

"Yeah, the stone disk is the key to Atlantis. And maybe you have played too much Fate of Atlantis, Doctor Jones." Pause. "Good game. Intrigue, adventure, romance, evil Nazis, a hot redhead... Our adventures pale in comparison."

"Let's not forget the spirit guide. I hope we can make do without one because I left my spooky pendant at home," Mina said with a straight face, and Riley was lost in the mischievous grey eyes.

Ben, the spoilsport, interrupted their moment by talking business again.

"We've got photo enlargements of the original map in our room. I think we should go there."

The suite Ian and Ben shared was bigger than Patrick's but in equal disarray. The photos were scattered all over the dining table.

Ben showed Mina a particular print, and Riley noticed she was idly braiding her hair to keep it out of her face.

"Here, look at this text in the right corner... Here's a clarified version. It looks like French but..."

"But it's Old French... no, not langue d'oil, it's langue d'oc, isn't it? Provencal, what they spoke in the Southern France. Still do, actually."

"Right. And so the historian learns not to try to dazzle the linguist. You speak Old French?"

"I studied it, yes, it had such an influence in the formation of English that I found it relevant. I'm fluent in modern French, actually, and it's usually enough to make some sense... Something about eyes? And home?"

"'Eye to eye we find our way home' said the professor I contacted in France," Ian said, offering her a fax.

"Oh. Well, have to believe him then." Mina shrugged, "I would have said 'through eyes' but..."

"Through eyes... Could it be as simple as that?" Ben wondered.

"Excuse me?" Mina asked.

"I figured I'd take it literally. There are lots of eyes on the symbols. Maybe their placement and relative angles tell us something." He shrugged.

"And that's why you think we need the original disk," Mina concluded, and Ben smiled.

"Can we keep her?" he asked from the others, pleased with her quickness.

"I vote yes," Riley raised his hand but the others just nodded sedately.

"She's willing to buy this insanity just like that, she should fit right in," Patrick said dryly.

"I'm honoured. So, we going to Greece?"

"Yeah, we need the disk," Ben said, turning his contemplative eyes on Ian.

"I wonder... if we need to borrow it..."

"I've studied the place, I think it can be done. Unless you have some objections to my methods," Ian said, and it took a moment for Riley to realise what they were talking about.

"Guys," he said hurriedly, "Ben's not an academic freak anymore. How about, you know, asking them?"

Silence. Laughter.

"Good idea," Ben conceded, looking a little sheepish.

"Spoilsport," Ian muttered, grinning.

"So. Can everyone be ready to leave in, say, two days?" Ben asked.

"Wait, don't we need visas? And what about Ian's parole?" Riley frowned.

"Ended last week, thank you very much," Ian said, digging up his phone book. "I'll make the arrangements. Do we want a private jet, or will a commercial flight do?"

"You have a private jet?" Mina's eyes were huge.

"No," Riley said pointedly, "because *someone* only wanted one frigging percent."

"Riley, we've been over this. No, none of us do," Ben explained to Mina, "but quite a few people are actually willing to lend us theirs."

"Yeah, you give a country tons of their treasures back, and suddenly you're a national hero. Who knew?" Riley said lightly.

"Wow. I've never flown in a private plane."

"Then we definitely need to get one," Ian smiled at her, almost paternally.

"I'll go meet some people," he told Ben, and kissed him lightly before moving towards the door.

"I'll go reschedule all of our other work here... Patrick, want to give me a hand? You're a better organiser than your son." Abigail got up as well.

"Don';;t let anyone know what we're really going to do. Just say we're going to go attend another party somewhere," Ben instructed.

"Heaven knows there's been enough of those for them to believe it," Riley sighed. The openings and galas and parties had been fun at first but had gotten boring and repetitive very soon.

"I'm really in?" Mina asked.

"Yeah. We can write a contract if you want to. You've just been hired as a consultant. You'll even get paid," Ben grinned.

"Screw pay, as long as I get to be a part of this! Well, I suppose I'll go postpone my flight home, then."

After the door had closed behind the others, Riley turned to Ben and exclaimed "Wow! I mean, WOW."

"Yeah, she seems to be just what we needed. Now..."

"Ben! I know you've suddenly switched teams but how could you have missed the fact that she is damn gorgeous!"

Ben didn't even look insulted, he merely smiled at Riley's passionate tone. "Relax. Yeah, she's cute. So's Abigail, but I don't see you panting after her."

"She... she's pretty like a statue. Not to mention scary. Mina... she's... vivacious."

"You know big words." Ben smirked. "Oh, speaking of statues.... The Greek team located a bust they believe is of Helen of Troy. You know, the face to launch a thousand ships? Looks kinda like Abby."

Riley laughed obligingly but couldn't stop thinking about grey eyes and metallic red hair. He was liking this adventure much more than the previous one. And not only because this time around no one was shooting at him.

- - -

Chapter V: The Consequences to the Earth
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It took them four days to make all the arrangements and the fifth was spent flying.

"Wow. Sofas. Leg room. Bar. I could get used to this," Mina sighed.

"It's still flying," Riley reminded her. "You'll be stuck in here for hours and hours. Even the gadgets and the bar get boring."

"You could try sleeping," Abigail reminded, busy setting up her laptop.

She *would* work. Ben and Ian were also studying stacks of printouts by the table. To Riley's great joy Mina sat down next to him for the take off and didn't move away.

During the last four days Riley had learned that braided hair equalled work-mode for her – kinda like his reading glasses. It was free now, so he engaged her in casual conversation, figuring she wasn't going to dig up a huge stack of documents to study.

"So... what *does* the H. P. stand for?"

"That's for me to know and you to never find out. There are enough people in position to blackmail me as is," she said with a smirk.

"Aww, come on. I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Let's just say I was named after my German grandmother and leave it at that."

"You're no fun. So. Why languages?"

"I don't know... I've always been fascinated with words and their meanings, and as we travelled quite a bit due to my dad's career, I learned different languages at quite a young age, intrigued by the way different languages relate. How some have words for concepts the others do not. Stop me now, or I'll start telling you about it," she said, grinning.

"I wouldn't mind."

"Trust me, by the third hour, you would. Especially when I get to the royal naming customs in Mercia and East Anglia."

"I can sort of see how you would take a detour into history with the Templars," Riley changed the subject obligingly, "but how do you get to Atlantis? I mean, yeah, you wrote the book for money, I get that. But you were quite... defensive, no, protective of your subject..."

"Who shall say that one hundred years from now the great museums of the world may not be adorned with gems, statues, arms, and implements from Atlantis, while the libraries of the world shall contain translations of its inscriptions, throwing new light upon all the past history of the human race, and all the great problems which now perplex the thinkers of our day?" she quoted with a dreamy voice.

"Who said that?"

"Ignatius Donnelly."

Mina smiled. "He also wrote that 'a single engraved tablet dredged up from Plato's island would be worth more to science, would more strike the imagination of mankind, than all the gold of Peru, all the monuments of Egypt...' And I think he could be right."

"We're not just talking about your book here, are we?"

"Look, I didn't believe in the whole thing, I started to research it only because my publisher suggested it. And I still didn't *believe* in it when I walked out of my hotel room less than a week ago. But the idea is so wonderful... I'm fascinated at the possibility of finding a new language, of finding out how it works, how it has influenced other languages... if it has. I mean, if Atlantis really is real, it has to be *old*, older than any written language, older than any of the civilisations we know anything about..." her voice was filled with wonder, and her eyes were glowing with the light Riley recognized

It was the light Ben had in his eyes when discussing the Treasure, the light that Patrick had had when his son had told him about finding the Charlotte. He'd even seen it in Abigail's eyes on many occasions. The unearthly glow of inspiration he'd never really known, or even wanted to know. The life-consuming drive that had made seven generations of the Gates family spend their lives on wild goose chases.

"Oh, you're one of those," he simply stated, in a flat voice.

"Excuse me? One of who?"

"Obsessed."

She grinned at him playfully, "Well, maybe a little. Aren't you? About anything?"

Was he? No. And he didn't want to be. He went through his life satisfied with small things, and figured he was much likelier to die happy than his friends who always seemed to be looking for new unreachable goals. They'd find one pot of gold and before long were already hunting for the next rainbow. No please, not for him.

"No. I'm sensible," he said aloud.

"But think about it! Atlantis. Doesn't the word alone make you feel like a child again, reading adventure stories? Think about it, if you're the one proving that it's real, that it actually exists... Your name forever linked to its myth..."

"My name is already linked to one myth, and what did that get me? Money, girls, and a never-ending job in cataloguing the damn find," he said in a tone that revealed that he wasn't getting much pleasure out of any of them.

"Couldn't you do something else with your skills?" She frowned, distracted from her point.

"I know nothing about history and even less about archaeology or preservation."

"Well, I for one would have killed to have your job."

"You know, I know some of the people running the project," he said with a serious face, "I bet I could get you an interview after we're done with this little adventure."

She laughed, "Is that the academic variant of 'I can get you a role in a movie'?"

"Ms Goode, I am not that kind of boy," he exclaimed dramatically, widening his eyes. "Besides, all I really need to do is show the chicks my car. Works every time."

"Oh?"

"It's red. It goes fast. Really fast." At her pointed look he clarified, "It's a Ferrari 360 Spider."

"3.6 litre V8 engine..." she listed, and at his pointed look explained, "I watch Top Gear."

"Car show?" he guessed, and made her laugh.

"Technically. You don't watch it for the cars, though." She was grinning, and Riley didn't give a damn about how confused he was as long as he got to look at her smile.

After a while she fell asleep against his shoulder, and he frowned warningly at Patrick who tried to talk to him at one point, somewhat surprised at his own protectiveness. Before long he succumbed to sleep himself.

They landed late at night and went to a hotel to get some sleep and freshen up before the scheduled meeting with the museum authorities the next day. Ben and Ian got a suite with room for all of them to work in, and the others settled for smaller rooms.

The night was uneventful and at nine o'clock the group presented themselves at the office of Dr Rastapopulous – which wasn't his name, but to Riley all the Greek names sounded the same. It did not surprise Riley unduly, though, to hear Mina address the director in his native tongue.

As if the man hadn't been in awe of such visitors anyway – everyone around the globe knew who Ben was these days – the beautiful woman in a black business suit speaking perfect Greek seemed to win him completely over. At least Riley was convinced of it.

Luckily for the rest of them the man spoke English, too, and Ben introduced everyone.

"And this is Riley Poole, he's our computer expert, and also knows about the history of keeping time," he finished, grinning, and Riley turned to him, suddenly reminded, "Oh, wow, yeah, I meant to tell... Been reading about that, and, boy, did we get lucky, actually, because time zones... Hello."

His explanation was cut short by the appearance of a beautiful woman behind the director.

"This is Dr. Annewil van den Heuvel, the head of our Crete division," he introduced, and Riley liked their quest more and more. It seemed to attract good-looking ladies. This specimen was blonde, but looked nothing like Abigail. She was tall, stately, in her late thirties, and wore a confident expression.

"Unfortunately, I can't let anyone handle the Disk, or let it leave our hands," the director was explaining. "Not even a legend as yourself." He bowed at Ben.

Dramatic pause for effort.

"'Our hands', ladies and gentlemen. But I can, say, lend Dr. van den Heuvel to you, and she, as a staff member, can study the Disk as part of her research. Will this suffice?"

"We have to take a hot blonde to get the piece of clay? I'm in!" Riley whispered behind Ben who expressed their gratitude in more acceptable terms.

The woman – whose name Riley had already forgotten – led them to her office where the disk had been taken to.

"Now," she sat down behind her desk, gesturing at the chairs for them to sit down. "What do you need the Disk for?" she asked.

"Will you promise this information does not leave the room?" Ben asked.

She raised her eyebrow curiously, but nodded.

"When going through the Templar treasure we found a map pre-dating the discovery of the Phaistos disk but containing the same symbols," he explained matter-of-factly.

"What? Same, or similar?"

"Exactly the same. The only differences, we think, were caused by the process of copying," Ian answered.

"Oh my God... Do you realise what this means? We finally have... Wait, there must be more. Otherwise you would not need the actual artifact."

"Precisely. Which brings us to the part that requires the secrecy. You see, if we had only discovered more of the symbols, we would have published the findings online, giving every scholar equal opportunity to try to decipher them. But the Medieval scholar who copied the map was convinced that it would reveal the location of Atlantis," Ben let some of his excitement shine through in his tone.

"You're kidding me."

"No, ma'am." He smiled.

She stared at their serious faces for a moment, then got up from behind her desk.

"It is not a new theory that the Disk comes from Atlantis. But I've never seen any proof that would convince me. I want to see the map."

"The original is in New York as it's too fragile to travel, but we have copies and photos back at the hotel," Patrick said, gesturing towards the door.

"Fine. Let's go."

- - -

"My God... It is sure? It is not a forgery?"

"If it is, it's an 11th Century forgery, or the three different labs that did the dating were all mistaken," Ian explained quietly.

"I have spent years studying the disk, the markings... and now this. I can't wait to study the symbols. But first things first. You say it leads to Atlantis?"

They told her everything they knew, and she agreed to let Riley make a computer model of the disk.

"What will the model do?"

"We figured the safest bet would be to try to compare the placement of the symbols to stars since they are the universal aid to navigation," Ben told her.

"But... as we don't know the age of the map, or even the physical location of the target, that's an enormous amount of work," she said, frowning.

"That's why we need the computer model," Riley explained. "It can calculate and compare data so much faster than we could. I'm going to compare projected star charts from 1850 BC backwards and..."

"That's still an inordinate amount of work."

"So we better get started. And I need more power," Riley said, looking at his laptop sadly. "I mean, I can *write* the program using this, but to run it..."

"Don't worry, we'll get what ever you need," the blonde woman said, then looked around. "You can call me Anne. I'm in."

- - -
Continues in Chapter VI