The Price of Paradise

Prologue


A tall, olive skinned man darted up a spiral staircase. His heart raced because of the phone call he had just received.

“I’ve found an unusual energy signature,” the voice on the other line had said.

This could be it, he thought to himself. The man ran at full speed down a long hallway, past several suits of armor that stood stoically against the gray walls of stone. He stopped at the seventh one and pulled on the end of its axe.

The sound of a motor was barely audible as an area of the wall to the right of the Knight slid out of the way to reveal a steel door with a glowing control panel.

The man’s fingers shook as he typed the access code. It took him two tries to get it right and when the door finally yielded he dashed inside the dark laboratory. He looked over the railing at Girard Slavovich, whose face was that of stone. He had about as much emotion as one of the suits of armor.

“As you can see―”

“Yes, I know,” he said as he stared at the projection of the earth that turned slowly in the center of the room. There was a small red dot glowing in the Atlantic Ocean, and the man’s eyes were fixated on it.

“We’ve done it,” he whispered.





1

Dr. Sheldon entered six minutes late and took his place at the front of the classroom. He was a wiry man who looked too young and boyish to be a professor.

He wore a goatee and his straight black hair fell down to his shoulders.

“Good morning,” he said after taking a long sip from his coffee mug. The class groaned back at him.

“Yes, I’m happy to see you all as well. I trust you have been up late studying for this final exam…pouring through the works of Plato, Socrates and various other great minds.”

A couple of the students nodded halfheartedly.

“Good. Then without further ado,” Dr. Sheldon picked up his chair and placed it on his desk. “I must warn you that this is going to be the most difficult test you’ve ever taken. Your assignment will be to write an essay, of whatever length, that answers the question…” He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote, “Does this chair exist?” on the board.

“The grade will be pass or fail.”

The class seemed more awake. They were talking amongst one another in muffled voices.

“The clock is ticking. Get writing,” Dr. Sheldon said with a devilish grin as he clapped his hands.

Panic ensued. The professor grabbed an empty desk and sat down. He leaned back and put his hands behind his head.

Within five minutes a boy who had never spoken in class approached the desk and placed a folded piece of paper in front of Dr. Sheldon.

He opened it carefully, read the words, and then glanced at the boy.

There was a moment’s pause before the professor spoke. “Good work. Have a great break.”

Looks of horrified confusion appeared on the faces of his pupils. The professor forced back the sudden urge to laugh.

More essays came pouring in within the following two hours and every single one was a complete and utter failure, no matter how much or how little detail was placed into them. Some chose to write ten-page papers on the connectivity of all matter, others simply scrawled the words “I don’t know.”

At the end of the two hours there was only one girl left in the classroom who had not turned in an assignment.

“I really need to get going,” Dr. Sheldon said.

“Professor, this isn’t fair,” she complained. “This has nothing to do with what we learned in class.”

He looked her over.

“Oh, I assure you, it has everything to do with the course,” he said coolly.

“Okay, fine. I give up. Tell me what the right answer is.” Her shoulders slumped.

She wore a look of defeat that made the professor want to vomit. Her lack of creative thought was a testament to the failure of the American education system. At least the people who couldn’t come up with any answers actually wrote that, instead of wasting his time whining about it.

Dr. Sheldon placed his finger against his pursed lips, considering her request.

“I’ll tell you, but only if you do me one favor,” he decided finally.

“And what is that?”

“You have to promise me that you will never take another class of mine again.” He raised his eyebrows, as if to say, “Take it or leave it.”

The girl considered for only a moment. “Deal.”

Dr. Sheldon crushed up the piece of paper that the first student had handed him. “Catch,” he said as he tossed it to her.

She opened it ravenously. Written on it were the words, “What chair?”

“No way, that’s not―”
         
When she looked up again, the professor was gone. 

Dr. Sheldon walked into his office and tossed the papers into the blue recycle bin. He sat at his desk, which was covered with a mountain of books and articles.
         
“How’d they do?” asked his assistant. Her name was Shannon Rally. She was a grad student with a river of blond hair and a pair of large green eyes that could cause a man to do inexplicable things just to get them to look his way. Even her most professional attire couldn’t hide the seductive curves of her body.
         
“Exactly as I expected; horrendously. Only one person passed,” he said with a beaming smile.
         
“You are an evil man.” Her voice was as soft as lace.
         
“Thank you.”
         
He placed his empty mug on the cover of a book with the words “Secrets of the Ancient World” printed on it and then started typing on his keyboard.
         
“Normally, I’d have you enter the grades but this is just too much fun. My F key is going to get a real workout today.”
         
He snorted at his own joke.
         
Shannon, who hadn’t been listening, was scribbling on a piece of paper. The professor could see her venting like a volcano before an imminent eruption. Here we go again, he thought to himself. She had been complaining to him for weeks about her inability to find a solid research topic for her thesis paper. Her whining sessions always started when she crossed out ideas in her notebook as if attempting to murder someone.

The lead snapped under the pressure and she threw the pencil across the room.
         
“I can’t think of anything! I only have a few more months left before review and I don’t even have a topic yet.” Her high-pitched whine was even more piercing than usual.
         
“That’s because you are a moron,” Dr. Sheldon said without looking up from his computer screen.
         
“Very funny,” she replied as she ran her fingers through her hair. It was her way of calming herself down. “I just can’t come up with a new angle. I hate mediocrity.”
         
This statement was entirely true. That was why she had lobbied so hard to be able to work with Dr. Sheldon. He was a well-known scholar of philosophy with a specialty in lost civilizations and anthropology. He had published many groundbreaking works on the disappearances of various civilizations, including the settlers on Roanoke Island and the Mayans. She knew he would help her to achieve her goals of academic success, as long as she could deal with his notoriously rigid personality. Dr. Sheldon was about as cuddly as a rabid porcupine.
         
A man poked his head inside of the office. What was left of his hair was combed over the top of his head. He had dark brown eyes and wore a grin of undying youth.
         
“Hey there sport. Just checking in to see how your exams went,” he said. Dr. Sheldon had only met a few people in his life who were capable of maintaining a fake smile even when they spoke. He was truly a dedicated man.
         
“Splendid,” Dr. Sheldon replied flatly. He resented that nickname. At the age of twenty-nine he was the youngest professor in his department, and the Dean seemed to enjoy reminding him of that fact with a subtle jab every chance he got. 
         
“Good. I hope you have a great vacation. I’ll see you in the fall.” There was no hint of sincerity in his voice. The Dean was just making his rounds.
         
Dr. Sheldon nodded.
         
“I hope you choke,” he mumbled as the Dean left the office. Shannon bit her lip to hold back laughter. 

A ringing sound broke the silence. It occurred to Dr. Sheldon that it was a sound he rarely heard. No one ever called him.
         
He started clearing papers off of his desk in an attempt to excavate his phone from beneath the piles of academic debris.
         
“Why don’t you try doing your job and organize my desk?” he shouted.
         
“The last time I organized your desk you yelled at me for screwing up your filing system.”
         
He placed the receiver was against his ear.
         
“Yes, hello?” the professor said with his best phone voice.
         
“Dr. Mark Sheldon, I presume?” The man’s voice was deep, and he spoke with a thick Italian accent. Dr. Sheldon could barely understand him.

“Yeah, who is this?”

“My name is Victor Mottavelli. You must listen to me. I believe I’ve finally found it.”

He was speaking more quickly with each syllable. It took Dr. Sheldon a moment to decipher what he said.

“Found what?”
         
“Atlantis.”
         
On most occasions, Mark would have slammed the phone down immediately after hearing that statement; however, the name Mottavelli seemed vaguely familiar.

“I must not be hearing you correctly; could you give me a minute to clean the crap out of my ears?”

He placed the end of the phone into his open palm and whispered to Shannon.

“Hey, do I know anyone named Victor Mottavelli?”

“Well, of course you don’t know him, but I sure would like to. He is that gorgeous Italian billionaire who is always on the news. He donates buckets of money to fight cancer,” she said dreamily.

Mark had stopped listening after he heard the word “billionaire”, and only tuned in for a moment to catch the phrase “buckets of money”.

He placed the phone back up to his ear. “Okay, all better. Are you the Victor Mottavelli? Your father owns half of Europe, doesn’t he?”

“You could say that. Last year I read your book “The Lost Paradise.” In the text you discuss the possibility of the existence of Atlantis,” he said, with the air of a used cars salesman trying to flatter a potential buyer.

Dr. Sheldon had merely speculated on the slight possibility that Atlantis had once existed. The book was mostly a factual collection of myths and conspiracy theories regarding the city itself. There was only one section in which he posed an outrageous possibility. He was a philosopher after all, and it was their job to wallow in the realm of possibility.

Excitement began to run through Dr. Sheldon’s veins. A multi-billionaire was calling him in regards to his work. This might be his big break. What if the man was looking to give him a grant for further study? He could finally quit his awful job and pursue his dreams of permanent fieldwork.

“Yes, I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said, trying to sound as blasé as possible. He didn’t want to seem desperate.

“You stated that perhaps, if a Utopian society were created, they would want to preserve it?”

“Yes.” His excitement grew exponentially.

“How would you and a colleague of your choice like to come to visit me in Italy to further investigate the possibility of Atlantis’ existence, completely free of charge, of course?”

It was a simple offer that took the professor off guard, though a part of him had hoped it would be that easy.

“Well, I don’t know. I have an awful lot going on. How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

He flipped through the pages of the calendar behind him. Every block was blank.

“Was it not Socrates who said, the unexamined life is not worth living? Take a chance Dr. Sheldon. If you are not completely satisfied, I will send you on vacation; wherever you would like to go.” The used car salesman voice appeared again. This man knew how to seal a deal. No wonder he was a multi-billionaire.
The offer seemed too good to be true.

“Okay. I’ll bite.” He couldn’t turn down a chance to live out his dreams. It looked as though the man was hinting at funding a research project, and if this one went well, then who knew what would come after that?

“I have already sent you an e-mail containing a link to your plane tickets. Your flight leaves at six o’clock tomorrow from Jefferson Airport. Please excuse the rush, but I have found something that you will want to see immediately,” he said quickly.

The professor’s interest had peaked. Nothing about the phone call seemed normal, but he couldn’t find any reason not to trust Victor.

After saying good-bye, Dr. Sheldon put the phone back on the hook and looked at Shannon, who was staring at him curiously.

“Aren’t you going to thank me?” the professor asked.

“Why?”

“I just found you a thesis topic.”