The Atlantis Prophecy

ARLINGTON NATIONAL CEMETERY ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA

Conrad Yeats kept a good three steps behind the flag-draped coffin. Six horses pulled the caisson toward the gravesite, their hooves clomping like a cosmic metronome in the heavy air. Each resounding clap proclaimed the march of time, the brevity of life. In the distance lightning flickered across the dark sky. But still no rain.

Conrad looked over at Marshall Packard. The secretary of defense walked beside him, his Secret Service agents a few paces behind with the other mourners from all branches of America's armed forces, umbrellas at the ready.

Conrad said, "It's not often you bury a soldier four years after his death."

"No, it's not," said Packard, a fireplug of a former pilot known for his unflagging intensity. "I wish it hadn't taken this long. But you're the only one who knows the extraordinary way in which your father met his end."

Packard had delivered a stirring eulogy for his old wingman "the Griffter" back at the military chapel up the hill. What Packard had failed to mention, Conrad knew, was that he hated the Griffter's guts. The two men had had a falling out over ... read full excerpt from: The Atlantis Prophecy ebook