Justice League of America - Batman: The Stone King by Alan Grant (best books to read for self development .TXT) 📕

the noon sunshine, leaving behind the docks and industrial zones as the Dodge climbed the narrow, twisting road that hugged the rocky coast. Only forty miles from town, yet it was like another world.

The grass in front of them was scarred with several neat trenches, about eighteen inches wide and several feet deep. A thin young man in a "Save the Planet" T-shirt was on his hands and knees, sifting through a spoil heap with painstaking slowness. He glanced up briefly to acknowledge their presence, men bent back to his task.

Jenny stopped at the end of a trench and looked around to survey the whole site. "You'd never believe there was a village here once," she said almost wistfully.

"You're kidding."

"No. See–evidence of a hearth." She pointed to a patch of upturned soil a few shades darker man the rest. "Charcoal. Stake holes in the ground there–" Her finger swiveled, indicating a few small indentations. "Rotted wood in them. They supported houses, maybe six hundred years ago. At least, if Hamish's theories are correct."

"Yes. I've read his books."

Jenny looked at him in surprise. "You have? That's a first–I've never met anyone who's read them. Apart from myself, and Jamie." She nodded toward the young man. "And he's Hamish's son."

"Mr. Stewart believes that members of a Scottish clan settled parts of the east coast of America centuries before Columbus 'discovered' it, right?"

"With good reason," Jenny said defensively, though there had been nothing in Dag's tone to say that he was skeptical. "We've unearthed quite a lot of circumstantial evidence. We just need something concrete now, like an inscription, or maybe a tool."

She broke off, playing nervously with a strand of the blond hair that framed her face. "But you're not here to ask me about Hamish, Mr. Rawlings," she said at last.

"That's true." Dag nodded toward a tussock of sea grass. "Mind if we sit down, Miss Ayles? My leg . . ." he added, by way of explanation.

Dag carefully lowered himself onto the grass, and Jenny seated herself cross-legged on a rock a few feet away. "As I mentioned on the phone," he went on, unstrapping the tape recorder from his shoulder, "I'm investigating the Gotham Pyramid."

Jenny pulled her cardigan closer around her, though the sun was warm in spite of the sea breeze. "And that's all I'm willing to talk about," she said, almost sternly. "The pyramid."

Dag nodded. "I'm a writer, not a tabloid reporter. It would be helpful if you could tell me everything you remember about the pyramid, no matter how irrelevant it seems."

Dag glanced meaningfully at the tape recorder, and Jenny nodded. He switched it to "record" mode, and held the microphone loosely in front of her.

Jenny hesitated for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "Well, come to think of it," she began, "when our team first stood on top, a shiver ran up my spine. I didn't know if it was excitement, or fear." She shook her head. "But it certainly affected Peter. My boyfriend," she added. "From the moment we arrived, he was bad-tempered and impatient, picking fights for no reason. I thought it was because he was so excited. He had this theory, you see–that the pyramid was constructed for a shaman, a witch doctor, if you like. A sorcerer. Someone who wanted to control the pyramid's energy system."

"Energy system?" Dag's eyebrows furled. "How do you mean?"

Jenny gazed at the sunlight reflecting off the restless ocean, and sighed. She hadn't bothered explaining Peter's theories to the reporters who'd quizzed her, the ones who were interested only in scandal. But now she found herself telling Dag everything Peter had confided in her over the years. His belief in telluric energy, the natural flow from high- to low-resistance points of the earth's magnetic field. His theories about human exploitation of piezoelectric forces, and how the mind could interact with their electromagnetic fields. His wild ideas about undiscovered energy forms produced by currents in the deep magma layers under the earth's crust.

Dag listened attentively, interjecting the odd question, careful to keep his voice level so as not to betray the mounting excitement he felt at Jenny's answers. Perhaps this wasn't going to be a wild-goose chase after all. He was beginning to see hidden connections between events, and was particularly interested in Jenny's description of a worldwide energy grid that connected hundreds, if not thousands, of ancient sites.

Hamish Stewart ambled past them a couple of times, pointedly looking at his watch and muttering to himself, but he made no effort to interrupt the interview.

When Jenny finally began to run out of words, the sun was starting to sink toward the horizon, lengthening the shadows on the grass. The breeze had become markedly cooler.

"I seem to have taken up most of your afternoon," Dag apologized. "Thank you. I only hope I haven't reawakened painful memories."

"I've never forgotten, Mr. Rawlings," Jenny said with sudden passion. "I think about what happened every day. I have nightmares more nights than not" She hesitated briefly, as if coming to some inner decision, then rushed on. "That's why I left the university. Everything reminded me of Peter."

She paused, then added, "And Professor Mills."

Dag could tell that Jenny wanted to talk–that she needed someone to listen to her. Deliberately, making sure she saw what he was doing, he reached down and switched his tape recorder off.

Jenny's eyes flicked up to look into his, and she blinked to hold back a tear. "The tabloids just printed what they wanted," she said sadly. "They twisted everything I said, made Gotham U sound like a hotbed of sex and sin. They even made things up. But it wasn't like that at all!"

She was quiet for a long moment, her eyes distant, wrapped in memories. "Peter was a genius," she said almost dreamily, then quickly corrected herself, "Is a genius. Robert Mills himself said Peter has the potential to revolutionize archaeology. But he's also very temperamental. He can be very . . . difficult with those close to him."

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