Ruins Read Online Free PDF Page B

the way around the table, at which point he'll return to save the Holy Roman Empire?"
    Langly frowned. "Those two are misfires, because the messiahs in question never did come back, as promised. However, take Russia, for instance—Tsar Alexander II defeated Napoleon and supposedly died ... but for years the peasants told of seeing a wandering beggar or a monk who claimed to be the real Tsar. It was quite a popular legend. And of course there are the Biblical accounts of Jesus Christ dying and coming back to continue leading his disciples.
    "We don't need to remind you how many supposed Elvis sightings occur daily. We believe they have been staged, to provide the foundation for a fanatical new cult."
    "Everybody wants an encore," Mulder said. He reached for one of the manila envelopes and slid out the issue to study the photo of Elvis on the front cover. He scanned the first article. "So what you're telling me is that somebody is trying to establish the birth of Elvis was in reality the Second Coming."
    "You know how gullible people are, Mulder," Frohike said. "Think about it.
    Some of Elvis's songs have a very New Testament feel to them. 'Love Me Tender,' for instance. Or 'Don't Be Cruel.' Could almost be part of the Sermon on the Mount."
    Byers leaned forward. "And if you think about plac-ing it in a modern context, any hit single reaches far more people than the Sermon on the Mount ever did."
    "Ah," Mulder said, "so what was Elvis really trying to say with 'Jailhouse Rock' or 'Hound Dog?'"
    "Those took a little more work," Langly said. "Our interpretations will be in the next issue. You'll be surprised."
    "I already am."
    Byers shrugged and shifted in his chair. "We don't make judgment calls, Agent Mulder, we just report the facts. It's up to our readers to draw their own conclusions."
    "About you guys, or about the conspiracies you report?"
    Frohike pointed a large camera and clicked a picture of Mulder. "For our files," he said.
    Mulder held up the newly printed issue. "Can I keep this copy?"
    "Yours should be in the mail," Frohike said.
    "Why not go ahead and buy an official subscription, Mulder?" Langly suggested.
    "Put some of your FBI salary to good use."
    Byers smiled. "No, for someone of Mulder's stature, we should make sure he gets a comp copy of each issue. Besides, I'd be uncomfortable having his name and address on our mailing list."
    "What, you're afraid you couldn't sell the list of addresses to Publishers Clearing House then?"
    "Our readers are a certain type of person, Mulder," Byers said. "The type who might not want their names included among others who are also interested in the conspiracies we expose. We take great efforts to ensure that our mailing list can't fall into the wrong hands. Each of the three of us keeps a third of the names in separate electronic files with separate passwords on separate computer systems. We can't access each other's records. We just bring in the mailing labels, already printed."
    Frohike said, "We print them out at the copy shop."
    "Can't be too careful," Langly said.
    "No, you can't," Mulder agreed.
    "Well, we have to get started sealing envelopes," Langly said. "We'd be happy to press you into service, Mulder."
    Mulder held up his hand. "No, thanks, I just came here for some information, then I'll be on my way."
    "And how can we help save innocent citizens from the nefarious workings of the shadow government?" Byers said. "For this afternoon, at least?"
    Mulder moved aside one of the boxes of stuffed envelopes and sat down. "What's the buzz you guys hear on Central America, the Yucatan, particularly some new Maya ruins that are being excavated? Xitaclan. I've got a missing archaeology team and a recovered artifact that may be of extraterrestrial origin."
    "Let me think," Langly said, tossing his long blond hair. "I majored in archaeology in college."
    Byers looked at him skeptically. "I thought you majored in political science."
    Frohike squinted through his glasses. "You