Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even Atlantis.

Chapter 1 The Pitch Washington D.C. Fall 2007

Down in the boiler room of the Smithsonian in Washington D.C. a young man with brown hair practiced his speech that he was going to give that afternoon at 4:30 to the board of directors of the Smithsonian.

"Good afternoon gentlemen," he said. "I realize that you have all heard the legends surrounding the town of Port Royal a town in the Caribbean that disappeared from the records of history. There are records of a journal called the Pirate's Log that describe the exact location of Port Royal. Now the location of the Log was thought to be off the coast of Ireland but-" he paused as he picked up a heavy Viking shield with Norse runes on it grunting as he did so "-I was able to translate the runes on this Viking shield and if you change the r to a c it is Iceland!" He paused with a grin on his face.

"Pause for effect," he muttered before dropping the shield on the ground. "Gentlemen I will now take your questions."

Just then a phone rang. A look of disgust crossed over his face.

"Could you please, uh, excuse me for a minute," the young man asked slightly embarrassed.

He looked around the chalkboard that he was standing in front of to find a way around it. Finally he jumped and grabbed the top edge of the swinging blackboard and as it flipped over he landed on the blackboard riding it till it slammed on to the table where the phone sat.

"Hello, William Turner linguist and cartographer. How can I help you?" he said brightly into the phone.

There was a burst of angry yelling from the other line and Will, wincing slightly, pulled it away from his ear.

"Yeah," he mumbled into the receiver. "Yeah. One sec."

Putting the phone back into its cradle he slid off the chalkboard, which flipped over to show a map, and, pulling a light chain, flooded the room with light revealing his audience as nothing more than junk that was piled in front of the boiler before picking his way toward the boiler to fix it.

"Excuse me Mr. Chairman," Will said politely as he moved an Indian Ceremonial mask.

When he reached the boiler he turned some knobs and only got some steam for his efforts. With a sigh he grabbed a wrench and gave the boiler a good hard whack that got it running properly. Meandering back to the phone he flopped down on top of the blackboard, which flipped over so that he could talk into the phone.

"Is that better?" he dully asked the person one the other end a look of boredom on his face. There was a lot of ranting as Will sighed.

"Yeah," he muttered. "You to."

Hanging up he slid off the blackboard to continue with his speech.

"Gentlemen as you can see from this map…" Will trailed off when he noticed the big swipe down the middle of the board from where he had laid on it and then he looked down at his black t-shirt in alarm before standing in front of the blackboard and using his body as part of the map. "I have traced a route that will take myself and a few others to the exact location of the Log."

Just then an alarm clock went off signaling that it was time to go.

"All right!" he said excitedly as he dusted himself off and grabbed up a lot of maps. "Show time!"

He paused in front of a picture that was standing in front of a little shrine. The picture showed Will as a kid grinning up at his grandfather who was wearing a pith helmet. Smiling gently Will put the picture into his satchel before opening the shrine doors revealing his grandfather's pith helmet. Grinning Will took it out and placed it on his head where it sat before sliding down over his eyes and wiping the grin off his face. Suddenly a message bottle slid down a chute and Will, after pushing the pith helmet up so that he could see, walked over and picked up the bottle and took out the note.

"Dear Mr. Turner," Will read out loud. "We regret to inform you that your meeting has been changed to 3 o'clock…"

He glanced at the clock that read 4:30. Just then another message bottle came down the chute.

"Dear Mr. Turner," Will read again almost frantic now. "Since you did not get our first memo we are forced to deny your request for an expedition to locate the Pirate's Log. Sincerely, The Board of Directors. They can't do this to me!"

***********

Upstairs the Board of Directors left the office of one of the Directors, Mr. Wallaby.

"Well that took care of Mr. Turner," Mr. Washington said as he set his hat on his head.

"If I have to hear the words Port Royal again, I'll step in front of a bus!" Mr. Potter exclaimed.

"I'll push you!" Mr. Washington offered with a laugh.

"Mr. Wallaby!" Will yelled as he raced down the hall his coat flying, his bag swinging, waving his umbrella like a sword, and the maps waving crazily in his arms.

"How did he find us?" Mr. Wallaby asked stunned before the Board of Directors scattered. Pretty soon every body but Mr. Wallaby was hiding behind a door to an office. He was hiding behind a potted plant. Will skidded to a stop in front of the plant and parted the fronds with his umbrella.

"Oh, Mr. Wallaby," Will panted as Mr. Wallaby grinned then opened his umbrella forcing Will to stumble back a few steps. Mr. Wallaby took the opportunity and ran toward the front of the Smithsonian with Will in hot pursuit.

"Mr. Wallaby!" he shouted waving the maps around.

"Wait! Mr. Wallaby!" Will finally caught up with Mr. Wallaby just as the Director had climbed into his car.

"Mr. Wallaby," Will gasped as he fell against the door of the car and shoved the maps in his arms into the car accidentally hitting Mr. Wallaby on the head with them. "Could you just hold these for a sec?"

He unrolled a map close to the window just as Mr. Wallaby stuck his head out and into the map. "As you can see-"

"Mr. Turner!" Mr. Wallaby exclaimed as he fought his way free of the maps. "I don't want to hear about Port Royal! Do you want to end up like your grandfather?"

"But Port Royal really does exist," Will said desperately. "All I need is a month off and I can prove it to you."

"Look Mr. Turner," Mr. Wallaby said as he pushed the maps back into Will's arms. "We really need you here."

"You do?"

"Yes. No one else knows how to work the boiler like you do. Drive James!"

"The boiler?!" Will muttered before sprinting after the car.

"Mr. Wallaby I can honestly prove that Port Royal exists!" Will shouted as he tried to keep up with the car. Sighing Mr. Wallaby pulled the shades down, jumping slightly at a thumping noise. Will was on the front of the car, struggling to hold on.

"Mr. Wallaby I'd hoped it wouldn't have to come to this," Will shouted to be heard inside the car as he pulled a piece of paper out of his coat pocket and pressing it to the front of the car. "But this is my letter of resignation-" The driver shifted to the next lane quickly causing Will to fly off of the hood of the car.

"But I quit!" he bellowed at the retreating car causing it to screech to a halt. Slowly the car reversed up the Washington D.C. street to where Will lay in a puddle. "If you refuse me one more time I will-"

"You'll what?" Wallaby snapped annoyed. "Wind up like your wacko grandfather? Now, here. Take a cab down to the Potomac and jump in."

The car sped off splashing Will with water just as the skies opened and rain poured down soaking the young man.