by Steven Moore
The End
From the historical record
Hello from David and Steven! We sincerely hope you’ve enjoyed our adventure tale and want to read more. Here are some fun facts about some of the people, places, and things in the book.
There are quite a few fantastic oddities written about in this book, and I always like to let you know about which things are “real” and which are fantasy.
The statues of Jesus underwater—known as the Christ(s) of the Abyss—really do exist. There’s one on the cover from Key Largo. That one and the one in Genoa actually do face each other. I took liberties to assume the other two face each other (who knows, they might) to create a sort of X where their reflected views crossed.
Incidentally, the location of the X on a world map just happens to be a place called Doñana National Park near Sanlúcar De Barrameda. And, yes, you guessed it, that is one of the locations around the world that some believe could be the site of the sunken city of Atlantis.
The Congregation For The Light is an actual “cult” based in Manhattan. They believe they are descended from a “master Aryan race” on Atlantis and that humans once lived on the moon. And Steven and I are probably now on their “most wanted” list for exposing them to the world.
The Chapel of Carmen de Bajo de Guía is a real church in Sanlúcar De Barrameda. It is a strange church with murals that pay homage to the sea and the walls have a strange sensation of being underwater. There’s also a bow of a boat sticking out of the wall with what appears to be Mary and Jesus aboard.
And the tiled image on the front of the church does have an oddly placed piece. It is rotated incorrectly … is there something behind it??
There are a few other things in the book that really exist out there, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy on some of them. If you look hard enough, you might find some of them on your own.
Hope you enjoyed our fantastical tale of the lost city of Atlantis.
Afterword
Many of you met Ryan “R.B.” Bodean back in DEEP WAVE and ever since then, I have been hounded on whether or not he would show up again in the Troy Bodean Tropical Thrillers. The answer is…maybe.
But a better solution is to give the guy his own series and let him run wild seeking adventure and treasure around the world. And what better to go after for his first story than the fabled lost city of Atlantis.
Steven Moore and I have created a story with tons of action, lots of locations, and tons of Bodean flair. I hope you love this book as much as I do. (If you loved this book, be sure to flip to the end for a super-secret, end-credits scene from the next Ryan Bodean Tropical Thriller called Hemingway Found.)
Please be sure to visit TropicalThrillers.com/readergroup and join the Beachbum Brigade Reader Group so you’ll be among the first to know about my promotions, events and specials!
Thank you, Kind Reader,
Also by David Berens
As a thank you for buying this book, I’d like to invite you to join my Beachbum Brigade Reader Group. You can get 4 FREE BOOKS for joining (like some of the prequels mentioned below.)
JOIN HERE: www.tropicalthrillers.com/readergroup if you haven’t already.
Troy Bodean Tropical Thrillers
#0 Tidal Wave (available FREE exclusively to the Beachbum Brigade Reader Group)
#1 Rogue Wave
#2 Deep Wave
#3 Blood Wave
#4 Dark Wave
#5 Skull Wave
#6 Shark Wave
Jo Bennett Archaeological Mysteries
#1 Temple of the Snake - With Nick Thacker
#2 Tomb of the Queen - Nick Thacker & Kristi Belcamino
Ryan Bodean Tropical Thrillers
With Steven Moore
#0 Havana Fury (available FREE exclusively to the Beachbum Brigade Reader Group)
#1 Atlantis Storm
#2 Hemingway Found
#3 To Be Revealed
The Prosperity Spartanburg Files
With Cherie Mitchell
#0 Finding Prosperity (available FREE exclusively to the Beachbum Brigade Reader Group)
#1 Raising Prosperity
#2 To Be Revealed
#3 To Be Revealed
Chris Collins CIA Thrillers
With John Hopton
#0 Rogue Enemy (available FREE exclusively to the Beachbum Brigade Reader Group)
#1 Capitol Break
#2 To Be Revealed
#3 To Be Revealed
Also by Steven Moore
Englishman Steven Moore is the bestselling author of the Hiram Kane international action thriller series. If you like your novels lightening-paced and your villains heinous, and if you love the likes of Clive Cussler, James Rollins & Russell Blake, then Steven Moore is your man and Hiram Kane will be your new favorite action thriller hero.
To learn more visit https://www.stevenmooreauthor.com/
And be sure to join his mailing list by CLICKING HERE or visiting: https://bit.ly/2EUY9rH.
The Hiram Kane Thriller Series
#1 Tiger Temple
#2 The Samurai Code
#3 The Condor Prophecy
#4 The Shadow of Kailash
#5 The Feathered Serpent
#6 The Golem of Prague
Ryan Bodean Tropical Thrillers
With David Berens
#0 Havana Fury (available FREE exclusively to the Beachbum Brigade Reader Group)
#1 Atlantis Storm
#2 Hemingway Found
#3 To Be Revealed
Atlantis Storm
A Ryan Bodean Tropical Thriller
All Rights Reserved © 2019 by David F. Berens
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.
Tropical Thriller Press 2019
Printed in The United States of America
Contact the Author at:
www.TropicalThrillers.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
1
Hemingway Found
An excerpt from Book 2 in the Ryan Bodean Tropical Thriller Series
Gare de Lyon, Paris, 1922
Despite the bitter, early morning winter air gusting through Gare de Lyon train station, and subsequently whistling with vigor through her carriage, Hadley Richardson was thirsty. She knew there’d be water available on board the train to Switzerland. But Hadley didn’t trust the cleanliness of it, nor the state of the coffee … nor the food come to that. She knew she needed to procure somewhat more sanitary supplies for the long journey to meet her husband in Lausanne, Switzerland before the scheduled departure in fifteen minutes, yet she was laden with luggage and, cautious by nature—especially since their move to Paris, where fingers were light and opportunism reigned supreme—Hadley was more than a little reticent to leave it all unattended in her carriage.
She had a total of seven suitcases of varying sizes with her, and in those cases was a mix of warm winter clothes, books, some specialized food items, not to mention what Hadley considered the most important of all her luggage, her husband’s manuscripts that she’d tucked carefully into a small leather valise. She was pleased with herself. Hadley had thought to bring both the original works and their carbon copies. It was safer than leaving them behind here at their apartment in Paris. She hoped her husband, Ernest Hemingway, would be pleased with her foresight too.
She longed to see him. They’d only married last year, back home in Michigan, but since the wedding he’d spent much of that time away on assignments, especially now they’d moved to Paris. He was on one such assignment now, covering the Lausanne Peace Conference as a correspondent fo
r the Toronto Daily Star. Journalism wasn’t Hemingway’s passion—he had high aspirations of making it as a novelist—but as yet it hadn’t transpired and he was making a reasonable living as a journalist. With Ernest on her mind and a spring in her stride, Hadley decided she’d only be gone a couple of minutes and took a chance on the luggage, paying a young station hand a couple of francs to keep an eye on it.
When she returned less than five minutes later, with water, some bread and a couple of large apples tucked under her arm in a brown paper bag, the tiniest of ribbons fluttered in her gut when she saw no sign of the station hand. When she stepped onto the train and realized the valise containing her husband’s precious manuscripts was gone, that ribbon became a fully-fledged knot.
Hadley’s hand flew to her mouth, and tears fell untamed from her eyes. What have I done? she thought as her heart clenched and her eyes darted about the platform. With the assistance of the train’s conductor, they carried out a hasty, frantic search of the carriage and the adjacent platform, but with just moments until departure, the search was futile. The overnight valise containing the manuscripts and their copies—the only copies—was gone.
“My dear Ernest, what on earth have I done?”
After a long, uncomfortable and stress-ridden journey, in which her mind raced with how she could possibly tell her beloved Ernest what had happened, Hadley finally arrived in Lausanne and was greeted on the platform by Ernest. She immediately broke down in tears, and draped herself around him, her willowy arms clutching his broad shoulders and her tears dampening his jacket.
“Whatever is it?” Ernest asked in surprise, his smile quickly fading, but Hadley was beside herself with worry and guilt, totally deflated and unable to utter any words of explanation. Ernest tried again. “No matter what the dreadful thing is that has happened, nothing can be that bad, and whatever it is, it is all right and not to worry. We can work it out.” It was an impassioned plea, but Hadley was defeated.
Along with a station porter, Ernest loaded the luggage into a cab, and half an hour later they arrived back at the hotel. After immediately insisting Hadley drank a generous dram of potent Swiss liquor, she was finally able to speak.
“I … I am so very sorry my darling Ernest. The manuscripts … they’re gone.’
Ernest laughed, the loud booming laugh of a man who didn’t have too many cares in the world.
Hadley’s tears reappeared, but through the powerful sobs she managed to blurt out, “They’re all gone. All of them. Someone stole the valise. I’m sorry Ernest, truly I am.”
“It’s okay, my darling Hadley, we have the copies safely tucked away in Paris. I’ll send for them, have them couriered overnight. Don’t worry.”
At this point Hadley let out a sound that was something between a squeal and a whimper. She looked at her husband, eyes wide and tears flowing unabridged over her pale but now puffy cheeks. “You don’t understand, Ernest. They’re all gone. Including the copies.” She dropped to her knees and threw her arms around his waist, unable to look at her husband any longer.
Ernest didn’t speak for long moments, and for one of the first times in his life he was genuinely lost for words. His large chest rose and fell as his mind tried to process what all this meant. He had a meeting with American journalist Lincoln Steffens in a couple of days, the man who he hoped would launch his fiction career. They’d met only recently, but Steffens saw something in Hemingway’s work few others had, and requested to see more of the Nick Adams stories Ernest had been working so hard on in recent months. Now they were gone.
With one final deep breath, Hemingway reached down and lifted his wife to her feet, looking her directly in the eyes. “Now, listen to me, Hadley, and listen well. I’m not angry. I am only happy to see you. Those were just a few stories. Believe me, I have many more, many better stories than that. It’s going to be okay, my dear. Now come on, let’s get this holiday started, shall we?” He seemed sincere to Hadley, but inside, Ernest was devastated.
With all thoughts of the lost stories banished, at least on the surface, Hadley and Ernest made up for lost time over their recent absences. Hadley was awash with relief at Ernest’s reaction, one she was secretly surprised at. But she put it down to his complete and utter confidence that he’d be able to create more, even better stories to present to Lincoln Steffens in due course, and he hadn’t let it get in the way of their fun. He hadn’t even made any appeals for the return of the lost manuscripts in the newspapers, which further suggested his lack of concern over them.
A couple of days later, breakfast eaten, Ernest escorted Hadley to the reading room, where she was to meet with a friend from back west. Meanwhile, Ernest returned to their hotel room to collect his journal. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, paused suddenly in the doorway, certain that when they’d left the room the curtains had been open. He made a move to switch on the overhead light, when a commanding male voice said, “Don’t. Just stand right there.”
Ernest froze on the spot, his heart suddenly hammering. Ernest Hemingway wasn’t afraid of much. But he could be startled just like anyone else.
‘I am not here to hurt you. I just want to talk.”
“Who are you?”
“Who I am can wait,” said the voice, its owner remaining unseen in the dark room. “But I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”
“I prefer a man to be a man,” Ernest said then, anger rising quickly to the surface. “If you want to talk, let me know who the hell I’m talking with.”
The voice didn’t answer, as if considering Hemingway’s words. After a long moment, the man drew the curtains just enough for Ernest to make out his shadowy form. The man was tall, taller than Ernest, himself no slouch at a shade over six feet. The man stared at him, and though Ernest couldn’t make out his features he sensed the man was not someone to take lightly.
“Okay, I’m listening,” Ernest said, half intrigued, half wanting to give whoever this fucker was a solid jab to the jaw.
“Take a seat, would you?”
Ernest considered this for a moment. He didn’t like being told what to do by anyone, especially someone unwilling to show their face. Finally he relented, and as he did so the man opened the curtains just a little more. In the light, Ernest now saw the man was unarmed, and though large and solidly built, he didn’t appear to be a threat. The man took a seat himself on a chair facing Ernie, who perched on the edge of the bed. He looked at Ernest for a moment, appraising him and judging how to play his hand. He decided just to come out with it. “My bosses want to make you an offer, Mister Hemingway. It is a simple offer, and one we advise you to accept.”
“I don’t even know who you are,” Ernest said. “Why the hell would I accept an offer from a total stranger, not to mention someone who just broke into my hotel room?”
The man chuckled, but it lacked mirth. In fact, unless Ernest was mistaken it contained a gnarly, sinister edge. “You make a good point. But you see, my boss doesn’t accept no for an answer. Here’s the offer, though you should take the word offer loosely. Quite simply, you must help us. The details of exactly how you’ll help us will be given later. In return for your help, we will return something important to you.”
That got Ernest’s attention, and his heart rate cranked up a notch. “Okay, go on.” Surely they don’t have my…
The man completed his thought for him. “For your help, Mister Hemingway, we’ll return your lost manuscripts.”
COMING SOON - HEMINGWAY FOUND: A Ryan Bodean Tropical Thriller #2
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