The Atlantis Gene: A Thriller (The Origin Mystery, Book 1)

by A. G. Riddle

  “Sir, that therapy was ineffective—”

  “Was, Doctor. I know something you don’t. You have to trust me.”

  “Yes sir, we’ll have them ready. Give us three days—”

  “Today, Dr. Chang. Time is one thing we don’t have.”

  “We don’t have the staff or facilities—”

  “Make it happen.” Dorian listened. “Hello?”

  “I’m here, Mr. Sloane. We’ll make it happen.”

  “One more thing. Don’t incinerate the bodies this time—”

  “The risk—”

  “I’m sure you’ll find a way to deal with them safely. You have quarantine rooms there, do you not?” Dorian waited, but the scientist didn’t say a word. “Good. Oh, I almost forgot. How much weight do you think the two children could support — each?”

  Chang seemed surprised by the question, or perhaps distracted or worried about the last order not to destroy the bodies. “Uh, you mean, weight, as in—”

  “In a backpack, if they were carrying it.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  Scientists — the bane of Dorian’s existence. Risk-averse, scared, time wasters. “Guess, Doctor. It doesn’t have to be exact.”

  “I think, about, 10 to 15 pounds maybe. It would depend on how long or far they had to carry it and—”

  “Fine, fine. I’ll be there shortly, you better be ready.” Dorian hung up the phone.

  Naomi didn’t give him the chance to pick it up again. She downed the last of her martini, sauntered over to him, put her glass on the table, and straddled him, pulling her robe off and letting it drop to the floor. She reached for his zipper, but Dorian grabbed her hands and pinned them to her side, then lifted her off of him, and tossed her on the couch beside him. He punched the call button behind him.

  Five seconds later, the flight attendant opened the door and when she saw the scene, began retreating.

  “Stop. Stay.” Dorian commanded. “Join us.”

  Comprehension spread over the young woman’s face. She gently closed the door as if she were a teenager sneaking out of her bedroom at night.

  Naomi heaved herself off the couch and took the woman’s face in her hands, kissing her, then pulling her scarf off, and finally fiddling with the buttons on the blue blazer over her white blouse. Her top was off before the kiss ended, and Naomi finished the job, pushing her skirt to the floor.

  CHAPTER 48

  Snow Camp Alpha

  Drill Site #4

  East Antarctica

  Robert Hunt closed the door to his portable living pod and picked up the radio.

  “Bounty, this is Snow King. We have reached depth seven-five-zero-zero feet, repeat, our depth is seven-five-zero-zero feet. Status unchanged. We’ve hit nothing but ice.”

  “Snow King, Bounty. We read you. Depth is seven thousand five hundred feet. Stand by.”

  Robert set the radio mic on the fold-out table and leaned back in the flimsy chair. He couldn’t wait to leave this frozen hell hole. He had drilled for oil in the world’s harshest places — Northern Canada, Siberia, Alaska, and the North Sea above the Arctic Circle. Nothing compared to Antarctica.

  He looked around the pod — his home for the last seven days. It was exactly like the last three pods at the last three drilling sites: a ten by fifteen room with three cots, a large noisy heater, four trunks of equipment and food, and the table with the radio. There was no refrigerator; keeping things cool was the least of their problems.

  The radio crackled to life. “Snow King, this is Bounty. Your orders are as follows: extract the drill, cover the hole, and proceed to new location. Please confirm orders when you are ready for new GPS coordinates.”

  Robert confirmed the orders, took down the new coordinates, and signed off. He sat for a minute, thinking about the job. Three drill sites, all 7,500 feet deep, all the same result: nothing but ice. The equipment was all snow white, and covered by huge white parasail-like canopies. Whatever they were doing, their employer didn’t want anyone to see it from the air. He had assumed they were drilling for oil or some precious metal. Covert drilling wasn’t uncommon. You go in, drill, make a strike, cover it up, then get an option on the land. But there were no drilling rights to be had in Antarctica, and there were much easier places — cheaper places — to find oil and raw materials. The economics didn’t make sense. But money didn’t seem to be a problem. Each site had about thirty million dollars in equipment — and they didn’t seem to care what happened to it. They were paying him two million dollars for what they said would be two months — max — of drilling. He’d signed a non-disclosure agreement. And that was it. Two million dollars, drill where we say, keep your mouth shut. Robert intended to do just that. Two million dollars would get him out of the trouble he was in and maybe leave him enough to get off the oil rigs for good. He might even fix his own problems, the reason he was in such a bind to begin with. But that was probably wishful thinking, about as likely as striking oil in Antarctica.

  CHAPTER 49

  Somewhere over the Mountains of Western China

  They had made three passes at landing in the small lake, and Kate couldn’t take it anymore. “I thought you said you could fly this thing?”

  David continued concentrating on the controls. “Landing is a lot harder than flying.”

  To Kate, landing was the same thing as flying, but she let it go. She checked her seatbelt buckle for the 100th time.

  David wiped some fog off a few of the ancient dials and tried to line the plane up for another pass.

  Kate heard a sputter and felt her side of the plane drop. “Did you do that?”

  David tapped the dashboard, first lightly, then harder. “We’re out of gas.”

  “I thought you said—”

  “Gauge must be broken.” David motioned with his head. “Get in the back.”

  Kate crawled over him and into the back row of seats, complying, for once, without counter-argument or complaint. She buckled herself in. This would be their last landing attempt.

  The other engine puffed out its last seconds of life, and the plane leveled off, gliding in the ominous silence.

  Kate looked down, surveying the dense green forest surrounding the small blue lake. It was beautiful, like a scene from the Canadian wilderness. She knew it was cold down there; they must be somewhere in Northern India or Western China. They had flown most of the way over water, hugging the sea tightly to avoid radar detection. They had gone north most of the way; the sun had hung high in the sky on Kate’s right until they crossed the coast, somewhere in the low-lying monsoon areas, probably Bangladesh. Kate hadn’t asked any questions — not that she could have over the noise of the now-dead twin engines. Wherever they were, it was remote and untouched. If they were injured — at all — in the landing, it would likely be fatal.

  The lake rushed toward them quickly now. David leveled the plane. Or tried — the plane was much harder to control without the force of the engines.

  Scenarios of doom raced through Kate’s mind. What if they went nose first into the lake? There were mountains around them. The lake could be incredibly deep — and cold. The plane would pull them down. They’d never survive the icy abyss. What if they did level-off? How would they stop — they’d hit the trees at full speed. She imagined a series of tree branches stabbing a dozen holes in them, like needles in a voodoo doll. Or the gas, the fumes in the tank would explode at any spark; that would get them fast.

  The pontoons skidded unevenly on the water, and the plane rocked from side to side.

  One of the pontoons could come off — that would tear the plane — and them — to pieces.

  Kate tightened her lap belt. Should she take it off? It could cut her in half.

  The pontoons kissed the water again before reeling back into the air, wobbling and wounded.

  Kate leaned forward, and for some reason, put her arms around David’s neck, holding him tightly to his seat and pressing herself against the back of his
seat. She rested her head at the base of his neck. She couldn’t watch. She felt the plane plow into the water more violently. The floor shook constantly. The turbulence spread to the thin metal walls, she heard a series of cracks, and she was flung back into her seat, the breath almost knocked out of her. She opened her eyes and sucked in a breath. They were stopped. Branches! In the cockpit. David’s head hung lifelessly.

  Kate lunged forward but the lap belt nearly tore her in half. She reached for him, disregarding the belt. She felt around his chest. Had a branch gone through him? She couldn’t feel anything.

  He lifted his head lethargically. “Hey lady, at least buy me a drink first.”

  Kate slumped back in her chair and shoved his shoulder. She was glad to be alive. And glad he was too, but she said, “I’ve had better landings.”

  He glanced back at her. “Over water?”

  “As it turns out, this is my first water landing, so, no.”

  “Yeah, my first water landing too.” David unbuckled himself and climbed out the passenger door. He got his footing on the step and released the passenger seat so Kate could get out.

  “You’re serious aren’t you? You’ve never landed a plane on water? Are you out of your mind?”

  “No, I’m just kidding. I land on water all the time.”

  “Do you always run out of gas?”

  David began unpacking supplies from the plane. “Gas?” He gazed up, as if remembering something. “We didn’t run out of gas. I just killed the engines for dramatic effect. You know, just hoping you would do that reach forward hug from behind thing.”

  “Very funny.” Kate began organizing supplies, as if they had been doing this routine for years. She looked over at David. “You’re uh, certainly more… lively, than you were in Jakarta.” She had considered not saying anything, but she wondered… “I mean, I’m not complaining—”

  “Well, you know, surviving certain death always puts me in a good mood. Speaking of,” he handed her the end of a large green tarp. “Help me spread this over the plane.”

  Kate ducked under the plane and caught the tarp when he threw it over, then rejoined him at the small pile of supplies. She glanced back at the covered plane. “We’re not going to… will we be flying out on…”

  David smiled at her. “No, I’d say that was its last flight. And besides, it’s out of gas.” He held up three MREs, fanning them out like playing cards. “Now are you continuing your hunger strike or do you wish to partake of one of these fine delicacies?”

  Kate pursed her lips and leaned closer as if inspecting the brown packages. “Hmmm. What’s on the menu this morning?”

  David turned the boxes around. “Let’s see, for your culinary enjoyment, we have: Meatloaf, Beef Stroganoff, and Chicken Noodle Stew.”

  Kate’s last meal had been yesterday — late afternoon, before they had retreated into the bomb shelter below the cottage. “Well, I’m not really all that hungry, but the Chicken Noodle Stew sounds simply irresistible.”

  David spun the pack around and ripped. “An excellent choice, Ma’am. Please wait several moments while your entree is heated.”

  Kate stepped toward him. “You don’t have to heat it.”

  “Nonsense, it’s no trouble.”

  Kate considered the tarp covering the plane. “Won’t the fire give away our location… put us at risk—”

  David shook his head. “My dear doctor, I admit we’re roughing it a bit today, but we’re not living in the stone ages, cooking our food on stone hearths like Neanderthals.” He plucked what looked like a small pen light from his pack and held it up to her. He twisted the top and a torch-like flame sprang up. He moved the flame back and forth under Kate’s meal.

  Kate squatted down across from him and watched the “chicken stew” begin to boil. It was no doubt soy beans or some other chicken substitute. “At least no animals will be harmed.”

  David kept his focus on the flame and the carton as if he were repairing a delicate piece of electronics. “Oh, I think it’s real meat. They’ve come a long way with these things in the last few years. I ate some in Afghanistan that weren’t fit for human consumption. Or, hominid consumption, I believe you would say.”

  “Very impressive — yes we are hominids. Hominins to be exact. The only ones left.”

  “I’ve been brushing up on my evolutionary history.” David handed her the heated Chicken Stew, then ripped open another package — Meatloaf — and began eating it cold.

  Kate stirred the stew with the spork and tentatively took a few bites. Not terrible. Or was she getting used to how horrid it tasted? It didn’t matter. She sipped the stew as they ate in silence. The lake was placid and the dense green forest that surrounded them swayed in the wind and creaked occasionally as unseen creatures leapt from branch to branch. If not for yesterday’s tragic events, they could be campers in an untouched wilderness, and for a moment it felt that way to Kate. She finished the last bite of stew a minute after David, and he took her carton and said, “We should get a move on, we’re T minus thirty on the contact’s meet time.” And just like that, the peace and innocence of the natural setting evaporated. David hoisted a heavy pack and hid the last of their trash under the tarp.

  He set a brisk pace as they hiked into the mountainous forest, and Kate fought to keep up, and to hide her heavy breathing. He was in much better shape than she was. He stopped periodically, still breathing through his nose as Kate turned away and sucked in mouthfuls of air.

  On the third respite, he leaned against a tree and said, “I know you’re not ready to talk about your research, but tell me this: why do you think Immari took those kids?”

  “I’ve actually been thinking about that a lot since Jakarta.” Kate leaned over and put her hands on her knees. “Some of the things Martin said to me, when they were questioning me, they make absolutely no sense.”

  “Such as?”

  “He implied there was a weapon, some kind of super weapon, that could wipe out the human race—”

  David pushed off the tree. “Did he say—”

  “No, he didn’t say anything else. It was a delusional rant. Part of a tirade about lost cities, and genetics and… What else?” Kate shook her head. “He suggested that autistic children could be a threat, that they were the next step in human evolution.”

  “Is that possible — the evolution part?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. We know the last major breakthrough in evolution was a change in brain wiring. If we look at the genome of humans 100,000 years ago and humans 50,000 years ago, there’s very little genetic change, but we know that the genes that did change had a huge impact — mostly on how we thought. Humans began using language and thinking critically, solving problems rather than acting on instinct. Essentially the brain started acting more like a computer than a processing center for impulses. It’s debatable, but there is evidence that another shift in brain wiring is occurring. Autism is essentially a change in brain wiring, and the diagnosis rate for autism spectrum disorders, or ASD, is exploding. In America, it’s up 500% in the last twenty years. 1 in every 88 Americans are somewhere on the spectrum. Some of the increase is due to better diagnosis techniques, but there’s no question that ASD is on the rise — in every country around the world. Developed nations seem to be hit the hardest.”

  “I don’t follow. How does ASD connect with evolutionary genetics?”

  “We know that almost all of the conditions on the autism spectrum have a strong genetic component. They’re all caused by a difference in brain wiring that is controlled by a small group of genes. My research focuses on how those genes affect brain wiring and more importantly, how a gene therapy might turn on or off genes that would increase their social abilities and improve their quality of life. There are tons of people somewhere on the autism spectrum who live independent, enjoyable lives. For example, individuals diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome simply have a lot of difficulties socializing and usually focus intensely on an area of interest —
computers, comics, finance, you name it. But it doesn’t always have to be limiting. In fact, specializing is the key to success these days. Take a look at the Forbes list — if you tested the individuals who made their fortune in computers, bio-tech, and finance, I guarantee you the majority would land somewhere on the autism spectrum. But they got lucky — they won the genetic lottery. Their brains operate in a way that allow them to solve complex problems and have enough social interaction for them to function in society. That’s what I was trying to do, give my kids a fair shot at life.” Kate had her breath back, but she kept looking down.

  “Don’t talk like that. Like it’s over. Let’s move out, we’re T minus 15.”

  They resumed their pace, and Kate kept up this time. Five minutes before the meeting time, the forest waned and an expansive train station came into view.

  “It’s definitely not abandoned,” Kate said.

  Before them, the station swarmed with people, all dressed in white coats, security outfits, and other uniforms. David and Kate would stick out among the masses filing into the station.

  “Hurry, before they see us walking in from the trees.”

  CHAPTER 50

  Immari Corp. Research Complex

  Outside Burang, China

  Tibet Autonomous Region

  Dorian watched the monitors as the researchers lead the 20 or so Chinese subjects out of the room. The therapy really did a number on them. Half could barely walk.

  The observation room included a large wall with screens monitoring every inch of the research facility and several rows of computer workstations where eggheads typed on computers all day doing God knows what.

  Across the room, Naomi leaned against a wall, clearly bored. She looked so strange with clothes on. Dorian motioned for her to come over. She wasn’t authorized to hear the scientist’s report.

  “You want to get out of here?” Naomi said.

  “In a bit. Go get acquainted with the facility. I have some work to do. I’ll come after you shortly.”