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

by A. G. Riddle

  As we walk away, toward dinner, I ask her how she knew about the monkeys.

  “They treat the sick ones at the British Naval Hospital,” she says.

  “You’re joking.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Is it safe? Treating monkeys and humans in such proximity?”

  “I assume it is. Can’t imagine what kind of disease could jump from monkeys to humans.”

  “Why go to all the trouble?”

  “The legend is that as long as the Macaques survive on Gibraltar, the British will rule it.”

  “Yours are a very superstitious people.”

  “Or maybe we’re just keen to take care of anything we care about.”

  We stroll in silence for a while. I wonder if I’m like a pet to her, or a ward, or someone she owed some kind of debt to for saving her in the hospital.

  I’m losing my grip on the pain, and without a word, she stops, and still holding my arm, turns us back to face the Rock as the sun sets across the bay. “There’s another legend about the Rock. The Greeks say it is one of the pillars of Hercules and that the caves and tunnels under it extend deep into the earth, leading to the Gates of Hades.”

  “The Gates of the Underworld.”

  She raises her eyebrows playfully. “You think it’s down there?”

  “No, I sort of doubt it. I’m pretty sure hell is 1,000 miles from here, in a trench on the Western Front.”

  Her face grows serious, and she looks down.

  She was making a joke, and I was trying to be witty, but I reminded us of the war. It’s ruined the mood, and I wish I could rewind and do the moment over.

  She brightens a bit and tugs at my arm. “Well, I for one am glad you’re far away from there… and not going back.”

  I open my mouth, but she presses on, probably hoping to head me off from saying something dreary. “Are you hungry?”

  The wine comes, and I drink two glasses quickly, medicating. She drinks half a glass, probably to be polite. I wish she would drink more, I’d love for that facade to break, if just for a moment, so I could see what she’s thinking, how she feels.

  But the food is out and we’re both smelling it and saying how good it looks.

  “Helena, I’ve been meaning to speak with you about something.” It comes out way too serious. I had hoped to be casual, to disarm her.

  She sets her fork down and chews the small bite she’d just taken, barely moving her jaw.

  I press on. “It’s been very decent of you to put me up. I don’t know if I’ve said thank you, but I do appreciate it.”

  “It’s been no trouble.”

  “It’s been quite a bit of trouble.”

  “I haven’t minded it.”

  “Nevertheless, I think I should get a place now that I’m out of my… convalescence.”

  “It might be prudent to wait. Your leg might not be fully healed. Dr. Carlisle said re-injury was a possibility as you walk more.” She pushes some of the food around on her plate.

  “I’m not worried about my leg. People will talk. An unmarried man and woman, sharing a home.”

  “People always talk about something.”

  “I won’t have them talking about you. I’ll find a place and work as well. I need to begin setting my affairs in order.”

  “It would seem… reasonable… to wait until you knew where you were to work before making arrangements.”

  “That’s true.”

  She brightens a bit. “Speaking of, there are some men who want to talk with you about a job. Some friends of my father.”

  To my dismay, I can’t hide the anger in my voice. “You asked him to find me a job.”

  “No, I promise you. I knew how you’d feel if I did, though I wanted to. He rang me about it a week ago, and they’ve been keen to see you. I’ve put it off because I didn’t know what your plans were.”

  “Meeting with them couldn’t hurt.” I say. It was the worst mistake of my life.

  David could hear her reading, or someone reading, as he pushed the door to their studio apartment open. Allison looked up at him, walked over to the stereo, and pressed the pause button.

  “You’re home early.” She smiled and began washing her hands at the kitchen sink.

  “Couldn’t study.” He motioned to the stereo. “Another audio book?”

  “Yeah, makes cooking less boring.” She turned the sink off.

  “I can think of something less boring than cooking.” He pulled her to him and kissed her on the mouth.

  She held her wet hands to her chest and struggled under his embrace. “I can’t, hey, come on, they’re moving my office tomorrow, I have to be there early.”

  “Oooh, big investment banker lady getting a window office already?”

  “Not a chance. Probably a cube next to the elevator.”

  “Or the bathroom.”

  “Let’s hope not. It is on the 104th floor though, so I can walk near the windows on my breaks. If they ever give me one.”

  “Exactly why you should live a little.” He picked her up and threw her on the bed. He kissed her again and ran his hands down her body.

  She was breathing faster now. “What time do you have class? What’s tomorrow? Tuesday, the 11th?”

  He pulled his sweater off. “Don’t know, don’t care.”

  CHAPTER 78

  Press Release

  Centers for Disease Control and Prevention

  1600 Clifton Rd.

  Atlanta, GA 30333, USA

  For Immediate Release

  Contact: Division of News & Electronic Media, Office of Communication

  (404) 639-3286

  New flu strain reported in villages in Northern India

  A new strain of flu called NII.4 Burang has been reported by India’s Ministry of Health & Family Welfare. It is not yet known if the strain is a mutation of an existing flu strain or a completely new virus. The CDC has dispatched a field team to assist Indian health officials in analyzing the new strain.

  The outbreak was first reported among villagers outside Dharchula, India.

  The severity and mortality rate of the new strain is also unknown at this time.

  The CDC has advised the State Department that no travel advisories are called for at this time.

  A follow-up press release will be issued when the CDC has more details about NII.4 Burang.

  CHAPTER 79

  Milo wasn’t waiting for Kate the next morning, but the bowl of breakfast porridge was there on the table, just as before. It was a little cold, but otherwise delicious.

  Kate wandered out of the wood-floored room, into the hallway.

  “Dr. Kate!” Milo said as he jogged up to meet her. He stopped just short of her, put his hands on his knees and panted until he caught his breath. “I’m sorry, Dr. Kate. I was… I had to work on my special project.”

  “Special project? Milo, you don’t have to meet me every morning.”

  “I know. I want to,” the teenager said as he regained his breath.

  They walked together down the open-air wooden passageways toward David’s room.

  “What are you working on, Milo?”

  He shook his head. “I cannot say, Dr. Kate.”

  Kate wondered if it was another prank. When they reached David’s room, Milo bowed and departed, sprinting in the direction he’d come from.

  David’s condition had barely changed, although Kate thought maybe his color was returning.

  She gave him his morning antibiotics and pain pill and opened the journal again.

  August 7th, 1917

  I stand to greet the two men as Helena ushers them into the small solarium. Not even the slightest hint of pain crosses my face. I’ve taken three of the big white pain pills today, preparing, ensuring I seem up to any task.

  It’s just before noon, and the sun hangs high in the sky, bathing the white wicker furniture and the plants placed around the solarium with light.

  The taller man steps forward, out-pacing He
lena and speaking without waiting for her to make the introduction. “So, you’ve finally decided to see us.” German, a soldier sure as shit. His eyes are cold, intent.

  Before I can speak, the other man pops out from behind the towering man, extending a hand. “Mallory Craig, Mr. Pierce. Pleasure.” An Irishman, and a mousey one at that.

  The German unbuttons his jacket and sits without asking. “And I’m Konrad Kane.”

  Craig scurries around the couch and settles in beside Kane, who wrinkles his nose as he looks over, then moves down.

  “You’re German,” I say as if accusing him of murder, which I consider to be fair. I probably could have masked the tone, if not for the drugs, but I’m glad it came out the way it did.

  “Mmm. Born in Bonn, but I must say I’ve lost any interest in politics at this point.” Kane responds leisurely, as if I’d asked him if he kept up with the horses, as if his people weren’t gassing and murdering mine by the millions. He cocks his head. “I mean, who could when there are so many more fascinating things in the world?”

  Craig nods, “Indeed.”

  Helena places a tray of coffee and tea between us, and Kane speaks before I can, as if it’s his home and he’s entertaining me. “Ah, thank you, Lady Barton.”

  I motion to the chair and say to her, “Stay,” I think just to prove to Kane who’s in charge. He looks annoyed, and I feel a little better.

  Kane takes a sip of the coffee. “I hear you need work.”

  “I’m looking for work.”

  “We have a special kind of job to be done. We need a certain type of man for it. Someone who knows how to keep his mouth shut and think on his feet.”

  At that moment, I think: intelligence work — for the Germans. I hope it is. I still have my US Army sidearm in the table by my bed. I have a mental image of myself getting it out and returning to the solarium.

  “What type of work?” Helena says, breaking the silence.

  “Archeology. A dig.” Kane stays focused on me, waiting for my reaction. Craig mostly watches Kane. He hasn’t made a peep since his “indeed,” and I doubt he will.

  “I’m looking for local work,” I say.

  “Then you won’t be disappointed. The site’s under the Bay of Gibraltar. Quite deep under. We’ve been excavating it for some time. 45 years in fact.” Kane watches me for a reaction, but none comes. He takes a slow sip of coffee, never breaking eye contact. “We’ve just started to find… make real progress, but the war’s put us in a real spot. We keep thinking it will end soon, but we’re forced to make other arrangements until then. Ergo, we are here, making this offer to you.” Kane finally looks away.

  “Is it dangerous?” Helena says.

  “No. No more dangerous than say, the Western Front.” Kane waits for her eyebrows to knit up, then reaches over to pat her on the leg. “Oh no, I merely jest, my dear girl.” He smiles back at me. “We wouldn’t put our little war hero in any danger.”

  “What happened to your last team?” I ask.

  “We had a German mining team, an extremely capable team, but obviously the war and the British control of Gibraltar have complicated matters for us.”

  I ask the question I should have to begin with. “How many people have you lost?”

  “Lost?”

  “Dead.”

  Kane shrugs dismissively. “None.” The look on Craig’s face tells me it’s a lie, and I wonder if Helena knows.

  “What are you digging for?” He’ll lie, but I’m curious what angle he’ll use.

  “Historical. Artifacts.” Kane spits the words out like spent tobacco.

  “I’m sure.” My guess: a treasure hunt, probably a sunken pirate ship or merchant ship at the bottom of the bay. It would have to be something substantial to spend 45 years digging for it, especially underwater. A dangerous assignment. “Compensation?” I ask.

  “50 Papiermarks per week.”

  50 anything would have been a joke, but Papiermarks is a slap in the face. They may as well pay me in fools’ gold. Given how the war is going for Germany, Papiermarks won’t be worth burning in a year or two. German families will be carrying them to the baker’s shop in wheelbarrows to buy a loaf of bread.

  “I’ll take my payment in US Dollars.”

  “We have dollars,” Kane says casually.

  “And a lot more of them. I want 5,000 upfront — just to look at your tunnels.” I look over at Helena. “If they’re poorly dug, or the support work is shoddy, I walk away, with the 5,000 dollar advance.”

  “They’re very well made, Mr. Pierce. They were dug by Germans.”

  “And I want $1,000 a week.”

  “Absurd. You ask a king’s ransom for the work of a peasant.”

  “Nonsense, I hear Kings, Kaisers, and Czars aren’t as valuable as they used to be. But a clear chain of command does have its place. It can keep a man alive, especially in dangerous places like underwater mines. If I take this job, when I’m in the mines, I’m in charge, no exceptions. I won’t put my life in the hands of a fool. Those are my terms; take ‘em or leave ‘em.”

  Kane snorts and puts his coffee cup down.

  I lean back and say, “Of course, you could always wait for the war to end. I agree it won’t be long. Then you could get a German team in, assuming there any Germans left, but… I certainly wouldn’t take that bet.”

  “And I won’t take your terms.” Kane rises, nods at Helena, and walks out, leaving Craig looking confused. The cagey man stands, hesitates for a moment, whipping his head back and forth between me and his fleeing master, then chases after Kane.

  When the door closes, Helena leans back in her chair and runs a hand through her hair. “God, I was scared to death you were going to take that job.” She stares at the ceiling for a moment. “They told me they wanted you for some sort of research project. I told them you were quite clever and that it could be a good fit. I never would have let those scoundrels in here if I’d known what they were after.”

  The next day, when Helena is at work, Mallory Craig calls. He stands on the stoop holding his flat cap in his hand at his chest. “Apologies for that nastiness yesterday, Mr. Pierce. Mr. Kane’s under a great deal of pressure, what with… Well, I’ve, uh, come to say we are quite sorry and to give you this.”

  He holds out a check. $5,000 drawn on the account of Immari Gibraltar.

  “We’d be honored to have you lead the dig, Mr. Pierce. On your terms of course.”

  I told him I was uninspired by the conversation yesterday and that I would be in touch, one way or the other.

  I spent the rest of the day sitting and thinking, two things I was never good at before I left for war, two things I’ve had a lot of practice with since. I imagine myself walking back down into that mineshaft, the light of day giving way to candlelight as the air grows cold and damp. I’ve seen men, just back from a cave-in or other injury, strong men, crack like an egg on the side of the skillet at breakfast as the light disappears. Will I? I try to imagine it, but I won’t know until I walk down that tunnel.

  I consider what else I could do for work — my options. I can get mining work, at least until the war ends. After that, there will likely be more miners than ever, some newly trained in the war, many more former miners returning from it. But I’ll have to leave Gibraltar to find mines that need a man like me — there’s no way around it. The other issue, which I don’t linger on long, is that it would be a hell of a thing to sail to America or South Africa just to piss myself in a mineshaft and scurry out.

  I eye the check. $5,000 would give me a lot of options, and touring their dig could be… revealing personally.

  I’ll “just have a look,” I decide. I can always walk away, or, depending on my bowel control, run away.

  I tell myself that I’ll probably rule out the job and there’s no reason to tell Helena. No reason to worry her. Being a nurse at a field hospital is stressful enough.

  CHAPTER 80

  Situation Room

  Clocktow
er HQ

  New Delhi, India

  Dorian rubbed his temples.

  “We’re getting satellite footage, sir,” the technician said.

  “And?” Dorian replied.

  The squirrelly man leaned in, studying the computer screen. “Several targets.”

  “Send the drones.”

  The monasteries were like needles in a giant Tibetan haystack, but they finally had eyes on them. It wouldn’t be long now.

  CHAPTER 81

  Kate scrutinized the wound and changed David’s bandages. It was healing. He would come out of it soon. She hoped. She picked up the journal again.

  August 9th, 1917

  When Craig called yesterday he told me Immari Gibraltar was “just a small local concern.” He quickly added, “although we’re part of a larger organization with other interests here on the continent and overseas.” Small local concerns don’t own half the wharf and they don’t do it through a half a dozen fronts.

  The tour of the dig site is the first indication that Immari isn’t what it seems. I arrive at the address on Mallory’s card and find a rundown three-story building in the heart of the shipping district. The signs on the buildings all end in some variation of “Import/Export Company” or “Shipping and Sea Freight” or “Shipbuilders and Retrofitters.” The long names and liveliness of the buildings contrast sharply with the dimly lit, seemingly abandoned concrete structure with “Immari Gibraltar” scrawled in black block letters just above the door.

  Inside, a lithe receptionist pops up and says, “Good morning, Mr. Pierce. Mr. Craig is expecting you.”

  Either she knew me by the limp, or they don’t get many visitors.

  The walk through the office reminds me of a battalion HQ, hastily set up in a city that had just fallen in a siege, a place that will be abandoned quickly as soon as more ground is taken or in the event of a sudden retreat. A place that doesn’t warrant settling in.