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

by A. G. Riddle

  I consider the priest’s tale as he gets to his feet.

  “Would you like to see this ring?”

  “I don’t need to see it.” I count out five $100 silver certificates and place them on the table.

  The priest’s eyes grow wide. “We are happy to accept any donation our patrons see fit, but I should warn you, lest you seek a refund, that that is much more than this ring is worth… in the current… market.”

  “It’s worth every penny to me, Father.”

  On the walk back to the cottage, I barely notice the pain in my leg. I have a vision of Helena and I sailing the world, never stopping anywhere for more than a few years. In the vision, she works in the hospitals. I invest in the mines, using what I know to find savvy operators and promising sites, mines that pay the workers a fair wage and provide good conditions. It won’t be as profitable at first, but we’ll attract the best people, and in mining as in every other business, better people make all the difference. We’ll put our competitors out of business, and we’ll use the money to make a difference. And we’ll never retire, never let the world behind us catch up to us.

  Kate closed the journal and leaned forward to inspect the bandages on David’s chest. She pulled at the edges of them and then smoothed them out.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, but I think you’re still bleeding a bit from the chest wound. I’ll change them in a little while.”

  David sighed theatrically. “I always was a bleeding heart.”

  Kate smiled. “Don’t quit your day job.”

  CHAPTER 86

  August 13th, 1917

  Helena’s childhood home is more grand than I could have imagined, mostly because I’ve never seen anything like it. It sits just off a massive lake, nestled among thick English forests and rolling hills. It’s a masterpiece of stone and wood, like some medieval castle that has been decorated for modern times. The fog is thick in the lane as the loud gas car carries us from the train station down the tree-lined gravel road to the home.

  Her father, mother, and brother are there waiting on us, standing at attention like we are visiting dignitaries. They greet us graciously. Behind us, the house staff unpacks the car and disappears with our bags.

  Her father is a tall, burly man, not portly, but by no means thin. He shakes my hand and looks in my eyes, squinting like he’s inspecting something, my soul maybe.

  The next few hours pass in a haze. The dinner, the small talk in the drawing room, the tour of the home. All I can think about is the moment I ask him for his daughter’s hand in marriage. I glance at him every now and then, trying to glean some little bit of information, something that might tell me what he’s like and what he might say.

  After dinner, Helena lures her mother out of the room with a question about a piece of furniture, and to my relief, her younger brother Edward asks his father’s leave.

  We are alone at last in the wood-paneled drawing room, and the nerves start to get to me. I’ve been careful with the pills today, taking only one. The pain has gotten better of late, or maybe I’m just “learning the leg” as Dr. Carlisle said I would. But it’s still there, nipping at me through the nervousness. Even so, I stand, waiting for him to sit.

  “What do you take, Pierce? Brandy, scotch, bourbon?”

  “Bourbon’s fine.”

  He pours a glass almost to the top, doesn’t bother with ice, and hands it to me. “I know what you’re here to ask, and the answer is no, so let’s just get that little bit of unpleasantness out of the way so we can enjoy the evening. Now Kane tells me you’ve come around on the Gibraltar dig, says Craig gave you the nickel tour of our little project.” He fixes me with a coy smile. “Now I’d like to hear your impression of it — as a professional miner. Will she hold until we can get through?”

  I start to speak several times. Wicked thoughts run through my head. He brushed you aside like a door-to-door salesman. He’s Immari, a snake as bad as Kane. I take a long pull of the drink and speak as evenly as I can. “I’d like to know why.”

  “Let’s not be uncivil, Mr. Pierce.”

  “She’s in love with me.”

  “I’m sure she is. War is an emotional time. But the war will end, and feelings will fade. The real world will set in, she’ll come back to England, and she’ll marry someone who can give her the life she truly wants, a life of civility and grace. A life you can’t appreciate until you seen the savagery of the rest of the world. That’s her what’s in store for her. I’ve already made the arrangements.” He crosses his legs and sips at his brandy. “You know, when Helena was a girl, she used to take in every flea-ridden, diseased, wounded, and otherwise half-dead animal that ever wandered onto the estate. She wouldn’t relent until they either died or recovered. She has a good heart. But she grew up and lost all interest in rescuing animals. Everyone goes through phases like that, especially girls. Now I’ll hear your opinion on our tunnels in Gibraltar.”

  “I don’t give a damn about those tunnels or what’s down there. It’s a dangerous mine, and I won’t work it. What I will do is marry your daughter, with or without your permission. I’m not a wounded animal, and she’s not a little girl anymore.” I set the drink down on the glass table, almost breaking it and sloshing brown liquid all over it. “Thanks for the drink.” I rise to leave, but he sets his own drink down and heads me off at the door.

  “Just a minute. You can’t be serious. You’ve seen what’s down there. You’d turn away from that?”

  “I’ve found something that interests me a great deal more than lost cities.”

  “I’ve told you — I’ve already made a match for Helena. It’s settled. Let’s put that aside. As for the dig, we can pay you. That’s my role in this, incidentally. I manage the purse — the Immari Treasury. Kane runs the expeditions, and a great deal more, as I’m sure you’ve gathered by now. Mallory’s our master of spies. Don’t underestimate Craig, he’s quite good at it. So what will it take? We can double it. $2,000 per week. In a few months you could set yourself up any way you like.”

  “I won’t work that mine at any price.”

  “Why not? The safety? You can fix it; I’m sure of it. The Army men told us you were quite clever. The best, they said.”

  “I told her I wouldn’t work in a mine. I made her a promise. And I won’t make her a widow.”

  “You assume you’ll marry her. She won’t marry without my permission.” Lord Barton inhales and watches for my reaction, satisfied that he’s cornered me.

  “You underestimate her.”

  “You overestimate her. But if that’s your price, you can have it, and the $2,000 per week. But you agree, right here and now, that you’ll work that dig to the finish. Once you do, I’ll give my blessing without delay.”

  “You’d trade your approval for whatever’s buried down there?”

  “Easily. I’m a practical man. And a responsible man. Maybe you will be too one day. What’s my daughter’s future for the fate of the human race?”

  I almost laugh, but he fixes me with a stare that’s dead serious. I rub my face and try to think. I hadn’t expected the man to haggle, least of all over this business under Gibraltar. I know I’m making a mistake, but I don’t see what option I have. “I’ll have your permission now, not after the dig.”

  Barton looks away. “How long to get into the structure?”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Weeks, months, years?”

  “Months, I think. There’s no way to kn—”

  “Fine, fine. You have it. We’ll announce it tonight, and if you don’t keep up your end in Gibraltar, I’ll make her a widow.”

  CHAPTER 87

  Associated Press — Online Breaking News Bulletin

  Clinics throughout US and Western Europe report new flu outbreak

  New York City (AP) // Emergency rooms and urgent care clinics across the US and Western Europe have reported a flood of new flu cases, sparking fears that it might be the beginning of an ou
tbreak of a previously unidentified flu strain.

  CHAPTER 88

  Kate leaned her head against the wooden wall of the alcove and stared at the sun, wishing she could stop it right where it was. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw David open his eyes and look up at her. She opened the journal and continued reading before he could say anything.

  December 20th, 1917

  The Moroccan workers cower as the rock comes down around them. The space fills with smoke and we retreat back into the shaft. And then we wait and listen, ready to pile into the car that straddles the rails, ready to zoom out of the shaft at the first sign of trouble — fire or water in this case.

  The first cry of a canary breaks the silence and one by one we all exhale and move back into the massive room to see how far the latest roll of the dice has gotten us.

  We are close. But not quite there.

  “Told you we should have drilled it deeper,” Rutger says.

  I don’t remember him saying anything. In fact, I’m pretty sure he sat indolently, not even inspecting the hole before we packed it with the chemical explosive. He walks to the excavation site for a better look, raking his hand on one of the canary cages as he passes by, sending the bird into a panic.

  “Don’t touch the cages,” I say.

  “You’d let them choke to death on methane gas to give yourself a few minutes head start, but I can’t even rattle them?”

  “Those birds could save every one of our lives. I won’t have you torture them for your own enjoyment.”

  Rutger unloads the rage meant for me on the Moroccan foreman. He shouts at the poor man in French, and the dozen workers begin clearing the rubble from the blast.

  It’s been almost four months since I first toured the site, since I first set foot in this strange room. In the first few months of digging, it became clear that the part of the structure they had found was an access tunnel at the bottom of the structure. It led to a door that was sealed — with some sort of technology beyond anything we could ever hope to break through. And we tried everything — fire, ice, explosives, chemicals. The Berbers on the work crew even performed some strange tribal ritual, possibly for their own sake. But it soon became clear that we weren’t getting through the door. Our theory is that it’s some sort of drainage tunnel or emergency evacuation route, sealed for who-knows-how-many thousands of years.

  After some debate, the Immari Council — that’s Kane, Craig, and Lord Barton, my now father-in-law, decided we should move up the structure, into the area that contains the methane pockets. That’s slowed us down, but in the last several weeks we’ve uncovered signs that we’re reaching some sort of entrance. The smooth surface of the structure, some metal that’s harder than steel and makes almost no noise when you strike it, has begun to slope. A week ago we found steps.

  The dust is clearing, and I see more steps. Rutger shouts for the men to work faster, as if this thing is going anywhere.

  Beyond the dust behind me, I hear footfalls and see my assistant running. “Mr. Pierce. Your wife is at the office. She’s looking for you.”

  “Rutger!” I yell. He turns. “I’m taking the truck. Don’t blast anything until I get back.”

  “The hell I won’t! We’re close, Pierce.”

  I grab the pack of blast caps and run to the car. “Drive me to the surface,” I say to my assistant.

  Behind me, Rutger bellows out a tirade about my cowardice.

  At the surface, I change quickly and scrub my hands. Before I can leave for the office, the telephone at the warehouse rings and the manager walks out. “Sorry, Mr. Pierce, she’s done and left.”

  “What did they tell her?”

  “Sorry sir, I don’t know.”

  “Was she sick? Was she going to the hospital?”

  The man shrugs apologetically. “I… I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t ask—”

  I’m out the door and in the car before he can finish. I rush to the hospital, but she’s not there, and they haven’t seen her. From the hospital, the switchboard operator connects me to the newly installed phone at our residence. It rings ten times. The operator breaks on. “I’m sorry, sir, there’s no answer—”

  “Let it ring. I’ll wait.”

  Five more rings. The more and our butler, Desmond, comes on. “Pierce residence, Desmond speaking.”

  “Desmond, is Mrs. Pierce there?”

  “Yes sir.”

  I wait. “Well, put her on then,” I say, trying but failing to hide my nervousness.

  “Of course, sir!” he says, embarrassed. He’s not used to the phone. It’s probably why it took him so long to answer.

  Three minutes pass, and Desmond comes back on the line. “She’s in her room, sir. Shall I have Myrtle go in and see about her—”

  “No. I’ll be there directly.” I hang up, run out of the hospital, and hop back in the car.

  I order my assistant to drive faster and faster. We zoom recklessly through the streets of Gibraltar, forcing several carriages off the street and scattering shoppers and tourists at each turn.

  When we arrive at home, I jump out, race up the stairs, throw open the doors, and storm through the foyer. Pain punches at my leg with every step, and I’m sweating profusely, but I plow on, driven by fear. I climb the grand staircase to the second floor, make a bee line for our bedroom, and enter without knocking.

  Helena turns over, clearly surprised to see me. And surprised at the sight of me — sweat dripping from my forehead, the panting, the painful grimace. “Patrick?”

  “Are you alright?” I say as I sit on the bed with her and brush the thick blankets back. I run my hand over her swollen stomach.

  She sits up in the bed. “I could ask you the same thing. Of course I’m alright; why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I thought you might have come because you, or there was a problem…” I exhale and the worry flows from my body. I scold her with my eyes. “The doctor said you should stay in bed.”

  She slumps back into the pillows. “You try staying in bed for months on end—”

  I smile at her as she realizes what she’s said.

  “Sorry, but as I recall you weren’t all that good at it either.”

  “No, you’re right, I wasn’t. I’m sorry I missed you; what is it?”

  “What?”

  “You came by the office?”

  “Oh, yes. I wanted to see if you could slip out for lunch, but they told me you were already out.”

  “Yes. A… problem down at the docks.” It’s the 100th time I’ve lied to Helena. It hasn’t gotten any easier, but the alternative is a lot worse.

  “The perils of being a shipping magnate.” She smiles. “Well, maybe another day.”

  “Maybe in a few weeks, when it will be three for lunch.”

  “Three indeed. Or maybe four; I feel that big.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  “You’re a brilliant liar,” she says.

  Brilliant liar isn’t the half of it.

  Our revelry is interrupted by the sound of knocking in the next room. I turn my head.

  “They’re measuring the drawing room and the parlor below,” Helena says.

  We’ve already renovated for a nursery and enlarged three bedrooms for the children. I bought us a massive row house with a separate cottage for the house staff, and I can’t imagine what else we might need now.

  “I thought we could build a dancing room, with a parquet floor, like the one in my parent’s house.”

  Every man has limits. Helena can do whatever she wants to the house; that’s not the issue. “If we have a son?” I ask.

  “Don’t worry.” She pats my hand. “I won’t subject your strong American son to the dull intricacies of English society dance. But we’re having a girl.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “You know this?”

  “I have a feeling.”

  “Then we’ll need a dancing room,” I say, smiling.

  “Speaking of dancing, an invitation came by messenger t
oday. The Immari Annual Meeting and Christmas Ball, they’re having it in Gibraltar this year. There’s to be quite a celebration. I rang Mother. She and Father will be there. I’d like to go. I’ll take it easy, I assure you.”

  “Sure. It’s a date.”

  CHAPTER 89

  Kate squinted, trying to read the journal. The sun was setting over the mountains and dread was building in her stomach. She glanced over at David. His expression was almost blank, unreadable. Maybe somber.

  As if reading her mind, Milo entered the large wood-floored room with a gas-burning lantern. Kate liked the smell; it somehow put her at ease.

  Milo set the lantern on a table by the bed, where the light would reach the journal and said, “Good evening, Dr. Kate—” Upon seeing that David was awake, he brightened. “And hello again, Mr. Ree—”