Atlantis Stolen (Sam Reilly Book 3)

by Christopher Cartwright

  Andrew, if it was even him, had sat opposite her on the jet drinking something that smelled like rich cognac. Then after a few hours, the smell of his dinner became painful. It was roast beef with vegetables. She could imagine the look of gravy poured over the peas, carrots, and potatoes as she heard the man savoring each bite.

  She had waited for him to speak, not wanting to provide him with the upper hand. He wanted her to feel helpless, she gathered. Billie had no intention of giving him such pleasure, so despite her hunger and being deprived the ability to piss, she remained silent. It was a game he was playing with her, but for what purpose she had no idea. He had not spoken a word to her since kidnapping her, when he simply told her that she would die, but first there were a few things he wanted her to clear up.

  She could almost feel him staring at her. Enjoying her discomfort – waiting for her to get herself really fired up with the anxiety that overcame most people in her situation. He was savoring the moment, and she imagined him wanting to do something to provoke her, but carefully restraining his carnal desires. Delaying immediate gratification for something much greater – her complete supplication.

  Well, she wouldn’t be giving him that.

  What’s the worst thing he can do to me? Kill me. Okay, so he’s already established that he’s going to do that. Based on that, any way I can alter the outcome will be in my advantage. If I only have a day to live, it will be worth it to ruin his.

  But what does he really need from me?

  The answer came immediately to her head – Power! She doubted it was sexual. Already, she’d begun to feel like she knew the man. Edward had told her all about his past. He was a rich kid, given money and power by his father. But he was also a Rhodes Scholar, which meant he was exceptionally astute. He was the head of an eleven-thousand-year old cult aimed at ensuring the secret of Atlantis reached its violent fruition. And that made him a fanatic. Even terrorists rarely carry on throughout multiple generations – but to maintain the desire to destroy humanity for eleven thousand years takes fanatical persistence. The more she thought about it, the less she believed what he desired was at all sexual.

  No, he craves power and by the sounds of things gets off over it, the sick fuck. But that’s not what he needs me for. I have something, or else he would have simply put two bullets in my head as he had the rest of the people on the ship.

  Could he still need the code to Atlantis?

  Edward! – Her thoughts quickly moved to the old man, and her heart slumped with the almost certain knowledge that he was now dead, his carcass most likely being eaten by crocodiles. They had all died. There was no reason why she should care more for him than anyone else. But he’d been kind to her. More than that – he had taken her under his wing as he would his own daughter. He never quite got around to explaining it to her, but she knew that the old man had a sad story with his own daughter.

  She stopped herself having the luxury of self-pity, and returned quickly to the task of finding what Andrew was after.

  So if Andrew already had the code to Atlantis, what did he want?

  Could it be that he doesn’t actually know where Atlantis is?

  She dismissed the idea almost immediately.

  No, he knows where it is. Mark would have had that information. Otherwise he would have already tried to find out from her where it was, instead of flying there.

  Billie had no doubt that they were flying directly toward New York.

  He’s already been there! Which means – he’s seen the challenges. He can’t pass them! That’s what he needs me for.

  And that meant there was time… if only she could get a message to Sam Reilly.

  The flight continued. It made a brief landing. From what she could gather, it was only to refuel. Her ears, now highly attuned to the sounds around her, noticed that the man who was watching her had stood up to stretch his legs.

  She waited for a few minutes and then stood up herself.

  Instantly she was punched in the gut. The force knocked the wind out of her lungs, and as her diaphragm went into a spasm, she struggled to take the next breath. Slowly she curled up, back in her seat.

  Then, slowly gaining the ability to breathe again, Billie said, “I was going to the bathroom, you fuckwit!”

  “So go,” the man replied with a laugh.

  She hated to let the man have his way, but even so, it was a long flight to the U.S. and there was no way that she was going to hold it all that way.

  Without speaking, she simply pissed on the man’s jet.

  “The fucking bitch just wet herself!” the man said.

  “Good.” It was the voice she’d associated with Andrew. “That means we’re almost ready to begin.”

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Edward reached the shore with Zanzibe, the pygmy king. It was a long swim, over a mile, and at 80 years of age, he was probably in the one percent of his age bracket who could possibly do it. The fact that he didn’t die of a heart attack during the swim only proved that the purpose that drove him was more valuable than his life. He could die soon, after he had performed his task, but not before.

  “Thank you Zanzibe – I would not be here if you hadn’t entered when you had.”

  “No. I know you’re not one of them. You’re not a god, but Dr. Swan is, isn’t she?”

  Edward nodded his head.

  “And you’re going to save her life!” the pygmy insisted.

  “Me? How the hell do you expect me to do that? I’m in the middle of the Congo jungle, without anything, and they’re in a helicopter, probably already boarding a plane to Atlantis. I want Andrew dead as much as you do, and I want to save Dr. Swan too, but I don’t think it’s possible. Hell, I don’t even know how I’m going to get out of this jungle, let alone to New York.”

  “I will help you.”

  Edward laughed. “I hate to tell you this, but despite being the king of your little tribe, there is a really big world out here, and there’s little that any of us can do to change it.”

  “I believe you’re right, but all the same. I need you to save Dr. Swan’s life – before the code to Atlantis is initiated, and your ‘really big world’ has a bad day.”

  “Okay, so how do we get out of the jungle from here?”

  “Leave that to me.”

  The pygmy then started to call out in an ancient pygmy dialect sounding more like a bird’s mating ritual than anything human. Within minutes it was answered.

  Great – he speaks with the animals!

  And then all went quiet in the jungle.

  “What did they say?”

  “They said they’d help you. Because it is important, not because they like you.”

  “Great. Which way do we walk?”

  The pygmy pointed toward a small opening in the dense forest. “There.”

  Five minutes later the quietness of the jungled was interrupted by the sound of chopper blades spinning.

  Edward grinned at the little native. “You ordered a helicopter?”

  “Of course. And now, I’m coming with you, to make sure you don’t screw it up.”

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  JFK Airport – 12 Hours Remaining

  Sam Reilly stepped off the plane. The presidential motorcade met him at the tarmac. A U.S. Marine in dress uniform held the door open for him. Sam casually stooped to get into the car. His father had financed the President’s campaign. He wasn’t intimidated by the man. If anything, he was relieved. If he was here, it meant that the Secretary of Defense had taken him seriously.

  “Hello, Mr. President.” Sam shuffled to the far side of the car, affectionately known as the Beast. Tom followed, and the door was shut immediately afterwards. They both shook the President’s hand. Next to him sat the Secretary of Defense. Her red hair was tied back in a perfect, military bun. Sam considered if she really did have a permanent scowl, or if it was just an act when she spent time with him. Somehow, despite the anger in her eyes and displeasure every time sh
e spoke with him, she was possibly the sexiest woman he’d ever met. That being the case, he could think of no one he’d less like to spend the evening with.

  “Mr. Reilly, one day I would really like to know what you were doing looking into our long buried secrets from last century in Siberia. But if you’re anything like your father I know I would be wasting my breath. For now, I need to know precisely how much time we have left?”

  “On the Atlantis counter?”

  “Yes, on the God damn Atlantis counter.”

  “A little under twelve hours,” Sam replied. “Did you find what I asked for?”

  “Yes. The original Costello map – we’ve just picked it up at the Smithsonian Institute. The oldest known map of Manhattan is now in your hands. Also, one of the curators there has found a series of engineering plans for the original water lots. We have more than a thousand of our people looking for that entrance now.”

  “Good.” Sam picked up the delicate papers and began searching for what he needed. “Did the NASA’s Near Earth Object Program find anything?”

  The President answered. “No, they’ve reassured me, there’s nothing that is in a direct collision course with us. Several that may come close, but if we were in danger, we’d have known about it by now.”

  “Did you send them the images of the celestial cavern we found in Poseidon’s temple?” Sam asked.

  The Secretary of Defense said, “Yes, and they had a look at the comet that appears to be on its way toward earth. A Dr. James Bradley from their Near Earth Object Program assures me that nothing short of earth changing its gravitational pull would cause that stone to fall from the sky.”

  “Get him on the phone now!” Sam replied.

  “Why?” The President asked, the slightest of alarm in his voice. “He already said it’s going to narrowly miss earth’s orbit.”

  “Because, let me guess, it will pass over head in around 12 hours’ time.”

  The President nodded his head, realization striking him hard.

  “Here, have a look at this.” Sam handed him the images he’d printed on the flight. “They’re celestial markings found inside Poseidon’s temple. At first they didn’t make any sense, but I just worked out what they are. They’re charts of comets that pass earth close enough to be pulled into our gravitational field. Atlantis somehow affects that pull, changing the direction of the comet from its original path.”

  “Any chance we can take out that comet before it reaches us?” Tom suggested.

  “Impossible.” The President’s answer was firm. “We have systems in place to destroy an extraterrestrial collision of this sort, but they would take months to put into effect. No, I suggest we now utilize our resources to making certain that no one activates Atlantis.”

  Sam skimmed the construction notes for the water lots that were built in 1653 – the first of a series of land reclamations within the island of Manhattan. When his eyes reached a series of names – mostly the owners or companies who were building he stopped. “Okay, here it is. This one! It says the owner was a Mr. Felix Brandt.”

  “Are you certain?” the President asked.

  “Yes. Andrew Brandt is the one who we believe kidnapped Dr. Swan. There must be a connection somewhere. He needs something that Billie has – my guess, she managed to find the code to Atlantis.” Sam thought about it for a few seconds. “Okay, let them know it must be hiding in relatively plain sight. Dr. Billie Swan was there just five weeks ago. If she reached it on her own, then it means she hasn’t been doing any serious excavation, or your people would already know about it. We’re looking for somewhere that descends below that building.”

  “There’s only one problem…” the President looked seriously at him.

  “What?”

  “That building was torn down in 1930.”

  “It has to be that building! Why was it torn down?”

  “To make way for the construction of the Bank of America Financial Center on the corner of Wall Street and Water.”

  Sam looked at the Costello map, comparing it to where the modern day Bank of America Building rested. “Okay, I have it. Get me to that building. I know where those tunnels are. And I think I just worked out how Billie managed to find it so easily in the first place.”

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Sitting in wet cargo pants for the duration of the remaining flight would have been a small price to pay for the knowledge that she’d upset her captor, but his words, “Good, she is almost ready,” seemed far more ominous.

  The jet was still taxiing when someone grabbed her from behind and forced her to stand. Soon she’d discover exactly what Andrew needed from her before she died. The plane stopped moving, and she found herself walking down a series of steps, to where another chopper was waiting.

  Fifteen minutes later, the helicopter landed. She was pulled out of it by a man who’d been waiting for her. The wind nearly knocked her off her feet. Below, a long way down, she could only just barely hear the cars honking their horns.

  Well, that answered whether or not Andrew knows where Atlantis is – he’d taken her to the top of the Bank of America’s Financial Center.

  They walked her into a waiting elevator.

  It dropped five stories before coming to a halt on the 18th floor. There, she felt a man’s rough hands pull at her bound wrists, forcing her to step out. A man reeking of rich cologne swiped a key card to open up the bank’s most secure elevator.

  It was a security measure to make it more difficult to rob the bank’s elite private vaults. Owners who utilized the bank’s private security boxes, were forced to enter the lobby, take an elevator up to the 18th floor, where they would pass more security checks, before entering a completely different elevator – its elevator shaft completely separate to the rest of the elevators in the building. The elevator lowered nearly 45 stories below, taking them deep below the building, where a secret vault housed some of the world’s most precious secrets and valuable items.

  The secret vault was not made known to the general public. The bank offered a security deposit box system for its regular customers on an entirely different level. This secret vault had reached the same status as an ancient legend. A place where some of the most unique items from around the world, were stored for its absolute security.

  Billie had only reached her conclusion to the location of Atlantis because she too held a safety deposit box in the secret vault. A place where she stored many of the artifacts and notes she’d obtained on her quest to complete what her grandfather started. Based on her calculations from the looking glass within the Mayan pyramid, she’d determined the location of Atlantis as the corner of Wall Street and Water Street, New York. The second she saw it, she imagined the only place that such a secret could be maintained over the centuries.

  The elevator came to an abrupt halt, and she was forced to step out. The temperature dropped several degrees. She recalled that the secret vault was maintained at an artificially lowered temperature to protect some of the older, more fragile, artifacts.

  Still blindfolded, she was pushed toward the end of the room. Her hands were unbound, her head was pushed downwards, and she was forced inside a metallic tunnel. The smell of burnt waste still festered. She knew precisely where she was now.

  Crawling slowly, she felt the sharp prick of a knife on her legs every time she stopped.

  Climbing out the other side, she heard the tiny door behind her close with a metallic clank, followed by several turns of its security lock, like that of a submarine hatch.

  Once in the ancient tunnel of Atlantis a man removed her blindfold for the first time since she’d been kidnapped from the deck of the Andre Sephora. A blond-haired man greeted her with a well-practiced, and disarming smile. He then carefully removed her gag. A curious grin on his face, it appeared as though he was fascinated by what she might say or do now.

  When she said nothing, he displayed the resignation of a bully who’d been told that the child’s mother was here now
, and that he could no longer torment it.

  “Now, Dr. Swan, I would like you to show me how to beat the challenges of Atlantis.”

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Edward examined his little pygmy friend, Zanzibe.

  He’d dressed the king in a Vivienne Westwood suit. Somehow, it transformed him from what looked like an albino child, to a rich, albeit very short businessman. The bank’s security staff wouldn’t dare take a second look at him, dressed as such. Zanzibe smiled his perfectly white teeth, sharpened to razor points.

  Edward sighed. “Perhaps no smiling at anybody, my friend.”

  “Very good. No smiling.”

  “Okay, are you ready?”

  “Yes, of course. I was born to protect Atlantis.”

  Fanaticism never ceased to amaze Edward. His friend had spent his entire life preparing for tonight’s event. One look at the little pygmy, and he knew that the man would gladly give his life to protect the legacy of his Gods.

  “All right. Let’s do this.”

  It was early in the evening. The main bank was closed, but its secret vault never slept. The staff saw themselves as the divine custodians of some of the world’s most precious items, and their owners could visit their secrets twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Edward drove up to the main gates in his own car. A security camera confirmed his details, and then opened the gates. He drove into the bank’s underground security drive.

  A valet immediately approached. “Welcome back Mr. Worthington. Will you be staying long?”

  Edward handed him the keys and replied, “Perhaps an hour, thank you.”

  The vault offered an enforced valet service to reduce the risk of bank robbery, because the getaway car would be parked in a separate building’s carpark. The night manager approached, and cordially greeted them. “Welcome back Mr. Worthington.”

  Edward shook the manager’s hand and said, “This is Mr. Zanzibe. My friend from the Democratic Republic of Congo, who I told you about. As you can imagine, he needs to store some of his better discoveries.”