The Hunt for Atlantis

by Andy McDermott

  Suddenly Nina froze, puzzled. The room seemed a lot brighter, as though her flashlight had magically doubled in power.

  Filled with dread, she turned.

  Hajjar stood barely three feet from her, having just emerged from a room hidden behind a moving bookcase, a lantern hanging from a strap over one shoulder. He seemed almost as surprised as she was—but not so surprised that he didn’t think to point his sinister-looking gun at her.

  “Dr. Wilde,” he said, running his gaze up and down her body before raising the blade attached to his right wrist to her throat. “Good to see you again.”

  The courtyard was a long rectangle with the main gate at the center of the southern wall. Off to each side were large raised marble stands containing ornamental plants, three in each row. Chase and Castille took cover behind one of them as they got their bearings.

  “The way down to the cells should be through that door,” said Chase, pointing ahead.

  “She might not be in there,” Castille replied. “We should split up, so one of us can check the upper floors.”

  “What about his men?”

  “He’s a criminal, not a warlord! It’s not as though he has a private army.”

  The door Chase had indicated burst open, five men armed with MP-5s rushing into the courtyard.

  “On the other hand …” Chase grimaced as he opened up with his Uzi. Castille popped up and let rip with the G3 over the top of the plants. Two of Hajjar’s men fell immediately, blood splattering the walls behind them. The remaining three split up, two sprinting across the courtyard for the cover of the planter diagonally opposite Chase and Castille, the third diving behind the one ahead of them.

  Chase hunted for an escape route. Besides the main gate, the nearest exit from the courtyard was through a set of arched French windows in the west wall, but reaching them would require a sprint of almost forty feet—with no cover. “Shit! If they pin us here for too long, those guys from the bottom gate’ll catch up from behind!”

  “What about—” Castille began, just as the flowers above him blew apart in showers of petals. “Excusezmoi!” he yelled at the gunmen in complaint. “What about those windows?”

  Chase followed his line of sight—ten feet away in the south wall were two windows, at roughly chest height. But they were each less than two feet wide. “Bit small, aren’t they?” He counted the shots from Hajjar’s men, already sensing a pattern. Pop up, fire a three-round burst, duck back while his mate repeated the process …

  He paused for a second, then leaned around the side of his cover. Right on cue, one of the men across the courtyard jumped up to aim at them—only to reel back and drop out of sight as a single bullet from Chase’s Uzi blew a hole in his face. “One down! If we can nail another one, we can cover each other until we reach those doors.”

  More innocent flowers were blasted into potpourri. Castille flapped a hand as fragments of petals rained around his face, their scent at bizarre odds with the acrid tang of burnt gunpowder. “It’s a good thing they don’t have grenades.”

  “Yeah, and too bad we don’t either! We could—” Chase stopped as he heard a warning shout. “Oh, you had to bloody tempt fate, didn’t you? Grenade!”

  Both men fired at the windows as they sprang up and ran towards them. Behind, a grenade arced down from the other end of the courtyard, landing with a thump of soft soil in the planter.

  The glass shattered as Chase stitched a line of bullets up it, diving headlong at the narrow opening. Beside him, Castille did the same. They let go of their guns just before hitting the shower of glass, protecting their faces with their arms as the exploding grenade blew out a huge chunk of marble from the side of the planter and hurled soil and vegetation over thirty feet in the air. A lethal hail of metal flew after the two ex-soldiers, but by then Chase and Castille were already through the windows. What little glass remained in the windows flew after them like razor-edged confetti as they hit the floor.

  Chase shook off the fragments of glass. The room was a gallery of some kind, lined with statues. His ears were ringing, but besides the jolt of the hard landing on his elbows and knees and a stinging cut on the back of his head, he didn’t feel any new pain. “Are you okay?”

  Castille winced. “I’ve been better!” He held up his left arm; his sleeve had been slashed open and a long jagged cut ran down his forearm, splinters of blood-slicked glass protruding from it.

  “Can you fight?”

  “Always!” He picked up the G3. Chase looked for the Uzi. It wasn’t there—it must have hit the window frame and landed outside.

  He drew his Wildey, pressing his back against the wall next to the smashed window. Castille did the same on the other side. The two guards were running for the French windows, intending to enter the building and cut them off.

  A shot from the Wildey blew the lower jaw off one man. He crashed to the ground, limbs thrashing. Castille fired twice, plugging the second man in the chest. He fell into the French windows, slamming headfirst through the glass.

  “Come on,” Chase snapped. They needed to find Kari—and Nina—fast.

  As they left the gallery, the lights pulsed, then came back on.

  Kari was certain Hajjar would try to flee the fortress. If her rescuers were attacking from the main gate, he would head for the helipad, a platform recessed into the northern side of the building.

  She mentally connected the routes she’d taken from the helipad to the cells, then the cells to Hajjar’s office. Down another floor, then right…

  After restoring power, one of Hajjar’s men hurried back up the stairs—to find his boss waiting for him with an unexpected guest. Apparently today was “beautiful Western women” day at the fortress.

  Though he couldn’t help noticing that this one, a ponytailed redhead rather than the taller ice-blonde he’d seen earlier, really needed a shower.

  “Bring her,” Hajjar ordered. The bodyguard grabbed her shoulder, pushing her along as he stuck his MP-5 into her back.

  “Where’s Kari?” demanded Nina. “What did you do to her?”

  Hajjar glared back at her as he jogged along, smears of blood around his mouth and nose. “What did I do to her? It’s what she did to me you should ask about! If I had known she was so dangerous, I would have tied her legs!”

  Nina was intrigued, but didn’t have the chance to inquire further as they reached a kink in the corridor. A large window looked out over the mountains—and the helicopter on its pad below. Its rotors were turning, picking up speed.

  Hajjar gave the bodyguard orders in Farsi, the man stepping back to hide around the corner where the passageway kinked. Then he turned to Nina. “You, stay here! Wait for your friends!”

  “What, so he can shoot them? Screw you!”

  He jabbed his blade-hand up against her chin, the point cutting her. She gasped. “When they get here, you will wave to them, make it seem everything is all right. If you say a word, try to give them any warning, he will kill you. Do you understand?”

  “Perfectly,” she said, glancing at the bodyguard’s machine gun. Hajjar nodded, then turned away. “Hajjar! Where’s the artifact?”

  He patted his satchel. “It is a shame to destroy something of such historic value … but the fifteen million dollars Qobras is paying me to do so is a lot of money.”

  “Plus the ten million Kristian Frost paid you as well,” Nina said with disgust.

  Hajjar shrugged. “What can I say? Today was a good day for business.” He frowned at the sound of gunfire echoing through the marble-floored corridors. “A bad day for my home, though. It seems I will be spending some of the money on redecorating. But better that than on my own funeral! Good-bye, Dr. Wilde!” He scurried away.

  The bodyguard gestured with his gun, directing Nina to stand in the center of the corridor. Anyone approaching from the other end would see her … but not her captor, tucked out of sight.

  “Do you hear something?” asked Castille as he and Chase hurried through the
fortress.

  “Chopper,” Chase confirmed. The distant but rising whine of the Jet Ranger’s turbine engine was unmistakable.

  “Merde! I knew we were going to have to deal with that thing, I just knew it!”

  “Down there,” said Chase, pointing. They turned a corner.

  Kari heard running footsteps as she approached the T-junction leading to the helipad. She raised the MP-5—

  Chase and Castille rushed around the corner, both of them with their guns aimed right at her!

  “Christ,” said Chase, face cracking into a smile as he lowered his Wildey, “what is it with people not needing me to rescue them today?”

  Kari smiled back. “Perhaps I should ask for a refund.”

  “Let’s not go that far,” Castille said.

  “Where’s Nina?”

  “Hiding, if she did what I told her,” Chase replied.

  “Are you okay? Where’s Hajjar?”

  “I’m fine—but Hajjar has the artifact!”

  Castille made a face. “Let me guess, he’s in his helicopter.”

  “Yes! Come on!”

  They ran up the corridor, Chase leading the way. “Go left at the next junction, then follow it around!” Kari told him.

  “How many men does he have with him?”

  “I don’t know—I shot the two guarding me.”

  Chase gave her a quizzical glance. “You killed them?”

  “Yes.” She returned the look. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing! I’m just not used to having clients do the job for me!”

  They followed the corridor—then stopped when they saw a familiar figure ahead. “Nina!” Kari called.

  “I told her to stay hidden,” Chase complained. “Doc! Are you okay?”

  Pressed against the wall, the bodyguard gestured with his gun: wave them to you. Nina raised her hand.

  Kari began to run down the corridor—only to be stopped in her tracks as Chase seized her arm. “Wait!” he ordered, pulling her back.

  Nina was waving … with her thumb tucked against her hand.

  Chase and Castille’s warning signal.

  Chase ran, heading for the kink in the corridor. Just before he reached it, he threw himself into a twisting dive, raising his gun.

  The bodyguard leapt out, aiming his MP-5—only to find that his target was on the floor, pointing a huge gun up at him!

  Chase fired three shots.

  The impact of the Magnum bullets blew the bodyguard backwards, the gun dropping from his hands. He smashed through the window, falling fifteen feet to land in a broken heap on the helipad. The noise of the Jet Ranger rushed into the fortress.

  “Are you all right?” Chase asked.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine!” Nina cried.

  Kari rushed up to her and, to Nina’s surprise, hugged her. “Thank God you’re safe!” She pulled back a little, nose wrinkling. “What’s that smell?”

  “That’s his fault,” Nina said, scowling at Chase, who looked away innocently. The wind from the helicopter cut through her relief. “Hajjar! He’s got the artifact!”

  “Shit!” Chase ran to the broken window. The aircraft rose from the pad. “Maybe I can shoot out the engine, force him to land—”

  “No time,” said Kari. Letting go of Nina, she hefted her MP-5 and strode to the window, unleashing a stream of fire at the helicopter’s cockpit on full auto.

  The window of the pilot’s door shattered under the onslaught. Inside the cockpit, the helicopter’s windscreen was showered with a vivid red. The pilot thrashed in his seat, the Jet Ranger going into a spin as he released the controls.

  The chopper’s tail swerved towards the window, its vertical rotor like a giant circular saw.

  “Down!” screamed Chase, grabbing Kari with one hand and Nina with the other as he hurled himself away from the window.

  Castille was almost transfixed by the sight of the helicopter bearing down on him, snapping out of it and diving back down the corridor just as the rotor carved into the stone surround of the window and disintegrated. A foot-long piece of blade shot free and buried itself in the wall barely three inches above his head.

  With its tail rotor gone, the helicopter swung around violently. Hajjar screamed and grabbed the duplicate controls in front of him, but even if the tail had been intact, he didn’t have enough hands to operate them.

  The main rotor blades smashed into a million fragments as they hit unforgiving concrete and stone. The aircraft rolled onto its side and plunged downwards to hit the helipad with a colossal bang, its skids collapsing.

  Chase had landed on top of Nina, trying to shield her with his own body. “Are you okay?”

  “I think I’m dead,” moaned Nina.

  “You’re okay. But God, you need a shower!” She hit him. “Ms. Frost? Are you all right?”

  Kari jumped to her feet. “The artifact! We’ve got to get it!” She ran to the helipad stairs.

  “It’s still dangerous!” Chase yelled, but too late. “Buggeration!”

  “Mon dieu!” shrieked Castille, staring in dismay at the piece of rotor embedded in the wall. “Helicopters! Always it’s fucking helicopters! I knew it!”

  “You’re still alive, Hugo, so stop complaining! Come on!” Chase got up. Nina was about to do the same, but he shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. Wait here.” He set off after Kari, Castille following.

  The helicopter hadn’t caught fire, to his relief, but there was a strong stench of fuel—and the engine was still running, the broken stubs of the rotor blades whirling around above the wrecked fuselage. The aircraft’s body was tilted at almost a forty-five-degree angle, its nose crushed like an eggshell. Kari was already at the wreck, ducking under the spinning blades to reach the door.

  “Ms. Frost, wait!” Chase shouted again as he hurried down the stairs to the pad. “Kari! It’s not safe!”

  “We have to get the artifact!” she answered, fumbling with the handle. Inside she could see Hajjar slumped in his seat, blood running from a cut on his forehead. The catch clicked, and she pulled the door open—

  Hajjar burst into life, swinging his right hand at her and slicing right through the sleeve of her coat. She screamed as blood spattered the pure white material. Instinctively she clutched at the wound with her other hand.

  In that moment Hajjar leapt from the cockpit and knocked her onto her back, pinning her to the ground as he pressed the tip of the serrated blade against her throat. The modified M11 was in his other hand.

  “Drop your guns or she dies!” he yelled. “Now!”

  Chase realized that even a head shot would be no use in this situation—if Hajjar fell, he would drive the blade through Kari’s neck with the weight of his own body. With no choice, he dropped the Wildey. Castille did the same with his rifle. They kicked the fallen guns away.

  “Good,” said Hajjar. Still holding his knife-hand against Kari, he rose to a crouch and brought his gun around to cover Chase and Castille. “Her I still want alive. You? Not so—”

  Blam!

  A bullet smacked into the fuselage, punching a hole through the thin sheet metal. Everyone looked up to see Nina standing in the broken window, aiming the dead bodyguard’s MP-5 down at the helicopter.

  “Let her go, Hajjar!” she yelled.

  “Nina, don’t shoot him!” Chase warned. “If he falls, he’ll cut her throat!”

  “Let her go!”

  “You have never used a gun before, have you?” Hajjar called mockingly. “I can tell just from the way you are holding it! Do you really think you can hit me before I kill her?”

  “I wasn’t aiming at you!” she answered.

  Castille raised an eyebrow. “I hope you weren’t aiming at Ms. Frost!”

  Hajjar’s voice was still filled with derision. “Then what?”

  “I was aiming at the gas tank. Which is now on fire.”

  All heads turned back to the crashed aircraft. Dirty black smoke rose from the engine cowling, whipped up b
y the spinning rotor.

  Momentarily frightened by the new danger, Hajjar flinched, the pressure of the blade easing—

  Giving Kari the chance to snatch up her left hand and force the weapon away from her neck.

  She felt one of the serrations tear her skin, but it was just a scratch. The instant the cold metal was clear of her throat, she swept up her right hand to deliver a karate blow to Hajjar’s jaw. Her awkward position didn’t provide much leverage, but the heel of her palm still struck hard enough to drive his lower jaw against his upper with a sharp crack of snapping teeth. Spitting blood, he let out a gurgling scream and staggered backwards. Kari rolled away, and Chase leapt over her to tackle Hajjar.

  “Get the thing!” he shouted at Kari as he struggled with the Iranian, grabbing his wrists. Hajjar was stronger than he looked, muscle beneath the fat. And he had a lethal weapon in each hand, while all Chase had were his two fists.

  Kari scrambled to her feet, keeping her head low to avoid the rotor blades. She moved to the open cockpit door.

  “No! Kari! It’s in his bag!” Nina yelled.

  Chase looked down. Hajjar had a satchel over one shoulder—

  The brief distraction was enough to give Hajjar an opportunity. Driven by pain and fury, he twisted his left wrist and squeezed the trigger of the Ingram. Flames exploded from the barrel of the evil little machine pistol, the fire close enough to burn Chase’s cheek and neck as the bullets seared past. Castille, running to help his partner, abruptly changed course and pulled Kari away as the shots raked along the helicopter’s side.

  Hajjar brought his gun around for a lethal shot.

  Two fists, and one head—

  Chase pounded a crunching head butt straight into the Iranian’s face, crushing his nose flat in a rosette of blood. “Stitch that!”

  More smoke belched from the chopper, the crackle of flames rising even above the howl of the engine.

  Still gripping Hajjar’s wrists, Chase pulled his dazed opponent upright. “Hajjar!” he yelled. “Hands up!” He lifted Hajjar’s arms into the air—