The Hunt for Atlantis

by Andy McDermott

  The dark glass doors of the main entrance flew open, uniformed guards rushing out. Armed guards, equipped with MP-7s. Armor-piercing rounds, like the ones Chase himself had used in Tibet.

  “Hit ’me!” he shouted, diving to the ground and bringing up his UMP. Starkman and the other six men did the same. The front wall of the biolab erupted with fountains of dust as they raked the building with .45-caliber fire. The doors burst into black shards, blood spraying among the glass as the guards fell.

  More MP-7 fire crackled off to Chase’s left as another group of guards ran from the security block. They were better prepared than their late colleagues, and also had more cover, ducking behind the walls on either side of the steps.

  Starkman’s second team was about thirty yards distant from them, out in the open with the road still to cross. They had split into two groups of three, one group diving to the ground to give the other covering fire as they raced for the nearest building.

  The security forces fired back, trying to catch the running men before they reached cover. One of the guards put his head too far above the wall and had a chunk of his skull blown away by a .45 round, gore sluicing through the air as he fell backwards.

  But the others kept firing.

  One of the running men fell, bloody wounds blossoming across his chest. His companions didn’t even break their stride until they reached the building and flung themselves into cover.

  The guards turned their fire on the men lying on the ground. Clods flew up into the air as bullets thudded into the earth. Chase saw a line of spraying dirt advancing on one man like a snake at its prey, but there was no way he could warn him.

  Red blood spouted into the air among the churned-up soil.

  The guards redirected their fire, trying to pin down the other men on the ground—

  A pair of grenades arced through the air, tossed with precision by the team in the cover of the building. They exploded at head height over the steps and showered the guards with lethal shrapnel. Every window within thirty feet shattered under the double blast.

  “Main doors!” yelled Chase, sprinting towards the entrance. Starkman and the others followed, spreading out to provide cover.

  Chase reached the wrecked doors, flattening himself against one side and glancing into the building’s interior. The horseshoe-shaped reception desk was unmanned, the guards staffing it now dead at his feet.

  Starkman took up position on the other side of the doors. Chase moved into the lobby, backed up by another of the American’s men. Beyond the desk was the entrance to the glass-roofed central corridor; to one side, stairs led up and down.

  A door opened, and Chase snapped up his gun. A young blond woman emerged, freezing in fear as she saw him.

  “Hi,” said Chase, waving for Starkman to hold fire. “You speak English?”

  The woman nodded, wide-eyed.

  “Okay. Get out of the building. There’s going to be a fire. Well, more of an explosion, actually, but…” He spotted a fire alarm on the wall nearby. “Anyone else in there?”

  She nodded again, too frightened to speak.

  “Okay, tell them to get out… and run like hell!” He smashed the glass covering the alarm with the stock of his UMP. Bells rang. Chase winced at the noise—it would make it harder to hear any approaching guards—but the faster the civilians were out of the building, the better.

  Because in five minutes, there wasn’t going to be a building.

  He moved past the door—keeping his weapon aimed at the people running out, in case any of them were armed—and kicked open the next one. A security station. Empty.

  But he knew there were more guards elsewhere in the building…

  Starkman and the rest of his men clattered into the lobby as the civilians fled. “Set charges in there!” Chase shouted over the clamor of the fire bells, pointing at the door from which Frost’s employees had come. “Make sure all the civvies get out first!”

  “This is gonna get messy!” Starkman complained. People from the floor above were hurrying down the stairs. “If there’s any guards mixed in with the staff—”

  “Then aim! You Yanks do remember how to do that, don’t you?” Chase shot Starkman a sarcastic smile before taking cover behind the desk, watching the stairs and the central corridor as the biolab employees rushed through the lobby. Scientists, technicians …

  And guards! Shoving through the crowd, MP-7s coming up—

  Chase hoped the civvies had the sense to keep their heads down. He fired a three-round burst, deliberately aiming high, before ducking. People screamed. MP-7 fire echoed through the lobby, the expensive marble top of the reception desk splintering as armor-piercing rounds ripped into it.

  More gunfire, the deeper thudding of UMPs as Starkman and his men fired back. More screams, and the firing stopped. Chase peered over the desk, and was relieved to see that only the guards had been hit.

  “You were right!” Starkman called. “That whole aiming thing really does work!”

  Chase grinned, then gestured to the people on the stairs, directing them towards the doors. “Everybody out! Jason, get your guys to plant some more charges on the support columns in the garage—we can drop this whole place into the ground!”

  “What about you?” asked Starkman.

  Chase nodded at the central corridor. “Frost’ll have the virus in the containment area—we need to collapse the hillside and make sure it stays in there!”

  “Sounds good to me. I’ll cover you. Aristides, Lime, with me—the rest of you set your charges in the basement, then get out!”

  Chase checked the corridor. More people were running up it, trying to escape the building. “Come on!”

  He ran into the corridor, Starkman and the others following. The men and women coming the other way reacted with predictable fear to the sight of four armed men in body armor charging towards them, and desperately tried to get out of their way, cowering by the walls.

  “Get out of the building!” Chase roared. “Go!”

  “We got company!” Starkman yelled, pointing down the corridor. Chase saw two uniformed men crouching behind the security post at the far end, taking aim—

  He threw himself sideways as a spray of bullets flew down the corridor, cutting down one worker who had been trapped in the middle of the passage, paralyzed by his own fear and indecision.

  “Shit!” Chase spat. The civilians were still scurrying helplessly across the corridor, blocking his aim, and the guards weren’t bothered about casualties among the workers.

  A bloody wound burst open in the shoulder of a woman a few yards from him, bright red spots staining her face as she fell.

  No choice.

  He raised his UMP and fired a burst at the security station, trying not to hit any of the panicking civilians. The guards ducked as bullets cracked around them.

  “Cover fire!” shouted Chase. A man tried to run past him; he grabbed him and pointed at the injured woman. “Get her out of here!” Terrified, the man nodded, then dragged the woman along the corridor.

  Chase fired another burst to keep the guards occupied, then rushed down the corridor, staying to one side to give Starkman a clear angle. He jumped over a man cringing in a doorway, the heavy doors of the first airlock not far ahead.

  The gunfire behind him went from three guns to two, then one as the others reloaded. Frost’s men would take that as an opportunity to pop up and start shooting back. Right on cue, one of the men sprang up from behind the counter, MP-7 at the ready—

  Only to fly backwards against the wall in a spray of blood as Chase emptied his magazine into him.

  Chase dived, the spent magazine ejected even before he hit the polished floor.

  The second guard jumped up.

  At least three seconds to reload …

  The guard saw him and brought around his MP-7—

  His head snapped back, a single shot from Starkman’s UMP catching him in the forehead.

  Chase looked back to see the othe
r men jogging towards him. He reloaded his gun, then got up. “Nice shot.”

  “Yes, very nice,” said another voice.

  Chase whirled.

  Frost!

  He fired at the figure on the other side of the doors at the same moment as Starkman, their UMPs now on full auto and unleashing a savage burst of firepower at the glass.

  Tink. Tink.

  The flattened bullets fell harmlessly to the floor at the base of the door. The transparent aluminum armor wasn’t even scuffed.

  “Son of a bitch!” Starkman muttered.

  Frost stepped forward. His voice emerged from a speaker below the thumbprint reader. “Mr. Chase. I have to admit, I’m surprised to see you.”

  “You owed me some back pay,” said Chase, looking for a way to open the door. Maybe there was an override at the security station …

  “Don’t bother,” said Frost. “This section of the lab is completely sealed. There’s no way you can get in.”

  “Maybe we can’t get in, but I’m gonna make goddamn sure you don’t get out,” Starkman told him. He opened one of the packs attached to his belt and took out the contents. “CL-20. Two pounds of it. We’re gonna bring the place down on you just like you tried to do to us in Tibet.”

  Frost merely smirked. “I wish you luck.” He turned his back on them and started to walk away.

  “Frost!” Chase shouted. “Where’s Nina?”

  Frost paused, glancing back at him. “Dr. Wilde is with my daughter. Kari persuaded me to keep her alive—she hopes to convince her to see reason and join us before the virus is released.”

  “And when’ll that be?”

  “In however many minutes it takes their plane to reach thirty thousand feet.” Chase and Starkman exchanged shocked looks. “Yes, it’s already happening. You’re too late, Mr. Starkman. Qobras failed to stop me, and so have you. You might want to reflect on that… before you die. Which no matter what happens will be sometime in the next twenty-four hours.” He smirked again. “Good-bye, gentlemen.” With that, he walked away. The second set of doors slammed decisively behind him.

  Starkman angrily fired another burst at the door, which remained unscathed. “Motherfucker!”

  “If there’s one thing I hate,” said Chase, “it’s a smug bastard.”

  “You think he was lying? About the virus, I mean?”

  “If the plane hasn’t taken off yet, we still have a chance. If it has, we’re fucked, and so’s the rest of the world. Either way …” He took out his own CL-20. “We do what we came here to do—and blow this place to fuck.”

  The Mercedes stopped beneath the massive wing of the Airbus A380. The huge cargo plane was waiting on the runway apron outside its hangar, engines idling. Kari pushed Nina up the boarding steps, the two guards following.

  The A380 had three decks; on an airliner model the middle floor they entered would have been the lower of the two passenger levels, but all three decks of the cavernous freighter version were designed for cargo containers. They entered the crew room. A door at the rear opened into the hold. Nina glanced through it. The windowless deck was about a third full.

  Somewhere among the containers, she knew, was the virus, waiting to be released …

  A steep flight of stairs led up to the top deck. Kari directed her up it. Nina expected to see another huge cargo space, but was slightly surprised to emerge in a luxurious cabin.

  “My father installed a private office,” Kari explained. She unfastened Nina’s handcuffs. “Please, sit.”

  Nina reluctantly did so, looking around. Portholes lined each side of the cabin, and a door in the rear wall presumably opened into the upper hold. An L-shaped desk had a computer monitor and a pair of telephones built into it.

  Kari sat facing her on a leather sofa. The two guards hadn’t come up the stairs with them, staying in the lounge below. Nina wondered if she might be able to overpower Kari and flee the aircraft before it took off … but dismissed the idea even as it took form. She had no chance of beating Kari in a fight.

  “I don’t know what you think you’re going to accomplish,” Nina said. “If you think I’m going to happily go along with what you’re doing …”

  “I don’t expect you to come around with a click of the fingers. I know the whole thing is hard for you to accept. But you have to accept it—it’s going to happen.”

  “You are deluded! No, you’re insane! Do you seriously think I want anything to do with you, ever again?”

  Kari looked wounded. “Please don’t be like that, Nina! Don’t you understand? You’re one of us. You’re a true Atlantean, the very best of humanity! You deserve to be one of the rulers of the world!” She rose and came across the cabin. For a moment Nina thought she was going to hit her again, but instead she knelt down before her. “I don’t want to kill you, I don’t! Just say that you’ve changed your mind—you don’t even have to be telling the truth! Once everything changes, then I know you’ll come around, that you’ll realize we were right. But you have to say it if you want to stay alive.”

  “You’d still kill me even though I’m one of the best of the best?” sneered Nina.

  “I can’t disobey my father. I won’t.” Kari tried to reach for Nina’s hands, but she pulled them away. “Just one word, that’s all I ask. Lie! Please, I don’t care!”

  “Not a chance,” Nina told her.

  The low noise of the engines rose in pitch. The lights flickered, then the A380 shook itself from its torpor, starting to move.

  “The first batch of the virus will be released about fifteen minutes after takeoff,” said Kari, going back to the sofa. “That’s how long you have to change your mind. Nina, please. Don’t make me kill you.”

  Nina turned away to stare through the starboard portholes at the landscape across the fjord, feeling lost.

  Chase could hear intermittent gunfire from outside as he, Starkman and his companions ran for the exit. His gun was in his hands, but he wouldn’t have time to aim it at anybody when he emerged. All that mattered now was getting as far from the biolab as possible.

  They sprinted into the open. Chase saw the last of the civilians running away across open ground, a pair of white Jeep Grand Cherokees parked to block the road two hundred feet away. Taking cover behind them were a number of uniformed guards, a couple of bodies lying on the ground nearby. They were shooting at the two other surviving members of Starkman’s team.

  And across the fjord, he saw an aircraft slowly moving towards the runway, a gleaming A380 freighter.

  The virus was on board—maybe there was still a chance to stop Frost’s plan.

  Nina was on board as well.

  He didn’t have time to think about it. The guards behind the Jeeps had seen them, and were shooting at the men running from the biolab. Chase fired back one-handed, knowing that the chances of hitting them while running were almost zero—but he only needed to keep them off-balance long enough to get clear of the building.

  Lime crashed to the ground as a bullet ripped into his hip. Every ounce of Chase’s training told him to go back and drag him to safety, but in this case there was no safety.

  The CL-20 would detonate any second now—

  One moment, Nina was looking numbly at the distant biolab buildings. The next, she jumped in her seat as the complex disintegrated, multiple explosions pulverizing it and sending tons of debris spinning hundreds of feet into the air. A torus of dust swept outwards like the shockwave of a nuclear bomb. “Jesus!”

  Kari leapt up and ran to the portholes. “Oh my God!”

  “That’s one hell of a last stand,” Nina said triumphantly. Qobras’s men had succeeded!

  Then it hit her. It didn’t make any difference.

  The virus was already out of the lab, on the plane. In fifteen minutes, it would be released. The Brotherhood had destroyed the wrong target!

  Ears ringing, Chase staggered upright. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the hailstone-sized pieces of debris still dropping fro
m the sky and looked around.

  Nobody was shooting at him anymore. Both Jeeps had been caught sidelong by the blast and flipped over, crushing the men behind them.

  The biolab had been almost completely obliterated. What few sections remained were smashed beyond recognition, walls jagged and tilting like broken teeth. Bent and twisted steel girders protruded from the rubble.

  Chase squinted through the drifting cloud of shattered concrete, trying to see how much damage had been caused to the underground containment area. Its entrance was blocked by debris.

  But that wouldn’t take long to clear—and to his dismay, he saw that the exposed part of Frost’s office farther up the hill was more or less intact. While the facade was cratered and cracked, it was still all in one piece—and even the windows had survived the blast, apparently made from the same transparent armor as the airlock doors.

  That meant Frost and the virus had also survived.

  The virus …

  “Shit!” He looked across the fjord. The A380 was still trundling towards the eastern end of the runway. Once there, it would turn and accelerate down the long concrete strip, taking off and heading along the coast to release its deadly cargo.

  Starkman groaned nearby. Aristides was several yards behind him, eyes wide in death. Chase rushed over and grabbed the American, hauling him up. “Come on! The virus is on the plane—we can still stop it!”

  Starkman wiped dirt off his face. “It’s heading for takeoff, Eddie.” He indicated the bridge spanning the fjord. “We’ll never get there in time.”

  Chase jerked a thumb in the direction of the house. “I know where to find a very fast car …”

  The monitor on the desk came to life, casting a glow onto Kari’s worried face. “Ms. Frost,” said a woman’s voice, “I have your father on videolink.”