The Atlantis Cipher (The Relic Hunters Book 2)

by David Leadbeater

  “It’s what we want to believe,” Cross said.

  “Definitely,” Gunn said. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Or certain parts of it, at least.”

  “You think they’ll look back on the twentieth and twenty-first centuries as golden ages?” Jemma said wistfully. “Disco? The airplane? Game of Thrones?”

  Heidi laughed and faced the front. “Whatever we do now,” she said, “we do for our own reasons. Often, we put advancement in front of family time, work before play. Who wins?” She whispered, “At the end of the day . . . with all that we do . . . do we really make a difference?”

  “You have to believe that we do,” Bodie said. “Being the law enforcement officer.”

  “Well, here’s a chance for all of us to help,” Heidi said. “Find Atlantis first. Discover all the good and bad it has to offer. Stop our enemies from using any of it against us. History might not thank a team of relic hunters and the CIA for finding it first, but it will make a difference to the public that we serve. The stakes are higher than any of us can imagine, because the riches we seek are unfathomable.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  In the end they had convened at a pleasant, quiet, out-of-the-way restaurant where a real fire crackled in the hearth and the tabletops were wooden and pitted with use. The whole team found Washington, DC, a little dire and dismal after the buoyant climes of Rio and Florida. Civilians, in general, just didn’t seem as happy here. Bodie speculated that it might simply be because most of them were either at or on their way to work, but wondered if it might also have something to do with the imposing government buildings that appeared to oversee everything.

  “I’m never going to Langley,” was the first thing Cassidy Coleman said to Heidi now that they had reunited.

  “Crap, girl, that’s never gonna be in the cards. You think I want you in there?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I have a reputation to uphold.” Heidi had turned away, leaving Cassidy gawping and Bodie trying to hide a grin.

  Bodie ordered steak, medium to well done, with fries and peppercorn sauce. It was a strange place for an operational meeting, but with the catering available, he wasn’t complaining.

  “Feels like I’m being fattened up for something,” Gunn said, waving the menu and peering at the walls as if he might pick out a hidden lens.

  Bodie understood the reservations of a thief all right. “Enjoy it while you can,” he said. “We’re as safe as we can be tonight. Tomorrow . . . who knows?”

  Heidi ran through the latest events involving Jack Pantera and his family, explaining how the first safe house had now been vacated for one that promised to be more long term—located just outside Miami. Pantera, Steph, and Eric were trying to stay comfortable.

  And civil, considering the hardships between them that had affected their marriage, Pantera’s covert business dealings, and the impact of the Bratva attack.

  Bodie didn’t envy any of them. The mixed feelings he harbored over the entire situation continued to curdle within him. So far, he still hadn’t been able to come to terms with Jack’s betrayal and preceding silence.

  But you don’t have a child.

  A war raged within Bodie. The inner voice imploring him to see the whole picture was entirely correct, but the events and the way they had played out still niggled.

  And the Bratva? Well, there was a long conversation with Heidi over several bottles of rum. Asking for help had never been his forte. The situation with Heidi was about as complex as it was likely to get. Feelings were running high.

  Still, his best friend, Cross, was back now, and maybe they could come up with a plan between them.

  “It’s like we’re in limbo,” Cassidy had said on the way here. “Hanging. But also tasked with the job of a lifetime by people we don’t like.” She had shivered. “It’s conflicting.”

  And Bodie felt the same. Here they were, hunting down and stealing more high-profile relics than they ever would have dreamed—and they were doing it legally with the force and resources of the American government at their back.

  Legally?

  Near enough, he thought, mentally shrugging off the question. So long as criminal organizations and warlords stayed in the mix, Bodie was comfortable with all the gray areas.

  He dived in to the meal, enjoying the steak. The worries melted away for just a short while. Cassidy latched on to Gunn’s earlier “fattening up” comment and ribbed him about his widening girth, which Bodie couldn’t see but Gunn took incredibly seriously. Jemma wondered aloud if there were any decent nightclubs in the area, which diverted Cassidy’s attention faster than a striking viper.

  “I have an app,” she told Jemma. “It’s called Party Girl.”

  The team, even Heidi, grinned.

  Cross ate and drank steadily, picking at his food with a care that had earned him the title of The Perfectionist in a different lifetime, long ago. He’d once thought those days great, but had learned since they were replete with darkness, risk, and a self-loathing that threatened his existence. Some people just didn’t see when they were caught in a spiral. Cross saw it now and considered himself lucky that he’d emerged intact out the other side.

  No danger to his family either. You’re a damn lucky son of a bitch.

  He knew it and he kept all of that intensely quiet. The only person who knew he had a family, Bodie, had been sworn to silence. Cross was a private man, and a careful one. Only Bodie had ever been allowed in.

  Heidi looked up every time the front doors opened. Bodie saw it as a feature of her trade, but she was also waiting for someone.

  That someone entered a moment later, saw them, and walked with a clipped step over to their table.

  “Good evening. Reporting as requested.”

  Heidi got her first real-life look at Lucie Boom. In her late twenties, the blonde was tall and leggy but stood somewhat awkwardly, like a young chick unused to being upright. Her hair was scraped back into a ponytail, her expression professional and clear of emotion. In fact, the only personal element about her was a simple item of clothing.

  “That’s a hell of a sweater,” Cassidy said, rubbing her eyes. “You wearing it to keep warm?”

  Lucie flicked a glance at her. “It is made of wool, Miss Coleman. It should keep me warm.”

  Bodie saw no sarcasm in Lucie, just straitlaced honesty. It might be fun trying to help her fit in with a band of thieves.

  “You know my name?” Cassidy drawled, mouth full of food.

  “I know everyone’s names, yes. I have also scanned your background checks. It pays to know who you work with. Where do you want me, Miss Moneymaker?”

  Heidi was pleased Lucie knew enough not to address her as “agent” in the restaurant. “Sit here.”

  “Not too close to Gunn,” Cassidy said. “He even gets a sniff of wool and he’ll be all over you.”

  Heidi stepped in. “Can we move on? Listen, Lucie, I’m sorry we started without you but, hey, you are late. Can I order you anything?”

  “Sorry, I’m late,” Lucie said stiffly, not acknowledging the question. “The research . . . absorbed me. I did get carried away. It won’t happen again.”

  “Umm, no, that’s fine.” Heidi preferred her people honest and dedicated. Honest? Shit, where did I go wrong? “I’m sorry. Where are we with the statues?”

  Lucie sat herself down primly on the edge of the long seat. After rearranging her white sweater and tapping on the tabletop for several beats, she looked at the new faces.

  “Atlantis is a myth. It has always been a myth. Most who aren’t crackpots know that. But, for the sake of clarity and open-minded thought, can we suspend that disbelief temporarily? Just for a few weeks. Can we do that?”

  She looked around earnestly, seeking an answer rather than shooting out a rhetorical question. Bodie respected her openness.

  “I believe we can. After all, we recently located one of the ancient wonders thought lost to the world
. There were times during that op when my faith was tested, but the results speak for themselves.”

  There were nods all around. Lucie looked satisfied. “The major problem with investigating a myth is the obvious lack of information. I mean, when you guys investigated the Statue of Zeus you had a credible history to examine. Real, reliable accounts from the past. But with Atlantis we have . . .” She pursed her lips. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Bodie repeated. “I thought—”

  “Please don’t interrupt. My thought processes are precise and, once broken, are impossible to replicate.”

  Bodie blinked, then saluted. But Lucie was too focused on relaying her research to notice the sarcastic gesture.

  “A real man named Solon, who was judge, lawmaker, and warrior of ancient Athens, was credited as the first man to write about Atlantis. He lived six hundred years before Christianity and was Plato’s ancestor. He learned of it from the ‘wise men of Sais,’ which was an Egyptian town in the Nile Delta. We’re talking 730 BC here now. You may not have heard of Sais, but it is famous for being the place where Osiris was buried. Sais, although Egyptian, was identified with Athens by such men as Herodotus, Diodorus, and Plato. Sais was built before the deluge that destroyed both Athens and Atlantis but, being in Egypt, it survived where the Greek cities did not.”

  “When you say ‘deluge,’” Gunn interrupted, “do you mean the Great Flood?”

  Lucie nodded. “Definitely, but I will come to that later. So, Solon is told the story of Atlantis when he comes to Sais. He is told how Atlantis, in its arrogance, attacked both Greece and Egypt and was later punished by the gods themselves. And in turn, today, no surviving traces of Sais exist either.”

  As Lucie paused, Bodie wondered whether he should ask a question. Was she simply breathing? Was she gathering her thoughts? Was she giving them a chance to raise—

  “The story of Atlantis passed from the elders of Sais to Solon and then to Plato. Yes, it was a family story. A tale to be told around the hearth, and if it wasn’t for Plato’s importance and great aptitude, it may well have been lost forever. Who else could have related it to us? Even then, it is Plato’s works, Critias and Timaeus, that immortalized Atlantis. Was it his way of preserving the legend for all time, or some sentiment, lines of prose to honor a family yarn? Any manner of reasoning can be read into Plato’s intent, as it can with all ancient texts.”

  Lucie paused now and drank from the glass of water the waitress had left for Jemma. Bodie didn’t see it as intentional or malicious; the woman was just incredibly focused.

  Heidi drank from her own glass. “Can I ask a question now?”

  “I’ll open it up to a question-and-answer session when I’m done,” Lucie said, clearly more used to lecturing students than briefing a panel of thieves and CIA spooks. “I believe the ancient priests and scholars understood the importance of preserving history. Of giving future generations an account of past lives and civilizations. Plato begins his recount by saying it is an old-world tale from an aged man. Passed down from grandfather to father and so on. The description of Atlantis begins when Plato described the greatest action the Athenians ever did. The ancient priest in the story is actually describing the greatness of Athens itself, its incomparable eminence, when there comes a threat from across the sea. It states that the Atlantic was navigable over nine thousand years ago—remember that fact—and that Atlantis was situated in front of the strait called the Columns of Hercules. It was incredibly vast, and its people sought to conquer the eastern lands with one devastating blow. Athens eventually overpowered these armies, and then the deluge came and broke the land. Nothing remained. As for the Atlanteans—well, it was told that the gods received whole segments of the earth as their own and Atlantis was the allotment given to Poseidon. Atlantis was divided into ten portions, and the eldest man, the king of kings, for Atlantis had many, was named Atlas. The kings are described as flawed rulers, with absolute control over the life and death of their subjects, reveling in debauchery and riches, and when Zeus saw that base human nature had climbed to ascendancy over majesty, he stepped in and wiped them from the face of the earth. Now, the entire country was mountainous, with towering pinnacles rising toward the skies. Perhaps they might now peek above the surface? Of course, we have a rather thin veneer of research here, and I have already more than scratched it.”

  Bodie drank deeply and waited. Lucie stared around the table, surprise descending onto her face. “I am used to more questions after I’ve finished speaking.”

  “We’re allowed to talk now?” Cassidy asked. “Sorry, girl, I missed that memo.”

  “Well, what is your question, Miss Coleman?”

  Bodie saw not even the merest hint of humor in Lucie Boom’s expression. The girl was all work, all of the time. He wondered briefly if she possessed an extremely thick skin or if sarcasm, anger, and humor just washed right off her slim shoulders like a gallon of water.

  He was pretty sure it was the latter. “The statues,” he said quickly. “Where do they fit in?”

  “Yes, well, the statues are . . .” She paused and then sighed. “The missing link? It sounds corny, I know, but there you are. How else could nine statues made by the same man at the same time appear on two far-apart and wholly different continents?”

  “Luck?” Gunn ventured.

  “Unlikely. So, let’s skip past the Phoenicians, who were real, and yet nobody questions the fact that their mythology was derived from the same source as Atlantis. Their gods went by the same names as the old kings of Atlantis, and they had quite an affinity with Poseidon. A man called Sanchuniathon was a Phoenician author and wrote three works in the ancient language, which, unfortunately, are now lost. This man supposedly wrote before the Trojan War and around the time of Moses.”

  “Supposedly?” Heidi ventured.

  “Like everything surrounding Atlantis,” Lucie said with a smile, “the man’s words, his accounts, and even his very existence are disputed. One could almost imagine a conspiracy theory designed to place a muzzle on the truth that Atlantis once existed.”

  Bodie finished the steak. “What an outrageous idea.”

  “Truly. Sanchuniathon used sacred lore, writing discovered in shrines and inscriptions on pillars in Phoenician temples, to expose both a new and ancient truth—that the gods were once real men, human beings who were worthy of worship.”

  “I’ve heard that recently,” Jemma put in.

  Lucie ignored her. “So the Phoenicians can’t be the Atlanteans, as some scholars once thought. But the Phoenicians could be the ancestors of the Atlanteans, as well as the race who brought knowledge, wisdom, and education to Egypt, Greece, and Judaea.”

  “I thought we were skipping the Phoenicians,” Gunn said blithely.

  “I just did,” Lucie said. “And again, the interruption is not welcome. According to my research, the statues are nine in number, which, along with ten, is an important Atlantean number. They represent the god Baal, another cross-related deity. Now to the best part . . . the symbols and ancient script that appear around the statues and along the base. When the first four were found in the high Azores, this lettering meant nothing—mere figurative rubbish, surprising in itself. Nobody ever thought it might be coded, with the key to the code placed on the other statues.”

  She paused. “Which it was.”

  She looked around expectantly. “And I have decoded it.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “What does it say?” Bodie asked immediately.

  “That, I can’t answer,” Lucie told them. “At least not here. I would have to show you the statues and explain the script. In essence, though, the nine statues are one single message, made by a Phoenician and written in that language—a Phoenician who derived from the very shores of Atlantis itself.”

  “I see now,” Gunn said, “why you regaled us with the Phoenician story. It’s a long-held belief that the Phoenicians were the founders of all our modern knowledge as well as the last rem
nants of destroyed Atlantis.”

  “Any more questions?” Lucie had the habit of either ignoring or accepting statements without recognition. Bodie wondered if it was an intelligence thing . . . or maybe just the result of a lifetime of being cooped up with dusty old books.

  “I have one,” Cross said. “Can we get another man on the team? With four women against just the two of us I’m feeling a little outnumbered.”

  “You mean outmatched,” Cassidy said. “Outsmarted.”

  Bodie was watching Gunn, the third man on the team, but the nerd never even heard the comment so intent was he on the screen before him. Bodie left him lost in the world he preferred, and shared a private smile with Cross.

  “If you can’t tell us what the statues say, Lucie,” he said, “can you tell us what we’re supposed to do next?”

  Lucie nodded quickly, her blonde ponytail bouncing up and down, up and down. “Leave for Europe,” she said. “That’s a good start since we’re definitely headed in that direction.”

  “Europe?” Heidi motioned at the waitress and mouthed “check.” “The hunt for the statues’ provenance leads there?”

  “Yup. I’ll explain later. I need more time to narrow it down because, as you pointed out, I was already late.”

  Heidi made a face. “I guess I did. And I guess you’re coming along for the ride.” She gave Bodie a sidelong glance. “Won’t that be fun.”

  Lucie answered seriously, “I really hope so. I haven’t been on holiday—what you guys call vacation—for two years now.”

  Cassidy let out a raucous guffaw. “Oh yeah, girl, don’t you worry. We can all see that.”

  Lucie eyed Heidi. “I’m not sure exactly what I need, but I’ll figure it out and let you know on the way.”

  Cassidy answered so that only the relic hunters heard. “I know just what you need, hon, but I’ll let you discover that for yourself.”

  Bodie laughed and then scraped his chair back. “Shall we?”

  “Can’t wait,” Gunn said, looking up. “Let the hunt begin.”