The Atlantis Plague: A Thriller (The Origin Mystery, Book 2)

by A. G. Riddle

  She fell in behind a man and a woman, both coughing, hobbling toward the building for the sick.

  The four guards were talking amongst themselves, ignoring the endless flow of sick into the building. As Kate reached the revolving door, a guard looked over at her, wrinkled his brow, and stepped toward her. “Hey, what are you—”

  Kate pinched Xavier’s badge and held it forward, not letting it unclip from the makeshift lapel. “O-Official business,” she stammered.

  She quickly ducked into the revolving door. Official business? God, she was going to get caught. The revolving door spilled her into the lobby, and as her eyes adjusted, Kate took in the scene. Nothing could have prepared her for it.

  She almost staggered back, but people were rushing in behind her, pouring into the building.

  Bodies were everywhere. Dead, dying, crying, coughing, and everything in between. This was a world without Orchid. And it was happening all across southern Spain—and if Paul Brenner was right, around the world. How many had died already, in the first day? Millions? Another billion? She couldn’t think about that now; she had to focus.

  She had seen people flowing into the building, but she had no concept of how many people were here. There were a hundred, at least, here in the lobby, in this confined space. How many in the building? A thousand? Several thousand, maybe? There were thirty floors. She would never find Martin.

  Behind her, she saw the guard enter the revolving door. He knew. He was coming after her.

  Kate took off, darting through the lobby and into the stairwell. What could she do? Hide here, in the crowded building, then try to get out? If they were going to demolish it, when would it happen?

  She pushed those thoughts out of her mind as she bounded up the stairwell, which was relatively empty. What floor should she try? Below, the stairwell door flew open.

  “Stop!” the guard yelled from the bottom floor.

  Against her better judgment, Kate peeked over the rail and her eyes met his. He raced up the stairs.

  Kate opened the door to the fourth floor, and—

  The hallways were filled with people, some lying, others sitting, many already dead. At the sight of her, a woman grabbed her white coat. “You’ve come to help us.”

  Kate shook her head and tried to break the woman’s grip, but others crowded around her, all talking at the same time.

  Behind her, the door opened again and the guard filled the doorway, his gun drawn. “Okay, turn around. Back away from her.”

  The people around her scattered.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked Kate.

  “I’m… taking samples.”

  The guard looked confused. He took a step forward and glanced at her badge. Her fake badge. Confusion turned to shock. “Turn around. Put your hands behind your back.”

  “She’s with me,” interjected another soldier as he casually exited the stairs. He was taller and more muscular than the guard that had chased Kate, and she thought he had a slight British accent.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Adam Shaw. I came in with the shipment from Fuengirola.”

  The smaller guard shook his head as if trying to clear it. “She’s wearing a fake badge.”

  “Of course she is. You want these people to know her identity? You think they know what an actual Immari Research ID card looks like?”

  “I…” The guard eyed Kate. “I have to call this in.”

  “You do that,” the soldier said as he stepped behind the man, quickly gripped his head and neck and ripped hard, sending a loud crack into the hallway. The guard fell to the floor, and the people in the hallway, those left alive anyway, scattered, leaving Kate alone with the mysterious soldier.

  He focused on her. “Coming here was a very stupid thing to do, Dr. Warner.”

  CHAPTER 42

  Immari Operations Base at Ceuta

  Northern Morocco

  Major Alexander Rukin adjusted the sniper rifle. Through the riflescope, he could see the mysterious colonel approaching the Berber encampment on horseback. The man had ridden out wearing plainclothes, as if that could help his cause.

  The colonel had been evasive about his purpose for leaving, and Rukin had only protested enough to seem believable. In truth, this was the opportunity Rukin had been waiting for. He had placed a tracker and a bug on the colonel's clothes; they would know exactly where he went and hear everything he said. A team was also shadowing the colonel, just in case he made a break for it. That would expose him as well. One way or another, Rukin would soon know what this “Alex Wells” was after.

  The colonel brought the horse to a stop, then dismounted, his hands in the air.

  Three Berbers ran out of the tent. They carried automatic rifles and shouted, but the colonel remained still. They surrounded him, hit him over the head, and dragged him into the tent.

  Rukin shook his head. “Jesus. I assumed the fool had a better plan than that.” He packed up the rifle and handed it to Kamau. “I’d say we’ve seen the last of our mysterious colonel.”

  “You think—”

  “I think they’re having him for dinner.”

  “To talk terms?”

  The major smiled and shook his head. “No I think they are having him for their dinner. Or maybe the pre-meal entertainment. Either way, he’s finished.”

  Kamau nodded and gave a final look in the direction of the tent camp before following the major into the stairwell that led down from the roof.

  “I’ve come here to help you,” David insisted.

  The Berber soldiers tore the last of his clothes off and carried them out of the tent.

  The chief stepped forward. “Don’t lie to us. You’ve come here to help yourself. You don’t know us. You don’t care about us.”

  “I’m—”

  “Don’t tell us who you are. I want to see it.” The chief motioned to a man standing by the entrance to the tent. The man nodded once, left quickly, then returned with a small burlap sack. He closed the flap to the tent, plunging the room into almost total darkness, save for the dance of candlelight that played across the cloth walls. The chief took the sack from the man and tossed it into David’s lap.

  David reached for the sack.

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  David looked up, then he felt it. Muscle, a finger sliding across his forearm. Then another rope gliding out over his thigh. Snakes. Two, no three of them. His eyes had almost adjusted to the dim light, and he knew instantly what they were: two Egyptian cobras. One bite would do him in. He would be dead within ten minutes.

  David tried to control his breathing, but he was losing the battle. He felt his muscles tense, and he thought the snakes reacted. The one on his forearm was creeping up his arm more quickly now, toward his shoulder, his neck, his face. He took another shallow breath. He wouldn’t inhale fully—the contraction could alarm them. Slowly, he let the air escape his nose, and he focused his mind on the place where the breath touched the tip of his nose, observing the sensation, the absence of any other feeling. He stared straight ahead, at a dark spot on the floor. There was one last tingle, at his collarbone, but he kept his mind on his breath, taking in and breathing out, the sensation as the air met the tip of his nose. He couldn’t feel the snakes.

  Through his peripheral vision, he was vaguely aware of the chief pacing toward him.

  “You are afraid, but you have control of your fear. No rational man walks the world without fear. Only those who control their fear live a life free of it. You are a man that has lived among snakes and learned to hide himself. You are a man who can tell lies, who can tell them as if you yourself believe them. That is very dangerous. At this moment, more for you than for me.” The chief nodded to the snake handler, who crept carefully toward David and collected the snakes.

  The chief sat across from David. “Now you can lie to me, or you can speak the truth. Choose wisely. I have seen many liars. And I have buried many liars.”

  David told
the story he had come there to tell, and when he had finished, the chief looked away, seeming to contemplate.

  In his mind, David began rifling through the chief’s possible questions, mentally preparing responses. But no questions came. The chief stood and left.

  Three men rushed into the tent, seized David, and dragged him out toward a communal fire that burned in the center of the makeshift village. The tribespeople gathered as he passed. Just before they reached the fire, David got his feet under him and threw the man on his right off, but the man holding his left arm held tight. David hit him hard in the face and the man released his grip and fell listless into the sand. David turned, but three more soldiers were on him, dragging him to the ground, covering him, holding his arms. Then someone else loomed over him—the chief. Something rushed down, a sword, or a spear. It burned orange and smoke rolled off of it. The chief plunged the burning iron prod into David’s chest, sending waves of searing pain throughout his body and the sickening smell of burning flesh and hair into his nose. David fought not to gag as his eyes rolled back into his head and he lost consciousness.

  CHAPTER 43

  Immari Sorting Camp

  Marbella, Spain

  Kate was safe, or so she thought. The tall British soldier, Adam Shaw, had killed the other guard and… he knew her name.

  “Who are you?” Kate said.

  “I’m the fifth man from the SAS team sent here to retrieve you.”

  “The fifth—”

  “We had a bit of a disagreement over tactics. I submitted that we should alter our plans after the Immari invasion of Marbella. The other four didn’t listen.”

  Kate eyed his uniform. “How did you—”

  “There’s a lot of confusion right now. A lot of new faces. We’ve been studying the Immari Army organization extensively. I knew enough to fake it. Getting the uniform was easy. Just had to kill one of them. Speaking of.” He bent over the dead guard. “Help me get his uniform off.”

  Kate eyed the dead man. “Why?”

  Shaw nodded to her. “Seriously? You want to walk out of here in that? Any idiot can see you sliced up a chef’s jacket, and even if you can’t see it, by God you can smell it a kilometer away. You’re a walking compost heap.”

  Kate raised her shoulder and tried casually to sniff the white coat. Yeah, it was less than fresh. The overwhelming stench in the kitchen had apparently numbed her to the smell for a bit.

  Shaw handed her the man’s tunic, then stripped off the pants and held those up as well.

  Kate hesitated. “Turn around.”

  He smiled. “Let me guess, Kate. Two well-shaped boobs, an unnaturally flat stomach, and toned legs. I’ve seen it before, Princess. I had the internet before the plague.”

  “Well my body isn’t on the internet, so turn around.”

  He shook his head and turned his back to her.

  Kate thought he mumbled something about “prudish Americans.” She ignored him as she slipped into the uniform. It was slightly too large, but it would do. “What now?”

  “Now I complete my mission—to take you to London. You’ll complete the research, find a cure for this nightmare, and the world will live happily ever after. I’ll get a picture with the Queen, et cetera, et cetera. Assuming you don’t make any other stupid moves, we’ll be okay.”

  Kate walked around the dead guard to face Shaw. “There’s a man in here—Dr. Martin Grey. He’s my adoptive father, and the man that made the deal with your government. We have to find him and take him with us.”

  Shaw led Kate out of the hallway and into the stairwell. “If he’s in here, he’s either dead or dying. We can’t help him. You’re my mission, not him.”

  “He is now. I’m not leaving here without him.”

  “Then you won’t leave.”

  “And you won’t accomplish your mission. No visit with the Queen.”

  He snorted. “I was being facetious. This is serious.”

  Kate nodded. “So is this. A man’s life is a stake.”

  “No, Kate, billions of lives are at stake.”

  “Well none of them raised me.”

  Shaw exhaled deeply and motioned to the dead guard in the hall. “The other three are going to come looking for him soon. We need to get out of this building.”

  Kate considered Shaw’s words for a moment. “That sounds to me like something you’re going to have to handle.” Kate thought for a moment. She could never search the entire building; she needed somewhere to start. Where would Martin go? He knew the layout of the buildings and the Immari invasion protocol. Her mind flashed to the hotel safe. Could it withstand the fall of the building? No, that would simply trap him there, and his food wouldn’t last—assuming anyone ever dug out the rubble, and that was a long shot. Food. Of course. “When you’re done with the guards, meet me in the kitchen.”

  “The kitchen?”

  “That’s where Martin is.” She started down the stairwell.

  “Wait.” Shaw picked up the guard’s gun and belt, and fastened both around Kate. “Wear this, but try not to use it.”

  “Why?”

  “It draws attention, for one. And if you’re shooting at someone around here who has a gun, they’re probably a better shot than you are.”

  “How do you know I’m not some gun-shooting expert?”

  “I read your file, Kate. Be careful.” Without another word, he set off down the stairwell, practically leaping down the flights. He exited at the bottom before Kate could respond.

  Kate followed at her own pace. At the lobby, the inhabitants—those still alive—scurried away from her, giving her a wide berth.

  Through the glass revolving door, she saw Shaw talking with the three guards, waving his arms, the others laughing.

  Kate made her way to the restaurant, which was similar to the other tower’s restaurant, but she thought maybe it had had a different theme, though it was too disheveled to make out at this point. There were people here, but far less than she had expected. They crawled away from her as her footsteps echoed in the dining hall.

  She pushed against the doors to the kitchen, but they wouldn’t open. Something, maybe a bar, was blocking them. She pushed again, but they didn’t give. She peered in through the oval glass window.

  Martin sat there on the floor, slumped against the stainless steel cabinet below the counter. A pile of empty water bottles lay at his feet. Kate couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead.

  CHAPTER 44

  Immari Operations Base at Ceuta

  Northern Morocco

  The guard adjusted the binoculars, hoping to get a better look at the rider. The horse was one of theirs, the one the colonel had taken. The rider wore a bedouin headdress. The guard sounded the alarm.

  Five minutes later, the guard stood side by side with the other men of the perimeter detail as the rider stopped before the city gate and slowly raised his hands in the air. He reached for the red cloth wrapped around his head and unwound it.

  The guard turned back to the men. “False alarm. It’s the colonel.” Then he looked back at the man. Something was different.

  David walked into the officer’s lounge and made a beeline for the major.

  The major set down his cards, leaned back in his chair, and smiled. “The mighty horse warrior returns! We thought the savages might be having you for dinner.”

  David took a chair from an adjacent table without asking and inserted it between two men at the major’s table, shoving them aside without a word. He opened his shirt, revealing the seared, inflamed flesh. “They tried. Too gamey for them.” David glanced at the men around the table. “Give us a little privacy here?”

  The major nodded and the men all grudgingly rose from their seats, taking one last look at their cards before muttering and tossing them back on the table, as if each knew he had the winning hand and it was just his luck that he couldn’t play it out.

  “I can solve your Berber problem.”

  “I’m listening,” Ruki
n said.

  “Return the chief’s daughter. The raids stop.”

  The major turned his head slightly. “Who?”

  “The girl. Nwella. The one you sent to my room.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s true.”

  “It’s a ruse.”

  “Well, look, do you want to call Maury Povich for a paternity test or do you want to secure this station? That girl is all he wants. He’ll relent, stop the attacks, hell, he’ll even help us round up the other tribes. He’s set a time and place for the attack. He’ll serve them all up. But he wants his daughter and the other women first.”

  “Impossible. I can’t turn them over.”

  “Why not?”

  “First off…” Rukin seemed to be grasping, rationalizing. “Releasing the women will likely only empower them—show them our weakness. The chief will parade the women as a sign of his own power and our weakness—our capitulation. It gives him the momentum. And that’s just the half of it. I need those women—for… morale. They’re about the only joy I can give these men in this desolate hellhole. I’ll have a mutiny on my hands the second they pass the city walls.”

  “Men can live without sex. They’ve done it before. And the chief will stop the attacks. Look, I had a mission—to secure Ceuta before Chairman Sloane arrived. I’ve given you the opportunity to do that. You can turn it down, but if horse raiders are taking pot shots at Sloane’s helicopter convoy when he arrives, you’ll have to answer for it.”

  The threat to Sloane and the possibility of failing at such a crucial moment seemed to weigh on Rukin. His tone changed. “You’re certain the attacks will stop?”

  “Certain.”

  “How? I mean, the idea that all these attacks, for months, have been to get her back?”

  “Yes. Well, actually, those attacks were just to size you up. To test the city walls. You’ve only seen a tenth of their strength. There are other camps. They’ve just been figuring out the best way to take the base. They won’t take prisoners.”