The Atlantis Covenant

by Rob Jones

  “It certainly is,” she laughed. “You look nervous.”

  “These mountains seem kind of close. If you don’t mind my saying, I hope your pilot knows what he’s doing.”

  “He’s been with us for over twenty years, Dr Hunter, and the Rorschach Foundation hires only the best. You, for example.”

  “I accept the compliment,” he said. “But I’ll wait till we’re on the ground before I extend the same to the man flying this plane.”

  “There’s really no need to worry. I thought you were a pilot once?”

  He nodded. “After I left the Guards I flew Apache helicopters in the Army Air Corps, but that was a long time ago in a previous lifetime far, far away.”

  His expression raised an inquisitive smile on her face. “I see, yet you’re a nervous flyer?”

  “Helicopters are different. If you don’t know where you’re going you can hover in the same place until you work out where to go. These things have to go at a dangerously fast speed just to stay airborne.”

  “If you have more faith in rotary aircraft, you can talk to our pilot when we land. He has thousands of hours of experience in those too.”

  “Really? That’s unusual. It seems like Mr Rorschach really does hire only the best.”

  “As I say, only the best. And remember, when we land we have another flight up to the main Rorschach Foundation corporate headquarters complex. You will be delighted to hear the trip can only be made by helicopter.”

  “Sounds like the fun’s only just beginning, but then I’m just a biased old rotorhead.”

  “A biased old rotorhead with an archaeology doctorate from the best college in the world.”

  “If I didn’t know you guys wanted something from me, I’d say you were trying to flatter me.”

  She laughed once again. It was a light, subtle laugh, full of good humor. “Please, we’re nearly there. Just sit back and enjoy the flight.”

  “I’ll try and do just that, thanks.”

  They descended further, and he caught a glimpse of a snow-packed neve tucked away in the mountains off the port wing. Beyond it, he saw the tell-tale signs of a tributary glacier sliding down into another snowy moraine. Below it, the first roads and then the warm lights of a few hundred homes scattered on the outskirts of a snow-dusted Samedan. Then, seconds later, they were over the western end of the small airport with the spoilers flicking up and the jet engines in full reverse thrust.

  “What do you know?” Klara said with a smile. “We made it safe and sound after all.”

  They moved quickly through a small, almost empty customs room, and then walked back out across the apron to a smart blue and grey Eurocopter sporting the Rorschach Foundation logo on its door. The rotor blades were already whirring by the time he and Klara reached the chopper, and when they buckled up their seatbelts once again, they were airborne.

  *

  Deep in Rorschach’s corporate HQ building high in the Swiss Alps, a slightly nervous Hunter buttoned up his suit jacket and followed Klara Steiner along a polished concrete corridor. The long space was decorated with elegant marble statues of gods and goddesses from across the ages, and keeping up with her wasn’t easy. She walked fast, and her smart heels clipped crisply on the hard floor causing a tinny echo behind them.

  They reached a stainless steel door and Klara pushed a series of tiny metal buttons on a keypad. There was a short buzz and the door slid open to reveal an office and a woman sitting on a leather couch. She wore large fashionable tortoiseshell glasses perched on a slim nose and when she rose from her chair he saw she was tall and dressed in a well-tailored charcoal-grey suit.

  She walked over to him with an easy confidence and they shook hands. For all that, there was an anxious look in her eyes when she turned to face their new guest. “And you must be Dr Max Hunter.”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “You look different from the picture on the UNESCO website.”

  “More handsome, I hope.”

  “Older.”

  He laughed. “Maybe the picture needs updating. I’ll talk to my boss.”

  “Hello Dr Anderson,” Klara said, stepping in. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long?”

  “Not at all.”

  Klara looked at Hunter. “Let me introduce Dr Kirsten Anderson,” she said with a generous wave of her hand. “She works here at the Foundation, specifically in the antiquities acquisition department.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Dr Anderson,” Hunter said.

  “Likewise, Dr Hunter.”

  “What’s your field?” he asked.

  “I have a PhD in cartography.”

  “A PhD in maps,” he said. “I bet you’d be lost without that.”

  The women’s smiles faded. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve heard them all before, Dr Hunter.”

  “Please, it’s Max.”

  “Shall we meet Mr Rorschach?” Klara said. “I know he’s very keen to move this along as fast as possible.” She buzzed the intercom. “Dr Hunter and Dr Anderson are here, sir.”

  “Wonderful.” The voice was low and gruff. “Please send them in.”

  Hunter followed Klara and Kirsten along another short corridor behind her desk and into a large open-plan office with a tremendous view of the Alps from a dual aspect window wall. Sitting behind a large mahogany desk, an old man with white hair heard them and looked up. He slammed his laptop down, pushed his chair back and rose to greet them.

  “Thank you, Klara. That will be all.”

  She left them, swishing the heavy doors closed behind her as she went. Rorschach smiled at Kirsten and then over to Hunter. “Dr Hunter, how good to meet you at last.”

  “Likewise, I’m sure.”

  Rorschach shook his hand vigorously until Hunter thought it might fall off.

  “I have read all of your articles and follow your career with interest. It’s a privilege to have you here at our headquarters.”

  “I’m sure the privilege to be here is all mine. I was excited when I saw the photograph you sent to Professor Bonnaire.”

  “As was I when I first saw it.”

  “And you have some other relics possibly related to it?”

  “Yes, indeed. They were all sent to me together by a man keen to sell them.”

  “May I see them?”

  Rorschach smiled thinly. “That’s why you’re here.” He pushed a button and a butler walked into the room holding a polished wooden box. He set it down on the desk, bowed and left the room in silence.

  “The daggers are in this box,” Rorschach announced proudly as he clicked open the small golden clasps and opened the lid. “Please, indulge yourself.”

  Hunter was instantly spellbound in wonder when he took in the sight of the ancient blades. Behind him, Kirsten was staring at them with eyes full of surprise and wonder.

  “These are very unique knives. May I?” Hunter asked.

  “Of course.”

  He took one from the box and turned it over in his hands. “They’re certainly older than Early Assyrian. The carved handles are exquisite, and the miniature winged statues on the pommel are intriguing to say the least.”

  Kirsten’s eyes widened. “I never knew these were in the collection,” she said. “When did we purchase them?”

  Rorschach gave her a warm, fatherly smile. “I don’t have to run everything by you, Dr Anderson. This was a private transaction, not official Foundation business.”

  “Have you run any tests on them?” Hunter asked.

  “Yes, and the results will shock you.”

  Hunter gave the dagger one final look and then returned it to the case. “Tell me about these results.”

  Rorschach spoke bluntly. “The blades of these daggers are a highly unusual alloy of gold and copper and…”

  Hunter’s eyes darted over to Rorschach’s wide grin. “And what?”

  “Great minds think alike, Dr Hunter.” Rorschach saw the expectant look on his face and laughed.

  “
What’s going on?” Kirsten asked.

  Rorschach said, “Some think Plato was talking about a gold-copper alloy when he talked about a metal he called orichalcum. In fact, I now believe the metal he described was an alloy of three metals – gold, copper and the mysterious orichalcum.”

  “I’ve never heard of that before.” Kirsten said. “But then, I’m a cartographer not a metallurgist or an archaeologist. What’s the significance of it?”

  Rorschach looked at Hunter and the two shared a moment of excitement. “Please, Dr Hunter, the floor is yours.”

  Hunter paused. “When Plato was describing the metal he called orichalcum, he was talking about a building material used in the Kingdom of Atlantis.”

  The sound of the carriage clock on Rorschach’s desk seemed to grow louder.

  Kirsten said, “I’m sorry, Atlantis – as in the mythical civilization?”

  “Not everyone agrees it’s a myth.”

  “But is there anything to substantiate it?” she asked, clearly shocked.

  Hunter shrugged. “Hard to say. Plato wrote about it in his Critias, one of his later dialogues. It’s not a long document, and there’s not very much in it. Until recently it was all we had, but then I discovered a second dialogue called the Diocles in Athens. That changed everything.”

  “How so?”

  “In it, Plato described the existence of what he called three Winged Guardians. These were statues made from a strange metal that he believed had supernatural properties. Thanks to his writings, I was able to locate one of the statues in Iraq. After that I knew my instinct all these years had been right. Atlantis was real.”

  “But you could still be wrong,” Kirsten said. “The statues themselves don’t prove Atlantis. It could still be a myth, right?”

  Hunter pointed to the daggers on the table. “Are they myths?”

  “Well…”

  “And the statue was no myth, either.”

  Rorschach chuckled. Clearly enjoying the conversation.

  Kirsten saw the carvings on the sheaths once again. “I guess not. I have to say, I’m shocked by this.”

  Hunter nodded. “Most people are, but it’s not so crazy. Plenty of civilizations have crumbled away and faded into the mists of time. Ours will too, in time.”

  “This is a lot to take in,” she said. “If Atlantis was real, what exactly was it?”

  “There are some theories claiming Atlantis was the Scandinavian Olympus, and that Odin was a king there, but it’s not a favorite of mine. I believe Odin was a mythological deity, and the evidence backs that up. The Nazis thought Atlantis was the cradle of their own depraved mythologies. As for me, I just think it was an ancient civilization with a lot to teach us.”

  “All sounds nuts to me,” she said. “I’ll stick to old maps.”

  Hunter smiled politely. “Tell me, Mr Rorschach, how did you come by these items?”

  “It is a long and mysterious story, Dr Hunter.”

  “And how does it begin?”

  “Like all the best mysteries, it begins with betrayal and deception,” Rorschach said, pausing for just long enough to call the butler back into the room. “But first, I think we should share our stories over a fine dinner. Tell me, Dr Hunter, do you like blue lobster? My personal chef used to work at Le Gabriel.”

  Hunter paused. “Er…”

  “Perhaps something else?”

  The no-nonsense Londoner shrugged innocently. “A burger would do me just fine, to be honest.”

  Rorschach eyed the former soldier with suspicion. “This can be arranged. Phillipe, make it so.”

  The butler bowed and left room in silence.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Taking a large bite out of the best burger he had ever eaten in his life, Hunter sat back in his seat and watched Rorschach whisper in the ear of his butler. When he left the room, Rorschach said, “On your flight over here, Professor Bonnaire told me you found a labyrinth beneath the Tomb of Jonah.”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  The Swiss antiquities collector set down his heavy silver cutlery and stared at him in disbelief. “I have searched for that labyrinth for half of my life, Dr Hunter. Words cannot express how envious I am. You are a very accomplished man.”

  “Sounds like you’ve done your research.”

  “Dr Anderson is the researcher. Not only is she my maps expert, but she also helped Klara look into your background before we invited you here. I imagine she knows more about you, than you do yourself.”

  Hunter turned to Kirsten. “Oh yeah?”

  “Try me.”

  He set down his burger and linked his fingers, resting his hands on his stomach as he leaned back on the soft leather seat. A smug smile appeared on his face. “The stage is yours.”

  “Born in west London and travelled the world because of your father’s job as a top-ranking diplomat. When you hit eighteen you joined the British Army and rose to the rank of captain in the Grenadier Guards. On promotion to major, you transferred to the Army Air Corps for a few years before leaving in your mid-thirties to study archaeology at the University of Oxford.”

  “That’s all on my CV, or resumé as you might say. All public.”

  “After less than one year working at Carmarthen College you were poached by Juliette Bonnaire at UNESCO.”

  “I prefer talent-spotted, or at a push, head-hunted.”

  “Tell me, Dr Hunter,” Rorschach interrupted. “Deep down in that Iraqi tomb, you weren’t searching for a winged statue by any chance?”

  Hunter stopped eating and stared over at him. “I’m sorry?”

  “A winged statue, Dr Hunter. A larger version of the tiny carvings on the pommels of these daggers?”

  Hunter fought hard not to look surprised, but stopping body language leaks was almost impossible. From Rorschach’s grin, he knew he had failed. “As a matter of fact, I was – and I found it, too. I held it in my own two hands until it was stolen from me by a relic-thieving bastard called Brodie McCabe. Now I doubt I’ll ever see it again.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you,” he said. “Did it happen to look anything like this?”

  Rorschach clicked a button on the table and a projection screen slid down on the wall beside them. When a giant image of a winged statue exactly as he had seen in Mosul appeared on it, Hunter stared at it and blew out a deep breath. “One of the three Winged Guardians of Atlantis Plato referred to in his Diocles. Where did you get this picture?”

  “This is a photograph of what I call the Acassuso Idol.”

  “Why Acassuso?”

  “It’s the name of the suburb in Buenos Aires where it was recently discovered.”

  “Buenos Aires? What the hell was it doing down there?”

  “We have no evidence yet, but our working hypothesis is that the statue was taken down to Argentina on the Nazi ratlines during the end of the second world war. We certainly know it was in the possession of the Reich from 1942 until the fall of Berlin and then smuggled out of the country.”

  “This is unbelievable.”

  “The statue then went missing for a very long time. Recently I received a gift of these daggers and the photos from an acquaintance of mine in Cuba. He wants to sell me this statue.”

  “And where did this acquaintance get it from?”

  Rorschach paused. “Not long ago, the Buenos Aires police raided the home of an antiquities collector by the name of Eduardo Cavallo, following allegations he was trafficking stolen artifacts from the Middle East.”

  “Did you know about any of this?” Hunter asked Kirsten.

  She shook her head. “No, I did not. I thought the Foundation dealt only with proper, official sources when making its purchases.”

  Rorschach gave her a patronizing look, then continued. “The police got a shock when they searched his warehouse and found a hidden basement with over two hundred relics from the Nazi regime, including original swastika flags, a bronze Nazi eagle sculpture and several busts of Adolf Hitl
er. I suspect the winged statue, not to mention many other artifacts including the daggers, were among the hoard, but Cavallo unloaded them before the raid.”

  “So let me get this straight,” Hunter said. “A man in Cuba claimed he got the daggers and the statue from an unknown source in Argentina?”

  “In Buenos Aires.” Rorschach repeated casually as he picked up an olive wood lobster mallet and began smashing open one of the claws. “And he sent me the daggers as a taster.”

  “I should have been told about this,” Kirsten said.

  “You are my maps expert, not my statues expert and I already explained this was a personal transaction.”

  Hunter decide to break the tension. “The Nazis must have found them in the Middle East. Or on their North Africa campaign, and smuggled it out of Europe at the end of the war to keep it out of the Allies’ hands. Tell me, who is this mysterious Cuban acquaintance who wants to sell you the winged statue? Is he a bona fide collector or black market?”

  The Swiss man chuckled. “He got a Nazi stash from an artifact thief who was raided by the Argentine Police, Dr Hunter. What do you think?”

  Hunter grinned. “And here I was thinking Oskar Rorschach was always on the level.”

  “Me too,” Kirsten said with disappointment.

  Rorschach shrugged and sipped more wine.

  “Who is this Cuban?” Hunter asked.

  Rorschach hid behind his wine glass. “I trust the hamburger is to your liking?”

  Hunter took another bite of it. “It’s excellent.”

  Rorschach nodded enthusiastically. “I knew it would be. Chef Marcel is a genius. Wagyu beef, seared foie gras and black truffle shavings. All enjoyed with this outstanding 1995 Chateau Petrus, Bordeaux’s finest.”

  “You’re spoiling me, Oskar, but I’d still like to know the identity of the Cuban dealer trying to flog you the winged statue.”

  The Swiss billionaire took a long swig from his glass of Merlot and let the silence stretch into minutes.

  “Who’s the seller, Rorschach?” Hunter asked impatiently.

  Kirsten started to speak, but Rorschach stopped her with a polite wave of his hand. “The statue in the Nazi photograph is in the possession of a man named Raul Vazquez. He is a Cuban collector who has a reputation for employing any means necessary to acquire new pieces, and he doesn’t part with them easily.”