The Atlantis Trilogy Box Set- The Complete Series

by A. G. Riddle

  “Launch them.”

  Another tech ran into the command center. “We just got an eyes-only from the Antarctica operation. They’ve found an entrance.”

  Dorian leaned back in the chair. “Verified?”

  “They’re confirming now, but the depth and dimensions are right.”

  “Are the portable nukes ready?” Dorian asked.

  “Yes. Dr. Chase reports they’ve been retrofitted to slide inside a backpack.” The skinny man held up a sheaf of printed pages too thick to be stapled. “Chase actually sent a rather detailed report—”

  “Shred it.”

  The man tucked the report back under his arm. “And Dr. Grey called. He wants to talk with you about precautions at the site.”

  “I’m sure. Tell him we’ll talk when I get there. I’m leaving now.” Dorian rose to leave the room.

  “There’s something else, sir. Infection rates are climbing in Southeast Asia, Australia, and America.”

  “Is anyone working on it yet?”

  “No, we don’t think so. They think it’s just a new flu strain.”

  93

  Immaru Monastery

  Tibet Autonomous Region

  Kate opened her sleepy eyes and studied the alcove. It wasn’t night, but it wasn’t quite morning. The first rays of sunrise peeked through the large window in the alcove, and she turned away from them, putting them off, ignoring the coming of morning. She nestled her head closer to David’s and closed her eyes.

  “I know you’re awake,” he said.

  “No I’m not.” She tucked her head down and lay very still.

  He laughed. “You’re talking to me.”

  “I’m talking in my sleep.”

  David sat up in the small bed. He looked at her for a long moment, then brushed the hair out of her face. She opened her eyes and looked into his eyes. She hoped he would lean closer and—

  “Kate, you have to go.”

  She turned away from him, reeling. She dreaded the argument, but she wouldn’t compromise. She wouldn’t leave him. But before she could object, Milo appeared, as if out of thin air. He wore his usual cheerful expression, but below it, on his face and in his posture, were the unmistakable signs of exhaustion.

  “Good morning, Dr. Kate, Mr. David. You must come with Milo.”

  David turned to him. “Give us a minute, Milo.”

  The youth stepped closer to them. “A minute we do not have, Mr. David. Qian says it is time.”

  “Time for what?” David asked.

  Kate sat up.

  “Time to go. Time for,” Milo raised his eyebrows, “escape plan. Milo’s project.”

  David cocked his head. “Escape plan?”

  It was an alternative, or at the very least, a delay of Kate’s ongoing argument with David, and she took the opening. She ran to the cupboard and gathered up bottles of antibiotics and pain pills. Milo held a small cloth sack at her side, and she dumped the bottles in it, along with the small journal. She stepped from the cupboard, but returned and grabbed some gauze, bandages, and tape, just in case. “Thank you, Milo.”

  Behind her, Kate heard David plant his feet on the ground and almost instantly collapse. Kate reached him just in time to break his fall. She dipped her hand into the bag, fished out a pain pill and an antibiotic, and stuffed them in his mouth before he could object. He dry-swallowed the pills as Kate practically dragged him out of the room and into the open-air wooden corridor.

  The sun was coming up quickly now, and just beyond the boardwalk floor of the corridor, Kate saw parachutes looming over the mountain. No, they weren’t parachutes—they were hot air balloons. There were three of them. She cocked her head and examined the first balloon. Its top was green and brown. A sort of camouflage scene. It was… trees, a forest. So curious.

  The sound. The buzzing. It was close. David turned to her. “The drones.” He pushed her out from under his arm where she had supported him. “Get to the balloon.”

  “David,” Kate started.

  “No. Do it.” He took Milo by the arm. “My gun. The one I came here with, the first time. Do you have it?”

  Milo nodded. “We have all your things—”

  “Bring it, and hurry. I have to get to high ground. Meet me on the observation deck.”

  Kate thought he might turn to her one last time and… but he was gone, hobbling through the monastery, then struggling up a stone staircase set in the mountainside.

  Kate glanced from the balloons to David, but he was already gone. The staircase was empty.

  She hurried down the boardwalk, which ended at a spiral staircase made of wood. At the bottom of the stairs, the giant balloons came into view. There were five monks on the lower platform, waiting for her, waving to her.

  At the sight of her, two of the monks jumped into the first balloon, released a rope, and pushed away from the platform. The balloon floated away from the mountain as the monks motioned to get her attention. They worked the cords and flame that controlled the balloon, showing her how to operate it. One of the men nodded to her, then pulled a rope that released one of the sacks at the side of the basket, and they rose quickly into the sky, drifting farther away from the mountain. It was beautiful, the serenity of the flight, the colors—red and yellow with patches of blue and green. It sailed out over the plateau, like a giant butterfly taking flight.

  The other two monks were in the second butterfly balloon, ready to go, but they didn’t cast off. They seemed to be waiting for her. The fifth monk motioned for her to get in the third balloon, the one with the forest scene on top. Kate realized that the bottom side was a cloud scene—blue and white. From below, at the right distance, a drone would see only sky above. If the drone was flying above the balloon, it would only see forest. It was very clever.

  She climbed into the cloud-and-forest balloon. The second butterfly balloon cast off ahead of her, and the last monk left standing on the platform, pulled two ropes on her basket, releasing the bags and sending her balloon into the air. The balloon ascended silently, like a surreal dream. Kate turned, and across the plateau she saw dozens—no, hundreds—of balloons, in a panorama of color and beauty, all rising into the sky, the sunrise bathing them in light. Every monastery must have released balloons.

  Kate’s balloon was rising faster now, leaving the wooden launching platform and the monastery behind.

  David.

  Kate grabbed the cords that controlled the balloon just as an explosion rocked it. The side of the mountain seemed to disappear in the blink of an eye. The balloon shuddered. Wood and stone flew through the air. Smoke, fire, and ashes floated, filling the space between Kate and the monastery.

  She couldn’t see anything. But the balloon seemed okay; the drone’s missile had hit the mountain below her and on the opposite side of the monastery. She fought at the controls. She was rising fast now. Too fast. Then another sound. A gunshot—from above.

  94

  The shot missed. The drone had fired one of its two missiles a second before David had pulled the trigger. The loss of weight had propelled the drone slightly faster, past the bullet from David’s sniper rifle.

  He chambered another round and tried to find the drone again. The smoke rose in thick plumes now. The monastery was almost consumed with flames, and the trees below it had caught fire as well. He stood with a grimace, but his legs responded. The pain pill was working. He had to get to a better vantage point. He turned and was shocked to find Milo sitting in the corner of the wooden observation deck, his legs crossed, his eyes closed. His breathing was shallow and rhythmic.

  David grabbed him by the shoulder. “What’re you doing?”

  “Seeking the stillness within, Mr.—”

  David pulled him up and threw him against the mountain. “Seek it at the top of the mountain.” David pointed, and when Milo turned back, he spun the youth around and pushed him toward the mountain again. “Climb and keep climbing, Milo, no matter what. Go. I mean it.”

  Milo re
luctantly dug a hand into a jagged opening in the mountain, and David watched for a second as he moved up the wall of rock.

  David returned his focus to the observation deck. He walked to the edge of the deck and waited. Then it came—a break in the smoke. He knelt and peered through the scope, and without a single adjustment, he saw the drone—a different drone. This one still had a full complement of two rockets. How many were there? David didn’t hesitate. He sucked a breath in and squeezed the trigger slowly. The drone exploded, and a tiny stream of smoke streaked the sky as the drone fell to the ground.

  David searched the sky for the other drone, but he couldn’t see it. He rose and hobbled across the wooden platform. Through the smoke, a colorful form rose, a scene of sky and trees, parting the black clouds. The balloon. Kate. His eyes met hers just as the mountain exploded below him. Half the platform disappeared in an instant, throwing him off balance. The gun fell from his hands and clanged loudly on the rocks. The monastery was coming down. The first drone had fired its last missile—a death blow.

  The balloon had been rocked, but it was still there, five or ten feet below him. The last of the platform was collapsing quickly now.

  David got to his feet, ran to the edge of the platform, and jumped. His torso hit the rim of the basket, almost knocking the wind out of him. He tried to grab the side, but his hands slipped off just before he felt Kate’s fingers on his forearms, squeezing, holding him as tight as she could. He had stopped falling, but he swung listlessly. He reached for the rim, but the pain from the wound was too much.

  He felt the heat below him, creeping up his legs and body, getting closer every second. He was dragging the balloon down into the carnage. Kate had to let go. From this height, it would be a quick death.

  “Kate, I can’t climb!” Even with the pain pill, the agony from the shoulder wound was overtaking him. “You’ve got to—”

  “I’m not letting go,” Kate yelled. She planted her feet into the side of the basket and pulled up in a burst of exertion. David gripped the rim of the basket and held it. She released him, and she was gone.

  David waited, his arms tiring, the heat engulfing him. Below, he heard one, then another, and another sandbag fall to the ground. He felt the sweat in his palm coat his grip on the side of the basket. Just as he began to slip and fall into the burning monastery, Kate’s hands grasped his forearms again, pulling him over the rim, into the basket with her.

  She was drenched in sweat from the exertion, and he was dripping from the heat of the fire. His face was four inches from hers, and he stared into her eyes. He could feel her breath on his face. He pressed into her, moving closer to her mouth.

  Just before his lips touched hers, she pushed up, rolling him onto his back.

  David closed his eyes. “I’m sorry—”

  “No, it’s, I felt it. You’re bleeding. Your bandages ripped.” Kate pulled his shirt back and began working on the wound.

  David panted and stared up at the clouds on the balloon. He hoped that somewhere below them, Milo was sitting at the top of the mountain, safe, and that someday, somewhere, he would find the stillness within.

  Part III

  The Tombs Of Atlantis

  95

  Tibet Autonomous Region

  After Kate had finished repairing David’s bandages, she crawled to the other side of the balloon’s basket and slumped against the wall. For a long time, they simply floated through the air, feeling the breeze on their faces, staring at the snow-capped mountains and green plateau below. Neither said a word. Kate’s muscles burned from the exertion of pulling him into the basket.

  David finally broke the silence. “Kate.”

  “I want to finish the journal.” She drew the small leather-bound book out of the sack with the medical supplies. “Then we can make plans. Okay?”

  David nodded, then leaned his head back against the basket and listened as Kate read the last few pages.

  February 4th, 1919

  One year after I awoke in the tube…

  The world is dying. And we killed it.

  I sit at the table with Kane and Craig, listening to the statistics like they were the odds for a horse race. The Spanish flu (that’s what we’ve sold the world on, how we’ve labeled the pandemic) has moved to every country in the world. Only a few islands have been spared. It’s killed countless millions so far. It kills the strong, sparing the weak, unlike any other flu epidemic.

  Craig talks at length, using more words than the information deserves. The long and short is that no one has found a vaccine, and of course the Immari don’t expect they will. But they think they can still sell it as the flu. That’s the “good news,” Craig announces.

  And there’s more of it. Overall the mood and assessment has turned optimistic: the human race will survive, but the losses will be intense. Two to five percent of the total human population, somewhere between thirty-six and ninety million people, are expected to die from the plague we unleashed. Around one billion will be infected. They estimate the current total human population at one point eight billion, so “not a bad shake,” in Craig’s words. Islands offer good protection, but the reality is that people are scared, and the whole world is holed up, avoiding anyone who might be infected. Estimates from the war are around ten million dead. The plague, or Spanish flu rather, will kill four to ten times more people than the war. Of course hiding it is a problem. The war and outbreak combined, roughly fifty to a hundred million people, gone.

  But I only think of one. I wonder why she died and I lived. I am a shell. But I hold on for one reason.

  Kane looks at me with cold, wicked eyes, and I stare back. He demands my report, and I speak slowly, in a lifeless, absent tone.

  I report that we’ve excavated the area around the artifact. “Weapon,” he corrects. I ignore him. I offer my opinion: once we disconnect it, we can move inside the structure. They ask questions, and I answer mechanically, like an automaton.

  There’s talk of the war ending, of the press focusing on the pandemic, but of course, there are plans for that.

  There’s talk of doctors in America studying the virus, talk that they might discover that it’s something else. Craig placates, as always. He has the situation well in hand, he assures everyone. He claims that the virus seems to be winding itself down, like a forest fire that has almost run its course. With the pandemic waning, he believes research interest will follow.

  The working theory is that this doomsday plague grows weaker with retransmission. The people in the tunnels were killed instantly. The people who found them got sick and followed shortly after. Anyone infected at this point is likely five or six transmissions away from Gibraltar; hence, the climbing survival rates. There have been two subsequent waves of outbreak. We believe both were caused by early-infection bodies from Gibraltar or Spain reaching high-population areas.

  I argue that we should go public, trace anyone who left Gibraltar. Kane disagrees. “Everyone dies, Pierce. Surely I don’t have to remind you of that. Their deaths serve a purpose. We learn more every time a wave of infection occurs.” We shout at each other until we’re both hoarse. I can’t even remember what I said. It doesn’t matter. Kane controls the organization. And I can’t afford to cross him.

  Kate closed the journal and looked up. “They were loading bodies onto the trains in China.”

  David stared out the basket for a moment. “Let’s get all the facts first. How many more entries?”

  “Just one.”

  October 12, 1938

  Almost twenty years have passed since my last entry. It’s a long lapse, but don’t think nothing has happened. Try to understand me.

  I started this journal as a respite from the dark desperation of being a wounded man in a helpless place. A way to sort through my own despair, an avenue of reflection. Then it became a testament to what I believed to be some conspiracy. But when you watch the thing you love the most in the world die, a victim of something you unknowingly unleashed, the pro
duct of a deal you made for her hand, the sum of your whole life reduced to a burning coal in the palm of your hand… it’s hard to pick up a pen and write about a life you think no longer matters.

  And deeds you’re ashamed of. That’s what followed that day in that tent.

  But things have gone far enough. Too far. This is the end of the road for me. I can’t be a party to genocide, but I also can’t stop it. I hope you can.

  Since my last entry, the following has transpired:

  The Device:

  We call it the Bell, or for Kane and his German cronies, Die Glocke. Kane is convinced it’s a super weapon and that it will either kill the entire human race or cause a rapture, leaving the genetically superior and killing anyone who might be a threat to this chosen race. He’s become obsessed with his racial theories, the pursuit of this master race that can survive the coming apocalypse, the machine. Conveniently, he believes he’s a member of this supreme race. The research efforts have focused on how to create this master race in a controlled fashion, before the supposed Atlantean attack. Since they extracted the Bell, I’ve been marginalized, but I still hear things. He has taken the Bell back to Germany to conduct experiments near Dachau. The situation is desperate in his Fatherland, with widespread famine and dangerously high unemployment. The government there is easy to manipulate. He’s taken full advantage.

  The Immaru:

  I’ve learned more about the history of the Immari and their sister faction, the Immaru. At some point in antiquity, the Immari and the Immaru were one group, presumably as recently as the time of the Sumerians, the first written history we have. In Sumerian mythology, Immaru means ‘the light.’ Kane believes the Immaru have known about the device and the fate of the human race for thousands of years, since before the flood. His theory is that the Immari, his people, were a group of Immaru rebels who believed man could be saved, but they couldn’t convince their fellow members of this super race. According to Kane’s history, his Immari ancestors forsook their own safety to journey out of the Aryan homeland into Europe, where they believed they would find the ruins of Atlantis that Plato wrote about—and with it, the keys to humanity’s salvation.