The Atlantis Gene: A Thriller

by A. G. Riddle

  “Is it possible that the adult subjects didn’t have the precursor genes to affect the brain changes?”

  “No, all the adult subjects had the cascade genes — as you know, we have known about these genes for some time, and we test every subject — on-site at our hiring facility here in China to verify. The adults should have survived the test.”

  “Is it possible the therapy only works on autistic brains?”

  Chang hadn’t considered this possibility. Dr. Grey was an evolutionary biologist with an interest in paleobiology, and he was was Chang’s boss’s boss all the way at the top of the Immari food chain. Chang had assumed this call wouldn’t focus on the science. He had expected a tongue-lashing from this über-boss for his failed efforts. He focused on Grey’s hypothesis. “Yes, it certainly could be. Autism is fundamentally a disorder of brain wiring, especially in the areas that control communication and social understanding. And other areas are affected; some affected individuals are highly intelligent with special abilities. Others are on the complete opposite end of the spectrum: they can’t even live independently. Autism is really a catch-all category for a variety of differences in brain wiring. We would have to look into this, and it could take some time. We would likely need more test subjects.”

  “Time we don’t have, but we might be able to get more children. Although, these are the only subjects we know of with Atlantis Gene activation. Let me look into that. What else? Is there anything you haven’t told me? Any other theories? There are no bad ideas at this point, Dr. Chang.”

  Chang did have another idea. Something he hadn’t voiced to the rest of the team. “I’ve personally wondered whether the adults and the children were treated with the same therapy.”

  “A problem with replicating Dr. Warner’s research? With formulation?”

  “No, as I say, we followed her protocol to the letter — I stand by that. I’m wondering if Dr. Warner treated these children with something different, something not in her official notes or the trial protocol.”

  Grey seemed to consider Chang’s idea. “That’s very interesting.”

  “I wonder if I could speak with Dr. Warner? A meeting would be very helpful at this point.”

  “I’m not sure… let me get back to you on that. Have any of the other team members voiced this concern?”

  “No, not that I know of.”

  “I’d like for you to keep your suspicions about Dr. Warner to yourself. From now on, contact me directly. I’ll inform the Project Director that you and I are working together now and that he will support your efforts — without asking questions. See that the rest of the team keeps the findings within the group. It’s very important that we keep a tight lid on this for the time being.”

  “I understand,” Dr. Chang said, but he really didn’t. The call had raised more questions, and he was now convinced: they had used the wrong therapy.

  CHAPTER 18

  West Jakarta Police Detention Center

  Jakarta, Indonesia

  Chief Kusnadi was about to reach for the interrogation room door when a man blocked his path. He was an American, or maybe European, definitely a soldier of some sort — he had the build… and the eyes.

  “Who are you?” Kusnadi asked the man.

  “That’s not important. I’m here to pick up Dr. Katherine Warner.”

  “The hell you are. Tell me who you are before I throw you in a cell.”

  The man handed him a manila envelope and said, “Take a look, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

  The Police Chief opened the envelope and looked at the first few pictures. He couldn’t believe his eyes. How? How could they have—

  “If you don’t release her right now, you won’t be the last to see those.”

  Kusnadi shoved the pictures down into the envelope. “I want the originals.”

  “Does this sound like a negotiation to you? Release her or my organization will release the contents of that envelope.”

  Kusnadi’s eyes looked down, then darted side to side, like a cornered animal deciding which way to run.

  “And just in case you’re considering throwing me in a cell, if my people don’t get my call within 3 minutes, they’ll release this file anyway. You work for me now. You want to be Chief of Police or not?”

  Kusnadi had to think. He looked around at the department. Who could do this?

  “Times up.” The man turned to leave.

  “Wait.” The police chief opened the door to the interrogation room and motioned for the woman to come out. “This man will escort you out.”

  She paused at the door and looked at Kusnadi before looking the soldier up and down.

  “It’s okay, this man will take you now.”

  The man put his arm around her back and said, “Follow me Dr. Warner. We’re getting out of here.”

  Kusnadi watched them walk out of the station.

  Outside the police station, Kate stopped and turned to the man who had rescued her. He was dressed in black body armor — eerily similar to the man who had taken her children. And so were his men — she saw them now — five of them, standing in front of a large black truck, like an over-sized UPS delivery truck and a black SUV with dark tinted windows.

  “Who are you? I want to know—”

  “Hang on just a second,” he said.

  The man walked over to the short interrogator who had accused Kate of buying the children. The soldier handed the little man a folder and said, “I hear you’re in line for a promotion.”

  The little man shrugged. “I just do what I’m told,” he said sheepishly.

  “Your case officer says you’ve been a good source. If you’re smart enough to know what to do with this, maybe you’ll be a better police chief.”

  The interrogator nodded. “Anything you want, boss.”

  The solider walked back to Kate and motioned toward the large black delivery truck. “I need you to get in the truck.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me who you are and what’s going on.”

  “I’ll explain, but right now we have to get you to a safe location.”

  “No, you—”

  “Here’s a tip. The good guys ask you to get in the truck. The bad guys put a black bag over your head and throw you in the truck. I’m asking. Look you can stay here or go with me, it’s up to you.”

  He walked toward the truck and opened the double doors at the rear.

  “Hold on. I’m coming.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Primary Conference Room

  Clocktower Station HQ

  Jakarta, Indonesia

  Vincent Tarea, the head of field operations for Clocktower Jakarta, massaged his arm muscles as the station’s staff filed into the room. His arms and legs still ached from the attack from those two fools at the clinic and those feral children. And the day had gotten worse from there. But he could put it back on track. He only needed to convince a few of the Jakarta staff to go along with the attack, the rest were already on the Immari payroll.

  Tarea held his hands up to quiet the crowd. Everyone at Clocktower HQ was there: all the analysts, all the case officers, and all the field operatives — everyone except David Vale and the five operatives with him. Josh Cohen, the head of analysis, was also missing, but they would find him soon enough. The large screens on the conference room wall showed three crowded rooms, full of field operatives at safe houses across the city.

  “Ok, listen up, everyone. Can you all hear me on the video links?” Tarea said.

  Heads nodded, followed by a series of “yeah” and “we’ve got you”.

  “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it: Clocktower has been compromised.”

  You could hear a pin drop in the room.

  “And we’re under attack. I received reports earlier today that several cells, including Cape Town, Mar del Plata, and Karachi have been completely destroyed. Several other stations are fighting for their lives as we speak.”

&n
bsp; People began talking in low tones. Some shouted questions.

  “Hold on, everybody. It gets worse. I’m afraid the enemy we’re fighting is one of our own. Here’s what we know at this point: several days ago, David Vale, along with several other station chiefs, organized a meeting of all the Chief Analysts. Obviously this is strictly against protocol. We believe they told the analysts there was some new threat. We now know that over half the analysts never returned from the conference. The entire charade was a mass-execution, we believe, to cripple our intelligence analysis before this larger attack. The analysts who returned to their cells are now actively working against Clocktower.”

  Tarea surveyed the doubtful looks around the room. “Look, I know this is hard to believe, and like you, I don’t want to believe it. I didn’t believe, not until this morning, when David spread our field operatives out throughout the city. Think about it — he’s spreading us out so we can’t defend against an attack. He’s preparing to take down Jakarta Station, it’s only a matter of time.”

  “Why?” someone said. “He wouldn’t do that,” another person said.

  “I asked the same question. I said the same thing,” Tarea said. “He recruited me, I served with him, I know him. But there’s a lot about David Vale we still don’t understand. We all come to Clocktower for our own reasons. From what we can gather, David was seriously injured during the attacks on 9/11. I didn’t know that until today. Since then, he’s harbored a conspiracy theory about 9/11, some wild ideas about military contractors instigating the attack for their own gain. He may even be the victim of a lie himself. Someone could be using him. Either way, he’s sick, turned around. And he’s brought a lot of other people into the conspiracy. We think Josh Cohen has returned from the analyst conference and is working with the Chief.”

  Everyone was silent, seeming to take the news in. A solider at one of the safe houses on the video screen said, “What’s the operation? Bring him in?”

  “That may not be possible. He’ll fight to the end. The priority is to minimize the collateral damage. And we’re going to have some help. Immari Security has offered to lend us some men. They are aware of the situation and they want to see this contained as much as we do — it seems Immari is the target of David’s vendetta. We know that David has captured a scientist who works on an Immari-funded project. She could be a co-conspirator or a victim in his plans; we’re not sure yet. The plan is to recover the woman, a Dr. Katherine Warner, and neutralize the Chief.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Secure Comms Room

  Clocktower Station HQ

  Jakarta, Indonesia

  Josh waited nervously to find out whether his theory about the coded message David had given him was correct. It was Josh’s best idea, really his only idea.

  He tried not to stare at the main computer screen on the long wall of the glass room. For the last thirty minutes, the screen had said the same thing: Searching…

  He glanced at the two screens beside it: a video feed of the door outside and the city map with 24 red dots representing Clocktower Jakarta’s field operatives. He didn’t know which display made him more nervous. They might as well be giant countdown screens, ticking away the seconds to his death and some terrible, unknown catastrophe… While the other screen still simply said “Searching…”

  Should the search have taken this long? What if he was wasting time?

  Something else made him nervous. He glanced at the field box David had left on the table. He stood, grabbed the box, but as he lifted it, the bottom fell open. The gun and cyanide capsules tumbled onto the table, the clanging noise shattering the silence. The sound seemed to echo for hours that felt like a dream. Finally, Josh reached for the gun and two pills. His hands were shaking.

  On the wall, a beep snapped him out of the moment. The larger screen read: 5 results.

  5 Results!

  Josh sat down at the table and worked the wireless keyboard and mouse. Three results from The New York Times, one from The Daily Mail in London, and one from The Boston Globe.

  Maybe he was right. From the moment he had seen the names and dates, his first thought was: they’re obituaries. Obituaries and classifieds were classic spy-craft: operatives after World War II routinely used them to send messages across spy networks spread across the globe. It was old school, but if the message had been passed in 1947, it could have been a viable method. If it was true, this terrorist network was over 65 years old. He pushed the implications of that to the back of his mind.

  He looked at the coded message David had given him:

  ________________________

  Toba Protocol is real.

  4+12+47 = 4/5; Jones

  7+22+47 = 3/8; Anderson

  10+4+47 = 5/4; Ames

  ________________________

  Then he turned to the results. It was more likely the terrorists had used one paper — one paper that was available in cities around the world. The New York Times was the mostly likely candidate. Even in 1947, you could walk up to a newsstand in Paris, London, Shanghai, Barcelona, or Boston and get the day’s copy of The New York Times, paid obituaries included.

  If the obituaries were coded messages, they would have been flagged in some way. Josh saw it immediately: each of the obituaries had the words clock and tower. He leaned back in his chair. Was it possible that Clocktower was that old? The CIA was only formally established in 1947 by the National Security Act of 1947, although it’s precursor organization, The Office of Strategic Services (OSS) was created in during World War II, in June of 1942.

  Why would the terrorists mention Clocktower? Maybe they were fighting Clocktower back then — in 1947 — 66 years ago?

  He needed to focus on the obituaries. There must be a way to decode them. The ideal encryption system would feature a variable cipher; i.e. there would be no one key that could decrypt a message. Each message would include it’s own key — something simple.

  He opened the first obituary.

  ____________________

  Adam Jones, Pioneering Clockmaker, Dies at 77 Working on his Tower Masterpiece.

  The New York Times - Obituaries, 4/12/1947 Issue

  Adam Jones, leading Gibraltar clockmaker, died Saturday in British Honduras. He was found by his valet. His bones will be interred near his late wife’s — a site they selected together. Please send a card or advise family if visiting.

  ____________________

  The message was here somewhere. What was the key? Josh opened the other obituaries and scanned them, hoping for some sort of clue. Each obituary contained a location, and each one was early in the text. Josh ran through several possibilities, re-arranged several words, then sat back and thought. The obituaries were written awkwardly, like certain words were out of order. Or forced, like they had to use those words. The order, the intervals. He saw it. The names were the cipher, the length of the names. It was the second part of the code.

  ____________________

  4+12+47 = 4/5; Jones

  ____________________

  The 4/12/1947 obituary was for Adam Jones. 4/5. The first name was 4 letters. The last name was 5. If he took the fourth word of the obituary, then the fifth, it yielded a sentence.

  He opened the obituary:

  ____________________

  Adam Jones, Pioneering Clockmaker, Dies at 77 Working on his Tower Masterpiece.

  The New York Times - Obituaries, 4/12/1947 Issue

  Adam Jones, leading Gibraltar clockmaker, died Saturday in British Honduras. He was found by his valet. His bones will be interred near his late wife’s — a site they selected together. Please send a card or advise family if visiting.

  ____________________

  Together, the message read:

  Gibraltar, British found bones near site. Please advise.

  Josh studied the message for a moment. He didn’t see that coming. And he had no idea what it meant. He searched the internet and came up with a few results. Apparently the British had found bones in Gibr
altar in the 1940s, in a natural sea cave called Gorham’s Cave. But they weren’t human bones. They were Neanderthal bones — and they had radically changed what the world knew about Neanderthals. Our pre-historic cousins were actually much more than archaic cavemen. They built homes. And they built huge fires on stone hearths, cooked vegetables, spoke a language, created cave art, buried their dead with flowers, and made advanced stone tools and pottery. The bones at Gibraltar also changed the Neanderthal time line. Before the Gibraltar find, Neanderthals were thought to have died out around 40,000 years ago. The Neanderthals at Gibraltar had lived roughly 23,000 years ago — far earlier than previously thought. Gibraltar was likely the Neanderthals’ last stand.

  What could an ancient Neanderthal fortress have to do with a global terrorist attack? Maybe the other messages would shed some light. Josh opened the second obituary and decoded it.

  Antarctica, U-boat not found, advise if further search authorized

  Interesting. Josh ran a few searches. 1947 had been a busy year in Antarctica. On December 12th, 1946, the US Navy sent a huge armada including 13 ships with almost 5,000 men to Antarctica. The mission, codenamed Operation Highjump, was to establish the Antarctic research base Little America IV. There had long been conspiracy theories and speculation that the US was looking for secret Nazi bases and technology in Antarctica. Did the message mean they hadn’t found it?

  Josh turned the thick glossy page with the message over and examined the photo. A massive chunk of ice floated in a blue sea, and at its center, a black sub stuck out of the ice. The writing on the sub was too small to read, but it had to be the Nazi sub. Based on the likely size of the sub, the iceberg was maybe ten square miles. Big enough to be from Antarctica. Did this mean they had found the sub recently? Had the discovery set events in motion?

  Josh turned to the last message, hoping it would provide a clue. Decoded, it read:

  Roswell, weather balloon matches Gibraltar technology, we must meet

  Together, all three messages were:

  Gibraltar, British found bones near site, Please advise

  Antarctica, U-boat not found, advise if further search authorized

  Roswell, weather balloon matches Gibraltar technology, we must meet