The Atlantis Gene: A Thriller

by A. G. Riddle

  Cole had a point. But David couldn’t explain — that would take away his leverage. Sometimes you had to be a bad guy to save the good guys.

  They continued on in silence until they reached the Immari Jakarta Campus — a collection of six buildings surrounded by a high chain-link fence, topped with barbed wire. Guard houses flanked every entrance. David put the helmet and goggles on and handed Cole the ID of the man he’d killed.

  At the gate, the guard stepped out of the booth and sauntered over to the car. “ID?”

  Cole handed him two Immari ID Cards. “Bryant and Stevens.”

  The guard took the IDs. “Thanks, asshole. I’ve only been reading for 40 years now.”

  Cole held up a hand. “Just trying to be helpful.”

  The guard leaned in the window. “Take the helmet off,” he said to David.

  David pulled the helmet off and looked straight forward, then to the side, hoping the side view would pass, that the closer look was just mild professional hazing or the insecure guard pounding his chest.

  The guard examined the ID then scrutinized David. He repeated the motion several times. “Just a minute.” He hurried back to the booth.

  “That standard?” David asked Cole.

  “Never happened before.”

  The man had the phone at his ear. He was dialing, his eyes glued on them.

  David drew his gun and reached across the car in one fluid motion. The guard dropped the phone and reached for his gun. David fired a single shot, hitting the man in the left shoulder, just above where the vest ended. The man collapsed to the ground. He would live, but his attitude probably wouldn’t improve.

  Cole looked over at David, then gunned the car toward the main Immari Headquarters building.

  “Park at the rear entrance, near the boat landing.” David reached into the backseat and grabbed a small pack filled with explosives. He pulled the duffel bag with the remaining charges into the floorboard.

  In the distance, they heard the wail of sirens erupt across the campus perimeter.

  They entered the building through an unguarded loading dock door. David placed a charge on the wall next to the door. He punched a code into the detonator, and it began beeping. It was hard to do one-handed, but he had to keep his thumb on the trigger for Cole’s sake.

  They moved down the hallway, and David placed additional explosives every twenty feet or so.

  David had opted not to tell Cole anything before they arrived — his captive could have found a way to communicate the information to Immari HQ, or they could be intercepted. Either way, there was no upside. Now he had to explain. “Listen, Cole. They’re holding a woman somewhere in this building. Dr. Kate Warner. We need to find her.”

  Cole hesitated for a moment, then said, “The holding cells and interrogation rooms are in the middle of the building, on the 47th floor… But even if she is there and you get her out of the room, you’ll never get out of the building. Security is on its way here now, and there are already dozens of guards in this building alone. Plus field agents who have returned.” Cole motioned to the dead man’s trigger in David’s left hand. “What happens to me? If you…”

  David thought. “Is there any field ops equipment in this building?”

  “Yeah, the main armory on three, but most of the weapons and armor are gone — the entire field regiment was deployed to kill you today.”

  “It won’t matter; they wouldn’t have taken what I need. When we have the girl, I’ll give you this trigger, you have my word, Cole. Then I’ll make my own way out.”

  Cole nodded once, then said, “There’s a service stairwell without cameras.”

  “One thing before we go.” David opened a supply closet and lit a fire. In seconds, the flame licked up the wood racks toward the smoke detector on the ceiling.

  Fire alarms called out around them as flickering LED lights punctuated the din, and pandemonium broke out. Doors opened, people ran from rooms left and right, sprinklers sprang to life, and water soaked the fleeing masses.

  “Now we can go.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Immari Jakarta Headquarters

  Jakarta, Indonesia

  On the elevator, Kate had fought at the guards’ vice-grip hold on her arms. They pinned her to the wall until the elevator doors opened, then hauled her into a room with what looked like a reclining dentist’s chair. They threw her down, strapped her in, and said, “The doctor will be right in.” They had laughed as they walked out.

  Now she waited. The relief at seeing Martin felt like a million years ago. The wide straps cut into her arms, just above where the zip-ties had gouged her wrists. Fear started to grip her. The room’s walls were stark white, and except for the chair, the only thing in the room was a steel high-top table with a round bundle on it. She could barely see it from the reclining chair, which forced her gaze up at the buzzing florescent lights.

  The door opened, and she craned her head up to see. It was him — the man who had taken the kids. The man who took her from the soldier’s van. A wide smile spread across his face. It was a mean smile, the kind that said, “I have you now.”

  He stopped a few feet from her face. “You’ve gotten me in a lot of trouble today, little girl. But life is about second chances.” He walked over to the steel table and unrolled the bundle. Out of the corner of her eye, Kate could barely make out the gleam of steel utensils, long and pointy. He glared back at her over his shoulder. “Oh, who am I kidding? In my experience, life is about payback.” He took out one of his tools of torture — a smaller version of a grilling skewer. “You’re going to tell me what I need to know, and I hope it takes as long as physically possible.”

  Another man came in. He wore a white coat and held something Kate couldn’t quite see, possibly a syringe. “What are you doing?” he asked the torturer.

  “Getting started. What are you doing?”

  “That’s not the plan. We use the drugs first — those are the orders.”

  “Not my orders.”

  Kate lay there helpless as the men stared at each other, the torturer holding the silver prod, the white-coat clutching the syringe.

  Finally, syringe-man said, “Whatever. I’m going to give her this, then you can do whatever you want.”

  “What is it?”

  “Something new we’re using in Pakistan. Basically turns their brains to mush; they’ll tell you anything.”

  “Is it permanent?” the torturer asked.

  “Sometimes. Been lots of different side effects. We’re still working on it.” He jammed the oversized syringe into Kate’s arm and injected slowly. She felt the cold liquid fill her veins. She fought against the straps, but they were too tight.

  “How long will it take?”

  “Ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

  “Will she remember?”

  “Probably not.”

  The torturer set the silver tool down and walked over to Kate. He ran a hand down her chest and legs. “So cute. And feisty. Maybe they’ll let me have you when they have their answers.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Kate didn’t know how long it had been, didn’t know if she had been asleep, if she was awake now. Maybe not. Her body didn’t hurt. She couldn’t feel the straps. She was so thirsty. The lights were blinding. So bright. She turned her head to the side, licking her lips. So thirsty.

  The ugly man was in her face. He grabbed her chin and jerked her back into the light. She squinted. His face, so mean. Angry. “I’d say we’re about ready for our first date, Princess.”

  He pulled something out of his pocket. A paper?

  “But first, we need to get some paperwork out of the way. Just a couple of questions. Question number one: what did you give those children?” He pointed at the paper. “Ah, and we have a footnote here: we know it wasn’t A-R-C 2-4-7, whatever the hell that is. They know it wasn’t that, so don’t even try it. So, what was it? Final answer please.”

  Kate tried to fight the urge to respond. She shoo
k her head side-to-side, but in her mind’s eye, she saw herself in the lab, preparing it, worrying that it wouldn’t work, or that it would harm their brains, turn them to… mush… the drug they had given her… She had to…

  “What was it? Tell us.”

  “I gave… my babies…”

  He leaned over her. “Speak up, Princess. We can’t hear you. Operators are standing by to record your answers.”

  “I gave… couldn’t… gave my babies…”

  “Yes, that’s it, gave your babies what?”

  “Gave my babies…”

  He sat up. “Jesus, you guys hearing this? She’s fried.” He closed the door. “Time for plan B.” He did something in the corner of the room.

  She couldn’t focus.

  Then an alarm, and water, falling from the ceiling. Lights flashing now, even brighter than the lights before. Kate squeezed her eyes shut. How much time had passed? A loud sound, more of them. Gun fire. The door exploding.

  The ugly man fell, bloody. They unstrapped her, but she couldn’t stand, she flowed out of the seat onto the ground like a child going down a water slide.

  She could see him — the soldier from the van. He wore a backpack. He handed another man something. The man was scared, he put his thumb on it. The voices were muffled, like she was underwater.

  The soldier took her face in his hands. “Gate? Dan view cheer bee? Gate?” His hands were warm. The water was cold. She licked her lips. She should have drunk some. Still so thirsty.

  He jumped up, more gun blasts. He left. He was back. “Dan view foot your harms houuround bee?” He held her arms, but she couldn’t move them; they fell, lifeless, to the ground. They were made of concrete.

  He darted back to the door, threw something.

  He picked her up in both his arms, strong arms. He ran. Ahead of them a wall of glass and steel exploded. Shards hit her, but they didn’t hurt.

  They were flying. No, falling. He held her tight, with only one arm now. He reached back, trying to get something.

  Then they were yanked back, caught on something. She flew, fell from his arms, but he held her, by one arm. She dangled as he glided above, suspended by strings from a white cloud. His grip was slipping, she was too wet, her clothes were wet. She was falling.

  He trapped her with his feet, digging into her back and ribs. His hand moved up her arm and finally, he wrapped both legs around her. She faced down now, and she saw them.

  Men, gunfire, below — the building and the docks were filling with them. More men ran out of the buildings and began firing. Beeps above. The bottom of the building exploded, throwing shrapnel and pieces of the soldiers into the parking lot.

  Ripping sounds above; they fell faster now. The man wiggled, and she felt them flying away, moving farther out over the bay.

  More sounds below — motors cranking and more gunfire. They twisted around, and she saw the marina swarming to life. Rapid beeps above. A car in the parking lot winked out of existence, sending a wall of flame and smoke hundreds of feet around it, engulfing everything and everyone. The gun fire stopped.

  It was quiet, peaceful now. She saw the last ray of sunlight set over the Java Sea as darkness fell. They hung there for a time, Kate didn’t know how long.

  Above, she heard another rip, and they were plummeting to the black sea below. Kate felt him struggling, reaching for something. The legs around her slipped; they finally lost their grip, and she was falling faster, by herself. Seconds passed in slow motion. She rolled as she fell, saw the man floating above her, floating away from her.

  She heard but didn’t feel the loud crack as the water engulfed her, pushing her down, now pulling her down. Water, cold salt water was in her mouth and her nose, and she couldn’t breathe, could only suck in water. It burned. The darkness was almost complete, just a glimmer of light at the surface where the moon kissed the sea.

  She drifted now, arms at her side, eyes open, waiting.

  Waiting. She fought not to breathe more water. Her mind went blank. No thought. Only cold water, all around her and burning in her lungs.

  A flare, a burning stick falling down, too far away from her. And something swimming at the surface, too far away. Another flare, closer, but still too far. The creature bobbed it’s head below, swam, then came up for air. A third flare, and the figure dived below, toward her. It grabbed her and pulled her, kicking violently toward the surface. They would never reach it. She took another gulp of water, had to, needed air. It invaded her, felt like cold concrete being poured down her mouth. And it pulled at her so hard, not letting her rise, and the moon was there and then everything was so dark.

  She felt the air now, the wind and the droplets of rain, heard the splashing around. The splashing went on so long, and the arm was around her, keeping her up, her head out of the water.

  There was a loud sound, a huge boat, with lights. It would hit them. It was coming straight for them. She saw her rescuer wave his hands and pull her out of its path.

  Another man, pulling her up, and she was on her back, and her rescuer was over her, pressing on her chest, pinching her nose, and… he kissed her. His breath was so hot; it filled her mouth and pushed into her lungs. She kissed him back, and it made her so happy. She hadn’t done that in so long. She fought to lift her arms, but she couldn’t, she tried again, and yes, she reached up, tried to hold him, his mouth to hers. He pushed her arms away, held them down. She lay there, and then it exploded — her chest. Water gushed from her mouth and nose as he rolled her over. The water kept coming in coughs and gags. Her stomach spasmed and she drew air in desperate breaths.

  He held her until her breathing slowed. Every breath burned, her lungs still wouldn’t fill, every intake was shallow.

  He yelled out to the other man, “Arto! Arto! Tights! Tights!” He drew a hand across his neck in a cutting motion. Nothing happened.

  He got up and marched away. A second later, the lights went off and they were moving, fast. The rain whipped at her face, but she just lay there, unable to move.

  He picked her up again, just as he had carried her out of the tall tower. He took her below and laid her down on a small bed in a cramped room. She tried to reach for him again, but he was gone. Then back again, then gone, as if appearing and disappearing like magic.

  She heard voices. Saw him pointing at a man. “Arto, plop, plop!” He pointed again.

  Then he came for her, collecting her in his strong arms and they were off the boat, on land again. They walked along a beach, toward a wrecked town, like something that had been bombed in World War II. They were inside some kind of cottage, and the lights were on. She was so tired, couldn’t stay awake a second longer. He set her down on a bed of flowers, no a floral comforter. She closed her eyes and almost went to sleep, but she felt him at her feet, pulling her wet pants off. She smiled. He reached for her shirt. He would see — the scar. His hands gripped the shirt, but she held them, struggling to hold the shirt down.

  “Gate, view half dew foot try blows on.”

  “No.” She shook her head and turned over.

  “View half…”

  She could barely hear him.

  He tugged at the shirt.

  “Please don’t,” she mumbled. “Please don’t…”

  Then he was releasing her, the weight on the bed shifted, and he was gone.

  A motor started, a small one. And warm air around her, on top of her, then she twisted and it warmed her stomach, her hair. Her whole body was warm.

  CHAPTER 38

  Immari Jakarta Headquarters

  Jakarta, Indonesia

  Cole lay face-down on his stomach, waiting. He had been waiting for almost an hour as the bomb tech fiddled with his vest. He fought not to squirm, not to lose control of his bladder, not to scream. One thought ran threw his head, over-and-over: I’ll never see my family again. He should have never taken the job, regardless of the money. They had saved almost enough — $150,000 of the $250,000 they needed to open a Jiffy Lube. With
his money from two straight deployments with the Marines, they would have been fine. But he wanted to have “a little extra” saved — just in case business was light those first few years. The Immari recruiter had said, “You’re mostly there for show, to make our clients feel safe. As you requested, we’ll assign you to a low-security region, definitely not the Middle East, or even South America. Europe requires seniority. Southeast Asia has been very quiet. You’ll love the weather in Jakarta.” Now some other Immari Suit would be knocking on his wife’s door. “Ma’am, your husband was killed in an unfortunate Cadbury Cream Egg incident. Our deepest condolences. What? Oh, no ma’am, this never happens. Here are his cream egg remains.” Cole let out a harsh, almost irrational laugh. He was losing it.

  “Hang in there, Cole. We’re almost in,” the bomb tech said from behind a thick curved blast shield. The man wore a bulky helmet and peered through a glass strip at the top of the blast shield. His arms jutted out through two silver accordion-type metal arm sheaths that looked like the arms from the robot on the 60’s TV show Lost in Space.

  The tech carefully cut the straps on Cole’s back vest. He lifted the vest slightly and bent closer to the glass slit in the blast shield for a better look.

  Sweat drops popped up across Cole’s already soaked face.

  “It’s not booby trapped.” Inch-by-inch, the tech peeled the vest back. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  Cole almost jumped when he heard the man throw the vest the rest of the way over. Was there a timer? A backup? He felt the man’s hands work quickly at his spine. Then he felt the gloved hands go limp. He heard the screeching of metal on metal as the tech forcefully slid the blast shield out of the way. He worked with his bare hands now.

  Cole felt the man lift the bomb off his spine.

  “You can get up now, Cole.”

  Cole turned, holding his breath.

  The man looked at him with contempt. “Here’s your bomb, Cole. Be careful now, you could be allergic to polyester.” He handed Cole a rolled up T-Shirt.

  Cole couldn’t believe it. He was embarrassed, but mostly, he was relieved.

  Cole unrolled the t-shirt. It read, in big black magic marker letters: “BOOM!” Below it, in smaller print: “Sorry…”

  CHAPTER 39

  Batavia Marina

  Jakarta, Indonesia

  Harto put his arm around his wife and gathered his son and daughter at his side. They stood on the wooden dock at the marina where Harto had retrieved the boat the soldier had told him about. The four of them beheld the machine, no one saying a word. It sparkled. It all still seemed like a dream to Harto. The boat was the most beautiful thing he’d seen since his wife on their wedding day.

  “It’s ours,” he said.

  “How Harto?”

  “The soldier man gave it to me.”

  His wife ran a hand along the boat, maybe to see if it was truly real. “It’s almost too nice to fish in.”

  The boat was a mini-yacht. At 60 feet, it was capable of travel between the small islands off Java. It could hold up to thirty people above deck and sleep as many as eight below deck in the master stateroom, port guest stateroom, and aft guest stateroom. The upper deck and flybridge would give breathtaking views.

  “We’re not going to fish with it,” Harto said. “We’re going to take others fishing. The foreigners living here and the tourists. They pay lots of money for this — to go fishing in the deep sea. And for other things: diving and touring