The Atlantis Gene (The Origin Mystery 1)

Ahead of him, the alley opened onto an old dusty street that ran along one of Jakarta’s 37 rivers. There was a river market, with produce vendors, pottery dealers, and vendors of all sorts. They were in full flight, pointing, yelling, and gathering the day’s take in cash and hurrying away from the shots.

David cleared the alley and more gunfire engulfed him. A shot caught him dead in the center of the chest, throwing him violently to the ground, knocking the wind out of him.

At his head, more gunshots dug into the ground — the men in the alley were closing fast.

He rolled toward the alley wall, away from the shots. He struggled to breathe.

It was a trap — the men in the alley were herding him.

He took out two grenades. He pulled the pins, waited a full second, then threw one behind him, in the alley, the other around the corner, toward the ambush.

Then he ran flat out for the river, firing at the ambush as he went.

Behind him he heard the muffled sound of the alley explosion, then the louder blast in the open at the ambush.

Just before he reached the banks of the river he heard another explosion, this one much closer, maybe eight feet behind him. The blast threw him off his feet, out over the river.

Inside the armored van, Kate sat again. Then stood again. It sounded like World War Three outside: explosions, automatic gunfire, debris hitting the side of the truck.

She walked to the locker with the guns and bulletproof vests. More gunfire. Maybe she should put on some kind of armor? She took out one of the black outfits. It was heavy, so much heavier than she’d thought. She looked down at the rumpled clothes she had slept in at her office. What a weird day.

There was a knock at the door, then, “Dr. Warner?”

She dropped the vest.

It wasn’t his voice, the one who had gotten her from the police. It wasn’t David.

She needed a gun.

“Dr. Warner, we’re coming in.”

The door opened.

Three men in black armor, like the men who had taken the kids. They approached her.

“We’re glad you’re safe, Dr. Warner. We’re here to rescue you.”

“Who are you? Where is he, the man who was here.” She took a step back.

The gunfire had died down. Then two, no, three explosions in the distance.

They inched toward her. She took another step back. She could reach the gun. Could she fire it?

“It’s alright Dr. Warner. Just come on out of there. We’re taking you to see Martin. He sent us.”

“What? I want to talk to him. I’m not going anywhere until I speak with him.”

“It’s ok—”

“No, I want you out of here right now,” she said.

The man in the back pushed past the other two and said, “I told you Lars, you owe me fifty bucks.” Kate knew the voice — the gruff, scratchy voice of the man who had taken her children. It was him. Kate froze, fear running through her.

When the man reached her, he grabbed Kate’s arm, hard, and spun her around, sliding his hand down to her wrist. He grabbed her other wrist and held them together with one hand as he zipped-tied them with the other.

She tried to pull away, but the thin plastic cut into her, sending sharp pains up her arms.

The man pulled her back by her long blond hair and jerked the black bag over her head, sending Kate into complete darkness.

CHAPTER 25

Secure Comms Room

Clocktower Station HQ

Jakarta, Indonesia

Josh watched the other red dots on the screen wink out. The men at the safe houses — they had moved to the door, then disappeared — dead. A few minutes later he saw David’s convoy turn around in the street, then they were gone too — except for David. He saw his dot move around quickly, then one last sprint, and it went out too.

Josh exhaled and slumped in the chair. He stared through the glass walls at the outer door. The torch burned up the other side of it now, the burn mark a backwards J. Soon it would be a full U, then O and they would be through, and his time would be up. He had two, maybe three minutes.

The letter. He turned, rifled through the stack of folders and found it: David’s “open when I’m dead” letter. A few hours ago, Josh had thought he would never need to open it. So many illusions had died today: Clocktower couldn’t be compromised, Clocktower couldn’t fall, David couldn’t be killed, the good guys always won.

He ripped open the letter.

____________________

Dear Josh,

Don’t feel bad. We were way behind when we started. I can only assume Jakarta Station has fallen or is on its way.

Remember our goal: we must prevent the Immari end game. Forward whatever you’ve found to the Director of Clocktower. His name is Howard Keegan. You can trust him.

There’s a program on ClockServer1 — ClockConnect.exe It will open a private channel to Central where you can transmit data securely.

One last thing. I’ve collected a little money over the years, mostly from bad guys we put out of business. There’s another program on ClockServer1 — distribute.bat. It will disburse the money in my accounts.

I hope they never found this room and that you’re reading this letter in safety.

It has been my honor to serve with you.

David

____________________

Josh put the letter down.

He typed quickly on the keyboard, first uploading his data to Clocktower Central, then executing the bank transactions. “A little money” had been an understatement. Josh watched 5 transactions, all five million dollars each, go to first the Red Cross, then UNICEF, and three other disaster relief organizations. It made sense. But the final transaction didn’t. A deposit of five million dollars to a JP Morgan bank account in America — a New York branch. Josh copied the account holder’s names and searched. A man, 62, and his wife, 59. David’s parents? There was a news article — a piece in a Long Island newspaper. The couple had lost their only daughter in the 9/11 attacks. She had been an investment analyst at Cantor Fitzgerald at the time of the attacks, had recently graduated from Yale, and was engaged to be married to Andrew Reed, a graduate student at Columbia.

Josh heard it — or didn’t hear it — the torch had stopped. The ring was complete, and they were ramming the door, waiting for the metal to break free.

He gathered the papers, ran to the trash can and lit them on fire. He moved back to the table and opened the program that would erase the computer. It would take over five minutes. Maybe they wouldn’t find it. Or maybe he could buy it some time; he looked at the box with the gun in it.