The Atlantis Gene (The Origin Mystery 1)

He looked around the pod — his home for the last seven days. It was exactly like the last three pods at the last three drilling sites: a ten by fifteen room with three cots, a large noisy heater, four trunks of equipment and food, and the table with the radio. There was no refrigerator; keeping things cool was the least of their problems.

The radio crackled to life. “Snow King, this is Bounty. Your orders are as follows: extract the drill, cover the hole, and proceed to new location. Please confirm orders when you are ready for new GPS coordinates.”

Robert confirmed the orders, took down the new coordinates, and signed off. He sat for a minute, thinking about the job. Three drill sites, all 7,500 feet deep, all the same result: nothing but ice. The equipment was all snow white, and covered by huge white parasail-like canopies. Whatever they were doing, their employer didn’t want anyone to see it from the air. He had assumed they were drilling for oil or some precious metal. Covert drilling wasn’t uncommon. You go in, drill, make a strike, cover it up, then get an option on the land. But there were no drilling rights to be had in Antarctica, and there were much easier places — cheaper places — to find oil and raw materials. The economics didn’t make sense. But money didn’t seem to be a problem. Each site had about thirty million dollars in equipment — and they didn’t seem to care what happened to it. They were paying him two million dollars for what they said would be two months — max — of drilling. He’d signed a non-disclosure agreement. And that was it. Two million dollars, drill where we say, keep your mouth shut. Robert intended to do just that. Two million dollars would get him out of the trouble he was in and maybe leave him enough to get off the oil rigs for good. He might even fix his own problems, the reason he was in such a bind to begin with. But that was probably wishful thinking, about as likely as striking oil in Antarctica.

CHAPTER 49

Somewhere over the Mountains of Western China

They had made three passes at landing in the small lake, and Kate couldn’t take it anymore. “I thought you said you could fly this thing?”

David continued concentrating on the controls. “Landing is a lot harder than flying.”

To Kate, landing was the same thing as flying, but she let it go. She checked her seatbelt buckle for the 100th time.

David wiped some fog off a few of the ancient dials and tried to line the plane up for another pass.

Kate heard a sputter and felt her side of the plane drop. “Did you do that?”

David tapped the dashboard, first lightly, then harder. “We’re out of gas.”

“I thought you said—”

“Gauge must be broken.” David motioned with his head. “Get in the back.”

Kate crawled over him and into the back row of seats, complying, for once, without counter-argument or complaint. She buckled herself in. This would be their last landing attempt.

The other engine puffed out its last seconds of life, and the plane leveled off, gliding in the ominous silence.

Kate looked down, surveying the dense green forest surrounding the small blue lake. It was beautiful, like a scene from the Canadian wilderness. She knew it was cold down there; they must be somewhere in Northern India or Western China. They had flown most of the way over water, hugging the sea tightly to avoid radar detection. They had gone north most of the way; the sun had hung high in the sky on Kate’s right until they crossed the coast, somewhere in the low-lying monsoon areas, probably Bangladesh. Kate hadn’t asked any questions — not that she could have over the noise of the now-dead twin engines. Wherever they were, it was remote and untouched. If they were injured — at all — in the landing, it would likely be fatal.

The lake rushed toward them quickly now. David leveled the plane. Or tried — the plane was much harder to control without the force of the engines.

Scenarios of doom raced through Kate’s mind. What if they went nose first into the lake? There were mountains around them. The lake could be incredibly deep — and cold. The plane would pull them down. They’d never survive the icy abyss. What if they did level-off? How would they stop — they’d hit the trees at full speed. She imagined a series of tree branches stabbing a dozen holes in them, like needles in a voodoo doll. Or the gas, the fumes in the tank would explode at any spark; that would get them fast.

The pontoons skidded unevenly on the water, and the plane rocked from side to side.

One of the pontoons could come off — that would tear the plane — and them — to pieces.

Kate tightened her lap belt. Should she take it off? It could cut her in half.

The pontoons kissed the water again before reeling back into the air, wobbling and wounded.

Kate leaned forward, and for some reason, put her arms around David’s neck, holding him tightly to his seat and pressing herself against the back of his seat. She rested her head at the base of his neck. She couldn’t watch. She felt the plane plow into the water more violently. The floor shook constantly. The turbulence spread to the thin metal walls, she heard a series of cracks, and she was flung back into her seat, the breath almost knocked out of her. She opened her eyes and sucked in a breath. They were stopped. Branches! In the cockpit. David’s head hung lifelessly.

Kate lunged forward but the lap belt nearly tore her in half. She reached for him, disregarding the belt. She felt around his chest. Had a branch gone through him? She couldn’t feel anything.

He lifted his head lethargically. “Hey lady, at least buy me a drink first.”

Kate slumped back in her chair and shoved his shoulder. She was glad to be alive. And glad he was too, but she said, “I’ve had better landings.”

He glanced back at her. “Over water?”

“As it turns out, this is my first water landing, so, no.”

“Yeah, my first water landing too.” David unbuckled himself and climbed out the passenger door. He got his footing on the step and released the passenger seat so Kate could get out.

“You’re serious aren’t you? You’ve never landed a plane on water? Are you out of your mind?”

“No, I’m just kidding. I land on water all the time.”

“Do you always run out of gas?”

David began unpacking supplies from the plane. “Gas?” He gazed up, as if remembering something. “We didn’t run out of gas. I just killed the engines for dramatic effect. You know, just hoping you would do that reach forward hug from behind thing.”