The Atlantis Gene (The Origin Mystery 1)

The scientists nod. “Yes. We believe the building is a science building, possibly one giant lab.”

“What if it’s not a building?”

The scientist looks confused. “What else could it be?”

“A ship,” I say.

Barton lets out a laugh and speaks jovially. “That’s rich, Patty. Why don’t you focus on the digging and leave the science to these men?” He nods appreciatively at the scientists. “I assure you they’re better at it than you are. Now Rutger has told us you’re worried about water and gas above the stairs. What’s your plan?”

I press on. “The walls, inside the structure. They look like bulkheads in a ship.”

The lead scientist hesitates, then says, “Yes, they do. But they’re too thick, almost five feet. No ship would need walls that thick, and it wouldn’t float. It’s also too large to be a ship. It’s a city; we’re fairly certain of that. And there are the stairs. Stairs on a ship would be very curious.”

Barton holds up his hand. “We’ll sort out all these mysteries when we’re inside. Can you give us an estimate, Pierce?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

My mind drifts back to that night in West Virginia for a brief moment, then I’m back in the room, staring at the Immari Council and the scientists. “Because I’m done digging. Find someone else,” I say.

“Now look here, my boy, this isn’t some social club, some frivolous thing you join and then quit when the dues become too burdensome. You’ll finish the job and make good on your promise,” Lord Barton says.

“I said I’d get you through, and I have. This isn’t my war to fight. I have a family now.”

Barton rises to shout, but Kane catches his arm and speaks for the first time. “War. An interesting choice of words. Tell me, Mr. Pierce, what do you think is in that last tube?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

“You should,” Kane says. “It’s not human, and it doesn’t match any bones we’ve ever found.” He waits for my reaction. “Let me connect the dots for you, as you seem either unable or remiss to do so. Someone built this structure — the most advanced piece of technology on the planet. And they built it thousands of years ago, maybe hundreds of thousands of years ago. And that frozen ape-man has been in there for who-knows-how-many thousands of years. Waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“We don’t know, but I can assure you that when he and the rest of the people who built that structure wake up, the human race is finished on this planet. So you say this isn’t your war, but it is. You can’t outrun this war, can’t simply abstain or move away, because this enemy will chase us to the far corners of the world and exterminate us.”

“You assume they’re hostile. Because you’re hostile, extermination and war and power dominate your thoughts, and you assume the same for them.”

“The only thing we know for sure is this: that thing is some form of man. My assumptions are valid. And practical. Killing them ensures our survival. Making friends does not.”

I consider what he’s said, and I’m ashamed to admit I think it makes sense.

Kane seems to sense my wavering. “You know it’s true, Pierce. They’re smarter than we are, infinitely smarter. If they do let us live, even some of us, we’ll be nothing more than pets to them. Maybe they’ll breed us to be docile and friendly, feeding us like curious wolves by their proverbial campfire, weeding out the aggressive ones, the same way we made dogs so many thousands of years ago. They’ll make us so civilized we can’t imagine fighting back, can’t hunt, and can’t feed ourselves. Maybe it’s already happening and we don’t even know it. Or maybe they won’t find us that cute at all. We could become their slaves. You’re familiar with this concept, I believe. A group of brutal yet intelligent humans with advanced technology subjugating a less advanced group. But this time it will be for the rest of eternity; we would never advance or evolve further. Think of it. But we can prevent that fate. It seems harsh, to go in and murder them in their sleep, but think of the alternative. We will be celebrated as heroes when history learns the truth. We are the liberators of the human race, the emancipators—”

“No. Whatever happens from here, happens without me.” I can’t get the image of Helena’s face out of my mind, the thought of holding our child, of growing old by some lake, of teaching our grandchildren to fish when they’re on break from school. I can’t make a difference in the Immari plan. They’ll find another miner. Maybe it will set them back a few months, but whatever is down there will wait.

I stand and stare at Kane and Barton for a long moment. “Gentlemen, you’ll have to excuse me. My wife is pregnant, and I should be getting her home.” I focus on Barton. “We’re expecting our first child. I wish you the best on the project. As you know, I was a soldier. And soldiers can keep secrets. Almost as well as they can fight. But I hope my fighting days are behind me.”

David sat up. “They’re building an army.”

“Who?”

“The Immari. It makes sense now. That’s their end game, I know it. They think humanity is facing an advanced enemy. Toba Protocol, reducing the total population, causing a genetic bottleneck and a second great leap forward — they’re doing it to create a race of super soldiers, advanced humans who can battle whoever built that thing in Gibraltar.”

“Maybe. There’s something else. In China, there was a device. I think it has something to do with this,” Kate said.

She told David about her experience in China, about the bell-shaped object that massacred the subjects in the room before melting and then exploding.

When she finished, David nodded and said, “I think I know what it is.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Maybe. Keep reading.”

CHAPTER 91

Jan 18th, 1917

When the butler bursts through the doors to my study, my first thought is Helena: her water’s broken… or she’s fallen, or—

“Mr. Pierce, your office is on the line. They say it’s important, urgent. Regarding the docks, inside the warehouse.”

I walk down to the butler’s office and pick up the phone. Mallory Craig begins speaking before I say a word. “Patrick. There’s been an accident. Rutger wouldn’t let them call you, but I thought you should know. He pressed too hard. Went too far too fast. Some of the Moroccan workers are trapped, they say—”