The Atlantis Gene (The Origin Mystery 1)

He helped her into the bed, but she stopped. “Wait, there’s something I have to do.”

“We’ll get to it. You have to rest.”

Without another word, he maneuvered her into the bed and she felt so sleepy, like she had taken a sleeping pill. The sweet orange elixir.

CHAPTER 41

Immari Corporate Jet

Somewhere over the Southern Atlantic Ocean

Martin Grey leaned toward the plane window and peered out at the giant iceberg below. The Nazi sub jutted out of a mountain of ice near the center of the floating island, which covered almost 47 square miles — about the size of Disney World. Where the sub met the ice, workers and heavy machinery were hard at work excavating, searching for the sub's entrance. Cutting into the side was a last resort, but it would come to that if they didn't reach the hatch soon.

The wreckage below the sub was even more mysterious — teams were still working on theories. Martin had one of his own, an idea he would take to his grave if necessary.

"When did you find it?" Dorian Sloane's voice startled Martin, and he turned to see the younger man standing over him, gazing out another window of the jet.

Martin opened his mouth to respond, but Sloane interrupted him. "No lies, Martin."

Martin slumped in the chair, and continued squinting out the window. "10 days ago."

"Is it his?"

"The markings are the same. Carbon dating confirms the age."

"I want to go in first."

Martin turned to him. "I wouldn't advise it. The wreckage is likely unstable. There's no way of knowing what's inside. There could be—"

"And you're coming with me."

"Absolutely not."

"Now Martin, where's that intrepid explorer I knew in my youth?"

"This is a job for robots. They can go into places we can't. They can withstand cold, and it will be cold in there, colder than you can imagine. And they're easier to replace."

"Yes, it will be dangerous, even more dangerous, I think, if I go alone, with say, you left outside."

"You assume I'm as morally bankrupt as you are."

"I'm not the one kidnapping kids and keeping secrets." Sloane leaned back in a chair across from Martin, readying for a fight.

A steward entered their compartment and said to Sloane, "Sir, there's a call for you. It's urgent."

Dorian picked up the phone from the wall. "Sloane."

He listened, then looked up at Martin, surprised. "How?" A moment passed. "You can't be serious—" He nodded a few times. “No, look, he had to leave by boat. Search the surrounding islands, they couldn’t have gone far. Deploy everyone, bring in troops from local Immari Security and secured Clocktower cells if you have to.” He listened again. “Fine, whatever, use the media to box them in. Kill him and capture her. Call me back when you have her."

Sloane hung up the phone and scrutinized Martin as he said, "The girl got away. A Clocktower agent helped her."

Martin continued surveying the site below.

Sloane put his elbows on the table and leaned close enough to strike Martin. "50 of my men are dead, and three floors of Immari Jakarta have been blown to pieces, not to mention the wharf. You don't seem surprised, Martin."

"I'm looking at an 80-year-old Nazi Sub and what could be an alien space ship sticking out of an iceberg off the coast of Antarctica. I'm hard to surprise these days, Dorian."

Sloane leaned back. "We both know it's not an alien space ship."

"Do we?"

"We will soon."

CHAPTER 42

Somewhere off the Java Sea

For a while, David leaned against the door frame in the bedroom, watching Kate sleep, waiting to see if she would wake up again. The Immari thugs had really put her through the ringer, and his rescue hadn’t helped either.

Seeing her sleeping there while the waves rolled in and the breeze blew through the room somehow put him at peace. He didn’t understand it. The fall of Jakarta Station in the face of an imminent terror threat — from the very people he had dedicated his life to stopping — was a nightmare scenario; no, The Nightmare Scenario. But saving her had changed David in some way. The world felt less scary now, more manageable in some way. For the first time since he could remember, he was… hopeful. Almost happy. He felt more safe. No, that was wrong. Maybe… the people around him were safer, or he felt more confident. Confident that he could protect the people he… The self-analysis would have to wait. He had work to do.

When it was clear Kate wouldn’t wake up again anytime soon, he withdrew from the room and resumed his work in the hidden chamber below the cottage.

He had told the contractors he wanted a bomb-shelter. They had said nothing but the looks they gave each other said it all: this dude is crazy, but he didn’t argue about the price, so get to work. They had given the room a strong post-apocalyptic, end of the world motif: all concrete walls, a utilitarian built-in metal desk and just enough room for a cot and some supplies. It was fitting given his situation.

His next move was crucial. He had deliberated about what to do for most of the morning. His first instinct was to contact Clocktower Central. The director, Howard Keegan, was his mentor and friend. David trusted him. Howard would be doing everything he could to secure Clocktower, and he would definitely need David’s help.

The issue was getting in touch. Clocktower didn’t have any back-door communication channels — just the official VPN and protocols. They would no doubt be monitored — connecting would paint a target on your location.

David drummed his fingers on the metal desk, leaned back in the chair, and stared at light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

He opened a web browser and scoured all the local and national news. He was procrastinating. There was nothing here that could help him. He did see a wire release about a woman and man sought in connection with a terrorist plot and possible child-trafficking ring. That would slow him down, but thankfully there were no sketches attached to the article. But they would follow shortly, and every border security agency in Southeast Asia would be on the lookout for both of them.

He had several IDs in the safe house, but not much cash.

He opened his bank account. The balance was almost zero. Josh — he had executed the transfers. Was he alive? David had assumed Jakarta Station HQ was attacked when he had been in the streets. There was something else, several deposits, all small, less than $1,000. All even numbers. It was a code, but what kind? GPS?

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