The Atlantis Gene (The Origin Mystery 1)

“What?”

“You asked to be kept apprised of the operation—”

“Make your report.”

The man swallowed. “The packages are in position in America and Europe.”

“Drones?”

“They’ve acquired another target.”

CHAPTER 85

Kate thought the buzzing in the distance, the bee searching for them, was getting louder, but she ignored it. David didn’t say anything either.

They sat together in the small alcove overlooking the valley, and Kate continued reading, stopping only for an early lunch and to give David his antibiotics.

August 10th, 1917

The pawnbroker watches me like a bird of prey perched in a tree as I browse the glass cases at the front of the store. They’re full of rings, all sparkling, all beautiful. I assumed there would be three or four to choose from, that it would be rather simple. What to do…

“A young man seeks an engagement ring, nothing more warms my heart, especially in these dark times.” The man stands over the case, smiling a proud, sentimental, smile. I didn’t even hear him move across the room. The man must move like a thief in the night.

“Yes, I… didn’t think there would be this many.” I continue skimming the case, waiting for something to jump out at me.

“There are many rings because there are many widows here in Gibraltar. The Kingdom has been at war for almost four years, and the poor women, the war leaves them with no husband and no source of income. They sell their rings so they can buy bread. Bread in your belly is worth more than a stone on your finger or a memory in your heart. We pay them pennies on the dollar.” He reaches inside the glass case and pulls out a velvet display rack that holds the largest rings. He places the rack on top of the glass case, just a few inches from me, and spreads his hands over them as if he were about to perform a magic trick. “But their misfortune can be your gain, my friend. Just peek at the prices. You will be surprised.”

I take a step back without realizing what I’m doing. I look from the rings to the man, who motions toward them with a greedy grin. “It’s alright, you can touch them—”

As if in a dream, I’m out the door and back on the streets of Gibraltar before I realize what’s happened. I walk fast, as fast as I can with one and a half working legs. I don’t know why, but I walk out of the main business district toward the Rock. Just before I reach it, I cut across Gibraltar, out of the western side, the modern side of the city, which faces the Bay of Gibraltar. I walk into the old village, which lies on the eastern side of the Rock, on Catalin Bay, facing the Mediterranean.

I walk for a while, thinking. My leg hurts like hell. I didn’t bring any pills. I hadn’t expected to walk this much. I did bring $500 of the nearly $11,000 I’ve saved.

I debated at length on how much to spend. I thought of spending more, maybe even a $1,000, but two things convinced me not to. The first is that I need capital to start a new life. $11,000 probably won’t do, but I can find a way. I certainly won’t be taking the Immari job, so the capital on hand is all I’m going to have. The second, a more important reason, is that I don’t think it’s what Helena would want. She would smile and gladly accept the gaudy ring, but she wouldn’t want it. She grew up in a world where fine jewelry, silk clothes, and towering homes were as common as a drink of water. I think those things have lost their luster for her. She craves genuine things, real people. We so often seek what we’re deprived of in childhood. Sheltered children become reckless. Starving children become ambitious. And some children, like Helena, who grow up in privilege, never wanting for anything, surrounded by people who don’t live in the real world, people who drink their brandy every night and gossip about the sons and daughters of this house and that house… sometimes they only want to see the real world, to live in it and make a difference. To have genuine human contact, to see their life mean something.

Ahead of me, the street ends as it meets the rock. I need somewhere to sit down, to get off the leg. I stop and look around. In the shadow of the white rock rising to the right there’s a simple Catholic church. The rounded wooden doors of the plaster Spanish-style mission open and a middle-aged priest steps out into the sweltering Gibraltar sun. Without a word, he extends a hand into the dark opening, and I walk up the stairs and into the small Cathedral.

Light filters in through the stained glass windows. It’s a beautiful church, with dark wood beams and incredible frescoes across the walls.

“Welcome to Our Lady of Sorrow, my son,” the priest says as he closes the heavy wood door. “Have you come to make a confession?”

I think about turning back, but the beauty of the church draws me in, and I wander deeper inside. “Uh, no Father,” I say absently.

“What is it you seek?” He walks behind me, his hands clasped in front of him in a stirrup-like figure.

“Seek? Nothing, or, I was in the market to buy a ring and…”

“You were wise to come here. We live in strange times. Our parish has been very fortunate over the years. We’ve received many bequests from parishioners passing from the world of the living. Farms, art, jewels, and in recent years, many rings.” He ushers me out of the worship hall and into a cramped room with a desk and leather bound volumes crammed into floor-to-ceiling bookcases. “The church holds these items, selling them when we can, using the funds to care for those still among the living.”

I nod, not quite sure what to say. “I’m looking… for something special…”

The man frowns and sits down at the desk. “I’m afraid our selection is not what you might find elsewhere.”

“It’s not that, size, or type… A ring… with a story.”

“Every ring tells a story, my son.”

“Something with a happy ending then.”

The man leans back in the chair. “Happy endings are hard to come by in these dark ages. But… I may know of such a ring. Tell me about the lucky young lady who will receive it.”

“She saved my life.” I feel awkward answering the question, and it’s all I can manage to start.

“You were injured in the war.”

“Yes.” My limp is hard to miss. “But, not only that, she changed me.” It seems like a disgraceful summary of what she’s done for me, for the woman who made me want to live again, but the priest simply nods.

“A lovely couple retired here several years ago. She had been an aide worker in South Africa. Have you been to South Africa?”