The Atlantis Plague (The Origin Mystery 2)

The ancient fortress had other modern upgrades. Each of the guard towers held massive guns. David didn’t recognize the model. Something new? The tops of many houses were gone, and David figured they hid anti-aircraft batteries inside, sitting atop hydraulic lifts, ready to rise up and shoot down any incoming enemy aircraft. He doubted the horse raiders had any though.

Again the soldiers worked the radio, and the iron gate at the inner wall parted. This wall was less charred than the outer, but several zebra stripes still reached from its top and bottom. As he passed under the inner gate, David felt his chances of escape grow smaller. “Hit the closest guard and run” wouldn’t cut it here. He had to focus.

Inside the inner gate, houses and shops lined another street, this one untouched by mines and improvised explosives. It looked more like a quaint ancient village. There were people in plain clothes here as well as more soldiers. This was clearly the main residential section of the base.

Beyond the second row of homes and shops, another wall rose, this one stone and much older. Another gate parted. The city was almost like one of those Russian matryoshka dolls with other dolls nested inside it.

Ceuta had probably been built like other villages along the Mediterranean. Thousands of years ago, the inhabitants of this place had no doubt built a small settlement on the shore. That settlement had prospered as a trading post. Prosperity had brought settlers and the less scrupulous opportunists: pirates and thieves. The ensuing commerce and crime had seen the first city walls built, and over the centuries the city had expanded, each time erecting a new outer city wall to protect its new citizens.

The buildings were much older here, and there was no one in plain clothes, only soldiers and seemingly endless stacks of artillery, munitions, and other equipment. The Immari were preparing for war, and this was clearly a major launching center. This was also the city’s citadel. He would be judged here.

David turned to the soldier sitting in the jeep beside him. “Corporal, I know you’re following orders, but you need to release me. You’re making a very big mistake. Take me past the city gate and set me out. No one will be the wiser, and you might avoid a court-martial for interfering with a top-secret mission.”

The young man eyed David, hesitated, then looked away quickly. “No can do, Colonel. Standing orders are to capture or kill anyone beyond the wall.”

“Corporal—”

“They’ve already called it in, sir. You’ll have to speak with the major.” The young soldier turned away as the jeep crossed the threshold of a courtyard that housed the fleet of jeeps. The convoy stopped and the soldiers dragged David out and marched him inside the building, down several corridors, and parked him inside a cell with heavy iron bars and a small, high window.

David stood in the cell and waited, his hands still bound and fastened to his belt. After a time, loud footsteps echoed against the stone floor and a soldier appeared. His black uniform was unruffled and a single silver bar sat on his shoulder. A lieutenant. He squared with David, but kept his distance beyond the iron bars. Unlike the corporal in the jeep, there was no hesitation in his voice. “Identify yourself.”

David stepped toward him. “Don’t you mean: Identify yourself, Colonel?”

Hesitation crossed the man’s face, and he spoke more slowly. “Identify yourself, Colonel.”

“Have you been briefed on covert operations here in Morocco, Lieutenant?”

The lieutenant’s eyes darted left and right. Doubt. “No… I’ve haven’t been notified—”

“Do you know why?” David held up his bound hands. “Don’t answer. It’s rhetorical. You haven’t been notified because, that’s right, the operations are covert. Classified. You log my presence here, my operation will be blown. And so will your chances of promotion or ever doing anything besides peeling potatoes. Understand?”

David let the words linger in the young man’s mind a moment. When David continued, his tone was less harsh. “Right now, I don’t know your name, and you don’t know mine. That’s a good thing. Right now, this is just a mix-up, a stupid mistake by a low-ranking perimeter patrol. If you release me and provide me with a jeep, it will be forgotten.”

The lieutenant paused for a moment, and David thought he was about to reach for something in his pocket, possibly the keys, when a set of boots began clacking against the stone floor and another soldier emerged in the hallway, a major. The higher-ranking officer glanced from the lieutenant to David as if he had caught them in the middle of something. His expression was mild, almost blank, somewhere near amusement, David thought.

The lieutenant straightened at the sight of the major and said, “Sir, they found him in the hills below Jebel Musa. He refuses to identify himself, and I don’t have any transfer orders.”

David studied the major. Yes, he recognized the man. His hair was longer and his face was leaner, but the eyes were the same as those David had seen several years ago in a small square photograph paper-clipped to a printout of an after-action report. The operative had handwritten the report in neat block letters, not cursive, as if every letter and word had been considered at length. The major had been a Clocktower operative—a member of the covert operations group David had worked for. David had recently learned that Clocktower had actually been under Immari control. The major might actually know who David was. But if not… Either way, David was finished if he didn’t make a play.

He stepped to the iron bars. The lieutenant moved back and placed his hand on his sidearm. The major stood his ground. He slowly turned his head.

“You’re right, lieutenant,” David said. “I’m not a colonel. Just like the man standing next to you isn’t a major.” David continued before the lieutenant could speak. “I’ll tell you something else you don’t know about the ‘major.’ Two years ago, he assassinated a high-value terrorist target named Omar al-Quso. He shot him at dusk at a range of almost two kilometers.” David nodded to the major. “I remember it because when I read the after-action report, I thought to myself, now, that’s a hell of a shot.”

The major cocked his head, then shrugged and broke his gaze for the first time. “Truth be told, it was a rather lucky shot. I had already chambered the second round when I realized that al-Quso wasn’t getting up.”

“I don’t… understand,” the lieutenant said.