The Atlantis Plague (The Origin Mystery 2)

“Clearly. Our mysterious guest has just described a classified Clocktower operation, which means he’s either a station chief or a chief analyst. I don’t think analysts get to the gym nearly as much as our colonel here. Release him.”

The lieutenant opened the cell and unbound David’s wrists, then turned back to the major. “Should I—”

“You should make yourself scarce, Lieutenant.” He turned and began down the hall. “Follow me, Colonel.”

As David walked down the stone hallway, he wondered whether he was now deeper in the trap, or on his way out.

CHAPTER 36

Immari Operations Base at Ceuta

Northern Morocco

The major led David out of the building that housed the holding cells, and across a wide courtyard that was crowded with pens. David could hear rustling inside. Were they keeping their livestock here? Sounds he couldn’t make out drifted into the night.

The major seemed to notice David’s interest. He glanced at the pens. “Barbarians waiting for the boatman.”

David wondered what he meant. In Greek mythology, “the boatman” carried souls of the newly deceased across the rivers Styx and Acheron that divided the world of the living from the world of the dead. He decided to let it go. He had more pressing mysteries to unravel.

They walked in silence the rest of the way to a large building at the center of the inner city.

David quickly took in the major’s office. He didn’t want to seem too interested, but several things struck him. It was too large. This was clearly the base commander’s office. And it was sparse. The walls had been stripped to the white drywall and there was very little else: a black Immari flag in the corner, a simple wooden desk with a swiveling metal chair behind it, and two foldout chairs across from the desk.

The major plopped down behind the desk, drew a pack of cigarettes from the top drawer, and quickly lit one with a match. He held the match and looked up at David. “Smoke?”

“I quit after the outbreak. Figured there wouldn’t be any left in a few weeks.”

The major shook the match out and tossed it in the ashtray. “Glad I’m not that smart.”

David didn’t sit at the desk. He wanted some distance between them. He walked to the window and stared out, thinking, hoping the major would tip his hand somehow, give David an opening.

The major blew a cloud of smoke between them and spoke carefully, as if measuring every word before he spoke it. “I’m Alexander Rukin. Colonel…”

He’s good, David thought. Right to the point. No opening. What do I have to work with? The room. A major—commanding a base this large? It was unlikely. But David sensed that there was no superior officer on site. “I was told the base commander would be notified of my presence, should we come into contact.”

“He may have been.” Rukin took another pull on the cigarette. David sensed something changing. Is he changing his approach?

“He’s in southern Spain, leading the invasion. He deployed almost everyone. We’re running a skeleton crew. Our station chief, Colonel Garrott, got picked off two days ago. Stupid son of a bitch was making the rounds, visiting every guard tower, shaking hands like he’d been elected mayor of hell. Berber sniper got him with one shot. We assume the shooter was in the hills, that’s why we added the patrols. And the boomerangs on the perimeter. Now I need to know why you’re here.”

Yes, Rukin was giving him useless details, hoping David would reciprocate, tell his story, make a mistake. “I’m here for a job.”

“What—”

“It’s classified,” David said, turning to face Rukin. How long do I have? Maybe an hour before he finds out I’m a fake? At best, I can buy some time. “Call it in. If you have the clearance, they’ll tell you.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“The explosion.” Rukin read David’s face. “You don’t know?”

“Apparently not.”

“Someone exploded a sub-nuclear device at Immari HQ in Germany,” Rukin said. “Nobody’s calling anything in right now, especially covert ops verifications.”

David failed to hide his surprise. But… it was the opening he needed. “I’ve… been in transit, with no comms.”

“From?”

Now the test. “Recife,” David said.

Rukin leaned forward. “There’s no Clocktower station in Recife—”

“We were in startup when the analyst purge began. Then the plague hit. I barely got out. I’ve been on special assignment since.”

“Interesting. That’s a really interesting story, Colonel. Here’s the reality: if you don’t tell me who you are and why you’re here right now, I’ll have to hold you in a cell until I can verify your identity. It’s my ass if I don’t.”

David stared at him. “You’re right. It’s… operational secrecy. Old habit. Maybe I was a Clocktower operative for too long.” Then David gave the story he had been working on since he crossed the first gate. “I’m here to help secure this base. You know how important Ceuta is to the cause. My name is Alex Wells. If HQ is destroyed, there’s bound to be someone from special ops directorate that can verify me.”

Rukin scribbled some notes on a pad. “I’ll have to confine you to quarters under guard until then. You understand, Colonel.”

“I understand,” David said. I’ve bought some time. Would it be enough to get out of here? One goal dominated David’s mind: finding Kate. He needed information to do that. “I do have one… request. As I said, I’ve been in transit. I’d like to hear any updates you have. Anything unclassified, of course.”

Rukin sat back in the metal chair, seeming to relax for the first time. “The rumor is that Dorian Sloane has returned. Naturally he was arrested outside the Antarctica structure. But they say he carried a case. The morons in charge took that case back to HQ and it blew up the building. Darwinism at work, if you ask me.”

“What happened to Sloane?”

“That’s the strangest part. The story is that in interrogation, he killed a guard and ripped open Chairman Sanders’ throat. Then, get this, they kill him—double tap to the head, close range. An hour later, he walks out of the structure. A completely new body—with all his memories. Not a scratch on him.”

“Impossible…”