The Atlantis Plague (The Origin Mystery 2)

“And then some. The Immari are desperate to create this mythical story around him. It’s working. The rank and file worship him now. The end of days, Messiah, rapture rhetoric… here in Ceuta and every other place that flies the Immari flag. It’s nauseating.”

“You’re not a believer?”

“I believe the whole world is circling the drain and Immari International is the only piece of shit that floats.”

“Then… let’s hope it continues to float. Major, I’m a bit exhausted from my trip.”

“Sure.”

Rukin called two soldiers in and instructed them to escort David to quarters and arrange for round-the-clock guard.

Alexander Rukin stubbed out the cigarette and stared at the words on the page.

The door opened, and Captain Kamau, his second-in-command, entered.

The tall African spoke slowly in a deep voice. “You buy his story, sir?”

“Sure. It’s about as real as the Easter Bunny.” Rukin lit another cigarette and peered into the pack. Three left.

“Who is he?”

“No idea. He’s somebody though. A pro. Maybe one of ours, probably one of theirs.”

“You want me to call it in?”

“Please.” Rukin handed him the strip of paper. “And put him under heavy guard. Make sure he sees nothing more than what the Allies can already see from the air.”

“Yes, sir.” Kamau studied the ship of paper. “Colonel Alex Wells?”

Rukin nodded. “I’m not certain it’s a fake name, but it’s strangely similar to Arthur Wellesley.”

“Wellesley?”

“The Duke of Wellington. Defeated Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo. Never mind.”

“If he’s a fake, why don’t we take him now? Interrogate him?”

“You’re a good soldier, Kamau, but you’re lousy at intelligence work. We need to know what we’re dealing with here. He could lead us to a bigger fish or reveal a larger operation at work. Sometimes you use the small fish as bait.”

The major stubbed out the cigarette. He was good at waiting. “Bring him a girl. See if he’s more talkative with her.” He glanced at the cigarette pack again. “And get me some more smokes.”

“The commissary ran out yesterday, sir.” Kamau paused. “But I heard Lieutenant Shaw won some in a card game last night.”

“Really? It’s too bad they got stolen. Some men are sore losers.”

“I’ll see to it, sir.”

David rubbed his eyelids. He was certain of two things: that Major Rukin hadn’t bought his story, and that he couldn’t shoot his way out of here. David decided he would rest, then try to take the guards at the door. After that, he wasn’t sure.

A soft knock interrupted his internal debate.

David stood. “Come in.”

A thin woman with flowing black hair and light caramel skin stepped in, quickly closing the door behind her. “Compliments of Major Rukin,” she said softly, not looking at him.

The girl was beautiful, truly. The more of this world David saw, the less he liked it.

“You can go.”

“Please—”

“Go,” David insisted.

“Please, Mister. There will be trouble for me if you turn me away.”

In his mind’s eye, David saw the girl climbing on top of him after he’d fallen asleep and running a knife blade across his throat. He wouldn’t put it past Rukin. He couldn’t take the risk. “There could be trouble for me if you stay. Go. I won’t tell you again.”

She exited without another word.

Another knock, more urgent this time.

“I said no—”

The door opened, revealing a tall African man. He nodded to the two guards and walked in, closing the door firmly.

A single phrase ran through David’s mind. Game Over. “Kamau,” he whispered.

“Hello, David.”

CHAPTER 37

Immari Operations Base at Ceuta

Northern Morocco

For a long moment, neither David nor Kamau said a word. They simply stood there, staring at each other.

David broke the silence. “Have you come to take me to the major?”

“No.”

“Have you told him who I am?”

“No. Nor will I.”

A single question ran through David’s mind: What side is he on? He needed a way to test Kamau’s allegiances without revealing his own. “Why haven’t you told him?”

“Because you have not told him. I believe you have not done so for a reason, though I do not know what it is. Three years ago, you saved my life in the Gulf of Aden.”

David remembered the operation: a combined Clocktower strike force from several stations had worked to dismantle a pirate ring. Kamau had been an operative from the Nairobi station. He was a skilled soldier who had simply been unlucky that day. His team had boarded the second of three pirate ships and they had quickly been overrun—it had been impossible to estimate the number of combatants inside each ship. David’s team had secured their boat, then moved to reinforce Kamau’s team. It had been too late for many of the members.

Kamau continued. “I had never seen anyone fight the way you did. I have not since. If keeping your identity a secret can help repay my debt to you, I will keep it. And I will help you, if you want it, if you are here to do what I believe you will.”

Was it bait, David wondered, to draw him out? In his mind, he inched toward trusting Kamau. He needed more information. “How’d you end up here?”

“I took a piece of shrapnel in the leg three months ago. Clocktower gave me medical leave, and I wanted to get out of Nairobi. I had family in Tangier. I recuperated there until the plague hit. It wiped the city out in a few days. I made my way here. They gave all the Clocktower operatives commissions in the Immari Army. I was assigned the rank of captain. Station chiefs were made lieutenant colonels, which is partly why Major Rukin believes your story. Northern Africa is dangerous for anyone alone, even a soldier. I took refuge here; I had no other choice.”

“What is this place?”

Kamau looked confused. “You do not know?”

David focused on him. The next answer would reveal where Kamau came out, what he really believed. “I want to hear it from you.”

Kamau straightened. “This is a wretched place. Hell’s doorstep. It is a processing center. A place where they bring the survivors from Africa and the islands of the Mediterranean. And soon, those from southern Spain.”