The Atlantis Plague (5 page)

“What—”

“They’re building an army for the invasion in Antarctica.”

Kate stared at him. It couldn’t be. The BBC reports were so positive. Subconsciously, she pulled the tube from her pocket and handed it to him.

Martin took the tube and swiveled around in the chair. He hit a button on a thermos-like container with a small readout and what looked like a satellite phone attached to the side. The top of the container opened, and Martin dropped the plastic tube inside.

Through the window, the fighting in the camp grew more intense.

“What are you doing?” Kate asked.

“Uploading our results to the network.” He looked at her over his shoulder. “We’re one of several sites. I think we’re close, Kate.”

Explosions in the camp filled the small window, and Kate could feel the rush of heat, even through the wall. Martin punched the keyboard and the screens switched to a view of the camp, then the coast. A group of black helicopters filled the screen. Martin stood a split second before the building shook, throwing Kate to the ground. Her ears rang, and she felt Martin jump on top of her, sheltering her from the rubble falling from the ceiling.

CHAPTER 6

Two Miles Below Immari Operations Base
Prism
Antarctica

Dorian had almost reached the dead bodies—and the guns—in the corridor beyond the cavernous chamber. Behind him, he heard David’s naked feet pounding the floor. Dorian thought of jumping, but David tackled him, sending Dorian face first into the floor. A shrill wail filled the space as his bare skin slid across the cold floor.

They came to rest in the drying pool of blood around the dead bodies—their dead bodies. Dorian got the jump on his pursuer. He lifted his blood-soaked body just far enough off the floor to throw an elbow into David’s face.

David reeled back and Dorian seized the opening. He twisted and threw David off of him, then scrambled for the pistol lying six feet away, at the edge of the pool of blood—the same pistol David had killed him with before. He had to reach it; it was his only chance. David was thirty-three, about ten years younger than Dorian, and though Dorian would never admit it aloud, David was easily one of the best hand-to-hand fighters he had ever seen. This was a fight to the death, and without the pistol, Dorian knew he would lose.

Dorian felt David’s fingernails dig into the back of his thigh the instant before the fist slammed into his lower back. Pain shot into his kidneys and swept up his chest, sending waves of nausea that engulfed him. Dorian gagged as the second blow struck higher up, in the middle of his back, directly on his spine. The pain rushing over him almost subsided as he lost sensation in his legs. He collapsed to the floor as David crawled on top of him, preparing to finish him with a blow to the back of the head.

Dorian set his palms on the bloody floor, and with every ounce of strength he could muster, he pushed up, throwing his head back. He connected squarely with David’s chin, sending him off balance.

Dorian collapsed back to the floor and commando-crawled on his elbows, dragging his body through the blood. He had the gun, and he flipped over just as David landed on top of him. Dorian raised the gun, but David grabbed his wrists. He was stronger than Dorian, and he easily overpowered him. Out of the corner of his eyes, Dorian saw the Atlantean pace closer. He stared dispassionately, like a spectator at a dog fight who hadn’t bet on this round.

Dorian tried to think—he had to regain the advantage somehow. He released the tension in his arms and let them fall quickly to the ground. David lunged forward, but held his grip. Dorian twisted the gun in his right hand, pointed it at the Atlantean, and pulled the trigger.

David released Dorian’s left hand and grabbed desperately for the gun with his right. The fool was trying to save the Atlantean, as Dorian hoped he would. Dorian formed a straight wedge with his left hand and drove it into David’s upper abs, paralyzing his diaphragm. David gasped for air and rocked back. Dorian broke David’s grip, raised the gun, and shot him once in the head. Then he turned the gun and shot the Atlantean until the clip was empty.

CHAPTER 7

Two Miles Below Immari Operations Base
Prism
Antarctica

The Atlantean stared at Dorian with a look of mild amusement. Dorian’s bullets had gone right through him. Or had his shots missed? Dorian’s eyes went to the other pistol in the chamber.

“You want to try another gun, Dorian? Go ahead. I’ll wait. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

Dorian froze. This thing knew his name. And it wasn’t afraid.

The Atlantean stepped closer to Dorian. He stood in the pool of blood, but not a single drop stuck to his feet. “I know what you came here to do, Dorian.” He stared at Dorian, not blinking. “You came down here to save your father and kill your enemy—to make your world safe. You’ve just killed your only enemy down here.”

Dorian tore his gaze from the monster and scanned the room for something, anything he could use. Sensation had returned to his legs and he stood and staggered backward, away from the Atlantean, never taking his eyes off him. The Atlantean fixed Dorian with a smile, but made no effort to move.

I have to get out
, Dorian thought. His mind raced.
What do I need? An environmental suit.
His father had worn Dorian’s suit out. Kate’s suit had been damaged, but maybe he could repair it. The suits her two mute children had worn would be too small for him, but perhaps he could use some of the material to patch Kate’s suit. He only needed protection from the cold for a few minutes—just long enough to get to the surface and order the attack.

He turned and darted down the corridor, but the doors slammed shut in front of him and all around him, sealing every exit.

The Atlantean materialized in front of Dorian. “You can go when I say you can go, Dorian.”

Dorian stared at him, a mix of defiance and shock on his face.

“What’s it going to be, Dorian? The easy way or the hard way?” He waited, and when Dorian didn’t respond, he nodded dispassionately. “So be it.”

Dorian felt the air drain from the room like a vacuum. All sound faded and a sharp punch hit him in the chest. He opened his mouth and tried in vain to suck a breath. He fell to his knees. Spots dotted his vision. The floor raced up as he fell into darkness.

CHAPTER 8

Orchid District
Marbella, Spain

Kate rolled Martin off of her and quickly inspected him, assessing his wounds. Blood flowed from a gash at the back of his head. Kate thought he probably had a mild concussion, but to her surprise, he squinted, blinked several times, and leapt up. He scanned the room, and Kate followed his gaze. The computers and most of the equipment on the table had been destroyed.

Martin stepped to a cupboard and took out a satellite phone and two handguns. He held one out to Kate.

“The Immari will try to close the camp,” Martin said as he began filling a backpack. He briefly inspected the thermos-like device from the desk, then stuffed it in the pack, along with several notebooks.

“How do you know?”

Martin continued ransacking the small room, answering her over his shoulder. “They’ve been taking islands in the Mediterranean, testing the perimeter, seeing if the Orchid Nations can or would fight them.”

“Can they?”

The building had stabilized, and Kate wanted to treat Martin’s head wound, but he was scurrying around the room too fast.

“No. The Orchid Alliance is barely hanging on. All their resources—military included—are devoted to Orchid production. Help isn’t coming. We need to get out.” He set an egg-shaped device on the table and twisted the top. It began ticking.

Kate tried to focus. Martin was destroying the office. They weren’t coming back here. She immediately thought of the spa building and the boys. “We need to get Adi and Surya.”

“Kate, we don’t have time. We’ll come back for them—with the SAS troops who are on their way.”

“I’m not leaving them. I won’t,” Kate said with a finality she knew Martin would recognize. He had adopted Kate when she was six, right after her biological father had disappeared, and Martin knew her well enough to know there would be no room for compromise.

He shook his head, a look somewhere between bewilderment and disbelief. “Fine, but you better be ready to use that.” He motioned to the gun. Then he punched the key code to exit the office, paused just long enough to let Kate come out, then keyed a code on the outside to lock the door.

The hallway was filled with smoke, and where the hallway met the kitchen, a fire raged and screams called out in the smoky space. “Is there another exit—”

“No. The decon chamber is the only way,” Martin said as he stepped in front of her. He held up his gun. “We’ll run. Shoot anyone—
anyone
—that tries to stop you.”

Kate glanced down at the gun, and at that moment, fear gripped her. She had never shot a gun before and she wasn’t sure she could shoot someone. Martin grabbed the gun, pulled the slide back and clicked something. “It’s not complicated. Just point and squeeze.” He turned and dashed toward the smoke- and fire-filled kitchen.

CHAPTER 9

Two Miles Below Immari Operations Base
Prism
Antarctica

Dorian strained to see the blurry shape. He couldn’t take a deep breath—only a shallow, ragged breath that made him feel like he was drowning. His body hurt all over. His lungs ached when the air entered them.

The figure came into focus. The Atlantean—standing over him, watching him, waiting… for what?

Dorian tried to speak, but he couldn’t fill his lungs enough. He emitted a scratchy sound and closed his eyes. There was a little more air. He opened his eyes. “What… do you want?”

“I want what you want, Dorian. I want you to save the human race from extinction.”

Dorian squinted at him.

“We’re not what you think we are, Dorian. We would never harm you, the same way a parent would never harm their child.” He nodded. “It’s true. We created you.”

“Bullshit,” Dorian spat at him.

The Atlantean shook his head. “The human genome is far more complex than you currently know. We had a lot of trouble with your language function. Clearly we still have some work to do.”

Dorian was starting to breathe normally now, and he sat up. What did the Atlantean want? Why the charade? He clearly controlled the ship. What could he possibly need Dorian for?

The Atlantean answered him as if Dorian had spoken his thoughts aloud. “Don’t worry about what I want.” On the other side of the room, the heavy doors slid open. “Follow me.”

Dorian got to his feet and thought for a moment.
What choice do I have? He can kill me anytime he wants. I’ll play this charade out, wait for an opening.

The Atlantean spoke as he led Dorian down another dimly lit gray-metal corridor. “You amaze me, Dorian. You’re intelligent, yet your hate and fear control you. I mean, think about it logically: we came here on a spaceship that employs concepts in physics your race hasn’t even discovered. You putt around this tiny planet in painted aluminum cans that burn the liquefied remains of ancient reptiles. Do you honestly think you could beat us in a fight?”

Dorian’s mind went to the three hundred nuclear warheads aligned around the outside of the ship.

The Atlantean turned to him. “You think we don’t know what a nuclear bomb is? We were splitting the atom before you were splitting firewood. This ship could withstand the force of every nuclear warhead on this planet. You would do nothing but melt the ice on this continent, flood the world, and end your civilization. Be rational, Dorian. If we wanted to kill you, you’d be dead. You would have been dead tens of thousands of years ago. But we saved you, and we’ve been guiding you ever since.”

The Atlantean had to be lying. Was he trying to talk Dorian out of attacking?

The Atlantean smiled. “And still you don’t believe. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. We programmed you this way—to survive, even to attack any threat to your survival.”

Dorian ignored him. He held his arm out, stepped closer, and ran his hand through the Atlantean. “You’re not here.”

“No, I’m not. What you see is my avatar.”

Dorian looked around. For the first time, he felt a glimmer of hope. “Where are you?”

“We’ll get to that.”

A door slid open, and the Atlantean walked inside.

Dorian surveyed the small room. It looked like a walk-in-closet with a post-apocalyptic theme. Two environmental suits hung on the wall and a shiny silver briefcase sat on the bench below them. His mind began working on an escape plan.
He’s not here. He’s a projection. Can I disable him?

“I told you we could do this the easy way or the hard way, Dorian. I’m letting you go. Now put the suit on.”

Dorian eyed the suit, then scanned the room, desperately searching for anything he could use. The door slammed shut, and Dorian felt the air draining. He reached for the suit and began putting it on. In his mind, a plan formed. He took the helmet under his right arm, and the Atlantean motioned to the silver case.

“Take the case.”

Dorian glanced at it.

“What—”

“We’re done talking, Dorian. Take the case and don’t open it. No matter what happens, do not open the case.”

Dorian took the case and followed the Atlantean out of the room and down the corridors, back to the open space where the dead bodies lay. The sliding doors that had slammed shut were open now, and the vast tomb spread out before him. Dorian eyed the open tube David had exited. Both he and Dorian had… “resurrected” in the tubes after their deaths. Would David return again? If so, that could spell trouble. Dorian motioned to David’s empty tube. “What about—”

“I’ve taken care of him. He won’t be back.”

Another thought occurred to Dorian: the time difference. His father had been down here eighty-seven years, but on the inside, only eighty-seven
days
had passed. The Bell at the perimeter formed a time dilation bubble. One day inside was a year outside. What year would it be out there? How long had he been in the tube? “What year—”