Atlantis Stolen (Sam Reilly Book 3) (10 page)

At 4 a.m., Sam
woke up and prepared for sunrise.

Tom drank from a
warm thermos of tea.

“Based on the
translations of the ancient texts that Billie discovered on the walls of
Atlantis, when placed at the center of this rock Arcane Stone would allow the
viewer to redirect the sunlight of the first light to the precise location of
the secret opening. Impossible to visualize from the ground, it allows a
climber to descend into its heart.”

“But if the sun
changes based on the time of the year, surely it must now be inaccurate?”

“That’s true. But
the ancient Atlantean people were smarter than you give them credit for. If you
look closely at our new toy, you will see that it rotates around an axis, in
which twelve different settings may be selected.”

“The months of
the year?”

“Precisely.”

Sam handed Tom
the device to examine again.

He rotated its
base with the sound of a small click and said, “Twelve settings. The first
being highlighted by a snowflake, presumably winter solstice and a sun for
summer solstice?”

“It’s the start
of July, so shall we set it to the next setting after Summer?”

“No, if the Sun
reflects summer solstice, then we need to rotate one setting backwards, for the
month before the hottest day of the year.”

“Good point.”

Sam cleared away
some of the petals of the giant rhododendron flowers, which had built up on the
large boulder.

Then he felt it.

His fingers
clearly dipped into the middle of the rock.

It wasn’t a deep
indentation, but certainly too specific to be caused by natural erosion. Once he’d
cleared it of leaves and petals, he placed the base of the Arcane Stone into
the groove.

The stem sunk
perfectly into it and the device locked.

“Now what?” Tom
asked.

“Now, we wait for
the sun to rise.”

At precisely 5:05
the sun came over the mountain.

Sam stared
through the looking glass.

Instantly the
orange glow of the sunlight moved from where it shone on the first mountain to
midway up the third – Kangchenjunga.

Sam took a GPS
Laser Pointer and marked the location on the mountain.

“Well, Tom.
There’s our mountain.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, let’s go
inform our guides that they’re helping us climb the world’s most lethal
mountain.”

An hour later,
Sam found the two guides sitting by the helicopter. Dmitri, their pilot, was
asleep in the cockpit.

“Lakpa, we’ve picked
our mountain.”

“Good. Which
one?”

“Kangchenjunga.”

“Kangchenjunga?
And what year would you like to climb?”

“This. Starting
today, to be exact.”

The man laughed,
and then stopped suddenly. “You are serious?”

“Yes. How long
will it take?”

“A week,” Lakpa
said. Then, turning to speak to his father, who, he advised them, was the best
climber in all the Himalayas.

The two conversed
in their native tongue. A short, fast, discussion.

“My father says
you are both very brave. And must be great climbers to even consider such a
mountain. Where have you climbed previously?”

“You can tell him
that we have climbed extensively through the Dolomite Mountain Ranges – last
season to be exact.”

Lakpa spoke with
his father and then back to them.

“My father says
the Dolomite Mountains are excellent for technical skills, but you need
endurance as well as skills to climb Kangchenjunga.”

Sam grinned.

He wasn’t about
to tell his new found admirer that his recent climbing experience, in its
entirety involved a three-day weekend hike along the Via Ferrata, or iron
stairway, in Italy while searching for The Magdalena – a Jewish airship lost
while escaping Nazi Germany.  

“You can tell him
that Tom and I are exceedingly fit people. We may not be the greatest climbers
that your father has ever set eyes on, but we have stamina and a purpose for a
climb that will drive us to succeed where others have failed.”

“My father says
you speak like a true Tiger. But only a Jackal takes money from a fool.”

“Then tell him
that he will be a very rich Jackal, because I have a lot to give, and a purpose
that necessitates climbing that mountain. I have to find an ancient temple that
I hope will provide answers that may save my friend’s life.”

Pemba
faced Sam, and spoke in perfect English. “I will take you up the
Kangchenjunga. But when you fail, I will not risk my life, nor the lives of my
men, trying to save your stupid self. Is that agreed?”

“Yes, perfectly.”
Sam laughed. “You speak English?”

“I’ve been
guiding English people over these mountains since I was eight years old. Of
course I speak bloody English. I only pretend ignorance, because I can’t stand
to speak to tourists.  But you, I see, are seeking the ancient archives of
Atlantis.”

Tom opened his
mouth to speak and then stopped himself, unable to find the right words.

Sam said, “So,
you know about Atlantis?”

“Of course I do. My
people once descended from there.”

The Tsoka
Monastery was perched at 12,000 feet and nearing the end of the Goecha La
Route. Kanchenjunga stood proud behind them, surrounded by other majestic snow-covered
mountains.

Sam shook
Dmitri’s hand and said, “We’ll give you a call in a few months for our return
flight.” 

“No problem. I will
be waiting for it. Have you decided on a mountain to climb?”

“No,” Sam lied.
“At this stage we’re going to hike the Goecha La Route and acclimatize with the
plan to summit one of these mountains before the end of the climbing season.”

“Good luck.”

After the
helicopter left, the small party began its long walk toward Kanchenjanga. They
had more altitude to make up before they reached the place where they would
climb. Pemba had told them both it would be impossible to climb the mountain
without at least a week to acclimatize.

Sam had protested
that he had no intention of reaching the summit. Only about one third of the
way up. Even so, Pemba have provided him with the ultimatum – “Hike in or find
another guide.” And so, they began their journey.

It took them through
a thick rhododendron forest, and fir, festooned with lichen and moss, which gave
it a truly magical air. At Phedang they passed a large grassy clearing
surrounded by large purple rhododendrons.

Several hours
into the journey, Pemba and Lapka led by hundreds of feet. Tom trailed only
just behind Sam, not because he couldn’t keep up, but instead because he was
enjoying the magnificence of his environment. The Clematis Montana, with its
typical purple flowers, encapsulated the mountainside.

Tom caught up
with Sam. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s
beautiful here.”

“Not about the
place.” Tom looked up ahead at their guides. “About them?”

“They seem
competent so far.”

“No. What do you
make of their story about descending from Atlantis?”

“I believe them.
How else would they know about it? We hadn’t told them anything about why we
wanted to climb Kanchenjanga.”

Tom looked
concerned. “What about their looks? They don’t even look German.”

“Who said that
the people of Atlantis were the great ancestors of Germany?”

“Hitler did, when
he sent Himmler to go in search of the perfect Aryan bloodline.”

“Hitler said a
lot of things that weren’t true when he was driving his propaganda machine. You
don’t think he was going to say, ‘Hey, here’s another race who were exceptional.
They look nothing like us, but they were really clever.”’

“Fair point. I
just assumed because we found the Arcane Stone in the Dutch National Archives...”

Sam began
explaining. “Neolithic tools found in the Kathmandu Valley indicate that people
have been living in the Himalayan region for at least eleven thousand years.
Coincidence?”

“Are you saying
these simple folk are descendants of Atlantis?”

“It’s unlikely,”
Sam mused. “But then again. Even you must admit that the coincidence is
uncanny. And it just so happens that the oldest known population layer is
believed to be represented by the Kusunda people. Do you know where the highest
population of Kusunda live?”

“Let me guess.
Somewhere in the Five Treasures of Snow?”

“Right you are!”

“So, if these
were truly descendants of the ancient people of Atlantis… one question… what
happened to them? I mean, look at them. They’re simple mountain people. Living
lives which have barely changed in the last 11,000 years.  Don’t you think if
they came from a master race that had significant powers and technologies back
11,000 years ago, wouldn’t they be living at the top of the world?”

Sam looked
around. “They kind of are.”

“No, you know
what I mean. If some disaster struck America and only a small portion of the
population survived… those who did survive, their descendants wouldn’t be
living in huts!”

“Wouldn’t they?”

“’Course not.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’ve
come from a civilization that knows about internal plumbing, smartphones, cars!
We would be doing just fine.”

“Yeah, but how
many Americans, living the dream, necessarily know how to create it? If you
knock off too many, the civilization has to take a step back and look after the
priorities. Agriculture, simply supplying enough food and water to live. All the
perks of the smartphone generation are pretty much useless if you can’t eat.”

“And so you’re
saying that the Kusunda people are the last survivors of Atlantis?”

“I’m just saying
it’s possible. When you look at the history that their earliest background is
approximately 11,000 years ago, it seems like a remarkable coincidence, doesn’t
it?”

“But why here,
then? It’s such a hard place to live. Why not further down the mountains?”

“Why not indeed?”
Sam looked up at the mountains above. “What if they knew something we don’t
know about our future?”

“Do you think as
far back as 11,000 years ago they were planning on avoiding a second disaster?”

“I don’t know.
But why else would they go to such lengths, as a small group of survivors, to
build a new Atlantis in such an inhospitable place?”

Landing at the
edge of the village, Andrew thought he could imagine these people living this
way for thousands of years. He’d gone back in time to when life was simple. Andrew
Brandt scrambled out of the passenger seat of the B3 Eurocopter.  With him were
two helicopters and fourteen mercenaries armed with AK47s. Given the stakes, he
wasn’t taking any chances.

The monks of the Tsoka
Monastery looked at them with worried faces. They were simple people who had lived
on the mountain for thousands of years, but that didn’t mean they didn’t
recognize evil when it arrived.

 “Dmitri, you’re
sure it was them?”

“Certain. There
were two of them, and they had no idea which mountain they wanted to summit,
only that they needed to reach Tiger Hill before sunrise. Then, once they had
viewed the sunrise they returned to the helicopter and asked me to drop them as
high up the mountain as possible.”

“Are you certain
this is where they went?”

“Of course I am.
I’m telling you, this was where I left them.”

“Where did they
go from here?”

“No idea. They
said they were going climbing for the season. They had my number and said they
would call when they were ready. They paid well, and knew I’d come the second
they asked.”

 “All right gentlemen.
Everyone out. Let’s see what these monks remember about our friends, shall we?”

“What do you want
me to do, boss? Shall I shut her down?” the pilot asked.

“No, keep your
rotors spinning. I want to take off again as soon as we know where they’ve gone.”

Andrew stepped
out of the helicopter.

He carried an AK
47. It was an old, but effective, weapon. And more importantly, it was one of
the most well-known weapons on the planet, which meant it would serve the
purpose of creating terror. And frightened people told the truth.

His men, also armed
with AK47s, walked towards the huts. The villagers scattered. An old man was
the only one who couldn’t run.

“Did you see
other white people like us?”

“No, not like
you. They weren’t carrying guns.”

“But did you see
where they went?”

The old man
looked concerned. “I’m not sure where they went. Some of our local men helped
them. I think they were going on a climbing expedition. I do not know where.”

Andrew looked at
one of his men. “Go find me one of the children.”

Andrew smiled at
the old man while he waited a couple minutes for his men to return with a
crying child of around four.

He smiled at the
small boy. “Did you see where the other white people went?”

The boy shook his
head.

“How about you,
old man? Has your memory improved?”

The man’s
toothless smile was the only response.

Andrew pulled out
the pistol from his holster and pointed it at the child’s head. “Okay,
everyone. I’m going to kill this boy in ten seconds if I don’t get some answers
that I’m looking for. Then I’m going to find another child. Ten, Nine, Eight,
Seven, Six…”

At six second he
pulled the trigger, and the rock next to the child’s head exploded.

The child
screamed, and the man holding him, fought to keep him still.

The boy then bit
the soldier’s hand and ran.

“Holy shit,
Andrew!” Dmitri said. “You nearly killed an innocent kid. Do you really want to
go through with this?”

Andrew leveled
the gun with the running child and took aim. “I would kill every single one of
their kids, if I thought it might provide a lead to the location of Atlantis.”

His finger began
to squeeze the trigger.

“Wait!” It was a
woman who came running.

“Yes?”

“I know where
they’ve gone.”

“Good. Take us
there.”