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

Besides, it
didn’t make sense how the owner responded. Mr. Brandt was an extremely wealthy
man, but that was no reason not to become wealthier. He’d bought the water lots
fair and square. If there was an ancient golden city below, he could have
easily claimed ownership.

So, why had he
been so quick and adamant to bury the lot of it? What didn’t he want the rest
of the world to see?

It was too much
for him, and in the end, Hank knew he needed to have a more satisfactory
answer. Returning to his work tent where he’d left the orange ingot as a good
paperweight, Hank grabbed the strange metal, put it in his pocket and walked towards
the steel forge, where men were working through the night to create the steel
required for the new outpost.

As the leading
engineer, Hank was known by everyone who greeted him cordially, though
surprised to see him there in the night. At the back of the room he examined the
ingot. It was definitely made from the same strange glowing metal used in the
artifact that Albert Olsen had discovered.

He shook his
head, still wondering at the young man’s sudden disappearance. It wasn’t like
someone had killed him for it – after all, Olsen had already entrusted the
artifact with himself before he disappeared. Perhaps, he had never intended on
returning to Frejia, and this was the best apology he could find? First
weighing it, he discovered that it was precisely 250 ounces. He then placed it
inside the crucible and started the furnace. And watched as the strange metal smelted
until it glowed with fire and liquefied.

Zinc and lead
were the first to go, being weak metals.

He then poured off
the liquid while the stronger metals, being gold, silver and copper, remained
in a solid form.

With a gloved
hand he picked up the blacksmith’s pincers and gripped the small clump of shiny
metal so that he could examined it. Not much had changed in its weight. He
weighed it to be sure. 240 ounces.

He became excited
by the prospect of 240 ounces of gold, silver and copper. But the question remained:
in what proportions were they
?
  

Hank then took a
small bottle of Glaubers Salt, a recently discovered strong acid that would dissolve
silver and copper, but leave gold untarnished, and poured it into the crucible.

Again, the gold
remained solid, while the other two elements turned into a weak sludge.

He carefully
removed the sludge and heated the gold once more to remove any additional
impurities, and then examined the glowing remaining metal. It certainly looked
like pure gold. He might not have all of it, but it was close.

Gripping it with
the Blacksmith’s pincers, he dipped it in water, watching it hiss.

Impatiently, he
then picked it up.

It felt heavy in
his hand and his heart raced as he placed it back on the scales. Holding his
breath, he added lead weights to the opposite end of the scale, until the two
metals were balanced.

He totaled the
tiny weights and nearly screamed.

175 ounces!

He did the
arithmetic in his head.

Holy shit!
That’s nearly 70% gold!

And there’s a
buried city below his construction site covered in the stuff. Buried for
eternity.

He returned to
his master’s locked ship.

A sudden sense of
urgency led him to quickly open his safe and examine the artifact that Albert
Olsen had asked him to deliver. At the time he’d dismissed the markings as
being unlikely similarities, but now he was certain that they were one and the
same as those his old college friend had spoken about.

The instant he
saw it he knew they were.

So, he was
telling the truth all those years ago.

Robert Mitchel
had discovered an ancient tribe in Africa that knew the way to the Golden City!

Hank stared at
the gold in front of him.

He was going to
be rich beyond his dreams. All he had to do was work out how he was going to
steal it without Felix Brandt’s entire fortress caving in on him. In the
delusion of happiness, which the allure of gold often provided, Hank didn’t
even stop to consider why Felix was so determined to bury it all.

He was going to
be rich.

Hank recalled the
conversation with his old friend, Robert Mitchel, all those years ago. And then
prayed that the second part of the man’s story never came true.

Amsterdam,
Present Day – Five Weeks Remaining

Dr. Billie Swan turned
left onto Amselstraat and then right onto Weeperstraat taking the shortest
route out of the old city, over the maze of canals and dikes. She drove a Renault
Twingo, the four door version of the tiny European car. Hired for the week, she’d
expected it to take at least that long to find the answer to her question.

Instead, she’d
found it on her third day.

In her rear view
mirror she saw a yellow Vespa. It had been following her since leaving the Stadsarchief
Amsterdam – the National Archives Center. It
could
have been taking the
same route as her. It was the fastest way out of the city.

But had she
seen it yesterday?

Europe was rife
with such mopeds, and she could be easily forgiven for mistaking a different
one, which followed her now, as one and the same.

Her nerves had
been on edge since she’d returned from Atlantis.

Billie hadn’t even
worked out the entire truth. If her predictions were even close to the mark,
then the world was in trouble. And based on the calculations of time, she didn’t
have long to work out a solution. Maybe as little as five weeks.

Time was running
out – fast.

They say
knowledge can be a dangerous thing. For what Billie had learned, it could spell
the end of the human race. The only hope she had left was to reach the inner
sanctum of Atlantis in time to stop the next cycle from being triggered. And to
do that, she needed to find the code.

Hell, if she had
years, maybe a team of code breakers might be able to solve it, but she didn’t.
She had five weeks. Her only hope now was to find the notes of the last living
person known to have seen it.

Felix Brandt.

For that, she
needed to find where he’d spent his final days on earth. And that was what had
taken her so rapidly to Amsterdam.

The truth was so
dangerous that she had refused to tell Sam Reilly or even Tom Bower about it.
Instead, she’d made up a story why she needed their help to find someone in
Amsterdam. Now she’d found where the man had gone centuries ago, she would need
their help to reach him, or at least where he put his notes.

HIM…

The thought
brought her back to the man with curly blond hair and blue eyes she’d seen on
her first day in the national archives. The blond man in the red baseball cap
on the moped – today wasn’t the second time she’d seen him. He’d been there –
at Stadsarchief Amsterdam – on her first day. She hadn’t taken much notice of
the man.  He was entering the building while she was leaving. The only reason
she’d taken any was something strangely attractive about his face. Beneath his looks,
he had an outward sign of self-assuredness which bordered on arrogance. And
then, as though he’d read her thoughts, he’d responded with the most disarming
smile – the sort that could easily cause a woman less driven by necessity to
inadvertently find herself in his bed.

So that makes
three times in three days.

That’s more than
a coincidence.

He was after her.

And that meant she
was in trouble… and the world was at great risk.

It was time to let
Sam Reilly know what she’d really discovered in Atlantis. At the same time, even
more important than ever that she not disclose its location.

Billie touched
her brakes slightly harder than required as she came around the corner leaving
the city. To the other drivers of the busy motorway, the action might have
appeared to be entirely accidental, but it was enough to cause the familiar moped
to swerve to the right of her, forcing its rider to overtake.

The license plate
came into clear view.

It was different.

She had written
it down as a precaution yesterday, when she noticed the motorcycle arrive and
depart the National Archives building at the same time as herself. Even without
checking her notes, she was able to immediately recognize that the two weren’t
the same. Even so, it didn’t alleviate the uncomfortable sensation that she was
being followed.

To her dismay,
the moped slowed until she was forced to overtake it again.

That’s it. I’m
not playing this game!

She stopped the
car, pulling over into a break down lane. Opening a large foldout map –  as
though she were one of the thousands of lost tourists – she watched as the Vespa
disappeared.

Relieved, she
refolded the map, and was about to drive off again, when an entirely new Vespa
appeared.

Unlike the
previous rider, who had worn a full faced helmet with an impenetrable
reflective visor, making him or her appear sinister, this Vespa was red and the
rider had long blonde hair, which hung carelessly out of the rider’s open faced
helmet, and a beautiful young Dutch girl’s smile.

Hardly the
face of a person trying to spy…  

The rider pulled
onto the footpath behind her. Despite the complete differences of the two
riders, there was no mistaking the coincidence that another Vespa should park
behind her within minutes of losing the last one.

So, someone is
following me.

She entered the
traffic, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

“Call Sam,” she
said, activating the voice recognition in the car.

“Did you find
what you were after?” Sam asked, dismissing civilities.

“Sam, I don’t
know how, but someone’s onto us.”

“Really, no one
even knows we’re in the country, and I can’t imagine how they would have worked
out what we’re doing here. Especially, given that I don’t really know what
we’re doing.”

“All the same,
someone knows. I’ve had several men on Vespas stalking me since I left the
National Archives building.”

“No chance they
just want your phone number?”

“Fuck you. I’m
telling you someone’s after me.”

Sam’s voice
stiffened. “Where are you now?”

She looked at the
GPS on the heads up display on the windscreen. “Weeperstraat. Approaching…
Mauritskade… ”

“Good. I want you
to take a right onto it. And then loop around to the Frederik Henderik Park. Do
you know how to get there?”

“Yeah, sure. I
think I’ve passed it a few times in the past few days,” she replied.

“Stay on the main
roads. If I’m not there when you arrive, make a circuit. I can be there in twenty
minutes. And Billie…”

“What?”

“Did you find
it?”

“Yes. I couldn’t steal
it without someone taking notice, but I’ve taken several photographs. It should
be enough to find where he’s gone.”

“Good. Listen. Stick
to the main roads, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t stop your car until
you see me!”

“Understood!”

Billie’s heart
raced as she reached the Frederik Henderik Park within ten minutes. She slowed,
but the park was empty. She was too early for Sam to reach it. The first time
since she’d arrived in the city that the traffic had been so good, when all she
wanted was a slow but constant run.

In general, she
could look after herself, but she was unarmed. She swore at herself for not
taking the precautions she normally did, but she’d worried that her weapon was
more likely to raise suspicion than dispel it. Besides, whoever knew what she
was after would have infinite resources behind them. Few people knew that
Atlantis really existed. Even fewer knew where it was. And as far as she could
determine, no one presently living knew how to reach its inner sanctum.

But she was about
to find out.

And that made her
the most valuable person alive.

Billie turned
right onto Willemsbrug and began the mental process of planning a gigantic
loop. The girl on the Vespa behind her seemed more serious now. The carefree
smile had disappeared, only to be replaced by determination.

The motorcycle
rider, seemingly aware that Billie was onto her, became blatant in her
movements to keep close. She laughed at herself for being so frightened. After
all, they were only on motorcycles, Vespas actually, not even a real
motorcycle, and she was in a car.

What were they
going to do to her?

When she made
another right back onto Weeperstraat, Billie was horrified to see the original
yellow Vespa, the one that had followed her to the National Archives on her
first day. It was parked on the intersection coming the other direction, but
immediately turned in pursuit as she passed it.

She sped up as,
as the yellow Vespa followed.

Billie pressed the
call back button on her cell.

“Sam! Where are
you?”

“Zaandam. I got
stuck in traffic, but I’m doing my best. Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not
fucking all right! I have three motorcyclists after me, and I’m unarmed because
of your suggestion!”

Sam didn’t take
the bait for the argument. “Well I’m not unarmed. I can assure you they’ll lose
whatever interest they have in you pretty quickly when I arrive. Take it easy.
Are you still on the same loop?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Don’t stop
anywhere. I’ll find you. I’m coming from the other direction, but I’ll see you.
Good luck.”

“Fuck good luck!
I want you to fix this, Sam!”

“I’ll be there in
five minutes.”

Up ahead, Billie
saw a light turn red.

She began slowing
down early, hoping that she wouldn’t have to come to a complete stop. Traffic
was already building up at the intersection and she was worried it wouldn’t be
long before she didn’t have a choice.

In the end, she
had to stop.

She kept one foot
on the brake, while the other revved the engine, ready to cross into the
oncoming traffic if she needed to.

The yellow Vespa
pulled up alongside her.

It was the same
blond man who had been watching her at National Archives in Amsterdam. He wore
an open faced helmet. He turned his head to look directly at her. The arrogant smile
across his face made him look like any other man who was out for a great ride
and had come across a beautiful woman stopped at the traffic lights.

Her eyes
carefully kept track of the two Vespas behind her, now stopped a couple car
spaces back. Certain that someone was going to get off their bike and take her she
didn’t let her eyes stop scanning the area.

Billie hit the
central lock button and all four doors locked simultaneously.

It failed to
reassure her. The car was small and would do little in the way of protecting
her from bullets.

The traffic light
turned green.

And the man in
the yellow Vespa grinned at her and waved, before speeding off ahead until he
disappeared into the sea of traffic.

Well that’s
something…

She was starting
to feel more confident that Sam was going to reach her in time. Up ahead, she
approached the intersection of Willemsbrug and Stadhouderskade.

Approaching the intersection,
Billie was forced to slow down, as a man on a bicycle in front of her nearly
came to a stop. Her eyes carefully monitored the closest Vespa behind her. Reassured
that it wasn’t moving, she remained in the intersection for a split second
longer than she should have after the bicycle had crossed the road.

She then floored
her accelerator and pulled into the intersection.

Where a truck
drove toward her at full speed.

By the time she
saw it, Billie had just enough time to hit her accelerator in a vain attempt to
avoid the collision. The truck struck the passenger side door, sending her
forward and towards the wall of the dike.

After the initial
impact, she realized she wasn’t badly injured. Deciding whether to run toward
the truck driver or make a run for it down the street, she was about to reach
for the door handle when the truck’s engine roared into life again.

It was pushing
her toward the bridge.

She slammed her
foot hard on the brake.

The side of her
car struck the old stone wall with a jarring force. And then she felt
everything give way as her car began rolling down the edge.

Until she struck water!

It floated for
thirty or more seconds before the heavier engine block at the front of the car
began dragging her down hood first.

With a gush of
bubbles, the entire car disappeared under the water.