Atlantis Stolen (Sam Reilly Book 3) (4 page)

Sam Reilly spun
his BMW S1000 RR, one of the fastest road bikes in existence, south along the A10
at speeds that would make any police officer doubt his vision. Cutting through
the backstreets of Houthavens he reached the intersection of Willemsbrug and
Stadhouderskade.

He came to a stop
at the intersection.

Broken glass and
shards of metal were strewn along the middle of the intersection. A long
stretch of tire marks could be seen skidding along the bridge. Starting in the
middle, his eyes followed them until they went over the edge of the old bridge.

He was too late.

They had got to
her first.

Sam pulled his
throttle all the way back as he raced to the edge of the bridge where the
remnants of the destroyed railing still remained.

Below him, he
could see a thousand or more bubbles still piercing the surface of the water,
and an eerie glow from the headlights of the car below. Presumably the only
remnants of Billie’s crashed car.

It must have only
just happened.

Sam then stepped
off his bike and looked over at the broken large sandstone blocks, which had
previously formed the top layer of retaining wall. Without waiting to see who
else had been there at the accident, he lifted up one of the large blocks. It
took all his strength just to lift the sandstone. He took a single step to the
edge of the bridge and stepped off – into the white, frothing water below.

Billie opened her
eyes to the sight of bubbles running along the windscreen. Her hand touched her
forehead. There was something wet running past her eyes. Slightly disoriented,
she pulled her hand back, and looked at it.

There was blood.

Where am I?

In an instant,
she recalled what had happened and where she was. Dazed for a moment, she
quickly reached for the door handle. It didn’t move. She tried the unlock
button, but the door wouldn’t budge.

She tried the
electric windows.

Nothing happened.

Adrenaline raged inside
her as the realization that she was going to drown inside her own car terrified
her. She thought through all the ways she’d read over the years to exit a
flooded car – there weren’t many that worked.

Billie fumbled as
she rummaged through the glove box, desperately looking for anything solid
enough to break a window.

Tissue box –
are
you fucking kidding me!

She squeezed into
the back seat. Her shoulder bag rested there. She opened it and riffled through
the contents. Her cell phone, wallet, and tablet. She cursed herself for
leaving her laptop in the trunk today, instead of with her handbag next to her.

Car keys, all
plastic.
No, that won’t help. 

The water was
filling the car faster now.

Panic tried to
grip her, and she fought to maintain control. If she was to survive, she was
going to have to stay focused.

The water was now
up to her neck.

With the downward
angle of the car, the remaining air pocket was sitting at the back window. She
tried to squeeze her head into the top to breathe the last remaining air.
Trying the door handle again, she found the pressure outside was too great.

Billie returned
to the back of the car and took another couple deep breaths, and then swam to
the driver’s side door and tried to open it.

Still too much
pressure.

She returned to
take a final breath from the last pocket of air at the back window, before it
completely filled with water.

Now’s the
time.

I have to stay
conscious long enough for the pressure to equalize.

A loud crunching
sound told her that the car had struck the shallow seabed. Below her, Billie
thought she could hear another crack on the window at the driver’s door. She
swam down to the front door, where the car was now completely filled with
water.

At the window, a
masked man stared back at her.

Covered in a
black wetsuit, tinted facemask, and SCUBA gear, there was something oddly
familiar about the man. He could have been any diver, but there was something
else she recognized from her past. Where, she could not place.

He smiled, and
she recognized it.

It seemed
sinister somehow, and she remembered where she’d seen it before.

The man tried to
open the door, but the pressure was still too great. Holding her breath, Billie
moved to the back doors as the diver continued to fight his way into her car.
She hoped the pressure would equalize and she could escape through the back door
while he came through the front.

The diver looked as
though he realized what she was thinking at the same time. It gave him
additional strength, and after fighting one more time with the door, he slammed
his elbow into the window, sending a crack right across it.

For a moment,
Billie thought the window would hold.

Then he struck it
again with his elbow, breaking through the window completely. She watched the
man remove the last shards of the window quickly, as he tried to squeeze
through.

Billie perched
her back on the floor of the rear seats and pushed with legs against the back
door as hard as she could. It didn’t budge on the first attempt, and she was
already losing focus as the effects of hypoxia attacked her brain.

She held onto the
door handle and kicked it again.

This time, the
water pressure had equalized, and the door flung open. She turned to swim out. But
her head was stuck on something, and as her world darkened, she began to lose
the direction of the surface.

Disoriented and
frustrated, she felt the calm that often came before one accepted their death
in drowning. It wasn’t that she’d given up, simply a matter of accepting that
she’d failed despite her best efforts.

As her lungs
burned with pain and desire, she opened her mouth to take a deep breath of
ocean water – and discovered a diving regulator being shoved inside her mouth
by a large gloved hand.

She involuntarily
took a deep breath.

It tasted sweeter
than air – almost sugary -- but it soothed the pain in her chest, so she
continued to take long deep breaths. By the third, everything seemed to go
funny again, and then the world went dark.

What has he
given me?

And with the
fourth breath, all the worries of the world disappeared.

With the heavy
landscaping block in his arms, Sam sank to the seabed below. Billie’s Renault Twingo
could be seen resting on the sandy bottom. A few remaining bubbles dribbled out.
The trunk had been opened, as though she had thought to remove her laptop. The
information inside was worth millions of dollars.

Sam reached the
front door.

Its window had
been broken. He scanned the area to see if he could spot Billie, but there was
nothing but murky water. He opened the door to make certain she wasn’t stuck
inside. The passenger compartment was empty, the glovebox open, and the back
door on the other side half ajar.

Thank God, she
got out!

He dropped the heavy
block and then quickly swam to the other side of the car to see if he could see
her. Again, nothing. He checked the sand below to make sure he hadn’t missed
her, and then calmly swam to the surface, feeling confident they had been
lucky.

It was a wakeup
call that their exploits to reach Atlantis were being pursued by others, but at
least she’d survived. And now they would be much more cautious.

Sam broke the
surface of the water with his head and breathed deeply. On the surface, he quickly
looked around, expecting to see Billie swimming towards the bank of the dike. But
he couldn’t see her in the water. He rotated three hundred and sixty degrees,
trying to find her.

Sam was the only
person in the water.

He looked towards
the edge of the water, and scanned the faces of the several bystanders who
still looked worried.

She wasn’t
amongst them.

“Did anyone come
up?” he yelled at them.

Most people
ignored his question, either because they didn’t speak English, or didn’t know
the answer.

“Please, there
was a woman in this car! Did anyone see her come up from the water below?”

A man looked
straight at him and said, “No, sir. I saw her crash, but I have not seen her
surface the water.”

Sam ignored the
man’s response and immediately dived below again.

Frantically, he
examined the car from a new perspective. He saw it this time. The front
driver’s window had been smashed from the outside. The rear passenger door
remained opened and undamaged, giving the impression she’d escaped through it.

Had someone
else come in after her?

Before he’d
thought anymore, he knew that he was right. Sam carefully scanned the area
around them, looking for any signs of whoever took Billie.

There was
nothing.

He returned to
the surface, swam to the edge and got back on his motorcycle. There, he picked
up his cell phone and hit the call button.

“Tom, we have a
problem. They got to her.”

Andrew Brandt
looked at the woman beneath him.

Despite
approaching forty, her skin was delicate as it was white and smooth. Her blue
eyes stared at him with wanton desire. Her ordinarily demure smile now contorted
in pursed lips as she began to cry out in pleasure.

And the woman did
cry out in pleasure, as he knew she would.

It began more like
a whimper, and then in response to the horror of her own base desire, than the
ecstasy of love. Frightened by her inability to control her bodily needs as he
showed her exactly what her body was capable of. Her face, aghast in abject
desire, unbearable pleasure, and split between the guilt and shame of it all.

Sarah tried to look
away, unable to hide her shame.

Or her need.

When he was done
with her he climbed out of bed, leaving her still writhing around, naked and
insatiable.

“Come back to
me!” she begged.

“I have a
meeting. I must get ready.” He made no apology for her frustration.

Andrew Brandt examined
himself in the mirror.

Despite his
rigorous exercise this morning, his face displayed no sign of the exertion.
There was no sweat, his cheeks weren’t flushed, and he breathed calmly.

There was something
hard about his face, as attractive as it was frightening. His hair blond, and
groomed so that not even a single strand fell out of place. His eyes were grey,
and piercing in their intelligence and power. A cleft chin broke his strong jaw
line. Years of practice had allowed him to develop an unreserved smile, which
could be used to disarm another’s temper or mistrust instantly. It was entirely
fake, but then, the best were.

If eyes really
were the windows to the soul, his would show a man willing to stop at nothing
to achieve his every desire.

And what he
desired most was power.

In another hour
he would meet the buyer and make the final arrangements to complete the transaction.
At a price of 100 million dollars U.S., he had no intention of making even the
slightest mistake. Even to him, that amounted to a massive financial windfall.

He had a short
shower, followed by a long shave as he delicately groomed himself and
considered all the things that such money could afford.

Luxuries, women,
power…

He was born into
luxury, although he’d worked hard to improve on the fortune that his father had
left him. As for women, Andrew could have as many as he wanted. However, it
wasn’t just the amount, but the type.

Like Sarah Clausen,
whom he’d just seduced.

The daughter of the
billionaire, Edward Worthington, who was the reclusive CEO of Worthington
Enterprises, the multi-billion-dollar start-up tech firm. While her old man
held the title, most people saw her as the brains and poster child of the company.
Unknown to the rest of the general public, or even most employees,
Worthington’s was about to make an announcement. Andrew knew what that
announcement was going to be, but it was the date of it that was going to make
him very rich.

And for that, he
needed Sarah’s help.

Sarah was what he
considered a typical heiress to a fortune. Groomed by tutors, educators,
linguists and other specialists since birth, she was the product of the
education that only that sort of money could buy. She’d gone on to become Dux
at Cambridge University when she studied law. Now, at the age of 40, a control
freak in herself and a self-pronounced feminist, she’d managed to avoid
romantic relationships all of her life. When he first studied her, Andrew was
momentarily worried that she was gay, but further scrutiny showed her to be a
workaholic, with standards set much too high for any honest man to meet. Fortunately,
he was as dishonest as a man could be. Currently, she served as senior legal
counsel to her father’s company.

That’s what brought
her into his life.

He could take a
strong woman for such money and make her weak. Money in itself buys whores, but
100 million dollars buys power. And with that sort of power, you could take a
strong woman, strip her of everything she has, and reduce her to nothing but a
cheap whore, and inflame her with lust that betrays her own dignities. He felt
himself stiffen again at the thought. Sex for him had little to do with
physical attraction, and everything to do with power.  

He donned his tailored
suit, with matching blue neck tie.

An Oxford
graduate with an Master of Business Administration, Andrew had worked at the Bank
of England for nearly a decade before opening his own Merchant Bank. He now earned
more in a day than most did in a lifetime. He specialized in unique
acquisitions, which were as varied as they were expensive. He specialized in
convincing people to sell before they knew they even wanted to.

Some of his
previous transactions included such wonderful items as a nuclear submarine for
a private buyer, the secret plans for a new type of hydrogen engine, new
pharmacological products, and the remains of one of the Seven Wonders of the
World.

For the most
part, his transactions were perfectly legal, so long as he didn’t get caught,
on the international playing field that he worked. Some projects more so than
others.

Today’s
acquisition was on the dangerous end of that scale, and completely destroyed
any pretense of legitimacy.

He looked at his
watch, an old Rolex. It was ten minutes past nine in the morning. It would be
in his possession by now. The thought made him think about his acquisition. He
smiled happily.

With a 100-million-dollar
price tag, the risk versus benefit had convinced him that he was making the
right investment. And after all, that was the only way that a real businessman
could look at his transactions. It wasn’t a matter of being moral or ethical,
instead, he saw everything as risk versus benefit. In this case, he could amass
an even greater fortune for a few day’s work and minor risk, or he could be
caught, and spend the rest of his life in jail, or worse, depending on the
country of capture, end up shot by firing squad.

When the request
was first made from the buyer, he had said that he’d hate to put a price tag on
a person’s life. But then, when the buyer threw out the figure, he was
confident such a price covered it.

He checked his
watch again.

It was 9:15.

He should have
heard by now.

Andrew walked
toward his private lift. Sarah remained on his bed, sensually lying on her side,
naked as the day she was born, a look of pleasure mingled with guilt abjectly
painted on her face.

He smacked her
bare ass, and she turned around and sat up immediately.

“Hey, that hurt,
you asshole!”

He ignored her
complaint. “Sarah, I need something from you.”

“Anything for you
Andrew.”

“Good, I’m going
to need the precise date your father’s going to release his statement.”

She sat up,
looking serious for the first time that day. “You know about the development?”

“Of course I do.
Why did you think I seduced you?”

A frown crossed
her face, and for a moment, Andrew thought she was going to cry. He’d not
expected that of her.

The thought made
him happy.

“You planned this
entire thing, because you wanted to know when my father’s going to come out
with the news on Worthington Enterprises?”

“That’s right,”
Andrew said cheerfully.

She frowned.
“That’s what this was about, wasn’t it? You never loved me? You wanted to know
protected information.”

“Yes.”

“Well you can get
fucked. I won’t do it. Besides, do you realize that you and I could both go to
prison if we were even caught talking about such things? Don’t you know what
that sort of information will cause on the stock exchange?”

“Insider trading
at its grandest scale!” he replied.

She laughed.

“Of course you
do. And with the amount of money I’m sure you could move on it, the
investigators would quickly track it down to me. So no, you can find another
whore to fuck!”

She went to slap
him, but he caught her hand. There was no way he was going to let her, a woman,
strike him in the face.

“Here Sarah, have
a look at these pictures I had taken last night specifically to remember you by.
I wonder what all those trashy mags would think about publishing these images
of the world’s richest and most prominent feminist.”

Sarah dipped her
head as she scanned the pictures he placed in front of her.

Andrew saw with
more than a little pleasure, that it was the third picture that made her
realize her mistake. It wasn’t being tied spread-eagled, or the marks on her
wrists and back from where she’d struggled that had done it for her.

No, it was the
image of her face begging for him. A suppliant resolution that she’d accepted
her fate, as the weaker sex.

To be abused.

He looked at her
beautiful face. There were tears in her eyes and she looked miserable, but
there was something else too. He thought he’d imagined it at first, but the
more he examined her countenance the more he realized it was there. It was
relief. She had been in control her entire life, and he’d made her lose it.

“It’s August, the
23rd.”

There were tears
in her eyes.

“Good.”

Andrew looked at
his security guard who’d walked into the room. “Trent, please see this woman
out.”

Sarah quickly
attempted to get dressed while the security guard grabbed her.

“Oh, and Sarah…”

“What?”

“I’ll be in town
again in two weeks.”

She stared at him,
understanding slowly dawning on her.

“You will come to
me.” A Machiavellian grin crossed his face. “In the meantime, I forbid you to
touch yourself.” 

“Yes, master.”