Atlantis Stolen (Sam Reilly Book 3) (6 page)

It was a short
fast ride to the bottom, where Sam landed on a pile of garbage. He cringed when
he considered what type of previously sterile equipment could have been thrown
out.

“You okay, Tom?”
he said, while climbing out the bin, just in time to avoid having Tom land on
him.

“Never better –
you?”

“I’m fine.”

He admired his
new environment. Most of Amsterdam was built on dikes, or piers above the
waterways and canals. The National Archives Center was above such water, but
below it there was a world built for boats – shallow boats – that could move
waste from underneath hundreds of buildings just like this one. If Sam reached
up, he could almost touch the ceiling, which formed part of the road above
them. In the distance, light flickered in through several openings to the
outside world.

Next to him, as
promised, a wooden sports boat was tied up to the jetty.

“Look Tom, some
nice person left the keys for us.”

Tom grinned. “I
knew you weren’t going to get us killed – today.”

Starting the
motor, Sam grinned as he threw off the rope lines and began heading out. A
heads up display came on in front of him, revealing a preprogramed map of the
waterway below the city of Amsterdam. Like a GPS, but based on navigation
markers instead of satellites. He began to follow it.

“That was close,”
Sam said, shaking his head. “I thought you’d give me a bit more of a heads up
before doing something reckless with our lives.”

“Sure was. Hey,
what was plan A, anyway?”

“Plan A?” Sam
laughed. “I call my dad, he asks a favor from a friend who’s President of the
board, and we get to borrow the Arcane Stone.”

“Are you fucking
kidding me? We nearly got killed, and you could have just mentioned that your
dad’s friend is on the board?”

“Yeah, well, to
be honest, it could have taken a few days to arrange. I’m with you. Every
minute counts. Besides, we’ll return their artifact when we’ve got Billie back
in one piece.”

“You might want
to throw in a couple million in rebuild costs,” Tom said.

“I wouldn’t say
we did that much damage.”

“Yeah, but he
might.”

Sam looked up at
the bridge ahead.

Where a man
dropped a grenade down on them.

Sam swerved the
boat to the left.

As it turned in a
sharp arc, both men were pushed hard into the boat’s leather seats as
centrifugal force hammered them with pressure. The massive V8 engine screamed,
and the back of the boat dug deep into the water. A bow wave seven feet high
lapped toward the grenade, and then the boat took off again.

Shooting off in
the new direction, their bow had only just broken the surface tension, allowing
them to skim along the water – and then the grenade detonated.

The blast sent
jets of water in all directions.

But their boat
rode high, with its bow skimming above. Sam turned his head back as much as he
dared while keeping the boat on its careful balancing track.

“Are we clear?”
Sam shouted.

“Yeah I think we
just made it.”

And then just
ahead, five jet skis approached. 

“Any chance
they’re just out for a joyride?” Sam asked.

A dozen bullets
raked the front of their boat.

“I guess that’s a
no.”

Sam swerved to
the right.

“Tom, have a look
in the back there. See if Elise left us something more useful.”

“I’m onto it.”

A moment later
Tom lifted up an RPG 7 – the Russian version of the Rocket Propelled Grenade
Launcher, with an explosive head designed for antitank warfare.

“How about this?”

“Sure...” Sam
said, taking a turn to the left again, down a narrow waterway. “I was thinking
something more along the lines of a machine gun, but that’ll have to do. But
there’s five jet skis. What are you going to do, blow up each of them?”

“I think I’ve got
an idea. See that bridge over there on the right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think you
can make it there?”

“I’ll give it a
try.” Sam turned to the right again.

More bullets
sprayed the water just behind them. “You’d better make it quick!”

Turning into the
next waterway, Sam replied, “What the hell do you think I’m doing?” He took one
more quick turn and then was travelling underneath the bridge. “Okay, I’m here
– now what?”

The jet skis came
on.

Tom ducked.

Their pursuers’
machine guns fired in a blaze of red tracer bullets.

“Just a little
further…”

Tom fired the
RPG.

It struck the
base of the largest pier. For a second the only sound that could be heard were
the machine gun bullets, getting closer to them.

And then the tip
of the explosive head ruptured.

One after the
next, the shock waves sent vibrations through the water. Behind them, he heard
the crack of thunder. It was the sound of the pier collapsing, sending an
entire road bridge plummeting into the water.

The jet skis were
forced to turn back, while the subsequent wave of destruction plowed eagerly
toward them, with deadly force.

“You might want
to pick it up a notch Sam. That thing looks like it’s going to swamp us.”

“I’m trying,” Sam
said impatiently. “What do you suggest I do?”

Tom grinned.
“Press the red button?”

“What bloody red
button!”

At the center of
the little wooden sports craft’s dashboard stood a single red button. It had
the same kind of refinement as a British high end motor car, while appearing
equally out of place on the little wooden boat.

Tom held on and
pressed the button.

The engine
sputtered for a second and then sounded like it was choking, before the turbo
charger filled with jet fuel and kicked into life. The boat literally leaped
out of the water, its propeller barely touching the surface of the water, while
Sam fought desperately to keep it from flipping.

The turbo burst
lasted just forty-five seconds, and then the boat settled back into the water.
Behind them, the wave had disappeared along with the jet skis.

Sam returned to
the preprogramed route on the heads up display. Elise had left him the boat
with a destination.

Tom looked up
ahead. “Any idea where we’re heading?”

“Yeah, Nepal.”

Tom latched onto
the boat’s handle, as Sam swerved to the left. “Why the hell are we going to
Nepal?”

“Because I just
realized what Billie was after.” He stopped the boat before Tom could ask more.
“Here’s our stop.”

Sam engaged the
boat’s autopilot and sent it off into the canal again. A single workman’s door
was located at the base of the concrete pier. There they climbed the stairs and
entered the main foyer of the Waldorf Astoria Amsterdam.

A waiter in a
tuxedo looked at the two disheveled men with a bemused smile. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, we have a
reservation.” Sam smiled. “Can you please send your best scotch to the
penthouse?”

Andrew Brandt
stepped down to the water’s edge, staring at the ducks in the distance. Like a
child, he picked up a rock and threw it at them. They scattered in an instant,
and three jet skis approached in their wake.

It was a burst of
temper that he rarely allowed himself to show. And he immediately reined in on
it. Forcing himself to smile, he said, “There were five of you, and still you
lost them?”

“We found his
boat, but it appears he and his friend must have got off somewhere before and
then left the boat going on its autopilot.”

“One of you is going
to fix this. Or I suggest you don’t bother coming back to see me.”

Each of the three
men looked at each other and then back to him again. One look at his serious
face, and they clambered back onto their jet skis and disappeared. Although
none of them had seen Andrew kill a person himself, no one doubted what he was
capable of.

Andrew’s cell
rang once.

“Jason. Tell me
some good fucking news.”

Andrew listened
to the man’s response. A genuine grin crossing his face. “Really? You’ve got to
be kidding me.” Andrew laughed for the first time that day. “Buy it. I don’t
care how much it costs. I want that stone. And, Jason… don’t fail me with
this.”

In the
grandmaster’s sitting room of the Waldorf, Sam carefully studied the
inscriptions on the Arcane Stone, and then swore.

“It’s a fake! We
nearly got ourselves killed for a fucking replica!” Sam wanted to punch
something, or someone, very hard.

“Are you
certain?” Tom asked.

Sam brought up
the screen-shot from Billie’s notes. These were the notes Billie had of the
real Arcane Stone. It was made from orichalcum, an alloy only ever found in the
hills surrounding Atlantis. A naturally forming alloy, consisting of gold,
copper, zinc, and lead.

“The dimensions
are identical to the original, but the metal is entirely copper.”

“So, won’t it
still work to identify the opening to the Atlantis Archives?”

“No. Billie’s
notes tell us that orichalcum has a very unique and rare response to light, in
which it magnifies light three or four times better than copper. Even if this
is shaped identically to the real Arcane Stone, it would never reflect the
light in the same manner.”

Tom shrugged his
shoulder, as if to say, ‘it all sounds close enough to me.’

“Come on, Tom, we
have a flight to catch.”

“But you said
this thing’s a fake and won’t help us?”

“It won’t. But I
know someone who will.”

The two quickly
walked to the front of the hotel and caught a cab from out the front.

“Elise. I’m
texting you an image of a device found by a Hank Worthington in 1638.”

“And how are you,
too? I’m glad you appreciate me saving your lives. Although why I bother I
don’t know. After all, between the two of you, I’m certain you’re both more
interested in throwing them away.”

“I’m sorry Elise.
We’re in some trouble – again. I need you to locate something for me.”

“Sure. What is
it?”

“It’s called the Arcane
Stone and at the time was believed to be made of brass, but archeologists have
long thought that it might have been made of orichalcum. According to Billie’s
notes, it’s a key to an ancient archive for the people of Atlantis.”

“That’s if they
existed, at all?”

“They existed
Elise. Find me that artifact, and I’ll prove it to you.”

“Very good. Give
me a few minutes and I’ll let you know what I’ve found. Where are you headed?”

“Nepal.”

“Really? You
believe all that crap that the Nazis propaganda machine put out about the lost
civilization of Atlantis being in the Himalayas?”

“No. But I
believe their archives have been recorded there for the past 11,000 years.”

“And the Arcane
Stone is going to show you the way?”

“That’s the
plan.”

“Hang on a second
Sam. I think I’ve got something, but you’re not going to like it.”

“Why not?”

“The Arcane Stone
is currently owned by the Le Milieu Corso-Marseillais. They’re a secret society
that has close links with just about every form of organized crime, from drugs,
human trafficking –right through to the provisioning of private mercenary
armies.”

Sam sighed. “That’s
fine. Are they willing to sell it?”

“Sure are.
Terrorism doesn’t come cheap these days. They currently have it listed on the
Dark Net for 10 million Euros, with a note that it holds the key to locating
Atlantis and other unknown riches. It’s probably a fake anyway.”

Tom interrupted.
“Hey, Elise. Sorry to interrupt. What the hell’s the Dark Net?”

“Hi Tom. You know
how most things we do on the internet is clearly visible to everyone. We make
things available to search engines like Google. The dark net is the rest of the
internet, where general users have no means of accessing information without
knowing the precise URL to begin with. It’s used for secrecy, and as well as
the latest conspiracy theorist, organized crime seem to like it for its obvious
benefits.”

The cab pulled
into the Schiphol Amsterdam Airport.

“Enough of the
computer science lesson, Elise. Billie’s in trouble. Tell them the price is
fine.  Buy it for me and send it where I’m headed in Nepal. I’ll send you the
address in a second.”

“But you’re not
going to Nepal.”

“I’m not?”

“No, Le Milieu Corso-Marseillais
don’t sell through Ebay or anything like that. You’re going to need to actually
meet them. They won’t have a thing to do with you or your absurd amounts of
money without seeing you in person.”

“All right, all
right. Where are we headed?”

“The French
Riviera.”

“That sounds all
right. By the way you were speaking, I thought you were going to send me off to
Iran or something difficult.”

“No, but don’t
let the lovely location or the romantic lights fool you. These people maintain
one of the cruelest and most ruthless organizations in the world. Just because
you’re a potential buyer doesn’t make you their friend or in any less danger.
You’re going to want to be careful.”

“Okay, arrange a
meeting for me Elise.”

“Will do, and be
careful.”

“Don’t worry
about me. I’ll bring Tom along for a show of muscle.”