Atlantis Stolen (Sam Reilly Book 3) (8 page)

Andrew Brandt
looked at the robe in his wardrobe. His father had been the last to wear it,
and the last to truly believe in the Phoenix Resistance. It had been nearly twenty
years since the ancient brotherhood met for official reasons, but in that time,
the internet and global communications had changed a lot. As did the way they
ran their business in the past eleven thousand years.

What was once a
society hidden by cloaks of darkness, and secret handshakes was now run by five
men from around the world, each powerful and intelligent in their own right. A merchant
banker, a Russian oil and gas tycoon, a leader of the most dangerous private
mercenary army in the world, a politician, a CEO of one of the greatest
technology firms on the planet.

Their faces had
been obscured to maintain anonymity. Andrew had never met any of them in
person. But together they had a combined power that enabled them to change the
world.

Of the five of
them, Andrew had been chosen to now lead the secret organization.

One of them was
still missing, lost in action. He had gone to infiltrate an enemy of the
brotherhood. But now, it appeared that the man had been killed as a result, and
hadn’t been heard of since.

Instead of secret
caves, handshakes, and all those stupid things that went with the role, the
small gathering met via video conferencing, over secure networks, using satellites
that Andrew, himself, owned.

Up until a couple
days ago, Andrew had assumed the entire premise for their organization had been
a giant farce, made up by one of his great ancestors to maintain power and control
over his fellow man. The only reason he’d even maintained the pretense and
continued the organization, managing it as the most senior leader, was because
of the connections that the organization had given him.

After all, each
of the men in the virtual room today had a net worth of nearly a hundred
million dollars. And that sort of money came with contacts.

Still in his day
suit, having long ago abandoned the ornamental cloaks, he accepted the final
member to the virtual room and began to chair the meeting.

“Nearly six hours
ago a woman I was paid to capture was stolen from me. It has since then come to
my attention that she was in possession of the knowledge that lead her towards
the current resting place of Atlantis.”

He saw the same
look on their faces as he had his own. They all said the same thing:
so
Atlantis was real, and so was the prophecy…

“Do we know how
much they know?” It was Kazimir – his name literally meant the destroyer of
peace.

“No, we know that
they discovered something that proved unequivocally the existence of Atlantis
and directed them to Amsterdam. What sent them there, I have no idea. There,
they found the map to the gateway, also known as the Arcane Stone. Without Dr. Billie
Swan, Sam Reilly and Tom Bower are having to backtrack, but they’re gaining
momentum and have already booked a flight to Tibet!”

“Tibet?” It was
Richard who spoke first. “But we’ve already been to Tibet. There’s nothing but
scribbles there. Codes to enter the inner sanctum of Atlantis. But they’re
worth nothing without any knowledge of Atlantis itself.”

“But what if they
already know?” said Mr. Armel, the head of a private army of expert soldiers. He
had employed soldiers who were leaders in their own country, turning them to
the lucrative profession of mercenaries.

Andrew smiled.
“No, I don’t think Sam Reilly and Tom Bower know any more than we do. But what
about Dr. Swan?”

James Bradley, a billionaire
turned politician from Oregon, looked irritated. “And if Dr. Swan does know its
exact location, then that would explain why someone would want to abduct her.
Which brings us to the next logical question. Who would have the knowledge and
power to do so?”

Andrew sighed.
He’d not thought it through so far. “No idea, but I’ve already sent a team
there personally, to protect the code to the gateway and find out.”

French Riviera
– Four Weeks Remaining

Le Vieux, Nice
was a honeycomb of narrow streets, dotted with beautiful Baroque churches,
vibrant squares, and restaurants. Its dark narrow lanes were crammed with
delis, boutique eateries, and bars full of beautiful people. The old town was overflowing
with them. Like their Parisian counterparts, the people of Nice were splendidly
dressed in the latest style, with slim figures and attractive features befitting
the latest fashion magazines. The average men looked like they had walked off
the set to a Calvin Klein modeling campaign, including white shorts, blue
sailor tops, and brown wavy hair, tussled by the salty sea breeze. Their women
took style and glamor up several notches.

At the end of the
tiny street, the pristine waters of the French Riviera could be seen, littered
with expensive yachts. Here the elite, famous and richest people of the world
competed to see who’d acquired the best beach toy.

Sam casually
scanned the bay, his interest barely piqued by the abundance of beautiful
yachts. Instead, he stared at one vessel that stood out amongst the others. Not
because it was the most beautiful, but because in a world of yachts filled with
hulls built of carbon fiber, delicate woodwork, and gold emblazing, the large
steel hull of what appeared to be an old icebreaker looked as though it didn’t
belong. Anchored slightly further out, as though it was being ostracized.

It was painted
sky blue. And along the ship’s angular steel hull, in large emerald writing,
were the words MARIA HELENA. Below, in smaller writing –
Deep Sea Expeditions. From the distance, it looked like nothing
more than an oversized tugboat or possibly an old icebreaker converted into a
science vessel. On the aft deck a helipad could be seen, the only indication
that it deserved a place as anything more than a tugboat.

Sam was reassured
by the familiar sight of his ship. The Maria Helena had been doing research into
the ever-changing water quality of the overcrowded Mediterranean as it passed
through the Strait of Gibraltar. He’d ordered her skipper, Matthew Sutherland, to
wrap up their project and quickly move it to the French Riviera in case they
were needed. 

Sam and Tom walked
confidently down the tiny street. He watched as a beautiful woman in a flowery
yellow dress walked by a popular restaurant, le Royal. Although it was only
just hitting eleven-thirty in the morning, the place was already thriving with
tourists and locals. The aroma of strong coffee and freshly baked French bread
filled the air.

Sam smiled,
enjoying the atmosphere.

It was hardly the
place for a business meeting with the head of a criminal organization. A police
car was parked in front of the restaurant. Two police officers in their early
forties stood armed with SP2022 handguns at their hips, and each had a Ruger
machinegun held at the ready, as though waiting for something.

“Do they look
overly eager for police officers in Nice?” Sam asked.

Tom looked up
from where he’d been distracted by the flirtatious smile of a tall brunette.
“Who?”

“The police out
the front of the restaurant. Do you think they appear unusually ready with
their weapons in a place like this?”

“We live in a
dangerous world. Who can say?” Tom replied, nonplussed.

“I can say. My
guess is they work for him.”

“There’s only one
way to find out.” Tom began walking toward the entrance. “Shall we?”

“Let’s.”

The two walked into
le Royale.

A waiter
immediately approached them and said in perfect English, “Mr. Reilly and Mr.
Bower, I presume?”   

Sam nodded his
head.

“Good. Right this
way. He’s waiting for you.”

The waiter sat
them out the front of the restaurant, in the sidewalk seating area. There, a
man in his fifties was waiting by himself.

The man was slim
and wore casual clothes, made by a local and impeccable designer. He had a full
head of brown hair. If there was any greying, the man had dyed it well. With
blue eyes and a bright smile, the man stood up to greet them, as though they
were old friends catching up over lunch.

“Sam Reilly?” he
asked.

“Yes.” Sam
replied, offering his hand. “And this is my friend Tom Bower.”

The man took it
cordially, and said, “My name is Vincent Dubois. I have taken the liberty of
ordering you both something for lunch. I own the restaurant, but even so, I
believe the food is excellent. Do you have time for lunch?”

Sam looked around
and saw the police officers staring at him. “Of course.”

“Good. Because I
cannot do business with a man who dismisses a good meal at lunchtime.” Vincent
laughed at his own joke. “Wine?”

He poured three
glass before Sam could reply.

“And I take it
you own the police officers too?”

“We are a
civilized society my friend. I cannot own the police officers. Let’s just say
that I merely pay into their social fund each week, so they have a vested
interest in my wellbeing.” Vincent smiled. “Tell me. Why are you interested in
the Arcane Stone?”

Sam took in the
man’s personality in an instant. He was being played with. “For the same reason
as everyone else, of course. I want to find Atlantis.”

“But surely you
must know that Atlantis was a myth, created by Plato to torment the gullible
minds of the Greeks and now you Americans?” 

“Ah, that’s most
likely true, but I have a friend who has found herself in a certain kind of
trouble, having gone looking for Atlantis, and now it’s my job to get her out
of it. And you just happen to have the only clue that points to where she might
have gone.”

“Ah, so you are
not so gullible after all, Mr. Reilly. You are doing this for honor? That is
good. I have it. You may have it for the agreed upon price of 10 million euros.
Would you like to examine it?”

“Yes, please.”

Vincent made the
slightest of curt nods, and a waiter came out an instant later. Removing the
cloche revealed what Sam had come for.

The Arcane Stone.

It glowed
unnaturally orange. It wasn’t gold, but it wasn’t copper either. And the luster
was no less impressive than had it been pure gold. Even at the glance, Sam knew
he was looking at the real Arcane Stone. He’d never seen real orichalcum, but
this matched every description that Plato revealed of the alloy found only in
Atlantis.

“I’m going to
have to take a small sample for metallurgical analysis.”

“Of course. But
if you break it you bought it.”

“Only if it is indeed
the Arcane Stone.”

“I may be a
criminal, but I’m no fool. I don’t try to rip people off for 10 million euros.
My reputation is worth more than that!”

Sam used his
laser cutter and removed a fraction off the base, no more than a quarter of an
ounce. “I will need to have this examined by a metallurgist before I make the
purchase.”

“Of course.”

Sam nodded his
head to another diner, who stood up, left the bill and came over to pick up the
tiny metal fragment.

“I’ll have the
results for you within the hour Mr. Reilly.”

“Thank you, Dr.
Ramsay.”

Vincent smiled at
him. “A friend of yours?”

“You didn’t think
I was going to entrust 10 million euros to my high school level chemistry, did
you?”

“No, of course
not.”

The waiter
returned to remove the artifact, and replace it with two plates. Sam put a hand
on the artifact. “I’m afraid I’m going to need to have that stay right here.
Not that I mistrust you or your men, Vincent, but I wouldn’t want anyone to
feel the temptation to cheat me, either.”

The waiter looked
to Vincent for direction. “It’s okay Luc. You can leave it on the table. After
all, they’ll pay for it before they leave.”

Sam looked down
at the escargot with just the slightest hint of uncertainty. Next to it, the
waiter left the artifact, glowing with a rich orange and red luster.

Vincent smiled. “Please,
be my guest. Start eating. My lunch is still coming.”

Sam’s stomach
rumbled at the strange sight, but he forced himself to eat them. Despite its
appearance, his lunch tasted every bit as divine as he’d expected from fine
French cuisine.

“Delicious!” Sam
said.

Vincent smiled.
“Good, because I’ve always found them disgusting. That’s why I ordered the
lobster.”

Parked facing a
southerly direction, the engine of a single all-terrain vehicle idled at the
onramp of Boulevard Jean Jaurès. Inside, Tom sat in the driver’s seat. Elise
had arranged for the car to be left there for him at the edge of the old town
of Le Vieux Nice. It was a Hummer H1, the original military version of the
all-terrain vehicle, equipped with all the modern conveniences of a military
vehicle, such as waterproof and gas proof interior with its own air supply,
bullet proof windows and anti-mine undercarriage. Elise wasn’t taking any more
chances with their lives.

Tom had left Sam
inside the restaurant, happily conversing with Vincent in fluent French, while he
waited for approval to make the purchase of the Arcane Stone. Sam and Vincent
had agreed on a standard untraceable Bitcoin transaction to a predetermined
digital wallet of Vincent’s choosing. When Tom had left, it amazed him that Sam
should so readily befriend the head of such a notorious criminal organization.

Sometimes he
forgot that Sam had lived a multitude of lives for a very long time. In fact,
when he thought about it, Tom had no real idea when Sam had begun splitting his
lives. He now knew about the event in Afghanistan in 2003, when Sam had been
recruited for his specialized knowledge and skills set – Tom could only imagine
that it was a euphemism for rich spy. Then there was the life he shared with
his father, James Reilly who owned Global Shipping, the third largest cargo
company in the world. James had a God complex, in which he really did feel he
was superior to everyone. Last there was the guy he’d grown up with, competed with
throughout high school and in the Corps – he was the man whose word was his
honor, a binding contract without reservation; who had a powerful sense of duty
that guided his every judgement.

But what about
this man? The one that could purchase from a ruthless criminal, because he needed
something from the man. Tom wondered how far this Sam Reilly would break the
rules if he needed to. And then he knew he’d already had the answer – the
depths of the darkest world.

Tom’s thoughts
were interrupted by the sound of his cell phone.

“Was it what you
were after?” Tom asked.

“Yes. You can pass
on to my banker that I’d like to complete the transfer and to please have the
engines on my jet running, so we can leave.”

It was a
prearrange code. If the artifact had been a fake, Sam would have told him to
transfer the money, and Tom would have broken into the restaurant with his
hired men.

“Very good, Sam.
I’ll let them know.”

Tom quickly
contacted Elise. 

“He’s happy.”

Ten minutes later
Sam climbed into the Hummer next to him.

Côte d'Azur
International Airport was just four miles southwest from them. There, a private
jet was waiting, its turbines already turning in preparation of their arrival.

“Did that seem a
little too easy to you?” Tom asked, pulling onto Boulevard Jean Jaurès.

“No, why?”

“Oh come on,
Sam!” Tom laughed. “We just went and bought ourselves a 10-million-euro ancient
artifact from the head of a mafia whose reputation lauded him for being the
most dangerous, influential and least forgiving head of any current criminal
organization in Europe.

“Yes, but people
like that love people like us…” Sam looked at him. “Well, people like me. The
very rich kind of buyers. I wasn’t there to haggle. I knew the product I wanted
and I was willing to meet his terms to buy it. Why wouldn’t it go well?”

“Because he’s a
criminal! And criminals don’t play by the normal rules.”

“Trust me. His
reputation is more valuable to him than the 10 million euros.”

Sam pulled out
his hand gun, a Glock with silencer. He checked the cartridge was fully loaded
and removed the safety.

“What is it?” Tom
asked.

Sam looked like a
kid preparing to play cowboys and Indians. “Nothing. It’s just our friends, the
police officers. The ones who don’t play by the rules have been following us.
That’s all.”

Tom looked into
the rearview mirror.

Around three cars
behind them, he saw the police car on their tail.

“Damn it! Why
didn’t you say something?”

“I thought I just
did!”

“I meant when you
first saw them.” Tom put his foot down and started increasing the gap.

Instantly he saw
the blue lights of the police car begin to flash, followed by the annoying
drone of its siren.

Tom sped up
again.

“Do you have a
plan for outsmarting the police?” Sam asked.

“Those aren’t the
police, they’re Vincent’s men.”

“All the same.
They’re driving a police car and sounding very much like police officers.”

“So, what’s your
plan?”

“Let’s pull over
and see what they want?”

“That’s your
plan? Are you nuts?”

“We’re virtually
driving a tank. What the hell are they going to do to us?”

Resigned to see
what happened, Tom shrugged his shoulders and pulled over.

The police car
pulled up in front of them and parked at an angle to their front, preventing
them from returning to the main road again.

Both officers got
out of the car and calmly walked up to the driver’s side door.

Tom lowered the
window and smiled at the police officer. His name tag displayed the very
non-French name, Jason. “I’m sorry. Was my brake light out?”

“Vincent says he’s
gonna need the Arcane Stone back.”

Sam smiled unsympathetically.
“Well gentlemen, you’d better tell Vincent to find another one, because we’re
not interested in selling right now. Maybe in a few weeks, if he makes the
right offer.”

The police
officer at the open window smiled stupidly, and then pointed his Ruger
machinegun inside the Hummer. “I suggest you reconsider my offer. I don’t think
Vincent’s going to….”

Sam fired his
Glock at point blank range – blowing the man’s head back with three rounds
before he finished his sentence.

Tom put his foot
down, and the massive Hummer rammed through the parked police car.

“Holy shit! Sam,
a little heads up next time would be appreciated, before you start shooting
people.”

“Only amateurs
want to chat. Didn’t they teach you to kill while they talk?” Sam said as he
looked behind them. “On that subject. His partner’s right on our tail again,
and unless I’m much mistaken, he’s brought friends.”

Tom looked in his
rearview mirror – there were at least four other crooked cop cars on the chase.
“You got any plans?”

Bullets
harmlessly raked the back end of the Hummer.

“Good to see this
thing lives up to its expectation.”

“Yeah, but for
how long? I’m sure they’ll find something a little more powerful to fire at us
if we overstay our welcome.”

“Let’s not wait
and find out.”

A split second
later the loud report of a sniper rifle echoed through Nice, quickly followed
by a second and then a third one.

Behind them, two
police cars veered off the road – their drivers shot dead.

“Who the hell did
that?” Tom said, weaving in and out of traffic, trying to increase the gap that
had been created.

“That… I have no
idea,” Sam replied. “No one aboard the Maria Helena could shoot like that.
Perhaps Genevieve, but Matthew tells me she’s on leave. It might be Veyron? I
wouldn’t put it past him to be an expert marksman.”

Another four
shots fired in quick succession and the drivers of each of the remaining four
cars died.

“Whoever it is,
they’ve given me a chance to get clear. We should be at the airport in another
few minutes.”

And then Tom hit
his brakes hard.

An overturned
garbage truck blocked the entire road. A road worker in high visibility work
gear redirected them to the off ramp and back into the rabbit warren of the old
city of Le Vieux Nice.

“That can’t just
be bad luck!” Tom griped.

“No, I’d say
Vincent’s bribes run pretty deep in this town.”

He turned into
the first left, hoping to avoid the old town with its tiny streets and narrow
lanes. In the rearview mirror Tom saw a large bulldozer turn to follow them.
“We can outrun it!” At the end of that street, he turned right.

Taking him back
to the center of the old town, near where they’d had lunch.

And into a dead
end.