The Spear of Atlantis (Wilde/Chase 14)

by Andy McDermott

  ‘No, he’s gone back to his suite – but Princess Alula is with me.’

  ‘Okay, let me talk to her. Is Agreste there too?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Eddie clenched his fists. ‘I might have words with him an’ all.’

  With clear reluctance, Snowcock retreated into the bridge, soon returning with Alula and Agreste. ‘Your Royal Highness,’ he said, ‘Mr Chase wants to speak to you.’

  She regarded Eddie with disdain. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want you to cancel the Red Notice on Nina. She’s been set up. Ana Rijo isn’t dead, she—’

  ‘You told me she was dead,’ Alula interrupted. ‘Now you say she is not? Which is it?’

  ‘She faked it to scare Nina into running – and he’s working with her,’ said Eddie, jabbing a finger at Agreste. ‘I saw them both on the lifeboat deck fifteen minutes ago.’

  Agreste shook his head. ‘I was in the exhibition hall.’

  ‘Must’ve been your twin brother, then. I thought it was dodgy how you turned up in the hall right after I got there. Were you watching the security cameras with Ana?’

  ‘That is a ridiculous accusation,’ Agreste sniffed. ‘I came to make sure the Emir was not hurt.’

  ‘But why would you even think the Emir was hurt, unless you’d been watching?’ A new thought came to him – one he knew would not be taken well. ‘And the Emir . . . he reckons he got knocked out and fell into the vault, right? But when I got there, he strolled out of the vault, fresh as a daisy – and he was surprised to see me there, like he was expecting someone else.’

  Alula’s expression darkened. ‘You are accusing His Majesty of involvement in this robbery?’

  ‘I’m just saying it’s awfully bloody convenient,’ Eddie pressed on. ‘I mean, he invited Nina here in the first place, he asked her for a private tour of the Atlantis exhibition . . . and his story changed between him coming out of the vault and what he said on the bridge later. Was he in on it? Did he do all this to get Nina out of the way so he could find this spearhead thing without her interfering?’

  Alula’s nostrils flared in outrage. ‘I will not stand here and listen to you accuse the Emir – my brother! – of being a criminal! Captain! I want this man arrested.’

  Snowcock hesitated. ‘On what charge, Your Royal Highness?’

  ‘He is obviously in league with Dr Wilde, to embarrass His Majesty and discredit Dhajan!’ When the captain did not instantly respond, she took an angry step towards him. ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’

  Snowcock called back into the bridge. ‘Security! I need people out here!’

  ‘Are you fucking joking?’ Eddie said, aghast – but it was immediately clear that he wasn’t. The captain stepped aside as officers and crew responded. ‘Oh shit!’

  Eddie turned and ran. Agreste moved to intercept him, but the Yorkshireman’s special forces training had already kicked in. He twisted away from Agreste’s outstretched hands, one arm swatting them aside as his other fist swept at the Frenchman’s jaw. His target tipped his head away fast enough to save himself from a tooth-snapping impact, but was still knocked backwards.

  Eddie sprinted for the stairs. Behind him, the men piling from the bridge pursued as Snowcock shouted into a walkie-talkie for backup.

  The chase was on.

  9

  Eddie reached the stairs. Up or down? The crackle of Snowcock’s voice from another radio below gave him his answer. He raced up to the top deck overlooking the vast central atrium.

  More crewmen charged towards him from astern. He went to the railing. There were swimming pools below, but it was a twelve-storey drop—

  The zip-line!

  If he could ride it down, it would take him almost to the marina – his best hope of getting off the ship.

  He ran to it, ducking under a chain to reach the boarding platform. Rather than individual harnesses for each thrill-seeker, this was more like a theme-park ride, a large cradle with a dozen seats suspended from the cable.

  He went to the control panel. The cradle was held in place by a mechanical claw. He had to release it, but the panel was switched off – and needed a physical key rather than an electronic one. He doubted any of the men closing on him would be willing to provide it.

  Instead he pulled the chain free and swung it over the cable, grabbed both ends – and threw himself into empty space.

  The chain snapped tight under his weight, sending him swinging like a demented pendulum as it screeched down the zip-line. He tightened his grip, but could feel the metal slithering through his fingers, millimetre by millimetre . . .

  And he saw movement at his destination. More crew were running to catch him when he landed.

  But he was still too high to risk dropping to the deck. A hundred metres to go, less, the men ahead scrambling on to the landing platform.

  He crossed above the bowl-like stern deck, sunshades and loungers beneath him.

  And swimming pools—

  He let go.

  The drop was over thirty feet. Just enough time for a surge of fear that the circular blue pool below wasn’t deep enough to break his fall—

  He pulled his legs up as he hit the water. The impact hurt, but less so than breaking an ankle on the bottom – which he would have done if he had landed vertically. His backside jarred heavily against the tiles. An involuntary expulsion of air with the pain, but he recovered and swam to the side.

  Gasping, he looked around. The crewmen were already jumping from the platform. He dragged himself out. The marina access was not far away. Water streaming from his clothes, he hurried to it. Nobody below. He charged down the stairs and rushed out into the marina. The giant hatch was still open, but the jetties had been retracted.

  Two crew members, a man and a woman, were pulling ropes on to the decking. They looked at him in surprise, just as the walkie-talkie on the woman’s belt squawked a warning. ‘He’s gone down to the marina! Stop him!’

  The man sprang up and rushed at the Yorkshireman. ‘Oh fuck off,’ Eddie growled impatiently, unleashing a stomach punch that folded the crew member to the floor. ‘Now, I need a boat . . .’

  The turntable at the head of the launch rails was aligned with a white-and-gold Kawasaki jetski. He pulled out the chock holding it in place, but now faced a new obstacle. The woman had darted to a control panel. A whine of powerful motors – and the stern door began to close, tilting upwards.

  Eddie scrambled on to the Kawasaki. It slid over the turntable under his weight. The safety key was in its slot, a plastic lanyard dangling from it. He pushed the starter. The engine growled, a horrible dry rasp coming from the jetski’s impeller duct – it was not supposed to be run out of the water.

  He ignored the restriction, revving it to full power as the craft rattled down the rails. The awful noise became a splutter as the Kawasaki sucked water through its intake – then it dropped off the ramp’s end, surging forward in a spray of froth.

  The white wall of the door rose before him, a waterfall gushing over its upper edge as it breached the surface.

  Eddie braced himself, holding the Kawasaki at full throttle—

  The jetski slammed against metal, riding up the huge panel’s inner face with a screech. It slowed as the slope steepened. Eddie desperately threw his weight forward as it stopped at the top . . . then tipped over and plunged into the sea.

  Cold ocean water swirled around the Yorkshireman for the second time in a few hours. The craft rolled upright. Coughing, he wiped stinging brine from his eyes.

  He was clear, but he still had a long way to go. And a lot to do.

  He brought the Kawasaki around. The lights of Tangier swung into view as he moved away from the Atlantia. He fumbled for his phone, thankful that he had years ago realised the benefits of waterproof covers.

  Two calls to make. The first was to Olivia. ‘It’s me!’ he shouted when she answered. ‘I’m not on the ship any more. There’s been a . . . complication.’

  ‘
A complication?’ Olivia hooted. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I found out that Ana set up Nina, and I think the Emir was in on it. But his sister didn’t believe me, and they were going to arrest me so I had to nick a jetski to get away.’

  Her response was one of weary resignation. ‘So Nina’s on the run, you’re on the run – should I expect the Gestapo to kick down my door too?’

  ‘You’ll be fine, just don’t tell ’em anything.’

  ‘How can I? I have no idea what’s going on.’

  He managed a faint smile. ‘Is Macy there? Put me on speaker.’

  Olivia did so. ‘Daddy?’ Macy said, worried. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine, love. I’ve just got to take a little trip. Your great-grandma’ll look after you.’

  ‘No, Daddy!’ she cried. ‘You can’t go as well!’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.’

  ‘That’s what you said when you went out – and now you’re running away on a boat, like Mom.’

  ‘I know, and I’m sorry. But your mum needs my help, and this is the only way I can do it. Olivia, you there?’

  ‘Of course,’ the elderly lady replied.

  ‘They’re going to turf everyone off the ship at Gibraltar, so you stay with Macy. They’ll put you up in a hotel. I’ll find you once I’m done in Morocco.’

  ‘Eddie, what are—’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I won’t be in phone range for much longer, and I need to make another call. Macy, I love you. Never forget that, okay?’

  ‘I love you, Daddy,’ she said quietly.

  Eddie reluctantly ended the call, then made a second. ‘Karim, it’s Eddie Chase again. Change of plans – I’m on my way to Tangier right now. I’ll land on that beach near where me and Hugo met you that time. Might need you to use your charm on the customs people if they wonder what the hell I’m doing crossing the Med on a jetski.’

  ‘You are on a jetski? Why are— Ehh, with you I should know not to ask,’ Karim said. ‘Do not worry, my friend. I will meet you. Everything will be lovely jubbly.’

  ‘Great. See you soon.’ Eddie hung up, smiling at the use of the British slang, then pocketed the phone before slipping the safety key’s lanyard around his wrist and turning his full attention to piloting the jetski through the choppy waves.

  Tangier was roughly ten miles away. It would take him less than half an hour to reach it – if he could avoid being caught by the Moroccan navy, who could well have been warned about his escape. But something as small as a jetski in the swells of the Strait of Gibraltar would be tricky to track on radar, and the darkness would make him difficult to spot visually.

  Besides, he had confidence in Karim. If anyone could talk him out of trouble, it would be his Moroccan friend.

  He checked for any ships that might cross his path, then raced through the night towards the African coast.

  Nina trudged into Tarifa, her shoes still damp. The journey had been far from a pleasant stroll; there were large stretches of road with no sidewalk or street lights, giving her a few worryingly close calls with passing traffic. She was also cold, the Atlantic wind harsh-edged.

  But she had not let discomfort dominate her mind. There was too much to think about. She was still certain her best course of action was to reach Seville and warn the head of the city’s archaeological museum about the threat to the second marcador de lanza. Once the relic was secured – and only then – she would consider going to the authorities to clear her name. The best place to do that would be the US consulate in Seville.

  She had to get to Seville first, though. It was, if her memory of Spanish geography was accurate, about a hundred and twenty miles to the north. She checked her watch. Well after nine o’clock. If there was a rental car agency in Tarifa, it would probably be closed for the night – and even if it wasn’t, the police could well have warned the staff to watch out for her. Hiring a taxi ran a similar risk, even if she could persuade anyone to take her on such a long trip.

  Which left hitch-hiking, or the bus. The former was not an inviting prospect, so the bus it was.

  Even in April, before the tourist season entered full swing, the long main street leading to the heart of the town was quite busy. She had little trouble finding someone who spoke enough English to direct her to the bus station. To her annoyance, she had walked right past it, forcing her to retrace her route to an anonymous grey building beside a gas station. The sign actually informing passers-by of its function was a masterpiece in modesty.

  A timetable told her the first bus to Seville left at 8.30 the next morning. Eleven hours away – and she couldn’t risk checking into a hotel, there being a high chance that the police would canvass every place in town for her.

  She would have to either stay awake all night, or rough it. Neither prospect appealed. She found the money Ana had given her. Exactly two hundred euros, in crisp tens. That would surely be enough for the bus fare to Seville, and would also pay for a meal. If nothing else, she could stay in a restaurant until closing time, just to keep out of the wind.

  She started back towards the town centre, girding herself for a long night.

  Even at this late hour, there were still a few people on Tangier’s Plage Malabata and the expansive white plaza inshore – and all were surprised when a jetski roared through the breaking waves and skidded to a halt on the sands. ‘Evening,’ said Eddie to the two young men having a smoke near his landing point. ‘You want a jetski?’

  They exchanged looks, then approached. ‘Is for sale?’ one asked in hesitant English.

  ‘No, it’s free,’ he replied as he dismounted. They were understandably dubious about the sincerity – and legality – of his offer. ‘Up to you.’ He started up the beach, leaving the bewildered pair to debate their options.

  He had just reached the plaza when a slow-moving old Citroën CX on the road beyond sounded its horn. ‘Eddie!’ shouted its occupant through the open window. ‘I am here!’

  Eddie hurried to him. ‘Ay up, fancy meeting you here,’ he said. ‘Thanks for coming, Karim.’

  ‘No problem, my friend. Get in. But quickly. You have attracted attention.’

  Eddie slid into the car and looked back at the beached jetski. Beyond it, a spotlight flicked to life on the water, a piercing white beam locking on to the abandoned craft. The two young men hurriedly ran off. ‘The harbour patrol,’ said the heavyset Moroccan as he made a rapid U-turn – without checking his mirrors for anyone overtaking. His passenger winced, but said nothing. He had been to the country several times, and knew that drivers acting as if they were protected from harm by a force field, or Allah, was all part of the experience. ‘But you landed before they caught you, that is what matters.’

  ‘Close, though. Did you have any luck finding Ana?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Karim. ‘But I have spoken to the right people. If she is in Tangier, we will find her.’

  ‘Let’s hope she’s here, then.’ Eddie sat back, looking out to sea as the old car cruised past another long beach. In the far distance, he saw tiny shimmering lights: Tarifa. Somewhere across the water, on another continent, was Nina. Frustration rose once more at the knowledge that there was still nothing he could do to help her. All he could do was hope she was okay.

  On the opposite coast, al-Asim was driving with his men away from Tarifa in a large SUV when his phone rang. ‘Yes?’ he said. ‘Is something wrong?’

  He listened to the rapid explanation. ‘Understood,’ he said at last, unsettled. ‘We’ll handle it.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked the man with the scarred cheek as al-Asim disconnected.

  ‘A problem. We intercepted the Englishman’s phone calls. He found out about the Brazilian woman, and now he’s on his way to Morocco to find her.’

  ‘How? It’s a big city, and he doesn’t know where she is.’

  ‘It seems he has friends there. We can’t let him get to her. She’s just a mercenary, she doesn’t have any loyalty
to us.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ asked another of the raiders.

  Al-Asim slowed the SUV. ‘We’re going back to Tarifa. Musad,’ he told the scarred man, ‘take the next ferry to Tangier. We should have more information on where Chase is and who his friends are by the time you arrive. Recruit whatever local help you need, and find them.’ He swung the vehicle around to head back to the port. ‘We’ve got to make sure Chase and the woman don’t talk to anyone else. Ever.’

  10

  Nina awoke with a start, shivering. Confusion as she looked around, unsure where she was, then memory returned.

  Tarifa’s historic centre was beautiful, a maze of traditional buildings still partially surrounded by medieval walls, but she was in no mood to appreciate it. She had found a small restaurant that remained open until midnight, stretching out her modest meal as long as possible, but when she emerged, the temperature had dropped considerably. With only her thin dress to protect her, she had spent a miserable night wandering about in the forlorn hope of finding shelter, before exhaustion finally claimed her and she sat down on a bench beside the cathedral. Her intended five-minute rest stop had stretched into – Jesus! she thought, looking at her watch – over two hours.

  It was still dark, though, nearing five o’clock in the morning. She rubbed her arms to warm them, then stood. A van emerged from a narrow side street. She watched it pass, then, on a whim, followed. She had plenty of time to kill before the bus departed.

  A chill wind whipped in from the sea as she emerged at the harbour. It was fenced off, but a docked ferry rose high above the barrier. The sight of the ship made her wonder where the Atlantia was now.

  That in turn made her think of her family. She wanted nothing more than to reassure Macy and Eddie that she was all right, but even if she used a payphone, it could open them up to charges of withholding information. The Dhajanis seemed determined to pin the theft of the marker on her, and might well snatch up her husband and daughter in their dragnet given the slightest excuse.