The Secret of Atlantis (Joe Hawke Book 7)

by Rob Jones

  “I’m done now – Hippolyta next…” he snapped the image and moved around to the tenth labour. “Cattle of Geryon, as I was explaining earlier…”

  “Thirty seconds,” Camacho said. “We’re out of here. That means you too, Ryan.”

  “Wait!” He activated the Hesperides alcove and then turned to do the last one – the twelfth labour: Cerberus.

  “Twenty seconds… run!”

  Ryan snapped the picture and they made a break for it, just reaching the entrance when the bomb detonated. A savage fireball blasted out the entrance of the cave and illuminated the side of the mountain for a few seconds until it burned out. Seconds later a shower of dust and rock splinters rained down on them.

  “Talk about close…” Lexi said.

  “That was too close,” Reaper said.

  Maria coughed some of the dust up and stretched out on her back, looking up at the stars. “Real constellations!” she said.

  Ryan groaned, moved over and stretched out beside her. “Oh, shit!”

  They all turned to look at him. “What?”

  “I dropped my phone in there…”

  Scarlet stared at him. “You what?”

  Ryan let the awkward silence stretch another couple of seconds before grinning and producing his phone from his pocket. “Just kidding. Ha!”

  “I’ll stick that phone up your fu…”

  “Easy, babe,” Camacho said, and took Scarlet by the shoulders to kiss her.

  “If you put it like that,” she said. “I’ll let it go.”

  “So what now?” Reaper asked Ryan.

  “Now we work out how these symbols convert into coordinates and then we sail to Atlantis.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  At the top of the load chain now and a thousand feet above the mountain, Hawke’s presence was noted and one of the side doors opened to reveal a grinning Willem Van Zyl. He tried to kick the former Commando but Hawke was ready for him and grabbed his shirt, pulling him from the chopper. The two men fell back away from the helicopter and landed with a heavy smack on the flatbed of the swaying Silverado. Van Zyl landed on top of the Englishman and wasted no time in pulling his arm back and aiming a solid punch right in the center of Hawke’s face.

  The movement of the shoulder muscles through the South Africans torn shirt had telegraphed the punch half a second in advance and Hawke took evasive action, flicking his head hard to the right to dodge the strike. It worked, and Van Zyl screamed in agony as he ploughed his own fist into the corrugated stainless steel base of the flatbed.

  Distracted by the pain for a heartbeat, Hawke was able to raise his arm and grab the side of his opponent’s face, pushing his thumb deep into Van Zyl’s left eye socket. The South African howled like a baby and the instinct to save his sight made him leap off the Englishman and take a step back.

  He collided with the side of the pickup and nearly toppled over the side, but the Silverado now swung like a five ton pendulum in the other direction and made him fall forward again.

  Hawke was getting dizzy but knew he had to stay focussed. If Van Zyl got a serious strike in then he was flying over the side and the only thing down there was a thousand foot drop to the bottom of the ravine.

  Van Zyl approached, pulling a hunting knife from his belt and flipped it over in his hands before slashing the blade in the air. Hawke heard someone screaming and glanced up to see Luk peering out of the chopper. He roared with laughter and then went back inside the cabin. A moment later the Kaman began to swerve violently to the left and right, and the motion was soon transferred down the load chain to the Silverado which responded by swinging more and more dangerously back and forth beneath the speeding chopper.

  Hawke tumbled backwards and grabbed the side of the truck to stop himself going over and falling to his death. At the end point of the arc now, the truck was now almost on its side and both men fell off the truck, holding on to the side now while their bodies dangled over the edge. The hunting knife went bye-bye over the edge and tumbled out of sight in the rocky valley far below them.

  Above their heads the chopper’s powerful engine roared in pain as it struggled to keep level while holding the swaying truck on its carousel. Inside the cab Hawke saw the terrified faces of Lea and Khatibi as they were thrown about all over the place.

  Van Zyl edged away from him and began to pull himself back in but Hawke knew the best play was to wait for the truck to swing the other way. When it did, he used gravity to help himself get back inside the flatbed, and then the fighting got real.

  Van Zyl took a swipe at Hawke but he dodged it and fired another back, striking him on the jaw and sending him flying back onto the cab’s rear window. Hawke saw Lea was holding something out the cab window. It looked like a tire iron, and he wanted it badly but the truck was now starting its swing toward the other end of the arc and Van Zyl was padding back over for a second round.

  Swipe. Punch, crack and stagger back. Hawke felt the pain as Van Zyl’s ring-encrusted knuckles ripped into his jaw, but at least the South African hadn’t noticed the tire iron. Hawke flicked out his right boot and tripped the man over. His flight was aided and abetted by the sick-making swing of the truck now approaching the end point of its arc once again. With the Silverado now almost on its other side, Hawke clawed and strained his way forward to the cab while Van Zyl struggled to hang on to the tailgate.

  He grabbed the tire iron. Its chunky weight felt good in his hands, and now the truck was approaching the base of the arc again and they were flat for another few seconds. He had no time to waste.

  He raised the iron to a fighting position and gripped it tightly as he swung it hard and fast at the South African’s arm. He felt the smash and crack as the arm broke clean in the center of the radius bone. Van Zyl reacted predictably, reaching for the wounded arm and grunting in agony. Expecting the reaction, Hawke’s next move was baked into the first one and now he brought the tire iron up once again from the other side and smashed it into Van Zyl’s jaw, knocking him clean off his feet and tumbling out the back of the Silverado.

  He flipped over and over on his way down to the bottom of the ravine, but moved out of Hawke’s sight when the truck began its next swing. The Englishman knew he had only one play – he had to get into the cab of the Kaman and end this before they decided to release the truck. He only had to look at Lea’s terrified face to know there was no alternative.

  He climbed up the load chain once again, his hands slipping on the grease as he went, desperately trying to cling on as the chain swung back and forth. He heard Luk’s roar of laughter once again and presumed he thought he was dead. Good. The element of surprise was his only ally in a situation like this, and he couldn’t let these men get away.

  At the top of the chain now, he had to let go with one hand so he could grab hold of the Kaman’s starboard skid. It was a risky move even without the violent pendulum effect, but he had no choice. The rushing wind whipped his hair as he grabbed hold of it and then brought his other hand up to solidify his grasp on the chopper. His legs hung out below him, bashed about in the downdraft but at least they were away from the swinging pendulum effect. Looking below he now saw the true terror the Silverado had been put through as it swung back and forth beneath the chopper.

  He pulled himself up on the skid but Luk leaned out and caught him in the act.

  “I don’t think so, Mr Hawke,” he said.

  Hawke wondered what new hell was winging its way toward him but found out soon enough when the certified nutcase from Hong Kong swung his legs out and, grasping hold of his seatbelt, began smashing his boots down on his fingers.

  The pain was agonizing and keeping hold of the skid was all but impossible as his instinct drove him to let go of it. He swung back and down, now holding on with only one hand. Knowing what was coming next he swung his hand back up in preparation for when Luk smashed his other hand and just managed to switch grips before falling from the skid.

  Luk frowned but had an answ
er in the bank. Gripping hold of the belt for his life, his old enemy from Kowloon brought both boots up at the same time and smashed them own on both of Hawke’s hands, and this time he had no chance but to let go. He fell away from the chopper but the truck wasn’t there – it was at the endpoint of its arc and all Hawke saw beneath him was the same rocky ravine that had claimed Van Zyl’s life. The chopper had moved over higher ground now and the drop was down to less than one hundred feet but he still didn’t fancy his chances.

  He reached out and grabbed the load chain, now at forty-five degrees as it began to pull the beleaguered Silverado and its desperate passengers back into yet another violent, wild swing the other way. Hawke pulled himself along the chain and waited until the truck was beneath him before jumping back down onto the flatbed.

  “Well,” he said to himself. “That went well.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Hawke, Lea and Khatibi watched in horror as Korać turned hard to port and piloted the Kaman out over the cliff edge. They all knew what was coming next, and then the Serbian commander went ahead and released the four-hook carousel gripping the roof of the Silverado.

  The heavy pickup dropped away from the K-MAX and plummeted toward the mountain slope beneath them. Still outside on the flatbed, Hawke knew he had only one chance to stay alive and made his way through the buffeting crosswind toward the cab.

  Lea was there to meet him, and hurriedly moved away from the door so he could climb inside.

  “Room for one more?” he said, and clambered in on top of her. He righted himself behind the steering wheel and put on his seatbelt.

  “Are you kidding?” Lea said.

  “I think he’s not kidding,” said Khatibi.

  “Belts on please, ladies and gentlemen,” Hawke said, mimicking the voice of a seasoned airline pilot. “We will shortly be touching down in Morocco and I’m sorry to say we may experience a little turbulence.”

  He leaned forward in his seat just in time to see the K-MAX disappearing off to the west but there was no time to worry about the enemy now. The boulders and scree of the Rif Mountains were rushing up to meet them and they would be making contact in five… four…

  Three… two…

  One! The Silverado smashed into the rocky mountain and immediately bounced back up another ten feet into the air while simultaneously moving forward down the slope. It smashed back down a second time and this time stayed down. The engine revved wildly and Hawke struggled to keep the steering wheel under control as the pickup raced down the thirty degree slope toward the ravine.

  “Don’t worry,” he yelled at Lea and Khatibi. “This isn’t my first time.”

  Lea and the Moroccan exchanged uncertain glances as the Englishman wrestled to heave the wheel to avoid smashing into a large boulder and the cab filled with the smell of burning brake pads.

  He pumped the brakes in bursts but the pads were long gone. Passing one hundred miles per hour, he dropped into third gear but even engine braking was beyond this situation and the Silverado continued to tear down the desert slope toward the ravine.

  Hawke’s mind raced and he considered trying to steer out of it, but he knew turning wasn’t an option. To turn the car at this speed meant an instant roll and then the next time the vehicle would be stationary was when it was on fire at the bottom of the ravine.

  Not an option.

  Lea gripped the dashboard. “Ravine racing towards us, Joe!”

  The roar of the engine and the sound of gravel and scree spraying up the sides of the pickup added to the sense of chaos and lack of control as he continued to pump the brakes and change down again into second. The 4.3 litre V6 responded with a wild growl of anger and the revs shot up into the red, but this time the engine braking slowed the doomed Silverado to forty miles per hour.

  “We’re almost over the sodding edge of the cliff, Joe!”

  But this time Hawke made no reply. The situation was getting grimmer by the second. He glanced over his shoulder at the back seat. “Grab those magazines!”

  “What the fuck?” Lea said. “This is hardly the time!”

  “Get them, tear them apart and stuff them down your jacket sleeves and jeans, right now! You too Professor!”

  Lea’s eyes widened. “Ah – gotcha!”

  When they had done as he’d asked, he did the same while Lea took the wheel. Then he changed the Silverado down into first and this time the engine screeched like it was going to explode.

  He jammed his foot down on the brakes hard one last time and between that and the first gear engine braking he reduced the pickup’s speed to twenty miles per hour. Not too shabby under the circumstances, he thought.

  “All right ladies and gents – time to depart the stricken vessel!”

  He opened his door and kept it in place with his leg as he manoeuvred to leave the speeding Silverado.

  Khatibi peered outside the truck. “You cannot be serious?”

  “It’s this or you go over the ravine,” Hawke said flatly. “The magazine you just stuffed down your pants should help cushion some of the impact. Do not stretch your arms or legs out to defend yourself. Your instinct will tell you to do this, but I’m telling you not to because if you do you’ll break every bone in your arms and legs. In other words, listen to me and not your instinct.”

  “This is not very reassuring.”

  “Where’s your spirit of adventure?” Hawke said as Lea climbed over his lap toward the door. “Hello…” he said. “What’s all this then?”

  She kissed him on the lips. “Not now you mad bastard.”

  He laughed as she leaped from the car and disappeared behind in a blur of dusty twists and tumbles.

  “Think of it as something to tell the grandchildren, Professor.”

  Khatibi looked like he was going to be sick, but one look at the rapidly approaching ravine helped the decision-making process and he reluctantly opened his door and turned to leave.

  But stayed put.

  So Hawke leaned over and gave him a friendly nudge, pushing him out of the cab and leaving himself the sole passenger on RMS Silverado. The ravine was now less than a hundred yards ahead and they’d be over the edge in seconds. He got as close to the ground as possible, bringing his hands up under his chin and tucking his elbows in tight to his sides.

  And then he leaped from the pickup.

  He smashed into the ground hard, and immediately began tumbling wildly as the Silverado raced away in a cloud of diesel fumes. Seconds later it vanished over the edge of the ravine and was gone.

  But Hawke was still tumbling over and over. Every rock felt like it was tearing a hole in him as he skidded and smashed over them, slowly coming to a halt in a haze of scree dust and blazing Moroccan sunshine.

  Pulling himself onto all-fours, he started to pull the magazine padding out of his jacket and coughed up some of the dust. Aware of a shadow he looked up to see the silhouette of Lea Donovan standing between him and the sun.

  “Thanks to your brilliant plan,” she said quietly. “We now have to walk about a million miles to get back to the others.”

  “I’m fine thanks,” he said.

  “Stop being such a big baby,” she said. “And aren’t you glad I came up with that magazine idea?”

  He rubbed the dust out of his eyes and staggered to his feet.

  “Where’s the professor?”

  “Just over there. I think he tore his jacket.”

  “You think he tore his jacket?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “He can fix it on the sodding boat then, can’t he?”

  *

  The flight to Rabat on the Eurocopter took longer than any of them could bare, but things were still moving fast because thanks to the coordinates from the Temple of Hercules and a 4G wifi connection, Ryan and Khatibi were able to determine the exact location of Atlantis. They all felt they had a chance finally to overtake Kruger.

  They touched down in the commuter town of Salé to the north of the built-up c
ity and after hiring an SUV they raced into Mellah on their way to the Marina Bouregreg.

  “All looks pretty tame to me,” Scarlet said with a sneer as she looked around her new surroundings.

  “Tame?” Ryan asked. “This city’s past is even longer and dodgier than yours.”

  “Oh, now that’s very funny,” she said, glancing at his grinning face.

  Ryan winked at her. “Just saying. This place is where the Barbary corsairs used to come into port to restock.”

  Lea sighed and pulled her sunglasses down from her forehead and over her eyes. “Ryan, say pirates if you mean pirates.”

  “You’re lucky he didn’t say buccaneers,” Scarlet added with a laugh.

  “If you’ve quite finished,” Ryan continued, “I’m simply making the point it’s not tame, even if it wasn't always the capital.”

  “How’s that then?”

  “A French general switched it from Fez to Rabat after the invasion in 1912.”

  “Please don’t say that word,” Scarlet said.

  Khatibi looked at her. “What word?”

  “Sober,” Lexi said. “Scarlet has a fear of the word sober.”

  Lea rolled her eyes and turned to watch the city flash past as they headed west through the Quartier Bettana and closed in on their destination. If she asked him, she knew Ryan would be able to tell her about the French colonial architecture, or the influence of Moorish culture, but she just didn’t want to hear it. The truth was she was starting to feel lost. She was rarely on the same continent long enough to see two sunrises in row, and it she felt like it was beginning to get to her.

  And yet she was still running. Still running toward the truth of what had happened to her father, still running hand in hand with Joe Hawke… but was she running towards something or away from something? However she felt about it all, ECHO was her only family. There was her brother Finn, working for the police in Dublin, but they hadn’t spoken in years, so if she had any family at all, then it was the people around her now, and those back on Elysium.