Atlantis Stolen (Sam Reilly Book 3)

by Christopher Cartwright

  The Arcane Stone

  Confused, he recalled that the Arcane Stone had been lost for centuries.

  He watched the two men quickly examine the stone. Then, after a quick exchange of words that he couldn’t quite make out, the taller of the two placed the artifact in his pocket and stood up.

  Andrew looked to the entrance at the other end of the building. There were at least ten security guards.

  All armed.

  Surely they wouldn’t be so stupid as to try to steal the damn thing?

  His eyes returned to the room they had been sitting in. They were both gone. Andrew quickly ran to the main entrance of the artifact room.

  There he was met by the same lady who’d retrieved the artifact for the two men.

  “Where did they go?” he asked, urgently.

  “Where did who go?”

  “Sam Reilly and Tom Bower. They were examining the Arcane Stone.”

  “I’ve never heard of those gentlemen.” She smiled helpfully and said, “But there is a Mr. Duchamp and his associate, from the British Museum, who are examining the artifact.”

  She turned her head to point them out, but they were no longer able to be seen.

  “I’m sorry. They appear to have left.”

  Andrew turned around, scanning the area, and then said, “And they took the Arcane Stone with them. Call security. Place the archives into emergency lockdown.”

  “Who are you to give me orders?”

  Andrew showed the lady his ID card. She stepped back in visible fear.

  “Yes, of course, Mr. Brandt.”

  Chapter Nine

  Sam Reilly followed Tom, who walked confidently out the front door of the artifact storage room. Neither of them ran but to a casual observer appeared focused and moving toward a purpose. No one would have expected them to have committed a great theft.

  He took note of the man in the dark suit with a blue tie. Sam thought he looked out of place reading the history of the development of Amsterdam’s waterways. Even at a glance, Sam thought the man appeared to be more suited to a boardroom as an executive than an archeologist. Then he saw the distinct bulge on the side of his coat.

  The man was packing a weapon of some sort.

  Judging by the shape it made, Sam was pretty confident it had a silencer attached to its barrel. And that meant he wasn’t part of the good guys’ team. He certainly didn’t look like any of the security personnel he’d taken note of when they entered the building.

  Sam looked at Tom’s face. One glance, and Sam knew they shared the same evaluation of the man. The two quickly moved behind the next row of shelves. Without saying a word, they began following the miles of bookshelves deeper into the heart of the National Archives Center.

  And then the alarm sounded.

  “Well Tom, that was unexpected,” Sam said calmly. “Do you think you might let me know next time before you steal an ancient relic?”

  Tom looked guilty. “Sorry, I figured we don’t have time to play by the rules. It was meant to have been made of copper or something. Can’t be too valuable. I didn’t expect them to have someone guarding it.”

  “Well, it’s done now.” Sam picked up his phone and rang a secure number.

  “Who’re you trying to call at a time like this?”

  “Elise. And I’m trying to get us out of here.”

  Elise was a computer whiz Sam had met years ago during his specialized training as a Ghost Agent for the U.S. Military. He never saw her in person, only through computer challenges and games of riddles designed to test how each of them responded had they become friends. From what he’d heard, Elise had an IQ of 162 – that was two points higher than Einstein, and she’d been recruited by the CIA when she was still a teenager.

  Elise had discovered something that she didn’t agree with while working for the agency and a few years later, simply disappeared. Sam worried that her malcontent had gotten her killed, but last year she started sending him encrypted messages that only he and four other people on the planet could possibly decipher. Since then, Elise had been working intermittently on a variety of projects for Sam.

  Sam took the lead and started running down a set of stairs, which led deeper into the archives storage, where millions of boxes covered more than ten miles of basement.

  “Where the hell are you headed? We’re only burying ourselves deeper by going that way.”

  Sam ignored the question and kept running.

  “Sam, what do you need?” It was Elise, his computer whiz, who answered. Her voice was curt, as though she’d been expecting his call.

  In front of them, a solid glass door was locked. Tom kicked at it several times without making so much as a scratch.

  “You know how we discussed plan A and plan B for getting the Arcane Stone?” Sam said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, Tom decided he’d elect for plan B. Now we’ve got about twenty security guards, and some sort of spook I’ve never seen before, after us. We’ve just reached the basement, and the first door is locked.”

  “Ah, boys. You sure will get yourselves into trouble.”

  Above, someone started shooting at them. He guessed it must have been the man with the silencer, because he couldn’t hear the sound of the shots being fired. Only the sight of bullet holes ahead let him know. They were off by several feet. More warning shots, he guessed.

  “Not to rush you Elise, but we’re a little short of time. Can you open the basement door or not?”

  “Hang on. I’m just getting you on their CCT. Ah, there you are. Tell Tom he looks guilty as hell.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s because he is. Not that it’s gonna matter much if you don’t get us out of….”

  And then the glass doors clicked open.

  They both ran towards the end of the corridor, where the next door opened automatically for them, and then the next one.

  “I’m just going to superimpose fictional characters over your bodies, so that the investigators don’t get an accurate image of you two. You’re now Santa Claus, and I’m afraid Tom’s one of the reindeer… you know that one with the bright red nose, or something…”

  “Rudolf?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Sam stopped. Dead in his tracks. The last door remained firmly locked.

  “Elise, I’m going to need the last door opened.”

  “Are you sure? That’s a pressurized room – they’re not going to be very happy if you destroy their sterile atmosphere.”

  “And I feel terrible about it, really I do… but if you don’t open it, I’ll be asking you to break us out of prison, or more likely, find us a nice place to be buried!”

  The door opened.

  And the two men walked into the sterile room.

  Sam looked around, pulling covers off drawers, searching for something.

  “Stop where you are! You have no way out, and we’re armed.” It was the stern voices of the security guards.

  The security door closed once more.

  A couple of the guards kicked at it aimlessly before accepting that it was locked and had been designed to offer protection against force.

  Sam looked behind and saw that the man in the dark suit with the blue tie was ordering them about. He stared at the man for a second. There was something sinister about his grey and intense eyes.

  Who are you?

  Confident that the door was sealed for the time being, while Elise had control of their computer system at least, Sam turned to ignore them and kept pulling expensive drawers out of the desks around the sterile room.

  “What are you looking for Sam?” Tom asked.

  “A way out, anywhere.”

  “Um… those are just drawers. What are you expecting to find?”

  “This,” Sam said revealing an opening.

  Sam turned to look at the man who had been following him since he arrived at the National Archives Center.

  And then stepped into the garbage chute.

  Ch
apter Ten

  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.

  Chapter Eleven

  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?”

  Chapter Twelve

  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 h
ad 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.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  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.”