Atlantis Stolen (Sam Reilly Book 3)

by Christopher Cartwright

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.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sam looked up ahead.

  There was no way the Hummer was going to go any further. Behind them, the bulldozer had raised its digger menacingly.

  “End of the ride kids,” Tom said.

  They both quickly got out and tried to make their way further down the laneway. The bulldozer drove over the top of their Hummer, squashing it like an aluminum can.

  Sam looked at his Glock. It felt highly inadequate against their attacker.

  The driver of the bulldozer stopped momentarily to lower the digger so it scraped along the ground and the walls of the buildings. Sam looked around. There were no doors or windows that might provide an escape route. If they waited where they were, they’d be dead in a matter of seconds.

  Sam took careful aim at the man high up in the driver’s seat – and fired.

  The first shot went wide by several inches.

  He carefully aimed and fired again. This time it was a dead on target, but the bulldozer’s windscreen had been designed to protect the driver from high velocity projectiles likely to be thrown up during road construction. The bullet sent a ripple like cracked ice through the windscreen, but never came close to hitting the driver.

  Sam fired another three shots.

  Finding himself out of ammo, he dropped his clip and loaded another, emptying it to the driver’s windscreen.

  But the driver continued.

  High above them in the church tower Sam recognized Vincent with a sniper riffle. For a moment he expected to be the next one shot dead.

  The sound of another loud report echoed through the narrow lane. Sam looked toward Tom, expecting to find him killed. Instead, the driver slumped forward. The bulldozer then turned slightly to the right, and imbedded itself into the brick wall.

  Vincent quickly slid down a rope and approached them. “I believe that’s all of
them. You should be free to catch your flight.”

  Tom looked at Sam. “I guess that’s how he manages to hold his position as the head of the crime syndicate.”

  Sam smiled and in perfect French said, “Thank you. We owe you one.”

  “No you don’t. You paid 10 million on the black market for an archeological device. We may be criminals, but we don’t like other people stealing from our clients. After all, if word gets around that we’re running a corrupt shop here, people won’t want to do business with us anymore.”

  “Thank you.” Sam smiled at the crook. “If it’s all the same. I’ll have someone wire you anther million dollars in Bitcoins as a bonus.”

  “Keep it,” Vincent replied.

  “There’s going to be trouble here. A lot of people died. It’s going to be on the news everywhere. Someone’s going to want answers,” Sam said.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about me. I have deep pockets, and almost everyone from the ground up in this town owes me something. You go. I’ll fix it.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Sam said, offering his hand.

  Vincent took it and replied, “Oh, and another thing. You might want to know that we had strong interest from another buyer recently. He’d even offered to outbid you earlier today, but I told him it was already sold. Said he could double the pay if I got it back for him. Probably why some of my men worked with whoever these mercenaries are to steal it from you. Either way, the man seemed pretty determined. You might be in trouble. I’d hate for you to have another close call with an accident.”

  “Thanks for the heads up. Did you happen to get his name?”

  “Yes. Andrew Brandt.”

  Sam had never heard of the man before, but the surname was too much of a coincidence to ignore. “Okay, thanks. I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Andrew Brandt accepted his secure message.

  “Did you get it?”

  “No. They got to it first.”

  “What about Jason? I thought he had a plan? After all, we paid him a big enough advance that he should have got the job done!”

  “Jason’s dead.”

  Andrew wanted to punch something. “He’s lucky. I don’t take well to failures. Especially two in the one day.”

  “What do you want me to do, boss?”

  “Stay with the good Dr. Swan, and see where they get to. If you find out anything more let me know.”

  “Very good, Mr. Brandt. And where are you going to be?”

  “I’m heading to Nepal, to fix up your fuckup.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Five Treasures of Snow – Nepal.

  Three Weeks Remaining

  The town of Lukla came into view as the Dornier Do 228 banked to the right and commenced its final approach into Tenzing-Hillary airport, Nepal. High above the steep-sided Dudh Khosi valley, snow-covered mountains appeared to surround the aircraft. The highest among them, Mount Everest, stood proud to the left of their horizon.

  The twin-turboprop STOL, which stood for short takeoff and landing, had been specifically modified as one of four commercial aircraft currently in service capable of transporting climbers to the closest airport to Mount Everest base camp. Ahead of them, a single runway of just 1729 feet sloped in a not-so-gradual upwards direction, terminating in a near vertical rock wall dwarfed by a mountain, which made the prospect of a successful go around due to a short final impossible.

  Sam Reilly nudged Tom, who snored loudly.

  Despite being six foot four, Tom Bower had somehow managed to stretch his strong, lanky body out over the pile of climbing bags stowed in front of him, and remained sound asleep.

  “Get up Tom, you’re about to miss it!”

  Tom purposely rolled to his right, away from Sam, and replied, “Miss what?”

  “We’re coming into land at Tenzing-Hillary airport!”

  “That’s great, buddy,” he replied, and then pulled his climbing hood over his head and returned to his deep sleep.

  “Don’t you want to watch the landing? This was once voted the most dangerous airport in the world!”

  “I flew into here years ago when I did some high altitude training with the Corps.” Tom’s voice sounded almost bored. “It’s perfectly safe, so long as the pilots don’t screw it up.”

  The plane jolted with the constant buffeting as they descended closer toward the town of Lukla. There were only two runways. Runway 06 for landings, and its reciprocal, 24, for takeoffs. One way in and one out. Sam watched with a mixture of respect and awe, as the two Nepalese pilots worked fastidiously in the cockpit to bring them safely toward the runway. This meant that, despite the strong crosswind, the pilots had no other option than to land the plane.

  They brought the nose down at the last minute, and braked hard.

  The aircraft came to a rolling stop with no more than 60 feet remaining before reaching the rock ending of the runway. The pilot then turned the plane to the small square of tarmac, where he came to a complete stop.

  Sam nudged Tom again. “You missed it! Impressive landing. Nicely done.”

  Tom rolled over. “We’re here are we? Damn. I just got back to sleep!”

  Sam grabbed his climbing bag and two duffle bags’ worth of equipment. They weren’t travelling light, but they would have more than enough help to carry it all. At the bottom of the plane’s airsteps, a man in a pilot’s uniform stood holding a banner with the words, “Welcome Reilly Party.” The man had blond hair, pale white skin and blue eyes, making his appearance distinctly different than the local Nepalese pilots, or Sherpas.

  “Hello. Mr. Reilly?”

  “Please, call me Sam.” He offered his hand. “This is my friend, Tom.”

  “Welcome to Nepal.” The man smiled warmly and accepted Sam’s handshake. “My name is Dmitry Grekov.”

  “You’re Russian?” Sam noted, out of interest.

  “Yes. Does that surprise you?”

  “I thought Nepal was a little more parochial with those who they employ high up in the mountains?”

  Dmitry picked up their duffle bags and began walking toward the chartered helicopter. “Yes, they like to support the employment of the local people first. But since the Eurocopter AS350 B3 came into operation, all that changed.”

  “Really, how so?” Sam asked.

  “The B3 is capable of operating above 23,000 feet, raising the mountain rescue ceiling to new heights. With good cellular reception now being maintained throughout the mountains, the opportunity of high altitude rescue has become a reality. Both search-and-rescue and commercialization in the region are taking another large, if lurching, step forward. B3s have been a fixture for decades in other mountain destinations, especially the Alps, where they have saved hundreds of lives. But in Nepal, B3s had until recently seen limited use. Consequently, they were short on high altitude pilots. And so I came here. I have been here nearly three years now, and I like it.”

  “And you have plenty of experience flying at high altitude?” Sam asked.

  “More than anyone else.” Dmitri smiled graciously. “That is, more than any other alpine pilot still alive. I have clocked more than 10 000 hours of high altitude flying. Nearly 3,000 of that is above 20,000 feet.”

  “That’s impressive,” Sam agreed. “Good, because where we’re going we may need every bit of that experience.”

  “And where would you like to go?” Dmitri raised his right eyebrow, out of curiosity more than apprehension. He hadn’t come to the Himalayas to be careful.

  “I’m not sure yet. But for now, I need to have a good vantage point to view the Five Treasures of Snow.”

  Tom appeared to lose interest in the story as he became distracted by an airplane taking off. A DHC-6 Twin Otter was picking up speed on the tiny runway. On its side, in large lettering were the words: Yeti Airlines. “Christ, almighty! Sam did you know that we landed on that runway?”

  “I might have mentioned something about that Tom.”

&nb
sp; “And here is your chartered helicopter,” Dmitri said. “As requested, I kept your climbing party small. You both said you were capable of carrying your own equipment while you climb?”

  “Yes.”

  There were two small mountain men standing by the side of the Eurocopter. Both appeared much older than Sam had expected for climbing guides. The younger one appeared maybe forty, while the older one was at least sixty.

  “Sam. Tom. May I introduce your guides, Lakpa and Pemba? Two of the most capable climbers in all the Himalayas. Legend has it their family have been living in these mountains for thousands of years.”

  Sam and Tom both shook their hands.

  “Do you speak English?” Sam asked.

  “I do, but my father does not,” Lakpa replied.

  Sam examined the two men. There was nothing special about them. They wore expensive western climbing clothes, and appeared smaller than he’d expect for people who were capable of climbing to great heights while carrying huge weights. One appeared too old for climbing – at least sixty. The other, too young. For a moment, he wondered if he was being duped. He’d paid top money for his guides, and he’d been explicit that he wanted the very best. For where he was going, they would earn every penny.

  He shook the worry from his mind. It didn’t matter. They would be better than either he or Tom, and what they really needed wasn’t an expert climber, they needed a guide to help them interpret the directions of the Arcane Stone.

  Dmitri looked at him, a curious expression on his face. “Tell me, Sam. Where would you like to go?”

  “Do you know where Tiger Hill is?”

  “Deerjing? Of course. It’s said to have the most exquisite view of the Five Treasures of Snow of anywhere in the Himalayas.”

  “Good. Take us there.”

  “It’s in Sikkim, though.” Dmitri looked up from walking around the helicopter and performing his preflight checks. “I can arrange the… ah… visas, but it will cost more money.”

  “We’ll pay.”

  “Then climb aboard. We’re off to see the Five Treasures of Snow in all their majestic beauty.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three