The Atlantis Code

by Charles Brokaw

  The library shelves were piled high with books. The saddest realization he’d ever come to was knowing that he’d never be able to read them all.

  At least, not in this life.

  He still had hopes for the next.

  The trick, then, had become to read the best ones. He’d started out reading some of those the other society members had recommended. There were so many secrets to choose from, so many things the Church struggled to keep secret from the rest of the world.

  And the Society of Quirinus wanted to keep them secret from everyone.

  In the end, though, Atlantis had called out to Murani. That, in his own estimation, was the biggest secret God and a few men had ever kept from the rest of the world.

  When he’d first been told of the Secret Texts and the story that went with them—of the Garden of Eden and what had truly transpired there—he hadn’t accepted it. Then, when he had, he’d wanted to know for sure that everything happened exactly as he’d been told.

  He stared at the page that showed the five instruments.

  The bell.

  The flute The cymbal.

  The drum.

  The pipe.

  They were the five instruments that could unlock the secrets waiting within Atlantis. Exactly how they were supposed to do that he still wasn’t certain.

  But he had two of the instruments. The Society of Quirinus didn’t know that.

  Murani smiled there in the quiet darkness of the library. If they had known he possessed them, they would have been frightened.

  All that power, the power to remake the world, and it was nearly at Murani’s fingertips. He traced the images on the page.

  As part of the restricted collection the book was never allowed to leave the library. So he’d had to hide it in plain sight. The library caretakers were dogged about no books leaving the library, but weren’t fastidious in keeping everything in order.

  There was simply too much to keep proper track of if those who borrowed the books weren’t exemplary in their upkeep of the system as well.

  So the book had remained Murani’s secret for four long years while he had searched for the instruments. Then the bell had shown up in Alexandria.

  When that had happened, Murani took it as a sign. Afterwards, when the cymbal had come to light in Russia, he began to feel more hopeful.

  “Cardinal.”

  Unaware that anyone else was nearby, Murani looked up.

  The old librarian was stooped with age. His gray whiskers stuck out in all directions. He walked with a cane.

  “Good evening, Beppe,” Murani said politely, then hoped that the old man would simply go away.

  “Good morning is more like it,” Beppe replied.

  “Then good morning.”

  “What happened to your face?” Beppe touched his own.

  Murani wasn’t surprised that Beppe hadn’t heard the story of the carjacking that had claimed Antonio Fenoglio’s life. The older librarians and caretakers rarely went anywhere outside the areas they supervised.

  “I was in an automobile accident,” Murani answered. His face was still livid with purple and green bruises that were only now starting to yellow with age.

  “That’s why I never ride in those things,” Beppe said. “I’ll leave you to your reading. I’ve got a lot of things to do. Books that need mending and tending.” He shuffled off.

  Murani returned to the wonder and the promise of the book. Sure everything would be revealed soon. Then he could set out on the mission God had chosen him to undertake.

  CAVE #41

  ATLANTIS DIG SITE

  CÁDIZ,

  SPAINSEPTEMBER 4, 2009

  “Father Sebastian.” Ignazio D’Azeglio, the night foreman on the dig, stepped forward and greeted the priest. He was a well-built man in his forties who was going gray at the temples and in his goatee. He had dark, swarthy Mediterranean skin, laugh lines, a broad nose, and honest eyes. “I hope you can forgive me for sending for you.”

  “Matteo tells me you think you’re about to break through into another chamber,” Sebastian said.

  D’Azeglio nodded and handed Sebastian a yellow hard hat. “We are. I’ve sent for Dario as well.”

  Dario Brancati was the construction head of the excavation team. He’d worked on archeological digs in the Middle East and in Europe.

  D’Azeglio grinned. “He hasn’t yet arrived. I don’t think he’s as easy to wake as you are, Father.”

  “Dario works much harder than I do.”

  “No one works harder than you.” D’Azeglio shook his head. “I think you’ve spent more time in a hard hat than anyone here.”

  “Only because I’m not governed by the work guidelines your people are.”

  “Come over here and let me show you what awaits us.” D’Azeglio led the way toward the wall where the team worked with drills and small loaders to shovel rock and debris out of the way.

  Several dump trucks, bulldozers, and backhoes stood ready. All the earth that had been removed from the caves had been trucked out and used to build the bulwarks that kept the sea out.

  The cavern was almost two hundred yards across and sixty or seventy yards high. Most of it lay in darkness. The farther they went into the interior, the harder it became to power all the lights. Until they could maintain proper ventilation, no one wanted to risk any more carbon monoxide buildup than there already was.

  The catacombs had demonstrated the same circular compartmentalization that Plato had written about when describing the lost city. Sebastian didn’t know if it was a design to give the catacombs a certain appearance or if it had been done to stabilize the underground.

  He also wasn’t certain if the underground had been constructed first or if the city had. But the city had been smashed almost beyond all recognition. Perhaps they’d find records down here, where so much more was still preserved.

  D’Azeglio walked over to an area lit by floodlights and pointed. “We think another large chamber is behind that wall.”

  Sebastian nodded. He’d already been briefed, but D’Azeglio didn’t know that.

  The construction foreman took Sebastian back to the van where all their computer equipment was stored. Sebastian knew from earlier talks that the excavation team was using seismic reflection. They’d originally tried using ground-penetrating radar but had rapidly discovered the rock was more dense than the machine could handle, and that the caverns they were searching through were too large.

  The seismic reflection required the use of dynamite or an air gun to set off shock waves that could be mapped by the sensitive equipment. Once those shock waves were set off, they were tracked and a picture was built by the computer program.

  D’Azeglio showed Sebastian the images they’d captured during earlier testing. Even though Sebastian knew the principle, he still struggled with seeing what was revealed.

  “The cavern behind this one is huge,” D’Azeglio said.

  “Maybe the biggest one we’ve found so far,” another man said.

  Sebastian turned and found Dario Brancati standing behind the van. Brancati was a big man a couple years older than Sebastian. His beard had turned solid gray, and his bushy eyebrows almost surrounded his deep-set eyes. He was a friendly man, but he ran a tight ship.

  “Sorry to wake you up, boss,” D’Azeglio apologized. “But I knew you’d want to be here for this.”

  “I do. I knew you guys would be hitting this about now. I sacked out once I left.” Brancati surveyed the wall. “We all set up?”

  “Yes. Charges are all in place. We’re just waiting to get a green light.”

  “You’ve got it,” Brancati said. “Let’s get it done.”

  RADISSON SAS HOTEL LEIPZIG

  LEIPZIG, GERMANY

  SEPTEMBER 4, 2009

  Lourds, dressed in a T-shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes, knocked on Natasha’s door. He felt awkward, but the phone call from Donna Bergstrom had left him feeling upset beyond bearing. He didn’t believe for
a moment that the home invasion had just been a random act. As he waited, he adjusted the backpack over his shoulder.

  “What do you want?” Natasha demanded from inside.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Why aren’t you still talking to that bottle-blond airhead in your room?”

  That surprised Lourds. Natasha had seen that?

  “I didn’t think at your age you would still be alive after she got her claws in you,” Natasha declared.

  An older man passing by in the hallway looked at Lourds with disdain.

  Lourds felt the need to defend himself, but he knew that was insane. He didn’t know the man and he hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “Maybe we could not talk about this out here,” Lourds suggested.

  “We’re not going to talk about it in my room.”

  Lourds couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Natasha seemed so angry. He hadn’t gone after Leslie. True, he hadn’t turned her away either. But they were two consenting adults looking for a little downtime. There was nothing more to it. He was certain Leslie felt the same way.

  Then again, they hadn’t talked about it, and Lourds wasn’t exactly a mind reader. He’d gotten involved with women before who hadn’t understood the ground rules. His passion would always be his work. He wasn’t going to be bereft of female companionship, but he wasn’t going to let it change his life either. He’d gotten the impression that Leslie was a kindred spirit in that regard.

  “Leave that be for now. Something more important has come up. Someone broke into my house,” Lourds said. “A friend of mine got shot when he checked it out and is now in the hospital. He almost died.”

  For a moment he didn’t think Natasha was going to answer the door even after he told her that. Then, just as he was about to walk away, the door opened.

  “Come in.” Natasha stepped back from the door dressed only in a too-big T-shirt that clung to her high breasts and ended well above midthigh.

  Lourds knew he shouldn’t have noticed. He tried not to, in fact. There were times he could go whole days at a time without noticing such things. At least, without letting them have an effect on him.

  The problem was that once his libido was aroused it remained rampant till it had burned itself out. That could take a while. His blood was definitely still running hot now.

  Lourds entered the room and closed the door behind him. Light from the television monitor created a bubble of gray-blue illumination in the center of the room. Evidently he hadn’t caught Natasha sleeping.

  “Having trouble getting some shut-eye?” Lourds asked in Russian.

  Natasha stood with her arms folded over her breasts. “You have a story. Let’s hear it.” She spoke in English.

  “My house,” Lourds repeated. “Broken into.”

  “So?”

  Lourds ignored her, even as he wondered why she was in such a mood. He opened his backpack and took out his computer. After placing the computer on the desk, he opened it and booted it up.

  “I’ve got a program on my computer that allows me to access the security camera system in my house no matter where I am,” Lourds said.

  “So you’re going to show me your house?”

  “I’m going to show you what bothers me about the break-in.” Lourds brought the program up. A series of windows spread across the screen as the cameras came online. “This feature also allows me to go back twenty-four hours. Anything more than that and I have to access the security provider.”

  “You have a picture of who broke into your house?” Natasha seemed a bit more interested.

  “Yes.” Lourds tapped keys. “Granted, it’s possible that my house could have been broken into at random. I’ve been gone for about three weeks or so. But it seemed awfully coincidental.”

  “Maybe you’re only being paranoid.”

  “With everything that’s happened, I’d think that’s the only way to be.” Lourds backed the digital film to the point where he was watching one figure in orange coveralls in his den while the other raided his entertainment equipment from the bedroom.

  “She’s backing up your hard drive to the external one she brought,” Natasha said.

  “Yes.” Lourds was uncomfortably aware of how the T-shirt material stretched across Natasha’s breasts when she bent closer. She also, he discovered, smelled nice. He had to clear his voice to speak. “Doesn’t seem like something your typical burglar would do.”

  “Do you keep anything important on your computer?”

  “Notes. Projects I’m working on.”

  “Important projects?”

  “I work on the same kind of thing Yuliya did. None of it’s going to make me wealthy or be worth much to anyone else.”

  “No. What about credit cards and financial matters? Are those on your computer?”

  “No. I’m too leery of that, I’m afraid.”

  “Says the man who can look into his own bedroom from another country.”

  “I thought it was pretty cool, actually. I’d never done it before today except when my friend installed it. I wouldn’t have done it today if Marcus Bergstrom hadn’t been shot.”

  Natasha stood straight again and Lourds was sorry to miss the view.

  “They were professional. The woman took data off your computer while the man upstairs attempted to make it look like a common burglary.” Natasha took a breath. “This just means Gallardo hasn’t forgotten about us.”

  “I thought maybe Gallardo had given up after Odessa.”

  “Apparently not.” Natasha looked at the computer screen. “They’re hunting us now.”

  “Why?”

  “You tracked the cymbal back to the Yoruba people. I’m willing to wager they haven’t done that.”

  “ ‘They’?”

  “A man like Gallardo operates by a simple profit-and-loss statement. He does a crime and he immediately benefits from it.”

  Lourds nodded. “He stole the bell in Alexandria, so he must have had a buyer.”

  “We have to find out. In the meantime, you need to leave.”

  “I do?” Lourds was startled at how quickly she brushed him off.

  “Yes. I don’t want—”

  There was a knock at the door.

  Quietly, Natasha slid her hand under a pillow on the bed and brought out a pistol. Lourds started to speak but quieted at once when she put a finger to her lips. Silently, Natasha crossed to the door and peered out the peephole.

  Then she sighed in disgust. Russian women, Lourds was willing to acknowledge, were champions at sounding disgusted when they chose to.

  “This,” Natasha said as she opened the door, “is what I didn’t want.”

  The door swung open and revealed Leslie standing there fully dressed. The young woman had her arms crossed and looked just the slightest bit challenging.

  “I thought I’d come see what was taking so long,” Leslie stated. “I was wondering if maybe you’d gotten distracted.”

  For a moment Lourds thought Natasha might shoot Leslie. Though he wasn’t sure why.

  “Trust me,” Natasha said as she walked back to the bed, “when I bed a man, I’m much more than a distraction.” Without another word, she slipped the pistol back under the pillow and lay on the bed. “You people need to leave. I need to get some sleep.”

  Lourds started to do just that. He felt awkward enough as it was without getting into the middle of a catfight he didn’t quite understand. When he opened the door, though, he saw a man he recognized and quickly stepped back into the room.

  “We can’t leave,” he said.

  The women looked at him with scathing stares.

  “Patrizio Gallardo and his men just passed by in the hallway.”

  CAVE #41

  ATLANTIS DIG SITE

  CÁDIZ, SPAIN

  SEPTEMBER 4, 2009

  “Fire in the hole!”

  Crouched down behind one of the big bulldozers, Father Sebastian barely heard the warning shout of the demolit
ions crew chief rip through the cavern on the PA. The ear protectors muffled nearly all sound.

  A moment later, the explosives blew in a rapid series like popcorn popping.

  Dust and debris filled the cave. The full-face filter mask protected Sebastian’s eyes and his lungs. Tremors ran through the ground and reminded him of being on a ship’s deck. Not for the first time did he think of the sea waiting outside the bulwarks they’d built to keep the cave dry.

  He remained down until D’Azeglio slapped him on his hard hat.

  “We’re okay, Father,” the construction man said as he lifted one of the ear covers. “Everybody’s okay.”

  D’Azeglio looked like some kind of freakish insect in the filtration mask and hard hat. His voice was muffled and strained. He offered a hand up.

  “Thank God,” Sebastian said as D’Azeglio helped him to his feet. He took off the ear protectors. “These explosions always make me nervous.”

  “I’ve been around them for years, Father. When you’re under this much rock, it never gets any easier.”

  “No water,” someone called out. “No water. The next cave is dry.”

  A cheer went up. The water-filled caves they’d encountered so far had slowed them down considerably. Days were lost with all the necessary pumping.

  Excitement flared anew within Sebastian. Since he’d been a boy following around his archeologist father, he always loved the idea of seeing things that hadn’t been seen in hundreds or thousands of years.

  When he’d been pulled to the cloth, he feared those days were over. But he thanked God, in whose infinite wisdom he’d been allowed to take up not only the Bible and cross as a priest, but also the pick and shovel of an archeologist.

  It was a good life.

  High-intensity spotlights played over where the wall had been. Now it was only a jumble of rock in the opening to another cave. The opening at the top was perhaps four feet high.

  Brancati ordered the scholars to stay back while some of the more able climbers surveyed the area. Sebastian watched the four men climb up the rock and reach the pinnacle. They wore miner’s hard hats with built-in lights. They carried other lights in their hands. Brancati remained in constant contact with them by radio.