The Atlantis Code

by Charles Brokaw

  Uneasiness filtered through him when he considered the ramifications. The Church had a network that spanned the world. If anyone could search for something hundreds—even thousands—of years, the Roman Catholic Church could do that.

  “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” he said.

  “Do you?” Natasha arched a brow.

  “You’re talking about a conspiracy.”

  “I see conspiracies all the time in my job. Conspiracy to commit murder. Conspiracy to commit robbery. Conspiracy to commit fraud. Something’s being hidden here, and it’s been hidden for possibly thousands of years. Now that it’s starting to come out, don’t you think someone would want to control it?”

  What she said made perfect sense—from the logistics of knowing about the research involved—and it rocked Lourds back on his heels.

  “No one could have counted on the tsunami pushing that piece of land back to the surface in Spain,” Lourds said.

  “Maybe someone was counting on it never coming back up,” Natasha said. “When someone puts a body into the Moskva River, they don’t expect that body to show up again. But sometimes they do.”

  “You’re talking about a murder,” Lourds said. “After a century or so, everyone concerned with it will be dead.”

  “I’m talking about an event. You mentioned the sinking of Atlantis. The destruction of the Tower of Babel. Those are some pretty far-reaching events. And those are only the ones you know about right now. What if there’s more?”

  Lourds thought about it. There was more. There had to be more. If the instruments didn’t matter to someone, then why had Yuliya been killed?

  “We’ll keep looking,” he said.

  “Expect more resistance,” Natasha replied. “I’m sure that whoever is behind Gallardo didn’t intend for you to find out this much.”

  Lourds nodded, then pushed himself up. “You’re probably right.”

  “I’m certain I am. That’s why Gallardo and his men have been trying to kill us.” Natasha wrapped her arms around her knees.

  “I’d best be going.” Lourds started for the door. “Perhaps you can get a few hours of sleep before we catch the flight this afternoon.” He had his hand on the door when she called him back.

  “I’m not sleepy,” she said.

  Lourds looked at her for a moment as he wondered about the implication in her words.

  “Unless you’ll feel you’re being disloyal,” Natasha said.

  “No,” Lourds said as he stepped toward the bed. Since Leslie hadn’t come to bed with him since they were in Nigeria. And she wasn’t any too happy with him lately. He figured that was pretty much that.

  Natasha met him with open arms.

  Harsh knocking woke Lourds. He was barely awake as Natasha disengaged from him and came up with her pistol over him. The sheet slid off her and revealed her naked body.

  Then the door opened and Leslie barged through. “It’s after eleven,” she snapped. “If you don’t get up, you’re going to miss the flight.” She glared at Lourds. “You are a proper bastard, aren’t you?”

  Lourds didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

  “I could shoot her,” Natasha said in Russian. She made no move to cover herself.

  “No,” Lourds croaked as his mind spun freely and he tried to find some purchase to hang a cohesive thought.

  Without another word, Leslie strode from the room and barreled through Gary, Diop, and Adebayo. The two older men tried to hide their amusement.

  “Man,” Gary said, “that’s bloody harsh. I tried to get her not to use that extra keycard. She just wouldn’t listen after she figured out where you were.”

  “Could you close the door?” Lourds asked.

  Gary gave him a brief salute and did just that.

  Natasha heaved herself out of bed and started toward the shower.

  Lourds lay there feeling like the unwanted prize in a fierce competition. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he’d enjoyed himself, he might have felt bad about it. But he watched the suggestive roll of Natasha’s bare flanks till she caught him staring.

  She grabbed his shirt from the desk and threw it at him. “Get dressed.”

  “We could shower together,” Lourds suggested. “It would save time.”

  Natasha looked back at him and grinned. “If last night was any indication, we’d be even later.” She closed the bathroom door.

  Lourds groaned and forced himself from bed. It promised to be a long flight back to London, given the circumstances. Thankfully, he had a toehold on translating the inscriptions. If everything went right and his present luck didn’t hold, he might have it translated by the time they landed.

  CHAPTER

  21

  MURTALA MOHAMMED INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

  LAGOS, NIGERIA

  SEPTEMBER 12, 2009

  H

  ey.”

  Alerted by Gary’s voice, Leslie flicked her eyes up to his reflection in the glass. She’d been looking out at the planes on the runways. Her father’s business had often taken him out of the country. She and her mother had always taken him to Heathrow to see him off. The planes held a fascination for her. People were always coming and going.

  “What?” Leslie asked.

  Gary shrugged self-consciously. He looked like a dork standing there, iPod earbuds hanging around his neck. Then she realized how unkind she was being to him. Unfortunately, at the moment, she didn’t care. But she knew she would later, so she curbed biting observations that immediately came to mind.

  “Just wanted to make sure you were all right,” Gary said.

  “I’m fine.”

  Gary nodded. “I figured you would be.”

  “I’m a big girl,” Leslie said, and tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “It’s not like he broke my heart. We were just having sex.”

  “Yeah. I know. I’ve been there a few times myself.” Gary showed her a lopsided grin. “Funny how you start off telling yourself that it’s just a physical thing and you don’t care—”

  “I don’t care.”

  “—but you end up in a twist anyway when it ends.” Gary looked more uncomfortable. “I just wanted you to know you’re not alone.”

  “Are you feeling particularly big brotherly today?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  Leslie glared at the reflection of Lourds and Natasha in the seats by their departure gate. The professor worked on the legal pads. The Russian cow sat reading a magazine and sipping water. None of them were talking to each other.

  “Then, as my big brother, shouldn’t you go beat Lourds up for me?” Leslie asked.

  Gary frowned. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “Why not? Surely you’re not afraid of him. He’s just a university professor. A rough-and-tumble lad like yourself shouldn’t have any trouble with the likes of him.”

  “Lourds doesn’t worry me. I’m more afraid of his new girlfriend. She could kick my arse without blinking. And that’s if she didn’t kill me first.”

  “Some big brother,” Leslie muttered.

  A pained expression twisted Gary’s features. “I just wanted to let you know I was here if you needed anything.” He turned and walked away.

  Leslie sighed. You needn’t have been so harsh with him. This isn’t any of his fault. She sipped her sports drink and resumed watching planes. Later she’d apologize to Gary for being bitchy. But for the moment she needed to stay angry.

  Being angry was the only way she was going to stay selfish enough to betray Lourds’s confidence and look after her own career. She knew that was what she had to do. Besides, after finding him in Natasha’s bed this morning, she figured it was what he deserved.

  ______

  A few minutes later, the flight began boarding. Leslie watched Natasha and Lourds gather their things. Diop and Adebayo continued talking about whatever they’d been discussing all morning as they shuffled along. Gary had found a pretty young woman to
chat up.

  Steeling herself, Leslie turned and dropped the empty sports drink container into a waste receptacle. She headed for the phones over by the bathrooms.

  After she swiped the company credit card she carried, she punched in her supervisor’s phone number.

  “Wynn-Jones.”

  “Philip, it’s Leslie.”

  Wynn-Jones’s voice immediately took on a note of severe irritation. “Where the bloody hell are you?”

  At another time, Leslie might have been in fear for her job. But not today. The story she had to tell was simply too big.

  “In Nigeria,” she answered.

  Wynn-Jones cursed spectacularly. “Do you know how much this little foray is costing us?”

  “Haven’t a clue,” Leslie replied honestly. She’d given up keeping track after she’d seen bills for the first few thousands of pounds they’d spent.

  “You’ve gone far beyond anything I can cover. When you get back here, you might as well start filling out résumés. And you’re bloody lucky we’re going to fly you back home.”

  “You’ll be lucky if I don’t demand a pay raise.”

  That set off another round of curses.

  “Philip,” Leslie said as the final boarding call pealed through the public address system, “I can give you Atlantis.”

  The curses stopped.

  “Did you hear me?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Wynn-Jones sounded cautious.

  “What we’ve been following up—the bell in Alexandria, the cymbal that was found in Russia, and a drum here in Nigeria that I’ve not had time to tell you about yet—it’s all connected to Atlantis. Lourds came through. I can prove it.”

  Wynn-Jones sat silently at the other end of the connection for a time. “You’re not just desperate, are you? Or mad with some disease from over there?”

  “No.”

  “Or pissed in some bar?”

  “No. I’m in an airport. We’re heading into London.”

  “Tell me about Atlantis,” Wynn-Jones said cautiously.

  “Lourds has translated the inscriptions on the bell, cymbal, and drum,” Leslie said. She felt excited and depressed at the same time. She didn’t like betraying confidences, but it was all about self-preservation at this point. She loved her job. She didn’t love Lourds. Not at all. Not ever. . . . She could hear the bitterness echoing in her head. She turned her attention to what she wanted to say.

  “I’ve got the story of a lifetime here,” she said.

  “I didn’t mean that business about the résumés,” Wynn-Jones backtracked, almost whining in his desire to regain her confidence. “We’ll have to weather some heat, but I’m certain I can keep your job for you. The corporation likes your work.”

  Leslie smiled at that. “Good. Then you won’t mind telling them that I want a piece of this one.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I want a percentage of the final product. The television rights. The book rights. The DVD sales.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “So was proving Atlantis.” Leslie smiled now, and some of the sting at finding Lourds in bed with Natasha went away. She was about to relaunch her career in a big way. “Make it happen, Philip. I’ve got to run.”

  She hung up the phone and shouldered her carry-on as she strode toward the entry gate. She was being a real bitch and she knew it. But she excused herself. Not just for her career and personal advancement, but because being a bitch was the only way to make Lourds remember her. Men always remembered women who struck back.

  She was selfish enough to want him to remember her, too.

  THE HEMPEL

  WEST LONDON, ENGLAND

  SEPTEMBER 13, 2009

  The last of the Keepers arrived in the late evening. Lourds had offered to pick him up at the airport, but the man declined.

  When Lourds opened the door to the private suite at the Hempel Hotel Leslie had surprisingly arranged for them, he was taken off guard for a moment by the man’s appearance. He was of medium height and athletic build. His skin was dark, but his eyes were hazel. A silver headband held his long black hair from his face. He wore stonewashed jeans and a chambray work shirt under a fringed leather jacket. He might have been all of twenty-five years old.

  “Professor Lourds?” the young man inquired in a polite voice.

  “I am,” Lourds acknowledged.

  “I’m Tooantuh Blackfox. Call me Jesse.”

  Lourds shook the proffered hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jesse. Come in.”

  Blackfox stepped easily into the room. His eyes, though, roved the suite instantly and took in everything.

  “Have a seat.” Lourds gestured to the long conference table he’d had brought up to the room. Diop, Adebayo, and Vang Kao Sunglue, the other Keeper, sat at the table.

  Natasha stood near the windows. Lourds didn’t doubt that she’d already gone “shopping” for weapons to replace those she’d had to give up in Nigeria. A long jacket reached to her thighs.

  Gary and Leslie sat to one side. Lourds had forbidden any filming, but he hadn’t had the heart to ban them from the meeting. They’d come a long way together.

  Leslie had also provided a touch-pad projection computer setup that Lourds was currently using. He was familiar with the system from the university.

  Brief introductions were made. Thankfully, they already shared a common language and some history through their exchanged letters.

  Vang was an old man, more withered and ancient than Adebayo. He wore black slacks and a white shirt with black tie. He was of Hmong descent, one of the tribal people in Vietnam that the United States had recruited to fight their war against Communist North Vietnam. He’d carefully slicked back his wisps of gray hair.

  According to what he’d told Lourds, he’d been a lawyer in Saigon. But that was before it had fallen and been renamed Ho Chi Minh City. Now he lived once more out in the mountains as his people had always done. There he was a shaman. As a Keeper, he cared for the clay flute that had been handed down for thousands of years through his family.

  He had been loath to leave Vietnam with the instrument. The flute had never been risked before.

  But they were all, Lourds knew, curious about the heirlooms they’d been guarding all those years.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Lourds said as he stood at the front of the conference table, “we’ve all taken part in a remarkable journey during the last month.” He looked at Adebayo, Blackfox, and Vang. “Some of you have been embarked upon this journey for much, much longer. Let’s see if we can bring it to a close. Or at least head in that direction.”

  Lourds tapped the keyboard in front of him. Images of the inscriptions on the instruments appeared on the large screen behind him.

  “Those instruments each come with two inscriptions,” Lourds said. “You’ve told me that you can’t read either one of them. As you know from your conversations with each other, all of you have been told the story of an island kingdom where many wondrous things were. That, according to the tale, is where the five instruments come from.”

  All eyes focused steadily on him. The room was entirely quiet.

  “According to the stories you were told, God chose to strike down the island in His holy wrath,” Lourds went on. “I’m here to tell you that one of the inscriptions on each of the instruments confirms that story.”

  “You translated the inscriptions?” Blackfox asked.

  “Yes. I’ve translated what is on your instrument as well as the writings on the other instruments I’ve seen.”

  “You’ve seen the other two instruments?” Blackfox hadn’t been there for the briefing Adebayo and Vang had received.

  “Yes, and I suspect that the one on the pipe you’re in charge of will have the same inscription.”

  “It does.”

  Lourds looked at the young man. “How do you know that?”

  “Because I translated it.”

  Leslie saw the surprised look on Lourd
s’s face and smiled a little. You’re not the only brainiac in the group, are you, Professor?

  Then she caught Natasha looking reproachfully at her and dropped the smile.

  “How did you translate the inscription?” Lourds asked.

  Blackfox shrugged. “What do you know about the language of my people?”

  “The Cherokee were an advanced society,” Lourds replied. “The popular misconception is that Sequoyah invented the Cherokee syllabary.”

  Blackfox smiled. “Most people refer to it as the Cherokee alphabet.”

  “Most people,” Lourds replied, “are not linguistics professors.”

  Gary held his hand up just like he was in class. Leslie snorted quietly.

  “Yes, Gary?” Lourds said.

  “I don’t know what a syllabary is, mate.”

  Lourds leaned a hip against the conference table and folded his arms across his chest. Looking at him, Leslie felt again why she’d been attracted to him. He was smart and handsome, and his passion for his work and teaching was obvious. Stealing him away from that work was almost like cheating his mistress.

  Watching him work was a total turn-on. Except that she knew now he was a hound dog. Still, she’d been warned, and the whole physical relationship between them had been due to her manipulations, not his. It almost made her feel sorry for him when she thought about what she was going to do.

  “A syllabary is a system of symbols that denote actual spoken syllables,” Lourds said. “Instead of letters, symbols are grouped together. It’s pure phonics-driven and many words are differentiated by tone. The written syllabary doesn’t reflect the tone, but readers know what it is from the context in which it’s presented. Clear?”

  “Sure.” Gary nodded.

  “There are eighty-five symbols in the Cherokee language,” Lourds said.

  “Do you speak the language?” Blackfox asked.

  “I can when pressed to do so. Reading it is harder.”

  “They got it wrong when they thought Sequoyah invented the syllabary.”