by Cherry Adair
No thanks.
She slid the cloth-wrapped gun off the juncture of her thighs, beneath her butt and out of sight.
Callie wrapped her fingers around Dr. Eliades’s plump wrists as he came at her thigh with a large hypodermic needle.
“Help Doktōr West get comfortable, Trakas,” he said over his shoulder. The other two old men had stepped back to give him more room. Jonah was near them, putting his arms into his wet suit. Dear God, the man loved to be naked. The parts that hadn’t been covered were vibrant, tan, and delectable. But she wasn’t admiring his physique.
His side looked like hamburger meat, raw, and angry, and already bruising. He had cuts on his throat, his face, and his feet.
They both required medical attention. But this wasn’t where they were going to get it.
Trakas came to “help” her. Giving him the evil eye, and through gritted teeth, she snarled, “Stay the hell away from me.” He didn’t move, but he didn’t come any closer, either. His intensely focused black eyes remained on her face. His fixed stare made the hair on her body go on full alert.
She used the heavyset man’s wrist as a fulcrum to leverage her upper body off the table. She might feel like crap and hurt like hell, but every fight-or-flight sense shouted that these guys were not trying to help her.
Whatever they were doing, whatever they protected, was important enough to kill for. She and Jonah would not be the exception.
“If comfortable means take off more clothes, no thanks.” It wasn’t easy, but she managed to sit up and fling her legs over the side of the high bed, putting her knees between them to hold Eliades at bay. Holding on to the edge of the thin mattress with a two-handed death grip kept her from blacking out and keeling over.
The pain in her side was so intense she didn’t even feel the rest of her aches and pains.
Jonah, who’d been hastily pulling his wet suit over his nakedness, lunged across the room to grab her by her upper arms as she swayed. “Lie down. Let him help you.”
Callie gave him a pointed stare. These guys had just killed how many people? Did Jonah think they’d just allow the two of them to waltz out of here? She so didn’t think so. There was absolutely no reason to give them medical attention. Instinct and keen self-preservation told her their intention was not to let them leave at all. Which meant this whole “Eliades is a medical doctor” was bullshit.
“We don’t know what’s in that needle,” she said fiercely, sotto voce. “Keep him the hell away from me.”
She saw by the darkening of his eyes that the thought had crossed his mind as well. He gave a short nod, then helped pull her wet suit up her back and over her shoulders. He faced the old men. “I’ll get her back to Stormchaser, and have her flown to Heraklion if necessary.” He helped stuff her arms into the sleeves. With even that careful movement, pain shot a fiery bolt from her side to her brain, then spread to every atom in her body.
She breathed through it. Going face-first through a windshield had been a lot worse. She rested her sweaty forehead on Jonah’s chest for a moment, gritting her teeth as she rode it out. He cupped the back of her head, holding her there. “Tell me when you can stand,” he whispered.
Mouth dry, pain-sweat trickling down her temples, she stayed where she was. Having him holding her, solid and bullet-free, helped her to focus for a moment. She gritted her teeth, and tears stung her eyes; the pain wasn’t dissipating. “Minute.”
“So it’s you who’ve been trying to deter us? Not the Spanoses?” Buying them time so she could gather her strength, he cupped her hot cheek in his cool palm, stroking her thumb back and forth in a soothing gesture that didn’t alleviate the pain, but tugged at her heart.
“It is not us, but your actions that have caused this catastrophe. It was you who precipitated disaster by removing precious and vital pieces of the city, Doktōr.” One of the men—the quiet one, Demetriou?—said, sounding more afraid than annoyed. “They must be returned with all haste.”
“I recovered a lot of artifacts and took them on board the ship for preservation,” Callie rebutted, still leaning on Jonah but turning her cheek so she could speak more clearly. Ah, crap. Shouldn’t have moved. The room swayed. She froze before resuming speaking. “What exactly are you referring to?”
“You have in your possession three mosaic tiles. Humankind is not ready.”
The three little iridescent mosaics she had in a bowl of water beside her bed? She frowned, not opening her eyes.
“I don’t follow,” Jonah said over her head. “Humankind isn’t ready for—mosaics?”
“There are seven hundred and seventy-seven separate mosaics pieces strategically placed throughout the city. Each quarter-inch piece of glass is a piece of the … jigsaw puzzle, as it were. Each glass mosaic is electron-infused with nanotechnology. Each nanobot is a part of the whole. The nanorobotics form macro-scale robotics with sensing. Powerful communications—nano manipulation with computational replication—” He sighed with frustration. “Every tile must remain in place. Each is integral, and part of a whole.”
Callie’s brain spun with the implications. “Is that what’s been interfering with our communications devices?”
“The low-frequency hum is the robotics’ signature. They communicate with one another in perfect synchronization. All part of a harmonious whole, which, when the individual parts are brought together, will one day fulfill our prophecy. But if pieces are removed, as you have done, it disrupts the pattern.”
Callie couldn’t wrap her brain around any of it. Nanobots? The possibility was intriguing, fascinating, really. At another time and place she’d love to sit down over a cup of coffee and discuss nanotechnology with a man old enough to be her grandfather, all freaking day. But this wasn’t the day.
“Nanotechnology?” Jonah’s chest shifted beneath her cheek as he gave an incredulous laugh. “What do these bots do?”
“Now? Nothing but wait, bide their time. In the future the components will form a beacon, a powerful communications device—”
“To who or what?” Jonah demanded.
“I cannot answer that.”
“Can’t?” Callie demanded. “Or won’t?”
“It is the same, Doktōr West.”
“No,” Jonah said drily. “It’s not. You’re saying that someone three thousand years ago had technology that we’re just learning in the twenty-first century? And they placed seven hundred bits of glass a hundred and fifty feet underwater?” He tried a different tack. “And who were they trying to attract with their beacon?”
Twenty
The men were blowing smoke. Did they really think she and Jonah were that gullible? The implication was too sci-fi and implausible to be real. The mosaic nanobots weren’t what they were protecting. As far as she knew, the engineering discipline of designing and building nanorobots was still in its infancy stage.
Drugs made more sense. Maybe a drug smuggling operation? The hidden cavern wouldn’t be detectable underwater … Actually, at this point, she didn’t really give a shit what they wanted and why they were doing what they were doing. All she wanted was for her and Jonah to be back on board Stormchaser, where she could lie down in a cool, dark room.
She suspected Jonah had pretty much the same desire. He was naturally curious, but she bet he’d rather be on board his ship right now than here listening to the old men’s technobabble. He was giving her time to gather her strength so they could make a run for it. Which she appreciated.
“The technology was not placed under the water, Kyrie Cutter.” This time she recognized Trakas’s clipped tones. “The Sacred City was built around the individual pieces. Was built specifically to house and protect her nanorobotics.”
“The Sacred City, and that technology, is what Guardians are privileged to protect, our entire lives. At all cost.”
Jonah’s stroking thumb stilled. “You’re claiming this technology came from three thousand years ago?”
Trakas made an affirming clearing o
f his throat. “It’s imperative the three missing components—the mosaics—be returned to their correct GPS location immediately.”
“It’s a big ocean,” Jonah said drily.
Putting something back meant they were being taken to a boat, and back to Stormchaser. Although no one had requested that they return anything to the ocean floor. Just that it had to be returned.
Callie put a hand on Jonah’s wrist, loving the feel of his cool skin, and the tensile strength there. “Everything is documented. I know exactly where they came from.” Now ask us to return the mosaics for you and let us go, so we can do it.
“There’s no need. They will be deposited back to the sea. They will transmigrate to where they were originally placed.”
Callie lifted her head, ignoring the blizzard of black snow. She could just see Trakas around Jonah’s supporting arm. “Could you be more specific on the how of their return?”
She looked up to meet Jonah’s eyes. They were pissed off and had just added another layer of anger. They both knew precisely what the men really meant.
Kill them, and scuttle the ship.
Jonah mouthed Fuck then said so low, Callie barely heard him, “Ready?”
No. She wasn’t. She nodded. Counted through the pain until it was bearable. A few more minutes would help. If not, then yes, she was ready.
Jonah’s fingers tightened in her hair as he turned his head and demanded, “Dr. West needs water.”
Yes! That would help.
A moment later he held a glass to her mouth. Looked like water. She sniffed. Was she being paranoid? She didn’t think so. She took a tentative sip. No odd taste. Lukewarm, tasteless water. With Jonah’s help she drank the entire glass. It was as if every parched cell in her body was flooded with life-giving moisture.
“Hell,” Jonah said, keeping his attention on her. The problem was—Well, shit, there were myriad freaking problems here. But she knew that to leave they’d have to dispatch the three old men. To leave they’d have to run. And right this second running wasn’t in her cards.
“If what you say is true, this knowledge could advance science and medicine by decades.”
“It is too soon for mankind to have this knowledge and technology,” Eliades intoned, his voice reflecting his hangdog expression and demeanor. “We are merely the Guardians.”
“Do these nanotechnology mosaics have something to do with the interference to our electronics underwater?” Jonah asked, leaning away just enough, while still supporting her shoulders, to pull up the zipper on the front of her wet suit. That done, he tugged up his own. Shoes? he mouthed.
She shook her head. One wasn’t going to do it.
“Jamming your radio frequency, producing the fog, the quakes, and the sand trap—all deterrents. You refused to go.”
Jonah twisted his head to look at Trakas. “That sand trap broke my friend’s leg in three places.”
“Your man was meant to die that day.” Eliades refilled the glass, handing it to Jonah. “That section is the entrance to the Sacred City. Not even Guardians are permitted to enter, unless under the most dire of circumstances.” He sounded appalled and horrified that anyone had the temerity to even attempt entering.
“The city is that important?”
“It is more important than any one being.”
“Were you aware that the Spanoses were in the control room when you instigated the earthquake? Of course you were. Is that what they were doing? Going into the Sacred City uninvited, so you killed them?”
Medium’s dark eyes narrowed, his face flushed with anger “Entering the Sacred City uninvited?” he whispered, his voice filled with fury and horror. “Worse, much worse. They raped and pillaged sacred material to use in frivolous pursuits. Kallistrate was warned, but that was our error. He was only an initiate into the order, not yet a full Guardian. He had not yet earned the right to go into the city. The brother was not the one in charge. It was his sister who was the mastermind behind their nefarious doings.
“They ignored repeated warnings to cease and desist—and requests to leave the island. Instead they came more frequently, and brought professional divers to assist them, and men with guns to protect them. They had to be stopped.”
Jonah held the glass, but Callie took it from him and drank again. “What did they have to do with any of this?”
“Kallistrate was born here. Raised to be a Guardian. A high honor. But he went away to England to get an education. Then he became too sophisticated, to Westernized to want to come home where he belonged, to follow our ways.”
“Then what were he and his sister doing here?”
“They used to come once a year for our Sacred City’s orichalcum. For the past three years they have come twice in a twelve-month period. But this was their third time this year.”
Callie swung her feet between Jonah’s legs. The pain was manageable.”Orichalcum is a myth.”
Demetriou pinned her with a glare of disdain. “No. It is very real, Doktōr West. It was mined here on the island for thousands of years. It was a main component in the nanotechnology used in the mosaics. An integral part of the Sacred City. The vein was depleted a century before the Big Eruption. The only place this precious metal can now be found is in the vaults of the temple inside the walls of the city.”
She eased her butt forward. Knowing Jonah would catch her if she fell. “What do they want it for? Is it of great monetary value?”
“In today’s market?” Trakas asked. “With its rare properties? Yes, multimillions of American dollars. Kallistrate procured it from inside the walls, taking a few bars at a time. They only required a minuscule amount for processing. The dust is added to the creams and lotions he sells worldwide.”
“Orichalcum?” Jonah slid his hand to her upper arm, then closed his fingers around it to support her as she slid her feet down to the floor. She wobbled, but his hand remained steady.
“A metal Plato described as unique to Atlantis,” Callie murmured.
His eyes never left her face as he addressed the men behind him. “Why put an obscure metal into lotions and potions? What’s its claim to fame? Nanobots again?”
“Its application in medicine, or for topical use, is that it works at a cellular level—it is the main ingredient in their Fountain of Youth products. Dramatically reducing all signs of aging.”
Women would pay anything to get their hands on a product like that. “If it’s been deep underwater for thousands of years,” Callie asked, “how did they even know about it?”
Trakas hesitated. “Kallistrate was trained in the ways of the Guardians from the day he was born, until he fled. Orichalcum has been an integral part of the Guardians’ diets since the beginning of time.”
“Eating orichalcum makes you look younger?” Jonah sounded a little left of incredulous.
“Not just look younger, Kyrie.”
Callie leaned her hip against the table, wondering what the hell she’d just ingested in those two glasses of water.
* * *
“Just how old a—”
Jonah tightened his hold on her upper arms as Callie listed to the left. Her sudden lack of balance had nothing to do with her knees being too weak to stand from blood loss. It was another goddamn earthquake.
The floor beneath his bare feet buckled, walls rippled and shuddered, sending a cabinet sliding halfway into the small room. Instruments chattered across the surface of the nearby metal tray, then clattered to the floor.
Wood and metal screeched and groaned as the building torqued violently. Bracing himself with one hand on the shuddering wall, he held Callie against his chest as the high narrow window shattered, spraying glass into the room.
Trakas yelled at the other two men in rapid-fire, incomprehensible Greek.
“Big surprise, guys?” Jonah yelled over the din. Oh, yeah. This was going to be as bad as what they’d just come from. Outside would be safer than in. Time to get the hell out of Dodge.
Trakas and the others
stood in the open doorway, swaying and bucking with the quake as if they were standing on a surfboard riding the waves. Deciding to run for it, or stay there so he and Callie were trapped?
“You’ll be safe here.” Trakas’s voice vibrated as he lied straight-faced.
Yeah, right. “Does that mean you’re going to turn the damn thing off?” Jonah demanded. “I’m all for it.”
“There is no switch for this, Kyrie,” Trakas said grimly as Demetriou and Eliades slipped behind him. The old man blocked the doorway, holding on to the jamb with both gnarled hands as the floor continued to rise and fall in uneven waves.
“Then we’re going with you.”
The Guardian’s face turned a deep plum color as he burst into a spate of Greek too frantic for Jonah to follow.
He put up his hand to stop the outpouring of fear. “Whatever the hell you’re saying, we’re not staying in this room. So get us out of here, or get the hell out of our way.”
Dios. He didn’t want to kill a defenseless old man, but if it came to a choice between the Greek, or himself and Callie, there was no contest. Even though he’d never shot a man, this was life or death. There was a first time for everything.
His stomach churned as he accepted that today would be the day that changed him. He’d have to figure out how to live with it … later.
The room filled with shadows. A quick glance at the high, narrow window through the broken shards of glass showed the sky darken from brilliant blue to dark, ominous gray in seconds.
Sliding his palm under his bunched-up shorts on the table behind Callie, he palmed the gun, adjusting his grip, then brought the weapon out in the open, pointing the muzzle at Trakas’s forehead.
“Give her your shoes,” he instructed Eliades, figuring the smaller man had the smallest feet of the three. “Move it! You—” He motioned to Trakas with the barrel of the gun inches from his chest. “Hand ’em over.”
“It’s too late, Kyrie,” Trakas muttered, but something in Jonah’s expression convinced him to get the lead out, and he crouched to unbuckle his sandals. Demetriou helped Eliades, who was having a hard time reaching his feet.