Ghosts of Atlantis
Immortal Montero Book 3
By Greg Mongrain
Crescent Moon Books
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to persons alive or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2017 Greg Mongrain
All Rights Reserved
Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
ISBN:
For All Sebastian Montero Fans
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Friday, February 13, 5:38 p.m.
Chapter 2
Friday, February 13, 6:04 p.m.
Chapter 3
Friday, February 13, 9:24 p.m.
Chapter 4
Friday, February 13, 10:18 p.m.
Chapter 5
Friday, February 13, 11:16 p.m.
Chapter 6
Friday, February 13, 11:41 p.m.
Chapter 7
Friday, February 13, 11:58 p.m.
Chapter 8
Saturday, February 14, 12:21 a.m.
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Saturday, February 14, 1:27 a.m.
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Saturday, February 14, 2:11 a.m.
Chapter 13
Saturday, February 14, 3:04 a.m.
Chapter 14
Saturday, February 14, 3:37 a.m.
Chapter 15
Saturday, February 14, 3:51 a.m.
Chapter 16
Saturday, February 14, 4:31 a.m.
Chapter 17
Saturday, February 14, 4:47 a.m.
Chapter 18
Saturday, February 14, 5:16 a.m.
Chapter 19
Saturday, February 14, 6:35 a.m.
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Saturday, February 14, 10:14 a.m.
Chapter 23
Saturday, February 14, 10:36 a.m.
Chapter 24
Saturday, February 14, 11:48 a.m.
Chapter 25
Saturday, February 14, 2:28 p.m.
Chapter 26
Saturday, February 14, 3:39 p.m.
Chapter 27
Saturday, February 14, 4:44 p.m.
Chapter
Chapter 29
Saturday, February 14, 4:06 p.m.
Chapter 30
Saturday, February 14, 4:27 p.m.
Chapter 31
Saturday, February 14, 4:44 p.m.
Chapter 32
Saturday, February 14, 5:35 p.m.
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Saturday, February 14, 6:27 p.m.
Chapter 35
Saturday, February 14, 6:51 p.m.
Chapter 36
Saturday, February 14, 7:32 p.m.
Chapter 37
Saturday, February 14, 8:23 p.m.
Chapter 38
Saturday, February 14, 8:44 p.m.
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Saturday, February 14, 9:43 p.m.
Chapter 41
Saturday, February 14, 10:53 p.m.
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Saturday, February 14, 11:27 p.m.
Chapter 44
Sunday, February 15, 12:12 a.m.
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Sunday, February 15, 12:31 a.m.
Sunday, February 15, 1:08 a.m.
Chapter 47
Sunday, February 15, 1:26 a.m.
Chapter 48
Sunday, February 15, 1:40 am
Chapter 49
Sunday, February 15, 2:01 a.m.
Chapter 50
Sunday, February 15, 2:26 a.m.
Chapter 51
Sunday, February 15, 2:45 a.m.
Chapter 52
Sunday, February 15, 3:22 a.m.
Chapter 53
Sunday, February 15, 3:51 a.m.
Chapter 54
Sunday, February 15, 4:15 a.m.
Chapter 55
Sunday, February 15, 4:27 a.m.
Chapter 56
Sunday, February 15, 5:17 a.m.
Chapter 57
Sunday, February 15, 5:55 a.m.
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Sunday, February 15, 7:27 a.m.
Chapter 60
Sunday, February 15, 8:28 a.m.
Chapter 61
Sunday, February 15, 9:18 a.m.
Chapter 62
Sunday, February 15, 11:21 a.m.
Chapter 63
Sunday, February 15, 12:06 p.m.
Chapter 64
Sunday, February 15, 1:25 p.m.
Chapter 65
Sunday, February 15, 4:46 p.m.
Chapter 66
Sunday, February 15, 5:34 p.m.
Chapter 67
Sunday, February 15, 8:40 p.m.
Chapter 68
Sunday, February 15, 12:06 a.m.
Chapter 69
Sunday, February 15, 1:22 a.m.
Chapter 70
Sunday, February 15, 2:12 a.m.
Chapter 71
Sunday, February 15, 2:34 a.m.
Chapter 1
Friday, February 13, 5:38 p.m.
Cobalt and rose patches colored the clouds above Catalina Island as I stepped out of my Malibu home. Overcast gave the landscape a surreal tint, stark with sharp shadows. A breath of ocean mist cooled my cheek.
I vaulted the steps and was about to chirp the locks on a new Ferrari 458 Italia when I noticed the stranger standing next to the car. Bent slightly at the waist, he peered through the driver’s side window. He did not immediately react to the sound of my approach, though he had been able to hear me the moment he arrived, no matter where I had been in the house.
For various reasons, my estate is modest. For many of those same reasons, my security system is not. A quick glance to the left confirmed no other vehicle stood in the driveway, or on the private road leading to the house. My phone had not whistled its musical alert indicating a trespasser on the property.
I didn’t need that last piece of information to know my visitor was not your average Los Angeles neighbor.
“What do you think?” I asked him, trousering the key fob as I strolled up to the car.
He straightened slowly, turned. “A beautiful machine, Mr. Montero.”
Since he and I had not been introduced, his use of my name bordered on insulting. With mortals, I had learned to pass over such affronts. I held ancient beings to the more rigid standard I applied to myself. “I don’t believe I know you, though you look familiar. From 49, I expect?”
“Yes, I’ve seen you there with Aliena and Marcus.” A brief head tilt. “Darius Spellman.”
“An honor.” I remained stiff and cold, giving him nothing. He had not even offered an apology for trespassing on my property.
Spellman topped me by an inch, lean, wearing black jeans, boots and a long black leather jacket over a dark gray Henley t-shirt. He had two small scars, one on the left side of his neck and another on his temple. A sun-shaped medallion with a trident etched into the center glistened gold on his upper chest, hanging on a heavy yellow-gold chain. White teeth with pointed canines filled a crescent smile. Handsome devil. “I beg you forgive my unannounced intrusion, sir. Please be assured my lack of manners is prompted by necessity.” He bowed, holding that posture.
His apology softened my austerity. “I am at your service, Mr. Spellman.” He straightened up. Another cool spray of mist crossed my face, causing me to gaze at t
he Pacific, the cumulus above still multi-colored. “You seem to have made this your first stop.”
Spellman watched the bruised cloud formation. “Yes. An ocean view is a marvelous beginning to any evening. Did you see the sunset?”
“Not tonight.”
“I’m sure it was lovely to behold,” he said.
How long had it been since he had seen the sun rise or set? The question was too intimate on such short acquaintance. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“I came to give you this,” he said, handing me a slim silver USB drive. “For safekeeping.”
The memory stick had no markings on either side. “Why me?”
“There is no one else I trust.”
“We’re strangers.”
“Truly, we are not,” he said. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, and if it’s all true, you and I have many shared experiences.”
“So we’re strangers.”
“It is true we have never been introduced.”
I held up the portable drive. “What do you want me to do with this?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“Nothing while I’m alive.”
“Do you have some reason for believing you will be dead in the near future?”
He made a throwaway gesture with one hand. “Yes, but I am not important.”
“An extremely noble attitude.” Thoroughly confused, I wondered if Spellman had lost his sanity. His unique nature did not make him immune to madness, certainly not the dementia caused by extreme longevity. Studying him, I decided he was in complete possession of his faculties. He wore an amused expression at my obvious inspection and raised a sardonic eyebrow when I had finished. Satisfied, I asked, “What’s this about?”
“The safety of our reality.”
“You don’t say?”
He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “As long as you agree to keep the information safe.” His gaze held mine. I detected only sincerity coming from him.
I pocketed the memory stick. “Very well,” I said. “I give you my word.”
“Thank you.” He walked around the low-slung sports car. “I think I’ll buy a Ferrari. I prefer motorcycles lately, haven’t owned a car in years.”
“You’re welcome to drive me to Sherman Oaks,” I told him. With his reflexes, he could handle the car better than any mortal even if he hadn’t been behind the wheel in fifty years. It also provided him with an obvious invitation to elaborate on his intriguing statement.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t biting.
“That’s very gracious, and I would be honored to join you. Alas, I have a pending appointment. Perhaps another time?”
“At your convenience.”
He took a final glance at the darkening sky. “It has been a pleasure, Mr. Montero.”
“Mr. Spellman.”
He flickered and vanished, the sudden swish of branches high on a nearby oak tree the only indication of his passage from my estate.
***
Dexter Preston, head of my forensics and research company, had texted me earlier, asking that I stop by the office so he could attach a new device to my phone. He did not tell me what he planned to connect and I did not ask.
I jumped into the Ferrari and shot down my private road, headed for Pacific Coast Highway.
The USB drive Darius Spellman had asked me to protect until his death made a barely noticeable bump in my trouser pocket. In the event of his demise, I was to read its contents. Since he was immortal, I assumed by death he meant murder. Did he know who his killer would be, or only that someone wanted him dead? Or rather, deader than undead? Would he name his killer? According to Spellman, the safety of our reality depended on this material—and my acting upon it. That led to the obvious assumption that whatever he wanted me to do, he was doing, or trying to do, now.
Did the phrase ‘our reality’ indicate Spellman meant the reality of all living things? That seemed unlikely. Perhaps his strange phrase referred only to immortal beings. That might explain why he gave it to me.
Either way, his decision to entrust me with his secrets put me in the middle of the action, my favorite spot for life experiences. The mysterious circumstances sweetened the affair, made it an irresistible confection.
Arriving at BioLaw, I parked in the owner’s slot, waved to the security officer watching the lobby, and took the elevator to the second floor.
When I walked into Preston’s office, I caught him stacking Giovanni pizza boxes. No sandwich wrappers or condiment packages littered his desk. His trash cans yawned, empty.
“Expecting company, Mr. Preston?”
“None of your damn business.”
Dexter Preston was a multiple-discipline genius with no social life. An extra-large man who lived in a two-bedroom penthouse atop the BioLaw building, his prematurely thinning hair topped a face with the pale complexion of a cave-dweller. He required little sleep, and with his office so close to home, stayed on the job nearly round-the-clock.
“There was no need to go to any trouble on my account,” I told him.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t.”
Preston might be long on brains, but he was decidedly short on etiquette. Most brilliant people had a certain amount of insubordination hard-wired into them. Preston’s rudeness and general defiance of authority did not bother me. Putting the 25-year-old prodigy on salary was one of my greatest coups.
I flopped into a guest chair. Preston set the Giovanni boxes on top of another stack before sitting behind his desk.
“Are you wearing an Oxford shirt with a button-down collar?” I asked. “Tucked into dress slacks?”
“Give me your phone,” he said.
I handed over my cell. “Are you going to tell me what this device does, or do you want me to just carry it around?”
He carefully snapped a small unit to the bottom of the phone. The extra piece looked like an extension of the case, and matched the silver color. “You remember I told you I had tapped a government satellite designed to detect exotic-matter phenomena on Earth?”
I sat up straighter. “Yes?”
He plugged the phone into a jack leading to his computer, tapped a few keys. “I’m loading a program I designed based on that satellite’s software. Combined with the scanner I’ve installed, this app will alert you anytime you are near an EMF event.”
“Why is an Electromagnetic Field event considered exotic?”
“Normally, they’re not. Only when they emit wavelengths for which the satellite is searching. They may represent interdimensional interstices.”
It took me a moment to process that statement. “Doorways to parallel realities?”
“Correct.”
“And my phone will now detect these doorways if I’m near one?”
“Yes, and provide its location and bearing.”
“What’s the range?”
“Two kilometer radius.” He glanced at his screen, unplugged my cell and handed it back. “I’ve set the alert to vibrate, flash, and play a special ringtone whenever the software detects an EMF event.”
“That should get my attention,” I commented.
“As soon as you activate the program, your phone will stream the information to my computer simultaneously.”
I pocketed the modified device. “Why give the thing to me?”
“A hunch. You always seem to be in the middle of unusual events.”
And…loving it.
Chapter 2
Friday, February 13, 6:04 p.m.
I picked my way over the moist mountain floor. Gusts from the Pacific Ocean flowed cold and damp over the woodland north of my home. Tree roots close to the surface formed cables to trip the unwary. Branches extended from oak trunks, the skeletal arms of nightmare witches eagerly reaching for wandering children. Weaving around the low-hanging limbs, I listened to the breeze whisper in the boughs of the trees and inhaled the piquant aroma of chaparral scenting the air.
Touring the Santa Monica Mountains at this time of night
in winter was not generally recommended, but Aliena had asked me to join her and a group of acquaintances in a nearby glade. Far below came the dim rumble of cars and trucks rolling along Pacific Coast Highway.
A sound to my right brought me to a halt. The fauna of the area included mountain lions and bobcats, but I was not worried about them. Though such an attack was scary and hurt a great deal, it was possible to convince such creatures to leave me alone. Biting, scratching, and gripping vital parts was a game I understood very well from centuries of combat against many types of opponents.
I stood with my mouth slightly open, listening. Another small sound, the breath of a giggle. A shiver traversed my skin that had nothing to do with the cool temperatures.
I was being stalked.
Moving close to the trunk of a California oak, I scanned the area. There was no movement, nothing but the outlines of rocks and bushes. I searched the upper branches of nearby trees. They appeared to be empty.
If I was right about my hunters, detecting them was unlikely. I could do little to stop them in any case. I continued walking northeast. Everyone in Los Angeles knew Aliena had claimed me, and that I was off-limits for consumption.
Cresting a small hill, orange firelight flickered in the distance.
More laughter. From the left.
The clearing lay fifty meters away, beyond a screen of tall standing rocks. I decided to run this last bit of distance. Before I could take the first stride, three women in skintight black mini-dresses materialized in front of me. I came to a halt as they sauntered forward, sinuous white legs flashing beneath short hemlines.
Lionesses advancing on an isolated antelope.
Man or woman, you might think yourself lucky to have encountered such preternaturally gorgeous beauties in the woods at night, the three of them crowding your social bubble with bedroom caresses. When you looked into their eyes, however, you would know Fortune was not on your side. An unmistakable need blossomed inside the stares that now shifted between my face and throat, but those dark pits burned with a mad craving that had nothing to do with sex.
The two women pressing from either side appeared to be identical twins, with long blonde ponytails and crystal-blue eyes. The woman standing nearly nose-to-nose with me had brown eyes, and her long hair was colored bubblegum pink.
Ghosts of Atlantis (Immortal Montero Book 3) Page 1