Ghosts of Atlantis (Immortal Montero Book 3)

by Greg Mongrain

  Morgan stared critically at Aliena’s strained jeans. “Don’t you think she’s bottom heavy?”

  “Yes,” I said, patting the taut denim. “Wonderfully so.”

  She shook her head. “To each his own.”

  “When will she awaken from this coma?”

  “In a couple of hours. She may not come to until sunset tomorrow.”

  I nodded, began walking toward the part of the wall containing the portal. Morgan followed me.

  “You will come back to me, won’t you? After you take her home?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “I haven’t decided whether I will give you the Apollo Ring, though.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I pressed the button on the wall. With a sizzle, silvery-blue gel began to descend from the ceiling juncture.

  “I’ll come back in a couple of hours,” I told her. “As long as Aliena wakes up.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Chapter 57

  Sunday, February 15, 5:55 a.m.

  Once through the portal, I hurried across Cha’s living room and out the front door. After piling Aliena into the passenger seat of the Ferrari, I sped for the freeway, careful not to break the speed limit too much.

  The sky had begun to lighten when I pulled into the garage. I bundled Aliena out of the car and carried her to her room. I stripped her to her panties, pulled the covers back, and slid her underneath them. I pulled the comforter up to her chin, sat on the bed and ran my hand through her disheveled hair.

  With sunrise so near, it seemed unlikely she would wake before tonight. I dreaded the wait.

  Locking her in, I showered and changed into a clean suit. Then I phoned Hamilton.

  “Hey, Sebastian.”

  “How are you doing?” I asked.

  “Beat. I need some sleep.”

  “Rachella?”

  “She left an hour ago.”

  “Get to bed,” I told him.

  “Right. What are you going to do? Did you find Aliena?”

  “Yes. Morgan gave her back to me. She’s asleep in her room now.”

  “She gave Aliena back? Did you give her the Apollo Ring?”

  “No. At least, not yet.”

  “What do you plan to do?”

  “I promised Morgan I would return to her,” I said. I decided not to tell him about Morgan’s request for pregnancy. That was between her and me.

  “Are you going to give her the ring?”

  “I don’t know. You and I’ll need to get together later.”

  “Sure. Give me about five hours, though,” he said through a yawn. “If we’re going to finish this today, I definitely need some zees.”

  On the drive to BioLaw, I stopped at the store where I had purchased Aliena’s engagement ring and asked the owner, an old friend of mine, for a favor.

  Preston, as usual, was awake when I arrived.

  “The program on this disk is clearly designed to introduce a virus into the portal network,” he said.

  I had given him the disk Darius asked me to keep safe. After muttering colorful obscenities under his breath, he had slotted the drive and inspected the contents.

  “Then why didn’t he implant it already?” I complained.

  “There’s no way to be sure, but he probably needed the portal open for some reason.”

  “Do you know where I’m supposed to put that thing?”

  “Not specifically,” he answered, “only that it must go into the mainframe. And . . . ”

  “And what?”

  “USB ports are probably not standard on Atlantean computers, at least not anymore. Darius probably expected you to search for the slot. Did your trip through his portal give you a clue?”

  “Yes,” I told him. “Rachella said she saw a bank of viewscreens that were linked to the interdimensional network. And Morgan gave me a tour of the machine. When we entered an older building, she told me it was the control point for the highway. I recognized the floor and designs from our trip through Darius’s corridor.”

  “That sounds right.”

  Darius had said I had five hours after initiating the virus to get out of Atlantis. That should be plenty of time.

  As long as the ghosts didn’t get me.

  Chapter 58

  I paced the great room of my vineyard estate, reviewing reports provided by spies in the employ of Ferdinand and Isabella, when my darling Laurena, now seven years old, appeared at the end of the hallway. Her riding lesson completed, my first child stripped off her dirty gloves, boots clicking on the stone floor. She turned as I stepped into view.

  I made an exaggerated stop. When she saw me do that, she stopped, too, and a small giggle floated along the passage.

  I crouched, set my papers carefully aside, formed my hands into claws.

  She faced me, bent down, and growled. I bared my teeth at her.

  We rushed each other. I caught her halfway down the passage, pulled her into my arms, and banged my back against the walls, squeezing her with each thump, while she squealed in delighted protest at the rough treatment.

  A final crash, and I set her on her feet.

  “Again, Papa.”

  Without a word, we separated as carefully as duelists preparing to fire on each other. Her green-eyed gaze held mine. Once we stood at opposite ends of the corridor, she hunched down and hooked her hands into talons, the loose riding dress swaying over her boots.

  “Arrrrr!”

  Her long black hair swished below her helmet as she attacked. I slammed into her halfway, grabbed her up and held her tight while I bounced her around.

  “Two more times,” I said, setting her down after the sixth attack.

  “Three!”

  “Ah! The magic number!”

  I sneered at her as I backed away. She scowled. We aligned ourselves, armies across a battle green, postures aggressive, hands in striking position. . .

  Coming out of my reverie, I fought off tears, Laurena’s face clear for the first time in centuries, the memory of her laughter a sweet tinkling slice of a life I lived long ago.

  Chapter 59

  Sunday, February 15, 7:27 a.m.

  Arriving at Darius’s house, I stood in front of the portal again. With extreme reluctance, I donned the Apollo Ring. By the time the damned thing had cooled, sweat streamed from my brow.

  I pulled out his phone and dialed the number, waited as the sliver-blue gel descended, then stepped carefully through the rippling field, mindful of the narrow catwalk.

  Once on the other side, I moved to my left and crawled down the rungs to the floor.

  I headed toward the bank of displays to my left and began searching for a USB port. To reassure myself, I glanced at the clear container positioned above a side door.

  The deadly form inside appeared quiescent. It spun slowly, its filaments waving lethargically. Glancing at the other three, I noted that all of them seemed to be in the same state of hibernation. Their intense coronal heat dimmed, I was sure they were unaware of my presence.

  I began inspecting the plethora of computers.

  I ran my hands over the input areas, combing them for a suitable port. All the openings were too small for a USB drive. Some had tiny chips inserted in them. Most were empty. Moving to my left, I began studying the next row. Chest height, he had said.

  I had been at it for ten minutes when I heard footsteps approaching. I sprinted to the small door under the nearest ghost, stepped through, and moved to one side, out of view.

  A man appeared at the end of the corridor, walking slowly along a perpendicular hall. He held a tablet device, tapping on it. He continued without looking in my direction, disappearing to the left.

  I slipped quietly back inside. A buzz filled the room. I glanced up. The ghost there was spinning furiously, banging against its enclosure. A quick check showed the others were awake as well. They had detected my presence, or knew an unauthorized person was in the area. I wondered how long I had before they broke out of their ca
ges and came after me.

  I resumed my search. Nearing the door again, directly under the ghost, I saw an opening that looked like a USB port. Quickly pulling the drive from my pocket, I slotted it. A perfect fit.

  A virtual keyboard lit. The screen showed a spinning wheel for a few seconds, then a dialogue box popped up.

  PROGRAM DETECTED. INITIATE? Y/N

  I tapped “Y.” The spinning wheel returned.

  Sweat rolled down my forehead and sides. Even through the thick panels of its enclosure, the radiation of the ghost above my head superheated the air.

  I resumed watching the display. An indicator on the bottom read 23%.

  Forty percent. I watched it climb. Sixty. Seventy-five. Ninety-five percent. The counter vanished. A logo appeared: the trident inside three circles. It began throbbing slowly, turning red then black, beating like a heart. According to Darius, the program would load for five hours before it activated. I glanced at my watch. That meant the interdimensional highway would be neutralized around one o’clock this afternoon.

  My task completed, I pulled out Darius’s phone, highlighted the number of the portal.

  Before I could press the CALL button, the air filled with static and a pulse of hot air battered me like a malign wind. The two containers at the end of the corridor in front of me flipped open and the ghosts shot out. I assumed the ones behind me were also free.

  Yelling the incantation, I fired a plasma bolt at the two bearing down on me. When my eyeballs stopped rolling, I saw I had missed them both. They had been thrown off course, though, and had slowed. Spinning, I fired again, blindly. The ghosts must have been close. A jolt of heat and light blasted me off my feet and into the tunnel leading to Spellman’s office. The afterimage of an exploding ghost remained on my retina.

  I lurched up and ran to ladder. Jamming the phone back in my pocket, I began climbing hand over hand, springing off my feet as if trying to jump straight up. I gained the top, stepping onto the walkway as the three remaining ghosts shot around the corner.

  They did not home in on me the way they did the vampires. Darius had said they were programmed to the presence of the night creatures, which was why he could never remain more than a minute or two.

  I snatched the phone out and began scrolling when I realized two of the entities were headed straight for me. No time to dial the number. I shouted the shield incantation, wondering if I had waited too long, my voice high-pitched with fear.

  “Ovum Creationis Apollon!”

  Turning my face away from the buzzing creatures, I covered my head and crouched against the wall as the fierce energy of the Ghosts of Atlantis enveloped me. Explosive heat turned my shirt and pants into searing garments. I wanted to rip the clothes from my skin.

  Then the air around me cooled. I straightened and looked around.

  The hellish entities were indeed on top of me, their orange-yellow filaments slashing the air, but none penetrated the blue sphere of my protective bubble. The field was not centered on me as it had been at 49. The bulk of it filled the space in front of me, hanging over the edge of my precipice, as if the sphere were pressed against the wall to my rear and therefore could not keep me in its middle.

  Now what? I was safe, but the ghosts had me pinned fifty meters in the air standing on a narrow ledge. They had rendered me an inert force.

  I pulled Spellman’s phone, dialed the portal number. There was no way to know if the Apollo Ring’s force field would allow the radio waves through. I was relieved when the line of liquid began to descend the wall. Once it reached the bottom, I stepped forward.

  Or tried to. I pressed into the edge of the blue sphere, but could not force it past the barrier. I apparently could not enter the interdimensional tunnel while encased in the shield of the Apollo Ring.

  The ghosts cruised around me. Occasionally one bounced off the shield. They behaved as if they didn’t know my exact position, only that I was near.

  I thought for a moment. If radio waves could penetrate the shield’s membrane, that meant the perimeter did allow some forms of energy to pass through it.

  What about the ring’s killing beam? Would that work in here?

  Taking a breath and squinting my eyes to slits, I pointed the ring at one of the spitting creatures as it cruised above me. My muscles tensed for the blast.

  “Oculus Autem Apollon.”

  Nothing happened. I opened my eyes and lowered my hand.

  Staring at the shimmering doorway, there seemed to be only one other way to get through, though it was potentially fatal. Time forced me to make the attempt. In the larger crisis surrounding me, I still had several moves to make, and I needed to make them soon.

  This game was nearly finished.

  Chapter 60

  Sunday, February 15, 8:28 a.m.

  The three spitting spheres continued to glide around the cylindrical tower. I watched their movements carefully, pressing my back against the force field. Two were below, one above. The one over my head drifted and bounced sluggishly off the blue sphere. Now.

  “Ovum Creationis Apollon!”

  My protective barrier disappeared. A ghost shot toward me. I leaped backwards. Before I vanished into the portal, a burning orange tendril slashed my face. I tumbled into Spellman’s office, the brow on my right temple seared.

  Blood dripped into my eye. I rubbed it out, turning my fingertips scarlet. My eyebrow itched the way my skin did when being repaired, but it felt different this time. Another drop rolled over my eyelid and I wiped it away. Had the bleeding not stopped yet?

  I reached up, swiped my forehead. The wound no longer bled. When I ran my finger along my eyebrow, however, I felt a space in the center of the hairs.

  Detouring to the bathroom, I ran water in the sink and scrubbed off the dried blood on my face, then washed my hands. My right eyebrow had a slash through it, the exposed skin raw and red.

  My body wasn’t healing the wound.

  Back in my car, I sped down Ventura Boulevard, headed for Cha’s house. Morgan would be awaiting my return with amorous expectation.

  What was I going to do with her? Make love? I was forced to admit her desire for children was not only natural, it was inevitable. Hadn’t I dreamed the same idea many times? As she had said, it would be my child, too. An immortal son or daughter!

  So why did I feel it was cheating on Aliena—that the act was a betrayal of her trust?

  The problem was that the timing was no good. In several hours, the mechanism that allowed travel between our realities would be neutralized. I wouldn’t be able to raise my child anyway.

  I stood in Kristina Cha’s living room, facing the wall, the champagne flute-shaped speaker sitting on the end table next to me. I pulled the phone, called the number. A flash, and the now-familiar sheet of silver liquid seeped from the ceiling, flowing toward the floor.

  Would Morgan have any surprises for me? I looked at the ring. The shield would not pass through the gate, so I couldn’t go to her protected. If necessary, I would have to activate it once on the other side.

  I stepped into Atlantis.

  The moment I emerged in Morgan’s drawing room, a blaze flared on my right. I pointed the ring in that direction, uttered the Latin phrase for the plasma bolt. The ring seemed to know I wanted to move fast, for the beam shot out as soon as I finished the incantation.

  When my vision steadied, I saw I had missed the Ghost, although the pulse had pushed it off course.

  I raised my fist again immediately. “Oculus Autem Appolon.”

  The ghost blurred like a comet, headed straight for me. Then a blast of light, sound, and heat tossed me into the air, my body vibrating from top hairs to toenails. I crash-landed in a corner.

  When I lurched to my feet, the ghost was gone. The other ghosts remained in their containers, revolving lazily.

  “Ghosts,” I said.

  Lowering my hand, I slipped it in my pocket as I walked into the room.

  Morgan stepped from behind an a
rch. She pointed a small device in my direction. I stopped. I hadn’t planned to stop. None of my muscles answered orders to move.

  She walked to the far corner and gestured at the box. It snapped open. I felt a concussion of static-filled air flow over my body, followed by a blast of heat. The Ghosts of Atlantis were too bright to stare at, and seemed charged with the same awful power as the Apollo Ring.

  Morgan gestured. The creature sped to her silver finger, reducing its size to a golf ball.

  “You do know, Sebastian,” she began, “our immortal bodies are capable of hosting a ghost for several days, even withstanding multiple implantations if one likes to bounce between realities.” She advanced on me as she spoke, and now stood at my side.

  I wanted to ask her why she was doing this, but I couldn’t move my lips or tongue.

  “Are you really wondering why I’m doing this? Oh, Sebastian, I do hope you don’t give our children your gene for intelligence. How many times did you tell me you loved Aliena? You had no intention of completing our bargain. Somehow you thought you could renege on your part of the deal with the motive of being faithful to your true love.”

  To hear her say it, I guess I had made that pretty obvious.

  “That made me feel sad. In your reality, “sad” translates to “royally pissed off.” You thought you would out-bargain me? You were thinking the decision was yours?”

  My face began to grow hot. I wondered how many other immortals she knew, or had tried to implant.

  “None, Sebastian,” she said, staring into my eyes, correctly interpreting my expression again. “You are a hopeful one, aren’t you? You have never met another immortal in your reality because there isn’t one. You and I are alone. Adam and Eve. And no, I don’t know where we come from. Happy?”

  It couldn’t be true. Though I had never found another, several of my ancient texts mentioned there were other immortals like me. Then I thought, if they knew of immortals, why didn’t they name them? One scrap of a note had been written by Bishop Calducci, addressed only to Cardinal Mellili. There was no reason for subterfuge between the two men.