The Atlantis Codex (Warner & Lopez Book 7)

by Dean Crawford

  Real bodyguards and security experts tended to avoid sunglasses except when absolutely necessary as they removed detail from a scene, increasing the chances that they might miss some crucial detail. Likewise, they tended to wear local clothing to help their ability to blend in with a scene, and although invariably physically fit they rarely bulked out with muscle, again to maintain a low profile when working that made them harder to pick out in a crowd.

  Ethan kept his face hidden and altered his gait, mimicking one of the local worshippers who seemed to have a damaged foot. He slumped his shoulders and made to pass close by the guard’s left side, where he figured the man’s weapon would be concealed beneath his shirt.

  Ethan got to within a couple of feet of the guy when the guard noticed that Ethan had paler skin beneath his hood than the locals and he turned toward Ethan and reached out to pull the hood back. Ethan had been waiting for the move and responded instantly, grabbing the guard’s wrist and twisting it sideways and down, the bones inside straining against the force of the move as Ethan forced his weight down behind it.

  The Russian made to let out a howl of pain and a warning to his comrades that Ethan cut short with a sharp chop across the man’s throat. The Russian’s eyes bulged as he folded over and crashed down onto his back. The shirt flew up and as Ethan squatted down he reached over and yanked the guard’s pistol from its holster.

  Ethan deselected the safety catch and aimed up at the sky out of the arch as he fired two shots. The confines of the temple amplfied the gunshots and they crashed out deafeningly loud and in an instant the entire crowd inside the temple burst into panicked flight as they rushed for the exits.

  Ethan leaped to his feet and saw the other Russians pulling their weapons out and shouldering their way through the fleeing crowds. Ethan made eye contact with each of them as he backed away, sure that their attention was focused entirely on him as the crowds flooded out of the temple past them. Ethan saw Lopez and Raz drawn out of the temple past the guards amid the flowing river of hoods and shawls, and then he whirled and dashed for the pair of narrow arches on the opposite side of the temple beneath the tallest shikhara.

  The tumbling crowds of visitors poured past him as he ducked past the ornate shrine to Krishna and headed into the darkness of the passage beyond, following the scent of morning air that was cool on his face. A temple such as Dwarkandish would require great ventilation from the heat of the Indian sun and that generated by the crowds of worshipers inside the building. Ethan knew that the morning sea breeze was the result of the land warming faster than the sea, causing the air to rise above it and drawing in fresher, cooler air from the ocean toward the low pressure that resulted. Now, he saw a pair of arches ahead that opened out toward the vast Arabian Sea and the bright sky above it.

  Russian voices behind him alerted him and he heard boots pounding the ancient stone flags as he shoved the pistol beneath the sash of his shirt and vaulted out of the archway. His boots hit the ground and he immediately turned left, putting the curved walls of the building between himself and the view from the archway as he made his way toward the throng of people still pouring from the interior.

  Almost immediately he saw armed policemen rushing up to the entrance on the Gomati River side, their pistols drawn as the panicked crowd pointed back toward the temple. Ethan slipped the pistol from his sash and let it fall into an ornate stone fountain as he circled the edge of the crowd and again adopted his limping, head down gait.

  Behind him he heard Russian voices and the crowd whirled as two agents sprinted around the corner of the building with their weapons in plain sight. The hordes of Hindus panicked and scattered as the policeman took aim at the two men and started screaming at them to drop their weapons.

  Ethan hobbled away, staying with the crowd as the Russians were forced to drop their pistols and put their hands up to the policemen. Ethan moved among the Hindus, trying to make himself look as small as possible as he descended the steps back toward the Gomati River and saw Lopez and Raz waiting for him at the bottom, still shielding their faces somewhat from any unwanted observations.

  ‘Nice work,’ Lopez whispered as he joined them. ‘Now what?’

  ‘We need to go back.’

  ‘We need to what?’

  ‘The Russians will have their hands full for at least a while and will leave the area for fear of being arrested. We need to find out if the temple has any inscriptions remaining from the construction that stood here before the current temple was built.’

  Raz nodded as he understood where Ethan was coming from.

  ‘Some of the supporting pillars stand on the original foundations of the previous temple and I know how to get to them, but the Russians will not be held back for long and we saw at least two of them pass by here and head into the bazaar. They will be back.’

  ‘Then we’d best be quick,’ Ethan said. ‘We’ll head back up when things have quietened down.’

  It took almost a half hour before the police led two Russian men away in handcuffs and the temple re–opened. Ethan, Raz and Lopez were at the head of the queue as pilgrims flocked back into the temple and its grounds.

  Raz led them around to the side of the temple, and Ethan at once got a fresh look at the way in which the building had been constructed. Below the level at which the crowds entered the two shikharas there were two further levels beneath that were not generally visible to the public but were accessible via a flight of steps. Ethan could see more rows of pillars supporting the very bottom of the temple as Raz led them down the steps, nobody blocking their path, and Ethan found himself grateful for the relatively slack security in this country.

  ‘Here,’ Raz said in a whisper, the lower section of the building housed inside a courtyard that echoed to the sound of the crowds somewhere above them, the shadows cooler out of reach of the burning sunlight. ‘These rocks are the oldest part of the building.’

  Ethan stepped forward and walked among the immense stone pillars supporting the weight of the temple above them. The huge pillars were carved from solid rock and decorated with various intricate designs but there was nothing specific that marked anything that could be referred to as Atlantean in design.

  ‘There’s got to be something here,’ Ethan said.

  Despite searching for almost an hour none of them were able to come up with anything definitive, and Raz was getting more nervous by the moment.

  ‘They could come back any moment and we’re trapped down here if they spot us.’

  Ethan glanced up to where several curious bystanders were leaning on railings above them and watching. He sighed and nodded reluctantly, then followed the archaeologist up the steps and onto the entrance level where tourists were once again milling in large numbers around the temple.

  As they turned to leave, so Ethan saw again the ornate archway guarding the entrance to the temple through which visitors were flowing. As they were carried along by the crowd, so something caught his eye on the ground nearby.

  Beyond the pillars of the archway were two vivid black and white discs set in the stone flags. Ethan could see that they were white discs with three distinct concentric black rings and what looked like a star in the centre that was radiating lines outward.

  ‘What about those?’ Lopez asked, pointing to the vivid symbols.

  Raz looked at the symbols and frowned.

  ‘That is the symbol of Jvalamukhi, with the goddesses Lalita and Kali representing the waxing and waning moon respectively. Jvalamukhi represents fire, which reduces all things to ashes and represents the end of time.’

  Ethan looked at Lopez. ‘Hellerman said that the ancients referred to Atlantis as being a land of fire.’

  ‘I know,’ Lopez replied, ‘but these symbols were not placed here thousands of years ago were they?’

  Raz shook his head.

  ‘No, but their placement would have been precise in position due to the sacred positions of the seventy–two pillars supporting the temple, and will be the
same at all similar temples built in the Hindu tradition.’

  Ethan looked at the pillars of the archway. ‘And the entrance, and archway?’

  ‘Likewise, the same,’ Raz said, and then he slapped his head as he realized what he had missed. ‘Mother Shiva, it has been here all along!’

  Ethan watched as Raz knelt down alongside one of the discs and looked at the archway before him. ‘Beyond the Pillars of Hercules. It’s a reference, something carried through from ancient times and associated with our temples now, but originally it would have had only one purpose: measurements.’

  ‘Measurements of what?’ Lopez asked.

  ‘Distance,’ Raz replied. ‘The ancient Hindu used kosh and yojana as measurements of distance, four kosh equalling one yojana of distance, equivalent to a few miles. Archways are always holy places, believed to have the ability to transfer a person from one realm to another on their path to greater consciousness. This precise structure would have existed at the older site that once was here, and it may have referred to something.’

  Ethan watched as Raz pulled out a notebook and hurriedly began taking measurements between the pillars of the archway and the two symbols in the flags, and then he stood back and looked at his conclusions and his eyes widened in delight.

  ‘What is it?’ Lopez asked.

  Raz took one last look at his work and then he turned to them.

  ‘According to my calculations, the symbols and the archway indicate that the location they’re referencing is precisely one and a half yojana north east of this location.’

  Ethan stepped closer to the archaeologist, keen now to get moving. ‘How far is that?’

  Raz inclined his head this way and that as he made a rough estimate.

  ‘Give or take, it’s about ten miles.’

  ‘Damn it, no wonder Lucy took off so fast,’ Lopez said, ‘she must have thought she was on the verge of finding Atlantis already.’

  ‘What’s out that way? Anything that would interest Lucy?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Raz nodded enthusiastically. ‘It’s the ocean. This must refer to the location of the submerged city.’

  ***

  XIII

  Washington DC

  ‘This is serious!’

  Allison Pierce sat in front of her editor, Daisy Harper, and was met with a disinterested glare.

  ‘As you’ve said, just the same as you said the last time you marched in here asking for prime time slots for your conspiracy theory garbage.’

  Allison bit her lip. Daisy was wearing a smug smile that made her puffy cheeks glow red, her squinting eyes sparkling with delight. At two hundred twenty pounds Daisy was anything but dainty and Allison fought the urge to reach across the table and slap her cheeks until they grew a little brighter still.

  ‘I’ve got footage, of an abduction by US agents on our soil of an innocent lawyer connected to one of the men involved in the Majestic Twelve case. Something’s going on here!’

  ‘I agree,’ Daisy purred, ‘you’re putting two and two together and coming up with forty–six again. You’ve got footage of a woman willingly joining two men in a vehicle with government plates and that vehicle driving to the headquarters of the Defense Intelligence Agency, nothing more. Maybe she’s a lawyer, but maybe she’s a criminal too.’

  ‘I was abducted, and so was my cameraman! You think he’s making it up too? He got shoved into the trunk of my car, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘Abducted by whom?’ Daisy demanded. ‘You have given no name, no real description and isn’t an abduction like that something that you should be reporting to the police? I know that if some random guy jumped into my car I would report his ass right away, but not you. No, you narrowly survive a car jacking and now you’re connected to a high–level, ultra classified super secret conspiracy about a congressional investigation that’s already been closed and is old news even if it hadn’t been.’

  Allison sat in stony silence and glared at Daisy’s immovable bulk.

  ‘I’ll take it someplace else if you tell me you’re going to bury me in a small–hours slot.’

  ‘I’m not going to bury you, honey,’ Daisy smiled sweetly, ‘because I’m not going to let you run with the piece at all. If you’re not capable of coming up with any real investigative journalism, then you can take your conspiracy theories wherever you please. In fact, as far as I’m concerned you can take them and shove them up your…’

  ‘After I get this piece on live televsion, I’ll be sure that the CEO learns that it was you who blocked the biggest story this network has ever encountered.’

  ‘Oh, don’t bother yourself,’ Daisy waved the threat aside as Allison got up and headed for the office door, ‘I’ll tell him myself in about an hour, when we have lunch.’

  Allison walked out of the office and purposefully did not shut the door behind her. Daisy’s voice called after her.

  ‘And your cameraman has been reassigned to another reporter!’

  Futile rage boiled beneath Allison’s skin and threatened to burst like fire out of her eyes as she glared at anyone who dared to look in her direction. As soon as she was out of sight of the main offices and alone in a corridor she slumped against a wall and dragged her hands down her face. Daisy Harper had only got her job as editor after climbing the ranks of the corporation thanks to her father, who was an accountant who did a fine job of ensuring that the network’s books were always clean and that taxes were minimized. Able to mix with the hierarchy, she had landed the editorial position after her predecessor retired, and promptly focussed her preferences toward celebrity gossip and scandal rather than focusing on the real issues, the real news that nobody ever got to hear about.

  It was a sad truth that there was a reason that world news got so little coverage in America. Buried away on some obscure corner of the pages of the broadsheets or in broadcasts slotted for well after midnight, Americans slept soundly knowing that their own country was the only one that mattered, the only story that was worth telling. Every other country was merely a bit–part player in the movie of America. Worse, the vast majority of the country’s news papers and networks were owned by just a handful of major corporations, ensuring that the people received only the kind of news the big corporations wanted them to hear. That was especially true when the government had something to hide and wanted a distraction story to drown out the bad news. She had lost count of how many times Congress had passed unfavorable laws at unsociable hours on days when some other major catastrophe or celebrity wedding was dominating the front pages and the broadcasts.

  Allison’s cell buzzed in her pocket and she retrieved it to see a text message.

  OUTSIDE, TEN MINUTES. TELL NOBODY

  Allison sighed and slipped the cell back into her pocket as she made her way down the main stairwell and into the foyer. She walked outside into the bright sunshine and a cold wind, and saw at once a tall man watching her from across the street, his features partially concealed beneath a baseball cap but his height and physique leaving her in no doubt that this was the same man who had abducted her the previous day.

  The urge to call Daisy and tell her that Mitchell was right outside was overwhelming, but she knew that the editor probably wouldn’t bother to even pick up the call let alone send a camera to film whatever was going to happen next. Allison left her cell phone in her pocket and followed Mitchell from the opposite side of the street as he walked toward the Memorial Park, the iconic monuments visible from the sidewalk.

  Allison crossed the street as soon as Mitchell headed into the park and followed him until he reached the Memorial Wall. There were few people out in the cold this early in the morning, and Mitchell was standing alone and staring into the reflecting pool when she moved alongside him.

  ‘Very James Bourne,’ she said as she looked around. ‘You don’t need to worry about us being observed, there’s no way my editor is going to take any interest in anything I do any more.’

  ‘Good.’

  Mit
chell’s appraising nod angered her. ‘Are you kidding me? I might as well be out of a job!’

  ‘You’ll have plenty to do.’

  ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

  Mitchell drew in a deep breath of air and expelled it in thick clouds of vapor as he replied.

  ‘Did you investigate Doug Jarvis as I suggested?’

  ‘Yeah, I looked into him all right and he’s up to his neck in something,’ Allison replied gloomily. ‘Trouble is it’s all behind closed doors and there’s nothing more that I can do about it all. My editor won’t pick up the piece and…’

  ‘You won’t be needing an editor where you’re going.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Allison snapped. ‘I’m not going anywhere until you…’

  ‘A return ticket to Indonesia,’ Mitchell rumbled as he held a ticket out to her and she stared at it as though it were a poisonous insect of some kind. ‘You will meet there with Douglas Jarvis.’

  Allison looked up at Mitchell. ‘Wait one, he’s the guy they’re all looking for, right? He’s the one that took the money and…’

  ‘Nobody took any money,’ Mitchell replied, ‘but they sure will if they can get their hands on it all. Both the Russian government and our own are both attempting to recover the cash, and trust me when I tell you that neither is interested in seeing that money returned to the countless individuals that Majestic Twelve defrauded over so many decades.’

  Allison’s eyes narrowed. ‘You think they’ll try to cut and run?’

  ‘Why do you think that our administration would be so cosy with the Russians all of a sudden, while at the same time moving defensive and offensive troops and missile systems so close to the borders of Eastern Europe?’