The Sam Reilly Collection

by Christopher Cartwright

  With a gloved hand he picked up the blacksmith’s pincers and gripped the small clump of shiny metal so that he could examine it. Not much had changed in its weight. He weighed it to be sure. 240 ounces.

  He became excited by the prospect of 240 ounces of gold, silver and copper. But the question remained: in what proportions were they?

  Hank then took a small bottle of Glaubers Salt, a recently discovered strong acid that would dissolve silver and copper, but leave gold untarnished, and poured it into the crucible.

  Again, the gold remained solid, while the other two elements turned into a weak sludge.

  He carefully removed the sludge and heated the gold once more to remove any additional impurities, and then examined the glowing remaining metal. It certainly looked like pure gold. He might not have all of it, but it was close.

  Gripping it with the Blacksmith’s pincers, he dipped it in water, watching it hiss.

  Impatiently, he then picked it up.

  It felt heavy in his hand and his heart raced as he placed it back on the scales. Holding his breath, he added lead weights to the opposite end of the scale, until the two metals were balanced.

  He totaled the tiny weights and nearly screamed.

  175 ounces!

  He did the arithmetic in his head.

  Holy shit! That’s nearly 70% gold!

  And there’s a buried city below his construction site covered in the stuff. Buried for eternity.

  He returned to his master’s locked ship.

  A sudden sense of urgency led him to quickly open his safe and examine the artifact that Albert Olsen had asked him to deliver. At the time he’d dismissed the markings as being unlikely similarities, but now he was certain that they were one and the same as those his old college friend had spoken about.

  The instant he saw it he knew they were.

  So, he was telling the truth all those years ago.

  Robert Mitchel had discovered an ancient tribe in Africa that knew the way to the Golden City!

  Hank stared at the gold in front of him.

  He was going to be rich beyond his dreams. All he had to do was work out how he was going to steal it without Felix Brandt’s entire fortress caving in on him. In the delusion of happiness, which the allure of gold often provided, Hank didn’t even stop to consider why Felix was so determined to bury it all.

  He was going to be rich.

  Hank recalled the conversation with his old friend, Robert Mitchel, all those years ago. And then prayed that the second part of the man’s story never came true.

  Chapter One

  Amsterdam, Present Day – Five Weeks Remaining

  Dr. Billie Swan turned left onto Amselstraat and then right onto Weeperstraat taking the shortest route out of the old city, over the maze of canals and dikes. She drove a Renault Twingo, the four door version of the tiny European car. Hired for the week, she’d expected it to take at least that long to find the answer to her question.

  Instead, she’d found it on her third day.

  In her rear view mirror she saw a yellow Vespa. It had been following her since leaving the Stadsarchief Amsterdam – the National Archives Center. It could have been taking the same route as her. It was the fastest way out of the city.

  But had she seen it yesterday?

  Europe was rife with such mopeds, and she could be easily forgiven for mistaking a different one, which followed her now, as one and the same.

  Her nerves had been on edge since she’d returned from Atlantis.

  Billie hadn’t even worked out the entire truth. If her predictions were even close to the mark, then the world was in trouble. And based on the calculations of time, she didn’t have long to work out a solution. Maybe as little as five weeks.

  Time was running out – fast.

  They say knowledge can be a dangerous thing. For what Billie had learned, it could spell the end of the human race. The only hope she had left was to reach the inner sanctum of Atlantis in time to stop the next cycle from being triggered. And to do that, she needed to find the code.

  Hell, if she had years, maybe a team of code breakers might be able to solve it, but she didn’t. She had five weeks. Her only hope now was to find the notes of the last living person known to have seen it.

  Felix Brandt.

  For that, she needed to find where he’d spent his final days on earth. And that was what had taken her so rapidly to Amsterdam.

  The truth was so dangerous that she had refused to tell Sam Reilly or even Tom Bower about it. Instead, she’d made up a story why she needed their help to find someone in Amsterdam. Now she’d found where the man had gone centuries ago, she would need their help to reach him, or at least where he put his notes.

  HIM…

  The thought brought her back to the man with curly blond hair and blue eyes she’d seen on her first day in the national archives. The blond man in the red baseball cap on the moped – today wasn’t the second time she’d seen him. He’d been there – at Stadsarchief Amsterdam – on her first day. She hadn’t taken much notice of the man. He was entering the building while she was leaving. The only reason she’d taken any was something strangely attractive about his face. Beneath his looks, he had an outward sign of self-assuredness which bordered on arrogance. And then, as though he’d read her thoughts, he’d responded with the most disarming smile – the sort that could easily cause a woman less driven by necessity to inadvertently find herself in his bed.

  So that makes three times in three days.

  That’s more than a coincidence.

  He was after her.

  And that meant she was in trouble… and the world was at great risk.

  It was time to let Sam Reilly know what she’d really discovered in Atlantis. At the same time, even more important than ever that she not disclose its location.

  Billie touched her brakes slightly harder than required as she came around the corner leaving the city. To the other drivers of the busy motorway, the action might have appeared to be entirely accidental, but it was enough to cause the familiar moped to swerve to the right of her, forcing its rider to overtake.

  The license plate came into clear view.

  It was different.

  She had written it down as a precaution yesterday, when she noticed the motorcycle arrive and depart the National Archives building at the same time as herself. Even without checking her notes, she was able to immediately recognize that the two weren’t the same. Even so, it didn’t alleviate the uncomfortable sensation that she was being followed.

  To her dismay, the moped slowed until she was forced to overtake it again.

  That’s it. I’m not playing this game!

  She stopped the car, pulling over into a break down lane. Opening a large foldout map – as though she were one of the thousands of lost tourists – she watched as the Vespa disappeared.

  Relieved, she refolded the map, and was about to drive off again, when an entirely new Vespa appeared.

  Unlike the previous rider, who had worn a full faced helmet with an impenetrable reflective visor, making him or her appear sinister, this Vespa was red and the rider had long blonde hair, which hung carelessly out of the rider’s open faced helmet, and a beautiful young Dutch girl’s smile.

  Hardly the face of a person trying to spy…

  The rider pulled onto the footpath behind her. Despite the complete differences of the two riders, there was no mistaking the coincidence that another Vespa should park behind her within minutes of losing the last one.

  So, someone is following me.

  She entered the traffic, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

  “Call Sam,” she said, activating the voice recognition in the car.

  “Did you find what you were after?” Sam asked, dismissing civilities.

  “Sam, I don’t know how, but someone’s onto us.”

  “Really, no one even knows we’re in the country, and I can’t imagine how they would have worked out what we’re doin
g here. Especially, given that I don’t really know what we’re doing.”

  “All the same, someone knows. I’ve had several men on Vespas stalking me since I left the National Archives building.”

  “No chance they just want your phone number?”

  “Fuck you. I’m telling you someone’s after me.”

  Sam’s voice stiffened. “Where are you now?”

  She looked at the GPS on the heads up display on the windscreen. “Weeperstraat. Approaching… Mauritskade… ”

  “Good. I want you to take a right onto it. And then loop around to the Frederik Henderik Park. Do you know how to get there?”

  “Yeah, sure. I think I’ve passed it a few times in the past few days,” she replied.

  “Stay on the main roads. If I’m not there when you arrive, make a circuit. I can be there in twenty minutes. And Billie…”

  “What?”

  “Did you find it?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t steal it without someone taking notice, but I’ve taken several photographs. It should be enough to find where he’s gone.”

  “Good. Listen. Stick to the main roads, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t stop your car until you see me!”

  “Understood!”

  Billie’s heart raced as she reached the Frederik Henderik Park within ten minutes. She slowed, but the park was empty. She was too early for Sam to reach it. The first time since she’d arrived in the city that the traffic had been so good, when all she wanted was a slow but constant run.

  In general, she could look after herself, but she was unarmed. She swore at herself for not taking the precautions she normally did, but she’d worried that her weapon was more likely to raise suspicion than dispel it. Besides, whoever knew what she was after would have infinite resources behind them. Few people knew that Atlantis really existed. Even fewer knew where it was. And as far as she could determine, no one presently living knew how to reach its inner sanctum.

  But she was about to find out.

  And that made her the most valuable person alive.

  Billie turned right onto Willemsbrug and began the mental process of planning a gigantic loop. The girl on the Vespa behind her seemed more serious now. The carefree smile had disappeared, only to be replaced by determination.

  The motorcycle rider, seemingly aware that Billie was onto her, became blatant in her movements to keep close. She laughed at herself for being so frightened. After all, they were only on motorcycles, Vespas actually, not even a real motorcycle, and she was in a car.

  What were they going to do to her?

  When she made another right back onto Weeperstraat, Billie was horrified to see the original yellow Vespa, the one that had followed her to the National Archives on her first day. It was parked on the intersection coming the other direction, but immediately turned in pursuit as she passed it.

  She sped up as the yellow Vespa followed.

  Billie pressed the call back button on her cell.

  “Sam! Where are you?”

  “Zaandam. I got stuck in traffic, but I’m doing my best. Are you all right?”

  “No, I’m not fucking all right! I have three motorcyclists after me, and I’m unarmed because of your suggestion!”

  Sam didn’t take the bait for the argument. “Well I’m not unarmed. I can assure you they’ll lose whatever interest they have in you pretty quickly when I arrive. Take it easy. Are you still on the same loop?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Don’t stop anywhere. I’ll find you. I’m coming from the other direction, but I’ll see you. Good luck.”

  “Fuck good luck! I want you to fix this, Sam!”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  Up ahead, Billie saw a light turn red.

  She began slowing down early, hoping that she wouldn’t have to come to a complete stop. Traffic was already building up at the intersection and she was worried it wouldn’t be long before she didn’t have a choice.

  In the end, she had to stop.

  She kept one foot on the brake, while the other revved the engine, ready to cross into the oncoming traffic if she needed to.

  The yellow Vespa pulled up alongside her.

  It was the same blond man who had been watching her at National Archives in Amsterdam. He wore an open faced helmet. He turned his head to look directly at her. The arrogant smile across his face made him look like any other man who was out for a great ride and had come across a beautiful woman stopped at the traffic lights.

  Her eyes carefully kept track of the two Vespas behind her, now stopped a couple car spaces back. Certain that someone was going to get off their bike and take her she didn’t let her eyes stop scanning the area.

  Billie hit the central lock button and all four doors locked simultaneously.

  It failed to reassure her. The car was small and would do little in the way of protecting her from bullets.

  The traffic light turned green.

  And the man in the yellow Vespa grinned at her and waved, before speeding off ahead until he disappeared into the sea of traffic.

  Well that’s something…

  She was starting to feel more confident that Sam was going to reach her in time. Up ahead, she approached the intersection of Willemsbrug and Stadhouderskade.

  Approaching the intersection, Billie was forced to slow down, as a man on a bicycle in front of her nearly came to a stop. Her eyes carefully monitored the closest Vespa behind her. Reassured that it wasn’t moving, she remained in the intersection for a split second longer than she should have after the bicycle had crossed the road.

  She then floored her accelerator and pulled into the intersection.

  Where a truck drove toward her at full speed.

  By the time she saw it, Billie had just enough time to hit her accelerator in a vain attempt to avoid the collision. The truck struck the passenger side door, sending her forward and towards the wall of the dike.

  After the initial impact, she realized she wasn’t badly injured. Deciding whether to run toward the truck driver or make a run for it down the street, she was about to reach for the door handle when the truck’s engine roared into life again.

  It was pushing her toward the bridge.

  She slammed her foot hard on the brake.

  The side of her car struck the old stone wall with a jarring force. And then she felt everything give way as her car began rolling down the edge.

  Until she struck water!

  It floated for thirty or more seconds before the heavier engine block at the front of the car began dragging her down hood first.

  With a gush of bubbles, the entire car disappeared under the water.

  Chapter Two

  Sam Reilly spun his BMW S1000 RR, one of the fastest road bikes in existence, south along the A10 at speeds that would make any police officer doubt his vision. Cutting through the backstreets of Houthavens he reached the intersection of Willemsbrug and Stadhouderskade.

  He came to a stop at the intersection.

  Broken glass and shards of metal were strewn along the middle of the intersection. A long stretch of tire marks could be seen skidding along the bridge. Starting in the middle, his eyes followed them until they went over the edge of the old bridge.

  He was too late.

  They had got to her first.

  Sam pulled his throttle all the way back as he raced to the edge of the bridge where the remnants of the destroyed railing still remained.

  Below him, he could see a thousand or more bubbles still piercing the surface of the water, and an eerie glow from the headlights of the car below. Presumably the only remnants of Billie’s crashed car.

  It must have only just happened.

  Sam then stepped off his bike and looked over at the broken large sandstone blocks, which had previously formed the top layer of retaining wall. Without waiting to see who else had been there at the accident, he lifted up one of the large blocks. It took all his strength just to lift the sandstone. He took a
single step to the edge of the bridge and stepped off – into the white, frothing water below.

  Chapter Three

  Billie opened her eyes to the sight of bubbles running along the windscreen. Her hand touched her forehead. There was something wet running past her eyes. Slightly disoriented, she pulled her hand back, and looked at it.

  There was blood.

  Where am I?

  In an instant, she recalled what had happened and where she was. Dazed for a moment, she quickly reached for the door handle. It didn’t move. She tried the unlock button, but the door wouldn’t budge.

  She tried the electric windows.

  Nothing happened.

  Adrenaline raged inside her as the realization that she was going to drown inside her own car terrified her. She thought through all the ways she’d read over the years to exit a flooded car – there weren’t many that worked.

  Billie fumbled as she rummaged through the glove box, desperately looking for anything solid enough to break a window.

  Tissue box – are you fucking kidding me!

  She squeezed into the back seat. Her shoulder bag rested there. She opened it and riffled through the contents. Her cell phone, wallet, and tablet. She cursed herself for leaving her laptop in the trunk today, instead of with her handbag next to her.

  Car keys, all plastic. No, that won’t help.

  The water was filling the car faster now.

  Panic tried to grip her, and she fought to maintain control. If she was to survive, she was going to have to stay focused.

  The water was now up to her neck.

  With the downward angle of the car, the remaining air pocket was sitting at the back window. She tried to squeeze her head into the top to breathe the last remaining air. Trying the door handle again, she found the pressure outside was too great.

  Billie returned to the back of the car and took another couple deep breaths, and then swam to the driver’s side door and tried to open it.

  Still too much pressure.

  She returned to take a final breath from the last pocket of air at the back window, before it completely filled with water.