The Sam Reilly Collection

by Christopher Cartwright

  More bullets sprayed the water just behind them. “You’d better make it quick!”

  Turning into the next waterway, Sam replied, “What the hell do you think I’m doing?” He took one more quick turn and then was travelling underneath the bridge. “Okay, I’m here – now what?”

  The jet skis came on.

  Tom ducked.

  Their pursuers’ machine guns fired in a blaze of red tracer bullets.

  “Just a little further…”

  Tom fired the RPG.

  It struck the base of the largest pier. For a second the only sound that could be heard were the machine gun bullets, getting closer to them.

  And then the tip of the explosive head ruptured.

  One after the next, the shock waves sent vibrations through the water. Behind them, he heard the crack of thunder. It was the sound of the pier collapsing, sending an entire road bridge plummeting into the water.

  The jet skis were forced to turn back, while the subsequent wave of destruction plowed eagerly toward them, with deadly force.

  “You might want to pick it up a notch Sam. That thing looks like it’s going to swamp us.”

  “I’m trying,” Sam said impatiently. “What do you suggest I do?”

  Tom grinned. “Press the red button?”

  “What bloody red button!”

  At the center of the little wooden sports craft’s dashboard stood a single red button. It had the same kind of refinement as a British high end motor car, while appearing equally out of place on the little wooden boat.

  Tom held on and pressed the button.

  The engine sputtered for a second and then sounded like it was choking, before the turbo charger filled with jet fuel and kicked into life. The boat literally leaped out of the water, its propeller barely touching the surface of the water, while Sam fought desperately to keep it from flipping.

  The turbo burst lasted just forty-five seconds, and then the boat settled back into the water. Behind them, the wave had disappeared along with the jet skis.

  Sam returned to the preprogramed route on the heads up display. Elise had left him the boat with a destination.

  Tom looked up ahead. “Any idea where we’re heading?”

  “Yeah, Nepal.”

  Tom latched onto the boat’s handle, as Sam swerved to the left. “Why the hell are we going to Nepal?”

  “Because I just realized what Billie was after.” He stopped the boat before Tom could ask more. “Here’s our stop.”

  Sam engaged the boat’s autopilot and sent it off into the canal again. A single workman’s door was located at the base of the concrete pier. There they climbed the stairs and entered the main foyer of the Waldorf Astoria Amsterdam.

  A waiter in a tuxedo looked at the two disheveled men with a bemused smile. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, we have a reservation.” Sam smiled. “Can you please send your best scotch to the penthouse?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Andrew Brandt stepped down to the water’s edge, staring at the ducks in the distance. Like a child, he picked up a rock and threw it at them. They scattered in an instant, and three jet skis approached in their wake.

  It was a burst of temper that he rarely allowed himself to show. And he immediately reined in on it. Forcing himself to smile, he said, “There were five of you, and still you lost them?”

  “We found his boat, but it appears he and his friend must have got off somewhere before and then left the boat going on its autopilot.”

  “One of you is going to fix this. Or I suggest you don’t bother coming back to see me.”

  Each of the three men looked at each other and then back to him again. One look at his serious face, and they clambered back onto their jet skis and disappeared. Although none of them had seen Andrew kill a person himself, no one doubted what he was capable of.

  Andrew’s cell rang once.

  “Jason. Tell me some good fucking news.”

  Andrew listened to the man’s response. A genuine grin crossing his face. “Really? You’ve got to be kidding me.” Andrew laughed for the first time that day. “Buy it. I don’t care how much it costs. I want that stone. And, Jason… don’t fail me with this.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  In the grandmaster’s sitting room of the Waldorf, Sam carefully studied the inscriptions on the Arcane Stone, and then swore.

  “It’s a fake! We nearly got ourselves killed for a fucking replica!” Sam wanted to punch something, or someone, very hard.

  “Are you certain?” Tom asked.

  Sam brought up the screen-shot from Billie’s notes. These were the notes Billie had of the real Arcane Stone. It was made from orichalcum, an alloy only ever found in the hills surrounding Atlantis. A naturally forming alloy, consisting of gold, copper, zinc, and lead.

  “The dimensions are identical to the original, but the metal is entirely copper.”

  “So, won’t it still work to identify the opening to the Atlantis Archives?”

  “No. Billie’s notes tell us that orichalcum has a very unique and rare response to light, in which it magnifies light three or four times better than copper. Even if this is shaped identically to the real Arcane Stone, it would never reflect the light in the same manner.”

  Tom shrugged his shoulder, as if to say, ‘it all sounds close enough to me.’

  “Come on, Tom, we have a flight to catch.”

  “But you said this thing’s a fake and won’t help us?”

  “It won’t. But I know someone who will.”

  The two quickly walked to the front of the hotel and caught a cab from out the front.

  “Elise. I’m texting you an image of a device found by a Hank Worthington in 1638.”

  “And how are you, too? I’m glad you appreciate me saving your lives. Although why I bother I don’t know. After all, between the two of you, I’m certain you’re both more interested in throwing them away.”

  “I’m sorry Elise. We’re in some trouble – again. I need you to locate something for me.”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “It’s called the Arcane Stone and at the time was believed to be made of brass, but archeologists have long thought that it might have been made of orichalcum. According to Billie’s notes, it’s a key to an ancient archive for the people of Atlantis.”

  “That’s if they existed, at all?”

  “They existed Elise. Find me that artifact, and I’ll prove it to you.”

  “Very good. Give me a few minutes and I’ll let you know what I’ve found. Where are you headed?”

  “Nepal.”

  “Really? You believe all that crap that the Nazis propaganda machine put out about the lost civilization of Atlantis being in the Himalayas?”

  “No. But I believe their archives have been recorded there for the past 11,000 years.”

  “And the Arcane Stone is going to show you the way?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Hang on a second Sam. I think I’ve got something, but you’re not going to like it.”

  “Why not?”

  “The Arcane Stone is currently owned by the Le Milieu Corso-Marseillais. They’re a secret society that has close links with just about every form of organized crime, from drugs, human trafficking –right through to the provisioning of private mercenary armies.”

  Sam sighed. “That’s fine. Are they willing to sell it?”

  “Sure are. Terrorism doesn’t come cheap these days. They currently have it listed on the Dark Net for 10 million Euros, with a note that it holds the key to locating Atlantis and other unknown riches. It’s probably a fake anyway.”

  Tom interrupted. “Hey, Elise. Sorry to interrupt. What the hell’s the Dark Net?”

  “Hi Tom. You know how most things we do on the internet is clearly visible to everyone. We make things available to search engines like Google. The dark net is the rest of the internet, where general users have no means of accessing information without knowing the precise UR
L to begin with. It’s used for secrecy, and as well as the latest conspiracy theorist, organized crime seem to like it for its obvious benefits.”

  The cab pulled into the Schiphol Amsterdam Airport.

  “Enough of the computer science lesson, Elise. Billie’s in trouble. Tell them the price is fine. Buy it for me and send it where I’m headed in Nepal. I’ll send you the address in a second.”

  “But you’re not going to Nepal.”

  “I’m not?”

  “No, Le Milieu Corso-Marseillais don’t sell through Ebay or anything like that. You’re going to need to actually meet them. They won’t have a thing to do with you or your absurd amounts of money without seeing you in person.”

  “All right, all right. Where are we headed?”

  “The French Riviera.”

  “That sounds all right. By the way you were speaking, I thought you were going to send me off to Iran or something difficult.”

  “No, but don’t let the lovely location or the romantic lights fool you. These people maintain one of the cruelest and most ruthless organizations in the world. Just because you’re a potential buyer doesn’t make you their friend or in any less danger. You’re going to want to be careful.”

  “Okay, arrange a meeting for me Elise.”

  “Will do, and be careful.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll bring Tom along for a show of muscle.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Billie woke up to the throbbing pain in her head.

  Whatever sedative she’d been given, it had left a terrible aftereffect of amnesia, disorientation and pain. She could do nothing about the pain, but she would immediately work to rectify the other two problems.

  How the fuck did I get here? Billie thought about it for a minute. She’d been driving in Amsterdam. Something had frightened her. But what? She felt the itch above her forehead and went to scratch. It was swollen and there were several surgical stiches under her hair line. That’s new.

  Instantly, Billie returned to the events of earlier today, or yesterday – or however much time had passed and she’d been unconscious since the accident. Someone had learned what she knew and had come for her. She’d contacted Sam Reilly, and he’d said he would come for her, but something happened and he never reached her.

  They had knocked her car into the water! She had tried to escape the sinking car, only to find that a diver had given her something, and taken her…

  Billie looked around, trying to orient herself.

  The room was mostly dark, with the dull ambient fluorescent lights outside barely providing enough light to see. There was no door, and she wondered if she could leave if she tried to. Her hand touched the metal wall next to the bed she’d woken up in. It vibrated, just slightly. And an image of a turbine spinning matched the constant drum she’d heard since waking.

  They have me on a ship?

  The realization hit her with surprise. She stood up and looked at the floor below her. It was metal. More like a steel grate on a working ship. Although she’d only just clambered out of the bed, her feet felt stable.

  No, there’s no swell or movement of the waves. Even in a flat sea, she knew there was a certain amount of movement.

  She looked around the room.

  It looked like a bedroom, with a slightly smaller than normal single bed. There were no windows, or anything else to be seen inside the room. The walls were dark.

  I’m in a submarine?

  With an air of fatalism, she stepped out of the room and down the dark passageway. Looking for anything that wasn’t bolted to the walls that could be used as a weapon, Billie found that she was completely vulnerable.

  Up ahead she thought she could hear something other than the sound of turbines. It creaked and cracked, as an open fire would. Slowly she progressed, walking ten or so feet and then stopping to listen. Her ears sensitive to the slightest change in sound, and expecting to hear someone come out to grab her at any moment, Billie clenched her fists.

  But no one came for her.

  She continued walking through the passageway. It was long. Much longer than any submarine she’d ever been on, not that she’d been on many. Still she expected that whatever type of submersible she was aboard, required hundreds of people to sail – but despite walking for several minutes now, she’d seen no evidence of anyone.

  I’m on a deserted ghost ship?

  Billie wasn’t immediately certain that she preferred that any more than discovering it was swarming with submariners. At least then, she’d have answers. Besides, if they didn’t let her die in the first place, that meant they needed her alive.

  Determined to take control of the only thing left to her, she decided not to continue slinking around quietly like a cat in an alley.

  She whistled loudly.

  The sound echoed through the empty hull.

  “I’m awake! You may as well come out. I know you don’t want to kill me, or else you wouldn’t have dressed my wounds. So come out!”

  There was no response.

  A thousand tiny prickles teased the nerve endings of her skin. Perhaps she really was on a ghost ship. But why? Why go through the trouble of abducting her – healing her – only to abandon her below the surface of the ocean?

  No, someone will come.

  But they didn’t, so she continued walking through the passageway. Although narrow, it had nearly six feet of head room above. That meant she was most likely on an American sub – after all, no other navy in the world believed in such luxuries for its sailors.

  At the end of the room, she saw an old man who most likely was nearing his early eighties. He was sitting and reading a book in a recliner chair. Next to him was a large heat light, built to look like a fire.

  It crackled, like a real fire.

  The man smiled warmly, but did not stand up as she approached.

  “Hello Dr. Swan. I was hoping you’d wake up soon. We have a lot of work to do and it’s time we get started.”

  Billie looked at the old man. “Started? What are we doing?”

  He carefully placed a bookmark in the old leather-bound book he’d been reading and then closed it. With an omniscient grin, he replied, “Why, saving Atlantis, of course.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “So, that’s what this is about.” Billie looked at the old man, her fear replaced with curiosity, as confidence dawned on her that she could probably kill him with her bare hands. “You heard that I had a new lead and decided that you could reap the rewards?”

  “Reap the rewards?” he asked, a curious look on his face.

  “The golden city. Or, city covered in the gold rich alloy, Orichalcum.”

  Laughing, the man sat up and said, “So you don’t know then, do you?”

  “Know what?”

  “Atlantis, my dear, for the most part, was stolen nearly 150 years ago.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “I should know. After all, it was my grandfather who did the stealing.”

  “So, if you didn’t kidnap me to find the treasures hidden inside Atlantis, why am I here?”

  “First of all, I never kidnapped you. I protected you from them. And I would have thought you’d be more grateful for it, on that matter.”

  “Then can I leave…” she began to protest, but he stopped her.

  “Second. We need to find Atlantis, before they do, and stop the countdown, which we both know you started.”

  Billie already knew the precise location of Atlantis. She’d been there only just last week. But instead of finding answers, she had found more questions and discovered that she had inadvertently restarted a timer that should have been permanently stopped.

  But there was no way she was going to let this man know.

  “Who are they?”

  “They…” the man coughed. A deep throaty cough. “They call themselves the Phoenix Resistance. And have served a useful purpose for nearly 11,000 years, too. They protected the secret of Atlantis. Bu
t, like all brotherhoods, they are run by people. And people, well – let’s face it, people are corruptible, ignorant, and most of all, stupid.”

  Billie examined the man’s appearance and decided that he could be dying. Maybe lung cancer or something. Hell what did she care? The man had kidnapped her.

  “What happened to them?”

  “Over the course of that time, the Phoenix Resistance, in the process of trying to maintain the secret of Atlantis, managed to lose it altogether on three separate occasions. The most recent, of course, being nearly 200 years ago, when their plan to bury it ended in its disappearance entirely.”

  She repeated the words “Phoenix Resistance.” She’d never heard of them.

  “For the most part, they carry on, biding their time, until evidence of its reemergence comes into light. As it did with your recent discovery of the looking glass and the existence of Atlantis.”

  “How could you possibly know of that?”

  “Let’s just say that money’s not a problem for me. And, I keep tabs on a number of leading archeologists around the world, just on the off chance that such an event occurs, sending into motion a dangerous set of events.”

  “What events?”

  “Why, the end of the world of course.”

  Billie couldn’t hide her response. “So, it’s true then.”

  “Yes, and given that you entered all but the inner sanctum last week – that means that we now have a little under five weeks remaining to save the world.”

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “My name’s Edward Worthington, and my grandfather, Hank Worthington, stole the great wealth of Atlantis, before he too discovered its secret. He decided to bury its very existence, so that no others should fall into the trap.”

  Billie sat down.

  “Okay, Mr. Worthington, if what you say is true, why didn’t you simply contact me? Why did you go through the effort of nearly getting me killed?”

  “Ah, that I’m afraid I brought upon you, but had no idea I was doing so until it was too late.”

  “What do you mean? You didn’t realize you ordered one of your goons to try and kill me?”