The Sam Reilly Collection

by Christopher Cartwright

  “No, you see, I paid a man who specialized in rare and often unattainable products. I sought his assistance when I discovered that you were on the close tail of finding Atlantis. Unfortunately, I had no idea that the very man I employed just so happened to be a sleeper cell for the head of the Phoenix Resistance. I fear something you did while you were in Amsterdam triggered something that made him realize who you were, and why I was after you.”

  “Who was after me?”

  Mr. Worthington brought up a picture on a hologram in front of them. The man was in a blue suit, clean shaven, and carrying a suitcase. He appeared quite handsome, had he not been trying to kill her or at least abduct her only yesterday.

  “His name is Andrew Brandt. This was him three days ago when I paid him 5 million dollars as a down payment to bring you to me.”

  Her eyes looked at the man for a second and then realized she’s seem him before. “The man with blond hair in a red baseball cap!”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He was at the National Archives center in Amsterdam!”

  “That’s possible.”

  “But now we need to find Atlantis, before they do. And the clock is ticking.”

  “If I contact the other two members of my team, we will have a better chance of finding it.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, the Phoenix Resistance are after you. If they find you, and therefore beat us to Atlantis, all is lost.”

  “Why? What is so important about Atlantis?”

  “I think you know, as well as I do.”

  Billie did know, but she certainly wasn’t going to let him hold all the cards. She nodded her head in acceptance.

  Edward then said, “No, its best that you and I go searching for Atlantis, while Sam and Tom lead them away. If they think you’re dead, they will go after the next best lead they have, and that means Sam and Tom.”

  A man approached. He had a solid build, pale skin, and brown hair cut in a short military style. “Dr. Swan, this is Mark.”

  The man shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you again Dr. Swan. I’m afraid the last time we might have gotten off on the wrong foot, although it was in your best interests. May I please welcome you to this submarine and apologize for how you came to be aboard.”

  She took his hand and replied, “Nice to meet you Mark. I don’t blame you for nearly getting me killed. For that, we have Edward.”

  Billy looked at the man’s eyes. They were an intense blue, and a pleasant enough smile. But, although she didn’t say so, there was something about him that gave her the creeps.

  Edward looked at her. As though he’d read her mind, Edward said, “Mark has worked for me for the past twenty years and is exceedingly loyal – to those who pay him well. He will be your bodyguard.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Billie stood warming her hands by the fire. “All right. If your grandfather buried it, why don’t you know where it is?”

  Edward ignored her question, as he had so many others. “Let me tell you what I know from my sources so that you can clear up any of my confusions – and I have so many these days.”

  He didn’t wait for her to acknowledge her acquiescence, and instead continued. “You found a series of pictographs on a sarcophagus inside an ancient pyramid. All of which represented a known place of historical significance. The only one that had not been officially discovered, was Atlantis. Then you found a looking glass, which somehow allowed you to see the image of each of the archeological sites.”

  She nodded her head, not wanting to give away more than she had to.

  “I’ve read your notes, and see that you could calculate the exact distance between the location of the pyramid and each of the sites by measuring the distance between the center of the map and each of the pictographs. And you were able to work out that of the 13 sites displayed on the seeing tube, or looking glass as you called it, six were above the equator, while six were below it and the thirteenth, or looking-glass was directly along the equator.”

  He paused long enough for her to add anything if she felt like, which she didn’t.

  He then continued. “What I don’t understand is how you derived a need to visit Amsterdam?”

  “We calculated three separate known cities which roughly matched the distance that we calculated from the main site. These were, Amsterdam, Nice and New York.”

  “And you chose Amsterdam first, because...”

  “The pictograph that represented what we believe to be Atlantis, depicted a circular city, with dozens of canals, protected via dikes. When I looked at the three cities, and the image of Atlantis, I thought, ‘Which one most closely resembles the original city?’ Thus, I came up with Amsterdam, which luckily happened to be the big break.”

  “That’s very good, Dr. Swan. A fanciful story at best. I think if I were to sit down here with a map and calculate the exact distance from the Gulf of Mexico and those three cities, I would most likely find three very different answers.”

  Billie felt a warm flush of blood flow to her cheeks. He’d caught her in a lie. Even if she had no reason to be honest with him, it made her feel guilty.

  She didn’t even try to deny it, and Edward continued. “In Atlantis you realized that you needed a code – Let’s call it the code to Atlantis. Without it, you have no ability to access any further information from its inner sanctum, and nor do you have any control over the timer that you’ve begun.”

  Billie kept her thoughts to herself on the matter, but inwardly, she was writhing with curiosity.

  “It was here that you realized that the ancient Atlantean people had built a second temple – not too dissimilar to their original one. The purpose of which, was not to house the great wealth and even greater power that Atlantis was built on. Instead, it was a great vault. An ancient set of archives, which tells of the history of the earth.”

  “Yes. I went to Amsterdam in search of a key to the archives to Atlantis.”

  “Did you find it?” He seemed only mildly interested.

  “Yes. But it was my interest in it that seemed to bring me to the attention of yourself, and if I should believe you, the Phoenix Resistance.”

  “My dear Dr. Swan. The simple matter of whether you believe me or not has no bearing on the fact that there is an ancient brotherhood who want that code to Atlantis as much as we do. And if they beat us to it, the result can only mean the ending of the world as we know it.”

  She was a scientist. As such, Billie had spent her life assessing everything with circumspection and objectivity. But as she listened to this old stranger, she knew in her heart he was speaking the truth.

  Seemingly confident he’d made his point, Edward said, “In Amsterdam you learned Felix Brandt was one of the last people to ever see Atlantis, and that, after returning to Amsterdam, he travelled to Tibet. There he lived out the remainder of his days, presumably documenting the history of the world high in the Atlantean archives.”

  “That’s right. So, every archeologist and treasure hunter in the last two centuries have heard the rumor that an ancient Atlantean left a treasure trove of orichalcum somewhere in the mountains of Tibet, along with the key to the city’s central vault and a map that could outlast the ages of time.”

  “Yes, something like that. Of course no one’s ever been able to locate it have they? Yet, you located something in Amsterdam. What was it, a map?”

  “Not quite a map. I discovered a key to an ancient map.”

  Edward laughed, as though he’d had enough fun with her. “Dr. Swan. On that account we’re in luck. As it so happens, I once owned the Arcane Stone. It has since been stolen from me. But I have previously used it to mark the secret location of the Atlantean Archives.”

  She grinned mischievously. What does this man actually need from me? “And what did you find there?”

  “A whole lot of ancient texts. The same as those that riddle the walls of Atlantis. I’m not a l
inguist, Dr. Swan. I have studied far and wide, and in my short 80 years of life on this earth, I have learned to make sense out of some of the images. But for the most part, I need your help.”

  “How do you know that I’ll have any more luck understanding it than you?”

  “Because as you know, it’s the same language that you’ve studied for years. The one you believe came from the Master Builders, although I believe we’re both going to find that the simplest explanation for them was that they were simply Gods.”

  Billie tried to hide her surprise. And then said, “Gods? The last time people truly believed that the Gods lived among us was in ancient Greece, and even then, no one really believed the stories.”

  “Oh, are you sure?”

  Billie was certain. She might overlook her scientific objectivity in place of a gut instinct about an old man, but resting the answers to some of the biggest questions to plague her life on ancient Gods, was one giant step too much for her to take.

  He smiled at her and said, “Don’t worry Dr. Swan. I’m not planning on preaching. It was just a thought.”

  Yet something about his smile made her wonder what he really knew about the Master Builders.

  “What now, then?”

  “And so, Billie, you and I are on our way to Tibet, to climb a mountain.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Andrew Brandt looked at the robe in his wardrobe. His father had been the last to wear it, and the last to truly believe in the Phoenix Resistance. It had been nearly twenty years since the ancient brotherhood met for official reasons, but in that time, the internet and global communications had changed a lot. As did the way they ran their business in the past eleven thousand years.

  What was once a society hidden by cloaks of darkness, and secret handshakes was now run by five men from around the world, each powerful and intelligent in their own right. A merchant banker, a Russian oil and gas tycoon, a leader of the most dangerous private mercenary army in the world, a politician, a CEO of one of the greatest technology firms on the planet.

  Their faces had been obscured to maintain anonymity. Andrew had never met any of them in person. But together they had a combined power that enabled them to change the world.

  Of the five of them, Andrew had been chosen to now lead the secret organization.

  One of them was still missing, lost in action. He had gone to infiltrate an enemy of the brotherhood. But now, it appeared that the man had been killed as a result, and hadn’t been heard of since.

  Instead of secret caves, handshakes, and all those stupid things that went with the role, the small gathering met via video conferencing, over secure networks, using satellites that Andrew, himself, owned.

  Up until a couple days ago, Andrew had assumed the entire premise for their organization had been a giant farce, made up by one of his great ancestors to maintain power and control over his fellow man. The only reason he’d even maintained the pretense and continued the organization, managing it as the most senior leader, was because of the connections that the organization had given him.

  After all, each of the men in the virtual room today had a net worth of nearly a hundred million dollars. And that sort of money came with contacts.

  Still in his day suit, having long ago abandoned the ornamental cloaks, he accepted the final member to the virtual room and began to chair the meeting.

  “Nearly six hours ago a woman I was paid to capture was stolen from me. It has since then come to my attention that she was in possession of the knowledge that lead her towards the current resting place of Atlantis.”

  He saw the same look on their faces as he had on his own. They all said the same thing: so Atlantis was real, and so was the prophecy…

  “Do we know how much they know?” It was Kazimir – his name literally meant the destroyer of peace.

  “No, we know that they discovered something that proved unequivocally the existence of Atlantis and directed them to Amsterdam. What sent them there, I have no idea. There, they found the map to the gateway, also known as the Arcane Stone. Without Dr. Billie Swan, Sam Reilly and Tom Bower are having to backtrack, but they’re gaining momentum and have already booked a flight to Tibet!”

  “Tibet?” It was Richard who spoke first. “But we’ve already been to Tibet. There’s nothing but scribbles there. Codes to enter the inner sanctum of Atlantis. But they’re worth nothing without any knowledge of Atlantis itself.”

  “But what if they already know?” said Mr. Armel, the head of a private army of expert soldiers. He had employed soldiers who were leaders in their own country, turning them to the lucrative profession of mercenaries.

  Andrew smiled. “No, I don’t think Sam Reilly and Tom Bower know any more than we do. But what about Dr. Swan?”

  James Bradley, a billionaire turned politician from Oregon, looked irritated. “And if Dr. Swan does know its exact location, then that would explain why someone would want to abduct her. Which brings us to the next logical question. Who would have the knowledge and power to do so?”

  Andrew sighed. He’d not thought it through so far. “No idea, but I’ve already sent a team there personally, to protect the code to the gateway and find out.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  French Riviera – Four Weeks Remaining

  Le Vieux, Nice was a honeycomb of narrow streets, dotted with beautiful Baroque churches, vibrant squares, and restaurants. Its dark narrow lanes were crammed with delis, boutique eateries, and bars full of beautiful people. The old town was overflowing with them. Like their Parisian counterparts, the people of Nice were splendidly dressed in the latest style, with slim figures and attractive features befitting the latest fashion magazines. The average men looked like they had walked off the set on a Calvin Klein modeling campaign, including white shorts, blue sailor tops, and brown wavy hair, tussled by the salty sea breeze. Their women took style and glamour up several notches.

  At the end of the tiny street, the pristine waters of the French Riviera could be seen, littered with expensive yachts. Here the elite, famous and richest people of the world competed to see who’d acquired the best beach toy.

  Sam casually scanned the bay, his interest barely piqued by the abundance of beautiful yachts. Instead, he stared at one vessel that stood out amongst the others. Not because it was the most beautiful, but because in a world of yachts filled with hulls built of carbon fiber, delicate woodwork, and gold emblazing, the large steel hull of what appeared to be an old icebreaker looked as though it didn’t belong. Anchored slightly further out, as though it was being ostracized.

  It was painted sky blue. And along the ship’s angular steel hull, in large emerald writing, were the words MARIA HELENA. Below, in smaller writing – Deep Sea Expeditions. From the distance, it looked like nothing more than an oversized tugboat or possibly an old icebreaker converted into a science vessel. On the aft deck a helipad could be seen, the only indication that it deserved a place as anything more than a tugboat.

  Sam was reassured by the familiar sight of his ship. The Maria Helena had been doing research into the ever-changing water quality of the overcrowded Mediterranean as it passed through the Strait of Gibraltar. He’d ordered her skipper, Matthew Sutherland, to wrap up their project and quickly move it to the French Riviera in case they were needed.

  Sam and Tom walked confidently down the tiny street. He watched as a beautiful woman in a flowery yellow dress walked by a popular restaurant, le Royal. Although it was only just hitting eleven-thirty in the morning, the place was already thriving with tourists and locals. The aroma of strong coffee and freshly baked French bread filled the air.

  Sam smiled, enjoying the atmosphere.

  It was hardly the place for a business meeting with the head of a criminal organization. A police car was parked in front of the restaurant. Two police officers in their early forties stood armed with SP2022 handguns at their hips, and each had a Ruger machinegun held at the ready, as though waiting for something.

 
“Do they look overly eager for police officers in Nice?” Sam asked.

  Tom looked up from where he’d been distracted by the flirtatious smile of a tall brunette. “Who?”

  “The police are in front of the restaurant. Do you think they appear unusually ready with their weapons in a place like this?”

  “We live in a dangerous world. Who can say?” Tom replied, nonplussed.

  “I can say. My guess is they work for him.”

  “There’s only one way to find out.” Tom began walking toward the entrance. “Shall we?”

  “Let’s.”

  The two walked into le Royale.

  A waiter immediately approached them and said in perfect English, “Mr. Reilly and Mr. Bower, I presume?”

  Sam nodded his head.

  “Good. Right this way. He’s waiting for you.”

  The waiter sat them in the front of the restaurant, in the sidewalk seating area. There, a man in his fifties was waiting by himself.

  The man was slim and wore casual clothes, made by a local and impeccable designer. He had a full head of brown hair. If there was any greying, the man had dyed it well. With blue eyes and a bright smile, the man stood up to greet them, as though they were old friends catching up over lunch.

  “Sam Reilly?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Sam replied, offering his hand. “And this is my friend Tom Bower.”

  The man took it cordially, and said, “My name is Vincent Dubois. I have taken the liberty of ordering you both something for lunch. I own the restaurant, but even so, I believe the food is excellent. Do you have time for lunch?”

  Sam looked around and saw the police officers staring at him. “Of course.”

  “Good. Because I cannot do business with a man who dismisses a good meal at lunchtime.” Vincent laughed at his own joke. “Wine?”

  He poured three glasses before Sam could reply.

  “And I take it you own the police officers too?”

  “We are a civilized society my friend. I cannot own the police officers. Let’s just say that I merely pay into their social fund each week, so they have a vested interest in my wellbeing.” Vincent smiled. “Tell me. Why are you interested in the Arcane Stone?”