The Atlantis Plague: A Thriller (The Origin Mystery, Book 2)

  “The ark in… Okay, never mind that,” David said. “What was the rest of the tapestry?” He hoped it would shed more light on Martin’s code. The first two depictions had confirmed David’s theories. He was close to unraveling the message.

  “The third was the flood of blood. A global apocalypse. The fourth was the flood of light. Our salvation. Qian said they were events yet to come.”

  “You think the plague is the flood of blood?” David asked.

  “I believe so.”

  “You told Martin about the tapestry?”

  “Yes.”

  David nodded. “The tapestry is a chronology. It chronicles the major turning points in human history. I believe this code is also a chronology: a timeline that Martin was creating to decode the tapestry and try to isolate specific events in the past—events that are key to finding a cure for the plague.”

  “Interesting,” Kate murmured.

  “Bravo,” Janus said.

  “I concur,” said Chang.

  David leaned back in the chair. That was the purpose of Martin’s code—he was sure of it now. The mystery that remained was: who killed him, and why? It was someone on this boat. Was it one of the scientists—because of Martin’s research?

  The sound of boots on the thin carpet interrupted his thoughts, and David turned to see Shaw charging into the room.

  “We’re ready. We need a decision—” He glanced around the room, taking the four of them in for the first time. “What the hell is this? A bloody tea party?”

  “We’re discussing Martin’s notes,” Kate said, pointing to the page on the coffee table.

  Shaw snatched it up.

  David lunged for him and grabbed the page out of his hand. “Don’t. You’re getting grease on it.” He tossed the page back on the coffee table. The look on Kate’s face said, It’s tough dealing with barbarians, isn’t it? He knew her so well. In the background, he heard Shaw erupt.

  “Are you kidding me? We’re in the middle of—”

  David slowly turned his head to Shaw, ready for battle, but a faint glimmer on the horizon caught his attention. He stared at it a moment, then stood and crossed to the window. Yes—lights in the night. A boat. Two. On a direct course for them.

  CHAPTER 65

  From Tibet to Tel Aviv

  Milo unslung the heavy pack and walked to the edge of the rock ledge. The untouched green plateau in western Tibet stretched to the horizon, where another mountain ridge met the setting sun. The serene, picturesque landscape reminded him of the monastery. His mind instantly flashed to his last moments in that place, the only home he’d ever known. He had stood at the top of another rock ledge, looking down, watching the wooden buildings burn, crumble, and tumble down the mountain, leaving only a burnt, blackened rock face.

  Milo pushed the scene from his mind. He refused to think about it. Qian’s words echoed to him: “A mind that dwells in the past builds a prison it cannot escape. Control your mind, or it will control you, and you will never break through the walls it builds.”

  Milo cleared his mind and turned back to the pack. He would make camp here, then leave at first light as he had done each day before. He took out the tent, then the animal traps and the map, which he consulted every night. He thought he had to be somewhere near the Kashmir region of northern India or Pakistan, or possibly somewhere in eastern Afghanistan, but truth be told, he had no idea where he was, and he hadn’t seen a single soul, no one to offer any clues. Qian had been right about that: “You will walk a long and lonely road. But you will have all that you need.”

  At each of Milo’s questions, Qian had issued a quick retort. Food? “The beasts of the forests will be your only companions, and they will sustain you.” Milo moved into the forest as he had each night before, and began rigging the traps. Along the way, he ate nuts and berries. He never brought them back to his camp. As he hiked throughout the day, he usually consumed enough to maintain his energy levels until his protein-rich breakfast of animal meat the next morning.

  When the traps were set, he erected his tent and laid out his mat. He sat and focused on his breathing, seeking the stillness within. Gradually it came, and the memories and musings of his mind melted away. He was vaguely aware of the sun slipping behind the far ridge, pulling a curtain of darkness down the mountain.

  In the distance, he heard the snap of one of the traps he had laid. There would be breakfast tomorrow, that much was certain.

  Milo retired to the tent, where the last two items Qian had given him lay waiting in the corner. Both were books. The first was entitled Anthems of the Dying, but to Milo’s surprise, there were no songs inside, only three simplistic stories.

  The first story was about a father who sacrificed himself to save his daughter. The second was about a man and woman who traveled across a vast wasteland to find the treasure their ancestor had left them, which was their only hope to cure their dying people. The last part told the story of a humble man who slew a giant and became a king, but renounced his power, giving it back to the people.

  Qian had pointed to the book. “This book is a guide to our future.”

  Milo had hesitated. “How can the future be written?”

  “It is written in our blood, Milo. The war is always the same, only the names and places change. There are demons upon this earth. They live in our hearts and minds. This is a history of our struggle, a chronicle of the past war that will be repeated. The past and our nature predict our future. Read it. Learn it well.”

  “Will there be a test?”

  “Be serious, Milo. Life is a test we take every day. You must focus. You must be there for them when they need you.”

  “Who?”

  “You will meet them soon enough. They will arrive here and they will need our help, now, and even more in the future. You must be prepared.”

  Milo considered this for a moment. Somehow, it excited him. He felt filled with purpose. “What must I do?”

  “A great dragon pursues them. Their respite will be brief. The dragon will find them and breathe fire down upon us. You must build a chariot for the sky to carry them away. They must survive.”

  “Wait, there’s a dragon? It’s coming here?!”

  Qian shook his head. “Milo, it is a metaphor. I don’t know what will come, but we must be ready. And you must prepare for the journey after that.”

  He wanted to ask about the dragon again, but he resisted. Instead, he asked, “Why me?”

  “It must be you. The rest of us are too old to make the journey.”

  “I’ve been telling you that for years,” Milo said playfully.

  Qian rubbed his forehead, and suddenly looked older than his ninety-four years, like a fragile papier-mâché person who could disintegrate at any moment.

  Milo had spent the following weeks building a basket—for the chariot that would carry these people away from the dragon. He had thought it was all a diversion—something Qian had made up to keep him from pestering the older monks. But then they had come—Dr. Kate and Mr. David—just as Qian had said. Mr. David was just as Milo had seen him before: at death’s door. But Dr. Kate had healed him.

  Qian’s other prediction had come true as well. The dragon had come, flying through the air and breathing fire, and Dr. Kate and Mr. David had barely escaped. Milo was again at the top of the mountain, staring up at the basket he had built. It hung from a massive balloon, one of many floating toward the horizon, away from the burning monastery below him. They had known—the older monks. They had taken only one younger monk. Milo. They had not run from their fate. “It is written,” Qian had said. But who wrote it?

  Milo opened the second book, The First Tribes of Humanity: A History. He understood this book even less. It was written in an ancient language Qian had made him learn. Milo had been thrilled to learn English, but this language was different—far more difficult. And the text… what did it mean?

  “When you know the answer, only then will your journey begin,” Qian had said
.

  “If you know the answer, why not just tell me?” Milo asked, smiling. “We can save some time, and I can take off in the balloon and be there soon—”

  “Milo!” Qian steadied himself against the table. “The journey is the destination. Finding the answers for yourself, achieving understanding, is part of your journey. There are no shortcuts along the path.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  By the time Milo reached what was left of Tel Aviv, he thought he understood the books. And he had changed, because of what he had seen and the things he had done to survive.

  He found a fishing vessel he thought would take him.

  “What do you want, kid?”

  “Passage,” Milo answered.

  “Where you headed?”

  “West.”

  “Got anything to trade?”

  “Only my willingness to work hard. And… the greatest story you ever heard.”

  The fisherman eyed him suspiciously. “All right, get on the boat.”

  CHAPTER 66

  Somewhere off the coast of Ceuta

  Mediterranean Sea

  David stared at the two sets of lights on the water for another second. “Kamau!” he shouted.

  Within seconds, the tall African appeared in the saloon, covered in sweat and grease.

  “Get us underway,” David said.

  “To where?” Shaw cried.

  David turned to him. “Kill all the lights on the boat.” To Kamau he said, “Make our heading away from those lights.” David pointed out the window. “Best speed.”

  “Jesus,” Shaw said. He ran out of the saloon. The lights throughout the boat went out.

  David retrieved the binoculars from the cockpit and focused on the lights on the water. Just as the boats came into focus, they cut their lights. Through the moonlight, David couldn’t make out any markings on the boats or even what type, but one thing was certain: they had cut their lights the second Shaw had killed theirs.

  The boats were following them.

  David felt the yacht lurch forward and they were underway.

  Shaw returned to the saloon. “They cut their lights—”

  “I saw it.”

  “They’re following us.”

  David ignored him. He said to Kamau, who was standing in the doorway, “Bring the map. Mark our position.”

  “Let me make the call, David. My government can airlift us out of here. It’s our only way out. You know it,” Shaw said.

  Kamau returned with the map and spread it out on the coffee table, covering Martin’s notes. He pointed at a dot in the water between Spain and Morocco. “We’re here.”

  David’s mind raced.

  “Fine,” Shaw said flatly. “I’ll say it. Someone killed Martin.”

  Every set of eyes in the room went to Shaw. “We all know it. There are three doctors and three soldiers in this room; we all know enough to know that he was murdered. One of us killed him. It wasn’t me, and it wasn’t Kate. So I propose the following: Kate locks herself in the master stateroom with all the guns. We five gentlemen remain here in the upper deck until the SAS soldiers get here. That ensures Kate’s safety.” He focused on David. “Which is our priority, I believe.”

  David read Kate’s body language. It said: not a bad idea. It was subtle, but he knew her well enough by now. And it was a good idea: if Shaw could be trusted. But… if he had killed Martin, it would be the perfect trap. Disarm everyone, call in whomever he’s working with and easily capture Kate.

  David pointed to a small dot on the map. “What is this?”

  “Isla de Alborán,” Kamau said.

  “You said in Ceuta that the Immari had taken control of the islands in the Mediterranean.”

  “Yes. They have Alborán as well. It is a very small outpost.”

  “How small?”

  “Tiny. The entire island is less than a tenth of a square kilometer. That would be… maybe fifteen or twenty acres. There is a lighthouse and a building with maybe six guards. A helipad with two large helicopters. Not significant defenses…” He seemed to read David’s mind. “But… it would be difficult to take with only two people.” His eyes cut to Shaw, almost involuntarily.

  “Defenses?” David asked.

  “Yes, some. A few fixed artillery batteries. We’d have to figure that out. The outpost mainly serves air support to Immari ships that run into trouble. Rescue, fending off pirates.”

  “The helicopters are long range?”

  “Yes, definitely. There was discussion of having them support the invasion of southern Spain, but they were held back.”

  David nodded. That was the good news. If they could take the outpost at Alborán, they could fly anywhere.

  Shaw finally broke. “You can’t be serious. You have the option of being airlifted out of here and your choice is to assault an Immari outpost? It’s ludicrous.”

  David folded up the map. “It’s what we’re doing. This isn’t a discussion.” He handed the map to Kamau. “Set our course.”

  Shaw simply stood there.

  “David,” Kate began. The I need to speak with you look was the only cue David needed. He followed her downstairs to their stateroom.

  She closed the door gently behind him. “I’m sorry, but I think we have to—”

  “I want you to trust me, Kate. Let me do this.” He waited for her.

  Slowly, she nodded. “Okay.”

  “We’ll reach Alborán inside five hours—assuming whoever is chasing us doesn’t catch us first. We need to figure out who killed Martin before we get there.”

  “I agree. But first, I want us to decipher the rest of Martin’s code, then I want to call Continuity and relay our findings. If… something bad happens at Alborán, at least they will have our research. Hopefully they can find a cure.”

  This was her deal: David would help her work on a cure and she would go along with his plan—and trust him. Tradeoffs, compromises, trust. This was turning into a real relationship. I’m good with that. I like that. He nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

  Dorian rolled over in bed. “Come.”

  The door to his room opened, and a shy sailor inched in. He held out a closed envelope.

  Dorian snatched it and ripped it open.

  Where the hell are you?

  Warner close to deciphering code.

  Our destination is Isla de Alborán.

  ETA 5 hours.

  Be there.

  Be ready.

  CHAPTER 67

  Mediterranean Sea

  When David and Kate returned to the saloon, the two scientists were there waiting for them, sitting side by side on the white leather couches, placid expressions on their faces, as if the world weren’t dying from a global pandemic and they hadn’t just been accused of murder. David had to marvel at them. He wasn’t sure if he felt envy or sheer surprise at their composure.

  “We are ready to resume. If you are, of course,” Janus said.

  Kate and David sat in club chairs adjacent to the couch.

  The wood-paneled, glass-accented room was lit only by three candles on the coffee table now, and the ambiance had gone from a well-lighted science conference to a late-night sleepover.

  David turned the paper with Martin’s code around on the coffee table, positioning it to face the others as if it were a Ouija board.

  Everyone took a moment to reread the note.

  PIE = Immaru?

  535…1257 = Second Toba? New Delivery System?

  Adam => Flood/A$ Falls => Toba 2 => KBW

  Alpha => Missed Delta? => Delta => Omega

  70K YA => 12.5K YA => 535…1257 => 1918…1979

  Missing Alpha Leads to Treasure of Atlantis?

  “Several items still confuse me,” David said. “I believe the first two lines are simply notes—one about PIE. As we discussed, I’m quite certain Martin believed the Immaru were the PIE, Proto-Indo-Europeans, or at least a descendant group. The other note refers to an event in 535 and again in 1257. I know what
it is, and I’ll explain that in a moment. Then the three lines are a chronology—a time line that overlaps and corresponds to the Tibetan tapestry Kate saw at the Immaru monastery. But I believe Martin’s chronology may be incomplete. Let’s take it step by step.”

  David pointed at the word Adam. “Adam, Alpha, 70K YA.”

  “In research,” Kate said, “the alpha signifies the first person in a clinical trial—the first to receive a test therapy.”

  “Yes,” David said. “I think Adam here is the first human that received the Atlantis Gene. That’s the event in the flood of fire in the tapestry and the first major event in Martin’s chronology. The next is the Flood, A$ Falls, 12,500 years ago. I believe A$ is shorthand for Atlantis. So Flood, Atlantis Falls. When I was in the Atlantis structure in Gibraltar, there was a chamber with a series of… holomovies. I believe they showed this event—the fall of Atlantis at the foot of the Rock of Gibraltar. In the movie, the Atlantean ship hovered just above the water, then set down on the coast, just outside a prehistoric megalithic settlement. Two Atlanteans in suits exited the craft and interrupted a prehistoric tribal ritual, saving a Neanderthal. As soon as they returned to the ship, it was hit by a tidal wave that drove it inland, destroying the ancient city. As the water pulled the ship back out to sea, explosions rocked it, destroying the ship.”

  “Where it lay buried for almost thirteen thousand years, until 1918, when my father helped the Immari find it,” Kate said.

  “Exactly. The puzzling part is the notation: Missing Delta?”

  “Delta signifies change,” Kate said. “‘Missing Delta’… So a change didn’t happen?”

  “If we piece together Martin’s code, the tapestry, and what I saw that night in Gibraltar… In the first two floods on the tapestry, the Atlanteans interact directly with humans. Saving them or warning them. This implies a direct relationship.”

  Kate sat back in her chair. “What if the Atlanteans were somehow guiding human evolution? Like an experiment with periodic intervention—and that intervention failed to happen 12,500 years ago because of the ship’s explosion: the fall of Atlantis.”