The Hunt for Atlantis

  The Ferrari’s tires screeched again as he swerved to one side of the runway. Not to get out of the plane’s way, but to make as tight a turn as possible without losing too much speed, preparing to come in under the aircraft.

  The cable gun was ready on the passenger seat beside him.

  He would literally only get one shot—if he missed, there was a good chance he would die when the Ferrari was caught in the engine backblast. If he survived that, he would be dead soon after, killed either by Frost’s men or by his virus.

  Even if he succeeded, he was probably dead anyway. But he had to try.

  Heat scoured his face as he passed behind the engines on the left wing. The Ferrari threatened to spin out, and he eased off the accelerator slightly—if he made a mistake now, there would be no chance to catch up.

  The hatch at the plane’s nose opened. Someone leaned out, a gun in his hand—one of Frost’s men looking for him.

  The overstressed tires strained for grip—

  Now directly behind the fuselage, Chase straightened the car, aiming between the two pairs of landing legs in the A380’s belly.

  The engine noise rose to a scream, and the plane started to accelerate.

  For its colossal size, the Airbus was frighteningly quick off the mark. Burning air blasted Chase like a hurricane as the Ferrari darted under the plane’s tail. The massive fuselage filled his vision, a giant hammer ready to crush him flat at any moment.

  He was between the rear undercarriage legs, still outpacing the aircraft—but not for long.

  He grabbed the cable gun.

  Now he was level with the front landing legs, foot to the floor to keep up with the racing Airbus. A slight turn of the wheel brought him closer to the left leg, the four giant tires a whirling blur.

  One shot.

  The wheels were less than a foot from the Ferrari’s side.

  As the plane pulled away, Chase aimed the cable gun into the undercarriage well.

  One chance—

  Fire!

  The grapnel shot out, the line whipping behind it. It flew into the wheel well and struck the inner wall. If it fell out, it was all over …

  It held!

  The grapnel had pierced the metal bulkhead.

  He only needed it to hold for a few seconds. Hitting the switch to retract the cable, he shoved the gun through the center of the steering wheel, looping the line back around on itself. Then he let go of the wheel, forcing himself upright against the hundred-mile-an-hour slipstream, and held the cable as it snapped taut—

  The Ferrari swerved, dragged in behind the undercarriage.

  He jumped over the door and pulled himself hand over hand up the line. Dust and grit kicked up by the plane’s wheels spat into his face. He only needed to traverse a few feet, but the line was already straining.

  His feet scraped the runway, almost tearing him loose. Blood oozed between his fingers as the cable cut into his flesh.

  The landing leg was just a foot away—one more swing of his arm and he would be able to pull himself onto the undercarriage—

  The cable lashed. The Ferrari skidded sideways, dragged behind the plane like a toy. Chase felt the steel line jolt. The grapnel was giving way—

  He lunged desperately for the landing leg, blood-soaked fingers closing around the metal just as the cable snapped free.

  The Ferrari broke away, spinning out of control behind him. The cable shot past, the grapnel a lethal barb flashing past his face. He instinctively looked around to follow it, in time to see the Airbus plow right over the sports car, flattening it instantly. Mangled debris flew in all directions.

  The impact shook even the massive aircraft. Chase struggled to keep hold, kicking in a frantic attempt to find a foothold before he suffered the same fate as the F430.

  His boot found solid metal. He pulled himself up. If his guess had been wrong, if there wasn’t an access hatch, he would be crushed when the undercarriage retracted into the belly of the plane.

  He looked up, seeing nothing but metal walls and skeins of cables and hydraulic lines.

  Shit—

  As the Airbus left the runway, the shriek of the engines almost deafening, the landing leg began to retract, folding into the confines of the wheel well. Chase twisted desperately as he was pushed towards the ceiling, the metal ribs of the fuselage like blades about to slice him into pieces—

  A hatch!

  An access panel, barely two feet wide, with a recessed ring-shaped handle at its base. He grabbed the handle.

  It didn’t move.

  Either it was stiff through newness, or it was locked. He bet on the former, twisting it harder, and the hatch popped open. He hurled himself through the narrow gap, landing with a thump as the undercarriage clanked into position behind him. The gap between the leg and the ceiling of the wheel well was barely three inches.

  The light level dropped sharply as the outer doors slammed, the engine noise falling to a dull roar. Chase took in his surroundings. He was inside a crawl space, less than four feet high and lit by small but intense LED clusters. More cables lined the walls, leading towards the center of the aircraft.

  He closed the hatch and followed them, hunting for a way into the holds.

  Nina heard someone banging at the door. She moved more quickly down the hold.

  What was in the containers, she had no idea—only that none of them were connected to the plane’s hull. Holding the securing straps to keep upright as the A380 rose steeply into the sky, she headed for the back of the aircraft.

  The banging on the door intensified. She didn’t have much time, and there were two more decks still to search…

  Chase opened another hatch, emerging from the crawl space to find himself in the forward lower hold. The A380’s bottom deck was split in two by the undercarriage, and he’d chosen to head forward rather than aft with the thought that he might be able to reach the cockpit and threaten the pilots.

  If the virus was in the aft hold, he was screwed …

  The hold was full, no way for him to squeeze around the aluminum containers and barely a foot of clearance between them and the ceiling. He climbed onto the nearest one and crawled forward on his belly as fast as he could.

  Kari squeezed through the door. She ducked beneath the strap tied to the handle, then surveyed the hold, catching a glimpse of movement at the far end.

  She wiped blood off her bottom lip, staring at the crimson stain on her skin for a moment. “Oh Nina, I wish you hadn’t done that…”

  Then she raised a gun and set off after her.

  There was a door at the front of the hold. Chase opened it, finding a cargo lift just large enough to fit a catering cart, and next to it a ladder leading upwards.

  He ascended the ladder. It emerged in a utility room, a cramped space lined with lockers. He glanced at the labels on them—emergency equipment of various kinds—then took out his Wildey and opened the door a crack to peer out.

  Nobody was in sight. He was near the front of the plane. The room seemed to be some kind of crew area, a row of seats against the back wall next to an open door through which he could see the main hold. Another door led forward.

  That had to be the cockpit.

  Chase stepped out of the utility room, the Wildey at the ready. To his left was a flight of stairs leading up to the top deck; he looked up it, but no one was there.

  What should he do? He needed to find Nina. But Frost said the virus would be released when the plane reached its cruising altitude, and with the A380 still in a steep climb, that wouldn’t take long.

  Chase made his decision.

  He marched to the cockpit door and flung it open. The copilot glanced around, obviously expecting to see one of the other crew members—then barked a warning in Norwegian to the pilot.

  The pilot twisted in his seat, grabbing for something.

  Chase saw the gun, and reacted exactly as training and experience had taught him. In the confines of the cockpit, the Wildey sounded lik
e a cannon. The bullet blasted a hole right through the back of the pilot’s seat and the man himself to embed itself in one of the monitor screens. Blood splattered over the instruments.

  The pilot slumped forward, dead, his hand dropping from the control stick. The plane rolled sharply to one side, throwing Chase against the cockpit wall. He regained his balance, looking up. Instead of trying to keep control, the copilot had gone for a gun of his own—

  The Wildey boomed again.

  The two security men heading down the main hold to cut Nina off heard the first shot—and the A380’s lurch instantly confirmed that something was seriously wrong. By the time the noise of the second shot reached them, they were already running back towards the cockpit.

  Nina shrieked as she was pitched against one of the containers. She grabbed a strap for support and pulled herself back up.

  She was certain she’d heard a gunshot just before the plane banked.

  A very distinctive gunshot.

  “Eddie …” she whispered, barely daring to believe the possibility. Had he somehow managed to get on board?

  The plane shook again.

  If he was aboard, then he was causing as much trouble as ever …

  Chase struggled to squeeze between the seats of the two dead men. The A380’s ultramodern systems had replaced the traditional heavy yoke of an airliner with a small joystick. Which was less physical for the pilot—but also harder for Chase to reach. “What the hell did you have to do that for, you stupid twat?” he growled rhetorically at the pilot.

  He managed to grab the stick and nudged it to one side. To his enormous relief, the plane’s tilt began to level out.

  Then it struck him—he had no clue what to do next. He’d jumped out of plenty of planes, but he didn’t know how to fly any kind of plane, much less a five-hundred-ton behemoth.

  “Shit!” He looked desperately at the control panels. The only thing he could identify at a glance was the artificial horizon, which showed the plane still in a climb, and banking more steeply than he liked.

  Where the hell was the autopilot?

  There! “Autopilot Engage,” near the top of the control panel. He jabbed at the prominent switch, tentatively releasing the control stick. A synthetic female voice announced that the autopilot was active, the plane smoothly bringing itself to a level attitude. He searched for the altimeter. The A380 was at just over twelve thousand feet, well short of cruising height.

  He hoped that whatever system was being used to release the virus wasn’t activated by a timer.

  Kari pulled herself upright as the A380 leveled out. The two booming shots from the direction of the cockpit suggested that both pilots were dead—and that Chase was responsible.

  Chase! How the hell had he gotten aboard?

  Not that it mattered. He was here, and he posed a threat.

  More so than Nina? She weighed the dangers. The virus canisters were inside a container at the very rear of the middle deck, plumbed into pipes that would disperse the deadly solution into the jetstream from the A380’s tail. If Nina could get the container open, she might be able to interfere with the release mechanism.

  But she had to find the container first, and then break into it.

  Chase, on the other hand, was in the cockpit. He was the greater danger.

  With one last look after the retreating Nina, Kari turned back.

  Nina reached the rear of the upper hold. None of the containers showed any signs of being connected to the plane’s exterior.

  Which meant the virus was on one of the other decks.

  She feared she would have to return to the front of the hold and somehow make it past her pursuers, but then spotted a hatch in the rear bulkhead. It opened into a small compartment. She poked her head into the low-ceilinged space. It was an access area, with what looked like large fuseboxes connected to fat skeins of wires on the walls.

  And another hatch set into the floor.

  She clambered into the cabin and turned the catches on the hatch, pulling it open. Below she saw another metal container, in front of it a pallet onto which was strapped a large, sleek blue-and-silver motorbike. She recognized it as Kari’s, the racing bike she was so proud of.

  She dropped down into the middle hold.

  The plane now on autopilot, Chase stepped back from the controls. He hoped that would buy some time. How exactly he would get back down to the ground with both pilots dead was another matter …

  Running footsteps sounded behind him, and he threw himself against the port wall as shots cracked past him, slamming into the instrument panel. Through the cockpit door he saw a man duck behind the bulkhead, waiting for his companion to give him cover so he could whip around and shoot.

  Chase fired first. A single Magnum bullet from his Wildey blew a hole through the bulkhead, and the man standing behind it. Blood sprayed over the cabin, the guard slumping face-first to the floor.

  One down. But there was still another man outside.

  More bullets slammed into the cockpit, splinters of plastic and fiberboard flying everywhere. The other guard was using the same trick, shooting through the bulkhead. Chase threw himself flat on the deck as shots smacked into the cockpit wall and side panels above him.

  He could see the dead man’s pistol on the cabin floor, a SIG-Sauer P226. Presumably the other guard had the same weapon, which meant he had fifteen bullets in his clip, thirteen of which had now been fired, fourteen—

  Fifteen!

  If his count was wrong, it would get him killed.

  Chase rolled, arms stretched out in front of him as he threw himself at the open cockpit door. He saw the second of Frost’s guards frantically loading a new clip into his pistol—

  The Wildey boomed. The guard flew off his feet, collapsing at the rear of the compartment.

  Chase jumped up and hurried aft, kicking the guns away from the two men in case they weren’t dead. A moment’s experienced examination told him that they were.

  Unless there were other crew members he didn’t know about, that just left Kari aboard.

  And Nina.

  Nina heard the gunshots and ducked down next to the motorbike in case any of them found their way into the hold.

  The last shot was from Chase’s Wildey. Which she hoped meant he was the last man standing …

  “Eddie?” she called. “Eddie!”

  Chase heard the female voice coming from the hold.

  Was it Nina—or Kari? It was hard to tell over the engine noise. He went to the door, seeing nothing but metal containers under the cold lights. “Nina! Is that you?”

  A head popped up towards the rear of the hold. Chase recognized the auburn hair instantly. “Nina!”

  He ran into the hold.

  Kari heard Chase shout from below as she went back into the executive cabin. She paused, peering down the stairs to make sure he wasn’t lurking in ambush, then descended silently.

  Gun at the ready, she entered the crew room. No sign of Chase, but her two men were dead on the floor. The cockpit door was open. One look told her that both pilots were also dead.

  She could lock herself in the cockpit and regain control of the plane. However, the holes in the bulkhead told her that would be a risky option. Chase could shoot her right through the door.

  And if she were locked in the cockpit, that would leave Chase and Nina free to locate and sabotage the virus canisters …

  She hurried into the cockpit anyway, to check the plane’s status. Several panels had been damaged by bullets, but she was able to find the information she most urgently needed. The autopilot was engaged, the A380 at 12,000 feet and 320 knots. The fact that it was off-course and hadn’t reached its cruising altitude would already have alerted air traffic control that something was wrong, as would the lack of communication. If the plane failed to respond for more than a few minutes, the air force would be sent to intercept. Damn it!

  The plane had to be brought back to the ground before the military got involved. If she r
eturned to Ravnsfjord, a private airport, then the events aboard could be covered up, blamed upon human error. A second attempt to release the Trident virus could be made with little delay.

  She examined the autopilot controls, which luckily were undamaged. The A380’s computers were state of the art, and the runway at Ravnsfjord had been upgraded with the latest navigation aids; in an emergency, the plane could literally fly itself to a safe landing without any human intervention.

  Which was fortunate, because there was no longer anybody aboard capable of piloting the enormous aircraft.

  Suddenly sweating, Kari activated the emergency landing sequence.

  Chase squeezed past containers until he reached Nina, who was waiting by Kari’s racing bike. He hugged her. “Jesus, you’re okay!”

  “I thought you’d died!” Nina cried.

  “Not me, love, I’m indestructible.” She kissed him. “Oh, hello! Where did that come from?”

  “Just happy to see you!” The smile fell from her face. “Eddie, listen—somewhere on the plane there’s—”

  “A virus, I know. Any idea where?”

  “No, but it must be hooked to the outside of the plane. There’s nothing in the upper hold.”

  “There wasn’t anything like that forward of here,” said Chase, “and I didn’t see anything in the lower hold.”

  “Then there’s not much left to check! Come on!” Nina pulled him with her towards the rear of the hold. “You check the ones on the left side, I’ll go right.”

  There were fewer containers on Chase’s side of the plane, and none were out of the ordinary. He reached the huge aft cargo door, stopping to check the controls. Maybe if he opened the door—or even ejected it entirely, as closer inspection revealed a warning notice and instructions about firing its explosive bolts—he could force the plane down …

  “Eddie!” He looked around, the door already forgotten as he saw Nina waving frantically from the rear of the plane. “Over here, I’ve found it!”

  Chase hurried to the back of the hold. Nina stood by a pair of steel hoses leading from the rearmost container to fittings in the aft bulkhead. “Here!” she said. “Any idea how to stop the virus from being released?”