The Atlantis Plague Part 6

Sanders leaned back in the seat.

"Sir?"

"I'm still here," Sanders said. "Is there anything else?"

"Yes. They think the case could be emitting some kind of radiation."

"Radiation? What does that mean? It's-"

"The team doesn't know, sir."

"What's the working theory?" Sanders asked.

"They don't have one."

Sanders closed his eyes and rubbed his eyelids. Whoever was inside that structure wanted the case outside-and right outside the door. "Sloane left the case right outside the portal. Is it possible the Atlanteans need it there to get out-that it serves some kind of purpose there?"

"Possible, I suppose. I'm not sure how we would test that theory. The science staff and equipment on site is very limited."

"Okay... Let's get the case out of there. Put it in some kind of lead box or whatever can s.h.i.+eld the radiation, and take it to our primary research facility-somewhere we can get real answers."

"Who should we have look at it?"

Sanders thought for a moment. "Who was the cagey scientist, Chang?"

"He's on a plague barge in the Mediterranean-"

"No, not him. The nuclear guy."

"Chase?"

"Yes. Have him look at it. Tell him to report his findings directly to me."

CHAPTER 17.

Old Town District

Marbella, Spain

The green gas was as thick as fog now, and Kate could only see a few meters in front of her. She simply followed Martin, hoping he knew where he was going and that they would find shelter soon. He had stopped inspecting the windows of the stores: he simply charged on as fast as he could now, carrying Surya. Adi's head rested on Kate's shoulder, and she kept her arms wrapped tightly around him. Every few seconds, he jerked slightly as he coughed.

The gas stung her eyes and left a bit of a metallic taste in her mouth. She wondered what it was, what it was doing to them.

Ahead, Martin abruptly turned to the right, into a small courtyard. A white plaster church stood at the end, and Martin raced to its heavy wooden door. As they approached it, Kate inspected the stained-gla.s.s windows. The desperate citizens of Marbella hadn't broken them.

Martin threw the door open, and Kate and the boys rushed in. He closed it just as the first wisps of green gas drifted through.

Kate set Adi down and practically collapsed. She was completely drained, too sapped to even survey the cathedral. She used her last bit of strength to pull the cloth from Adi's and Surya's faces and give each of the boys a quick inspection. They were tired, but otherwise okay.

She turned away, walked to the closest wooden pew and stretched out. A few minutes later, Martin was there, hovering over her with a protein bar and a bottle of water. She took both, ate a bit, drank a little, then closed her eyes slowly and drifted off to sleep.

Martin watched Kate sleep while he waited for the secure chat connection to activate.

The chat window expanded and a line of text popped up.

Station 23.DC> Status?

Station 97.MB> Dire. Immari invasion of Marbella underway. Trapped. Have Kate as well as Beta-1 and Beta-2. Safe for now. Not much longer. Request immediate exfil. Cannot wait. Current loc: Church of Saint Mary.

Station 23.DC> Standby Station 23.DC> Field team report from Present-2 hrs: outside Marbella. Town ga.s.sed, but dissipating. Will be at Rendezvous Loc at 0900 local time. /END REPORT/ NOTE: team consists of 5 heavily armed soldiers in Spanish military uniforms.

Martin leaned back and exhaled. Maybe they had a chance. He glanced over at Kate. She twisted and grimaced. She was having a nightmare, and sleeping on the hard wooden pew probably didn't help, but it was the best Martin could do for her. He knew she would need the rest.

Kate was dreaming, but it felt so real to her. She was in Antarctica again, in the tombs of Atlantis. The s.h.i.+mmering gray walls and beady lights at the floor and ceiling sent a s.h.i.+ver through her. The place was quiet, and she was alone. Her footsteps echoed loudly, startling her. She looked down. She was wearing boots-and a uniform of some kind. Where was David? Her father? The boys?

"h.e.l.lo?" she called out, but her words only echoed through the cold empty s.p.a.ce.

To her left, a large set of double doors parted, sending light into the dim hallway. She stepped through the door and scanned the room. She knew this room. She had seen it before in Antarctica. The room had held a dozen tubes, each standing on end, each holding a different human ancestor, a specimen from one of the human subspecies. But only half the tubes were full now. Where had the other bodies gone? What did it mean?

"We're getting more test results."

Kate turned quickly, but before she could see the face, the room disappeared.

CHAPTER 18.

Immari Operations Base Prism

Antarctica

Dorian knew the room-it was the same interrogation room where he had detained Kate Warner before she had escaped. Someone had added an interrogation chair-what could have been a dentist's chair with thick straps at the feet, wrists, and chest. The soldiers had strapped him in so tight he could barely breathe. He shook his head, trying to clear it. The grogginess from the gas wouldn't seem to pa.s.s. Why had his people turned on him? Had the portal opened again? Had another Dorian Sloane walked out with another story? Or another case? Had the case Dorian carried out exploded?

Dorian didn't have to wait long for an answer. The door swung open and a smug man strolled in, two Immari special forces soldiers at his side. Dorian knew the man. What was his name? Sanford? Anders? Sanders. That was it. He was a middle manager, in Immari Capital, Dorian thought. The look on Sanders' face told Dorian what this was: a power struggle. The revelation sent relief through Dorian's body. He could handle a power struggle.

Dorian inhaled a shallow breath, but his adversary spoke first. "Dorian. Long time no see. How the h.e.l.l are ya?"

"We don't have time for this-"

He nodded knowingly. "Right. Atlanteans. Waking up. Coming out. We're on it."

"There's something down there that controls the s.h.i.+p inside. We need to destroy it from the outside."

Sanders walked closer to Dorian, scrutinizing him, inspecting him. "What did they do to you? I mean, you look great. Almost like new. Smooth skin. You've really shaken off that used up, rode hard and put away wet look you wore so poorly."

This was Sanders' plan-to humiliate Dorian, to show whoever was watching through the gla.s.s that Sanders was in charge and that Dorian was no threat. Dorian strained against the chest strap, trying desperately to lean forward. He practically spat his words. "Listen to me very closely, Sanders. You're going to release me, and we'll forget all about this. If you don't, I swear to you, I will rip you open and drink your blood while I watch you die."

Sanders jerked his head back, raised his eyebrows, held the expression for a long moment, then laughed out loud. "My G.o.d, what did they do to you, Dorian? You're actually crazier than you were before. Who knew that was possible?" He paced away from Dorian and turned back, his expression serious again. "Now, I want you to listen to me very closely, because this is what's actually going to happen. You're going to stay strapped in that chair, where you'll wiggle and shout more crazy stuff. Then we're going to drug you, after which you'll tell us everything that happened down there, and when we're done with you, we're going to throw your limp body down that hole where you'll freeze to death, which is a better death than my predecessor gave your crazy daddy."

Shock spread across Dorian's face.

"Yes, that was us. What can I say, Dorian? Management change can be brutal sometimes. Here, I'll show you what I mean." Sanders turned to one of the guards. "Get the drugs, let's get started."

A cold rage ran through Dorian, a clear, calculating kind of hate that focused his mind. His eyes scanned the straps at his hands and chest. He couldn't break either. His arms would break first. He jerked his hand back on the left strap. It didn't give. He felt the pain radiate from his hand. He had almost broken his thumb. Almost. The pain. He pulled harder against the strap and felt his thumb pop out of its joint. The pain fought a war with the rage in Dorian's mind. The rage won.

Sanders gripped the door handle. "I guess this is goodbye, D. Write if you get work."

One of the guards c.o.c.ked his head and stepped toward Dorian. Had he realized what Dorian was doing?

Dorian jerked his left arm with every ounce of strength he had. The knuckles of his index and pinky fingers buckled and popped below the middle fingers, allowing his arm to slide out of the strap. But the hand was badly damaged-he could only use the middle two fingers. Would it be enough? He reached over and grasped the strap that restrained his right arm. His middle fingers barely had enough strength to pin the strap to his palm. But he had it. The pain was overtaking him. He jerked back and the strap came free. The soldier lunged for him. Dorian ripped the chest strap off and rose, shoved the heel of his right hand into the guard's nose, and pivoted, lunging just in time to grab Sanders' legs.

The restraints at Dorian's feet held him to the chair, but he pulled Sanders down to the ground and then to him. Sanders cried out as Dorian bit into his neck. Blood sprayed all over Dorian's face and the floor, drenching the white surface in seconds. Dorian pushed off of Sanders just in time to see the other guard draw his sidearm. He fired two shots into Dorian's head.

CHAPTER 19.

The Church of St. Mary of Incarnation

Marbella, Spain

Kate awoke to the clack-clack-clack sound of someone typing feverishly. She brought a hand up to wipe the sleep from her eyes and instantly realized how sore she was. The frantic escape from the Orchid District and sleeping on the hard wooden pew had taken a toll on her. For the first time since Martin had brought her to Marbella, she missed the tiny bed in the spa building and the quiet life of isolation she had lived there.

She sat up and looked around. The church was dark except for two candles burning in the center aisle and the glow of a laptop screen illuminating Martin's face. Upon seeing her, he quickly closed the laptop, grabbed something out of the backpack, and edged over to her. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

Kate shook her head. She searched the dim cathedral for the boys. They were curled up beside each other on the next pew, wrapped in several layers of the white sheets the helicopters had dropped. They looked so peaceful. Martin must have gone back out to get the sheets after she had pa.s.sed out. She focused on him. "I want to finish our conversation."

Dread filled Martin's face, and he turned away from Kate and drew two more items out of the backpack. "Fine, but I need something first. Two things, actually." He held up a blood draw kit. "I need a blood sample from you."

"You think I'm connected to the plague somehow?"

Martin nodded. "Yes. If I'm right, you're a significant piece of the puzzle."

Kate wanted to ask how, but another question nagged at her. "What's the second thing?"

Martin extended a round plastic bottle filled with brown liquid. "I need you to dye your hair."

Kate stared at Martin's outstretched hands-the plastic-wrapped blood draw kit in one, the salon product in the other. How much weirder could her life get? "Fine," she said. "But I want to know who's looking for me." She took the blood draw kit, and Martin helped her with it.

"Everybody."

"Everybody?"

Martin glanced away from her. "Yes. The Orchid Alliance, the Immari, and all the dying governments in between."

"What? Why?"

"After the explosions at the facility in China, Immari International released a statement saying you carried out the attack and unleashed the plague, a weaponized flu strain-the product of your research. They had video footage-which was real of course. And it was consistent with the previous statement from the Indonesian government naming you for your involvement in the attacks in Jakarta and in performing unauthorized research on autistic children."

"It's a lie," Kate said flatly.

"Yes, it's a lie, but the media repeated it, and a lie repeated becomes perception, and perception is reality. Perception is also very hard to change. When the plague went global, everyone wanted someone to blame. You were the first story and, for many reasons, the best story."

"The best story?"