The Atlantis Code

CHAPTER 20

Rage gripped Murani as he listened to Gallardo trying to explain how Lourds and his companions had escaped again. He paced his private room and stared at the television monitor broadcasting the latest coverage of the excavation in Cádiz.

The efforts to pump the submerged cave dry were ahead of schedule. Father Sebastian had shot footage of the cave’s interior and given copies to the news media. He was even granting a few interviews like he was a celebrity. His actions supremely irked Murani. Now it was no longer enough to simply take over the excavation from the old fool. Murani wanted Sebastian dead for defiling God’s work.

“We almost had them,” Gallardo protested.

“But you don’t, do you?” Murani demanded. “And now they have the drum.”

“If it’s the right drum. We only got a glimpse of it.”

“It’s the right drum or Lourds wouldn’t have been there. He wouldn’t have taken it. That man is on the trail of the instruments.” Murani went to his closet and took out a suitcase. He carried it to the bed, fumbled with the latches, and opened it.

“Even if it is the drum, he doesn’t have all the instruments. You have two of them. Lourds can’t do anything. You said you needed all five.”

“We do need all five. Do you know where those missing instruments are?”

Gallardo was silent for a moment. “No.”

“Neither do I. But I’m willing to bet Professor Lourds has a clue.” Murani took clothing from his closet and began packing. Staying in Vatican City was no longer possible.

Although he felt safe from the Society of Quirinus — not only because he’d threatened them, but because they ultimately had some of the same goals he did — the pope was paying closer attention to him. He’d received a summons to see the pope in the morning.

Murani didn’t intend to keep that meeting. The next time he returned to Vatican City, it was going to be when he was pope himself. Things were about to change for the better in Vatican City. He was going to see to it.

“Where are you now?” Murani asked.

“On foot. We’re having to hike into Ile-Ife to arrange transportation.”

“How long will that take?”

“Hours. I don’t know if we’ll make it before dark.”

“Then you’ll be heading back to Lagos?”

Gallardo hesitated. “Traveling through this area at night is dangerous.”

“Get to Lagos. You’re already behind Lourds. I want that man found. I want to know what he knows. I want that drum.”

“All right.” Gallardo didn’t sound happy. “I’ve talked to the man I paid to hack into their phones. He says they’re all offline.”

Murani slammed the suitcase lid. “Then they’ve figured out how you found them.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“You’ll need another way to find them.”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

If there was any sarcasm in Gallardo’s voice, Murani couldn’t detect it. “Keep the phone trace active on Leslie Crane’s director. She’s a reporter. By now she realizes she has a huge story to tell. Besides the pressure she’s getting from her studio, there’s got to be a need inside her to capture the limelight. She’ll call him, tell him what is happening. We’ll find them then.”

“All right.”

Murani forced himself to remain calm. “Get Lourds this time, Patrizio.” He watched the footage of the excavation inside the Cádiz cave. “We’re running out of time.”

“I will.”

Murani ended the call and pocketed the phone. He picked up the suitcase and headed for the door. When he stepped outside, two Swiss Guards stood at attention. Both of them looked at the suitcase in Murani’s hand.

“I’m sorry, Cardinal Murani,” the younger of the men said. “His Holiness has asked that you remain in your quarters for the evening.”

“And if I refuse?”

The younger of the men grimaced. “Then I am to make sure you stay in them.” He hand dropped to the pistol at his hip.

The thought that Pope Innocent XIV had confined him to quarters brought Murani’s anger to a boil. If he could have struck the guard dead at that moment he would have.

“Go easy, Franco,” the older guard admonished. He was thicker and more taciturn. “This is Cardinal Murani. He has always been a friend to the guard. Proper respect should be shown.”

Franco cut his gaze to the older guard for a moment. “I’m being respectful, Corghi. I’ve apologized.” His gaze swiveled back to Murani. “But we’re also here by the pope’s orders. You can be polite, but you must also be firm.” He paused. “Please, Cardinal Murani. Return to your quarters. If you need anything, we will gladly arrange for it.”

“Insufferable, blind fool,” Murani growled.

Franco placed a hand out to restrain Murani.

In disbelief, Murani looked at the other guard.

Corghi took a hypodermic from his jacket and swept it toward the younger guard in a swift arc.

Alerted by the hiss of clothing as the older guard struck, Franco tried to draw his weapon. Corghi grabbed the other man’s hand and trapped his arm against his side, then shoved him into the wall beside Murani.

“What are you doing?” Franco demanded. “You can’t—”

Corghi drove the hypodermic into Franco’s neck and depressed the plunger. Franco opened his mouth to yell. For a moment Murani thought the guard might manage it. But Corghi rammed his forearm into Franco’s face and blocked the scream.

A few seconds later, as the men strained against each other, the chemical acted. Franco’s eyes rolled up into his head until only the whites showed. He slumped and would have fallen if Corghi hadn’t caught him.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d changed your mind, Corghi,” Murani said.

“No, Your Eminence,” Corghi said. “Now, if I may borrow your rooms.”

“Of course.” Murani opened the door and watched as Corghi tossed the other man’s unconscious body inside the room. Normally no one but cleaning staff and friends were ever allowed inside the rooms. However, Murani had no intention of returning to them. He had his eyes on far grander quarters.

Franco hit the floor loosely and remained there.

“He should be out for a few hours,” Corghi said as he closed the door. He reached down and picked up Murani’s luggage. “Even if he can’t talk, though, the pope will know you’re gone. Search groups will be sent out.”

Murani nodded and set off down the hall. “By that time we’ll have gone and it’ll be too late.”

“Yes, sir.” Corghi fell in behind him. “I’m going to get you out of Vatican City, Your Eminence. There’s a way through the catacombs.”

Murani didn’t tell the man that he already knew that. He’d been the one who established the escape route with Lieutenant Sbordoni. Vatican City, the Church, the Swiss Guard, and the Society of Quirinus had all existed long enough to establish factions within those organizations.

Shortly after being invited into the ranks of the Society, Murani had found a few others who believed as he did regarding the Church’s place in the world. However, few of those were willing to act as boldly as he was. He’d found more like-minded men among the warriors of the Swiss Guard. Over the years, a few of the Swiss Guard had been restrained or even removed from office for their zealous efforts to enforce the Church’s power. None among them had the knowledge that Murani did, and only a few times before had a cardinal acted with the Guardsmen.

It was difficult splitting that group. Many remained loyal to the pope. Some of those who had still sworn allegiance to the office of the pope had come under Murani’s sway after Innocent XIV was elected. They saw the same weaknesses in the man that Murani had seen.

And they recognized the strength in you, Murani reminded himself. After he stepped forward and made his trepidation known to the cardinals, the Swiss Guard had learned of Murani’s doubts as well. Guardsmen quietly came forward to offer their support.

“Will Lieutenant Sbordoni be joining us?” Murani asked.

“Not inside the city, Your Eminence.” Corghi took the lead briefly and stepped into the small public study where the residents sometimes met to confer. “He’ll be joining us in Cádiz.”

Murani nodded. “He’ll take command of the men we have on-site there?”

“Yes, sir.” Corghi pressed the hidden release along the back wall. A section of a bookcase turned sideways and allowed entrance into the hidden space beyond.

Murani took a flashlight from his robes and switched it on. Some of the catacombs had power lines through them, but the section they were going to use was decrepit and hardly traveled. He followed the beam into the darkness.

Anticipation filled him to overflowing with every step he took toward his destiny.

By the time Natasha held up a hand and signaled for a stop, Lourds’s back and shoulders were knotted with tension and his eyes burned from fatigue. Sitting hunched over a steering wheel, especially along a rutted and bumpy road while traveling at excessive speeds, was nothing like sitting hunched over a computer or manuscript in need of translation. Dirt and bug entrails only blunted some of the sunset as they’d driven into it.

The motorcycle’s brake light flared ruby in the gathering dusk that pooled in the forest. Natasha swung her leg off the motorcycle as Lourds pulled in behind her.

“What’s wrong?” Leslie woke in the passenger seat. She’d gone to sleep only a couple hours ago, and Lourds hadn’t had the heart to wake her.

“Natasha wanted to pull over,” Lourds said.

“It’s about bloody time,” Gary commented. “My bloody back teeth are floating. I thought I was going to burst a kidney on those bumps.” He opened the side door, got out, and trotted for the tree line.

Diop and Adebayo got out as well. The old man carried the tribal drum with him.

As Lourds watched the oba, he grew anxious that he might not see the man again.

“He’ll be back,” Leslie said.

Lourds looked at her.

“That’s what you were worried about, right?” Leslie asked.

Lourds nodded and smiled. “I guess my interest is pretty transparent.”

“Solution of a mystery. Dead languages. And the possibility of the world ending.” Leslie shrugged and smiled back. “I’m pretty interested, too.” She glanced toward Natasha, who was approaching them. “Probably more interested than others I could mention.” She walked away before Natasha could join them.

Instead of stopping, though, Natasha walked to the rear of their four-by-four and unstrapped one of the jerry cans of gasoline. A dark splotch of blood showed on her right shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Lourds asked.

“The motorcycle is out of gas.”

“You could ride with us.”

Natasha shook her head. “Two vehicles give us a better chance to react if Gallardo had another vehicle around that I didn’t see.”

“He hasn’t followed us thus far.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not out there.”

Lourds had to silently admit that was true. Gallardo had managed to keep finding them at every point in the journey so far. His uneasiness grew by the heartbeat.

Natasha turned to grip the jerry can.

“Let me get that,” Lourds offered.

“I can do it,” Natasha insisted stubbornly.

“I’ve no doubt of that.” Lourds stepped up to take control of the jerry can as it came free. For a moment he thought Natasha was going to hit him. Then she turned on her heel and walked back to the motorcycle.

She took a water bottle from one of the motorcycle’s saddlebags and drank deeply.

Knowing the woman wasn’t going to talk until she was ready to, Lourds put the jerry can down and opened the motorcycle’s gas tank. A quick rap on the side told him it was running on fumes. He hefted the can and topped the tank off without spilling any of the fuel.

“I had him in my sights,” Natasha whispered.

Lourds placed the cap back on the tank. “Who?”

“Gallardo. I had him in my sights and I missed.” Natasha tucked a length of lank hair behind her ear.

Lourds didn’t point out that she might well have another opportunity. That would hardly be comforting. Although there hadn’t been any signs of pursuit, he wasn’t willing to rule out the possibility. Like a bad penny, Gallardo had a way of continuing to turn up.

“He killed Yuliya,” Natasha said.

“You don’t know that,” Lourds said softly. “Not for sure. There were many men involved in that attack.”

“I know it here.” Natasha put a fist to her heart. “In the part of me that is Russian, I know it.”

“Let me have a look at your wound.”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“In this heat, with all the dust and grime we’re facing, not to mention the local flora and fauna, it’s dangerous to let it go untended. Infection could set in.”

She shrugged. “Do whatever you wish. But make it fast. We need to keep moving.”

Lourds called out to Gary, who had returned to the vehicle, to bring the first-aid kit over. Lourds took out a penflash and a bottle of antiseptic.

“Need any help?” Gary asked.

Before Lourds could answer, Natasha said, “No.”

“Okay. Cool. I’m just going to be over to the lorry if you need anything.” Gary left the first-aid kit and retraced his steps to the vehicle.

“Feeling antisocial?” Lourds asked.

“If I hadn’t been concerned about all of you,” Natasha told him, “I would have stayed behind and killed Gallardo then.”

Lourds said nothing. Her way of dealing with her sister’s death was very different from his. He wanted to carry her work on. Natasha wanted to end her sister’s killer. He couldn’t imagine cold-bloodedly killing someone. On some of his international hunts for artifacts and manuscripts, he’d sometimes crossed paths with professional soldiers. To a degree, he’d understood their mentality, but he never once believed he could have been one of them. But Natasha had made him realize there was a place for such people in this dangerous world.

“Well, I’m glad you were concerned about us.” Lourds pulled at her blouse sleeve and realized he’d never be able to roll it up high enough to clear the wound. “Can you take off your shirt? I can’t—”

Natasha slipped a lock-back knife from her pocket, flicked the blade open with her thumb, and sliced through the material.

“Thanks.” Lourds ripped the material farther to give himself access to the wound. He played the light over her shoulder and quashed the queasiness that blossomed in the pit of his stomach.

“It’s nothing to worry about. The bullet only grazed me,” Natasha said.

Not trusting his voice, Lourds nodded. The ragged tear across the top of her shoulder looked nasty and painful, but it didn’t look life-threatening.

However, he could not help thinking how much different things would have been had the bullet been six or seven inches to the left. It would have smashed through Natasha’s throat. If the wound hadn’t killed her outright, she would have drowned in her own blood.

And she was acting as if it were nothing.

She was amazing.

“This may sting,” Lourds warned.

“If I can’t bear it, I’ll let you know.”

That was what Lourds was afraid of.

Lourds poured antiseptic over the wound and flushed the blood away. He cleaned up the area as best he could without pulling at the edges, because he didn’t want to risk starting it bleeding again.

Natasha never said a word.

Once he was satisfied that the wound was as clean as he was going to get it, he applied an antibacterial ointment and a bandage. He taped everything in place.

“Where do we go from here?” Natasha asked as he taped the ragged edges of her bloodstained shirt together.

“I don’t know. We’ve got to make contact with the other two Keepers.”

“Are they like the old man?”

“His name is Adebayo,” Lourds replied. “And I don’t know. I think all people tend to be products of their culture rather than of the assignment they’ve been handed down.”

“Do you know where they are?”

“Not yet.”

“Staying here in Nigeria wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Lourds nodded. “I agree. But, we’re flying to London.”

Natasha frowned and shook her head. “She’ll have all the power there.”

Lourds knew there was no question who Natasha referred to. “It’ll be safer there. For all of us. Leslie’s been able to arrange a temporary visa for Adebayo through the British Consulate.”

Natasha looked at him. “She’s been on the phone?”

“Yes. She also arranged flights for us that will—” Lourds discovered he was talking to Natasha’s back.

Natasha bent down and hefted the jerry can without a word. Then she walked over to the edge of the forest where Leslie stood with her sat-phone pressed to her ear.

Lourds hurried to catch up. The situation suddenly didn’t look good.

“Give me the phone,” Natasha demanded.

Leslie glared at her, then looked at Lourds for help. When it wasn’t forthcoming — and Lourds knew for sure he didn’t want to step into the buzz saw that existed between the two women — Leslie returned her glare to Natasha.

Behind Leslie, Gary, Diop, and Adebayo all stepped back out of harm’s way as if of a single mind.

“The phone,” Natasha demanded again.

“Excuse me,” Leslie said, “but I happen to be on the phone this moment trying to negotiate—”

Natasha reached for the phone. Leslie blocked the effort only because the Russian woman reached with her wounded arm and was slower than normal.

“You cheeky cow!” Leslie exploded. “How dare you try something like that!”

Lourds inserted himself between the two women, and immediately decided that it was one of the more foolish gestures he’d ever made in his life. Before he could do anything, Natasha chopped him in the throat with the edge of her hand and kicked his feet out from under him. He fell gracelessly and landed on his back hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs.

Natasha drew her pistol and pointed it between Leslie’s eyes.

“The phone,” Natasha said. “Now.”

Unbelievably, Leslie threw herself at Natasha. She swung the phone like a club toward Natasha’s face. The Russian woman blocked the blow with her pistol and knocked the phone from Leslie’s grip. Before it hit the ground, Natasha caught the phone easily.

Leslie came at her again, but Natasha spun aside and tripped her. Leslie sprawled on the ground beside Lourds, who still hadn’t regained his breath.

Natasha hunkered down and took Lourds’s sat-phone, too. Then she demanded Gary’s and Diop’s. Both men, faces tense and astonished, handed their phones over.

“Gallardo and his people have been tracking us,” Natasha said as she threw the phones onto the ground. “This is how they find us. They know where we are through the global positioning satellite signatures of these phones.” She scowled at Leslie. “Most probably yours, with the way you’ve been on it all the time.”

Leslie said something totally unladylike and uncomplimentary.

Natasha ignored her and reached for the jerry can. “Personally, I’d love another chance at Gallardo and his people. But I don’t think you’d live through another assault.” She sloshed gasoline over the phones.

“What are you doing?” Leslie screeched in disbelief.

“Making sure they can’t follow us anymore.”

Lourds took his first real breath since he’d been knocked over as Natasha knelt down and started the pyre with her lighter. The flame lapped at the gasoline quickly and blazed in the gathering darkness. In seconds the phones started to melt and caught fire.

“What if we need help?” Leslie demanded as she pushed herself to her feet. “Did you happen to think of that?”

“If we need help,” Natasha said, “we help ourselves.” She walked back toward the motorcycle. “We’re more likely to need it if Gallardo finds us again. Get back in the truck. We need to put as much distance between us and this place as we can, as fast as we can.”

Gingerly, wondering if something had been broken, sprained, or torn, Lourds got up. He stood for a moment and felt the heat off the fire.

“You brought her along,” Leslie accused.

Lourds knew that wasn’t exactly true, but he wasn’t going to argue the point. “Maybe we should get moving.”

Natasha didn’t give any signs of waiting up for them. She threw a leg over the motorcycle seat and pushed the ignition switch to start the engine. The low rumble vibrated through the forest and chased away the night sounds. A moment later the headlight came on and burned through the darkness.

Lourds picked up his dusty hat, slipped it on, kicked enough dirt over the burning phones to put them out, and slid behind the old four-by-four’s steering wheel. Diop, Gary, and Adebayo climbed into the back.

Leslie stood for a moment at the side of the truck with her arms crossed. She looked as stubborn as a child.

Natasha roared ahead.

“It’s a long walk back, Leslie,” Lourds commented. “Even from here. And you wouldn’t like the neighborhood.”

Cursing, Leslie opened the door and swung herself inside. She sat in the seat with her arms crossed again and glared at the disappearing motorcyclist.

“She’s not the boss of me,” Leslie said petulantly.

Lourds didn’t comment. He put the truck in gear and let off the clutch. They gained speed as they followed the motorcycle. He just hoped that Leslie would see that he wasn’t interested in having this conversation. It wouldn’t do any good to talk about it. No matter what they said, the phones were still burned and what had happened still would have happened. He wasn’t even sure she was wrong. Natasha was the most trouble-ready among them. Not following her was stupid.

“Why didn’t you do something back there?” Leslie demanded.

Despite his efforts to intercede, which had collected him a nice assortment of bruises, Lourds knew it wouldn’t do any good to point out now that he’d tried.

“I can’t believe you let her set my phone on fire.”

It’s going to be a long trip back, Lourds realized.

“Are you all right, Father?”

Father Sebastian looked at Dario Brancati. The construction foreman stood beside the priest and looked as worn and haggard as Sebastian felt.

“I’m fine, Mr. Brancati,” Sebastian replied. “I’m just tired. That’s all. It’s nothing that a few more hours of sleep won’t cure. You look as though you could use some sleep yourself.”

“I’ll sleep when we’re finished with this,” Brancati said. “I apologize for the early hour.”

According to Sebastian’s watch, it was almost three in the morning. He’d had barely four hours sleep even though he’d promised himself he would get to bed earlier.

“I would have waited,” Brancati said, “but I thought perhaps you’d want to see this for yourself.”

“I do.”

Brancati handed him a fresh flashlight and a new hard hat.

“I’ve already got a hat,” Sebastian said. He held the old hat up.

“How fresh are the batteries in that?”

Sebastian hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“That’s why you need a new hat.”

The two Swiss Guards accompanying Sebastian also got new hats. Sebastian struggled to remember their names — Peter was the one with the small scar over his eyebrow. He’d gotten it in a fight with his brother as a boy, some mix-up over a coveted toy. And the other, Martin, had a cleft chin. Good men, both. They’d insisted Sebastian wear a lifejacket with handgrips on it in case they had to get him out of the cavern in a hurry. Together, they followed Brancati and his team into Cave #42.

Nervous energy filled Sebastian as he carefully waded into the waist-deep water. The pumps growled incessantly as they removed the water from the cave. Most of it was gone, but the crews remained vigilant in case another leak sprang up. The ground radar had confirmed the presence of water on the other side of several walls. They walked through a rock bubble that hung 150 feet below the level of the Atlantic Ocean.

The floor was treacherous. Bodies and parts of bodies still floated — mostly submerged — beneath the oil-black water. Once Sebastian felt something strike his leg and saw a skull float up for a moment before disappearing once more.

“We should have the rest of the water out of here in the next few days, Father,” Brancati announced. His voice carried in the cavern, but it was almost buried in the throb of the vacuum engines pulling water from the cave.

“That’s good.” Sebastian followed the man through the burial crypts. Only a few of them had tenants at the moment.

“We didn’t see it last time, because we weren’t in here long enough before the cave gave way,” Brancati said. “Even when it was found this time—” He shook his head. “Nobody believed we’d found it.”

A few minutes later, Sebastian gazed up at Brancati’s find.

The door was immense. It spanned at least fifteen feet across. The oval shape gleamed in the reflected light and had a metallic cast to it. Strange symbols covered the surface. As Sebastian watched, the symbols shimmered and wavered. In only seconds, he could read what was there.

Sebastian read the inscription again. When he tried to concentrate, he didn’t see the writing. He saw only the symbols. But he was certain of what he’d read.

In the center of the door, though, was the same figure he’d seen hanging from the dead man’s necklace. He stood tall and handsome, the book under one arm and the other offered to help whoever wanted it.

Below that was a seal Sebastian recognized from the materials Pope Innocent XIV had given him. It showed a glowing hand on an open book with flames leaping from the pages.

He stopped cold, shock ringing through him until it nearly stopped his heart.

“It’s some kind of metal alloy,” Brancati said. “But we haven’t yet determined what kind yet. The way it’s built into the rock is way ahead of the time period we’re talking about. We couldn’t do it today. Not like that. I don’t have an explanation for it.”

“It’s just lost tech,” one of the construction workers said. “Just like the way the Egyptians built the pyramids. We can guess how they did it, but we don’t know for sure.”

“Oh my God,” Sebastian whispered hoarsely as he stumbled forward. He would have fallen if one of the Swiss Guards hadn’t reached out and caught him. He stretched out his hand and touched the seal.

It was still well defined and hard edged, gleaming as though it had been struck yesterday.

It’s true. All of it. Sebastian ran his trembling hand over the seal.

“Father,” the guard who held him, young Peter, said softly.

“I’m all right.” Sebastian pulled at his arm. “Please. Release me.”

With obvious reluctance, Peter did so, but he remained close at hand.

Cold fear twisted through Sebastian. It had nothing to do with the depths of water waiting outside the cave walls to drown them. The fear that flooded the priest now focused solely on the figure on the great door ahead. Sebastian dropped to his knees and felt the cold brine he’d waded through climb to his chest.

He put his hands in front of him and prayed for mercy and salvation, not just for himself, but for all the souls that had been lost when Atlantis had been lost to the ocean.

God hadn’t been merciful then. He wouldn’t have been. God’s loss of his son and the effrontery shown by the priest-kings of Atlantis had been inexcusable.

That was why he had pulled the island continent beneath the sea.

But why is this here now? To test us again? Is that what you want, God? A test?

If it was a test, Sebastian feared they would fail once more. He feared that even he might be tempted by what lay beyond the strange metal door.

And if he did, the world might be doomed again.

Lourds referred to the notebook computer screens where the images of the bell, cymbal, and drum were open, but he worked on lined yellow legal pads he’d bought on the way to the hotel. Natasha hadn’t been happy about the shopping, but he explained he needed the pads.

His brain was on fire as he compared the four languages represented on the three instruments. He worked feverishly, exchanging values and words, ideas and guesses that had come to him during the long drive back to Lagos.

Even fleeing for his life hadn’t turned off that part of his mind that so loved puzzles of language and culture. This was where his passion lived.

Upon their arrival at the hotel, they’d checked in and gone to their rooms. Leslie had managed to get them all on the same floor.

There hadn’t been any sense of camaraderie, though. Each of them — except for Diop and Adebayo, who acted like long-lost friends — had elected to trudge off to their room separately.

Lourds hadn’t wanted to deal with the women, and he still wasn’t exactly sure where his loyalties lay in handling them. Leslie had managed to bring him this far, and there was the intimacy factor, but Lourds never let sex get in the way of his job. He suspected Leslie was very much the same in that respect.

Sadly, both of them were also driven by the same desire to excel at their jobs. And that put them on different sides of the fence regarding the instruments.

Natasha had her own agenda to avenge her sister’s murder. Lourds suspected that need came out not only from the personal aspect of Yuliya’s murder, but also out of whatever motivation had prompted Natasha to become a police officer in Moscow to begin with.

The problem was, Lourds was near to bursting with ideas about what they were ultimately searching for. He needed a sounding board, someone he could talk to about everything that was buzzing through his head.

And it didn’t seem fair that he didn’t share it with Leslie.

Except that he couldn’t.

He looked at the notes he’d taken over the last several pages of the legal pad and knew he was going to drive himself crazy if he didn’t talk through what he suspected to be true.

It was decision time.

Ultimately, it came down to needing the most dispassionate listener. He judged that Leslie wouldn’t be. If he told her what he believed was true, she would feed off it and push him into making even more and wilder leaps. He needed to be grounded to complete his work.

He left the notebook on the bed, went to the refrigerator, and took out two beers. He was fresh from the shower and dressed in khaki shorts and an old soccer shirt. For a moment, he stood at the door and tried to debate whether he needed an audience, but he knew he did.

Having to explain things, just focusing to put everything he was thinking into perspective and an oratory summary, allowed him to see and think more clearly. Perhaps that was caused by the nature of the teacher within him, but he also believed it was because speaking caused him to think more linearly.

He needed that now.

He glanced back at the legal pad lying on the bed. The name ATLANTIS was underlined, circled, and starred. He really, really needed that now.

Feeling some apprehension, he left the room.

Lourds knocked on the door. He waited a moment outside in the hall, feeling ridiculous and vulnerable all at the same time because he knew she would be watching him through the peephole.

And probably putting the safety back on her pistol, he told himself.

He started to knock again, thinking maybe he’d caught her in bed. It was only a few minutes after 5 A.M. locally.

Then she asked, in Russian, “What do you want?”

“I come bearing gifts.” Lourds tried a smile and held up the two beers.

“I have my own refreshment bar. Go away.”

Some of Lourds’s confidence waned. He dangled the beers at his side. “I need to talk.”

“About what?”

“I’ve deciphered some of the inscriptions on the instruments.”

“Good. We can talk about it in the morning.”

“I want to talk about it now.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it now. Get some sleep.”

Lourds hesitated, knowing he was sounding like a petulant child. “I can’t sleep.”

“Drink those beers. You’ll sleep. You’ve had a big day.”

Lourds tried to think of another argument and couldn’t. Frustration chafed at him. “I need to know if I’m on the right track.”

“I’m not a linguist. I can’t help you with that.”

Unable to argue that point, Lourds apologized for waking her and turned to go. He hadn’t gone three steps before she opened the door and called his name. He stopped and turned.

Dressed in pajamas, her hair free, Natasha looked beautiful. Of course, the pistol in her hand clashed with the demure appearance.

“Come in,” she sighed. “But if you try to get fresh with me after the day I’ve had, I’ll shoot you.”

Lourds paced as he talked. He couldn’t help it. The more he talked, the more energized he felt. Every word he spoke seemed to feed the fire raging inside him.

Natasha sat on the bed with her knees up to her chin. Her pistol rested on the pillow beside her. She hadn’t been sleeping either, Lourds realized. She’d been sitting there in combat mode.

She sipped her beer as he talked, but his just grew flat and warm on the nearby table as the rising sun started to warm the window on the other side of the drapes.

“The inscription talks about an island kingdom,” Lourds said. “I think what it’s actually referring to is Atlantis.”

“Atlantis,” Natasha repeated, and sounded as though she didn’t believe it for a second.

“I think so. Though they don’t call it by that name in the inscriptions.”

“What name do they give it?”

Lourds shook his head. “I’d have to know more of the language to understand that. What I have to do is substitute words and ideas for the symbols on those inscriptions. I can use the name they refer to the island as Atlantis, and even call the people Atlantean, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that they are.”

“Then why was the island called Atlantis?”

“That was the name Plato identified it by in his discourses. Subsequently, the ocean the island presumably sank in was called the Atlantic.” Lourds tried to frame everything in his mind. “Allow me for the moment to simply call the place Atlantis.”

“You do realize that the Roman Catholic Church believes they’ve found Atlantis? It’s been in all the news.”

“It doesn’t matter if they did or didn’t,” Lourds said. “They’re not going to find anything there worth having.”

Natasha smiled at him and shook her head. “You sound awfully sure of yourself.”

“I am. It’s been buried undersea nine or ten thousand years. That can be hard on artifacts — though in the right circumstances, much can survive. Pottery, carved stone, gold. But I doubt it will differ much from other artifacts from the time. Do you think they’re going to find anything?”

“I’ve found, Professor Lourds, that the world is made up of many strange occurrences. Take this situation. I have always known I could get killed in the line of duty. It’s the nature of my work. But the thought that Yuliya might be killed because of some object she dug up never crossed my mind.”

She paused for a moment, but Lourds didn’t say anything. She resumed talking.

“More than that, the world also has a number of things that have existed thousands of years and continue to exist. The pyramids. The tombs of pharaohs. Ancient documents that you’ve undoubtedly read.”

“Yes, but that site in Cádiz had been underwater for thousands of years till the tsunami lifted it from the sea bottom.” Lourds shook his head. “They’re not going to find anything new or different there.”

“Then why is Atlantis so important?”

“I don’t know. But I know this — it just happens to be the place where everything on those inscriptions happened.”

“What did happen?”

“A cataclysm.”

“The island sank.”

“Yes. But from what I’ve translated, the authors of the inscription believed God sank the island.”

“You don’t?”

Lourds sighed. “I’ve not been a big believer in God involving himself in our lives. I’m sure he’s got plenty of other things to do than answer prayers.”

“I don’t think those people prayed to have their island sunk.”

“Probably not.” Lourds frowned.

“Did the inscription say why God sank the island?”

“He was angry with the people.”

“In the Old Testament, he seemed to be angry a lot.”

“Not exactly a new story, is it?”

“Why are you excited about it?”

“Because it fits in with what Adebayo told me about the Drowned Land. His name for the world that was sunk.”

“I didn’t hear what he had to say.”

Realizing there hadn’t been time to tell Natasha the story during the trip back to Lagos, Lourds did so. “The thing that interests me is that Adebayo said all the people spoke the same language in those days. No one knew another language.”

“Isn’t there a biblical story about that?” Natasha asked.

“A famous one. The Tower of Babel.”

“I remember. Men decided to build a tower to ascend into Heaven and join God. Seeing this, God destroyed the uniformity of man and caused them to split off from each other, each speaking a different language.”

“Exactly. The Tower of Babel was believed to have been built in Babylon,” Lourds said. “That’s supposedly part of the reason Babylon is named that. The name comes from the Akkadian language and roughly translates into ‘Gate of the God.’ ”

“Why are you discussing the Tower of Babel? I thought this was about Atlantis.”

Lourds sighed. His mind was working overtime these days. Instead of slowing down, it seemed to be speeding up. “Because if you have one place where one language reigned supreme among all its people, it stands to reason that it would be on an island.”

“What about the Fertile Crescent area? Mankind was supposed to have come from there.”

“The archeology to date seems pretty clear, so I’m not going to dispute that. What I’m going to propose is that a group of those people set sail and found a wondrous island out in the Atlantic Ocean and set about creating a society like none that had been seen before.”

“Why?”

“Because Plato said that’s what the nation he called Atlantis was like.”

“Some people also say that Atlantis is pure imagination.”

“Maybe it was,” Lourds responded. “But this island, the one that generated these artifacts, according to the inscriptions I’ve translated, was real. If anyone was going to do any ambitious building back in such ancient times, the kind of building that would raise up a tower so high that it threatened God, why not Atlantis?”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m proposing that an advanced civilization on the island that produced these instruments might also have built the Tower of Babel there.”

“The dig site doesn’t seem to have any skyscrapers hidden in the rubble. Nothing like that has come up in the news stories,” Natasha said.

“From what I’ve seen, they haven’t found much in the way of a city on top of that area,” Lourds pointed out. “When the island sank, it could have lost everything on the surface. And they haven’t found much in the caves either.”

“They found a door,” Natasha said.

Lourds looked at her. “What door?” He hadn’t turned on the television in his room.

Natasha reached for the remote control and switched the set on. CNN came to life, and the topic of discussion was the discovery of the strange metallic door down in the caves.

As Lourds watched, his incredulity grew. The camera locked on the door. He gasped, unable to believe his eyes.

“The door is clearly shown here in the footage we’ve received from Father Sebastian’s public information team,” the news reporter was saying. “As yet, the excavation team hasn’t been able to progress beyond the door. My sources tell me that the archeologists fear the possibility of potential collapse as the excavation crews continue their work. For now, they are proceeding cautiously, if at all.”

Lourds grabbed a pen and paper from the nearby desk. Standing in front of the television, he started writing furiously.

“What is it?” Natasha asked.

“That writing on the door,” Lourds said hoarsely, “is in the same language and character set that I’m deciphering on those instruments.”

You really shouldn’t be doing this, Leslie Crane admitted to herself as she swiped the keycard through Lourds’s hotel room door. But she’d known she was probably going to do it the minute she kept the extra keycard for Lourds’s room that she’d gotten from the desk.

She’d tried staying mad at him for not stopping Natasha from burning her phone, but that hadn’t worked. In the end, Lourds was the story she’d sold to the production studio, and she had to have the story. Lourds was going to hand her a professional triumph.

More than that, she wanted the man himself for personal reasons. She’d slept just enough on the way back that she hadn’t been able to drift off to sleep. There was nothing like sex to take the edge off her emotions when she was feeling like she was.

She stepped into the room and found all the lights on. She’d expected the professor to be at the desk or in bed. She’d figured that he would spot her the minute she came through the door. They were all a little jumpy after their adventures the past few days. Having him see her walk in would have taken some of the surprise out of the equation of a meeting, but she didn’t think it would lessen any of the desire they felt for each other. She and Lourds were good in bed together. She was confident he felt the same way.

Only he wasn’t there.

Irritation filled Leslie when she thought Lourds might be prowling around the hotel after Natasha had given them all such stern warnings about keeping a low profile. Was the man out risking his neck and her story?

She started clearing off the bed. When he got back from wherever it was he’d gone, he could find her there and they could have makeup sex. It was nearly always the best kind. She didn’t think Lourds had been overly distraught about the rancorous feelings she’d harbored toward him just lately, but that didn’t dampen her enthusiasm.

Then she spotted the yellow legal tablet covered with Lourds’s neat handwriting on the desk. One word jumped out at her.

Mesmerized, Leslie picked up the tablet and flipped through the pages. Atlantis was mentioned several times, as if Lourds kept coming back again and again to the same answer.

Her sexual cravings forgotten, Leslie grabbed the tablet, took it to her room, and shot pictures of the pages with her digital camera. Her heart thudded frantically in her chest as she worked. She expected Lourds to return at any instant.

But he didn’t.

When she finished, she took the tablet back to his room. Her thoughts raced in circles within her mind. This was even bigger than she’d imagined it was. What she had was pure gold. If she could link Lourds’s name to the Atlantis dig site, somehow tie the bell they’d found on her show to it, the ratings for this program would go through the roof.

Not only that, but she might be able to sell another series. Maybe even for big bucks. If the Atlantis dig back in Spain turned out to be anything important, and it was getting more interesting with the discovery of the mysterious door, she could own a piece of that with the artifacts they were tracking.

Her excitement grew. So did her desire for sex. She settled onto the bed and waited. Impatiently.

After another hour, Lourds finally talked himself dry. The excitement still bubbled within him, though, and the idea of the massive door Father Sebastian had discovered wouldn’t let him go.

He couldn’t believe Natasha was still awake.

“So what are we to do?” she asked.

“Diop and Adebayo have called the other Seekers,” Lourds said as he sat on the edge of the desk across the room. “We’re going to meet in London.”

“They’re bringing the instruments?”

“Yes.”

“They’re showing a lot of trust in us.”

“No.” Lourds shook his head. “Wrong dynamic. They’re showing a lot of desperation. Gallardo and his employer have two of the instruments. If he’s able to decipher them, and there’s no reason that he won’t be able to—”

Natasha flashed him a teasing smile. “You’re admitting that someone else might be as linguistically gifted as you are?”

“Whoever it is,” Lourds pointed out, “has known more about what we’re chasing than we have.”

“Do you think he knows about Atlantis?”

Lourds didn’t hesitate. Now that she’d asked the question, everything seemed clear to him. “Probably.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed. “Have you given any thought to the Church’s position in this?”

“The Church? The Catholic Church?” Lourds shook his head. “Why would they—?”

“Be funding and directing a dig site at a place that might be Atlantis?” Natasha interrupted. “I asked myself the same question. What possible interest could the Roman Catholic Church have there?”

Lourds considered that because connecting the two events — Atlantis and the Church excavation with the instruments — had truly never occurred to him. However, in light of the potential links to Atlantis — and knowing that the Church had a wealth of documentation at their beck and call — how could the Church not know?

Uneasiness filtered through him when he considered the ramifications. The Church had a network that spanned the world. If anyone could search for something hundreds — even thousands — of years, the Roman Catholic Church could do that.

“I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” he said.

“Do you?” Natasha arched a brow.

“You’re talking about a conspiracy.”

“I see conspiracies all the time in my job. Conspiracy to commit murder. Conspiracy to commit robbery. Conspiracy to commit fraud. Something’s being hidden here, and it’s been hidden for possibly thousands of years. Now that it’s starting to come out, don’t you think someone would want to control it?”

What she said made perfect sense — from the logistics of knowing about the research involved — and it rocked Lourds back on his heels.

“No one could have counted on the tsunami pushing that piece of land back to the surface in Spain,” Lourds said.

“Maybe someone was counting on it never coming back up,” Natasha said. “When someone puts a body into the Moskva River, they don’t expect that body to show up again. But sometimes they do.”

“You’re talking about a murder,” Lourds said. “After a century or so, everyone concerned with it will be dead.”

“I’m talking about an event. You mentioned the sinking of Atlantis. The destruction of the Tower of Babel. Those are some pretty far-reaching events. And those are only the ones you know about right now. What if there’s more?”

Lourds thought about it. There was more. There had to be more. If the instruments didn’t matter to someone, then why had Yuliya been killed?

“We’ll keep looking,” he said.

“Expect more resistance,” Natasha replied. “I’m sure that whoever is behind Gallardo didn’t intend for you to find out this much.”

Lourds nodded, then pushed himself up. “You’re probably right.”

“I’m certain I am. That’s why Gallardo and his men have been trying to kill us.” Natasha wrapped her arms around her knees.

“I’d best be going.” Lourds started for the door. “Perhaps you can get a few hours of sleep before we catch the flight this afternoon.” He had his hand on the door when she called him back.

“I’m not sleepy,” she said.

Lourds looked at her for a moment as he wondered about the implication in her words.

“Unless you’ll feel you’re being disloyal,” Natasha said.

“No,” Lourds said as he stepped toward the bed. Since Leslie hadn’t come to bed with him since they were in Nigeria. And she wasn’t any too happy with him lately. He figured that was pretty much that.

Natasha met him with open arms.

Harsh knocking woke Lourds. He was barely awake as Natasha disengaged from him and came up with her pistol over him. The sheet slid off her and revealed her naked body.

Then the door opened and Leslie barged through. “It’s after eleven,” she snapped. “If you don’t get up, you’re going to miss the flight.” She glared at Lourds. “You are a proper bastard, aren’t you?”

Lourds didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

“I could shoot her,” Natasha said in Russian. She made no move to cover herself.

“No,” Lourds croaked as his mind spun freely and he tried to find some purchase to hang a cohesive thought.

Without another word, Leslie strode from the room and barreled through Gary, Diop, and Adebayo. The two older men tried to hide their amusement.

“Man,” Gary said, “that’s bloody harsh. I tried to get her not to use that extra keycard. She just wouldn’t listen after she figured out where you were.”

“Could you close the door?” Lourds asked.

Gary gave him a brief salute and did just that.

Natasha heaved herself out of bed and started toward the shower.

Lourds lay there feeling like the unwanted prize in a fierce competition. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he’d enjoyed himself, he might have felt bad about it. But he watched the suggestive roll of Natasha’s bare flanks till she caught him staring.

She grabbed his shirt from the desk and threw it at him. “Get dressed.”

“We could shower together,” Lourds suggested. “It would save time.”

Natasha looked back at him and grinned. “If last night was any indication, we’d be even later.” She closed the bathroom door.

Lourds groaned and forced himself from bed. It promised to be a long flight back to London, given the circumstances. Thankfully, he had a toehold on translating the inscriptions. If everything went right and his present luck didn’t hold, he might have it translated by the time they landed.