The Atlantis revelation

37

The Greek pilot brought the Super Puma Eurocopter over Rhodes at nine hundred feet, steering clear of the EU summit's security red zones below and following an alternative glide path to the airstrip. The skies were clear and offered Conrad a spectacular view of the island below.

"Security zones?" Conrad asked in broken English with the best Turkish accent he could make up. His attempt was so bad it actually worked, cracking up one of the Greeks. Another, named Koulos, decided to help the confused Turk get a lay of the land.

"The red inner-security zones are around the Palace of the Grandmaster in the Old Town down there, and the Rodos Palace hotel and convention center are in New Town over there," Koulos shouted in English above the whir of the rotor blades. "They are linked by the harbor drive. Only authorized personnel or security assigned to those zones can pass through the checkpoints."

Conrad nodded.

"The walls of Old Town outside the Palace of the Grandmaster are the perimeter of the yellow outer-security zone. No vehicles without proper registration and full inspection are allowed through the gates."

Conrad pulled out the military BlackBerry Packard had given him with the GPS tracking program. He called up the satellite map of Rhodes from Google Earth and tried to find the pulsing blue dot that represented the celestial globe Packard had given Serena. The glare from the sun outside the chopper windows made it too difficult to read the screen until they landed and he jumped off onto the tarmac.

That was when he got the fix: The globe was in the red zone at the convention center, hopefully with the other two.

Conrad signed for his police motorcycle as Firat Kayda. Though the bike belonged to the police department, it wasn't an official police motorcycle and had no siren. When he reached the convention center, his ID badge worked beautifully, and he was able to glide through the checkpoint to the main entrance of the hotel, allegedly to meet his Turkish superiors.

He followed the GPS signal through the hotel atrium and into the airy exhibition area where all kinds of "green" technology companies promised to turn the Middle East into a tropical paradise for investment and generate fat profits to European investors. "More than oil" seemed to be the theme, highlighting the commercial benefits of peace in the region.

The bright sunlight provided him with the perfect excuse to keep his sunglasses on, like many others, and look nondescript as he passed a spectacular circular staircase toward the Delphi Amphitheater.

He stopped outside the door and put away his BlackBerry. The security guard glanced at his badge and nodded.

Conrad slipped into the back of the three-level amphitheater, which was packed with almost six hundred delegates. Up on the stage, speaking from the podium before an impressive array of flat-panel screens flashing all sorts of logos and graphics, was Roman Midas.

What does he have to say that any of these people want to hear? Conrad unconsciously shrank back against the wall with a group of bystanders who couldn't find seats. He felt like a convict in a police lineup for Midas to pick out. But all the lights and attention were on Midas now, and Conrad doubted the man could see anyone beyond the front row.

"It's the new alchemy," Midas proclaimed. "Water springing forth from the desert."

High-definition graphics showed how the same deep-mining technology that Midas Minerals amp; Mining had used to extract oil from the "world's most difficult to reach substrata" could now be harnessed to extract water from the hidden rivers and aquifers of the Sinai Peninsula.

Midas said, "The dust bowl becomes the bread basket of the Middle East, freeing the region from dependence on foreign agriculture and offering local populations the opportunity to grow and export more than oil."

The names of various Israeli and Arab partners popped up on the screens to underscore the international cooperation of this "consortium of leading industries" to "rid the Middle East of its dependence on oil."

Well, that's a new one, Conrad thought as he slowly made his way along the curving back wall of the room. He suspected he would come upon a door leading to a projection booth or control room of some kind, which was probably as obscure a place as any to store the globes until they could be moved. He couldn't imagine them alone without armed security. But the only door that appeared was the other rear exit.

He stepped out of the amphitheater into the bar reception area and saw the celestial globe standing there like some piece of art with a young man in a suit and collar-a priest's collar.

Worse, the priest had recognized him.

Damn, Conrad thought as he marched up to the priest.

The priest began, "Dr. Yeats-"

"Shut up," Conrad said quietly, and glanced around. "What the hell is going on?"

"You needn't worry," the priest said drily. "This isn't the globe you gave her. This is a fake. She took the real one with her after she removed the tracker and put it inside this one."

"Where is she…Lorenzo?" Conrad said, reading the priest's ID badge.

Lorenzo had suddenly taken a vow of silence.

Conrad pressed him. "She's in danger."

The priest screwed up his eyes at Conrad. "From whom?"

"Last time, Lorenzo."

"She's at her three o'clock appointment," Lorenzo said. "Do I need to call security?"

"No, but I'm taking this." Conrad took the globe off its pedestal and walked off with it, leaving an open-mouthed Lorenzo behind.

Outside, Conrad opened the globe, tossed the tracker, and strapped the globe to the back of his motorcycle. Then he pulled out his BlackBerry and called Wanda Randolph.

"Report," said Wanda.

"Tell Packard she found the tracker. But she's still with the packages. I need you to hack the security system here and see when was the last time her ID badge was scanned."

"Copy that," Wanda said.

Conrad looked at his watch. It was 3:05. He was worried he was too late.

Wanda rang him back two minutes later. "She passed through the checkpoint at Liberty Gate in the Old Town. She's going to the Palace of the Grandmaster with two packages. They're listed only as 'art' on the system."

But Conrad had hung up at "Grandmaster," kick-started his bike, and roared off toward the fortress.