The Secret of Atlantis

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

“Who the hell has an escape hatch under his frigging desk?” Lea asked, sighing angrily.

“The President of the United States, for one thing,” Hawke said. “I know because Alex told me she saw it when her Dad introduced her to President Grant. It’s right under the Resolute Desk and leads down on a slide to the Secret Service’s Horsepower Command post in the White House basement.”

“Well, this arsehole has one too,” Lea said. “And he’s just used it to get away. Damn it all!”

A man rushed into the room with a gun raised. He was wearing black and Hawke immediately saw the Athanatoi mark on his wrist. He burst into action ready to fight him when he saw it was the man they had called Lazarus.

“Where is the bastard?” Lazarus said.

Scarlet pointed down the escape chute. “He left the party early.”

Lazarus ran to the chute and cursed in a foreign language none of them recognized. He stared down into the gloom of the escape route, his face crossed with frustration, anger and fear.

“Where does this lead?” Hawke asked.

“He has an aircraft.”

“Shit,” Hawke said.

“Double shit,” Lea said.

Scarlet sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Make that a triple.”

“No, this is definitely a four turd situation,” Camacho added.

“Let’s get after him,” Hawke yelled. “This is what we’ve been waiting for. If we want kill him it’s now or never.”

Lazarus shook his head. “Many have wanted to kill him, but all have failed. Today I will succeed where they all failed.”

The man from the helipad burst into the room with a gun. “Lazarus, you traitor!”

They exchanged gunfire, both striking each other. Lazarus’s aim was better, hitting the other man in the head and killing him instantly, but his own wound was in the stomach. Death would be slow and agonizing.

“Jesus!” Lea said, running to the wounded man. “Oh God…”

“Get after him!” Lazarus said, his voice barely a whisper. “He must die. Take this.” He handed Hawke his M4 complete with grenade launcher attachment. “You’ll need it.”

“Scarlet — with me,” Hawke said. “We’re going after Wolff. Lea and Jack — stay with Lazarus. He could help us.”

Hawke slid down the escape chute at speed, folding his arms over his chest as if he were using an aircraft’s evacuation slide. Seconds later his journey was over and he found himself on a sheet steel platform beside a narrow-gauge railroad leading off into a tunnel.

“What the fuck is this?” Scarlet said, now standing beside him. “Disneyland?”

“He’s gone, Cairo — and whatever he used to get away was the only one because there’s nothing else here.”

“Then we have to run along the tracks,” she said. “Now’s your chance to get back from Pork to Hawke.”

He gave her a look and readied the grenade launcher. “Let’s see who gets there first then shall we?”

Lea stared down at the dying man. “Why did they call you a traitor, Lazarus?”

He tried to smile. “Because I wanted to tell the world about what we really are.”

She took a deep breath. “Are you… gods?”

He shook his head. “We have lots of names — the Athanatoi is a very old word we use but there are others — the Shadowmen, the 10th Floor Group, the Priesthood — it depends on the country. In China we’re called Bāxiān, a group of eight xian, or transcendental saints.”

“How many groups are there?”

“There are many sects, or factions. Some refer to these as churches, or creeds, others even use the word denominations, but it all comes to same thing. There are lots of us, more than you know. We are immortal, but not divine. We are human, just like you. We were given the secret of immortality and we guard it with our lives, as you have seen. You can think of us as priests serving a higher power.”

“What higher power — the Oracle?” Camacho asked.

The man laughed, coughing out more blood. He shook his head and gasped in pain as he clutched his stomach. “The Oracle serves the higher power just like the rest of us but now he’s locked in endless skirmishes in the search for…” he doubled over in pain and made an agonized wheezing sound. His blood pressure was falling too low. “I’m dying… I’m finally dying.”

“No you’re not!” Lea said, leaning forward and tightening the tourniquet, but it was useless work and they both knew it. She gripped the man’s head in her hands. “Searching for what, Lazarus?”

He looked up into her eyes as he released his dying breath. “Knock, and the door will be opened to you.”

And then he was gone.

Lea closed her eyes and sighed, and then laid the man’s head gently down in the rubble.

Jack Brooke picked up the phone and dialled through to the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. A few seconds later Davis Faulkner picked up the call.

“What the hell is going on in the Caribbean, Davis?”

“I don’t know, Jack.”

“A lot of people are talking to me about some kind of military strike on an island down there.” Brooke knew the island, but Faulkner didn’t need to know that.

“I’m the same — just getting crap flying in all over me, six ways from Sunday.”

“Find out what the hell is going on and get back to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and Davis…” Brooke rubbed his hand over his face and took a breath. “I’d kinda hoped I could bring this up when we were face to face, but you heard about Harper, right?” His shook his head with sadness as he thought about Harper Cavazo, one of the senators for Florida.

“Sure did — no wonder they call those damned things Doctor Killers.”

Brooke clenched his jaw. He had known Harper for twenty years. Her death in a light aircraft accident a few days ago still felt raw. The NTSB was still investigating.

“Listen, Davis… we’ve known each other a long time so I guess you know what’s coming.”

“Oh no…”

“You don’t think you’re up to it?”

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly…” his voice trailed off and Brooke heard a long inhalation on the famous cigar.

“So what do you say?”

“I was thinking about retiring somewhere tropical with a cool drink in each hand.”

“But instead you’re going to join me on the ticket and be my Vice President, right?”

A long pause. “I’d be honoured to share a ticket with you, Jack.”

Brooke smiled. He liked Davis Faulkner — to a limit, but more than that he was a Florida man, and that was a major battleground state in the up-coming election. Brooke was going to have to carry the Sunshine State if he wanted the keys to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

“Thanks, Davis. Now — find out just who’s been blowing the hell out of the Caribbean. It’s in our sphere of influence and no one plays down there without us knowing about it.”

“You got it, Jack.”

Brooke cut the call. He’d done the right thing. Not that he was going to tell Davis Faulkner about it, but his daughter had been on that island when it was attacked and he wanted to know who to pay back for the favor. At least the old Floridian had agreed to join him on the ticket and run as his Vice President. If Davis could deliver Florida’s Electoral College votes he was sure he could win the Oval Office and if something ever happened to Brooke, Davis Faulkner would be a safe pair of hands in the White House.

At least not everything today had been a disaster.