He smiled at her and said, “Don’t worry Dr. Swan. I’m not planning on preaching. It was just a thought.”
Yet something about his smile made her wonder what he really knew about the Master Builders.
“What now, then?”
“And so, Billie, you and I are on our way to Tibet, to climb a mountain.”
Chapter Seventeen
Andrew Brandt looked at the robe in his wardrobe. His father had been the last to wear it, and the last to truly believe in the Phoenix Resistance. It had been nearly twenty years since the ancient brotherhood met for official reasons, but in that time, the internet and global communications had changed a lot. As did the way they ran their business in the past eleven thousand years.
What was once a society hidden by cloaks of darkness, and secret handshakes was now run by five men from around the world, each powerful and intelligent in their own right. A merchant banker, a Russian oil and gas tycoon, a leader of the most dangerous private mercenary army in the world, a politician, a CEO of one of the greatest technology firms on the planet.
Their faces had been obscured to maintain anonymity. Andrew had never met any of them in person. But together they had a combined power that enabled them to change the world.
Of the five of them, Andrew had been chosen to now lead the secret organization.
One of them was still missing, lost in action. He had gone to infiltrate an enemy of the brotherhood. But now, it appeared that the man had been killed as a result, and hadn’t been heard of since.
Instead of secret caves, handshakes, and all those stupid things that went with the role, the small gathering met via video conferencing, over secure networks, using satellites that Andrew, himself, owned.
Up until a couple days ago, Andrew had assumed the entire premise for their organization had been a giant farce, made up by one of his great ancestors to maintain power and control over his fellow man. The only reason he’d even maintained the pretense and continued the organization, managing it as the most senior leader, was because of the connections that the organization had given him.
After all, each of the men in the virtual room today had a net worth of nearly a hundred million dollars. And that sort of money came with contacts.
Still in his day suit, having long ago abandoned the ornamental cloaks, he accepted the final member to the virtual room and began to chair the meeting.
“Nearly six hours ago a woman I was paid to capture was stolen from me. It has since then come to my attention that she was in possession of the knowledge that lead her towards the current resting place of Atlantis.”
He saw the same look on their faces as he had his own. They all said the same thing: so Atlantis was real, and so was the prophecy…
“Do we know how much they know?” It was Kazimir — his name literally meant the destroyer of peace.
“No, we know that they discovered something that proved unequivocally the existence of Atlantis and directed them to Amsterdam. What sent them there, I have no idea. There, they found the map to the gateway, also known as the Arcane Stone. Without Dr. Billie Swan, Sam Reilly and Tom Bower are having to backtrack, but they’re gaining momentum and have already booked a flight to Tibet!”
“Tibet?” It was Richard who spoke first. “But we’ve already been to Tibet. There’s nothing but scribbles there. Codes to enter the inner sanctum of Atlantis. But they’re worth nothing without any knowledge of Atlantis itself.”
“But what if they already know?” said Mr. Armel, the head of a private army of expert soldiers. He had employed soldiers who were leaders in their own country, turning them to the lucrative profession of mercenaries.
Andrew smiled. “No, I don’t think Sam Reilly and Tom Bower know any more than we do. But what about Dr. Swan?”
James Bradley, a billionaire turned politician from Oregon, looked irritated. “And if Dr. Swan does know its exact location, then that would explain why someone would want to abduct her. Which brings us to the next logical question. Who would have the knowledge and power to do so?”
Andrew sighed. He’d not thought it through so far. “No idea, but I’ve already sent a team there personally, to protect the code to the gateway and find out.”
Chapter Eighteen
Le Vieux, Nice was a honeycomb of narrow streets, dotted with beautiful Baroque churches, vibrant squares, and restaurants. Its dark narrow lanes were crammed with delis, boutique eateries, and bars full of beautiful people. The old town was overflowing with them. Like their Parisian counterparts, the people of Nice were splendidly dressed in the latest style, with slim figures and attractive features befitting the latest fashion magazines. The average men looked like they had walked off the set to a Calvin Klein modeling campaign, including white shorts, blue sailor tops, and brown wavy hair, tussled by the salty sea breeze. Their women took style and glamor up several notches.
At the end of the tiny street, the pristine waters of the French Riviera could be seen, littered with expensive yachts. Here the elite, famous and richest people of the world competed to see who’d acquired the best beach toy.
Sam casually scanned the bay, his interest barely piqued by the abundance of beautiful yachts. Instead, he stared at one vessel that stood out amongst the others. Not because it was the most beautiful, but because in a world of yachts filled with hulls built of carbon fiber, delicate woodwork, and gold emblazing, the large steel hull of what appeared to be an old icebreaker looked as though it didn’t belong. Anchored slightly further out, as though it was being ostracized.
It was painted sky blue. And along the ship’s angular steel hull, in large emerald writing, were the words MARIA HELENA. Below, in smaller writing — Deep Sea Expeditions. From the distance, it looked like nothing more than an oversized tugboat or possibly an old icebreaker converted into a science vessel. On the aft deck a helipad could be seen, the only indication that it deserved a place as anything more than a tugboat.
Sam was reassured by the familiar sight of his ship. The Maria Helena had been doing research into the ever-changing water quality of the overcrowded Mediterranean as it passed through the Strait of Gibraltar. He’d ordered her skipper, Matthew Sutherland, to wrap up their project and quickly move it to the French Riviera in case they were needed.
Sam and Tom walked confidently down the tiny street. He watched as a beautiful woman in a flowery yellow dress walked by a popular restaurant, le Royal. Although it was only just hitting eleven-thirty in the morning, the place was already thriving with tourists and locals. The aroma of strong coffee and freshly baked French bread filled the air.
Sam smiled, enjoying the atmosphere.
It was hardly the place for a business meeting with the head of a criminal organization. A police car was parked in front of the restaurant. Two police officers in their early forties stood armed with SP2022 handguns at their hips, and each had a Ruger machinegun held at the ready, as though waiting for something.
“Do they look overly eager for police officers in Nice?” Sam asked.
Tom looked up from where he’d been distracted by the flirtatious smile of a tall brunette. “Who?”
“The police out the front of the restaurant. Do you think they appear unusually ready with their weapons in a place like this?”
“We live in a dangerous world. Who can say?” Tom replied, nonplussed.
“I can say. My guess is they work for him.”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Tom began walking toward the entrance. “Shall we?”