Time was running out — fast.
They say knowledge can be a dangerous thing. For what Billie had learned, it could spell the end of the human race. The only hope she had left was to reach the inner sanctum of Atlantis in time to stop the next cycle from being triggered. And to do that, she needed to find the code.
Hell, if she had years, maybe a team of code breakers might be able to solve it, but she didn’t. She had five weeks. Her only hope now was to find the notes of the last living person known to have seen it.
Felix Brandt.
For that, she needed to find where he’d spent his final days on earth. And that was what had taken her so rapidly to Amsterdam.
The truth was so dangerous that she had refused to tell Sam Reilly or even Tom Bower about it. Instead, she’d made up a story why she needed their help to find someone in Amsterdam. Now she’d found where the man had gone centuries ago, she would need their help to reach him, or at least where he put his notes.
HIM…
The thought brought her back to the man with curly blond hair and blue eyes she’d seen on her first day in the national archives. The blond man in the red baseball cap on the moped — today wasn’t the second time she’d seen him. He’d been there — at Stadsarchief Amsterdam — on her first day. She hadn’t taken much notice of the man. He was entering the building while she was leaving. The only reason she’d taken any was something strangely attractive about his face. Beneath his looks, he had an outward sign of self-assuredness which bordered on arrogance. And then, as though he’d read her thoughts, he’d responded with the most disarming smile — the sort that could easily cause a woman less driven by necessity to inadvertently find herself in his bed.
So that makes three times in three days.
That’s more than a coincidence.
He was after her.
And that meant she was in trouble… and the world was at great risk.
It was time to let Sam Reilly know what she’d really discovered in Atlantis. At the same time, even more important than ever that she not disclose its location.
Billie touched her brakes slightly harder than required as she came around the corner leaving the city. To the other drivers of the busy motorway, the action might have appeared to be entirely accidental, but it was enough to cause the familiar moped to swerve to the right of her, forcing its rider to overtake.
The license plate came into clear view.
It was different.
She had written it down as a precaution yesterday, when she noticed the motorcycle arrive and depart the National Archives building at the same time as herself. Even without checking her notes, she was able to immediately recognize that the two weren’t the same. Even so, it didn’t alleviate the uncomfortable sensation that she was being followed.
To her dismay, the moped slowed until she was forced to overtake it again.
That’s it. I’m not playing this game!
She stopped the car, pulling over into a break down lane. Opening a large foldout map — as though she were one of the thousands of lost tourists — she watched as the Vespa disappeared.
Relieved, she refolded the map, and was about to drive off again, when an entirely new Vespa appeared.
Unlike the previous rider, who had worn a full faced helmet with an impenetrable reflective visor, making him or her appear sinister, this Vespa was red and the rider had long blonde hair, which hung carelessly out of the rider’s open faced helmet, and a beautiful young Dutch girl’s smile.
Hardly the face of a person trying to spy…
The rider pulled onto the footpath behind her. Despite the complete differences of the two riders, there was no mistaking the coincidence that another Vespa should park behind her within minutes of losing the last one.
So, someone is following me.
She entered the traffic, not wanting to draw attention to herself.
“Call Sam,” she said, activating the voice recognition in the car.
“Did you find what you were after?” Sam asked, dismissing civilities.
“Sam, I don’t know how, but someone’s onto us.”
“Really, no one even knows we’re in the country, and I can’t imagine how they would have worked out what we’re doing here. Especially, given that I don’t really know what we’re doing.”
“All the same, someone knows. I’ve had several men on Vespas stalking me since I left the National Archives building.”
“No chance they just want your phone number?”
“Fuck you. I’m telling you someone’s after me.”
Sam’s voice stiffened. “Where are you now?”
She looked at the GPS on the heads up display on the windscreen. “Weeperstraat. Approaching… Mauritskade… ”
“Good. I want you to take a right onto it. And then loop around to the Frederik Henderik Park. Do you know how to get there?”
“Yeah, sure. I think I’ve passed it a few times in the past few days,” she replied.
“Stay on the main roads. If I’m not there when you arrive, make a circuit. I can be there in twenty minutes. And Billie…”
“What?”
“Did you find it?”
“Yes. I couldn’t steal it without someone taking notice, but I’ve taken several photographs. It should be enough to find where he’s gone.”
“Good. Listen. Stick to the main roads, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t stop your car until you see me!”
“Understood!”
Billie’s heart raced as she reached the Frederik Henderik Park within ten minutes. She slowed, but the park was empty. She was too early for Sam to reach it. The first time since she’d arrived in the city that the traffic had been so good, when all she wanted was a slow but constant run.
In general, she could look after herself, but she was unarmed. She swore at herself for not taking the precautions she normally did, but she’d worried that her weapon was more likely to raise suspicion than dispel it. Besides, whoever knew what she was after would have infinite resources behind them. Few people knew that Atlantis really existed. Even fewer knew where it was. And as far as she could determine, no one presently living knew how to reach its inner sanctum.
But she was about to find out.
And that made her the most valuable person alive.
Billie turned right onto Willemsbrug and began the mental process of planning a gigantic loop. The girl on the Vespa behind her seemed more serious now. The carefree smile had disappeared, only to be replaced by determination.
The motorcycle rider, seemingly aware that Billie was onto her, became blatant in her movements to keep close. She laughed at herself for being so frightened. After all, they were only on motorcycles, Vespas actually, not even a real motorcycle, and she was in a car.
What were they going to do to her?
When she made another right back onto Weeperstraat, Billie was horrified to see the original yellow Vespa, the one that had followed her to the National Archives on her first day. It was parked on the intersection coming the other direction, but immediately turned in pursuit as she passed it.
She sped up as, as the yellow Vespa followed.
Billie pressed the call back button on her cell.
“Sam! Where are you?”
“Zaandam. I got stuck in traffic, but I’m doing my best. Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not fucking all right! I have three motorcyclists after me, and I’m unarmed because of your suggestion!”
Sam didn’t take the bait for the argument. “Well I’m not unarmed. I can assure you they’ll lose whatever interest they have in you pretty quickly when I arrive. Take it easy. Are you still on the same loop?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Don’t stop anywhere. I’ll find you. I’m coming from the other direction, but I’ll see you. Good luck.”