She dismissed the idea almost immediately.
No, he knows where it is. Mark would have had that information. Otherwise he would have already tried to find out from her where it was, instead of flying there.
Billie had no doubt that they were flying directly toward New York.
He’s already been there! Which means — he’s seen the challenges. He can’t pass them! That’s what he needs me for.
And that meant there was time… if only she could get a message to Sam Reilly.
The flight continued. It made a brief landing. From what she could gather, it was only to refuel. Her ears, now highly attuned to the sounds around her, noticed that the man who was watching her had stood up to stretch his legs.
She waited for a few minutes and then stood up herself.
Instantly she was punched in the gut. The force knocked the wind out of her lungs, and as her diaphragm went into a spasm, she struggled to take the next breath. Slowly she curled up, back in her seat.
Then, slowly gaining the ability to breathe again, Billie said, “I was going to the bathroom, you fuckwit!”
“So go,” the man replied with a laugh.
She hated to let the man have his way, but even so, it was a long flight to the U.S. and there was no way that she was going to hold it all that way.
Without speaking, she simply pissed on the man’s jet.
“The fucking bitch just wet herself!” the man said.
“Good.” It was the voice she’d associated with Andrew. “That means we’re almost ready to begin.”
Chapter Seventy-Five
Edward reached the shore with Zanzibe, the pygmy king. It was a long swim, over a mile, and at 80 years of age, he was probably in the one percent of his age bracket who could possibly do it. The fact that he didn’t die of a heart attack during the swim only proved that the purpose that drove him was more valuable than his life. He could die soon, after he had performed his task, but not before.
“Thank you Zanzibe — I would not be here if you hadn’t entered when you had.”
“No. I know you’re not one of them. You’re not a god, but Dr. Swan is, isn’t she?”
Edward nodded his head.
“And you’re going to save her life!” the pygmy insisted.
“Me? How the hell do you expect me to do that? I’m in the middle of the Congo jungle, without anything, and they’re in a helicopter, probably already boarding a plane to Atlantis. I want Andrew dead as much as you do, and I want to save Dr. Swan too, but I don’t think it’s possible. Hell, I don’t even know how I’m going to get out of this jungle, let alone to New York.”
“I will help you.”
Edward laughed. “I hate to tell you this, but despite being the king of your little tribe, there is a really big world out here, and there’s little that any of us can do to change it.”
“I believe you’re right, but all the same. I need you to save Dr. Swan’s life — before the code to Atlantis is initiated, and your ‘really big world’ has a bad day.”
“Okay, so how do we get out of the jungle from here?”
“Leave that to me.”
The pygmy then started to call out in an ancient pygmy dialect sounding more like a bird’s mating ritual than anything human. Within minutes it was answered.
Great — he speaks with the animals!
And then all went quiet in the jungle.
“What did they say?”
“They said they’d help you. Because it is important, not because they like you.”
“Great. Which way do we walk?”
The pygmy pointed toward a small opening in the dense forest. “There.”
Five minutes later the quietness of the jungled was interrupted by the sound of chopper blades spinning.
Edward grinned at the little native. “You ordered a helicopter?”
“Of course. And now, I’m coming with you, to make sure you don’t screw it up.”
Chapter Seventy-Six
Sam Reilly stepped off the plane. The presidential motorcade met him at the tarmac. A U.S. Marine in dress uniform held the door open for him. Sam casually stooped to get into the car. His father had financed the President’s campaign. He wasn’t intimidated by the man. If anything, he was relieved. If he was here, it meant that the Secretary of Defense had taken him seriously.
“Hello, Mr. President.” Sam shuffled to the far side of the car, affectionately known as the Beast. Tom followed, and the door was shut immediately afterwards. They both shook the President’s hand. Next to him sat the Secretary of Defense. Her red hair was tied back in a perfect, military bun. Sam considered if she really did have a permanent scowl, or if it was just an act when she spent time with him. Somehow, despite the anger in her eyes and displeasure every time she spoke with him, she was possibly the sexiest woman he’d ever met. That being the case, he could think of no one he’d less like to spend the evening with.
“Mr. Reilly, one day I would really like to know what you were doing looking into our long buried secrets from last century in Siberia. But if you’re anything like your father I know I would be wasting my breath. For now, I need to know precisely how much time we have left?”
“On the Atlantis counter?”
“Yes, on the God damn Atlantis counter.”
“A little under twelve hours,” Sam replied. “Did you find what I asked for?”
“Yes. The original Costello map — we’ve just picked it up at the Smithsonian Institute. The oldest known map of Manhattan is now in your hands. Also, one of the curators there has found a series of engineering plans for the original water lots. We have more than a thousand of our people looking for that entrance now.”
“Good.” Sam picked up the delicate papers and began searching for what he needed. “Did the NASA’s Near Earth Object Program find anything?”
The President answered. “No, they’ve reassured me, there’s nothing that is in a direct collision course with us. Several that may come close, but if we were in danger, we’d have known about it by now.”
“Did you send them the images of the celestial cavern we found in Poseidon’s temple?” Sam asked.
The Secretary of Defense said, “Yes, and they had a look at the comet that appears to be on its way toward earth. A Dr. James Bradley from their Near Earth Object Program assures me that nothing short of earth changing its gravitational pull would cause that stone to fall from the sky.”
“Get him on the phone now!” Sam replied.
“Why?” The President asked, the slightest of alarm in his voice. “He already said it’s going to narrowly miss earth’s orbit.”
“Because, let me guess, it will pass over head in around 12 hours’ time.”
The President nodded his head, realization striking him hard.
“Here, have a look at this.” Sam handed him the images he’d printed on the flight. “They’re celestial markings found inside Poseidon’s temple. At first they didn’t make any sense, but I just worked out what they are. They’re charts of comets that pass earth close enough to be pulled into our gravitational field. Atlantis somehow affects that pull, changing the direction of the comet from its original path.”
“Any chance we can take out that comet before it reaches us?” Tom suggested.
“Impossible.” The President’s answer was firm. “We have systems in place to destroy an extraterrestrial collision of this sort, but they would take months to put into effect. No, I suggest we now utilize our resources to making certain that no one activates Atlantis.”
Sam skimmed the construction notes for the water lots that were built in 1653 — the first of a series of land reclamations within the island of Manhattan. When his eyes reached a series of names — mostly the owners or companies who were building he stopped. “Okay, here it is. This one! It says the owner was a Mr. Felix Brandt.”