“What are you doing down here? How did you get here?”
“The tunnels under Gibraltar. I found a chamber, with the spear—”
“How?”
“A journal.” David shook his head, trying to think. The paste was like having a cold, it was hard to put his thoughts together. “Got it in Tibet, from a monk. You know about it?”
“Of course I do. I wrote it.”
CHAPTER 123
Kate heard the sound of hissing air all around her. She still couldn’t feel her body, but the air was warm, only a little warm at first, but it grew warmer with every passing second. She tried to push up off the floor, but she fell back face-first. She was so tired. She let her limp body collapse into the frigid suit.
Gradually, the warmth filled the suit, and the feeling returned to her body. They — whoever they were — were bringing her body temperature up. The fog on the helmet’s face mask turned to drops of water that ran down in streaks, and a view of the floor materialized in lines, like a shredded picture being reassembled, one skinny strip at a time. It was a metal grate, except… she couldn’t see through it; no, it was a solid metal floor with dimples.
She turned over, onto her back, and stared at the smooth iron ceiling. The fog was receding now. It still felt cool, but it was downright balmy compared to the ice cathedral outside. Where was she? Some sort of decontamination chamber?
Kate sat up. She could feel her fingers now, and she began fiddling with the clamps at her wrists. After some effort, the gloves came off, and she worked at the helmet. Ten minutes later, she was free of the suit and standing in the clothes she had left Gibraltar in. She surveyed the room. It was well lit, about forty feet wide, and probably twice as long. Behind her, she saw the enormous door she had entered through — it was much larger than the door at the other end. She walked deeper into the room, and the smaller door opened. She walked through it and lights popped to life at the ceiling and floor. Each light was faint, but taken together, they shed more than enough light on the gray iron corridor. They reminded her of the running beads of light in the floor of a limo.
She was standing in a giant T-intersection. Which way to go? Before she could decide, she heard something moving toward her. Footsteps.
CHAPTER 124
David tried to make sense of what the man had said. His head was a haze from the nano-paste that was repairing the wounds in his shoulder, chest, and leg and racking his nostrils with a foul odor.
The man claimed to be Patrick Pierce — the author of the journal: an American soldier who had dug the tunnels for the Immari in exchange for one of the Immari leader’s blessing to marry his daughter. But he couldn’t be — the time line was wrong. David tried to piece it together:
> 1917-1918: Patrick Pierce recovers from WWI wounds and discovers the Atlantis structure under Gibraltar, uncovering the Bell and unleashing a deadly epidemic, sold to the world as Spanish Flu. Between 50-100 million people die. Up to a billion are infected on every continent.
> 1918: Pierce puts his wife, Helena, and his unborn child inside a tube.
> 1918-1938: Pierce becomes an unwilling member of the Immari Leadership in order to protect his wife and unborn child. He finishes his excavation at Gibraltar, but he, too, is placed in a tube when Konrad Kane embarks on his expedition — first to Tibet to recover artifacts and massacre the Immaru, then to Antarctica to find what he believes is the Atlantis capital city. Kane never returns.
> 1978: After 40 years, Mallory Craig, Patrick Pierce, and Dieter Kane are awakened from the tubes. Pierce’s wife is still dead, but the child is born. Pierce names her Katherine Warner. The others take new names: Patrick Pierce becomes Tom Warner, Mallory Craig becomes Howard Keegan, and Dieter Kane becomes Dorian Sloane.
> 1985: Tom Warner (Patrick Pierce) goes missing — possibly killed in a research experiment
Could it be true? Could Pierce have been down here since 1985?
Assuming Pierce was in his mid 20s during WWI, as the journal said, he would have been in his mid 40s in 1938 when he went into the tube… That would make him around 52 in 1985 and… 80 today. The man before him was much younger, possibly no more than 50.
David was already feeling better from the paste. He stood, and the man raised the gun. “Stay where you are. You don’t believe me, do you?”
It was hard to argue when you’re wounded and your captor had a gun. David shrugged and looked sheepish. “I believe you.”
“Don’t be cute. And stop lying to me.”
“Look, I’m just trying to put it together, the journal was… 1918 to 1936—”
“I know the journal dates; you’ll recall that I wrote it. Now tell me exactly how you got down here.”
David sat back on the bed. “I was lured into a trap. By Mallory Craig, Director of Clock—”