Return to Atlantis

EIGHT


Takashi opened the display case. “Here, Dr. Wilde. Let us see if the legend is true. Please, pick them up.”

Nina realized as she stepped up to the case that her heart was racing. She knew what to expect of the statues individually, but the effects of putting them all together she could only imagine.

In a few moments, though, she wouldn’t have to imagine. She would see for herself.

She held out a hand, hesitating before picking up the statue she had discovered within the Pyramid of Osiris. It glowed strongly.

The industrialist didn’t appear surprised, only intrigued. “As I told you, all my life I have been fascinated by ideas such as Feng Shui,” he said. “This skyscraper was built according to its principles, on an intersection of dragon lines. It is a place of great power. As you can tell.”

Nina examined the statue. As she had seen on previous occasions, the shimmering light running over its surface was strongest in the direction of its companion pieces. The effect was a pointer, allowing those who could use it—those like her, some aspect of their body’s bioelectric field allowing them to channel the strange energy—to find the other crude figurines.

And now that they were finally together … their secret would be revealed.

She picked up Takashi’s statue. It too glowed. She brought the pair shoulder-to-shoulder, carved arms interlocking. The glow intensified, the brighter bands merging and pointing toward the last figure. Cradling them in one hand, she reached for it …

It also lit up: Its being split into two parts had not affected its mysterious properties. Excitement rose in her, as did an urge to complete the triptych—an almost electric thrill of imminent discovery.

Literally electric, she realized. There was a faint but definite tingling in her hands, as if a low current was running through them. Not painful, or even unpleasant, but a clear sign of something extraordinary.

She glanced back at Takashi. His gaze was fixed on the glowing stone figures, his expression one of rapt expectancy. He whispered in Japanese, anticipation so great that he momentarily forgot his guest did not understand the language. “Put them together,” he said. “I must see!”

Nina felt the same. Carefully shifting the split statue in her hand, she brought it closer to the other two, turning it to join up with them for the first time in untold centuries …

They touched.

And Nina’s senses were thrown into another world.

The effect was only brief, her shock causing her to break the link between the statues, but the results were almost overwhelming. Just for that moment, she felt as though her mind had left the confines of her body. Not a dislocation, but an expansion, spreading into the room, down through the building, into the city and the land beneath it.

And somehow, she also felt … life.

She sensed Takashi’s presence a few feet from her, and others farther away—above, around, below. And not just people. Birds roosting amid the machinery atop the skyscraper, the plants in Takashi’s office, insects and rats in their hiding places within the building’s structure. The lawns around its base—and beyond them the mass of living creatures of every kind within Tokyo. She was connected to them, some strand among all the different forms of life linking them in an inexplicable unity, a feeling of oneness.

And there was another sensation, equally strange, like a tugging at her soul. Something far away, yet also a part of her—and of everything else. She could feel it without touching, knew where it was without seeing—

Then it was gone, her consciousness snapping back to reality as her shock made her stagger. She instinctively grabbed the display case for support, letting go of the statues …

They didn’t fall.

Before, the figures had always stopped glowing the instant they left her touch. Now, though, they continued to shimmer as they hung impossibly in the air, slowly drifting apart. Both Nina and Takashi stared at them, she in astonishment, the tycoon with …

Vindication?

The glow quickly faded. The figurines dropped, at first in slow motion but rapidly picking up speed—

With a stifled shriek Nina grabbed two of them, Takashi lunging to catch the last as it fell. Suddenly breathless, she leaned against the case. The pair of statues in her hands were glowing again, but the incredible experience did not return. “What the hell was that?” she gasped.

Kojima hurried back into the room and went to his boss’s side, but his urgent and concerned questions were waved away as Takashi kept his gaze fixed on Nina. “You felt it?” he said urgently. “You must tell me! What did you feel?”

“I dunno,” she said, bewildered. “It was … I don’t know how to describe it, just—just overpowering. But the statues … they were floating! How is that even possible?”

“Diamagnetism,” said Takashi.

Nina blinked. “What?” Considering what he had just witnessed, he seemed remarkably composed. “What do you mean? I’m an archaeologist, not a physicist.”

Kojima provided a partial explanation. “All materials can be affected by magnetic fields, even ones we don’t think of as magnetic. You can levitate a train with magnets—but with enough power you can levitate an animal, even a person. Diamagnetism is the name of this property.”

“You charged the statues with earth energy,” continued Takashi. “For just a few seconds, they held that charge—and were levitated against the energy fields of the planet itself. It was an effect we had predicted. But,” he admitted, “seeing it for myself was … startling.” He regarded the figure cradled protectively in his hands.

“Wait, you predicted this?” Nina demanded. Her initial amazement was already being tempered by a growing feeling that she had been played: Takashi knew far more than he was letting on.

He lowered his head. “I apologize, Dr. Wilde. We thought we knew what to expect, but there was no way to know exactly what would happen when you brought the statues together.”

“There’s that we again,” she said. “Who else knows about this?”

Takashi ignored her question. “What did you feel while you were holding the statues?”

“You answer me first.”

A flash of anger crossed his face at being challenged in his own domain, but he quickly regained control. “I am a member of … a group that believes earth energy is the key to the world’s future. We seek to use its unlimited power for the benefit of humanity, while keeping it from those who might misuse it. People like Jack Mitchell.”

Mitchell—supposed friend turned betrayer, using the IHA as the means to his end of constructing a devastating weapon powered by the planet itself. She felt a twinge of phantom pain from her right leg, where he had shot her to force her to do exactly what Takashi had just manipulated her into—channeling earth energy. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How do you know about him?”

“We have access to a great deal of information, from all over the world. We do not represent any one nation—we are above politics, you might say. Our goal is simple—peace, stability, an end to conflict. And with your help, we can achieve this goal.”

“Well, that all sounds very laudable. Unfortunately, Mitchell said pretty much the same thing.”

“All I can do for now is ask you to trust us, Dr. Wilde. We will prove our good intentions in time. But for now, as I have answered your question, I ask you to answer mine. When you brought the statues together, you had an … experience. I would very much like to know what you felt.”

Nina was reluctant to respond. She was now convinced that she was part of some larger game, but had no idea which side—if any—she should run with. Still, it was clear that Takashi knew more than she did about the statues, and if she gave him some new information, perhaps he would reciprocate. “It’s hard to explain,” she began. “I felt … I don’t know, connected.”

“To what?”

“To everything. To life, I guess.” She struggled to recall the sensation, but much of it had already faded, like a half-remembered dream. “And there was something else, a feeling like, like …” The words refused to form.

Takashi offered them, however. “Something calling to you?”

“Yes, exactly!” She regarded him in surprise. “How did you know?”

“As I told you, we have access to much information.”

“Someone else already knew about this? Who?”

“A person from a long time ago. But,” he went on, before she could ask any follow-up questions, “there is something you might not have seen. When you brought the statues together, their glow changed. Before, they pointed to each other, but for just a second the light moved to …”

He indicated a direction, then gave an order in Japanese to Kojima, who took out his phone and brought up an app—a compass, Nina saw. “About two hundred and sixty degrees west,” the young man reported.

Takashi nodded. “Is that from where you felt this call?”

“Yes … at least, I think.” Nina rubbed her forehead. “I’m not sure. The whole thing happened so quickly, and now it’s fading away.”

“There is a way to experience it again.” Takashi held up the figure in his hands almost reverently. “Dr. Wilde, would you be willing to place the three statues back together?”

She hesitated. Nothing about her extraordinary experience had felt remotely harmful—if anything, quite the opposite—and her innate scientific curiosity was now crying out to learn more. On the other hand, for all Takashi’s fine words, he still had to provide any proof that he intended to back them up with deeds. His true goal might be identical to Mitchell’s.

But … she had to know. The same part of her psyche that had driven her to find Atlantis and all her other discoveries was now fully in control and demanding answers. Even though she had no idea where this path might lead, she knew she had to follow it.

Whatever the cost.

“All right,” she said at last. “I’ll do it. Just make sure you’re ready to catch me and the statues this time, huh?”

“We will be very careful,” said Takashi with a small smile. “Are you ready?”

Nina took a breath to settle herself. “No time like the present.”

Takashi held out the third statue to her. She linked the other two together in one hand, then reached for it—

A loud crash came from the adjoining room, the clang and clatter of metal followed by the thump of something heavy landing on the thickly carpeted floor. Nina, Takashi, and Kojima whirled, the statues momentarily forgotten. A figure stepped into the vault.

“Ay up,” said the new arrival.

“Eddie?” Nina gasped, if anything more shocked than she had been by her mind trip. “What are— How did— Huh?” was all she could manage to say.

Kojima’s hand darted into his jacket, but Eddie snapped up the Makarov. “Don’t do anything stupid, mate. Just keep still. You an’ all,” he added, flicking the gun toward Takashi. “And you, Nina.”

His harsh tone sent a chill through her. “Eddie, what are you doing?”

“What’re you doing?” he shot back. “I spend three months hunting for Stikes, and it turns out he’s right here with you!”

“Stikes? What are you talking about? I wouldn’t—”

Takashi spoke calmly yet defiantly in Japanese. Kojima translated for him. “Takashi-san apologizes for interrupting a personal discussion, but he would very much like to know what you are doing here.”

“Oh, he would, eh?” said Eddie. He indicated the statues. “I’m here for them—that’s part of the reason, anyway.”

Kojima relayed that to his boss, then provided another translation. “Takashi-san regrets that he will not allow you to take the statues, and also warns that the consequences if you try will be severe.”

“Tell him he doesn’t get a say in it,” Eddie replied, aiming the gun at the old man. Kojima began to translate this back into Japanese.

“Oh, knock it off,” Nina snapped. “You speak perfect English!”

Takashi sighed. “I was trying to buy us time, Dr. Wilde.”

“Well, time’s up,” said Eddie. “So first, give me the statues. Then take me to Stikes. He’s the rest of the reason I’m here—I’m going to kill that bastard.”

“Stikes is here?” asked Nina, shocked.

Eddie regarded her doubtfully. “You didn’t know?”

“Of course I didn’t! That son of a bitch tortured me—do you seriously think I’d be here if I’d known he was too?” She glared at the Makarov. “And are you actually holding me at gunpoint? My God, Eddie! I can’t believe you think I’d turn against you!”

Slightly shamefacedly, Eddie lowered the gun, just a little …

Enough for Takashi to risk making a move. A bony finger firmly tapped the face of his watch.

An alarm shrilled. Eddie whipped the gun back up, making even the normally implacable Takashi flinch, but he didn’t fire. “That was a f*cking stupid thing to do,” he growled, stepping farther into the strongroom and gesturing for the trio to move past him to the exit. “Okay, old-bloke-san, you lead the way. Hands up where I can see ’em. All of you. Sorry, Nina,” he added, “but I need to get out of here.”

“Why are you doing this?” she demanded as they filed past him. “And why do you want the statues?”

“I don’t want the bloody things—they’ve caused enough trouble already. But somebody else wants ’em smashed, which is fine by me.”

Takashi looked back at Eddie with a calculating expression. “Who wants them smashed?”

“No idea—someone who really hates purple, maybe.”

“You do not know who sent you here, or why?”

“All I know is that they told me how to find Stikes, and killing that bell-end’s all I’m bothered about right now. Okay, move. Go through the—”

A flurry of movement in the next room, figures appearing seemingly from nowhere in a whirl of dark cloth and the flash of drawn weapons. They flanked Takashi and Kojima, narrowed eyes staring coldly at Eddie.

The foursome were dressed entirely in midnight blue, their faces mostly concealed behind balaclavas. Each had a different weapon at the ready: a katana, a traditional curved Japanese sword; a long black wooden bo staff banded with metal; nunchaku, two hefty wooden handles connected by glinting steel links; and a kusarigama, a malevolent-looking sickle with a ball and chain attached to its handle. The wielder of the last spun the weight with one hand, making a low and threatening whoosh with each revolution.

Eddie almost laughed. He pointed the gun at each in turn. “Let me guess—Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael?” He looked back at Takashi. “Seriously, f*cking ninjas? You’re joking, right?”

“You will find that the joke is on you,” Takashi said. A small nod …

“Hai!” The katana-wielding ninja lunged with astonishing speed, his blade a silver line slicing at its target’s throat—

“Bye!” Eddie shot him. The ninja slumped to the floor with a bullet hole in his chest and a distinctly surprised expression.

He turned to his other new opponents, ready to give them the same treatment if they were dumb enough to bring swords to a gunfight …

Donatello released one of his nunchaku’s handles, his free hand whipping something from a bandolier across his chest. A flash of steel through the air—and Eddie yelled in pain as a throwing star thunked into his upper arm.

Another shuriken was already spinning at him, this one slashing through his sleeve as he dodged and brought up his gun—

Something heavy smashed into his hand, chain whipping around the Makarov. Raphael’s kusarigama, the ninja using his weapon like a metal lasso. He yanked it back. The gun was torn from Eddie’s stinging hand, flying over the remaining three ninjas and landing in the gallery as they rushed into the strongroom.

Takashi was already making a remarkably rapid exit for a man of his age, barking orders. Kojima pulled Nina with him, ignoring her protests. “Eddie!” she cried, but the secretary practically scooped her up and ran after his boss.

Eddie reeled backward as Michelangelo charged, his staff sweeping and stabbing. One metal-tipped end caught his forearm, sending another bolt of pain through the already wounded limb. He slammed against a display case. The glass cracked—and a moment later shattered as the kusarigama’s spiked ball hit it, Eddie barely jerking out of its way.

The man with the nunchaku was racing around the edge of the room, trying to flank him. If he didn’t find a way to fight back quickly, he would be attacked from three sides at once—and unlike the ninjas in martial arts movies, these didn’t seem inclined to stand back and wait patiently for their comrades to be dealt with one at a time.

The bo staff thrust again, this time hitting him in the sternum. Crackling agony spread through Eddie’s ribs. Gasping, he stumbled back—and collided with the samurai armor, tumbling to the floor amid a clattering avalanche of ornate pieces of metal. Another intense stab of pain as the shuriken, still embedded in his arm, was driven deeper into the muscle.

And more of the lethal throwing stars were about to come his way, Michelangelo spinning his staff in one hand as his other went to his bandolier—

The armor’s elaborate breastplate was beside Eddie. He snatched it up and rolled to raise it like a shield. A shuriken flying straight at his head clanged off it.

Something else shot toward the armor—and punched right through it with a bang. Eddie flinched as the kusarigama’s razor-sharp sickle blade slammed to a stop inches from his face.

Raphael hauled on the weapon’s chain again, whisking the shield away.

Leaving himself briefly open to attack—

Eddie pulled the bloodied shuriken from his arm and hurled it. It hit the ninja in the throat with a solid chut and a crimson spray. He collapsed, twitching and gurgling.

Both remaining ninjas froze, exchanging glances as they reassessed their opponent. Eddie scrambled up. The pain in his chest made every breath hurt, and his arm was now damp with blood. He glimpsed his gun on the floor of the next room, but he would have to get past the staff-wielding Michelangelo to reach it.

And now Donatello was whirling his nunchaku from hand to hand as he advanced from the opposite direction.

Trapped—



“Let me go!” Nina yelled, striking at Kojima with her heels and elbows as he dragged her into Takashi’s office. “He’s my husband! I can talk to him, find out what’s going on!”

Takashi had no interest in debate. Instead he went to a cabinet and took out a sturdy impact-resistant case. He opened it, revealing that it was lined with foam rubber, inset with three recesses in the exact shape of the statues.

“Put them in here!” he ordered. Still holding the struggling Nina with one arm, Kojima tugged one of the statues from her grip as Takashi placed his own figurine in the case. “Dr. Wilde, the statues must be kept from any harm. And so must you.”

“You’re the one who should be worried about harm!” Nina cried as she finally broke loose, giving Kojima a solid kick in the shins. He yelped. “Call off your—your ninjas,” she said, not quite able to believe what she was saying. “I can get Eddie to—”

The door opened. She turned, hoping to see Eddie … but saw instead his most deadly enemy.

Alexander Stikes.

She backed away like a cat facing an aggressive dog. “What the hell is he doing here?”

The industrialist didn’t appear pleased to see him either. “I told you to wait until we were finished.”

“Sorry,” said Stikes with a sarcastic smile, “but the alarm going off was rather a clue that something was wrong.” He turned to Nina. “A pleasure to see you again.”

“No it goddamn isn’t,” she growled. She addressed Takashi. “This son of a bitch tried to kill me!”

“He is only here because he delivered the statues to me,” said Takashi. But there was a flustered quality to his reply that made Nina suspect he was concealing the whole truth, if not outright lying. “Please, Dr. Wilde, you and the statues must be protected.” He pointed at the stone figure still in her hand. “Put it in the case. If necessary, we will use the escape capsule to get them—and you—safely out of the building.”

Nina glanced at the booth containing the spherical pod. “You’re not shooting me fifty stories into the air in that thing.”

“It is for your own safety,” Takashi insisted as Kojima hobbled to her and took the last statue, then put it in the case and closed the lid.

“I can look after myself.”

“Don’t worry,” said Stikes. “I’ll take care of her.”

The malice behind his supercilious smirk was impossible for Nina to miss. She had seen it before, as his prisoner. As his victim, tortured for information with scorpion venom. Fear rose at the memory, her fight-or-flight instincts kicking in with a rush of adrenaline.

Fighting was out of the question. She knew she couldn’t win.

Which left—

She burst into motion, shoulder-barging Kojima aside and snatching up the case before sprinting through the doors.

“Dammit!” Stikes spat as they slammed behind her. He reached into his jacket and drew a gun, a nickel-plated Jericho 941 automatic, and ran after her.

“No!” Takashi’s command made him freeze mid-stride. “Put your gun away. She is too valuable to the Group. She must not be hurt.”

The Englishman gave him a baleful look. “She must not be killed. That isn’t quite the same thing.” He flicked off the Jericho’s safety. “Don’t worry, Mr. Takashi. I’m a very good shot.”

Before Takashi could say anything further, he threw open the doors and rushed out after Nina.



Eddie’s gaze flicked back and forth between the two ninjas as they closed in. Donatello was still twirling his nunchaku with dangerous ease, trying to intimidate him into retreating—into range of Michelangelo’s poised staff.

His eyes moved to the exit—and the gun. If he could knock down or even distract one of the ninjas for as little as a second, he had a chance to round the other and reach the Makarov. But he would have to pick the perfect moment … and it wasn’t here yet. Both men needed to be closer, but not so close that they could make an unstoppable strike.

The ninjas knew what he was thinking. They exchanged another look, silently agreeing on a plan of attack. Eddie stepped back. Even if they had figured out what he was about to do, he had no option left but to chance it.

The staff, though less showy, was more likely to fell him than the nunchaku. Donatello was his target, then. The ninja was still approaching, more cautiously. Another couple of feet.

One more step—

Eddie bumped into something. Caught off guard, he instinctively glanced at the obstruction—a display case containing a sword.

Donatello darted forward, the nunchaku whipping up at Eddie’s face. He raised his arms, taking a fierce crack to the elbow from the wooden handle—

The staff swung like a baseball bat, slamming across his stomach and pitching him backward against the case. The whole thing toppled and fell, glass exploding beneath Eddie as he landed on top of it. Shards stabbed into his shoulders. He rolled sideways to get clear of the debris as the nunchaku lanced at his head. More glass splintered as it missed by barely an inch.

Michelangelo raised his staff again, bringing it high over his head to crush Eddie’s skull like a watermelon—

Eddie grabbed Kusanagi and swung it upward as the staff lashed down. A sharp crack of wood against metal—and the bo’s end was neatly chopped off by the sacred sword, its edge still keen even after centuries.

Even with his weapon reduced to two-thirds of its length, the ninja struck again. This time, Eddie used the sword not to parry but for leverage, shoving himself out of the wreckage and rolling onto his feet. Michelangelo’s thrust fell short. Another attack, but this time Eddie was prepared.

He swung the sword as hard as he could at the ninja’s neck.

Swordsmanship was not one of Eddie’s combat skills, fists and firearms the majority of his military training. The blade caught the ninja flat-on instead of with its edge.

But that was enough. The sword made an almost musical ringing note as it hit the side of Michelangelo’s jaw like a hammer. Spitting blood, the ninja crashed through another display, shattering jade figurines.

Eddie had no time to celebrate. The other ninja made another charge, nunchaku flailing so quickly they were a blur. One of the handles clanged off the sword as the Yorkshireman defensively snapped it up. Donatello instantly adjusted his movements to send the next strike past the ancient blade, the chain looping around it. He pulled back sharply, trying to yank the weapon out of Eddie’s hands.

This time Eddie kept a firm grip. He charged, driving the blade at the ninja’s stomach.

Donatello was too quick, twisting out of the way. He braced himself as Eddie collided with him, then with a rapid movement freed the nunchaku from the sword and turned to strangle his adversary with its chain …

Eddie headbutted him in the face.

The dark blue of the ninja’s balaclava suddenly blossomed with a damp purple patch around his mouth and nose. Even with his eyes screwed shut, he still tried to attack again. The nunchaku swished through the air—

Hitting nothing. Eddie had ducked.

Now it was his turn again—and with a roar he thrust the imperial sword with his full strength, transfixing the ninja through the stomach all the way to the hilt. Donatello gasped, mumbling in Japanese before collapsing face-first into the broken glass of Kusanagi’s shattered display case.

“Cowa-f*cking-bunga,” Eddie rasped, forehead throbbing from its impact with the ninja’s nose. He straightened and looked around. Michelangelo was still alive, on all fours and clutching his truncated staff. But the way to the door was now clear—and his gun was just outside.

He ran. The last ninja scrambled up, but Eddie was already past him. The Makarov had landed about ten feet beyond the door. He crossed the threshold, bending to snatch up the weapon—

Something shot past him just before he reached it. The bo staff, hurled like a javelin—not at him, but at the gun. It hit the Makarov and sent it skidding through a set of open doors into an adjoining room.

Eddie looked back at Michelangelo, who was now searching for something on the ground …

Leonardo’s katana. Michelangelo seized the sword and pointed it angrily at Eddie—then sprinted toward him with a howling battle cry.

“Oh, f*ck!” Eddie himself ran, racing after the gun. The doors had been closed when he dropped down from the vent; the ninjas must have entered through them. Beyond was a traditional Japanese dining room, rows of low tables with tatami mats on which the diners would sit lined up along the polished wooden floor.

Where was the gun? It had skittered over the slick wood—and ended up beneath one of the tables.

But which one?

He reached the first table and flipped it over. No gun. Next table. Still nothing. The ninja’s padding footsteps were rapidly closing. Third table, nothing. He grabbed the next in the row and flung it back toward the door. Still no sign of the Makarov, and from behind came a crack of wood as the katana slashed the little table in two.

He threw another place aside—and saw the glint of steel beneath.

The ninja was almost on him—

He dived for the gun, grabbing it and twisting to bring it to bear. The blade flashed down—and the ninja took two bullets to the chest as Eddie fired at point-blank range. The Englishman rolled to avoid the bloodied corpse as it fell, the katana’s point stabbing into the wood floor to leave the weapon standing beside the body like a tombstone.

“Jesus,” Eddie gasped, regaining his breath as he shakily stood. “F*cking ninjas, they’re like cockroaches!” He checked the room, trying to get his bearings. There were two exits: the one to the gallery and the vault, and another opening onto a windowed hallway. He hadn’t seen the direction Takashi had gone, so a split-second instinctual decision sent him toward the latter.

At the hall’s far end to his left was Takashi’s private elevator, an illuminated indicator showing that it was stationary at the penthouse level. Takashi hadn’t taken Nina and the statues out that way, then. In the other direction was a set of imposing oak doors. The industrialist’s inner sanctum?

He ran toward it, gun at the ready.



The case in her hand, Nina raced into the gallery. “Eddie?” she cried, uncertain—fearful—about what she might find.

She discovered corpses, which in some grim way was hardly a surprise, but to her relief none was her husband. Three in the strongroom, and a fourth in a dining room through another doorway. Eddie must have gone that way. She ran after him.

More doors led into the hallway to Takashi’s office. She went through them. Beyond the windows, Tokyo was now a glittering sea of lights beneath the twilight winter sky. She looked around. The elevator was to the left; to the right—

“Eddie!” she called again, running after him. Her husband slowed, turned, saw her …

And raised his gun.