Return to Atlantis: A Novel (48 page)

With one exception. Gorchakov had realized the danger just in time to raise an arm in front of his eyes. Even deafened and dizzied, he tried to stand, clutching the Glock and pointing it at one of the doors as men in white rushed into the room—

A burst of silenced bullets hit him in the back as more attackers crashed through the other door. Blood sprayed over the table as Gorchakov toppled to the floor, dead. The Glock clattered down beside him.

Eddie, leading the first team, had already spotted another threat—one of Stikes’s mercenaries holding his father at gunpoint. Both men were stunned, but even blinded. all the guard had to do was pull the trigger to hit Larry in the back.

He didn’t get the chance. Two shots from the MP7, and the merc spun away with blood gouting from a pair of holes over his heart.

Across the room, Stikes had recovered from the initial shock and sprung back to his feet—only to find the other intruders’ guns pointing at him. He looked around as if contemplating a flying leap through the window, but then slowly raised his hands. “I was wondering when you were going to show up, Chase.”

Eddie pulled off his balaclava and strode across the room to him. He regarded his former senior officer silently for a moment—then punched him hard in the face. Stikes fell, holding a hand to his bloodied mouth. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now, you piece of shit,” Eddie growled, his MP7 fixed on the other Englishman.

Stikes somehow managed a pained smile. “Because you went to a lot of effort to prove you’re not a coldblooded murderer, and it would be a shame to waste it?”

Eddie was forced to admit that he had a point. “No, I’m not a murderer,” he said, lowering the gun. Stikes’s unpleasant smirk widened at the minor moral victory—then the Yorkshireman booted him in the head. “Doesn’t mean I’m not a complete bastard, though.”

“You’re neither of those things,” said Nina, crossing the room to him. En route, she noticed that the Glock had ended up almost within Warden’s reach, and kicked it away. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry we were a bit late.”

“Better than never.” She kissed him. Stikes made a disgusted sound.

Eddie returned the kiss, then regarded the Group, recovering from the effects of the stun grenade. “So these are the rulers of the world? A bunch of old farts in suits? Pretty disappointing—I was hoping for at least one supervillain in a cape.” He turned to Larry, who was also emerging from his befuddlement. “Dad? Dad! You all right?”

His father squinted at him in confusion. “Edward? What … what happened?” He took in the two dead men. “Jesus Christ!”

“It’s okay,” Nina assured him. “We’re getting out of here. You’re safe.”

“What about this lot?” Eddie asked of the Group. “We’ve just pissed off the world’s most powerful people. That might cause one or two problems down the line.”

“We’ll have to worry about that later. The main thing is that we’ve got Larry, and the statues.”

He gave the three figurines on the floor nearby a disapproving look. “In that case, we should smash the fucking things to bits right now.” He raised his gun to shoot them—only to halt as one of the commandos took out a cell phone. “Hey! Who are you calling?”

“Mr. Glas,” came the reply, as if it were self-evident. “Sir? Yes, it’s Vinther. We are successful. We have the statues, and we have the Group.” He listened to the response. “Yes, sir. The hotel will be secured for your arrival.” He disconnected.

“What?” Eddie demanded, the statues forgotten as he went to face Vinther. “Glas is here in Switzerland?”

“Yes, he entered the country in secret. He is about to come up in the cable car.”

“And why the fuck wasn’t I told about this?”

“Mr. Glas decided that you didn’t need to know.”

“Oh, he did?” said Eddie, bristling, but Vinther was already issuing instructions to the other men. Several left the room, spreading out into the hotel to mop up any of Stikes’s remaining mercenaries. “Well, that’s fucking nice.”

Nina joined him. “Look, I know it’s kind of an asshole move on Glas’s part, but it doesn’t matter. We did what we came here to do.”

“I suppose,” he rumbled, before jerking a dismissive thumb at Stikes. “Keep an eye on that twat,” he told one of the remaining commandos.

Stikes stared at the couple, behind the blood his expression angry … but also coldly calculating.

In the kitchen, Amsel snapped up his MP7 as the main doors opened, but relaxed when he saw it was one of his comrades entering. “What’s the situation?” he asked.

“Everything’s under control,” his companion reported. “We’ve captured the Group, and the others are making sure there are no more guards in the hotel. Mr. Glas is on his way up.” He glanced at the storeroom door, through which the waiter was still glaring. “Any trouble from them?”

Amsel shook his head. “How long before Mr. Glas gets here?”

“A few minutes.”

“Good. Don’t leave me behind when you go, okay?”

The other man grinned. “We’ll come and get you. See you soon.” He turned and exited.

Amsel looked back at the storeroom. The waiter’s fixed look of stony anger was becoming unsettling, but as looks couldn’t kill he ignored it, turning away to maintain his watch on the kitchen’s other entrances.

Inside the cramped room, the waiter slowly brought one muscular arm around behind his back, raising the
tails of his jacket to find something the commandos’ cursory search had missed, pushed into his waistband.

A gun.

His hand closed on the grip, but he didn’t draw it. Instead he stood statue-still amid the frightened hotel staff, waiting for the right moment …

I
n the Alpine Lounge, Vinther’s phone trilled. He listened to the brief message, then returned it to his pocket. “Mr. Glas is here.”

“Great,” said Eddie, unenthused. The commandos had returned one by one, having found no more members of Stikes’s security force, and were now guarding their prisoners at the round table. Stikes himself had been moved to the empty seat beside Warden; having wiped the blood from his face, he now sat impassively, cold blue eyes slowly sweeping over the room’s occupants.

Something about that was niggling Eddie. Stikes seemed
too
impassive. His earlier anger at being punched and kicked had faded, replaced not by the scathing defiance the Yorkshireman would have expected, but by an air of blank calm. A poker face? It was as if he expected the tables to be turned. But the hotel had now been secured, thermal scans of the surrounding grounds confirming that there were no more mercenaries outside. So why did he seem so … 
confident?

Eddie briefly considered beating an answer out of Stikes, but was distracted by his father’s pacing back
and forth in bewilderment. “So this guy Glas,” Larry said to Nina, “he was trying to have you killed? But now you’re working
with
him?”

“Yeah, I know,” said Nina. “It’s complicated.” She sighed. “Just once, it would be nice to know exactly who the good guys and bad guys are right from the start …”

“Complicated! That’s an understatement. Strange powers, levitating statues, a cabal of billionaires trying to take over the world … it all sounds like Indiana Jones meets James Bond.”

“It’s been said.” She looked around as the door opened.

Glas entered, strong arms propelling his wheelchair. He was followed by Sophia, who was dressed entirely in black, including a matching fur coat and hat. “You brought
her
?” said Eddie in tired dismay.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Sophia replied. “Hello, everyone. So lovely to see you all again.” She gave them a red-lipsticked smile.

“The feeling’s not mutual,” said Warden in disgust.

“Oh, come now. There’s no need for unpleasantness.” She noticed the abandoned Glock and picked it up. “Ah! I was wondering where this went.” She pocketed the gun and continued after Glas.

The Dane stopped behind Warden. “So, Travis, did you really think I would give up and die for you? You don’t know me at all. You never did.”

The American turned to face him. “You know what we’re doing is the only way humanity can survive the coming shortages, Harald. You
know
it! Someone has to take charge, and who better than us? We already have de facto control; the plan would just enshrine it. We can end conflict in the world, permanently.”

“Conflict is what made us!” Glas replied. “Without conflict you have no competition, no growth. What you want to achieve is stagnation and slavery.”

“Conflict is wasteful, it squanders lives, potential, and money—but we’ve had this argument before.” Ignoring
the guns tracking him, Warden stood, looking down at Glas. “So, what’s
your
plan, Harald? Are you going to shoot us?”

“Yes,” said Glas bluntly. A ripple of fear ran around the table. “What you want to do is an obscenity against God and nature, and now that you know the approximate location of the meteorite, you will just keep searching until you find it. I cannot allow that to happen.”

“You’re going to kill them?” said Nina uneasily.

“It has to be done, Dr. Wilde. You know what they are trying to do. Is their vision of the world one you want to help create?”

“No, but there’s got to be a better way than flat-out murder.”

“There is not.” He looked at Warden. “You tried to kill me to protect your plan. I am trying to protect the freedom of the entire human race. I have no choice. Dr. Wilde, Mr. Chase—both Mr. Chases—you may wish to leave now.”

“There’s no may about it,” said Nina, appalled. “This isn’t why I agreed to help you.”

“What about the statues?” Eddie asked. They were still on the floor where Stikes had left them.

“I will make sure they are destroyed,” said Glas.

“You know, I think
we
should do that. Not saying I don’t trust you, but, well, I don’t trust you.”

“In that case, yes, you should destroy them. As a sign that you
can
trust me.”

Eddie gave him a dubious look as he crossed the room to pick up the figurines, half-expecting the guns to be turned on him. But Glas’s men remained focused on their prisoners. The tape holding the third statue together had come off and the two pieces separated; he shouldered his own MP7 so he could gather up all the segments.

“I think we should destroy them away from here,” said Nina, retrieving the case, “so nobody can find the remains. Hopefully no one else outside this room knows
what the statues can be used for, but better safe than sorry.”

“Let’s hope,” said Eddie. He dropped the figures into the case. “Okay, Dad, let’s go.”

“With pleasure,” said Larry.

The trio started for the exit, but Sophia’s “Oh, before you go …” stopped them. She leaned over the back of Glas’s wheelchair and whispered into his ear.

Glas listened to her with growing puzzlement. “I don’t understand.”

“No,” she said, her black-gloved right hand reaching into her furs. “You never did.” A steely edge entered her voice. “Which was the problem.”

She fired the Glock into his back.

An exit wound burst open in Glas’s stomach, blood and fluids splattering the shocked Warden.

In the kitchen, Amsel looked around sharply at the sound of a gunshot. The hotel was supposed to be secure, and everyone on the team was using silenced weapons—something had gone wrong.

He glanced back at the storeroom to check the prisoners—

The waiter was aiming a gun at him.

The window shattered as he fired. The bullet struck Amsel’s temple, blasting away a chunk of skin and bone and brain.