The Atlantis Plague (The Origin Mystery, #2)(33)

To his left, the mountains dived into a coastline that stretched into the distance. David struggled to understand what he was seeing—it looked almost as though two worlds from different times had been thrown together.

Some kind of post-apocalyptic “fortress,” or maybe an army base from the future, lay on a peninsula with a long harbor. The peninsula jutted at least five kilometers into the sea and narrowed to perhaps only a hundred meters where it met the landmass—the perfect chokepoint to defend the base from ground attacks. A large wall rose there, towering above a burned-out wasteland beyond it. Waves of soldiers on horseback charged toward the wall, shooting and shouting. It looked almost like a medieval raid on a castle—a castle from far in the future. David stepped closer to the edge, marveling, trying to get a better view. The lead riders unleashed something.

A massive explosion erupted and a mushroom of fire rose from the wall, sending David staggering back and illuminating the area around the fortress. On the other side of the narrow sea, David caught a glimpse of a massive rock cliff jutting high above the water. The Rock of Gibraltar. He was in Northern Morocco, across the Straits of Gibraltar. The peninsula was home to Ceuta, an autonomous Spanish city. Or had been, before someone turned it into a fortress. There were still traces of the city, but—

Behind him, David heard trucks cranking. He turned just in time to see a spotlight snap on, blinding him. The light from the explosion had revealed him to someone in the mountains.

A man’s voice called down to him from above. “Don’t move!”

He jumped off the ridge as bullets raked the cliff. He stumbled back to the rock face where he had emerged and felt around desperately for the entrance. It wasn’t there. Whatever he had passed through was a one-way door, some kind of forcefield that looked and felt like rock out here.

He heard boots pounding rock behind him. He turned just as Immari soldiers poured onto the ledge and surrounded him.





CHAPTER 32


Immari Training Camp Camelot

Cape Town, South Africa


Dorian stood at the tall window. The Immari troops that spread out below were breaking down their camps and making their way to the harbor and the ships waiting there for them.

A woman was directing a group of soldiers. She had… poise, Dorian thought, and something else; he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “Kosta,” he said to his new assistant, who was working at the desk behind him.

The short, fat man scurried over to join Dorian at the window. “Sir?”

“Who’s that woman?”

Kosta peered down. “Which…”

Dorian pointed. “There, with the blond hair, and… striking features.”

Kosta hesitated. “I… I don’t know, sir. Is she underperforming? I can have her reassigned—”

“No, no. Just, find out who she is.”

“Yes, sir.” Kosta lingered. “The rest of the ships are almost here. We’re still trying to round up more cold weather gear—”

“We won’t need it.”

“Sir?”

“We’re not going to Antarctica. We’re sailing north. Our fight is in Europe.”





PART II:

TRUTH, LIES & TRAITORS





CHAPTER 33


Immari Fleet

Off the coast of Angola


Dorian ran his finger down the length of Johanna’s bare back, across her behind, and down her leg. Beautiful. Sublime.

When he lifted his finger from her, she rustled, then lifted her head and brushed her golden hair out of her eyes. “Was I snoring?” she asked sheepishly.

Dorian loved her accent. Dutch, he thought. Had her parents been first-generation South African settlers? Asking her would show personal interest. Weakness. He had tried to tell himself that she was dull and shallow, that she didn’t warrant his interest, that she was one of any number of girls on this ship or another in his fleet. But… there was something about her. It wasn’t the conversation. She had spent most of her time in his cabin lying there naked, flipping through old gossip magazines, sleeping, or pleasuring him.

He rolled away from her. “You wouldn’t be here if you had snored.”

Her tone changed. “You want to…”

“When I want sex, you’ll know it.”

As if on cue, a soft knock echoed from the iron door to his cabin.

“Enter,” Dorian called loudly.

The door cracked open, and Kosta stepped in. Upon seeing Dorian and the woman on the bed, he spun and made for the door.

“For God’s sake, Kosta, haven’t you ever seen two naked humans? Stop. What the hell do you want?”

“They’ll be ready for the broadcast to the Spanish captives in an hour, sir,” Kosta said, still facing away from Dorian. “The communications teams would like to review some talking points.”

Dorian stood and pulled his pants on, not bothering with underwear. The girl hopped up and found his sweater. She smiled and handed it to him, like a wife handing her husband his lunch as she saw him off to work. Dorian didn’t make eye contact with her. He threw the sweater over the chair in front of the desk.

“I write my own talking points, Kosta. Come get me when it’s time.”