The Atlantis Plague (The Origin Mystery, #2)(51)

“For God’s sake, stop saluting me. I’ll demote the next sailor who salutes me to seaman zero class.” He wasn’t sure if that rank existed, but the looks on the faces around the room told him that his meaning was received. Dorian led the captain aside. “Any update from Operation Genesis?”

“No, sir.”

In this case, no news was bad news. The lack of update from his operative told Dorian that his plan to capture Kate Warner was exactly nowhere. He debated changing course.

The Atlantean had been clear: You must wait until she obtains the code.

“Do you have new orders, sir?”

Dorian turned away from him. “No… Stay the course, Captain.”

“There’s something else, sir.”

Dorian eyed him.

“An update from Ceuta. They say the British have mined the Straits of Gibraltar. We won’t be able to pass them.”

Dorian exhaled and closed his eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, sir. They’ve sent several ships in. They were hoping to find a way and guide us through, but the Brits sewed it up tight. But, we think there’s some good news.”

“Good news?”

“They wouldn’t have mined the straits if they planned to face us off the coast of Spain.”

The captain’s logic made sense. Options formed in Dorian’s mind, but he wanted to hear the captain’s opinion first. “Options?”

“Two. We sail north, try to go around the British Isles and find a port in north Germany. We could fight our way south from there. But I advise against it. That’s what the British want. They have to be low on jet fuel, maybe close to out. But their subs and half their destroyers are nuclear; assuming they have enough survivors to operate even some of them, they can field a small fleet. Off the coast of Britain, between their sea and air power, they could take us easily.”

“And option number two?”

“We park off the coast of Morocco, fly you to Ceuta on a helicopter, and you sail across the Mediterranean on one of the ships they’ve collected.”

“Risks?”

“You’ll have a smaller fleet, with fewer battleships and fewer of our well-trained troops—just what we can fly with you in the five helicopters. You’ll dock in northern Italy and make your way to Germany from there. Reports from the ground are that the Orchid Districts are evacuating across Europe. It’s complete pandemonium. Once you get to Italy, you’ll have no problem.”

“Why can’t we just fly the whole way? Surely we can find a jet.”

The captain shook his head. “There are still some air defenses in continental Europe, and they’ve got backup power to last for years. They’re shooting down any unidentified aircraft—several each day.”

“Ceuta it is, then.”





When Dorian returned to his stateroom, Johanna was awake and naked, stretched out on the bed, reading an old gossip magazine, for reasons he would never understand.

He sat on the bed and pulled his boots off. “Haven’t you read that thing two dozen times? Here’s an update: all those idiots are dead and whatever they were doing didn’t matter—even before the plague.”

“It reminds me of the world before the plague. It’s like revisiting the normal world.”

“You think that world was normal? You’re crazier than I thought.”

She tossed the magazine aside and curled into him, gently kissing his exposed ribs where he had just pulled his shirt off. “Rough day at the office, Sir Broods-a-Lot?”

Dorian pushed her off of him. “You wouldn’t talk to me that way if you knew me better.”

She smiled innocently. It contrasted sharply with the cruelty on his face. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t know you better. But… I do know how to cheer you up.”





CHAPTER 47


Immari Operations Base at Ceuta

Northern Morocco


From the watchtower, David adjusted the binoculars and waited for the battle to begin. The Immari divisions had been slowly chasing the Berber tribes for the better part of three hours. From his vantage point, David could see the trap they had set—a line of heavy artillery and fortified lines on the far side of a high ridge looking down on a small valley. The Berbers would cross the opposite ridge and descend into the valley soon, then the larger battle would begin. The Immari would win, capturing and killing every Berber in the valley.

“How are the tribes faring?”

David turned to see Kamau standing behind him on the platform.

“Not well. They’re almost in the Immari trap. Where are we?”

“Eleven men.”

David nodded.

“I can widen the net, but the risk grows.”

“No. We’ll have to make do with eleven.”

Several hours later, the sound of heavy artillery echoed across the charred field that had been the city of Ceuta. David stood, walked to the edge of the watchtower, and held the binoculars up. The carnage in the valley was near total. On the farthest ridge, a group of riders on horseback charged up the hill toward the big guns camped there, but the Immari shot the horses out from under them, then raked them with automatic gunfire. Behind them, tribesmen fell in waves. David let the binoculars drop to his side, then returned to the bench and waited.