Read Online The Atlantis Revelation by Thomas Greanias - Free Book Online
Authors: Thomas Greanias
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his arm to the side, and shot Davies in the head. Davies fell to the floor.
“Bloody hell!” screamed the other Brit, and pointed his Browning pistol at Vadim. “You killed him!”
Vadim shot the other Brit, and Conrad watched him crumple on top of his fallen comrade. Conrad, still in agony from the shock baton, kept laughing as Vadim put his gun away.
Vadim picked up the shock baton and glared at him. “You will now reveal the four-digit code, Professor Yeats.”
“Look!” Conrad was staring at the bloody black hole in his thigh. “Look at what you did.”
With a smile, Vadim bent over to take a closer look.
Conrad kneed him with both legs to the face, driving the protruding harpoon shard into Vadim’s eye. The Russian snapped his head back with a howl. Then Conrad used his bound feet to sweep the leg of the table with the basin of water, sending it crashing to the floor.
As Vadim staggered back, his boot slipped on the water, and he lost his grip on the shock baton. Conrad watched the baton fall to the floor and lifted his feet as a blue wave of electrical light rippled across the water, electrocuting Vadim like an X-ray.
When Vadim came to a few minutes later, the yacht’s “abandon ship” alarms were blaring, and Conrad was gone. In his place was a gray-green brick of C4 explosive with a timer and Davies’s cut-off middle finger sticking up on top.
The display on the timer was down to one minute and twenty-three seconds. “Chyort voz’mi!” Vadim cursed, and scrambled topside to discover that the skeleton crew had left with the shuttle tender, leaving him no choice but to jump overboard and swim for his life.
10
S erena was alarmed to see Mercedes come up from the lower gardens alone and immediately went out on the terrace to search for Conrad, to no avail. She did, however, find Packard by the stone balustrade with a drink in his hand.
“What are you doing, Mr. Secretary?” she demanded. “Where’s Conrad?”
“Elvis has apparently left the building,” Packard told her. “And Midas doesn’t look too happy.”
Serena followed his gesture toward the statue of Apollo, where Midas seemed to be having a low-key but sharp exchange with Mercedes.
“Guess Midas just figured out that you’re not the only woman here tonight who has a past with Yeats,” said Packard, taking another sip of his drink. “Now, what’s up in the Arctic?”
Serena tore her eyes away from Midas and looked at Packard. “Midas is prepping to mine it for the Russians.”
“You sure it’s for the Russians?”
“Who else?” Serena asked.
Packard finished his drink. “Your friends in the Alignment.”
Serena looked out over the bay, where she could see Midas’s yacht sparkling on the waters. “I have no friends in the Alignment,” she told him. “Only enemies.”
“But thanks to your corrupt holy order, Dominus Dei, of which you are now the head, you are by definition one of the Thirty.”
Serena took a deep breath. “And as soon as I figure out who the rest are, I’ll let you know.”
“You were talking to one of them.”
“Midas?” she said. “How do you know he’s not just working for them?”
“He knows too much,” Packard said. “More than you, it seems. Financial records in London show that Midas’s trading firm went long on oil and gold futures this morning. If he really expected the Russians to succeed in the Arctic, he’d be shorting oil on the expectation that a new supply would depress global prices. Instead, he’s betting on a spike in prices.”
“Interesting,” Serena said. “Midas must be anticipating a disruption in oil production.”
“Or some other event that would shoot up the price of oil. Maybe a major war.”
“So he knows something we don’t,” she said, and then she realized something. “And so does Conrad.”
“You should fix that.”
“Listen, I told you about Midas’s operations in the Arctic. Have you given any thought to returning that
“Bloody hell!” screamed the other Brit, and pointed his Browning pistol at Vadim. “You killed him!”
Vadim shot the other Brit, and Conrad watched him crumple on top of his fallen comrade. Conrad, still in agony from the shock baton, kept laughing as Vadim put his gun away.
Vadim picked up the shock baton and glared at him. “You will now reveal the four-digit code, Professor Yeats.”
“Look!” Conrad was staring at the bloody black hole in his thigh. “Look at what you did.”
With a smile, Vadim bent over to take a closer look.
Conrad kneed him with both legs to the face, driving the protruding harpoon shard into Vadim’s eye. The Russian snapped his head back with a howl. Then Conrad used his bound feet to sweep the leg of the table with the basin of water, sending it crashing to the floor.
As Vadim staggered back, his boot slipped on the water, and he lost his grip on the shock baton. Conrad watched the baton fall to the floor and lifted his feet as a blue wave of electrical light rippled across the water, electrocuting Vadim like an X-ray.
When Vadim came to a few minutes later, the yacht’s “abandon ship” alarms were blaring, and Conrad was gone. In his place was a gray-green brick of C4 explosive with a timer and Davies’s cut-off middle finger sticking up on top.
The display on the timer was down to one minute and twenty-three seconds. “Chyort voz’mi!” Vadim cursed, and scrambled topside to discover that the skeleton crew had left with the shuttle tender, leaving him no choice but to jump overboard and swim for his life.
10
S erena was alarmed to see Mercedes come up from the lower gardens alone and immediately went out on the terrace to search for Conrad, to no avail. She did, however, find Packard by the stone balustrade with a drink in his hand.
“What are you doing, Mr. Secretary?” she demanded. “Where’s Conrad?”
“Elvis has apparently left the building,” Packard told her. “And Midas doesn’t look too happy.”
Serena followed his gesture toward the statue of Apollo, where Midas seemed to be having a low-key but sharp exchange with Mercedes.
“Guess Midas just figured out that you’re not the only woman here tonight who has a past with Yeats,” said Packard, taking another sip of his drink. “Now, what’s up in the Arctic?”
Serena tore her eyes away from Midas and looked at Packard. “Midas is prepping to mine it for the Russians.”
“You sure it’s for the Russians?”
“Who else?” Serena asked.
Packard finished his drink. “Your friends in the Alignment.”
Serena looked out over the bay, where she could see Midas’s yacht sparkling on the waters. “I have no friends in the Alignment,” she told him. “Only enemies.”
“But thanks to your corrupt holy order, Dominus Dei, of which you are now the head, you are by definition one of the Thirty.”
Serena took a deep breath. “And as soon as I figure out who the rest are, I’ll let you know.”
“You were talking to one of them.”
“Midas?” she said. “How do you know he’s not just working for them?”
“He knows too much,” Packard said. “More than you, it seems. Financial records in London show that Midas’s trading firm went long on oil and gold futures this morning. If he really expected the Russians to succeed in the Arctic, he’d be shorting oil on the expectation that a new supply would depress global prices. Instead, he’s betting on a spike in prices.”
“Interesting,” Serena said. “Midas must be anticipating a disruption in oil production.”
“Or some other event that would shoot up the price of oil. Maybe a major war.”
“So he knows something we don’t,” she said, and then she realized something. “And so does Conrad.”
“You should fix that.”
“Listen, I told you about Midas’s operations in the Arctic. Have you given any thought to returning that
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