The Atlantis Plague(40)

Now he squirmed in the seat and turned left and right, surveying the interior of the base, searching for an escape opening. Inside the high walls, Immari soldiers were rushing to resupply the towers that dotted the walls. The scale took David aback. How many troops were there? Thousands at least, working along the wall that faced inland. Others no doubt manned the other walls that faced the sea. Beyond the wall, past the towers and wide supply roads, rows of houses spread out along the street. They looked mostly unoccupied, but occasionally a soldier would step into or out of one.

Three rows of tilled soil ran along each side of the road. Every twenty feet or so, a wooden pole, like a shortened telephone pole, rose out of the ground. Each held two lumpy sacks, spaced several feet apart. David thought at first that they were giant wasps’ nests.

Ahead, another high whitewashed wall loomed, almost exactly like the outer wall, and that told David what this was: a kill zone. If the Immari’s enemy—whoever the raiders on horseback were—ever breached the outer wall, they would shred them in this area in between. The tilled soil along the dirt road no doubt hid mines, and David assumed the sacks hanging from the poles were filled with spent shell casings, scrap metal, nails, and other debris that, when exploded, would rip apart anyone caught between the walls.

The ancient fortress had other modern upgrades. Each of the guard towers held massive guns. David didn’t recognize the model. Something new? The tops of many houses were gone, and David figured they hid anti-aircraft batteries inside, sitting atop hydraulic lifts, ready to rise up and shoot down any incoming enemy aircraft. He doubted the horse raiders had any though.

Again the soldiers worked the radio, and the iron gate at the inner wall parted. This wall was less charred than the outer, but several zebra stripes still reached from its top and bottom. As he passed under the inner gate, David felt his chances of escape grow smaller. “Hit the closest guard and run” wouldn’t cut it here. He had to focus.

Inside the inner gate, houses and shops lined another street, this one untouched by mines and improvised explosives. It looked more like a quaint ancient village. There were people in plain clothes here as well as more soldiers. This was clearly the main residential section of the base.

Beyond the second row of homes and shops, another wall rose, this one stone and much older. Another gate parted. The city was almost like one of those Russian matryoshka dolls with other dolls nested inside it.

Ceuta had probably been built like other villages along the Mediterranean. Thousands of years ago, the inhabitants of this place had no doubt built a small settlement on the shore. That settlement had prospered as a trading post. Prosperity had brought settlers and the less scrupulous opportunists: pirates and thieves. The ensuing commerce and crime had seen the first city walls built, and over the centuries the city had expanded, each time erecting a new outer city wall to protect its new citizens.

The buildings were much older here, and there was no one in plain clothes, only soldiers and seemingly endless stacks of artillery, munitions, and other equipment. The Immari were preparing for war, and this was clearly a major launching center. This was also the city’s citadel. He would be judged here.

David turned to the soldier sitting in the jeep beside him. “Corporal, I know you’re following orders, but you need to release me. You’re making a very big mistake. Take me past the city gate and set me out. No one will be the wiser, and you might avoid a court-martial for interfering with a top-secret mission.”

The young man eyed David, hesitated, then looked away quickly. “No can do, Colonel. Standing orders are to capture or kill anyone beyond the wall.”

“Corporal—”

“They’ve already called it in, sir. You’ll have to speak with the major.” The young soldier turned away as the jeep crossed the threshold of a courtyard that housed the fleet of jeeps. The convoy stopped and the soldiers dragged David out and marched him inside the building, down several corridors, and parked him inside a cell with heavy iron bars and a small, high window.





David stood in the cell and waited, his hands still bound and fastened to his belt. After a time, loud footsteps echoed against the stone floor and a soldier appeared. His black uniform was unruffled and a single silver bar sat on his shoulder. A lieutenant. He squared with David, but kept his distance beyond the iron bars. Unlike the corporal in the jeep, there was no hesitation in his voice. “Identify yourself.”

David stepped toward him. “Don’t you mean: Identify yourself, Colonel?”

Hesitation crossed the man’s face, and he spoke more slowly. “Identify yourself, Colonel.”