The Atlantis Plague(81)

“Interesting,” Kate murmured.

“Bravo,” Janus said.

“I concur,” said Chang.

David leaned back in the chair. That was the purpose of Martin’s code—he was sure of it now. The mystery that remained was: who killed him, and why? It was someone on this boat. Was it one of the scientists—because of Martin’s research?

The sound of boots on the thin carpet interrupted his thoughts, and David turned to see Shaw charging into the room.

“We’re ready. We need a decision—” He glanced around the room, taking the four of them in for the first time. “What the hell is this? A bloody tea party?”

“We’re discussing Martin’s notes,” Kate said, pointing to the page on the coffee table.

Shaw snatched it up.

David lunged for him and grabbed the page out of his hand. “Don’t. You’re getting grease on it.” He tossed the page back on the coffee table. The look on Kate’s face said, It’s tough dealing with barbarians, isn’t it? He knew her so well. In the background, he heard Shaw erupt.

“Are you kidding me? We’re in the middle of—”

David slowly turned his head to Shaw, ready for battle, but a faint glimmer on the horizon caught his attention. He stared at it a moment, then stood and crossed to the window. Yes—lights in the night. A boat. Two. On a direct course for them.





CHAPTER 65


From Tibet to Tel Aviv


Milo unslung the heavy pack and walked to the edge of the rock ledge. The untouched green plateau in western Tibet stretched to the horizon, where another mountain ridge met the setting sun. The serene, picturesque landscape reminded him of the monastery. His mind instantly flashed to his last moments in that place, the only home he’d ever known. He had stood at the top of another rock ledge, looking down, watching the wooden buildings burn, crumble, and tumble down the mountain, leaving only a burnt, blackened rock face.

Milo pushed the scene from his mind. He refused to think about it. Qian’s words echoed to him: “A mind that dwells in the past builds a prison it cannot escape. Control your mind, or it will control you, and you will never break through the walls it builds.”

Milo cleared his mind and turned back to the pack. He would make camp here, then leave at first light as he had done each day before. He took out the tent, then the animal traps and the map, which he consulted every night. He thought he had to be somewhere near the Kashmir region of northern India or Pakistan, or possibly somewhere in eastern Afghanistan, but truth be told, he had no idea where he was, and he hadn’t seen a single soul, no one to offer any clues. Qian had been right about that: “You will walk a long and lonely road. But you will have all that you need.”

At each of Milo’s questions, Qian had issued a quick retort. Food? “The beasts of the forests will be your only companions, and they will sustain you.” Milo moved into the forest as he had each night before, and began rigging the traps. Along the way, he ate nuts and berries. He never brought them back to his camp. As he hiked throughout the day, he usually consumed enough to maintain his energy levels until his protein-rich breakfast of animal meat the next morning.

When the traps were set, he erected his tent and laid out his mat. He sat and focused on his breathing, seeking the stillness within. Gradually it came, and the memories and musings of his mind melted away. He was vaguely aware of the sun slipping behind the far ridge, pulling a curtain of darkness down the mountain.

In the distance, he heard the snap of one of the traps he had laid. There would be breakfast tomorrow, that much was certain.

Milo retired to the tent, where the last two items Qian had given him lay waiting in the corner. Both were books. The first was entitled Anthems of the Dying, but to Milo’s surprise, there were no songs inside, only three simplistic stories.

The first story was about a father who sacrificed himself to save his daughter. The second was about a man and woman who traveled across a vast wasteland to find the treasure their ancestor had left them, which was their only hope to cure their dying people. The last part told the story of a humble man who slew a giant and became a king, but renounced his power, giving it back to the people.

Qian had pointed to the book. “This book is a guide to our future.”

Milo had hesitated. “How can the future be written?”

“It is written in our blood, Milo. The war is always the same, only the names and places change. There are demons upon this earth. They live in our hearts and minds. This is a history of our struggle, a chronicle of the past war that will be repeated. The past and our nature predict our future. Read it. Learn it well.”