Thomas Greanias - The Atlantis revelation

"Parakalo?" Conrad asked a guard in Greek. "Please?"

The guard opened the door for him, and he walked inside. The lights were dimmed, and the smooth jazz of Nina Simone was playing over the stereo speakers.

Mercedes was standing outside on the balcony, just beyond the rippling drapes, a glass of wine in her hand. It must have been at least her third glass, because the bottle in the ice bucket was almost empty. Her head tilted when the door clicked shut behind him.

He walked up beside her. Out in the bay, the Greek coast guard had spotlights over the wreckage of the Midas. He could hear the garble of megaphones in the wind. "What do you think we're going to do here tonight, Mercedes?"

She turned to him with her crystal-blue eyes, which were dried out and bloodshot. He had never seen her cry, and it appeared he never would. "You have no idea who Midas is and who his people are, Conrad."

"Oh, you mean the Alignment," he said, taking the glass from her hand and finishing the wine, aware of her stare. "I know. They're a sinister centuries-old group who count themselves as the heirs to the knowledge and power of Atlantis. They use the stars to wage their endless campaign to manipulate governments, armies, financial markets, and the course of human events. Their goal is a one-world government in effect if not name. In other words, ultimate power. Based on what they've already accomplished with the worldwide depression and de facto one-world central bank, I'd say they're halfway there."

She didn't appreciate his glibness. Her eyes turned into slits. "Then you know we're both dead."

"Speak for yourself, Mercedes. But I think you're better off telling Midas that your charms of old worked, that we slept together and you know I'm taking a plane out of here in the morning to Paris, where your well-heeled family can help me. Better yet, you're on that plane with me. Only we're landing in Dubai, where my well-heeled friends can help you."

She said nothing for a minute, her eyes drifting to the wine bottle and seeing it was nearly empty. "I am not a whore, Conrad."

"I didn't say you were."

"You were the one willing to prostitute yourself for the sake of your useless digs around the world," she went on. "You were willing to make love to me just to get my father to fund your stupid TV show. And you ditched me in Peru with those animals."

"I have no excuse, Mercedes. I'm sorry. And I know there's nothing I can do to make it up to you."

She put her hand on his chest and gently pressed him back toward the bedroom. "Oh, but there is, Professor," she said, regressing to her producer's "role" as his beautiful graduate assistant when he was still dividing his teaching duties between the University of California at Los Angeles and the University of Arizona.

"Two wrongs don't make a right," he told her as she began to unbutton his shirt.

"Like you and Serena? You two don't add up. You never did and never will."

"What about you and Midas?"

"He's rich and powerful. Powerful in a way you'll never understand."

"Because he's a player for the Alignment?"

"Maybe." She kissed him on the cheek.

"What did he do to make their ranks? Or did they make him?"

"I don't know," she said, moving to his ear. "Hard to tell with most of them."

"What does Midas do for the Alignment?"

"Mining and money," she said, clearly displeased to be discussing business. "His mining operations help governments, and his futures trading firm in London evens things out in the financial markets. As per Alignment protocols, his top traders use astrological charts to hedge their bets. That's why Midas Minerals amp; Mining is also called M3."

"And I thought M3 was my old BMW sports car."

"M3 is a constellation," she said.

Conrad perked up. "A constellation?"

"Canes Venatici. It's thought to represent the two dog stars of-"

"The herdsman in the sky, Bootes," Conrad said, unable to forget from his last run-in with the Alignment that the White House in Washington, D.C., was by design aligned to the alpha star of Bootes, Arcturus. Bootes was mythologically connected to the constellation Ursa Major-the Great Bear-from which Russia took its own identity. "I hate all this Alignment bullshit." He hated it because it reminded him of how ignorant he was of just how deep the celestial machinations and symbols of the Alignment went, and how far back-eons and eons. It was like encountering an alien race. And Mercedes had knowingly thrown in her lot with them.

It was all very suspicious, and he was already past the twenty minutes Andros had given him.

Conrad gently folded his hands around hers. "Where is Midas taking the Flammenschwert?" he asked.

Her face was blank. "Flammenschwert?"

"It was the name of a hammerhead torpedo the Nazis developed using some advanced technology. It means 'Sword of Fire.'"

"I know what Flammenschwert means," she told him curtly. "My German always was better than yours. But I know nothing of any Flammenschwert."

"Oh, you think Midas took his yacht out to deeper waters this morning simply for pleasure cruising?"

"Yes," she said, clearly irritated.

"So you never wondered why he outfitted his superyacht with a submersible and a chopper pad?"

"I always assumed it was for effect." She sniffed.

He looked into her eyes-wide open now-and felt she was telling him the truth. It made sense to him that she'd projected onto Midas some of the foibles of her past and the men who were part of it, including him.

"Know anything about the four-digit code Midas is looking for?" he asked.

The slits returned. "How do you know about it? Did she tell you?"

By "she," Conrad figured Mercedes meant Serena. "No," he told her, letting her read his own eyes. "You think it's for the Flammenschwert?"

"No," she said, and Conrad could see the light go out of her eyes as she sat on the bed. "It's for a safe deposit box."

"And Midas owns it?"

"No," she said. "You asked me if Midas has purchased anything lately. He owns the bank in Bern that holds the box. Gilbert et Clie."

Conrad wasn't sure he understood. "So he bought the bank to get to the box? That's one way to raid a tomb. What's in the box?"

"Nobody knows. It belonged to some Bavarian prince. Ludwig von Berg."

"Baron von Berg the Nazi?" He had to force himself to keep his eyes fixed on hers, to not let them drift to the closet where Andros had stashed the bag with the skull.

"Yes, yes," Mercedes said. "It's an older type of box with a chemical lining. It has a four-digit alphabet code. One wrong letter in the combination, and the contents of the box are destroyed. There's only one chance to open the box. And Midas needs whatever is inside within the next seven days."

"Seven days?" Conrad asked, realizing the world was going to be introduced to the Flammenschwert in short order.

"Seven days," she repeated. "Good Friday, two days before Easter."

"Is that significant to the Alignment?" Conrad asked. "Is there a connection?"

"I don't know," she said. "It's significant to me because Easter is the only Sunday of the year that I've ever gone to church."

"You're a real saint," he said. "But what's Midas doing spending three of his precious seven days with the Bilderbergers?"

"The Achillion was Baron von Berg's headquarters during the war," Mercedes said. "Midas had hoped to find some clues the baron might have left behind."

"He didn't leave any," Conrad said. "He kept everything in his head."

"I know. So I can't help you. And you can't help me."

Conrad, holding her hand, got down on one knee. "I told you, Mercedes. Come with me to Dubai and we'll figure it out."

She shook her head. "You know more than anybody else that there's no escaping the Alignment."