Andy McDermott - The Hunt For Atlantis

“So you have been to Iran before?” Nina asked.

“No, nope, never,” Chase said quickly. Castile adopted an innocent look, gazing out of the window.

Hafez laughed his coughing laugh again. “Westerners and their secrets! What happened was-”

“Absolutely nothing,” cut in Chase. “NATO special forces have never run operations in Iran. Ever.” He glared at Hafez, who just chuckled and drew in another lungful of smoke.

“Eh, then I must have been helping ghosts. By the way, one of the boxes you never brought with you is in the back, like you asked.”

Castile reached over the rear seats and lifted up a dirty metal container the size of a large shoe box. “Buried treasure!” he proclaimed, opening it and taking out a black automatic pistol, some ammunition clips and, to Nina’s horror, a hand grenade. “Here, hold this.”

Nina squeaked as he casually dropped the grenade into her hand. Castile quickly and expertly checked the gun, loaded it, then slipped it into his jacket.

Chase glanced at Nina, who was still staring, petrified, at the grenade. “Nothing to panic about,” he said, taking it from her. “It won’t explode unless you pull out the pin. Like this.”

He pulled out the pin. Nina shrieked.

“This one’s got a five-second fuse,” Chase noted. “But don’t worry, it can’t go off unless you release the spoon here, as well.” He slid the pin back into place, then took his thumb off the curved metal clip protruding from one side of the grenade. “See?” Castile and Hafez chuckled.

“That wasn’t funny!” cried Nina.

“Gentlemen,” Kari added, “I’d prefer it if you didn’t terrorize the most important member of our expedition.” The words were mild, but there was no mistaking the authority in her voice.

“Sorry, boss,” said Chase. He handed the grenade back to Castile, who returned it to the box. “Just thought it’d be a way to pass the time.”

Nina made a face. “Next time, bring an iPod!”

After traveling for an hour, Nina wished she had an iPod.

The mountains were impressive at first, but after a while one brown peak looked much like another. The bumpy highway had been as smooth as a magic carpet ride compared to the potholed, twisting road they were now on, in places little more than a dirt track above a perilously steep slope. A lumbering diesel locomotive on the railway line below belched out fumes as it hauled a long string of grimy tanker trucks. Following the twin steel lines along the valley, she saw sidings alongside them about a mile ahead, another train stationary in one.

“How much farther is it, Hafez?” asked Chase.

“Not far,” Hafez said, pointing into the valley. “Past the train yard.”

“Thank God,” Nina sighed. The thin seats and constant bumping of the old Land Rover were becoming a literal pain in the butt. “Why did this guy want to meet all the way out here anyway? Couldn’t we just have met in the Tehran Hilton?”

“Christ, I wish,” said Chase. “Nah, he’s being cautious. Which means we need to be too.”

“Do you expect trouble?” Kari asked.

“We’re spending ten million dollars to buy an ancient artifact stolen off a maniac from a very dodgy bloke in a remote part of Iran. Don’t you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Once again, you have a point.”

Ten bumpy minutes later, Hafez brought the Land Rover to a halt outside an abandoned farmhouse. The train yard was out of sight behind them around a bend in the valley; even the railway lines had disappeared into a tunnel below. A steep, dusty rise above the house was topped by scrubby trees, while on the other side of the structure the slope dipped sharply down to the valley floor. There was no other trace of human habitation in sight.

“Hugo, check around the back of the house,” Chase said, sharp and businesslike again. “Hafez, stay with Dr. Wilde and Ms. Frost. Any sign of trouble, get them out of here.”

“Where are you going?” Kari asked.

“To make sure the house is empty.” He got out of the Land Rover and took a powerful LED flashlight from a pocket. “If I’m not out in two minutes,” he told Hafez, “that’s a sign of trouble.” The Iranian nodded as the two other men jogged to the farmhouse.

It actually took less than two minutes for Chase to reappear, Castile completing his circle of the building soon after. “It’s clear,” Chase said, returning to the Land Rover. “Only two rooms, and nowhere for anyone to hide.”

“Nobody around the back,” added Castile.

“Okay then,” Chase continued, “this road’s the only way in or out. Anyone comes, we’ll have plenty of warning.”

“I don’t think he’s coming by road,” said Castille, an odd expression of distaste on his face.

“Why?”

“Can’t you hear it?”

Chase tipped his head to the side, then grinned. “Oh yeah,” he said, clapping the Belgian on one shoulder. “It’s the sound of your nightmares! Woo, it’s coming to get you!”

“As you so elegantly say in England… piss off.”

Nina moved to the open door to listen. “What’s the matter?” She could hear it now, an unmistakable clatter echoing from the surrounding mountains.

“Hugo once had a bad experience with a helicopter,” Chase said. “So now he’s got a phobia about them. Chopperphobia! Every time he sees one, he reckons something’s going to go wrong and kill him.”

“They fly with huge whirling blades spinning at insane speeds!” Castille protested. “How can they not be dangerous?”

“Well, you just keep your head down back here and I’ll meet him when he lands, okay?” Chase winked at him, then added in a quieter, more serious voice, “Keep an eye open.” Castille nodded.

The helicopter swept over the rise above the farmhouse. The type was familiar to Nina from hundreds of movies and TV shows, and even a couple of flights as a passenger: a Bell Jet Ranger, a civilian workhorse found all around the world. It made a rapid circle of the farmhouse, then came to a hover and landed about a hundred feet from the Land Rover.

Chase waited for the rotors to slow, then walked over. Hajjar had brought company. As well as the pilot, there were three other people in the Jet Ranger. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the weight of the Wildey.45 Winchester Magnum in its holster under his jacket, ready for use in an instant. Just in case.

The helicopter’s rear doors opened, two large, bearded men in dark suits and sunglasses jumping out and surveying the area before fixing their black-hole stares on Chase. He stared back, unintimidated. From the way they held themselves he could tell they were ex-military-but just regular soldiers, not special forces. Definitely nowhere near SAS level. He could handle them.

One of the men leaned closer to the helicopter and spoke in Farsi. The door opened, and Failak Hajjar emerged.

Unlike his bodyguards, Hajjar was dressed in traditional Arab robes. But like them, he was wearing sunglasses-though his were far more expensive.

Another man followed him out. He was white, with short spiky hair, several days’ growth of stubble and a distinctly wary air. Chase guessed it was Yuri Volgan.

“Are you Chase?” Hajjar called.

“Yes!”

“Where is Ms. Frost?”

“Where’s the artifact?” Chase demanded. Hajjar glowered, then reached back into the Jet Ranger and took out a small black leather briefcase. Nodding, Chase backed away, heading to the Land Rover.

“In the house,” said Hajjar, gesturing with the briefcase. “Out of the wind, yes?”

“What wind?” Chase muttered. Now that the rotors had stopped, there was only an intermittent breeze. He checked the area once more for signs that they weren’t alone, but saw none.