The Atlantis Gene (The Origin Mystery, #1)

by A.G. Riddle

“Josh, can you hear me?” Josh Cohen tried to open his eyes, but the light was too bright. His head was throbbing. “Here, give me another one.” Josh could barely make out a blurry figure sitting by him on a hard bed. Where was he? It looked like one of the station’s holding cells. The man brought a pellet to Josh’s nose and cracked it open

with a loud pop. Josh inhaled the worst smell of his entire life—a sharp, overwhelming ammonia smell that coursed through his airways, inflated his lungs, and sent him reeling backward, hitting his head against the wall. The constant throbbing turned into a sharp pain. He closed his eyes tight and rubbed his head. “Okay, okay, take it easy.” It was the station chief, David Vale. “What’s going on?” Josh asked. He could open his eyes now, and he realized that David was in full body armor and there were two other field operatives with him, standing by the door to the cell. Josh sat up. “Someone must have planted a bug—”

“Relax, this isn’t about a bug. Can you stand up?” David said. “I think so.” Josh struggled to his feet. He was still groggy from the gas that had knocked him out in the elevator. “Good, follow me.” Josh followed David and the two operatives out of the room with the holding cells and down a long hallway that led to the server room. At the server room door, David turned to the other two soldiers. “Wait here. Radio me if anyone enters the corridor.” Inside the server room, David resumed ...

beefy as some of the linebacker-esque ops guys, but big enough to give any drunken bar-brawler pause. They snaked their way through the crowded server room, dodging tower after tower of metal cabinets with green, yellow, and red blinking lights. The room was cool, and the constant hum of the machines was slightly disorienting. The three-person IT group was constantly working on the servers—adding, removing, and replacing hardware. The place was a pigsty. Josh tri...

Josh nodded. “Yeah. This place is a mess.” David said nothing, but walked a bit more slowly the rest of the way to a standing metal storage cabinet at the back of the server room. David pushed the cabinet aside, revealing a silver door and a panel beside it. The red light of a palm scan flashed over his hand, and another panel opened and performed a facial and retinal scan. When it finished, the wall parted, revealing a dark metallic door that looked like something from a battleship. Davi...

had concrete walls and their footsteps echoed loudly as they approached the center of the room, where a small glass box, about twelve feet by twelve feet, hung from thick twisted metal cords. The glass box was softly lit, and Josh couldn’t see inside it, but he already knew what it was. Josh had suspected the cell had such a room, but he’d never seen it in person. It was a quiet room. The entire Jakarta station headquarters was a kind of quiet room—it was shielded from every manner of listening d...

There were certainly protocols that required it. He suspected the chief talked with other station chiefs via phone and video in this room. Maybe even with Central. As they approached the room, a short flight of glass stairs descended and quickly retracted after they climbed into the room. A glass door closed behind them. A bank of computer screens hung on the far wall of the room, but other than that, Josh thought the room was surprisingly sparse: a simple fold-out table with four chairs, two phones and a conference speaker, ...

construction site. “Take a seat,” David said. He walked to the file cabinet and withdrew several folders. “I have a report to make. It’s significant—” “I think you better let me start.” David joined Josh at the table and placed the files between them. “With due respect, what I have to report may change your entire perspective. It may cause a major reassessment. A reassessment of every active operation at Jakarta station ...

“I do. You’re going to tell me that the vast majority of the terror threats we’re tracking, including operations in developed nations that we don’t yet understand—aren’t the work of a dozen separate terrorist and fundamentalist groups as we’d suspected.” When Josh said nothing, David continued, “You’re going to tell me that Clocktower now believes that these groups are all simply different faces of one global super-group, an organization with a scale exceeding anyone’s wildest projections.” “They already told you?” “Y...

Josh looked away. It wasn’t exactly a betrayal, but realizing something this big had been kept from him—the head of analysis—was a punch in the gut. At the same time, he wondered if he should have put it all together, if David was disappointed that he hadn’t figured it out on his own. David seemed to sense Josh’s disappointment. “For what it’s worth, I’ve wanted to tell you for a while now, but it was need-to-know only. And there’s something else you should...

“They didn’t pass the test.” “The test…” “The conference was the test. From the minute you arrived until you walked out, you were under video and audio surveillance. Like the suspects we interrogate here, the conference organizers were measuring voice stress, pupil dilation, eye movement, and a dozen other markers. In short—watching the analysts’ reactions throughout the conference.” “To see if we would withhold information?” “Yes, but more importantly, to see who ...

scenes. The conference was a Clocktower-wide mole hunt.” At that moment, the glass room around Josh seemed to disappear. He could hear David talking in the background, but he was lost in his thoughts. The conference was a perfect cover for a sting. All Clocktower agents, even analysts, were trained in standard counter-espionage methods. Beating a lie detector was standard training. But telling a lie, as if it were true, was much easier than faking an emotional response to a surprise, and sustaining...

“Josh, did you hear me?” Josh looked up. “No, I’m sorry, it’s a lot to take in… Clocktower has been compromised.” “Yes, and I need you to focus now. Things are happening quickly, and I need your help. The analyst test was the first step in Clocktower’s firewall protocol. Around the world, right now, the chief analysts who returned from the conference are meeting with their station chiefs in quiet rooms just like this one, trying to figure out how to secure their cells.” “You think Jakarta ...

Firewall Protocol, was to...

analysts for moles and for the remaining chief analysts and station chiefs to work together to identify anyone who could be a double.” “Makes sense.” “It would have, but we’ve underestimated the scope of the breach. I need to tell you a little about how Clocktower is organized. You know about how many cells there are: 200 to 250 at any given time. You should know that we had already identified some of the chief analysts ...

had worked as analysts before, anyone who could fake it. We had to. Some of the analysts already knew the approximate number of Clocktower cells, and the actors provided an operational benefit: they could facilitate the three-day lie-detection, ask pointed questions, elicit responses, get reactions.” “Unbelievable… How could we be so deeply compromised?” “That’s one of the questions we have to answer. There’s more. Not all the cells are like Jakarta Station. The vast majority are little more than listening posts; they ...

whoever this global enemy is, they have been using those cells to collect intel and maybe even send us bogus data.” “We could be essentially blind,” Josh said. “That’s right. Our best-case scenario was that this enemy had co-opted our intelligence gathering in preparation for a massive attack. We now know that that’s only half of it. Several of the major cells are also compromised. These are cells similar to Jakarta station, with intelligence gathering and significant covert ops forces. We are one of t...

planning.” “How many are compromised?” “We don’t know. But three major cells have already fallen—Karachi, Cape Town, and Mar del Plata have all reported that the cell’s own special forces swept through their HQ, killing most of the analysts and the station chiefs. There have been no communications from them for hours. Satellite surveillance over Argentina confirms the destruction of the Mar del Plata HQ. The Cape Town insurgents were assisted by outside forces. As we speak, firefights are ongoing in Seou...

forces could be preparing to take over Jakarta Station, or it could be happening this second, outside this room, but I doubt that.” “Why?” “I believe they’ll wait for you to return. Given what you know, you’re a liability. Whenever they attack, you’ll be at the top of the target list. The morning briefing would be the ideal time for a strike; they’re probably waiting for that.” Josh felt his mouth go dry. “That’s why you grabbed me off the elevator.” He thought for a moment. “So what now, you ...

head. “That was the original plan, but we’re past that now. We have to assume Jakarta Station will fall. If we’re compromised as badly as the other major cells, it’s only a matter of time. We have to look at the big picture and try to figure out our adversary’s endgame. We have to assume that one or more cells will survive and that they will be able to use anything we learn. If not, maybe one of the national agencies. But there’s still one question you haven’t asked, a very important one.” Josh thought for a...

a folder. “Twelve days ago, I was contacted by an anonymous source who said two things. One, there was an imminent terrorist attack—on a scale we’ve never seen before. And two, that Clocktower had been compromised.” David arranged a few pages. “He included a list of sixty analysts that he claimed were compromised. We shadowed them for a few days and confirmed them making dead-drops and unauthorized communications. It checked out. The source said there might be more. The rest you know: the other station chiefs and I organized the analys...

he either didn’t know about the field agents or didn’t disclose it for his own reasons. The source refused to meet, and I received no other communications from him. We proceeded with the conference and after… the purge. The source was radio-silent. Then, late last night, he contacted me again. He said he wanted to deliver the other half of the intel he promised, details of a massive attack code-named Toba Protocol. We were supposed to meet this morning at Manggarai Station, but he didn’t show. Someone with a bomb did. But I...

________________________ Toba Protocol is real. 4+12+47 = 4/5; Jones 7+22+47 = 3/8; Anderson 10+4+47 = 5/4; Ames ________________________ “Some kind of code,” Josh said. “Yes, it’s surprising. The other messages were straightforward. But now it makes sense.” “I don’t understand.” “Whatever the code is, it’s the real message—it’s what the entire setup has been about. The source wanted the analyst purge to happen so he could se...

you. He wanted us focused on cleaning up the analysts and delaying the fireworks until he could send this message. Had we known how thoroughly we had been compromised, we would have quarantined the field operatives first and sent Clocktower into total lock-down. We wouldn’t be having this conversation.” “Yeah, but why even bother with a code? Why not send the message in the open like the previous communications?” “It’s a good question. He must be under surveillance as well. Commu...

terrorist attack. So whoever is watching him assumes we don’t know what the message says yet. That may be why they haven’t taken more of the cells down—they still think they can contain Clocktower.” “Makes sense.” “It does, but one question still bothered me: why me?” Josh thought for a moment. “Right, why not the director of Clocktower, all the other Clocktower station chiefs, or simply alert all the world’s intelligence agencies? They would have more far-reac...

Or… you could be in a unique position to stop the attack…” Josh looked up. “Or you know something.” “That’s right. I mentioned earlier that I began investigating this super-terrorist group before I joined Clocktower.” David stood, walked to the filing cabinet and withdrew two more folders. “I’m going to show you something I’ve been ...

“I’ve been working on a theory I formed ten years ago, just after 9/11.” “You think this attack is connected to 9/11?” Josh asked. “I do.” “You think this is an Al Qaeda operation?” “Not necessarily. I believe Al Qaeda only carried out the 9/11 attacks. I believe another group, a global corporation called Immari International, actually planned, funded, and benefited from the attack. I think it was a cover for

various archaeological digs Immari conducted in Afghanistan and Iraq, and a very sophisticated heist. A robbery.” Josh looked at the table. Had David lost it? This sort of 9/11 conspiracy-theory stuff was fodder for internet forums, not serious counterterrorism work.

David seemed to recognize Josh’s reluctance. “Look, I know it sounds farfetched, but hear me out. After 9/11, I spent almost a year in a hospital and then rehab. That’s a lot of time to think. A lot of things about the attacks made no sense to me. Why attack New York first? Why not hit the...

crashes would have crippled the country, especially our defensive capabilities. It would have thrown us into utter chaos. And why use only four planes? Surely they could have trained more pilots. They could have hijacked thirty planes that morning if they simply took planes from Dulles and National Airports in DC, from Baltimore, maybe Richmond. You’ve got Atlanta pretty close; Hartsfield-Jackson is the busiest airport in the world. Who knows, they could have probably crashed a hundred planes that day before passengers star...

Josh nodded, still skeptical. “It’s an interesting question.” “And there were others. Why strike on a day when you know the President is out of town, in an elementary school in Florida? Clearly the goal wasn’t to remove our fighting capabilities—sure the Pentagon was hit and many brave Americans died, but the overall effect was to really, really piss the Pentagon and the armed forces off—the whole country for that matter. After 9/11, America had an appetite for war the likes of which it had never seen before. There was one othe...

you want to do one thing: crash the stock market. The attacks did two things really well: ensured there was a war, a big ...

“Things look a lot different when you spend almost a year in a hospital, learning to walk by day and asking why by night. I couldn’t do much research on terrorists from a hospital bed, so I focused on the financial angle. I started looking at who the big winners were from the financial collapse. Who was betting against American stocks. What companies were shorting the market, who owned puts, who made a fortune. It was a long list.

Then I started looking at who benefited from the wars, especially private security contractors and oil and gas interests. The list got shorter. And something else intrigued me: the attacks nearly guaranteed a war in Afghanistan. Maybe whatever this group wanted was there and they needed a cover to go in and search for it. Or maybe it was in Iraq. Maybe both. I knew I needed to get out in the field to find some real answers.”

David took a breath and continued. “By 2004, I was back on my feet. I applied to the CIA that year but was turned down. I trained for another year, got turned down again in 2005...

the Army, but I knew I would need to be part of covert ops to get real answers.” Josh looked down, taking it in, seeing David in a completely different light now. He had always thought of the station chief as this invincible super-soldier, had always assumed that was all David had ever been. The idea of him lying broken in a hospital bed for a year, of him being turned down as a field operative—twice—was slightly jarring. “What?” David said. “It’s nothing… I just… assumed you w...

was a grad student, actually. At Columbia, if you can believe that. Might be why the CIA kept rejecting me—didn’t want anyone overthinking things in the field units. But apparently the third time’s the charm—they took me in 2006. Maybe they had lost enough operatives or enough had joined the private contractors; whatever the reason, I was glad to be in Afghanistan. I found my answers. The short list I had, the three companies, were all subsidiaries of one company: Immari International. Their security division, Immari Securi...

for a new attack, code-named Toba Protocol.” David pointed at the file. “That file is all I have on that attack. It’s not much.” Josh opened the file. “This is why you joined Clocktower, to investigate Immari and Toba Protocol?” “Partly. Clocktower was the perfect platform for me. I knew back then that Immari was behind 9/11, that they had made a fortune from the attacks, and that they were actively looking for something in the mountains of eastern Afghanistan and Pakistan. But they got to me befo...

dates, his first thought was: they’re obituaries. Obituaries and classifieds were classic spycraft: operatives after World War II routinely used them to send messages across spy networks spread across the globe. It was old school, but if the message had been passed in 1947, it could have been a viable method. If it was true, this terrorist network was over sixty-five years old. He pushed the implications of that to the back of his mind.

The glass room in the giant concrete tomb seemed so fragile now. It hung there, just waiting to explode, like a glass piñata. He was the prize inside.

“Quite quick on your feet for someone who couldn’t operate the card reader.” Did he know? Kate tried to seem embarrassed; it wasn’t a stretch. “Guns make me nervous.” “Then you’ll truly hate it here. Seems like everyone without a white coat is ‘packin’ heat.’” He said the last two words with an American accent. He swiped his card and pushed open a set of wide doors that might have divided sections of a hospital. “Guess they’ll be ready if the trees ever attack.” He snorted and muttered, “Bloody idiots.”

inspecting IDs and consulting a printed page on the podium in front of him. He extended his sausage fingers to David without a word. David handed over the ID. In the line outside the train, he had scratched the picture mostly off, just as a precaution. “What happened to your badge?” “My dog.” The man half snorted and began searching the list. His face slowly contorted, as if the list had turned into a language he couldn’t read. “I don’t have you down for today.” “That’s what I said when they woke me up this morning. Now if you’re saying I can go, I’m out of here.” David reached for the ID.

The listmaster threw up a sausage hand. “No, hold on now.” He buried his head in the list again and took a pen from behind his ear. He glanced from the ID back to the list every few seconds, scrawling “Conner Anderson” at the bottom of the page in childish block letters. He handed the ID back to David and sausage waved the next guy in line.

David raised his hands. The guard leveled the gun at him and moved closer. “You’re not Conner Anderson.” “No kidding,” David said under his breath. “Now put the gun away and shut up; they could be listening.” The guard stopped moving. He looked down, confused. “What?” “He told me I had to come in for him.” “What?” “Look, we had a wild night. He

said he would get sacked if I didn’t come in,” David insisted. “Who are you?” “His friend. You must be his really smart friend at work.” “What?” “Is that all you can say? Look, put the gun up and act natural.” “Conner isn’t scheduled today.” “Yeah, I gathered that, genius. Yet another half-drunk brain fart on his part. I’m going to kill him, if you idiots don’t kill me first.” David tipped his hands forward and nodded, silently saying, Well are you or aren’t you? The guard said nothing. “Dude, shoot me, or let me go.”

his gun, still looking thoroughly unsatisfied. “Where are you going?” David walked toward him. “I’m getting out of here; what’s the quickest way?” The man turned and pointed but didn’t get a word out. David knocke...

jogging up behind them. She was young, maybe in her twenties. She was dressed so… wrong, so provocatively, like some sort of Playboy bunny. She looked very out of place. “I’ll take her,” she said to the men. “Who are you?” “Naomi. I work for Mr. Sloane.” “Never heard of him.” The guard who was clearly in charge motioned to another man. “We’ll take her in too.” “You’ll be sorry if you do,” Naomi said. “Call it in. I’ll wait. Ask your boss to call Mr. Sloane.” The guards looked at each other. Naomi grabbed one of their

radios. “I’ll do it myself.” She clicked the button. “This is Naomi, I need to speak with Mr. Sloane.” “Stand by.” “Sloane.” “It’s Naomi. I’m bringing a girl to you, but there’s a pack of guards harassing us.” “Hold on.” Then, Sloane’s voice said to someone in the background, “Tell your buffoons to quit harassing my people.” Another voice came on the line. “This is Captain Zhào. Who is this?” Naomi tried to hand the radio back to the man, but he stepped back, dodging it like a plague blanket. Naomi tossed it to the man who had spoken. “Good luck.” She

grabbed Kate by the arm and said under her breath, “Be quiet and follow me.” Naomi led Kate away from the guards, who were desperately tryin...

They took a right, then a left, down another deserted corridor. Naomi asked Kate for her badge at a set of double doors. “Who are you?” Kate said. “It’s not important. I’m here to help you get the children out.” “Who sent you?” “The same person wh...