26

He was in his early fifties, with slightly unkempt greying hair, strong jaw blue with stubble. His tall, lean body had the build of a runner – but the Dane would not be racing again. He was confined to a wheelchair. Nina was startled; she’d had no idea that he was disabled.

‘I’m not armed, Mr Chase,’ he said as Eddie pointed the rifle at him. ‘And thanks to the Group’s assassins –’ his eyes flicked down at his immobile legs – ‘I am no longer a physical threat.’

The gun didn’t lower as the Englishman approached. ‘I’ll be the judge of that. Hands up. Nina, if Davros here tries anything, shoot him.’

Nina aimed the Glock as Eddie searched Glas, then the wheelchair. Satisfied that he had told the truth, Eddie finally lifted his finger from the ASM-DT’s trigger and rejoined Nina.

‘Thank you,’ said Glas. ‘Now, I imagine you have questions for me.’

‘Or we could just kill you,’ Eddie told him.

Glas was uncowed by the threat. ‘Then you will never find out what is truly going on – and the threat faced by the world.’ His gaze moved to Nina. ‘A threat that you are part of, even though you don’t realise it.’

‘Well, now’s your chance to enlighten me,’ said Nina, watching Sophia warily as she moved to stand beside Glas. ‘You’ve been trying to kill me. Why?’

‘Travis Warden has probably told you a tall tale about me, yes? That I am opposed to the Group’s plan to save the planet because it will wipe out my profits? And that by killing you I can prevent the Group from finding the Atlantean meteorite they need to channel earth energy.’

‘Something like that.’

Glas nodded. ‘What would you say if I told you that controlling such energy is only a minor part of the Group’s true goals?’

‘I actually wouldn’t be too surprised,’ Nina told him with a humourless smile. ‘I didn’t trust him any more than I trust you.’

‘Then you are perceptive, as well as a survivor. Warden is a leech and a liar – his only interests are power and money.’

‘But you were happy to be part of his little Super Best Friends club while it suited you.’

Glas leaned forward. ‘The Group is . . . an exceptionally powerful organisation. Its original members formed it from a collaboration of much older groups after the Second World War, with the aim of using global commerce to prevent such a conflict from ever happening again.’

‘It hasn’t exactly done a great job,’ said a disapproving Eddie. ‘There’ve been wars pretty much the whole time since 1945.’

‘But not massive wars,’ Glas countered. ‘Not the kind that can smash entire industrialised countries and destroy the global economy. The Group’s influence helped stop some of these flashpoints from starting larger fires. A word to the right person at the right time can cool even the hottest head. For example, the Cuban Missile Crisis was not stopped because both sides saw sense – it stopped because they were made to see sense.’

‘You’re trying to tell me the Group is a force for good?’ said Nina in disbelief.

He was unapologetic. ‘That was its original intent, yes. And for twenty or thirty years it was successful. But over time, power began to corrupt. An old and inevitable story. The Group stopped influencing the decisions of governments, and instead began controlling them.’

‘Buying power. People like Dalton.’

‘Yes, but on a greater scale than you can imagine. The Group holds power over senior politicians in over a hundred countries. If you have ever wondered why the so-called left and right seem increasingly similar wherever you go, it is because both sides have the same backers. The more alike people think, the less conflict there will be between them. That is the Group’s motivation. To end the wastefulness of conflict.’

Eddie pursed his lips. ‘And that’s bad because . . .?’

‘There are different ways to do so,’ Glas said. ‘The Khmer Rouge ended conflict in Cambodia by murdering anyone it considered a potential opponent – over two million people.’

‘So that’s why the Group wants control of earth energy?’ Nina asked. ‘To use as a weapon?’

To her surprise, he chuckled. ‘No, no. Nothing that crude.’ His smile rapidly faded. ‘Are you familiar with the theory of exogenesis?’

The sudden change of subject left her briefly bewildered. ‘Uh . . . the basics, I guess. It’s the idea that the earth was seeded with the building blocks of life by comets and meteorites. Or, if you take things a step further, there’s the concept of panspermia – that life itself was actually brought to earth after developing somewhere else.’ Eddie tried to contain a smirk. ‘Oh, God,’ she said impatiently. ‘What?’

‘Come on. Panspermia?’

His past and current wives were briefly united in eye-rolling disapproval. ‘He never changes, does he?’ Sophia sighed.

‘I’m afraid not,’ Nina replied. Eddie just shrugged. She turned back to Glas. ‘The “sky stone” that ultimately caused Atlantis’s destruction, the meteorite – you think it was carrying exogenesitic material?’

‘Is that even a real word?’ Eddie said.

‘Shush!’

Glas nodded. ‘Life, we believe, was brought to this planet four billion years ago by a meteorite. One single, very specific meteorite. It contained not only the naturally superconducting metal needed to channel an earth energy reaction, but also the proto-DNA from which all life on the planet evolved. The unmutated, pure, original form.’

The words gave Nina an uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu. ‘That . . . that sounds an awful lot like Kristian Frost’s plan,’ she said. ‘To use a sample of pure Atlantean DNA to create a biological weapon.’

‘I know.’

‘You know, or the Group knows?’

‘Both. The Group considered Kristian Frost for membership, but chose not to approach him – partly because we distrusted his motives, but also because we knew the Brotherhood of Selasphoros was working against him. If the Group had known his true intentions before you uncovered them, it would have eliminated the threat.’

‘Eliminated him, you mean. Like you tried to eliminate me.’

‘I’m afraid that was the most direct way of stopping the Group’s plan. They are well protected, but you were the weak link in the chain. I would apologise, but I was doing what I believed necessary for the future of the world.’

‘You’ve got one idea for the world’s future,’ Eddie said angrily, ‘and the Group’s got another. So what are they?’ He raised the gun again. ‘Give me a reason why yours is so great and theirs is so terrible.’

‘As you wish.’ Again, Glas seemed unconcerned by the threat facing him, suffused by a calm confidence: the air of a man who believed utterly in his views and expected others to fall into line with them. ‘It is about . . . freedom.’

‘Freedom?’ said Nina. ‘That’s . . . kinda vague. What sort of freedom? Freedom of expression, of movement, of thought, Jonathan Franzen’s book, what?’

‘Every kind of freedom. That is how the Group seeks to eliminate conflict, Dr Wilde. Its goal is nothing less than the elimination of free will. Total control of every human being on the planet, now and for ever.’

Eddie frowned. ‘How? Using earth energy as a doomsday weapon – “do what we say or we’ll kill you”?’

‘As I said, they are not that crude. Earth energy is only of minor interest to them. It is the DNA in the meteorite that they want. It’s the key to their plans – to everything.’ His voice, his entire attitude, took on a new intensity. ‘The Group’s power does not come only from money. It comes from knowledge – from information. Some of that knowledge has come from people you have encountered. The creation of a genetically engineered virus by the Frosts. The earth energy technology built by Jack Mitchell. Khalid Osir’s life-prolonging yeast from the Pyramid of Osiris. Even the mass of data accumulated by Pramesh and Vanita Khoil’s computers passed through their hands. All of it has helped form their ultimate plan, a plan they are now ready to carry out . . . a plan that depends on you.’

Nina was unnerved by the list of enemies past – and the idea that even after their defeats, they were still dangerous in the present. ‘So they need me to find the meteorite before they can do whatever they mean to do. How about you tell us what that actually is?’

‘The implementation will be very complex, but the idea is extremely simple.’ Glas rotated his chair to face the ocean beyond the windows. ‘Every single organism on the planet descends from the DNA brought to earth by the Atlantean meteorite – the sky stone, as they called it. The genetic structures of modern life, everything from fish –’ he gestured towards a porthole as an example flitted past – ‘to humans, are far more complicated after billions of years of mutation and evolution, but locked inside them is still that original code. Just as Kristian Frost needed a sample of pure Atlantean DNA as a reference point from which to create his virus, so the Group needs to find the pure DNA of the planet’s first life to create theirs.’

‘They’re making a virus?’ said Eddie in alarm.

Glas turned back to his audience. ‘Not in the same way as Frost. His was a lethal weapon; theirs will be more subtle. It won’t kill people – at least, not intentionally. There will almost certainly be a percentage of people who suffer lethal side effects from the infection, however.’

‘But – but even one per cent of the world’s population would still be tens of millions of people,’ Nina pointed out.

‘Yes. And the Group considers that acceptable. But killing people is not the purpose of the virus. Instead, it will change them.’

‘Change them how?’ she asked, feeling increasingly chilled.

‘Certain behavioural traits are genetic. Yes,’ he said, raising a hand as if to forestall an objection, ‘I know that behaviour is also influenced by environment, but at a fundamental level some aspects are set from the moment of conception. Such as intelligence, or,’ his eyes briefly flicked from Nina to Eddie, ‘aggression.’

‘Did I just get insulted there?’ said Eddie. ‘Not a smart thing to do to a man holding a gun.’

‘On the contrary, I think you just proved his point,’ Sophia told him.

‘One key trait,’ continued Glas, ignoring the interruption, ‘is obedience. You see it in animals; can a dog be easily trained, or will it constantly rebel and fight? The same is true of people. There are natural leaders, and natural followers, but to different degrees. What the Group intends to do is use a manufactured retrovirus to infect and alter the living human genome and strengthen those genes responsible for passive, obedient behaviour at the expense of others likely to encourage resistance. These traits will be passed down through successive generations, until the whole world will happily accept the control of a self-chosen ruling elite.’

Silence followed the revelation. ‘That sounds . . . hard to believe,’ Eddie eventually managed.

‘You think so?’ Glas turned again, staring out into the darkness. ‘Anyone can kill another person. Controlling another person is harder. If they succeed, though, the Group will control everyone beneath them – and their subjects will willingly obey, because they have no choice. Obedience will be programmed into their genes, as inescapable as the colour of their skin. To end conflict, the price will be freedom.’ He looked back at them. ‘Is that a price you are willing to pay?’

Nina didn’t answer, stunned by the implications of Glas’s words. If he were telling the truth, then from birth to death a person would be trapped in a life of placid submission to an authority over which they had no control, in which they had no voice. And worse, they would meekly accept such a system as the norm – as the only way to live. It was authoritarianism to a monstrous degree, a horrific Brave New World with no hope, or even thought, of escape or rebellion.

The image of Lola, heavy with her impending child, sprang into her mind. If the Group achieved their goal, the baby would face a grim future where every path had been mapped out in advance by someone else. No choices, no opportunity to find its own way through life . . .

‘Can they actually do it?’ she demanded. ‘I mean, if they got hold of the meteorite, and assuming it really is possible, how long would it take them to carry out this plan? Years? Months?’

‘Weeks,’ Glas told her.

‘Yeah, I was afraid you’d say that.’

‘Could be worse, could’ve been days,’ Eddie offered.

‘They’ve already done a lot of the preliminary work,’ Sophia said, stepping forward, ‘by farming it out to genetic research companies they control – in pieces, so nobody sees the full picture.’

‘Until it’s too late,’ Glas added ominously. ‘They are doing the same thing as the Frosts, and Khalid Osir and his brother. The theoretical work has already been carried out. All they need is a sample of the DNA to put it into practice. As soon as they obtain the meteorite, the plan will begin.’

‘So how long would it take to infect everybody?’ Eddie asked.

‘The virus would spread like any other highly infectious pathogen, such as an influenza strain. It could reach every country in the world within a year, and potentially have infected the entire worldwide population in three.’

‘What about a cure?’ said Nina.

‘The Group won’t develop a cure. That would defeat the purpose of the virus. But they will have an immunising agent, a vaccine. They want to be sure they can choose who will be part of the elite. And like the virus, the vaccine will also work at the genetic level, passing down through generations. It will be the ultimate hereditary dynasty, monopolising power over mankind – over the human will. They must be stopped. At any cost.’

‘You were part of the Group,’ Nina said accusingly. ‘Couldn’t you have talked them out of it?’

‘The Group is, believe it or not, a democracy,’ Glas replied, clearly disgusted by the irony. ‘I was the only member who opposed the plan. When I took my opposition further than just words, they . . . retaliated.’ He looked down at his useless legs. ‘They sent their new attack dog after me – Stikes. My people got me to safety, but only after I had been shot. I was lucky to survive.’

‘They tried to kill you?’

‘They tried to destroy me, in every way. My life, my reputation, my business, were all attacked. I was turned into a criminal without trial.’

‘I know how that feels,’ said Eddie.

‘And you know what it is like to be on the run, Mr Chase.’

‘Yeah. I didn’t have my own personal submarine to use as a hideout, though.’ He waved a disparaging hand at the vessel around them. ‘Only way you could be any more like a Bond villain is if you had a white cat.’

‘It was the only place I could hide from the Group. I’m a businessman, not a soldier – my survival skills are in very different fields from yours. But even from here, I have been able to continue working against the Group. One of my subsidiary companies operates a Spanish fishing fleet; we surface and take on supplies from its trawlers out at sea.’

‘And when you surface, you also give orders to your people, right?’ said Nina in a cold voice. ‘Orders like “Kill Nina Wilde”.’

Glas nodded. ‘But that order can now be rescinded. All you have to do is one thing.’

‘Destroy the statues.’

‘Yes. Without them, the Group will not be able to find the meteorite. And without the meteorite, they cannot carry out their plan. Humanity’s freedom will be protected.’

‘It still leaves a bunch of powerful arseholes in control, though,’ Eddie observed.

‘But at least it will be possible to resist them.’

‘So we destroy the statues,’ said Nina. ‘Then what? Warden and his buddies will be kinda mad at us.’

‘They will. But in the end, they are businessmen and women. Greed holds no grudges. Their time is too important to be wasted on revenge. No, they will not be pleased, but they will soon move on to other plans.’

‘And what about you?’ asked Eddie. ‘You just going to cruise around underwater admiring your stamp collection for the rest of your life?’

A momentary twinge of Sophia’s expression, quickly hidden, suggested that the idea was not one she relished, but Glas’s own intentions were clearer. ‘I intend to resist, Mr Chase. Whatever the Group are doing, I will do what I can to oppose it.’

‘How will you know what they’re doing?’ said Nina.

‘Some of their sources are also my sources. I may be in a wheelchair, but I am not yet out of the game.’ He brought himself closer to the couple. ‘So, what will you do?’

‘I think . . . destroying the statues looks like the only option,’ said Nina reluctantly. Eddie nodded in agreement.

‘Good. In that case, I shall return you to the surface. I assume the statues are hidden in New York?’

‘That’s right,’ said Eddie.

‘I will have one of my people there as a witness when you destroy them. After that, our business will be concluded. If you wish, I will compensate you for the trouble I have caused you.’

‘I don’t want your money,’ Nina said angrily.

Eddie shrugged. ‘A bit might be nice . . .’

‘But I’ll tell you who does deserve it,’ she continued, remembering what had happened in the ruins of Atlantis. ‘The families of the people your men killed today. There were three people in the submarine they blew up, and another one in— Matt!’ she cried, suddenly hopeful. ‘Does this sub have sonar?’

The air in the Sharkdozer’s cabin had become foul, hanging hot and heavy in the confined space. Even the intake of cleaner atmosphere from the Mako had ultimately made little difference.

Matt was slumped in the pilot’s seat, breathing slowly and shallowly. But he knew his efforts to prolong his life were pointless. The ballast slab was still entangled by the mangled skids, trapping him eight hundred feet down, the meagre dregs of energy left in the batteries nowhere near enough to haul the heavy submersible back to the surface. A design flaw, he thought groggily, engineer to the last. Next time I’ll use iron shot, not a slab . . .

But there wouldn’t be a next time. One by one, even the red warning lights on the instrument panels were going out, insufficient voltage remaining to keep their accusing glows alive. This was it: death in the darkness of the ocean he had spent his life exploring. Suppose it was inevitable it’d end this way . . . He felt a tear swelling in the corner of one eye, but no longer even had the strength to raise a hand to wipe it away.

Two lights left. One. Then that too winked out. The cabin was black, silent apart from his own laboured breathing and the occasional creaks from the damaged viewport. With the sub now stationary the strain on the acrylic hemisphere appeared to have eased, but he knew that on a microscopic level the immense pressure of the water outside was still relentlessly attacking the cracks.

Crushed into oblivion in a heartbeat, or slipping into unconsciousness and suffocation: either way, he wouldn’t know about it. He was about to close his leaden eyes to await fate’s decision . . . when he realised that the darkness was receding.

But that was impossible. There was no light down here—

Matt was suddenly dazzled as brilliant beams swept into the cabin. Was he hallucinating – or were the stories of seeing bright light at the moment of death true? Were angels coming for him? But then a sharp jolt told him that he was still alive and lucid. Another vessel had just made contact with his submersible.

A big vessel, he saw as the spotlights went out, replaced by softer illumination from the other craft’s interior. The Sharkdozer had been scooped up by the larger sub – and the ticking of a backup mechanical depth gauge revealed it was still ascending. What should have been a simple calculation took several seconds in his befuddled state, but if it continued upwards at the same rate, he would be on the surface in a matter of minutes. Even if he passed out from carbon dioxide poisoning, he could still be saved.

But who were his saviours?

The answer came as his vision adjusted to the light. The Sharkdozer was on the foredeck of a luxury submarine, its steeply raked bridge directly ahead of him. Two blurry figures came into focus through its windows, one stocky and balding, the other slimmer and red-haired. They waved at him.

Somehow, he found the energy to return the gesture. ‘Guess I’m not dead,’ the Australian gasped, with a feeble smile. ‘No way are they angels . . .’