Temple of the Gods (45 page)

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 . . .’

T
he case containing the three statuettes sat open on Nina’s office desk. Eddie lifted one of the trio from the protective foam bed, dancing it between its companions as if playing with a toy soldier. ‘Hard to believe these crappy little things caused so much trouble.’

‘And cost so many lives,’ said Nina morosely. After Glas had returned them to the survey ship – its crew astonished by the sight of the huge submarine emerging from the depths alongside them – Matt had been flown to a hospital in Portugal, but it would be weeks before an attempt to retrieve the bodies of Hayter and the others aboard the destroyed submersible could be made . . . if there was even anything left to recover. ‘But they might cost a whole lot more.’