The Midas Legacy (Wilde/Chase 12)

Copyright © 2016 Andy McDermott

The right of Andy McDermott to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2016

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

Ebook conversion by Avon DataSet Ltd, Bidford-on-Avon, Warwickshire

eISBN: 978 0 7553 8083 1

Cover images © Apisak Kanjanapusit/Shutterstock (Monastery), Alexander Cher/Shutterstock (helicopter) and 21/Shutterstock and donatas1205/Shutterstock (light effects)

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About the Author

Andy McDermott is the bestselling author of the Nina Wilde & Eddie Chase adventure thrillers, which have been sold in over 30 countries and 20 languages. His debut novel,
THE HUNT FOR ATLANTIS
, was his first of several
New York Times
bestsellers.
THE MIDAS LEGACY
is the twelfth book in the series, and he has also written the explosive spy thriller
THE PERSONA PROTOCOL
.

A former journalist and movie critic, Andy is now a full-time novelist. Born in Halifax, he lives in Bournemouth with his partner and son.

About the Book

A return to Atlantis

The lost city has defined Nina Wilde’s life. Her parents’ obsession with Atlantis cost them their lives, but finding it brought Nina to her husband Eddie Chase and a series of archaeological treasures.

A secret codex

A decade later, the International Heritage Agency needs their help to locate the Secret Codex, an account of ancient Atlantean explorer Talonor’s journeys, thought to be located in the dangerous underwater ruins of Atlantis. Unable to resist one more adventure, the couple join the mission.

A king whose touch turns to gold

But when a long-lost relative reappears in Nina’s life, asking her to use the Codex to find a hidden cave containing the secret of King Midas, she is unprepared for the devastation that follows. The promise of unlimited gold has aroused the greed of powerful and ruthless forces . . . and only Nina and Eddie stand in their way.

By Andy McDermott and available from Headline

The Hunt for Atlantis

The Tomb of Hercules

The Secret of Excalibur

The Covenant of Genesis

The Cult of Osiris

The Sacred Vault

Empire of Gold

Temple of the Gods

The Valhalla Prophecy

Kingdom of Darkness

The Revelation Code

The Midas Legacy

The Persona Protocol

Praise

Praise for Andy McDermott:

‘Adventure stories don’t get much more epic than this’
Daily Mirror

‘An all-action cracker from one of Britain’s most talented adventure writers’
Lancashire Evening Post

‘If Wilbur Smith and Clive Cussler collaborated, they might have come up with a thundering big adventure blockbuster like this . . . a widescreem, thrill-a-minute ride’
Peterborough Evening Telegraph

‘True Indiana Jones stuff with terrific pace’
Bookseller

‘A true blockbuster rollercoaster ride from start to finish . . . Popcorn escapism at its very best’
Crime and Publishing

‘A rip-roaring read and one which looks set to cement McDermott’s place in the bestsellers list for years to come’
Bolton Evening News

‘Fast-moving, this is a pulse-racing adventure with action right down the line’
Northern Echo

‘A writer of rare, almost cinematic talent. Where others’ action scenes limp along unconvincingly, his explode off the page in Technicolor’
Daily Express, Scotland

‘McDermott writes like Clive Cussler on speed. The action is non-stop’
Huddersfield Daily Examiner

For Sebastian
My adventurer

Prologue

New York City, 1974

Henry Wilde took a deep breath as his name was called, summoning every scrap of self-assurance before standing. The twenty-plus people in the lecture hall regarded him expectantly as he headed for the lectern. A jury of his peers, he mused; the other undergraduates in his class. Some were friends – his roommate Jack Philby gave him a reassuring grin – but most were acquaintances at best, or even just faces in the crowd. The tall young New Yorker’s obsession had put work ahead of socialising.

Obsession
. That was perhaps hyperbolic, but he couldn’t deny that his childhood fascination had intensified so much that it had determined his choice of degree. Now he was about to reveal that obsession to the jury.

And to the judge. Professor Orin Brighthouse stared at him over the thick black frames of his spectacles, the expression on his rumpled face one of bored disdain.
Another student with a chew toy for me to maul
, he didn’t need to say out loud. Brighthouse was highly regarded in the field of archaeology, but he was also scathingly critical of ideas that challenged the status quo. It took a lot to impress him. So far, none of the other students had done that.

There was always a first time, Henry told himself as he reached the front and took out his essay. He had rewritten it twice over the past two nights, trying to put forward his theory as clearly and convincingly as possible. Brighthouse’s class made up only one part of his course, but it was an important one. A good result here would help him enormously in the future. A word from the professor could open many useful doors . . .

But first, he had to win that word.

‘Peer review is an important part of the academic process,’ intoned Brighthouse as if reciting the words from a cue card, before tipping his head back to look down his nose at the young man. ‘But you already know that, because I’ve said the same damn thing to everyone else. So from here on, I’ll skip the usual boilerplate. I’m sure you’ve all got anti-war demonstrations or love-ins or whatever kids do nowadays to get to.’ A murmur of laughter from the audience. ‘So, Mr Wilde: what are you going to tell us?’

This was it. ‘I’m going to tell you,’ Henry began, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt, ‘the location of Atlantis.’

That certainly got the attention of the other undergraduates, whose own presentations to this point had been small in scale, subjects like the precise dating of various sites and relics discovered by others. Those who knew him weren’t surprised by the announcement, Jack giving him a humorous shrug:
on your own head be it
. The reactions of the others were generally more negative. Incredulity, amusement, even head-shaking mockery. Yet a few seemed curious, so it wasn’t an entirely hostile reception.

In fact, someone seemed outright intrigued. He had seen the pretty young woman sitting slightly isolated on the fourth row before – her ponytailed hair was such a vivid shade of red, it would have been almost impossible not to notice her – but their paths had never crossed socially; she had the same work-focused air as Henry himself. But she was now watching him intently, pencil poised as if eager to transcribe every word.

‘So the word on the grapevine about your topic was true,’ scoffed Brighthouse. ‘Should I give you an F now and save everybody’s time, or are you going to carry on and hope you can scrape a C for sheer imagination?’

‘I’m still aiming for an A, Professor,’ Henry replied, hoping his sudden feeling of nausea wasn’t showing on his face. ‘I think you’ll be impressed. I’ve—’

‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ the academic rumbled.

‘I’ve done my research,’ Henry went on. ‘Atlantis might be best known from Plato’s texts, but there are plenty of corroborating sources describing a great seagoing empire that either pre-date them, or developed independently from the Greek dialogues. When you put them all together, you get a very interesting result.’

The red-haired woman had already started taking notes, her green eyes briefly meeting Henry’s. The moment of contact gave him an odd feeling of reassurance, as if she were already convinced by his words. But it evaporated the moment he looked back at Brighthouse.

‘Just because you find something interesting, Mr Wilde, does not guarantee that it is of worth,’ said the professor, glowering. ‘Some people find horoscopes, comic books or UFOs interesting. That doesn’t mean the study of them has any value whatsoever.’

A twinge of anger fuelled Henry’s reply. ‘Well, maybe I’ll change your mind.’

Brighthouse seemed to take that as a challenge. ‘Then go ahead.’ He leaned back in his chair, double chin pressed against his chest. ‘Impress me.’

‘I’ll do my best.’ Henry turned away from him to address the class. ‘The legend of Atlantis has long been one of the world’s most popular and enduring. A great civilisation swallowed up by the sea, taking all its wonders and treasures with it. People have spent their lives searching for it, but so far nothing has been found. The hunt for Atlantis is a great story, but that’s all it is. Or . . . is it?’

His classmates were thankfully doing him the courtesy of appearing attentive. Jack, who already knew the basics of his theory, was waiting to hear the specifics – no doubt so he could pick holes in them and tell Henry he was wasting his time chasing a myth, as usual. But the redhead also seemed eager to hear more.

Well, two people were interested, at least. He pressed on. ‘The Greek philosopher Plato gave us the first known references to Atlantis in Western culture, in his dialogues
Timaeus
and
Critias
. The general belief in academia is that Plato’s Atlantis was fiction, a hypothetical; a way for him to expound his theories on a perfect society. But I believe there’s more to it than that – I believe that his descriptions of Atlantis and its empire are based in fact. And here is why . . .’

The presentations of the other students over the past couple of days had generally weighed in at around fifteen minutes, followed by discussion: the peer review. Even as he spoke ever more quickly in his excitement, Henry’s went on for almost twenty-five. Mouth dry, he finally reached his conclusion. ‘So in summary, if a search for Atlantis is to be made, the kingdom itself is most likely to be found exactly where Plato stated it would be: beyond the mouth of the Mediterranean, in the Atlantic. But there must surely be other outposts still to be discovered. I’ve already mentioned potential sites in Morocco, Libya and Egypt, linked to the so-called Sea People. And there are possibilities even further afield, through central Asia all the way to the Himalayas. There is a whole world of opportunities to prove that Atlantis is more than just a myth, for those with the dedication and determination to find them. Thank you.’

A round of polite applause came from the audience. Jack gave him a grin. Henry looked up at the redhead to see that she was still taking notes with a look of intense concentration.

Before he had time to wonder what she was writing, a single loud handclap instantly silenced the students. ‘A most interesting story, Mr Wilde,’ Brighthouse said as he stood, voice oozing with sarcasm. ‘If you were in a creative writing class, I’m sure it would have won you high marks. However, this is a
real
class. We deal in fact, not fiction. Evidence, not supposition. History, not myth.’

Despite his crushing dismay, Henry felt compelled to defend himself. ‘I can back up everything I’ve just said, Professor. All my research has been cross-referenced with other sources.’

‘Other sources that have no basis in fact! I know the usual suspects. Blavatsky leads to Donnelly leads to Cayce leads to none other than Heinrich Himmler and the Ahnenerbe, and back round again. It’s circular logic, Mr Wilde, a conspiracy theory. Surely you wouldn’t consider any of them credible?’

‘Not the first three, no. But I do think there may be something to be learned from the German expeditions. I have a friend in Germany, Bernd Rust, who’s been researching—’

Brighthouse’s eyes widened. ‘Are you actually saying that you give credence to the occult lunacy of the
Nazis
? Maybe you’re going to propose that we start consulting crystals to find Atlantis.’

‘Of course not!’ Henry felt his cheeks flush as he heard mocking laughter from some of the undergraduates. ‘But they sent out three expeditions, maybe more, searching for links to Atlantis, and the data they brought back still hasn’t been fully analysed.’

‘Because it’s worthless!’ proclaimed the elderly academic. ‘They were more interested in phrenology and Aryan bloodlines than true archaeological research. And the idea that we might find outposts of Atlantis in the Himalayas, as you suggest – it’s absolutely ludicrous.’

‘But you can’t deny that there are common aspects of the Western Atlantean mythology and legends from the Far East—’

‘Exactly! Myths and legends. Many cultures have similar mythologies about a Great Flood, but it doesn’t prove that all the world’s animals went into Noah’s Ark two by two.’ Brighthouse took off his glasses, making a show of cleaning the lenses. ‘I
will
give you credit for not backing down. You have the courage of your convictions. But Atlantis? Really? All the wonders of the ancient world that you could have put your obvious talents to researching, and you choose a pure fantasy?’ He examined the spectacles, then donned them again, magnifying his intimidating stare still further. ‘This is the real world, Mr Wilde. Chasing after legends will either get you nowhere, or into trouble.’

He faced the other students. ‘Now I don’t think we need open the floor to discussion on this occasion, because Mr Wilde has suffered enough humiliation already. We’ll take a lunch break, and resume at two. With . . . Mr Jennings, I believe you are up next.’ One of the students nodded. ‘All right. I’ll see you all then. Hopefully,’ he added as he headed for the exit, giving the crestfallen Henry a snide look, ‘with something more . . . well considered.’

Jack joined his friend as the other undergraduates filed out. ‘Are you going to say it?’ Henry asked him.

‘Say what?’

‘I told you so.’

‘No, I’m not. I never like kicking a man when he’s down.’ The pair shared smiles. ‘Brighthouse does have a point, though.’

‘Ah, here it comes. The lecture.’

‘I’m just saying he’s right. You
are
talented, so why not put those talents to actual use instead of wasting time on myths? Especially one as fanciful as Atlantis.’

‘Because I don’t think Atlantis
is
a myth,’ Henry replied. ‘I always believed that, even as a kid – I don’t know why, I just did. But the deeper I look into it, the more certain I am. Whatever Brighthouse might say.’

‘Well don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

‘That’s just a different way of saying I told you so, isn’t it?’ Henry grinned again as they left the lecture hall.

Their classmates had already dispersed – with one exception, he saw. The redhead was waiting near an exterior door, and judging from her earlier attentiveness, apparently for him.

‘So, where shall we go for lunch?’ asked Jack.

Henry only belatedly registered the words. ‘Huh?’

‘Lunch. You know, food and the consumption thereof?’

‘Oh yeah, that.’ But his attention was focused on the woman, who moved to meet him. ‘Hi.’

Her eyes locked on to his. ‘I believe you.’

He was a little startled. ‘About . . . ?’

‘Atlantis. Your theory about Atlantis – I believe it. You. Both.’ She gave him a slightly embarrassed smile. ‘I’m Laura, Laura Garde. We’re in the same class. But I guess you already know that.’ There was a distinct New England twang to her words, most likely Connecticut or Massachusetts, and Henry got the impression that she was from old money.

‘Yeah, I do,’ he replied, amused. ‘You, ah, kinda stand out with your hair.’ He indicated her vivid red ponytail.

‘And you kinda stand out with your height. And
your
hair.’ Henry’s six-foot-four frame was topped by an ice-blond mop, which though he would never have admitted it to anyone he had modelled on Robert Redford’s in the movie
Jeremiah Johnson
.

‘Jack Philby,’ said Jack hopefully from beside him.

‘Hi,’ said Laura, giving him a polite nod before turning back to Henry. ‘I’d heard that Atlantis was your big thing, but I hadn’t imagined you’d make such a convincing case for its location.’

‘You thought it was convincing?’ asked Henry, pleased.

‘Absolutely. I don’t think Professor Brighthouse was at all justified in criticising your methodology. It seemed to me that you’d gone above and beyond to source your research. And you even had some things I’d never heard before.’

‘You’re interested in Atlantis too?’

Laura nodded. ‘Although not nearly as much as you, it seems! I’ve loved reading about it ever since my mom told me the legend as a kid. Though maybe it’s not a legend after all. Like I said, I believe you. And . . .’ She looked down, coyly twisting the toe of one sandal against the tiled floor. ‘I was wondering if you might be interested in talking some more about it.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. I’d love to see the rest of your work. You must have tons of notes.’

‘A few pages,’ Henry joked. ‘Okay, I admit it: boxes.’

‘I have to kick them out of the way every time I try to open my closet,’ added Jack.

She laughed. ‘Wow! I guess you really are an Atlantis expert.’

‘So when would you like to talk about it?’ asked Henry, not quite sure where this would lead. He’d had the occasional date since starting at Columbia University, but nothing serious; the fact that he inevitably ended up explaining his theories about Atlantis tended to lead to ‘let’s just be friends’ very soon afterwards. Laura was attractive, and they definitely had common interests, but surely the universe couldn’t be
that
generous?

‘Whenever you like. I’m free after class today,’ she told him. ‘We could meet at your place, maybe?’

Henry took back his reservations about the generosity of the universe. ‘Yeah. Yeah, we could,’ he said, nodding a couple of times too many.