The Atlantis Code by Charles Brokaw

documented Father Sebastian’s previous involvement with various archeological efforts. He was listed as an archivist in Vatican City.
    “The Church works in mysterious ways,” Murani said, but he was thinking that the newspaper reporter would have been more interested, even more dogged in his pursuit of the truth if he’d known what Father Sebastian’s true field of study was. The title of archeologist barely scratched the surface of what the priest did. The man had hidden away far more secrets than he’d ever revealed.
    “What are you supposed to do for Father Sebastian?” Gallardo asked.
    Murani folded the paper and put it into the backseat once more. “Write a letter praising Father Sebastian’s efforts.”
    “His efforts to do what?”
    “Restore the Church’s past.”
    “The Church had a presence in that area?” Gallardo shook his head doubtfully. “From what I’ve read and seen on CNN, that section of Spanish swampland has been underwater or close to it for thousands of years.”
    “Probably.”
    “The Church was there?”
    “Possibly. The Church has been all over Europe since its earliest days. We often attend notable new excavations.”
    Gallardo drove in silence for a time.
    Murani thought about things. He hadn’t counted on the dig in Cádiz generating so much attention. That could be a problem. The Society’s business should be conducted in absolute secrecy.
    “I could go over to Cádiz,” Gallardo suggested. “Take a look around and let you know what I find out.”
    “Not yet. I have something else for you to do.”
    “What?”
    “I’ve located another object that I want you to acquire for me.”
    “What?”
    Murani took a DVD and a sheet of paper from inside his jacket. “A cymbal.”
    “A symbol of what?”
    Unfolding the paper, Murani showed Gallardo the clay cymbal, a grayish-green disk against a black background. “I’ve got more information regarding the cymbal’s location on the DVD.”
    Gallardo took the DVD and shoved it into his pocket. “Can just anyone find it?”
    “If they know where to look.”
    “So how much competition should I expect?”
    “No more than you had in Alexandria.”
    “One of my men is still puking up pap after that bullet hit his stomach.”
    “Do you care?” Murani asked.
    “No.” Gallardo regarded him.
    “Then keep looking.” Murani cradled the box containing the bell.
    “This is going to be expensive.”
    Murani shrugged. “If you need more money, let me know.”
    Gallardo nodded. “Where’s the cymbal?”
    “Ryazan’, Russia. Have you been there?”
    “Yes.”
    Murani wasn’t surprised. Gallardo was well traveled. “I’ve got an address for Dr. Yuliya Hapaev. She has the cymbal.”
    Gallardo nodded. “What’s she a doctor of?”
    “Archeology.”
    “You seem to be focusing on linguists and archeologists.”
    “That’s where these items turned up. I have no control over such things.”
    “Do Hapaev and Lourds know each other?”
    “Yes. As colleagues and as friends.” Murani’s background research had revealed that tie. “Dr. Hapaev has often consulted with Professor Lourds.”
    “It’s a problem, then. That connection could start people looking,” Gallardo pointed out. “First Lourds loses an artifact, then Hapaev—assuming I’m successful.”
    “I have the utmost faith in you.”
    Gallardo grinned. “I’m flattered. But we still have the problem of the connection. Has Hapaev been in contact with Lourds concerning the bell?”
    “No.”
    “She has no reason to suspect that anyone might come looking for her?”
    Murani shook his head.
    “When do I leave?” Gallardo asked.
    “The sooner,” the cardinal told him, “the better.”

CHAPTER 4

    SHERATON MONTAZAH
ALEXANDRIA, EGYPT
AUGUST 19, 2009
     
    T he knock on the hotel door jarred Lourds’s senses back to the real world and out of the quiet place he habitually went into when he was unraveling a particularly knotty problem. His heart rate