The Atlantis Code by Charles Brokaw Read Free Book Online Page A

shatter empires. The world had been better organized and operated during those years when the papacy had ruled supreme.
    Murani craved that kind of power. His father had turned from him, but his mother was wealthy in her own right, having inherited from her father. What Murani’s father would not give him, his mother would.
    One day, when he was pope—and Murani was certain that day would not be long in coming—he would break his father and make him acknowledge the fact that his chosen course—no, his
destiny
—had delivered more power than had all his father’s ill-gotten gains.
    Concentrating on his goal, Murani stepped from Vatican City and spotted Gallardo’s dark blue Hummer waiting at the curb.
    Gallardo reached across the passenger seat and opened the door. Murani stepped onto the running board and slid into the passenger seat.
    “Did you have any further trouble in Alexandria?” Murani asked.
    Gallardo checked back over his shoulder, found a lull in the traffic, and pulled smoothly out into it. He shook his head and frowned. “No. We got away clean. We left nothing behind that leads to us. The TV personnel will move on to the next big story. They always do. And Lourds is a university professor. A mere flea in the grand scale of things that matter. How much trouble could he possibly be?”
    “He’s also one of the most erudite men on the face of the planet when it comes to languages.”
    “So he knows how to say, ‘Please don’t shoot me!’ in several languages.” Gallardo smiled. “I can’t say that I’m impressed. The woman with him is worth ten professors. She alone prevented us from killing the witnesses. But she is merely a woman. Admittedly, she found something that you want.”
    “Where is it?”
    “There’s a hidden compartment.” Gallardo pointed a beefy finger toward the passenger-side floorboard.
    “In the car?” Murani peered hard at the detailed carpet.
    “Yes. Just push down. Hard. And twist to the right.”
    Murani did and a section of the floorboard popped up almost imperceptibly. If he hadn’t been looking for it, with precise instructions to locate it, he didn’t think he would have found it.
    The cardinal’s hands shook a little as he reached inside the hiding space for the box. The trembling in his fingers surprised him. He wasn’t given to physical weakness of any sort. Growing up with a hard taskmaster like his father, he didn’t let his emotions show unless he wanted to.
    Gallardo gave him the code to the locked box.
    Murani punched in the sequence of numbers and heard the lock whir within. Only days ago, he’d found the bell while searching through Web sites dedicated to archeological discussions. He’d been searching for the musical instruments since he’d heard of them from the other members of the Society of Quirinus. No one among them had thought to search the Internet, believing the instruments to be either myth or destroyed.
    They were content merely to protect their secret. Most of them were old men without many years left to them. Ambition and desire had been milked away from their ancient bones by the security and the crumbs of recognition given to them by the Church.
    Murani had ambition enough for all of them.
    He traced his fingers covetously over the bell’s surface. The inscription on both sides was worn, feeling smooth beneath his fingertips instead of edged. He supposed that, after five thousand or more years, its continued survival was a miracle.
    An act of God?
he thought. If so, it was the God of the Old Testament, not the God of the New Testament. The God who had allowed the bell to come into existence was vengeful and jealous enough to have drowned the world in floods not once but
twice
.
    The secrets of the bell were many. Murani knew some of its history, but he didn’t know all of it—and he certainly did not know enough about its usage.
    “Can you read it?” Gallardo asked.
    Murani shook his head. He had studied several languages,