The Hunt for Atlantis by Andy McDermott Read Free Book Online

jacket.
    She watched the sidewalk intently. People walked past, but the man didn’t reappear.
    Just a coincidence, she told herself. New York was a big city, and a lot of men wore black leather jackets.
    Something else caught her attention, a large silver car pulling up in front of her building. She looked at the clock. Just before seven.
    A man got out and walked to the front door. A moment later, the entry phone buzzed.
    “Hello?”
    “Dr. Wilde?” came the echoing voice from the street. “It’s Jason Starkman.”
    “I’m on my way down!” she told him, picking up the folder of printouts she’d prepared earlier. She paused to check herself in the mirror by the door—hair carefully brushed and styled, makeup elegant without being overdone, all traces of potato chips brushed away—then hurried out.
    Starkman was waiting downstairs. She hadn’t formed much of a mental image of him from his voice, which had revealed little beyond a hint of a Texas accent, but was impressed by what she found. Starkman was tall, well built and dressed in an expensive blue suit and pristine white shirt. He looked to be in his late thirties, and something about the skin around his eyes gave Nina the feeling that he had traveled extensively. She’d seen the same kind of sun-baked lines on other men before, including her father.
    He held out a large hand. “Dr. Wilde. Good to meet you.”
    “Likewise.” She shook it; his skin was rough.
    He glanced at her pendant, which was exposed above the neck of her dress, before turning his attention to the folder under her arm. “Are those your notes?”
    “Yes. Everything I need to convince Mr. Frost that I’m right, I hope!” she said, laughing nervously.
    “From what we’ve already heard about your theory, I doubt he’ll need much convincing. Are you ready to go?”
    “Of course!”
    He led her to the car, which she at first took to be a Rolls-Royce before realizing that it was actually a Bentley. Just as luxurious, but more sporty—not that she knew from personal experience.
    “Nice car,” she commented.
    “Bentley Continental Flying Spur. Mr. Frost always buys the best.” He opened the rear door for her.
    The interior of the Bentley was as opulent as she had imagined, the seats and trim in a soft pale cream leather. There was another suited man at the wheel. Starkman closed the door behind her, then got into the front passenger seat. He gestured, and the driver pulled away from the curb, stopping at the intersection. Nina, out of habit, checked for traffic … and across the street saw the man who had been watching her outside the university. He was talking on a cell phone, but his eyes were fixed on her.
    She drew in a shocked breath.
    “Something wrong?” asked Starkman, looking back at her.
    “I …” The Bentley set off and turned the corner, the man dropping out of sight behind her. She considered telling Starkman about her apparent stalker, but decided against it. If he posed any threat, that was what the police were for—and besides, she barely knew Starkman any better than she did the man in the leather jacket. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”
    Starkman nodded and looked away. The Bentley turned again, now heading west.
    Something about that struck Nina as odd. She’d checked on the Internet to find out where the Frost Foundation’s New York headquarters were—they were in east Midtown, not far from the United Nations. The easiest way to reach them from her apartment would have been to head east, then go straight up First Avenue…
    She decided to wait before bringing this up. The Bentley had a satellite navigation system; it was possible there was some traffic problem farther uptown that meant a detour would be faster.
    But they continued west for another block, then another…
    “Where is it we’re going again?” she asked, with feigned lightness.
    “The Frost Foundation,” Starkman replied.
    “Isn’t that on the East Side?”
    In the mirror,