Return to Atlantis: A Novel

by Andy McDermott Narrated by Robin Sachs

Overview

American archaeologist Nina Wilde and her husband, ex-SAS bodyguard Eddie Chase, are back for another heart-stopping, globe-spanning adventure in the latest New York Times bestselling series that "raises the bar to please adventure junkies who prefer to mainline their action" (Publishers Weekly, starred review).

A MISSING SCRAP OF ANCIENT PARCHMENT.
THREE POLISHED PURPLE STONES.
AND FROM THE SUNKEN WORLD OF ATLANTIS:
THE GREATEST POWER ON EARTH.

Nina Wilde and Eddie Chase have stunned the world with their discoveries, from the legendary sword Excalibur to the golden city of El Dorado. Now, by bringing together three ancient statues from three different continents, Nina is about to tap into a colossal energy source-one not felt since the days of Atlantis.

But when the statues are stolen and Eddie is falsely accused of murder, forcing him to go on the run to hunt the man responsible, a violent struggle erupts among a secret, vastly powerful group that wants to control Nina and the earth energy. From a glittering, high-tech skyscraper in Japan to a harrowing chase beneath the Vatican and an underground military vault in Nevada, she and Eddie must piece together an astounding puzzle. For Nina Wilde is the key to a plot that will change the world forever. And Eddie is the key to keeping her alive.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940172196430
Publisher:	Penguin Random House
Publication date:	11/15/2019
Series:	Nina Wilde and Eddie Chase , #8
Edition description:	Unabridged

Related Subjects

• Mystery & Thrillers
• Fiction
• Fiction Subjects
• Thrillers
• Science & Technology - Fiction
• Action & Adventure Fiction
• Action Thrillers
• Archaeology - Fiction
• Thrillers - Conspiracies & Cover-Ups

Read an Excerpt

ONE

Zimbabwe

Four Billion Years Later

The heat and stench were as inescapable as the cell itself. The thick stone and clay walls of the former pioneer fort trapped warmth like a kiln, and the small, stoutly barred window providing the only ventilation opened out almost directly onto the row of latrines at one side of the prison's central courtyard.

Fort Helena. Hell on earth for those unfortunates imprisoned within by the country's despotic regime.

A bearded man sat statue-like in one dirty corner of the gloomy cell; his stillness partly because of the cloying heat, and partly because each movement brought pain. He had been delivered to the prison a day earlier, and as a welcoming gift given a beating by a group of guards before being taken to a dark room where a grinning man had provided him with a hands-on demonstration of some of the numerous instruments of torture at his disposal. Just a sample, he had been promised. A full show would soon follow.

Someone else was in the torture chamber now, screams echoing through the passages. The guards had made a point of dragging the victim past the bearded man's cell so that he would hear the desperate pleas for mercy. Another sample, a demonstration. You're next.

A new sound, this from outside. A rising mechanical thrum--an approaching helicopter.

The man stirred, painfully levering himself upright and going to the little window. He ignored the foul smell from the latrines, narrowing his eyes against the harsh daylight as he watched uniformed men hurry into the courtyard to form an honor guard. Behind them came the prison's governor, a squat, toad-faced man in small gold-rimmed glasses. From his look of apprehension, it was clear that the new arrival was important.

The prisoner tensed. He knew who was aboard the helicopter.

Someone with very good reasons to hate him.

Dust and grit swirled as the helicopter descended. It was an elderly aircraft, a French-built Alouette III light utility chopper converted to what was known as "G-Car" specification by the addition of a pair of machine guns. A veteran of the civil war that led to Rhodesia's becoming Zimbabwe in 1980 . . . now being used as VIP transport for a man who fought in that war as a youth, gaining a nickname that he retained with pride to this day.

Gamba Boodu. "The Butcher."

A guard opened the cabin door and Boodu stepped out, head high as if daring the still-whirling rotor blades above him to strike. Despite the baking temperatures, he wore a long black greatcoat over an immaculately fitted suit, the coat's hem flapping in the downdraft as he strode across the courtyard to the governor. Sunlight glinted off gold: a large ring on the middle finger of his right hand, inset with a sparkling emerald. That same hand held an object that he swung like a walking stick, its end stabbing into the ground with each step.

A machete, its handle decorated with lines of gold.

The bearded man remembered the weapon well. Some years earlier, he had wrested it from the militia leader and used it against him. The result was a deep, V-shaped line of pink against the Zimbabwean's dark skin, the scar the aftermath of a blow that had hacked clean through flesh to leave a bloody hole in his cheek like a second mouth.

He smiled, very faintly. The injury was only a fraction of what a murderer and sadist like Boodu deserved, but among his many unpleasant characteristics was vanity: Every look in the mirror would provide some punishment.

The smile disappeared as, formalities quickly over, Boodu and the governor marched into the prison buildings. They would soon come to the cell. The man...

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