The Resurrection Key
Andy McDermott
Copyright © 2019 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.
First published in Great Britain in 2019
by Headline Publishing Group
First published as an Ebook in Great Britain in 2019
by Headline Publishing Group
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.
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 1 4722 3695 1
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Praise
Also by Andy McDermott
About the Book
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
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 RESURRECTION KEY is the fifteenth 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.
Praise for Andy McDermott
‘Fabulous action sequences . . . [an] epic contemporary adventure thriller’ Sunday Guardian
‘One of Britain’s most talented adventure writers’ Evening Post
‘Adventure stories don’t get much more epic than this’ Mirror
‘A writer of almost cinematic talent’ Daily Express, Scotland
‘McDermott raises the bar . . . non-stop, high-octane action’ Publishers Weekly
‘Easily competes with the works of Dan Brown and James Rollins’ Bookgasm.com
‘True Indiana Jones stuff with terrific pace’ The Bookseller
‘Like Clive Cussler on speed . . . high-powered fun’ Huddersfield Daily
‘A pulse-racing adventure with action down the line’ Northern Echo
‘No fan of Indiana Jones, Matthew Reilly or action in general will be able to put it down’ Northern Territory News
‘If you’re looking for thriller writing that will transport you into a realm very different from your own quotidian existence, Andy McDermott is your man’ Good Book Guide
‘Move over Clive Cussler, here’s a new great writer of thunderingly good adventure sagas’ Peterborough Evening News
‘For readers who like hundred mile and hour plots’ Huddersfield Daily Examiner
By Andy McDermott and available from Headline
Featuring Nina Wilde and Eddie Chase
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 Last Survivor (A Digital Short Story)
The Revelation Code
The Midas Legacy
King Solomon’s Curse
The Spear of Atlantis
The Resurrection Key
An Adam Gray thriller
The Persona Protocol
About the Book
In the most explosive book of the thrilling Wilde and Chase series, the intrepid pair must race against time before an ancient force is unleashed on the world . . .
Their days of death-defying adventure seemingly behind them, acclaimed archaeologist Nina Wilde and her husband, ex-SAS soldier Eddie Chase, live like any normal family. However, when a mythical civilisation is unearthed deep in the Antarctic ice, they are drawn into a battle for control of its astonishing power.
Dashing from New York to New Zealand, from futuristic Chinese cities to the outback of Australia, they soon confront the gravest threat they’ve ever faced. Pursued by ruthless mercenaries and a secret special forces unit, Nina and Eddie discover the clock is counting down to the extermination of all humanity . . .
For Kat and Sebastian
Prologue
The Southern Ocean
A frigid wind bit Arnold Bekker’s cheeks as he gazed at the ragged white peaks rising from the grey waters ahead. After six days at sea, the prospect of standing on solid ground was a blessed relief.
But the terrain ahead was not land.
The stark vista was an iceberg, a two-mile-long slab that had calved away from Antarctica. The research vessel Dionysius was on a mission that to most people sounded crazy; even those behind it, Bekker included, occasionally questioned their own sanity.
Their objective was to chart the berg officially known as D43 and test the feasibility of towing the entire colossal mass the three thousand miles to Cape Town in South Africa. If it could be done, it would provide the parched country with billions of gallons of pure, fresh water.
Crazy indeed. But if the plan paid off, it would not only save a nation from thirst, but make its backers a fortune. No risk, no reward, as Bekker’s fiancée liked to say. He agreed with the sentiment, but at the same time it drew a wry smile. He was the one freezing his balls off, while Imka oversaw the operation from a climate-controlled office back home . . .
He retreated into the relative warmth of the ship’s bridge. A plotting table was laid out with a large bl
ow-up of D43’s most recent satellite photograph, two weeks old. The first task was to circumnavigate the iceberg to check for any more recent changes; a section breaking away, for instance, or a fault line developing. ‘Are we ready to start?’ Bekker asked.
The Dionysius’s skipper, Botild Havman, tapped at the picture’s edge. ‘We’re here. We’ll go around it clockwise, a kilometre out.’
‘Won’t that be too far to see anything?’
‘We’ll see enough. And we’ll be clear of most of the bergy bits and growlers.’
Bekker hid his amusement at hearing the terms for smaller ice fragments pronounced in a strong Swedish accent, and went to the windows. The iceberg filled his view, its various strata standing out clearly. The deepest submerged parts were at least a million years old, prehistoric snow compacted into ultra-dense blue ice. D43’s visible bulk was only about a tenth that age, but still ancient. If the plan worked, the residents of Cape Town could be drinking water from ice older than the whole of human civilisation.
Havman issued orders, then brought the Dionysius on a course paralleling the iceberg’s western flank. Bekker watched the great mass slide past. This close, second thoughts rose about the whole project. Would even a couple of repurposed supertankers, the only vessels theoretically powerful enough to tow such a colossal object, be enough?
He considered calling Imka over the satellite video link to voice his doubts, but held off. They had already spoken an hour ago, when the iceberg was first sighted, and the bandwidth was not cheap. Better to wait until he had something specific to report.
The ship continued around the berg. In places, surface snow had been washed away to leave a surreal landscape of glassy ice. D43 had partially rolled as it tore free of the ice cap, exposing strata of cyan and turquoise and deep blue. No photograph could have prepared him for the sheer beauty of the sight. Maybe Imka would regret staying in the warmth after all . . .
His entrancement was disturbed by a discussion between Havman and a crewman. ‘What is it?’ asked the South African.
‘Something odd on the radar,’ the captain replied. ‘Inside the ice.’
Bekker came to see. On the screen, the iceberg showed up as a ragged, fuzzy line to the right of the central dot marking the Dionysius’s position. The ice’s varying density accounted for the radar return’s diffuse appearance – but within it was a sharply defined shape. ‘What’s that?’
‘Don’t know,’ said Havman. ‘It’s solid, though. Rock – or metal.’
‘How could it be metal?’
‘Meteor, perhaps. Or a ship or plane.’
‘That deep in the ice?’ Bekker looked back at the swathes of blue – the product of time, far older than the couple of centuries since humans started to build their ships from metal rather than wood. But the shape on the radar screen seemed too symmetrical to be a mere rock, even one that had fallen from space. So what could it be? He let out a brief, involuntary laugh.
‘What?’ asked Havman.
‘I just wondered if it was a UFO. A spaceship,’ he clarified. ‘But that’s ridiculous. Isn’t it?’
Havman’s studiously blank expression spoke volumes. He regarded the radar screen again. ‘We might be able to see it soon. There’s an opening in the ice.’ He pointed out an indentation in the fuzzy line.
Bekker went to the windows – and saw it for real. ‘It’s a cave!’
Havman followed his gaze with binoculars. ‘A big one.’
‘We could probably fit the whole ship inside.’
Chuckles from the bridge crew. ‘I don’t think that would be wise,’ said the captain. ‘We could send in the boat, though. If that’s what you want to do. It will cost us time.’
Bekker took his point. But the cave was tantalisingly close . . . ‘We need to see what it is,’ he decided. ‘We are doing a survey, after all. How long would it take?’
‘Thirty minutes, perhaps.’ Havman checked the water. ‘Not too much floating ice. We can bring the ship closer.’
Bekker tried not to sound too childishly enthusiastic. ‘Okay. Let’s do it. If it’s nothing, we’ll carry on with the survey.’
‘As you wish.’ The Swede adjusted the Dionysius’s course.
The ship soon drew level with the opening. Bekker tried to see inside, but all he could make out were twilight-blue walls of ice. He went back to the radar. The object should have been in line with the entrance. ‘I can’t see it.’
Havman rechecked the screen. ‘It must be embedded higher up.’
‘We’ll definitely have to take the boat in. Maybe we can climb up to it.’
The captain cocked an eyebrow. ‘We? Mr Bekker, do you have any experience in ice climbing?’
‘No, but—’
‘You’re my client, but you’re also my passenger, so your safety is my responsibility. You hired people who know what they’re doing. Let them go.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Bekker reluctantly agreed.
The Dionysius heaved to, crewmen preparing its boat for launch while Havman and Bekker spoke to the man and woman who would make the trip. Wim Stapper was a blond Dutchman with the wiry build of an extreme sports enthusiast, while the Finnish Sanna Onvaan had short, fiery red hair and the strong upper body of someone who spent much time dangling from high places. Both were in their late twenties and expert ice climbers. They were as enthusiastic as Bekker about the unexpected side mission. ‘If it is a UFO,’ said Onvaan, grinning, ‘maybe we get to take selfies with space aliens!’
‘We don’t know if it’s a UFO,’ said Bekker. ‘If it’s just a big rock, then we’ll carry on with the survey. But,’ a smile, ‘if it is a spaceship . . . get lots of pictures!’
Havman shook his head. ‘You have all seen too many movies. Don’t get too excited – that is when you make mistakes.’
‘We will be okay,’ Stapper assured him as he zipped up his red coat. ‘We know what we are doing.’
‘Good. Then don’t take any risks, and stay safe.’
‘Risk is our business – and our hobby!’ said Onvaan cheerily.
The captain was unimpressed, but kept any further comments to himself. Instead he led the way to the ship’s tender, a bright orange thirty-foot rigid inflatable boat. Onvaan and Stapper boarded, then the RIB was lowered into the water and the pair set out, Onvaan at the tiller.
Bekker looked towards the cave. The waters were dotted with growlers, relatively small hunks of ice that nevertheless could weigh as much as a car. As with all icebergs, most of their mass was hidden beneath the surface, seemingly innocuous pieces becoming potentially shipwrecking obstacles. ‘Watch out for the ice, okay?’ he said into a walkie-talkie.
The retreating Stapper made a show of scanning the sea. ‘Ice? Ice? Oh, that ice,’ he said, gasping at the berg.
‘Funny. Okay, see what’s in there.’
Bekker watched the boat weave around the bobbing growlers towards the cave mouth, then he and Havman returned to the bridge. ‘What’s it like?’ the South African asked as the RIB slipped into the shadows.
The reply was surprisingly distorted considering the short range, a crackle behind Stapper’s words. ‘Everything is blue, very beautiful.’
‘Can you see the thing in the ice?’
‘A bad choice of words if you have seen the movies I have!’ The Dutchman laughed. ‘We are coming out of the entrance tunnel . . .’
A long silence. ‘Wim? Are you still there?’ asked Bekker, concerned.
The reply was prefaced by another laugh – but one of nervous disbelief rather than humour. ‘Yes, yes, we are here. And so is, ah . . . You know we were joking about a UFO?’
‘Yes?’
‘I think . . . that is what we have found.’
The silence this time was on Bekker’s part. ‘Are you joking?’ he finally managed.
‘No, no, I�
��m not! It’s inside the ice, stuck in the cave wall. It is metal, and . . . big. As big as a plane. I am not kidding you,’ Stapper added, pre-emptively.
‘It really does look like a UFO,’ Onvaan added in the background.
‘It’s hard to tell exactly, but I’d say about . . . a third of it is out of the ice?’ Stapper went on. ‘It’s at an angle. There are windows near the front. They look like eyes.’
Bekker practically heard the shiver in the other man’s voice as he realised what he had just said. ‘Can you get to it?’
‘Yeah, yeah. The cliff climb looks easy— Oh!’
Both Havman and Bekker flinched. ‘What is it?’ demanded the captain.
‘I see a way in! There is a hatch in the side.’
‘We can reach it, no problem,’ said Onvaan.
‘I don’t know,’ Bekker said, misgivings growing. Assuming this wasn’t some dumb joke by the climbers – and he didn’t think their acting ability was up to it – then they had found something unknown. And the unknown could be dangerous. ‘Take pictures, then come back. We need to see what we’re dealing with.’
‘No, no, it will take two minutes to climb to the door,’ replied Stapper. ‘We can’t come this far and not look inside!’
Frustrated, Bekker looked to Havman for support. ‘If they were my crew, I would order them back,’ said the captain. ‘You are their boss.’
‘Yeah.’ He spoke into the radio again. ‘No, get back here. Or . . .’ He halted, aware there wasn’t anything he could threaten them with short of being fired, and then the expedition would be over before it even began. ‘Just get back to the ship.’
The lack of a response meant the pair were either ignoring him, or already climbing the ice wall. ‘Pielkop!’ he muttered.
The walkie-talkie remained silent for a few fraught minutes, then crackled to life. ‘We are at the door,’ said Stapper at last. The distortion was worse than before. ‘It’s big, nearly three metres high. It opened when Sanna touched a round thing on it. We’re going in.’
Bekker sighed in resignation: they were entering with or without his permission. ‘If there’s any danger, get out and come back to the ship.’
