The Atlantis World (The Origin Mystery, Book 3) by A.G. Riddle Page A

him. David was stronger, but Dorian was smarter. Or rather, willing to do things David wasn’t. David wasn’t a survivor. His moral compass had been his weakness. Dorian had killed him for a second time, but David had resurrected in the Atlantean structure off the coast of Morocco.
    Today would be their final conflict.
    But Kate Warner was smarter than both of them. She was sublimely clever, and she had knowledge Dorian didn’t. That was their advantage: David’s strength and Kate’s brains. But Dorian had the element of surprise. And something else—the willingness to do what had to be done to save his people. He was the march of human history, embodied in one man. A survivor, standing against impossible odds, doing the things others, like Kate and David, turned their backs on. He was the essence of human survival.
    A part of him was nervous about the final confrontation with David. That would be the true test—whether Dorian could win.
    If he could, he would turn his sights on Ares. The Atlantean was a snake, a manipulator. Dorian didn’t trust him. He would have to go next, after Dorian had learned the full truth, especially about this “enemy” Ares was so frightened of.
    “Sir, we’re at the drop zone,” the pilot called into Dorian’s headset.
    Dorian peered out the narrow window. Water stretched out as far as he could see.
    Dorian marveled. What he saw used to be the coast of Morocco.
    “Drop the probe,” he said.
    He raised the tablet and watched the telemetry on the split screen, which showed a contour of the new sea floor on the right-hand side and a video feed on the left. Dorian recognized a mountain top, completely submerged. He tapped the tablet, directing the probe. A few seconds later, the Atlantean ship, the Alpha Lander , came into view. It was buried deep.
    “Mark it,” Dorian said.
    They would find the airlock entrance after the dive.
    “Form up for jump!” Dorian called to the six soldiers.
    On the next pass, they spilled out of the aircraft, falling to the pitch-black sea at terminal velocity, their bodies formed into a dart, their hands held at their sides, oxygen tanks on their backs. Just as they reached the surface, the most recent storm receded and sunlight broke through, showering their entrance to the watery unknown with light.
    Dorian plunged into the water and instantly spun himself about, searching for his men. One of them had veered too low and collided with the rocks just below the surface. His now broken body floated in the lighted murkiness.
    The other five figures spread out, the sunlight carving their outlines in the water.
    “Form up on me,” Dorian called over his intercom.
    As the soldiers swam toward him, Dorian surveyed the dark water between them. Something else floated in the space. Not debris.
    The silence in the water shattered. An explosion, then an eruption of white bubbles and air engulfed him, throwing Dorian into the submerged mountainside. He rolled across the rock, trying to grasp a handhold. Finally, he came to rest. His hands instinctively reached for his oxygen tank. It was intact. He was safe. He turned, peering into the water. The chaos was clearing. Four of his men still floated in the abyss. They called over the radio, sounding off, then awaited his order.
    “Don’t move,” he said. “I’ll guide you around the mines.”
    One by one, Dorian directed his men down through the water, using his vantage point to spot suspected mines. He couldn’t afford to lose any more men. When they were safely at the ship below, he followed them, pushing through the water, careful to avoid anything that could be a mine.
    The darkness slowly consumed every bit of light from above, and the dark shapes that could be mines grew harder to spot. Dorian had only his memory and the narrow beams of light from his helmet to guide him.
    Ahead, he saw the four soldiers floating. Forty feet. Thirty. Twenty.
    He was there. The airlock control was similar to the portal in