by S. L. Menear
“Nice try, son, but this is her first airline flight back in the saddle. She’s not ready to jump ship on day one. You’ll have to make do without her for a few months, but you can always consult her via satellite phone. Right, Sam?” Jeff slid the phone closer to me.
“Sorry, Max, but I really need some stick time. I’ve been gone six months. I’ll help you via SAT phone, email, or whatever works. Of course, I won’t be able to do that if I’m locked up in a Chinese prison.”
“Funny. I’ll try to have an answer for you later tonight. And if you could spend a long weekend on Leviathan sometime in the next month or two, I’d be eternally grateful. As far as we know, you’re the only person left who knows anything about Atlantean technology.”
“As long as you promise me, in writing,” I joked, “that you’ll let me leave after three days, I’ll visit you in May. I’d like to help you wrap up down there before hurricane season starts. See you then.” I slid the phone back to Jeff.
After a leisurely dinner and plenty of conversation catching up with what had been happening with all my friends at LIA, Jeff got a call back from Max.
Jeff hit SPEAKER. “Hello, son, that was fast. What’s the verdict?”
“No guarantees, but DIA couldn’t find any intel on China targeting Sam. She should be okay in Hong Kong. Just tell her not to do anything that might draw their attention.”
“Thanks for checking, son.”
“Happy to help, and I’m looking forward to Sam’s visit next month.” Max ended the call.
Jeff smiled at me. “Looks like you’re good to go.”
“Great!” I grinned. “I’d better run, guys. I have to make some calls and check my email.”
“So early? There’s a good band playing in the lounge,” Lance said.
“Thanks, but I want to hit the exercise room before I call Ross.” I stood. “It’s been great catching up. See you guys tomorrow.” I strolled out to the elevators, still wondering what Lance was hiding. His behavior toward me had changed. Instead of flirting like before, he seemed more interested in protecting me. Hmmn.
Four
USS LEVIATHAN, Thirty Miles NE of Cuba
Commander Max Rowlin, Captain of the Leviathan, read the intel report and swore under his breath. He glanced at his executive officer, Lt. Commander Vance Lowes. “This is insane. We’ve got Texas cruising around the underwater city, dodging ancient structures and our research sub, while playing chicken with fast-attack nuclear-powered subs from the UK, China, and Russia, and diesel-electric subs from Iran and North Korea.”
“At least the Brits are on our side, and the diesel-electric subs can’t go as deep as the nukes,” Lowes said. “One screw up and we could start World War Three on our country’s doorstep. Does the structural engineer know yet if we can raise Atlantis’s Hall of Records?”
“She’s taking a final pass around the building in Vanguard. I ordered her not to report anything until she returns. We don’t want to risk our foreign friends intercepting our communications.” Rowlin stared out at the calm blue water.
“If they find out what we’re after, we may have to fight them for it.” The XO shook his head. “No way that would end well.”
“Thousands of years of advanced scientific knowledge is stored in those vaults. The country that recovers it will have a huge technological advantage.” Rowlin reached for his coffee.
“I guess the appropriate quote for this situation is: ‘Failure is not an option.’’’ Lowes patted Rowlin’s back. “We’re all counting on you, Captain Kidd.”
The XO’s comment wasn’t meant as an insult. Only thirty-five, Rowlin was the youngest officer in command of a U.S. Navy ship, but he’d earned the respect and loyalty of his crew.
“Hey, at least our missions are never boring.” Rowlin glanced at his watch. “XO, you have the conn. Vanguard should be back by now.”
Rowlin worked his way through lower passages and down deck ladders to the moon pool located in the belly of the ship. Two top-secret thirty-foot Scorpion attack submarines with clear canopies were poised in their lifts, ready to launch at a moment’s notice. They looked like nautical fighter jets with mini torpedoes mounted under their wing stubs.
Fresh from a tour of Atlantis, Vanguard, the forty-two-foot research submarine with a viewing port in the nose, dripped sea water as the lift operator placed it in its berth. Rowlin waited as the crew emerged from the top hatch and climbed down the ladder.
First out was Leviathan’s marine biologist, Dr. Kip Peterson, the image of a Norwegian sea captain with white hair, a neatly trimmed white beard, and ocean-blue eyes. His face lit up when he spotted Rowlin. “Captain, thank you for sending me down in Vanguard. I’ve been dying to see the entire city. What a fantastic view!”
“Glad you enjoyed it, Kip.” Rowlin patted his back. “God knows you earned it after rescuing Banger from that megalodon last month.”
Chief Marine Engineer Victoria Edwards, a long-haired strawberry blonde with high cheekbones and dancing blue eyes, beamed with excitement. Lean but curvy, she approached Rowlin and spoke in rapid-fire. “Spectacular view—white marble buildings, beautiful statues, pyramids, and sphinxes, especially the huge black obsidian pyramid.” Out of breath, she grinned, then lit a cigarette.
Rowlin shook his head. “That cancer stick will kill you, Vicky.”
She shrugged. “Hey, we all have to die of something.”
“What’s the verdict on raising the Hall of Records?” Rowlin tried not to sound as impatient as he felt.
“Sorry, can’t be done,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“It sank intact.” Rowlin crossed his arms. “Why can’t it be raised intact?”
“Captain, the last small chunk of the continent sank as one land mass, buildings and all. Those buildings have foundations which are rooted into the seabed. We can’t detach a marble building from its foundation without causing it to crumble to pieces.”
Rowlin sucked in his breath. “So, you’re saying there’s no way to recover the treasure trove of scientific data in those vaults? Come on, Vicky, you’re supposed to be the best.”
She smiled. “I said we can’t raise the building. Your ship has everything we’ll need to raise the sealed vaults. Of course, I’m assuming they’re self-contained and able to be separated from the interior walls. I’ll need to go down in a Hardsuit and study how they’re attached before I can make a final recommendation.”
“Great. Give me a list of the equipment you’ll need on the dive and I’ll have my SEAL commander make the arrangements,” Rowlin said. “And Vicky, the sooner the better. That underwater city is crawling with foreign submarines.”
“The Hardsuits are well-equipped. I’m good to go whenever the SEALs are ready.” She grinned. “Don’t worry, Captain. The Atlanteans went to a lot of trouble to preserve those records. We’ll find a way to raise the vaults.”
Hong Kong
After ten hours of sack time in my king-size hotel bed, I met Jeff and Lance in the lobby. Our ten flight attendants had already left the hotel for an extensive shopping mission. I intended to stay away from the shops after what had happened last time, so the guys suggested we have a late lunch at a floating restaurant in Kowloon. The spring air felt balmy as we crossed the street to the bustling harbor and searched for a water taxi.
In China, a five-nine blonde standing between two tall guys in jeans was like having a neon tourist sign flashing above us. Eager men in little boats yelled and waved. We chose the sturdiest-looking vessel and climbed aboard.
“Kowloon,” Jeff said. “Take us to the best floating restaurant.”
“No worries,” the boat captain said. “I know good place. You like.”
We sat back as he negotiated through the nautical obstacle course. Small boats cut in front of larger, slower ships, triggering loud horns and angry shouts.
“It’s a miracle they don’t have hundreds of collisions in this chaos,” I said, my head on a swivel. “I’m gla
d they don’t let their aircraft operate like this.”
“There’s probably a method to their madness that’s not obvious to us foreigners,” Jeff said. “I bet most of the small-boat operators know each other and their routes.”
“Hey, so long as we don’t end up swimming in this filthy water, let them have at it.” Lance grinned and pointed at an ornate Chinese junk. “Look at that beautiful sailboat.”
Our kamikaze water-taxi ride ended a few minutes later when we docked near a one-hundred-foot, multi-colored floating restaurant. Aromas of sizzling beef, chicken, and fish swirled around us as we walked up the boarding plank. A young woman in a red silk dress greeted us and led us to a water-view table.
“Front-row seats to the nautical demolition derby,” Lance said.
“I hope we can get the same guy for the trip back rather than roll the dice.” I watched our water taxi take on new passengers. “He did a good job getting us here in one piece.”
A waiter appeared and handed out menus printed in both Chinese and English. Thank God for the British. They had controlled Hong Kong for centuries, so English was prevalent throughout their former colony.
“Peking duck our special today,” the waiter said as he set a large teapot and three cups on the table. “I come back soon.”
I waited until he was out of earshot. “I heard the Peking duck in Hong Kong is actually from New York.”
“Don’t they have ducks in Peking?” Jeff asked.
I laughed. “Not anymore, but they might have ducks in Beijing.”
“Sneaky—new name, same city.” Lance shrugged. “I’d rather have seafood.”
The waiter returned and took our lunch orders. We sipped Oolong tea and enjoyed watching the constant bustle of the busy harbor as we waited for our meals.
I glanced around at the tourists on board. “I guess you were right, Lance. No reason for me to hide in my room. Thanks for inviting me to lunch.”
“Happy to oblige.” He scanned the boat. “Not a bad guy in sight. Things are looking up.”
“Yep, just keep sending out positive vibes and the universe will reward us,” I said.
“Sam, I didn’t know you believed in that New Age bull crap,” Jeff said.
“I don’t, but I’m trying to adopt a positive attitude and change my karma. It’s better than expecting bad things to happen all the time, don’t you think?”
“True, but don’t let your guard down. In the current political environment, all Americans are targets—especially in foreign countries,” Jeff said.
I stood. “Fear not. I’ll now make a cautious trip to the ladies’ room.”
Lance stood. “I’ll walk with you, just in case.”
We headed for the restrooms on the lower deck. I entered the tiny ladies’ room, and Lance was waiting for me when I came out. Things happened pretty fast after that.
USS LEVIATHAN
Captain Rowlin stood beside the lean and steely eyed SEAL Commander, George Bern, who said, “Cleared to lower divers.”
Two divers encased in Navy Hardsuit 2000s were winched over the side via heavy cables with integrated power, data, and communication lines. The Hardsuits remained at one atmosphere of air pressure to a maximum depth of two thousand feet, eliminating a need for decompression on the ascent.
“Comm check,” a mocha-skinned African-American SEAL nicknamed Banger said into the voice-activated mike in his helmet.
“We have you five-by-five,” Bern said.
“Loud and clear,” Vicky said. “I feel like an astronaut in this suit. I can’t wait to use the thrusters. It’ll feel like flying.”
“Dial your enthusiasm down a few clicks,” Banger said. “The warning on ancient nautical charts is true in Atlantis.”
“What warning?”
“Here there be monsters,” he said. “I’m not joking. Stay sharp, Vicky.”
“But Navy Intelligence assured me your people killed the megalodons,” she said, peering through her viewing port.
“There’s no guarantee we won’t encounter another one. And there’s no telling what other deadly creatures might be lurking down there. Leviathan is using passive sonar because of all the submarines sneaking around the city. They might not detect a threat until the creature is right on top of us.”
“Stupid me,” she said, her tone a pitch higher. “I thought this dive would be fun.”
“Maybe it’ll be different this time,” he said. “Just watch out for booby traps and be extra careful.”
The tension in Banger’s voice sent goose bumps over Vicky’s skin as their floodlights illuminated a giant black pyramid standing sentinel at the edge of the ancient city.
As they descended deeper, magnificent white marble buildings in circular and octagonal shapes were illuminated by their spotlights in the crystal-clear water. Huge sphinxes guarded the inner city, and beautiful pyramids of varied sizes adorned the metropolis, some covered in gold, others embedded with gems.
Marble statues of sea life and various deities decorated what appeared to be public parks throughout the city. The statues and structures were smooth and free of growth because the deep water was too cold, and life-giving sunlight couldn’t reach down two thousand feet to the city.
“There’s our objective: the octagonal marble building with the white columns around it. Follow me and be very careful what you touch. A British marine archaeologist was killed inside the giant pyramid when he activated a defense mechanism. I saw it happen,” Banger said, his voice tense.
“What killed him?” she asked.
“Long spears pierced his suit, and the immense water pressure compressed him into Jell-O.” He sighed. “It wasn’t pretty.”
“That’s awful!” She hesitated. Her voice quivered when she said, “Banger, please don’t let that happen to us.” She looked around and then pointed at a large opening in the ancient Hall of Records. “There’s the entry.” It looked to be about a ten-foot square.
“Don’t zoom around inside with your thrusters. Could be booby traps.” Banger eased into the gleaming golden interior.
Vicky followed close behind. “Wow, the Atlanteans had tons of gold!” She pointed at massive gold vaults lining the walls. “I need to check if these are freestanding or bolted in place.”
Banger pointed at a nearby section. “Check this one first.”
She shined a spotlight on the front. “Looks like it could be freestanding, but I’ll need to see the top to be sure.”
According to Vicky’s digital laser measuring device, each vault was six feet high, nine feet wide, and three feet deep. The ceiling measured fifteen feet high, leaving nine feet of vertical wall space for ceramic pictures and marble wall sculptures. Seven vaults lined the outer walls, and four stood in the room’s center around the base of a huge gold statue of Poseidon.
“Give me a minute to check for traps.” Banger used his thrusters to ascend above the rectangular gold storage unit. He scanned the top side and the ceiling nine feet above it. “It looks safe. Come on up.”
Vicky mimicked Banger’s movements as she ascended. She found eyelets embedded in the vault’s top near each end with heavy chains that fastened to the eyelets in the wall.
“These chains kept them secure. All we have to do is disconnect them and connect tow lines to the eyelets and drag the vaults out of here. Then we’ll—”
Banger cut her off. “Not here! We’ll discuss this when we’re topside.”
“Sorry, I got excited.”
They eased around the perimeter, checking each vault and unhooking the chains. After finishing, they examined the ones around the base of the statue.
“The eyelets are on the back sides with chains attached to the statue’s base. Once we unhook them, we’re good to go,” Vicky said.
Just as they disconnected the final chain, a call came in on their comm lines.
“Divers, cut your cables and move to the back of the building, now!” Bern said.
Banger activated his cutting
tool and severed his cable. He was about to do the same for Vicky’s when something yanked it, pulling her toward the open doorway.
“Help!” she screamed.
“Hold on!” He snagged her cable with his suit’s claspers and thrusted upward, pulling her above the open door.
Vicky wrapped her arms around an Atlantean king’s bust protruding from the wall over the entrance, while Banger rushed to cut her cable. Once the line was severed, he clipped a tether to her suit and zoomed deep into the interior with her in tow. He pulled her atop a vault on the back wall.
“Quick, grasp the left chain with your claspers.” He did the same on the right end.
“What’s happening?” She asked, her voice rising to a panicked pitch.
“I don’t know.” He shined a spotlight at the entrance. “Watch the door.”
“Oh my God!” Vicky screamed. “It can’t be real!”
Five
Kowloon
I walked ahead of Lance down the narrow passage leading from the restrooms to the stairwell. An elderly man with a Fu Manchu mustache stepped out from a side door.
I was face-to-face with Dragon Master. He held a long, black wig in his hand.
“Golden Twin,” he said, his face grim. “I serve you now. Ministry of State Security come for you.” He pulled the wig over my head, covering my blond ponytail. “Hurry!”
Thudding footsteps pounding down the stairs verified his warning.
He nudged Lance. “Quick, pin her against wall and kiss her so they can’t see her face.” He acted like he was hobbling to the restrooms at the other end of the passage.
I’d barely straightened the wig before Lance pinned me against the wall and kissed me like he hadn’t had a woman in ten years. I guess he saw this as his chance to kiss me with impunity.
I peeked, my eyes slits, during his hot kiss. Four fit looking Chinese men in civilian clothes rushed past us.
