The Priestess

by Amethyst Gray

  XX – Miami

  Diana regained her strength as the days went by. After another week she was moved to a private room on a regular ward overlooking the sea. Barbara replaced Nurse Alec as the primary nurse assigned to Diana’s recovery.

  Diana continued to write up her experiences while in her coma. Stan had been able to return partly to work on the dig programme, but based in his room in the Miami hospital. He was cataloguing and sorting the photographs of the finds and other metadata associated with it.

  One of the new developments was the deployment of an autonomous LIDAR drone to map the surrounding landscape and dig area at low tide. Rupert had trained himself in programming the drone and had become very adept at setting it off on search patterns.

  One such pattern had brought back astounding evidence of several building platforms in and around the dig area that disappeared further into the sea. The results were so clear that the Director had informed the benefactor and the benefactor had loaned the dig an autonomous sonar submarine drone to extend the survey into the undersea area. He had made a team available to assist with it.

  The presence of a new submarine with sonar capabilities did open up other possibilities that linked in with Diana’s dream and her wish to speak to the Cuban survey team.

  If the survey area was near enough to the Bahamas and not in Cuban territorial waters, it just might be possible to make use of the sub to confirm or otherwise their claims. Lots of huge ifs. But Stan knew better than to discount Diana’s intuition. The Roman temple finds at Anet were testament to that.

  A short while later, after checking in on Diana, Stan set off for the diving school at the edge of the harbour. It was in a less than salubrious set of buildings alongside fishing boats belonging to members of the Cuban community in Miami. But Stan had been assured that at least one diver had been involved in that survey mission in the early 2000s.

  As he got out of his Uber at the buildings, he was challenged by a sturdy, highly tanned man with skin like leather, in fast spoken Spanish. It wasn’t Stan's most fluent language, but he knew enough to get by. He replied to the challenge that he was looking for a diver named Pedro Ramirez. Not far off John Doe or Peter Smith in English. Most probably an alias.

  “Si. Over there, Gringo.” The sturdy man pointed towards the middle building at the edge of the dock.

  Stan thanked the man in Spanish. The man half scowled, and half smiled back at him.

  The Archaeologist was not accustomed to Miami or local customs, so just headed over towards the building. Thankfully there were no further challenges on the way.

  At the building, a couple of divers were cleaning and checking their gear. One of them looked up at Stan as he approached.

  Stan spoke. “Pedro Ramirez?”.

  One man nodded. “Si.”

  “Great. I am Stan Havel. I have been looking for you. Remember a survey you did off Cuba in the early 2000s. Does that ring any bells?”

  “Maybe.”

  “We might be making a return visit, but we need to convince our backer of its value. If he bites, there will be jobs in it. And we are not talking fishing. I am an Archaeologist, not a treasure hunter or a journalist. What do you say?”

  “You are in luck Archaeologist. The surveyors are in town. Go to Hotel Magnifico downtown. Ask for Javiera And Alberto. I believe they may even have some sonar scans plus GPS coordinates. We come as a team. Here's my cell phone number. Call me when you have a plan.”

  “OK, thanks, I will do. “

  With that, the meeting was over. The diver returned to oiling his wetsuit while Stan called up an Uber to take him downtown.

  The car arrived quite quickly, though the driver seemed a little bit nervous to be so near this part of the docks. Stan waved to him, and he pulled the small Toyota beside Stan's feet.

  “Hotel Magnifico?”

  Stan replied “Yes.”

  The man chuckled as Stan sat down. “There’s nothing magnifico about that hotel if you ask me.”

  Stan smiled back at the man via the driver’s mirror.

  “It’s OK. I am just meeting some friends. I am not staying there. “

  The car smelt musky with a touch of sweat. The driver obviously spent a lot of time in it. The seat was comfortable, and the journey wasn’t too long.

  Once Stan had stepped out of the car, the driver tipped his head to his passenger and sped away. He didn’t seem too keen to spend time around there. As Stan looked around, it wasn’t hard to see why. A thin, scantily clad woman was eyeing him up from the street corner across the road. From her demeanour and heavy makeup, she spent a lot of time walking the streets. Stan shook his head and went to go in through the hotel doorway. As he did so, a car drew up alongside the woman. A few words were exchanged between her and the male driver before she got into the front of the car with him.

  Once inside the lobby, Stan found himself in front of a grubby reception desk. The counter was covered in a broken sheet of black PVC linoleum. The key racks behind the desk were falling down, having been previously tied back on with wire ties.

  A scruffy man with a beard and an eye patch was sucking upon a lolly stick as he whittled on a sharp stick with a rusty lock knife.

  Eventually, the man looked up and spoke. “Si?”

  Stan mentioned the names he had been given. The man shouted to a woman in an adjoining room. A short exchange of what sounded like Spanish expletives ensued until the woman came out and stood in front of Stan.

  “What do you want, English?”

  “Czech, actually, but my wife is English. She tasked me with finding you. We are digging for evidence of Atlantis over on South Bimini. But it seems you might have found way more. I was wondering if you might be interested in revisiting your findings. We have access to sonar drones.”

  “Interesting. But what’s in it for us? Dusk approached us years ago. I told him to go into orbit. The Cubans would not allow a western survey vessel so close to its territory. Not without guides at least. Who do you work for?”

  “I work for the Atlantic University of Miami. We have some funding for recruiting specialists, but I would need to consult with them.”

  “Do it. We charge divers rates. 1000 US a day. Each. For the three of us. Four weeks minimum. You supply all the equipment, and we will bring the original sonar scans and GPS coordinates. Don’t use a US registered vessel. It won’t end well. Take it or leave it, Dr Havel.”

  Stan gasped as she used his name. “How did you know?”

  “We know a lot. It was only a matter of time. Cubans have ears.”

  “OK. But you say you have the original sonar scans. Don’t the Cuban Government have those?”

  The woman chuckled. “They think so.”

  “I will need some time to discuss your terms with my boss.”

  “I think that Mr Dusk will pay this time.”

  “Why so sure it’s him? I have not seen any official link to him.”

  “I would be amazed if it’s not him. But he won’t do anything under his name that is linked to Atlantis or the Bermuda triangle. It’s too much woo for his fans. You have one week. We have excursions booked and have to pay our bills for this dump. Here is my card.”

  She handed Stan a card which he took.

  “Goodbye.” And with that, she was gone. The scruffy man gestured to the door with his knife.

  Stan left. His phone in his hand to get the next Uber.

  XXI – Expedition

  Somehow, the appeals to the director to expand the survey offshore and into international waters off of Cuba got approved by the benefactor. So, at the beginning of May, Stan found himself part of the crew of an old trawler turned survey vessel on his way to the deep water off of Cuba. With a live satellite link back to base he was able to keep in contact with Diana, who was newly back at work but not ready for such an adventure.

  The three Spanish speaking divers were also aboard. Thankfully, the receptionist from the hotel had stayed behind.

&n
bsp; Three very techy Americans were loading the autonomous submarine sonar drones onto the deck. These were the latest versions as supplied by the ‘anonymous benefactor’. If deployed at the right place, these would be capable of mapping details nearly as clear as the LIDAR drone the dig team had been using on land and shoreline. The results, and the consequences, could be staggering.

  Once the food and technology were on-board, the Captain used the loudhailer system to tell the crew that they would be casting off shortly. The American drone guys practically gloated at each other when they realised that their adventure was about to start.

  The trawler was well loaded, but not dangerously so. The extra hands outnumbered the crew. The miniature submarine at the stern was chained on securely but was unlikely to be used unless the drones failed. Likewise, the diving equipment stowed by the divers. That was for all eventualities.

  The Panamanian registered Cape Cod Rainbow set sail around 9 AM, bound for a vague area in the Yucatan channel west of Cuba. The exact coordinates were to be shared by the Spanish speaking contingent once they had received confirmation that their fees had been paid in advance. The payment would only be made once they were onboard. An hour of distrust was evident as the woman used her mobile phone to contact her bank. After a few minutes, she mouthed “Si" to her colleagues, then made her way up to the vessel’s bridge with her locked briefcase purported to contain the original sonar surveys and the GPS coordinates.

  As they cleared the final breakwater, the vessel veered slightly further to the right than seemed necessary. Stan looked up at the bridge from his deck side vantage point. The Captain, a jolly Frenchman called Pascal Latif, was holding up a DVD case while the woman was seemingly explaining something to him as he nodded. It would appear that the new coordinates had been programmed in by him.

  As Miami disappeared behind them, the deep sea swells persuaded Stan that it was time to go inside. One of the drone technicians looked decidedly green. This voyage could be a long and unpleasant journey for him. Stan was well seasoned as a sailor from his days helping his Uncle back in Czechia.

  The dark clouds on the horizon looked ominously like a sea squall was going to hit a bit later. Even seasoned Mariners would need to take care in such conditions. Stan hoped that the drones were well secured. At least as it was only May, the hurricane season had not yet started this year.

  When Stan reached the galley, the woman was sitting down at the table. She smiled at him and said, “Now we can talk, er, Stanislav?”

  Stan nodded. “OK. But call me Stan". He sat down opposite her.

  “I am Javiera Cortez-Ramirez.”

  “Were you in charge of the survey?”

  “No. But I was a key member. I was in charge of the sonar array. The other two were our dive team. I was also reserve diver. Together we ensured that the survey was not interrupted. “

  “OK. So, I take it that you started off doing a standard survey of the sea bed. Looking for oil and gas reserves, I understand. Did you find any?”

  “A little. Enough to satisfy our sponsors. The Cuban government were under severe embargoes at the time. And the threat remains. So, having our own, I mean their own, oil and gas reserves are important. With the instability in Venezuela, their supplies could be cut at any time. The state oil company is intending to place Russian built drilling platforms into place in the next few years. They are doing deep drilling on steep angles to get to the deposits currently. But it is not optimal. Cuba is still reliant on imports.”

  “So, tell me. When did it start to become a non-standard survey?”

  “Well, in very deep water at the edge of Cuban territorial waters and international waters, the sonar was bringing up unusual shapes and rock formations. At first, we thought it was an issue with the array, so we stopped, and the divers checked the equipment. It was clear. No echo from debris or other possible causes of false-positive targets. We restarted, and the regular shapes carried on. Some of the formations were huge. We are talking about the size of the Great Pyramid in Giza and the same forms. But also, regular lines and circles of rocks and gaps in between. From my background in geology, these did not appear natural and differed from the known topography of the area. We were all shaken up by the surveys. The Leader - Fidel Castro would have denounced us if we talked of such things. So, we took copies of the scans and then wiped the official ones in the area of the buildings and streets that we appeared to be seeing. Atlantis or another civilisation, this was proof. In Cuba, such legends are not popular. “

  “Wow.”

  “I know. But in America, such things are quite trendy. Area 51 and Flat Earth are massive. Atlantis not so much. But that could change. With our skills, knowledge and your reputation, this could be a breakthrough. Your backer should be pleased. “

  “Yes, quite probably. But the integrity of the dig team is at stake. We need solid proof of what is currently thought of as a myth or legend. We need good quality sonar scans, corroborating survey results and clear underwater photographs or we can’t publish any of it. If we could even surface some artefacts, we would be in a new world. Anything less and it might not see the light of day. Our Director is a sceptic. “

  “It will be OK, I think. We know where to look. You have the technologies aboard and a wealthy backer. I have passed on the coordinates. We will skim very close to Cuban waters, but enough was in International waters. Your Captain told me we would go straight there and take up station. He said he would tell us when we get there. I don’t think it will be long.”

  Stan nodded thoughtfully. Diana would love to have been here. From what she had told him in her recollections of her vivid dream of Atlantis, there had been substantial buildings there. Some pyramids, civic buildings, towers and stone-built dwellings. It could have sunk very quickly, but it was a very long time ago.

  How well preserved might it be? Would its structures now appear like natural underwater cliffs? How precise would the evidence be? This could be an archaeological discovery beyond that of Tutankhamun’s tomb. Or it could be career-ending – condemned to the far side with Damon Ice and Al James. He shuddered. It could be a long couple of days ahead, and perhaps he should get some shut-eye.

  He took his leave of the Cuban contingent and headed down to his tiny cabin.

  XXII – Dawn

  It was at first light the next morning when a klaxon sounded to announce their arrival on station. Stan must have been more tired than he realised as he was awoken by the sudden alarm and the clattering of feet and equipment above deck.

  As he arrived topside a few minutes later, he saw sonar arrays being deployed from the stern of the ship, plus two UAVs being lowered along the side. The sea swell had thankfully calmed, and the early morning light was starting to show a relatively smooth dark green ocean in front of a bright, sunny sky. A couple of seabirds were circling above the mast, a small shoal of fish jumping off of the port bow. If it were clear enough to see that far Cuba would be on the starboard side as they headed back northwards tracking along the original scan path from the early 2000s.

  Realising that he may be missing out on some returning data, he headed up to the crowded bridge. There the UAV geeks were cheek-by-jowl with the sonar operators. A mixture of Spanish and American expletives broke the air as the first responses came in from the probes.

  Stan took a peek at both sets of displays in turn. There was undoubtedly something down there. The two sets of data did seem to corroborate each other and the original scan. The substantial feature looked straighter and more regular than undersea cliffs. Thankfully Diana had thought to include a geologist in the expedition. He was currently taking measurements from the screen and looking up his database of underwater rock features. He looked genuinely puzzled.

  “How is it looking, Bill?”

  “Unusual Dr Havel.”

  “Call me Stan.”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  Stan looked at the scan results unfolding on screen and pointed to an enormous pyramidal str
ucture amongst the regular lines of rock or building.

  “What’s that, Bill?”

  “In truth, I dunno, err, Stan. It could be an underwater volcanic flume. But none have been reported anywhere near here ever before. It’s not a volcanic hot spot. It’s also a bit regular. Let’s stop and measure it. Perhaps the UAVs could get near enough to take a closer look.”

  The geologist paused the scan and got out a screen measure. Meanwhile, Stan wrote down the GPS coordinates and asked the UAV team to investigate it if possible. One of the techies nodded and gave a thumbs-up as he typed them in.

  “Wow. Around 220 to 240 metres. On each of the four sides. Pinpoint height is getting on for 150 metres: my, my. If my memory serves, that’s of the order of the Great Pyramid in Giza. I visited there before surveying the Sphinx. Just as well, as I wasn’t welcome afterwards. I refused to contradict the geological age proposed by Dr Robert Schoch. Bawass blacklisted me. But I go with my findings, not with a flawed consensus. I better be darn sure about this thing. Any sign of the UAVs?”

  Just then, one of the techies standing by the split-screen started gesturing wildly at Stan and Bill. He was called Gary and so far, had only mumbled and giggled in Stan's presence.

  “Doc. Come and see this. It’s amazing. Pure Cydonia stuff. Not the Sphinx or a face, but clearly a pyramid. It does have some damage, you can see some fallen blocks, but the rest of the surface is smooth, like casing stone. I can’t make out the texture or colour at that depth, but it is a regular structure. Got to be man-made. Wow.”

  Stan momentarily froze at the implications. Then took a rational decision to make the most of this unique opportunity.

  “Captain, probe crews. Can we pause at this location and optimise our results. If this is what we think it is, then we need to get the best corroborating evidence that we possibly can. Please.”

  The ship’s Captain and the technicians all nodded. The Captain eased the throttle back to a full stop. The drone crew fiddled with their controls. The sonar probe team also changed their settings.