by Alex Lukeman
"Nobody said humans were logical or sensible. All you have to do is look at Congress."
Elizabeth choked on her coffee, trying not to laugh.
Her satellite phone signaled Nick was calling.
"Good morning, Nick."
"We have a problem. The Russians showed up."
Elizabeth looked over at Stephanie. She activated the speaker.
"I was afraid that would happen."
"Do you have a satellite on us?"
"The next pass is in three hours from now. I can have a drone there before that. Is it a Federation warship?"
"No, it's a research vessel like ours, only bigger. There's already trouble. They knocked out one of our ROVs when it was underwater. I want eyes on us in case they decide to play rough."
"I'll task a drone after we're done talking. What have you found so far?"
"A ruined city, twenty-four hundred feet down. There's a pyramid in the middle of it. That's where we lost the robot. We've got footage of the interior. The walls are covered with writing, the same language that's on the pillar and the French tablet. Selena says it looks like a history of some sort. It will be a while before she has a translation."
"Any sign of an archive?"
"Not unless it's what's written on those walls. Everything's under silt and debris."
"What's your plan now?"
"We're going to send another ROV down. Sexton wants to recover his unit. We'll put someone in the water in case the Russians decide to go after this one too. They're not going to get away with it again."
"Be careful, Nick. This could turn into a major incident."
"There's more. Selena's sister is on that ship. So is the woman who shot at me in Egypt."
"That's not good," Elizabeth said. A headache started, a dull ache behind her left eye.
"I took pictures of everyone that was on deck. I'll send them to Steph when we're done talking. Might be useful."
"Brief me as soon as you know anything else."
"Copy that. Out."
Stephanie's phone chimed as Nick's pictures came through.
"I'll get these printed out."
Stephanie picked up her coffee and went inside. Elizabeth sat for a while longer, trying to hold on to the morning calm. After a few minutes she gave up and went inside.
For the next hour she focused on the morning's intelligence briefs, making comments for the president's consideration. Today was one of those days when the actions of so-called allies created almost as many problems as enemies. Elizabeth never ceased to be amazed at how so many incompetent and corrupt leaders reached positions of power.
Her father would have put it down to human nature. He'd been a judge in Western Colorado, where Elizabeth had grown up. More than once he'd challenged her perception of how life ought to be. Sometimes it had been uncomfortable, but it had helped make her the person she was today.
Before President Rice asked her to head up the Project, Elizabeth had worked in the Justice Department. At one point she'd been assigned to the 9/11 task force. After a few months she'd noticed a pattern about the investigation. Key pieces of information were being suppressed and kept from the public. When she went to her supervisor to point it out, he'd told her not to make waves. When she'd insisted, he'd told her to take a week off and think about it.
She'd gone home, angry and frustrated, venting her frustration to her father.
What do you want to do about it? he'd asked.
This investigation is being manipulated. I've seen evidence that proves the public narrative isn't what really happened.
You think there's a cover-up? Her father had taken out his pipe and begun filling it with tobacco.
It's hard to see any other explanation. The evidence just doesn't add up. Not only that, there was plenty of intelligence pointing to an imminent attack. It looks like it might have been deliberately ignored.
The judge lit his pipe and took several puffs. The sweet aroma of cured Turkish tobacco drifted across the porch where they sat.
Suppose you were able to make this information public. What do you think would happen?
I'm not sure anyone would believe me, Elizabeth had said.
And if they did?
It would cause big problems. If I'm right, this wasn't only a terrorist attack. Whoever's responsible should be held to account.
Let's say you're right, the judge had said. If it's what you say it is, the people behind it aren't going to let anyone change what you call the narrative.
I'm not afraid of them.
You ought to be. If you really want to do something about it, you'll have to take a different approach.
What approach?
In a way, you're already doing it. In the 1920s the American Communists talked about boring from within to bring change. They were right about that, even though they were wrong about everything else.
Her father had held up his pipe.
Democracy is like this pipe, he'd said. We have to pay attention if we want to keep it burning. It requires care. If you want to make a difference, you're not going to get it by playing Don Quixote against the system. It's too well-developed and too powerful. You have to bore from within.
It doesn't feel right to keep silent, Elizabeth had said.
That's your choice. Just be careful you don't take yourself out of the game. You can't play if you're not on the field.
When she'd returned to Washington, she'd kept asking uncomfortable questions. Two months later she was transferred to an endless RICO investigation. Her career had been shunted into a dead-end. Then Rice had called.
Stephanie came into the room, breaking Elizabeth's reverie. She had a folder under her arm.
"I printed and enlarged Nick's pictures. I got hits when I ran them through the facial identification program."
She laid the photographs out on Elizabeth's desk.
Selena's sister was in several of the shots. It looked like she was arguing with another woman. Two large men stood nearby.
"The woman with Selena's sister is an FSB officer named Rostov," Stephanie said. "She works directly under Volkov. He uses her as his personal attack dog. The two goons standing there are Russian Special Forces. They're from the Federation equivalent of our SEALS."
"Divers?"
"Seems logical."
"The Russians must know what's down there," Elizabeth said.
"Selena's sister is SVR. Why is she on a ship with someone from the FSB? Those two services don't cooperate worth a damn."
"It means Orlov has a hand in this. I know how Vysotsky thinks. He hates Volkov. He would never work with him unless ordered to do so. Orlov is playing some game."
"What do you think he's up to?" Stephanie asked.
"With Orlov you can't tell until after the fact. Whatever it is, that ship being there is bad news."
Elizabeth drummed her fingers on the desk.
"Are you going to take this to the president?" Stephanie asked.
"Not yet. I want pictures of what they found. I want Selena's translation of what they discovered. All we have now are underwater ruins and minor incidents. It's not enough."
"The Russians tried to kidnap Selena and kill Nick when they were in Egypt."
"Like I said, incidents. I need more before I can go to the White House. We need to know what that writing says."
"If I know Selena, she's working on it right now," Stephanie said.
"I'm sure she is."
"You need me for anything? I have a doctor's appointment."
"Is everything okay?"
"It's only a routine checkup. I'll be back in a couple of hours."
"Take your time."
"Thanks."
She left the room. Elizabeth leaned back in her chair and thought about how odd it was to be alone in the building during the day. Stephanie was always available for a talk over a cup of coffee. Aside from Stephanie and the team, there wasn't anyone else she could talk with.
During the day she was too bu
sy with work to feel lonely. She loved interacting with the team. It was heady stuff to command the attention of the president. All of that was little consolation when she came home to her empty brownstone.
She thought about Clarence Hood. The trouble stirred up by the photograph was beginning to die down but a congressional inquiry was still a possibility, if for no other reason than to try and embarrass the president.
Maybe Clarence would like to have dinner this evening, she thought.
Elizabeth picked up her phone.
CHAPTER 39
By now Selena had a good grasp of the ancient language. She made rapid progress with the writing on the pyramid walls, working on the translation until it was past midnight. After a few hours of sleep, she went back to it. By morning she had a rough translation for most of one wall.
She sat with Nick in the wardroom, drinking coffee, a laptop open in front of her.
"When we found those murals in Tibet I thought nothing would top it," she said. "I thought no new find could possibly surpass it."
"Sounds like you've changed your mind," Nick said.
"What's down there changes world history. It's a record of a civilization everyone thought was a fable."
"So, it is Atlantis?"
"Yes. Only they didn't call it that, of course. Their word for it translates to 'us' or 'the people.' I don't know what's on those other walls but what I've already seen is enough to keep archaeologists and historians busy for years."
"Did you come across anything about an archive? Where it might be?"
"Not yet, unless that pyramid is it. But I found more about the stone that controlled the force they used to lift things. The Stone of the Gods."
"I still don't see how a stone could do anything like that."
"Modern technology uses stones. Diamond lasers, for example. They're powerful enough to cut through steel. Diamonds are a kind of stone."
"Yeah, but this is the twenty-first century. You know, electricity, microchips, things like that. Where did they get energy from?"
"However it worked, these people used it to lift blocks of stone weighing tons off the ground. Then they pushed them through the air and dropped them into place."
"That's hard to believe. Like everything else about this."
"These people might have built the pyramids in Egypt. The rulers used the same energy to get around. They rode on a kind of sled that floated above the ground."
"Mmm."
"Mmm? Is that all you have to say about it?"
"What do you expect me to say?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe 'wow, that's really something.' I just told you these people mastered gravity and all you can say is 'Mmm.'"
"Unless we can find out how they did it, it's a fairy tale," Nick said.
Selena looked at him and sighed. "There's a lot I haven't translated yet."
"While you've been doing this, Sexton is getting another ROV ready. He'll send it down after breakfast."
"What if the Russians interfere again?"
"Lamont has been talking with one of Sexton's divers. He was a SEAL, too. They're going to go over the side at the same time as the ROV. If the Russians try anything funny, those two will stop it from happening."
"I want to go down with them," Selena said.
"I thought you would but you've been up most of the night. You're tired and I need you up here. You're the only one who can work on the translation. We need to understand what else is on those walls."
Selena was about to argue. Then she said, "I know you're right. But I don't have to like it."
He looked at his watch. "Let's eat. It's going to be a long day."
A half hour later they were on deck, where Sexton was ready to launch the second ROV. He was going to try and retrieve the robot lost the day before.
Lamont and his new partner were suited up, ready to go over the side.
"This is Sam Heath," Lamont said. "He got out a few years before I did. We know a lot of the same people."
Sam had a broad Irish face, blue eyes and a shock of thick, red hair. He shook hands with Nick and Selena. His smile was genuine.
"Nice to meet you."
"Likewise," Nick said. "You know what you could be getting into?"
"You mean the Russians? They don't bother me."
"Do you want us to take out their robot if they send it down again?" Lamont asked. "We could cut the tether."
Nick nodded. "They called the game. Let's raise the stakes."
"What if they put men in the water?" Sam asked.
"Good question. It depends on what they do. Try to avoid a confrontation. If they come after you, protect yourself."
"That's what I wanted to hear," Sam said.
Sexton came over. "We're ready to go."
"Let's do it," Lamont said.
Across the way on the Tolstoy, Katerina Rostov studied the bustle of activity on board the Sexton's Dream. The two Spetsnaz divers stood next to her.
"They're getting ready to put men in the water," Rostov said. "Now they're lowering an ROV."
"What are your orders?" Spassky asked.
"We're launching our own unit. The Americans may try to sabotage it in retaliation for yesterday. You will prevent that from happening."
"We can only follow it down so far," Spassky said. "As we go deeper, we have less time."
"The same is true for them."
"What are the rules of engagement?"
"If they cause no trouble, ignore them."
"And if they do?"
"You are to prevent anything that will interfere with this mission by any means necessary. Is that clear?"
"You are not concerned about consequences if we have to kill them?"
"You have your orders, Sergeant."
CHAPTER 40
Lamont and Sam wore full face masks equipped with voice communication. They could talk to each other while they were underwater and to Nick on board Sexton's Dream. Both men wore closed-circuit rebreathers and wetsuits. There would be no telltale bubbles on the surface as they approached the Russian ship.
At twenty feet down there was plenty of light. The surface above was clear blue, the sun a halo glow scattering streams of light through the water. Lamont never tired of the world that existed below the surface of the sea. Most people never saw the true beauty of the ocean.
The Atlantic this far out from land teemed with life. The area was famed with sports fishermen for its abundance of trophy fish. Blue marlin, swordfish and giant bluefin tuna were common. Plenty of fish meant plenty of sharks, including hammerheads, short fin makos and a throwback called the six gill blunt nose. Hammerheads were usually not aggressive unless provoked. The others were. As far as Lamont was concerned, any kind of shark was bad news.
A hundred yards away, the long hull of the Russian ship formed a dark shape on the surface of the water.
"Comm check," Lamont said. "Sam, how do you read me?"
"Five by five."
"Nick, you copy?"
Nick's voice came back through the earpiece. "Five by five, amigo. The Russians are about to put their robot over the side."
"Copy that."
Lamont and Sam dropped down to forty feet and moved silently toward the Russian ship. Visibility was still excellent, the water clear. A school of silvery-blue wahoo swam by, slim and lethal looking, their sharp teeth and spiny ridges a reminder of a time long before humans walked the earth.
The Russian ROV was visible as it descended past the forty foot mark. The tether was a dark thread linking the machine to the ship above. The two men swam toward it. Lamont was equipped with a tool borrowed from the ship designed to cut through cable and chain. It would make short work of the tether. He was about to reach for it when his earpiece crackled.
"Company," Sam said.
He pointed toward the bow of the ship. Two suited figures were coming toward them.
"Armed. They've got APS assault rifles."
The semi automatic APS was a favorite of Russ
ian underwater special forces, a unique piece of weapons engineering. It hadn't been easy to design a gun that could overcome the compressive effects of water against the moving parts of an automatic weapon, much less deliver a projectile with reasonable accuracy.
Water was eight hundred times denser than air. A man could stand a few feet in front of a conventional weapon fired underwater without danger. The APS used special cartridges and 5.66 mm steel bolts that could penetrate a diver's helmet or wetsuit with ease. It was most effective at a distance of twenty or thirty feet and reasonably accurate. The Russians had even designed a cartridge with a rocket assist to give it more speed and penetrating power.
Lamont and Sam carried Heckler and Koch P11 underwater pistols. The pistols had five chambers and fired steel darts a little less than four inches long. The P11 had a greater range than the APS but its accuracy was poor. Both kinds of weapons were better than knives or spear guns for underwater combat.
Nick's voice sounded over the comm link. "Two divers in the water."
"We see them," Lamont said. "They're armed."
"Break off," Nick said. "It's not worth it."
"Copy," Lamont said. "Sam, break it off."
The Russian in the lead raised his weapon and fired while he was still fifty feet away. Steel bolts ripped through the water, too fast for the eye to see, leaving a brief disturbance behind.
"Too late," Sam said.
On deck, Nick had the comm link on speaker.
"Lamont, what's happening?"
Selena had gone to her cabin for her notes. She came out on deck and went over to where Nick was standing.
"What's going on?"
"Trouble. Lamont, come in."
Below the surface, Lamont drew his pistol and fired at one of the Russian divers. The round missed. The man started to bring his APS around. Water resistance against the large, flat magazine and receiver slowed the movement. Lamont fired again. The Russian clutched his shoulder and dropped his rifle. Blood spread in the water, a soft, dark cloud.
The other Russian emptied his magazine at them. Steel bolts shattered Sam's face mask. His arms flew wide and he went limp. His body sank away toward the depths below.
