Tomb of Atlantis

by Petersen, Christopher David

  “Zenair 8362 Lima, runway one zero is one mile in front of you. You should be able to see it shortly,” the controller announced.

  He squinted through his windscreen. He saw nothing. Suddenly, another jarring blow struck the plane, knocking it off course. Immediately, he responded and brought the plane back around as he concentrated on the gauges in his instrument panel.

  Jack saw a flash of light and looked out his windscreen. There in front of him, was the long brightly lit runway.

  He lowered the nose and cut the power, while fighting to keep the wings level.

  “Almost there, Bud. Keep it together,” he said to himself.

  Jack descended rapidly. As he crossed the threshold to the runway, he cut the power completely and worked the ailerons to keep the plane from drifting off the tarmac and into the grass. With the winds and rain pelting the fuselage, he barely noticed the wheels as they touched the ground. He held the nose high for a moment, then lowered it and slammed on the brakes.

  As the plane came to an abrupt stop, Jack let out a welcome sigh of relief. He had made it. Shaking and dripping with sweat, he just sat and breathed a moment.

  “Zenair 8362 Lima, that’s not a general aviation parking lot. Please proceed to the next taxiway. The FBO will be straight ahead,” the controller joked, the added, “Welcome to Turks.”

  “Understood,” Jack replied simply.

  Atlantis - Chapter 4

  Jack woke refreshed and feeling invigorated. The previous day's events had drained him both mentally and physically, and by the time he had tied down his plane and found a comfy couch in the pilot’s lounge, he could barely function. After a brief call to his parents, he laid his head down on a makeshift pillow and quickly fell asleep. The couch was as comfortable as any he had "rented" in many pilot's lounges and he considered avoiding the exorbitant fees for a hotel and continuing to borrow it for the remainder of his adventure. Looking down at his watch, he noted the time: six thirty. With a full twelve hours of sleep behind him, he was now ready for the real adventure to begin—the dive for treasure.

  Jack stared down the long runway. This was it. Nervous excitement flowed through his body. He took a deep breath and exhaled. Pushing the throttle full forward, the floatplane roared to life. Inching forward under the strain of the extra weight, it took what seemed like an interminable amount of time just to roll fast enough to activate the airspeed indicator. As his momentum grew, so did his anxiety. Moments later, as the wheels left the runway and the plane settled into a gentle climb, Jack's fears seemed to vanish as he concentrated on flying the plane.

  He flew straight out from his runway heading of two-hundred-eighty degrees and crossed from land to Chalk Sound, a large shallow bay on the west side of the main island. Upon reaching one thousand feet in elevation, Jack turned to his predetermined heading of one hundred eighty degrees, the track that would take him directly to the last known location of the sub-sea artifact.

  Scanning his GPS's, Jack noted the time to his destination: forty-three minutes. As the land behind him grew smaller by the minute, he replayed the upcoming landing over and over in his mind. Outside the plane, as he continually scanned for aircraft, he kept an eye on the ocean's surface, watching for any sudden change in wave heights.

  Close into shore, Jack had seen a few pleasure boats traveling around the shallows of the island’s bays. Further out at sea, the pleasure boats vanished and were replaced by commercial fishing boats engaged in their day's occupation. Soon though, as the land became no longer visible, even these boats too, disappeared from sight.

  Jack looked out the windows around him. Miles from land, devoid of civilization, he began to feel the reality of isolation. He had forgotten what it was like to be this vulnerable, and the thought of it left him feeling very uneasy. He listened intently to the drone of the engine, using its steady purr as a means to calm his fears, but with each passing minute, apprehension grew more conspicuous and distinct.

  Trying to ease his nerves, Jack divided his attention between the horizon and the instruments panel. His eyes moved from instrument to instrument, analyzing, interpreting, then moving on to the next. As minutes ticked by, his focus became more concentrated and intense, slowly quieting his fears.

  Suddenly, Jack heard the sound of alarms sending a startling jolt through his body. Quickly, he readjusted his focus on the source of the distraction. Prior to the flight, he had programmed both GPS's to sound an alarm one mile from his destination. He was now there, just one mile from his intended point of landing.

  Jack's heart began to pound wildly. He looked out at the water below. The last time he’d flown over this spot, he could just about see to the bottom. Now, years later, the water was much darker and ominous, sending a chill through his body.

  Jack reduced his power and pitched the nose over to enter a descent. He opted to not land immediately, instead deciding to fly over his point of intended landing, continuing to circle back around to land when his nerves soothed a bit.

  At one hundred feet above the water, Jack lowered his flaps and added more power to maintain altitude. Holding his heading for another minute, he heard the GPS's sound the alarm again. Peering out his window, he looked down. Jack strained his eyes but saw nothing except the eerie darkness of deep water.

  Flying past his destination, he said aloud, “Well, this is it, Amigo. All your money's on black."

  He waited five minutes, then entered a one hundred eighty-degree turn. Coming back about, he lined his plane up on the heading instructed on the two GPS's: three hundred sixty degrees. This was it. He was motivated and determined. He reduced the power once more and lowered the nose of the plane again, entering a shallow descent.

  Jack took out his water landing check list and started checking off the items as he completed the task: "Power setting, twelve hundred rpm's. Heading three sixty. Flaps, full. Water rudder, check."

  He looked out his side window again. The ocean's surface held small irregularities and tiny waves, creating a condition perfect for landing. He was getting closer by the second and needed to time his landing so that he touched down before his destination. After touchdown, he would float to his final point and drop his anchor to hold that position. It was going to be a difficult feat of timing and coordination. Any miscalculation would require just that much more swimming when he eventually started his dive.

  Alternating his focus between his heading indicator inside the plane and the water outside the plane, Jack nervously counted down the feet until touchdown: "Fifty, forty-five, forty feet."

  He was now talking to himself out loud, using the sound of his voice to keep his mind working.

  "Thirty, twenty-five, twenty feet. Airspeed thirty knots. Heading three sixty. Water still calm," he announced.

  His hands were sweaty and he re-gripped the control stick for a better feel. Quickly looking out the front windscreen, he made sure the wings were level.

  "Fifteen, ten, five feet. Airspeed twenty-five knots. Heading, still three sixty. This is it," his said, his voice quivering.

  Jack gradually pulled back on the control stick to slow his descent rate. He was now barely descending a mere few feet per minute. Looking out his side window, he watched the plane’s float reach out toward the water.

  Ever so slightly, Jack felt the first hint of touch down. The floats contacted a tiny wave, sending a minor jolt through the fuselage and sending a small amount of spray up and over the windscreen. Jack held his breath for a moment as another wave contacted both floats. Again, another wave made contact, then another.

  Jack's sweaty hands maintained the controls as each wave passed under the plane. Scanning the horizon, the stark remoteness of his location momentarily caused him to relax his grip. The plane plowed through a small wave. Instinctively, Jack hauled back on the stick and for a moment, the plane became airborne again. Without the speed over the wings to create lift, the plane began to settle back into the waves. Abrupt and startling, Jack felt the wave slam int
o the floats and he held the stick back to absorb the harsh blow. The plane bounced off one wave and struck another.

  "Aughh." Jack yelled as he let out a loud guttural exclamation, fearing for the safety of the flight.

  Again, he heard another loud bang as the floats plowed through two more waves. As he cleared the next wave, he noticed a slight break in the wave patterns ahead of him. Smoother water: this was his opportunity. He quickly reduced power and held the nose of the plane higher as the rear of the floats began to drag in the water.

  Steadily now, the continual flow across the floats sent vibrations through the plane. Jack cut the power and held on. The plane settled into the smoother water, then struck another smaller wave. Like a bucking bronco, the plane resisted its landing and rode the swells in violent protest. Jack felt the tightening of his seatbelt as he lifted out of his seat.

  In a blink of an eye, the ride was over. The plane's weight created heavy drag and slowed it to a near stop. Jack's floatplane was now a small boat in the middle of the ocean. Still a couple hundred feet from his destination point, he added a touch of power to continue the forward momentum. Gliding ahead, the plane drifted off course a bit due to currents and he added opposite rudder to steer the plane back on course.

  "Ok, you're down, but the ride ain't over yet. Stay focused," he called out to himself.

  As he closed in on his destination, he cut the power to the engine and allowed his forward momentum to carry him the rest of the way. Fifty feet from his dive point, Jack opened his door. In the passenger seat next to him sat a coiled length of rope and an anchor attached at one end. He grabbed the anchor and watched the GPS's intently. His plan was to drop the anchor just before he crossed the latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates of the object he had seen six years before. If he timed it right, the anchor would eventually land near the spot and hold.

  Jack tossed the anchor into the water. As it sank, he fed the rope out the door, taking care of any knots in the rope as they appeared. Keeping an eye on the GPS's, he was closing in on his final destination quickly. With mere feet left, he began to feed the rope out more quickly.

  His moment of truth had arrived. The alarms sounded on the GPS's and the "miles to destination" registered as zero point zero miles. He’d made it. Excitedly, he looked into the water hoping to see something, anything. Unfortunately, all he could see was the sun’s rays penetrating the ocean’s surface, then disappearing into blackness. Undeterred, he continued lowering the anchor.

  Jack had marked off lengths in the rope with pieces of tape. Having passed the seventy-five foot mark, he knew he was close to the bottom. Taking the other end of the rope, he wrapped it over the strut that ran from floats to wing, allowing him to control how much he fed out the door.

  He watched as the hundred foot marker passed his hands on the rope. Moments later, the anchor found its purchase and held. As the plane’s momentum carried it forward, he resisted the rope as it pulled through his hands, over the strut and into the water. Slowly, as he fought the rope’s pull, the plane came to a stop.

  Jack climbed out of the plane and stood out on the edge of the float. He looked around and swallowed hard. This was even more isolated and scary than he ever imagined. He looked down in the water hoping to spot the golden pyramid, but all he saw was the darkening shades of color that descended below him. Jack listened intently. Aside from the subtle lapping of waves against the floats, there was almost no sound out there in the middle of the ocean. The quiet seemed loud and conspicuous.

  "Damn, this is freakin' scary," he said out loud, then added, "Well Jack ole boy, you didn't come this far just to get a tan. Your destiny is down there somewhere."

  With characteristic resolve, he stepped back into the plane and prepared himself for his next adventure.

  Atlantis - Chapter 5

  "OK, time to get the show on the road," Jack announced.

  Standing on the edge of the float, he took a deep breath of air and exhaled his nervous energy. The previous half hour, he had spent preparing for his dive. Having placed a large hammock-type netting between the floats, he created a temporary platform to assemble his equipment onto.

  Not having tested the netting, Jack recognized a flaw in the design right away. With all his equipment assembled on it, the combined weight stretched the netting and its contents into the water.

  "Dammit, I guess taking a peaceful nap is out of the question," he joked loudly, breaking the extreme quiet.

  He sat on the edge of one of the floats and slipped into his wet suit. As he did, he began to notice tiny fish coming to investigate the strange new objects floating above their world. With the net resting in the water, he watched as the fish poked and pecked at the contents.

  Occasionally, he felt the fish tickle his bare feet as they dangled in the water. At first, he laughed and thought they were cute, but soon his imagination began to visualize images of menacing sharks pulling him from the floats. Sharks in the Caribbean are common and Jack knew that his fears were based in fact. In all likelihood, there probably was a shark swimming nearby, but the fact was, he needed to dive whether they were there or not. He had come this far and wasn't going to let his fears derail his opportunity. Quickly, he forced the unpleasant images out of his mind and focused on the task at hand.

  Having slipped into his diving gear, Jack floated in the water below the plane. Attached to his weight belt were his deepwater flashlight, camera, hoisting bag, rope and towline, as well as an extra full size air tank and a mini air tank called a "pony bottle."

  He put on his snorkel and goggles and looked down into the water. Aside from minute particles floating on by, he could not see the ocean floor. Without objects to gauge the waters visibility, he had no idea how deep he would have to descend before he would be able to see anything. The idea of diving into nothingness was frightening.

  Jack placed the air regulator in his mouth and took a few deep breaths. Satisfied with its performance, there was nothing more for him to do. He reached over and grabbed the anchor line, took one last look around and began to descend.

  His plan was a simple one. He would follow the anchor line, head first, down to the bottom. The point at which the anchor held would be very close to the metallic object he saw in the water six years ago. He knew he had drifted past it upon landing, so his plan was to swim twenty feet past the anchor to compensate for overshooting, then swim on a heading of two hundred eighty degrees for the next twenty minutes, figuring the currents might have caused the metal object to drift in that direction. If after twenty minutes he found nothing, he decided that he would turn around and go back to the anchor point, where he would head for the surface.

  One small complication Jack worried about with a dive this deep was upon ascending, he would need to stop just before the surface at the fifteen foot level where he had suspended a spare air tank, and "hang" at that depth for fifteen minutes while his body decompressed. Anything less and he would be susceptible to the bends, a painful and deadly condition that occurs as your body absorbs nitrogen bubbles due to the higher pressures in deep waters.

  As he swam down the line, the sun’s rays penetrated the clear water, illuminating the rope many feet in front of him. Although he couldn't see the bottom yet, he estimated the visibility to be somewhere around thirty to thirty-five feet.

  He kicked his fins hard and used the rope to help him descend. Pulling on the rope, hand over hand, he worked his way deeper. As he descended, he relieved the painful pressure in his ears by holding his nose, closing his mouth and blowing hard until the pain receded. Every five feet he needed to repeat the process. He hated this part of diving due to the slight headache that resulted from equalizing the pressures, but welcomed the necessary evil over the alternative—ruptured eardrums.

  Jack descended past the seventy-five foot marker on the rope. He was now roughly twenty-five below the surface. Looking up, he could see the bottom of the floats to his plane clearly, and above that, he could just make out the
silhouette of the wings and fuselage. Turning back toward his descent, in front of him loomed the darkness of the unknown. Looking around, he wondered what man-eating fish might be stalking him just beyond his visibility. He swallowed hard and continued on, trying not to let his fears get the best of him.

  As he passed the fifty foot marker on the rope, the area took on quite a different feel. He could tell the water was still clear, but now it was much darker. Looking up toward the surface, he could see faint light of the sun’s rays still penetrating through the water. He had the sensation of being suspended in midair and the same eerie feeling that he was being watched. Once again, he buried his fears and focused on his descent.

  Jack stopped swimming. Although there was still some light at his depth, he was now at the point where a flashlight would greatly improve visibility. He reached back and fumbled for his flashlight. Switching it on, he pointed it in front of him. Several feet below him was the twenty-five foot marker. He was close to the bottom now and the prospect of touching the ocean's floor sent a surge of excitement and energy through him. He kicked hard and continued his descent.

  The light began to pick up small particles in the water. Unlike those that he’d been seeing down through the depths of his descent, these were slightly heavier and took on a greenish hue. Jack focused hard as he continued downward and noticed they started to form in masses that took on strange shapes. Passing the twenty-five foot marker on the rope, the strange shapes suddenly began to look distinct.

  Concentrating hard now, Jack strained his eyes to make out what he was seeing. Suddenly, the strange irregular shapes became the ocean's floor. He was nearly there and each kick of his fins brought definition that gave life to the new world he was about to visit.