The Atlantis Cipher (The Relic Hunters Book 2)

by David Leadbeater

  Here, now, immersed in this stream, surrounded by fire—I’m where I should be. It feels right.

  The flames died away; the debris stopped falling, at least for now. Bodie rose from the stream, expecting anything. The sight that met his eyes was a sobering one.

  Zeus’s burning body, dead and sitting on its knees, now deceased to protect a birthright, having remained loyal to the colleagues who had perished before him. The corpse’s muscles had contracted in the fire, and now the limbs appeared to be clawing at Bodie in a defensive posture.

  Bodie then stared beyond the nightmarish image of Zeus to the wall they had traveled so far to see. He couldn’t help but step forward, feet dragging through sodden timbers and still flickering remnants. The barrels Zeus had positioned beside the frieze had done most of their work, destroying a good portion of the detail on the outer rock face, but not all. Bodie could see three upraised arms, constellations scattering from them like celestial spray. A faint line joined several constellations, the path to Atlantis. Ares’s head was still intact, as well as portions of the gods’ bodies. Even as he watched, Bodie saw a part of the ancient depiction crumble away.

  “Madman,” Hakim growled.

  “The world is full of them,” Bodie agreed. “Is everyone okay?”

  The only grumbling came from Gunn, whose leg now throbbed despite the medic’s earlier attentions, and Cassidy, who claimed she’d swallowed half the stream. They took a few moments to photograph what remained and check the cave for more petroglyphs or hidden passageways. The Bratva verified that their exit tunnel was intact, and then they were heading back up to the surface, evidence in hand, aware that they now possessed a potential map to the lost city of Atlantis and all the ancient knowledge and wonders it might yet contain.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Two Sikorsky helicopters thundered through the dawn, rotors black against the rising blush of daylight. Beneath, the enormous breadth of the Atlantic Ocean rolled and swelled, dangerous waters as far as the eye could see.

  The only speck on the horizon grew larger as they came nearer—a battered research vessel called the RV Philias out of Greece, which had been retasked and directed to a particular set of coordinates.

  Lucie had followed the celestial map that outlined the Dolphin Ridge, which the US ship Challenger had mapped out many years before. Using deep-sea sounding, the Challenger found an Atlantic plateau rising nine thousand feet above the incredible depths around it. When this plateau proved to be one thousand miles in width and three thousand miles long, the community still did not recognize this Atlantis-shaped, immersed land right where Plato said it would be. Within this elevated ridge lay several trenches, some deep, some narrow. The celestial map pointed them toward something called the Atlantean Trench.

  Follow the coordinates, Bodie thought. That was all they had to do. Lucie had put to bed any further skepticism by finding an assertion in Scientific American that the mountains and valleys of the plateau’s surface could not have been formed underwater but had to have been fashioned by elements scouring the land above water. And to explain the travel of plants, animals, and races between continents, connecting ridges were found, whereupon great journeys between continents could be made.

  All of this was moot to Bodie, and to most of the rest of the team. And in particular, the Bratva. Zeus and his cronies had already persuaded them that something existed. All they had to do now was find it.

  Bodie surveyed the seas and the skies. As clear as a mirrored surface. Such tranquility did not lull him into dropping his guard, and he noticed Cassidy scanning the terrain too. Despite the fact that the Bratva were with them, it was perfectly possible for another enemy to appear—more Chinese, or perhaps some new foe whose curiosity had been piqued by the discovery of the statues.

  Bodie didn’t trust the Bratva’s intentions. Yasmine and Hakim had their own agenda, and Atlantis was understandably not their priority. A reckoning was definitely coming, especially as Bodie didn’t remember Viktor Davydov being agreeable in any way. Then there was the mysterious Lucien, the big boss, who apparently knew about Yasmine’s infiltration and was helping her.

  The research ship’s impressive size became more apparent as the choppers glided toward it. The landing was hard, skids bouncing multiple times off the metal deck. After disembarking, Bodie found the ship’s captain and some of the crew gathered at the side, staring suspiciously at them. The wind bit strongly, sharp and cold and unwarmed by the blossoming sun.

  “The vessel is ready,” someone said with a heavy accent. “You follow me.”

  The “vessel” turned out to be a submersible, an odd hunk of metal that looked even older and more battered than the ship. The team eyed it suspiciously.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Cassidy grumbled.

  “How far down are we going in this thing?” Gunn asked.

  A man came up to them, short, stocky, and with a face seemingly carved by the wildest winds. “My name is Alec, and I am the pilot,” he said in practiced English. “We have been told to assist you. But this is my vessel, my baby. Yes, it is old. Yes, it is fragile. So you treat her with respect because, believe me, you really do not want to break her.”

  “Understood.” Heidi came forward and reached out to shake the man’s hand. “How many can she hold?”

  Alec didn’t even acknowledge the hand. “Listen to me. There are no parachutes. No flight attendants. Just one captain. We put a foot wrong down there and we die. You may have your mission,” he said, shaking his head, “but that does not mean you are in charge.”

  “We get it,” Heidi shot back. “You don’t like us being here. You don’t like us commandeering your boat. Tough. Get over it. And don’t worry, I have no intention of overriding an expert in his own field.”

  Alec, looking somewhat mollified, gestured for them to follow along the ship’s top rail. Bodie fell in line, ignoring the crew and heading toward the submersible, a dirty, great oblong bulk of metal and tubes. Alec paused, staring over their heads at the ship’s captain.

  “Anything?”

  Bodie heard a negative answer. Maybe they were appealing to call it off. He wondered if they should at least explain their mission to the pilot. The boat rolled and creaked; the submersible reverberated even standing still. Heidi ignored the wind as it whipped ineffectually at her curls.

  “Problem?”

  Alec glared at her. “No. No problem. But I need to know which three are coming, and what you are looking for.”

  Heidi shook her head. “Not a chance, man. But I do know who will accompany you.”

  Bodie couldn’t help feeling an icy thrill as she spoke his name along with Cassidy’s and Jemma’s. He waited a beat, then reached out a hand to Heidi’s shoulder.

  “You’re staying behind?”

  Heidi grinned. “Are you kidding? Of course I’m staying behind. The Devil himself wouldn’t get me inside that deathtrap.”

  “Ah, thanks.” Bodie nodded. “We’re expendable, you’re not. Good pep talk.”

  “It is one of my fortes.”

  “This arrangement between us,” he said. “It ends very soon.”

  Bodie followed instructions all the way. They climbed a ladder and lowered themselves through a circular hatch, then descended into the bowels of the submersible. Inside it was nothing but clinical, all metal shelves and computer screens, large buttons and ribbons of wire. Bodie was extremely cautious, aware that he couldn’t break anything. The pilot’s own pep talk had served its purpose.

  The interior was cramped. Bodie, Jemma, and Cassidy sat on the floor. Alec picked his way between them to the front of the small craft. Even Cassidy looked a little nervous as the round hatch was closed and the interior wheel turned to seal them inside. Luckily, the pilot soon diverted any anxieties they might have.

  “Leave the weights for now, we’re not overloaded,” he said through an intercom. “Minimal prep time.” He tapped at a laptop that rested on his knees. Bodie was pleased
to hear and see the professional tone and manner.

  “Send me the coordinates now. Checking outside lights and temperature . . .” A few more presses and then an adjustment of a small wheel that, to Bodie, looked like a radiator control. “Yes, we’re good. Master arm is functional and we have . . . eight hours of power on the main cells.” Alec looked around at Bodie.

  “No more than a six-hour dive. You understand?”

  Bodie nodded. Six hours sounded like a lifetime. Cassidy mentioned the restroom and received a scathing glare. Jemma asked about the science of the submersible and received a grudging reply. There was no placating their pilot.

  “We ready?” he said into the handheld comms.

  A crackle came back that, to Bodie, sounded rather ominous. If the connection was crackling up here, right next to the antennae, what would it be like a thousand meters below the surface?

  “Video feed live,” Alec said.

  “Live,” the black box sizzled.

  “Then we’re a go. Sit back, relax, and let’s get this journey over as soon as possible.”

  Bodie nodded in agreement. “Pal, do I ever agree!”

  Bodie reined in his imagination as they sank through murky depths. Who knew what they would find, or what they might encounter on the way? The ocean depths were the most unexplored regions on the earth, and home to incalculable secrets. The actual descent wouldn’t take as long as they’d thought—probably forty-five minutes—but the sense of water pressing all around was something he was increasingly forced to ignore.

  He concentrated on what might be happening aboard ship as the submersible sank toward unfathomable depths.

  Heidi, he was certain, had kept herself and Cross up top to make sure Yasmine and Hakim were handled. Together, they would be able to keep watch on the other Moroccans. Bodie knew Heidi’s initial communications to Interpol had made them aware of the situation.

  The ship’s captain would be privy to this knowledge too. Hopefully, his men were prepped.

  So . . . smooth sailing? Bodie laughed at the image, and the chances of anything on this mission going smoothly. The only thing he knew for certain was that Alec was prepping the outside lights and master arm. Visibility remained good, the main screen showing a blur of greenish water illuminated by a single bright light, shapes of small fish darting away. The pilot guided them lower and lower, saying nothing, just following the readings and calculations on his monitors that showed a colorful map of the approaching seabed and the distances from rocks and trenches to channels, sea mounts, and valleys.

  “How close to the exact coordinates will we get?” Jemma asked.

  Alec grunted. “Close. We can’t risk striking a rock or coming too near a ledge, but the seabed looks flat enough at that point. We’re ten minutes away.”

  Bodie took a breath, now feeling anxious about what they may find down there. Each small TV monitor showed a different view of the sea around them.

  On the one hand, he knew there had been prior expeditions to locate Atlantis that had come up empty-handed; but on the other, not a single one of them had known the exact coordinates of where to look.

  Knowledge was everything. He’d discussed something similar with members of his own team: why, every time a plane went down, wreckage from the lost aircraft was sometimes never found, even though a portion of it might still float. The sea was far vaster than most could imagine, and looking for a seat or a life raft in the wide waters would be like searching for the tip of a spire or a dilapidated wall across the bulk of the murky ocean floor.

  Impossible.

  With the seabed coming closer, the team edged nearer the screens. Alec waved them back impatiently, but didn’t ask again what they searched for. As they descended, he took a sonar reading that more clearly showed the upcoming floor.

  “Slow, slow,” Jemma said. “We’re looking for a mass. A large mass. A building, almost.”

  Bodie understood. “You’re thinking the temple?”

  “Why not? So far, Danel’s used it as the focal point for every clue, even building a representation of the original.”

  He waited and watched, reminded that Jemma had recently suffered electrocution and proud of how calm she acted now. The entire team had taken their new CIA status in a remarkably unruffled manner, at least outwardly.

  Bodie guessed some part of it was down to legitimacy—it was good to be hunting and not hunted for a short while. But the lack of freedom, of free will, that needed addressing.

  Alec drifted lower still. The coordinates clicked closer and closer until a low-key siren sounded among the submersible’s instruments. Jemma leaned in to the small screen that focused on the sea floor.

  “Can you enlarge?”

  “On the laptop, yes.” Alec clicked some buttons.

  Bodie peered harder at the expanded picture that appeared, crowding close to Alec’s shoulder. “What is that?”

  Alec fired off another sonar reading, which told them the looming object was not silt, though silt covered almost all of it. The sediment mounds rose and fell, swirled by the current and built up through countless years.

  “Could be a ship,” Alec said. “Although the bulge there”—he tapped the screen—“is actually all silt, so the shape is distorted.”

  “Can we get rid of the silt?” Jemma asked.

  “Yes, we have a vacuum, but wait . . .”

  Alec reported their findings to the ship and slowed their descent. He spent a moment firing off a series of sonar scans and then cleaned up the image. “If we remove the silt like so, then we are left with a shape.” He shrugged. “Is this what you are searching for?”

  Bodie watched, electrified, as the picture suddenly became clear.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  A roof shaped like a pediment. A frieze potentially across the length of its front plinth. A series of columns, some collapsed. The building was an exact match to the one in the Azores but on a far larger scale. It lay at an angle, much of the structure broken but so well made by the Atlanteans that it hadn’t crumbled and scattered across the seabed on impact. The team took screen shots and Alec spent a little time vacuuming the silt away, but soon realized the task was far beyond the capacity of their vessel.

  “Whatever that is,” he said, “you will need special surveying, safety, and lifting equipment to continue this journey.”

  Bodie understood and wholeheartedly agreed, but secrecy was still paramount. Enough people already knew about their search—including several at Interpol now—and they didn’t want it broadcast further without a cautious plan in place. Jemma asked Alec to inform Heidi that their operation had been successful and to take the next step.

  Bodie sat back, eyes closed, feeling a deep sense of achievement, but most of all, relief. Mission accomplished. Perhaps this was one time that they could actually rest on their laurels. Nobody was crazy enough to assume Atlantis would be properly discovered in the next few days or months, perhaps even years, depending on budget, but their own job was done, and they had done it well.

  Alec guided the craft upward without comment, clearly glad to be done with them. As they approached the bottom of the ship and the water’s rolling surface, the Greek pilot turned to them with a frown.

  “I am getting no reply from the ship.”

  Bodie stared. “How do you mean?”

  “The frequency. It has been turned off. We are now on our own.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The communication channel has been—”

  A blast cut him off, a booming explosion, and the vessel tumbled sideways. Bodie hung on, grabbed Jemma by the arm. Cassidy fell to her knees before clutching a metal strut. A spark ignited a flame in the console, making the lights flicker. Bodie saw a leak spring forth as the submersible slowed and Alec reached frantically for a fire extinguisher.

  “Plug the hole!” he cried. “Now!”

  Struggling to remain upright, he sprayed with abandon and put out the flames. Another spark flash
ed in front of his eyes, but didn’t catch fire. Bodie saw a tiny hole along one seam and crawled over as fast as he could. The water was just trickling, but still an incredibly scary sight inside the metal chamber. The pilot threw Bodie some special clay and he molded it to the hole.

  Gradually, they righted.

  “What was that?” Jemma breathed.

  The pilot brought them up beneath the ship. “A bomb,” he said carefully. “Somebody dropped something over the ship’s side. I heard other explosions too. Possibly grenades.”

  “The Bratva?” Cassidy asked.

  “Unlikely,” Bodie said. “Surely they would make their move after we returned, but I guess it’s possible.”

  “Maybe Zeus wasn’t alone after all,” Jemma said.

  Alec eyed them doubtfully. “Zeus?”

  “It’s a long story, dude,” Cassidy said. “Now, can you get us quietly onto that ship?”

  “Won’t we still be registering on radar?” Jemma asked.

  “Sure.” Cassidy nodded. “But they won’t know we’re alive, right?”

  “Communications are down,” Alec said, nodding. “All transmissions lost. They might think we are floundering, bobbing around, and I can simulate that. As for letting you out of here . . . we would have to surface.”

  “You can’t . . . flood it?”

  Alec looked scared. “The sub would sink faster than it filled.”

  “Understood,” Bodie said. “Then we surface. Fast.”

  He was aware the comms system had been fine not so long ago. Whatever had happened up there had happened recently, and might still be happening. There was no better time to act and no better cover for their vessel.