“And then the multiplier effect.” Katya’s face seemed flushed in the torchlight as she spoke. “Bronze tools foster a second agricultural revolution. Villages become towns, towns beget palaces. The priests introduce Linear A writing to facilitate record-keeping and administration. Soon Minoan Crete is the greatest civilization the Mediterranean had ever seen, one whose power lay not in military might but in the success of its economy and the strength of its culture.” She looked across at Jack and nodded slowly. “You were right after all. Crete was Plato’s Atlantis. Only it was a new Atlantis, a utopia refounded, a second grand design that continued the age-old dream of paradise on earth.”
“By the middle of the second millennium BC, Minoan Crete was at its height,” Dillen said. “It was just as described in the first part of Solon’s papyrus, a land of magnificent palaces and exuberant culture, of bull-leaping and artistic splendour. The eruption of Thera shook that world to its foundations.”
“Bigger than Vesuvius and Mount St. Helens combined,” Costas said. “Forty cubic kilometres of fallout and a tidal wave high enough to sink Manhattan.”
“It was a cataclysm that reached far beyond the Minoans. With the priesthood all but extinguished, the entire edifice of the Bronze Age began to crumble. A world that had been prosperous and secure slid into anarchy and chaos, torn apart by internal conflict and unable to resist the invaders who swept down from the north.”
“But some of the priests escaped,” Costas interjected. “The passengers in our shipwreck perished but others made it, those who left earlier.”
“Indeed,” Dillen said. “Like the inhabitants of Akrotiri, the priests in the monastery took heed of some forewarning, probably violent tremors which seismologists think shook the island a few weeks before the cataclysm. I believe most of the priesthood perished in your ship. But others reached safe haven in their seminary at Phaistos on the south coast of Crete, and a few fled further to join their brethren in Egypt and the Levant.”
“Yet there was to be no new attempt to revive Atlantis, no further experiment with utopia,” Costas ventured.
“Already dark shadows were falling over the Bronze Age world,” Dillon said grimly. “To the north-east the Hittites were marshalling in their Anatolian stronghold of Boghazköy, a gathering storm that was to scythe its way to the very gates of Egypt. In Crete the surviving Minoans were powerless to resist the Mycenaean warriors who sallied forth from the Greek mainland, the forebears of Agamemnon and Menelaus whose titanic struggle with the east was to be immortalized by Homer in the siege of Troy.”
Dillen paused and eyed the group.
“The priests knew they no longer had the power to shape the destiny of their world. By their ambition they had rekindled the wrath of the gods, provoking once again the heavenly retribution that had obliterated their first homeland. The eruption of Thera must have seemed apocalyptic, a portent of Armageddon itself. From now on the priesthood would no longer take an active role in the affairs of men, but would closet itself in the inner recesses of sanctuary and shroud its lore in mystery. Soon Minoan Crete like Atlantis before it would be no more than a dimly remembered paradise, a morality tale of man’s hubris before the gods, a story that passed into the realm of myth and legend to be locked for ever in the mantras of the last remaining priests.”
“In the temple sanctum at Saïs,” Costas ventured.
Dillen nodded. “Egypt was the only civilization bordering the Mediterranean to weather the devastation at the end of the Bronze Age, the only place where the priesthood could claim unbroken continuity back thousands of years to Atlantis. I believe Amenhotep’s was the last surviving line, the only one still extant at the dawn of the classical era. And that too was doomed to extinction two centuries later with the arrival of Alexander the Great.”
“And yet the legacy endures,” Jack pointed out. “Amenhotep passed on the torch to Solon, a man whose culture held promise that the ideals of the founders could one day be resurrected.” He paused and then continued quietly, with barely suppressed emotion. “And now that sacred duty has fallen to us. For the first time since antiquity the legacy of Atlantis has been laid before mankind, not only what we have seen but untold wisdom not even Amenhotep could have divulged.”
They left the chamber and made their way slowly down the stairway towards the well of light at the bottom. On either side the carved figures of the priests and priestesses seemed to ascend past them, a solemn procession forever striving for the holy of holies.
CHAPTER 33
There was a commotion at the end of the passageway and Ben came hurrying towards them along with two of Sea Venture’s crewmen.
“You should get out at once. We have a possible intruder.”
Jack shot Costas a glance and the two of them immediately strode ahead with the crewmen.
“What’s the situation?”
“Unidentified aircraft flying in low directly at us. The radar picked it up five minutes ago. It doesn’t answer any call signs. And it’s fast. High subsonic.”
“Bearing?”
“Trajectory 140 degrees. South-south-west.”
They reached the audience chamber and strode together round the platform to the exit on the opposite side. Even skirting close to the edge they could feel the scalding heat coming from the central chimney, a sudden upsurge of volcanic activity while they had been inside the passageway.
“It looks like we’re in for an event.”
“In more ways than one.”
Jack gestured for the others to hurry and waited while Hiebermeyer and Dillen caught up, taking up the rear as they stumbled through the exit tunnel. A wave of scorching gas blew past them as they huddled to one side in the brilliant sunlight outside the entrance.
“It’s an upwelling in the core.” Costas raised his voice against the increasing roar from the chamber they had just left. “One of those events the Atlanteans recorded in their calendar. There might be some lava.”
“Tom York has already ordered a complete evacuation because of the intruder,” Ben shouted. “It’s for your own safety.”
“We’re with you.”
They quickly followed Ben down the steps towards the makeshift helipad, blinking furiously in the glare of daylight. The last of the Seahawks had just taken up position offshore and the only remaining aircraft was Sea Venture’s Lynx, the rotors powered up and two crewmen hanging out of the side door ready to help them in.
“It’s a military jet.” Ben was pressing in his earphone against the cacophony as he ran. “They’ve never seen one like it here before. The Russian FAC captain thinks it’s a Harrier.”
Jack suddenly felt a sickening wave of certainty as he helped Dillen towards the helicopter.
Aslan’s blast-proof hangars. Olga Ivanovna Bortsev.
“They think it’s heading for the submarine. They’ve got a missile lock. They’re not taking any chances. They’ve fired.”
As he leapt into the helicopter Jack saw the streak of two missiles from the FAC craft nearest Kazbek. As they sought their target, a black dot appeared over the waves on the horizon to the east.
She’s not coming for the submarine. She’s come to join her lover in hell.
“Go!” Jack yelled. “It’s coming for us!”
As the pilot wrenched the helicopter off the ground they saw the aircraft hurtle over the submarine, followed by the contrails of the two missiles. Jack spun back towards the open doorway just in time to see the missiles impact and blow off the Harrier’s tail. The Lynx rose with dizzying speed as the wreckage hurtled beneath them, the helmeted figure in the cockpit visible for an instant as the explosion engulfed the forward part of the fuselage. Before they could register what had happened, an immense shock wave threw the helicopter upwards, nearly bouncing Jack and the doorman out of the aircraft as the others held on to anything they could.
The burning Harrier hit the cliff face with the impact of a comet. The aircraft had been aimed directly at the volcano entrance and
its remains continued on into the audience chamber, vanishing as if they had been sucked into the maw of the volcano. For an extraordinary moment the fire and noise disappeared completely.
“She’s going to blow!” Costas yelled.
As the helicopter rose above a thousand feet and veered to seaward they stared aghast at the scene beneath them. Seconds after the concussion there was a mighty roar and a jet of flame burst out of the entrance like an afterburner. The Harrier’s impact had compressed and ignited the volatile gases which had collected inside the audience chamber. The cone of the volcano seemed to blur as the colossal rumbling of the detonation reached them. A geyser of fire shot up hundreds of metres where the vapour chimney had once been.
From the edge of the billowing cloud of dust that obscured the cone as it collapsed they saw a rim of fire, tongues of molten magma that began to roll inexorably down the slopes towards the sea.
Atlantis had revealed its secrets for the last time.
EPILOGUE
The last rays of the setting sun cast a warm glow over the waves that lapped at the stern of Sea Venture. Away to the east the sea merged with the sky in a lurid haze, and to the west the sinking orb drew in the remaining light in vast converging trackways across the sky. In the aftermath of the eruption everything was suffused with pastel colours, the shrouded site of the volcano a vortex of dust and vapour surrounded by a halo of pink and orange.
Jack and the others were sitting on the upper deck above the bridge, the entire panorama of the last few days visible before them. After the extraordinary discoveries of the morning and their narrow escape they felt drained but exuberant, and now were quietly basking in the warmth at the end of the day.
“I wonder what your old Greek would have made of all this.” Costas was leaning back on one arm, his battered face turned towards Jack.
“He probably would have scratched his head for a moment, gone ‘ah’ and then taken out his scroll and begun recording it. He was that kind of guy.”
“Typical archaeologist,” Costas sighed. “Complete failure to get excited about anything.”
The site of the island was still concealed by clouds of steam where the lava had entered the sea but they knew nothing now remained above water. The underground labyrinth had progressively collapsed after the audience chamber imploded with the weight of the magma welling up above. For several alarming hours that afternoon they had experienced a version of the Thera aftershock as the larger chambers caved in, the sea sucking in and rebounding in minor tsunamis that challenged even Sea Venture’s stabilizer system. Even now they knew the eruption was continuing deep underwater, disgorging rivers of lava that were flowing down the ancient roadways and taking the outer reaches of the city in their embrace.
“Excavation might still be possible,” Costas said. “Look at Pompeii and Herculaneum, even Akrotiri on Thera.”
“Pompeii’s taken two hundred and fifty years and they’re only halfway there,” Jack replied. “And it’s under ash and fallout, not lava. And it’s not underwater.”
They consoled themselves that other marvels remained to be discovered along the ancient shoreline, perfectly preserved sites like the village off Trabzon that would answer many of their questions about how the people of this extraordinary culture flourished more than seven thousands years ago.
For Jack there was nothing more important than the revelation about Atlantis and its remarkable place in history. If they had known they were on borrowed time they might never have entered the volcano at all; their dive through the labyrinth and the discovery of the sanctuary now seemed hallowed experiences, never to be repeated.
He was certain that safeguarding the submarine and destroying Aslan may have prevented nuclear holocaust. Their achievement was a ray of hope, a small sign that people still had the ability to shape their own destiny. For the sake of those priestly visionaries at the dawn of civilization they must ensure their discovery was remembered not just as a revelation of past glory but also as a promise for the future. That was the true legacy of Atlantis.
The dying ripples of wind ruffled the sea in sheets of mottled orange, each gust sweeping off towards the west. To the north they could just make out the oily smudge that was all that remained of Vultura; her burnt-out shell had slipped almost unnoticed beneath the waves an hour before. Close inshore the scene was dominated by the huge bulk of Kazbek. Its escort had opened up to allow a Russian salvage vessel to manoeuvre into position. Further out lay another cordon of warships whose number had increased steadily through the day. They were taking no chances, the events of the past few days showing that rogue elements had the ruthlessness and daring to take on the most potent international forces.
Efram Jacobovich was talking quietly into a cellphone with his back to the group. Using the negotiating skills that helped make him one of the world’s richest men, he had already brokered a deal which would see Aslan’s wealth split between the three main parties. The Turks would get a much-needed reserve for earthquake relief and the Georgians the means to raise a powerful security force. IMU would be able to build Seaquest II, with more than enough left over to finance a programme of research along the entire Black Sea shore.
Jack looked at Costas.
“Thanks for the ADSA, by the way. If you hadn’t insisted on installing it in the command module I’d be a permanent fixture on the seabed by now.”
Costas raised the large gin and tonic which had thoughtfully been provided for him. “And thanks for showing up in the nick of time,” he replied. “Where I was, things were getting distinctly hot.”
“I have one question,” Jack said. “What would you have done if I hadn’t arrived?”
“I’d just agreed to lead Aslan’s men back down through the volcano to the submarine. Remember the final section of underwater tunnel, the lava extrusion just before we broke surface? I would have taken them down the left-hand passageway.”
“Directly into the magma chamber.”
“I was going there one way or another,” Costas said ruefully. “That way I’d at least have taken a couple of Aslan’s men with me and given Katya a chance. For the greater good, as you would say.”
Jack looked across at the pensive form of Katya, her face gilded by the sun as she leaned on the rail with her eyes fixed on the sea. They had discovered such incredible things over the past few days, yet she had been through a searing experience Jack could never have predicted when they first met in Alexandria a few short days ago.
He looked back at the battered features of his friend.
“For the greater good,” he repeated quietly.
Dillen was sitting quietly to one side, staring at the horizon, his face a picture of studious contemplation as he sucked on his antique clay pipe. After they had finished speaking, he turned and looked quizzically at Jack.
“And I have one question for you,” he said. “That incomplete set of plaques. Which group do you think had them?”
Jack thought for a moment. “They had everything up to the fourth tablet, the rudiments of agriculture and animal husbandry and stonemasonry. They could have gone to western Europe, where the Bronze Age began later than in the Near East, to Spain or western France or Britain.”
“Or further afield,” Dillen prompted.
“Some of the artefacts from early prehistory found in Mesoamerica and China have never been properly explained,” Jack said. “When urbanism developed in the Americas it produced architecture incredibly similar to Old World forms, pyramids and courtyards and processional ways. It could be that the legacy of Atlantis was a truly global phenomenon, that the world was knit together then as never before or since.”
The landing lights on the stern helipad came on and Jack turned to watch. The helipad had been a hive of activity all day. Earlier that afternoon Sea Venture’s Lynx had arrived with a UN nuclear weapons inspection team for transfer to Kazbek, and now it had returned on a refuelling stop from Abkhazia with a precious cargo of works of art from Aslan’s sh
attered headquarters. As it lifted off on its way to Istanbul, they could hear the deeper drumming of two Westland transport helicopters which had taken holding positions and were awaiting their turn to land.
Despite their fatigue, Jack knew he had been right to call a press conference immediately. In little more than an hour the reporters would all be back at the IMU staging headquarters at Trabzon and news of the discovery would be flashed around the world in time to fill the next morning’s headlines.
As the first helicopter settled on the helipad and began to disgorge scurrying teams of cameramen, Jack stood up, his rugged features framed against the dying light of the day. Just before walking down the steps to face the limelight he turned to the others.
“I’m here with Sea Venture until the search is called off,” he said. “Peter wouldn’t have wanted it but I owe it to him. I brought him here and he was my friend.”
“He was a hero,” Katya said softly. “The world is a better place than it was five days ago.”
They looked over to where she still leaned on the rail, staring to the east. She turned to him and held his gaze. The emotions of the last few days were etched on her face, but the soft copper hues of the evening light seemed to wipe away her cares and radiate the warmth of a brighter future. She got up, and, smiling tiredly, came over and stood beside him.
Jack took a deep breath and then looked back at the others.
“Oh, and any of you are welcome to take some R & R at my expense.”
“Sorry, old boy.” Dillen smiled warmly at Jack, his pipe clenched firmly between his teeth. “I have a conference on palaeolinguistics to chair and this little diversion has disrupted my preparations completely. I’m afraid I have to get back to Cambridge tomorrow.”
“And I have Noah’s Ark to find,” Mustafa said nonchalantly. “Not on Mount Ararat but on the shoreline where the southern group beached their vessels before going overland. I need to organise an IMU survey team.”
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