Jack stared at the wal s, remembering Heidi’s description of the underwater cave in the primitive photograph she had seen, and knowing himself what he was looking for. Suddenly he spotted something close to the base of the ledge of the upper cavern, and swam towards it. As he got close to the wal , his heart began to pound. ‘Bingo,’ he said.
Costas swam towards him, Together they stared at a line of five carved symbols, eroded and obscured by marine growth. ‘Look at that,’ Jack exclaimed.
‘Those first three symbols: the pectiform symbol, the half-moon and the cluster of dots. That’s what Katya identified from the Stone Age code as the shaman name for Noah, Uta-Napishtim. It’s identical to the name Little Joey saw on the cave wal in Atlantis, except here I don’t see the symbols for Enlil-Gilgamesh. After Noah’s name, there’s the Atlantis symbol. And final y there’s the half-moon with dots over it, the symbol Katya interprets as meaning
“west”.’
‘It’s like a carving on one of those castle dungeon wal s in England. “I was here.”’
‘Dungeon is probably about right,’ Jack said. ‘But I think it says more than that. I think it says Noah-Uta-napishtim was here, from Atlantis, or going to Atlantis, to the west. It’s fantastic. It’s exactly what I wanted to find. It confirms one of the greatest voyages of discovery in prehistory, the fact that travel ers from the most ancient civilization of the Old World went across the Atlantic more than seven thousand years ago. And I know where he was heading. I know where the new Atlantis lies.’
‘Jack, we have to move. Now.’
Jack felt a tug on his legs, but Costas was now several arm’s lengths away, moving rapidly across the cavern but somehow without finning. Jack suddenly realized what had happened. The tide had turned. He saw Costas drop down to the tunnel and begin to fin hard, making slow progress against the current that was suddenly racing through the lower part of the chamber from the blue hole into the bowels of the reef beyond. Jack realized that he was being propel ed around the upper part of the chamber in an eddy created by the current, but he found it impossible to fol ow it to the point where Costas had managed to get down to the tunnel. He saw that Costas had disappeared, but his voice crackled on the intercom.
‘Jack. I’m through. There’s no way you can fol ow me now. The current must have increased by three knots in the last minute. It’s like a vortex in here, a twister that’s sucking the water down. But I’ve got a line I’m going to feed back into the hole for you to grab. I should be able to pul you through.’
Jack let the eddy take him to a rocky outcrop protruding above the current, now clearly visible as a turbulent stream in the water. He held the rock with one hand and reached into the current with the other, feeling his hand almost rip away. Then he saw Costas’ line snake through, a dark streak below him with a smal orange buoy the size of a tennis bal at the end. It waved around violently, but it was at least three metres below the top of the current and there was no way he could reach it. He heard Costas again.
‘I always keep a buoy attached to float the line. It should come up to you.’
‘That’s a negative,’ Jack said. ‘The current’s too strong.’
‘I don’t have anything more buoyant on me.’
‘How long is this current going to last?’
The intercom crackled, the interference worse now.
‘A long time, Jack. It’s a spring tide at the moment, and it’s a high one. It’s like a bathtub emptying, and you’re somewhere down the sinkhole.’
‘You mean hours.’
There was no reply for a moment, then Costas came on clearly. ‘How’s your air?’
Jack glanced at his readout, and suddenly tensed.
Five hundred p.s.i. He only had a few minutes left.
‘Bad,’ he said. ‘It was my cal . I had to find the archaeology. I guess I’m paying the price.’
‘I’m coming in for you.’
‘Oh no you’re not.’
‘I’m going to find something to tie the line to out here, then tie myself off at the other end and work my way down the line through that tunnel. I should have the strength to kick out of the current long enough to grab you, and the line should be strong enough to al ow both of us to use it to make our way back against the current. I’m probably going out of radio range, Jack. The interference is real y bad out here.
I’m going to find part of the submarine wreckage to tie on to. Hang in there.’
Jack pushed off and floated back up into the upper part of the chamber. There was no point struggling against the current. He tried to relax, to slow his breathing, to conserve his remaining air. He tried to keep calm. It was always like this in diving. Things happened quickly. One moment everything is fine, euphoric, but you take a little risk along the way, and before you know it everything has gone very badly wrong, in an instant. He was in his element underwater, but he knew it was utterly unforgiving. In a cave, one poor decision, one gamble gone wrong, and that was it. His gamble with his air had been based on Costas being beside him in case he had to buddy-breathe. But then something had happened that he should have factored into the equation. They had even talked about the current on the way down.
He put it down to experience, for the next time they dived in this place.
He looked at the rock, seeing the symbols again: the Atlantis symbol that had come to mean so much in his career. The eddy had pushed him into a place of stil ness in the water, like the eye of a storm, and he used his breathing to acquire perfect neutral buoyancy. He had always loved doing that, the feeling he got when he knew he had achieved total equilibrium, a sensation of utter oneness with his environment that was far better than any altered-consciousness experience he could imagine. He forgot for a moment where he was, what was happening, and just revel ed in being where he had always wanted to be, underwater. Each breath, each slight exhalation was precious now, because he knew what was coming next, the greatest fear of al divers.
He tested his breathing, trying a deeper breath. It was tightening. He was running out of air. He tried not to panic, to breathe like someone trapped in a prison cel , banging against the wal s; he had to keep measured and calm until the final moment. He did not want to die. He felt his fingers and legs begin to tingle.
He remembered something, and delved into a pocket on his leg, pul ing out a smal writing board with a plastic sheet and a pencil. He quickly pul ed out his knife, cutting a piece off the sheet, and wrote on it, feeling his air going, realizing that his vision was tunnel ing. He dropped the board and tucked the note into the sleeve of his suit, where it would be found. He began gagging and retching. His neck felt as if it were about to explode. He wanted to get his helmet off, to drown rather than suffocate, but he could no longer raise his arms. He began to sink, dropping down towards the current.
Suddenly something hit him hard, and there was a flood of air in his helmet. He breathed in, great gulping breaths, feeling his head reel, his body instantly coming back to life again. Costas was holding him tight, tying the line that was looped around his own shoulders to Jack’s, keeping it free from the backup air hose that he had plugged from his backpack into Jack’s helmet. He stared into Jack’s visor. ‘You okay?’
‘That was a bit tight.’
‘Okay. Let’s get out of here.’ Costas led up the line, his bulk providing a buffer against the current that Jack was grateful to fol ow, keeping close behind so that the air hose was not stretched. Inch by inch they pul ed themselves back through the tunnel and towards the wrecked deck gun on the U-boat where Costas had tied the line. Ten minutes after leaving the cavern they were free of the current, which wavered in the water like a giant twister about five metres in front of the U-boat’s bow. Jack began to relax, fol owing Costas as he made his way up the casing of the submarine towards the conning tower. ‘Okay. This is what I wanted to find.’ Costas took out a smal crowbar from his kit and set to work on a low metal cover about the size of a smal bed. It came away easily, revealing a
folded inflatable boat that had clearly been sealed in an airtight space, looking in remarkably good condition as Costas shook it out. He fumbled around beneath it, found what he wanted and leaned back. ‘Heads up,’ he said. He pul ed a cord and the boat suddenly began to inflate, then bil owed up and rocketed towards the surface some twenty metres above. ‘Thought we may as wel enjoy some comfort while we wait for Paul,’ Costas said.
They began to ascend towards the irregular gap in the rocks that led to the surface, steering clear of the lethal whirlpool that whipped through the opening on one side. Jack looked up, seeing sunlight streaming through. Whatever had happened to the hurricane, it must have bypassed them. A dark shape came across the hole, about ten metres from them and five metres higher. Jack stared. It was impossible.
‘Costas, we’ve got company.’
Coming towards them were two divers, Saumerre and the other man. They were both wearing primitive Nazi oxygen rebreathers. ‘Shit,’ Costas said. ‘They must have found those inside the habitat. I didn’t think to look.’ Jack looked at his depth gauge. They were stil eighteen metres deep, almost twice the safe depth for pure oxygen diving. The second diver seemed sluggish, trailing behind Saumerre, almost certainly showing the effects of oxygen poisoning. But he was carrying a vicious-looking knife, and they were closing in. Jack looked at Costas.
‘The guy behind is suffering. Let’s take him out first.’
Costas removed his grapple gun from its holster and loaded a round. They were less than eight metres away now, easily within range. He aimed quickly and fired, but the metal grapple shot just to the right of the man’s legs and carried on for another few metres before dropping down, pul ing the grapple line with it and catching the man’s fin. He twisted round, trying to free himself, but only entangling his leg more, pul ing Costas towards him. Costas fumbled to disengage the line from the carabiner, where it was hooked to his e-suit. Jack watched as the line with the grapple dangling below began to twist round and round into the whirlpool. To his horror he realized that it was pul ing the man and Costas towards the vortex as wel . He pul ed out his knife and grabbed Costas, who had realized what was happening and was desperately trying to fin towards the rock wal . Jack finned hard against the pul of the line, then severed it with one swipe of his knife. They both rocketed forward out of the vortex. The man was already limp in the water, unconscious from oxygen poisoning, and Jack watched him plummet with horrifying speed down the whirlpool, disappearing through the tunnel to a place from which there could be no return.
When he looked up again, he realized that Saumerre had swum through the hole and was now over the reef heading out into the open ocean. It seemed a hopeless enterprise, but there was always the possibility that Saumerre’s boat had not been apprehended and would return to pick him up. Jack and Costas were too encumbered with gear to catch up. Jack made a snap decision. They were only about eight metres deep now, so he could easily surface.
The dive had been shal ow enough to mean that they had not exceeded their no-stop decompression time, so they shouldn’t have to worry about the bends. He took several deep breaths, then unlocked the quick release on his backpack and his helmet, pul ing the unit off and pushing it away, then reaching down to where he kept an emergency mask in a pocket on his leg, quickly putting it on and clearing it. Costas look at him in alarm, but Jack did a quick okay sign and pointed towards the rapidly receding form of Saumerre. He powered after him, the pal adion acting as a useful weight in the absence of his backpack.
He was out beyond the edge of the reef wal over the abyss, and reached Saumerre just as his chest began to tighten. His plan was to push Saumerre bodily down below the ten-metre safety threshold for the oxygen rebreather, then to leave him as he became unconscious. He was on Saumerre before the other man had realized what was happening, pushing down on his shoulders and powering down with his fins. Saumerre reacted instantly and with surprising strength, twisting round and grasping Jack’s arms. His grip was like a vice. Jack remembered what he was carrying. He let go of Saumerre, reached into the satchel and pul ed out the pal adion, the gold and dul metal swastika, feeling its weight, seeing for the first time the Atlantis symbol impressed in the edge. Saumerre saw it too, and froze.
Jack held it out to him.
For an instant, Saumerre’s hands remained gripped on Jack’s arm. Then he let go, and grabbed the pal adion, his eyes lighting up. He knew it now served no more purpose, that there were no secret chambers to unlock, but it had been a prize he had sought al his life, from the time his grandfather must have told told him what he had seen in that awful bunker outside the concentration camp almost seventy years ago. He was enraptured by it. Jack watched him sink down, oblivious to its weight, staring at it. He must have reached fifteen metres, then twenty, and below him there was nothing but a sheer drop of a mile or more into blackness. Too late he realized his mistake. He let go of the pal adion, and grasped his head in agony, tearing at the rebreather.
Then he went limp. The pal adion had caught in the webbing on his chest, and Jack watched it as Saumerre fel , his body face up and slowly spinning until al Jack could see was the golden shape of the swastika spinning round and round, shrouded in a swirl of tiny bubbles, until it disappeared into blackness.
Jack’s lungs were screaming for air. A regulator was thrust into his face. He grabbed it and put it in his mouth, sucking hard, looking at Costas. The sun was shining bril iantly on the surface, and they could see the dark shape of the inflatable from the U-boat bobbing above them. Slowly they began to ascend together. Just before breaking surface, Jack looked down again, half expecting to see that shape somewhere below him, but there was nothing but darkness.
It was over.
Epilogue
‘Jack, correct me if I’m wrong, but are you and I sailing off into the sunset together?’
Jack peered at Costas, then at the boat they were in, and then at the miles of empty ocean surrounding them, barely visible in the blinding sunlight. They were wedged opposite each other with hardly any space to move, but the old German inflatable seemed as strong as the day it had been packed on board the U-boat more than sixty-five years before, its CO2 bottle stil pressurized enough to fil the pontoons. Jack had stripped down the upper half of his wetsuit to his T-shirt, but Costas was stil wearing his tattered off-grey boilersuit bearing the scars and patches from their encounter with molten lava in another ocean a few days previously. Jack was holding the waterproof two-way radio that Costas had taken from a special pocket in his boilersuit that miraculously remained watertight. After surfacing and struggling into the boat, they had immediately sent out a VHF cal to Paul, who was on his way back from Seaquest II in the Lynx and due to arrive in a matter of minutes.
Costas reached into the waist of his boilersuit and pul ed out a compressed bag. He unzipped it and extracted something that looked like a wedge of unleavened bread, with something colourful oozing out of the sides. He sniffed it, grunted, and took a bite.
He looked at Jack as he munched away, then swal owed. ‘Not bad,’ he said, wiping his mouth.
‘Tuna and cucumber. Want one?’
‘You brought sandwiches. Sandwiches.’
Costas raised his arms. ‘So what?’
‘As if we were going on a picnic?’
Costas gestured with his sandwich at his boilersuit, speaking with his mouth ful . ‘Empty pocket otherwise.
May as wel fil them.’
Jack grinned, shaking his head, then reached into his own leg pocket and took out a smal plastic water bottle, uncapping it and draining it completely. He took out another one from the other side, then leaned back, squinting at the sun and closing his eyes, enjoying the heat. He felt something hit his hand, opened his eyes and saw a basebal cap, then saw that Costas was wearing one as wel .
‘Sun hats. One for me too. You blow me away.’
‘Be prepared. That’s my motto.’ Costas reached into another pocket and pul ed out his old aviator sunglasses,
putting them on at a skewed angle and looking at Jack, who was trying not to smile. Costas raised his arms again. ‘What?’
‘Got anything else in there?’
‘You want to know?’ Costas took a huge bite of his sandwich, and then began patting his boilersuit. The radio came to life, and Jack spoke into it for a few minutes. He put his hand over the receiver and spoke to Costas. ‘I’m just talking to Macalister on Seaquest II. There’s been an interesting development. Reuters is reporting a cruise missile strike in the heart of the Taklamakan Desert. Ben has been in touch with our MI6 contact, and they reckon the target was Shang Yong’s headquarters. MI6 have been expecting a crackdown on his operations by China, but not so soon. The evidence is pointing to an offshore US
strike, and that can only have come about through intel igence on a high-category terrorist threat. Ben reckons they must have been closely monitoring Saumerre, and that Shang Yong has paid the price for agreeing to work for him.’
‘Rebecca wil be happy,’ Costas said, munching.
‘That real y closes the lid on the bad guys.’
Jack nodded. He felt the box in his suit pocket containing the phial he had persuaded Saumerre to give him. Once that was deposited in a secure containment facility and destroyed, the lid would truly be closed. He put the radio back to his ear and spoke for a few more minutes. Then he put it down and laughed out loud, the first time he had done that in months. He grinned at Costas. ‘You remember a promise you made to a new friend a few days ago?’
‘Huh?’
‘You’re going to need a tuxedo.’
‘You’ve lost me.’
‘Lanowski’s getting married.’
Costas dropped his sandwich. ‘You’re kidding me.’
‘Nope.’ Jack offered him the radio. ‘Speak to Macalister if you want. It’s the biggest news since we found Atlantis.’
Costas waved away the radio. ‘You mean they actual y met?’
Gods of Atlantis Page 45
