The Spear of Atlantis (Wilde/Chase 14)

by Andy McDermott

  She had spent the previous evening musing on how the celestial map in the Hall of the Ambassadors could possibly be linked to the far older Atlantean relics. Her answer was straightforward enough to satisfy Occam’s razor: the simplest explanation is generally the correct one. In this case, knowing that the people of Atlantis had settled near Seville – the discovery of the markers beneath the Tartessian site proved that – made it reasonable to believe the expansionist empire had explored, even settled, the rest of the Iberian peninsula.

  The Atlanteans had been here. The lights cast by the markers aligned to the Moorish star map. Therefore, the Moors had copied something made by the Atlanteans.

  She knew there would be plenty of scholars, not just in the Muslim world, who would be offended by the suggestion. The carved ceiling was considered one of the world’s greatest Islamic artworks. But she knew that even if the wooden firmament was modelled on an older version, the style of the Atlantean original would have been very different. The later interpretation had its own sense of beauty.

  So the ancient Atlanteans had created a map, which a later civilisation replicated in its own fashion, probably without even being aware of its true meaning. But now Nina was on the verge of uncovering it. The reason the pattern of lights and stars seemed familiar was simple: she had seen it before.

  She laid the book open at the relevant picture. The sunken chamber, amongst other treasures, had contained a map: the world as seen by the Atlanteans as they explored and conquered new territories. The ancient civilisation had established outposts across more than half the planet, from the depths of the Amazon rainforest to the Himalayas. The outlines of the continents were distorted, but recognisable – and upon them were marked places of great importance. Atlantis itself was the largest, but there were others in Europe, Africa and across into Asia. Nine in all, linked by lines to form a constellation.

  It was distinctive enough for Nina to have remembered it – but the pattern the markers created had twelve points, not nine. Three extra stars.

  Three spearheads.

  The Atlantean texts recovered near Seville claimed that in addition to the one used to test their power, there had been a trio of spearheads left poised to destroy their enemies. And the marker was the key to finding them.

  She compared the picture on her camera to the map in her book, picking out the interlopers. One in the eastern Mediterranean, south of Greece. Another somewhere in Turkey. And the last far to the east, in the islands of Indonesia. The Atlantean chart was too inaccurate to pin their locations down precisely, but she was sure that by using the maps in her atlas, she would be able to match them to modern-day locations.

  Time to get to work.

  ‘Time to get to work,’ said Eddie, checking his watch.

  He and his team were in an empty apartment not far from the Scuola Grande, Jared picking its lock with surprising ease. This particular flat had been chosen for a reason: it had a rear door opening directly on to the canal leading south from the museum. A plank running across an arched recess acted as a private mooring. The arch’s inset meant anyone in it would be out of sight from the piazza behind the Scuola.

  Olivia, wearing a formal dark blue dress, was having second thoughts. ‘Are you sure this will work?’ she asked him. ‘If everything doesn’t go perfectly, you’ll be arrested. Or worse.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to go perfectly,’ he assured her. ‘Just good enough.’

  ‘And you’re happy for things only to be “good enough” when they concern your daughter?’ She looked at Macy, who was showing off a yo-yo trick with her trikan to the impressed Maximov.

  ‘Normally, no – if things aren’t better-than-perfect for her, me and Nina kick up a stink. But this time we’ve got to make do.’

  ‘And if something goes wrong, she could be in a lot of trouble.’

  ‘She’s seven, she can’t be charged with anything. The age of criminal responsibility in Italy is fourteen.’

  ‘I’m sure Macy will find comfort in that as she’s led away by the carabinieri.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ he said firmly. ‘Just stick to the plan, and you’ll both walk right out of there.’

  Olivia pursed her lips. ‘I wish I had your confidence.’

  There was not an ounce of doubt in his reply. ‘I won’t let anything happen to my family. You should know that by now.’

  Before she could say anything more, Eddie’s phone rang. He answered. ‘Chase, it’s me,’ said Alderley. ‘Your package will arrive in a couple of minutes.’

  ‘Great, thanks. We’re nearly ready here. You okay to be on the line when we need you?’

  ‘I’ve cleared a space in my schedule. Which was surprisingly hard, actually. You’d think that as the boss I could decide when to do things, but there’s always someone who just can’t wait. In this case,’ he added, ‘it’s a bald yob from Yorkshire.’

  ‘It’s actually a redhead from New York,’ Eddie said pointedly. ‘Okay, I’ll call once we’re set.’ He hung up, addressing his team. ‘That was Alderley – his courier’s about to arrive, so we’ll have everything we need. Matt, you all set?’

  Matt was kneeling by the open back door. Before him was a small remotely operated vehicle – a vivid yellow underwater drone, the name Ringo written in elaborate flower-power script on its bow. The boxy little submarine was equipped with a robotic arm folded over its back. He was attaching a tool to it: a circular saw blade. ‘Just got to plug in the fibre-optic line, then put it in the water.’

  Ana eyed the ROV. ‘What if someone sees it? It’s a very bright colour.’

  The Australian gestured towards the turgid canal. ‘You seen the state of that? And she won’t be near the surface – the arm can reach up to do the job.’

  ‘How long will it take?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘Hard to say, mate. The wires shouldn’t take long to cut, but I need to make sure you don’t get sliced up by the stubs when you go through. You expose an open wound to that water, you might as well drink a bucket of typhoid.’

  ‘Then take your time,’ said Jared, donning a wetsuit.

  ‘Not too much, though,’ said Eddie as he headed for the front door. ‘I’m off to meet Alderley’s man.’

  He left the flat and crossed a little courtyard, then waited at the end of an alley adjoining a narrow north–south street. Tourists wandered past.

  It was not long before he heard his name. ‘Chase,’ muttered an unassuming dark-haired man, barely looking at him as he approached. He was holding a small package. Eddie held out a hand, the box being transferred to him as the man walked past.

  ‘Not waiting for your tip?’ the Yorkshireman said, knowing he would not get a response.

  He returned to the apartment. ‘Got it,’ he announced.

  Matt was lowering the ROV into the canal. ‘That’s the knockout juice?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Eddie opened the package. Inside was a small black box, which in turn revealed a metal cylinder slightly larger than a lipstick tube. A button protruded from one end; there was a tiny hole in the centre of the other. ‘One-shot injector. Stick it against Lobato, push the button, a needle pops out, and squoosh. He’s out for the count.’

  ‘How long?’ asked Maximov.

  ‘It’s set to his body weight, and he should be out for thirty minutes. Takes about five seconds to work.’

  Ana peered at the injector. ‘What drug is it?’

  ‘Dunno,’ Eddie told her. ‘Alderley said it was classified.’

  ‘Probably a mix of remifentanil and a propofol derivative,’ Jared remarked. Everyone looked at him. ‘It’s not the first time I’ve done something like this.’

  Maximov eyed him, comprehension slowly dawning. ‘You . . . do you work for the Mossad?’

  ‘I can’t confirm or deny that,’ the Israeli replied cheerily.

  The Russian looked perplexed. ‘Does that mean yes?’

  Macy put a hand on the big man’s knee. ‘I think it does,’ sh
e whispered.

  Eddie chuckled. ‘So long as it works, it can be Horlicks and turkey gravy for all I care.’ He put the box down amongst a collection of other objects beside a large transparent zip-lock bag. ‘Matt?’

  ‘I’m ready,’ Matt replied. He opened a laptop, into which was plugged a PlayStation control pad. ‘Works as well as a normal remote control, and it’s a lot cheaper,’ he explained, seeing his companions’ curious – or dubious – looks. ‘Hey, if the US Navy can use Xbox pads in its submarines . . .’ He brought up a view of the canal outside from the drone’s camera. ‘Right then. Here we go.’

  He pushed one of the thumbsticks. The ROV moved away from the door, the image on the screen showing it slipping out from the archway. Gentle pressure on the other stick, and the sub descended beneath the surface. The buildings along the canal’s sides were obscured by a dirty green haze.

  ‘How will you see where you’re going?’ Olivia asked.

  ‘I’ve tagged the route using GPS and an inertial positioner,’ Matt replied. ‘And Ringo’s got a low-power sonar system, like an ultrasound. Not very long range, but it doesn’t need to be.’

  Eddie watched over his shoulder. Even in the murk, he occasionally saw darker shapes rising up from below – junk on the canal’s bottom. Another hazard to face on his own journey. The distance to the opening into the Scuola’s cellar was roughly fifty metres, about a hundred and sixty feet – the length of an Olympic-sized swimming pool. Normally an easy swim, but pools weren’t filled with hazardously filthy water and littered with potentially dangerous debris . . . and in a pool, he would also be able to surface for air.

  ‘Going round the corner,’ Matt reported, nudging a stick to the right. ‘Heading for the cellar.’

  ‘How deep are you?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘About half a metre. Is that it?’

  The dark shadow of the opening appeared. ‘Yeah.’ From the small submarine’s perspective it seemed cavernous, but Eddie knew from his exploratory groping that it was barely big enough for a person to fit through. ‘Can’t see much.’

  ‘I’ll turn on the sonar.’ A click on the trackpad, and a monochromatic outline of the stonework was overlaid on the grimy green. The sonar return was fuzzy, but still showed individual wires of the chain-link blocking the gap. ‘Don’t think it’ll give the cutter any trouble.’

  Matt guided the sub to the opening, issuing a command for it to hold position, then switched the controller to operate its robot arm. Working both sticks at once as well as the triggers, he carefully brought the blade into contact with the first piece of wire. ‘All right . . .’

  The saw whirled, tiny bubbles spewing from it as it sliced into the metal. ‘Someone might see that,’ warned Ana.

  ‘They’ll just think the bubbles’re from a pipe or something,’ said Eddie.

  ‘You hope.’

  ‘Yeah, I hope. Been doing a lot of that lately.’

  ‘One down,’ Matt announced. The saw withdrew, the chain-link neatly severed. ‘On to the next.’

  ‘Nice work,’ said the Englishman. ‘How long to do the whole lot?’

  ‘At this rate? Fifteen minutes, maybe.’

  ‘Great. The rest of us’d better get ready. I’ll squeeze into my rubber suit – no jokes in front of Macy, please.’

  Muted laughter from Jared and Matt. Macy looked up at her father in confusion as Olivia sighed. ‘Has Nina ever mentioned the topic of age-appropriate humour to you?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, but it sounded boring and grown-up, so I didn’t listen.’ He picked up his wetsuit, then indicated the items beside the zip-lock bag. ‘Jared, if you can pack that lot, we’ll be ready to go as soon as Matt brings the sub back.’ Another time check. ‘Olivia, Macy, you’d better get to the museum. I’ll text you when we’re in position.’

  Olivia joined her great-granddaughter. ‘Come on, Macy. And don’t forget your toy.’

  ‘I’ve got it,’ Macy replied, holding up the trikan.

  ‘You remember what to do?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘Yes, Daddy,’ she replied, with a little impatience.

  ‘Just wanted to be sure, love. But if anything goes wrong, just leave it, okay? I’d rather stop and give up than have anything happen to you.’

  ‘But that would mean you’d be giving up on Mommy,’ said Macy firmly. ‘So I will do it right.’

  Eddie gave her a hug and a kiss. ‘You know you’re the best kid in the world, right? I love you.’

  ‘I love you too, Daddy. Now let’s go help Mommy.’ She took Olivia’s hand and led her to the front door.

  Matt smiled at Eddie. ‘You’ve got a right little firecracker there.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ he replied proudly. ‘She’s going to put some poor lad through absolute hell when she’s older. Or lass; I’m not going to stop her doing what she wants.’

  ‘Could you even if you tried?’ asked Jared, amused.

  ‘I doubt it.’ He hefted the wetsuit again. ‘Okay, I’ll get changed. And then . . . I’m going to get into deep shit. Probably literally.’

  23

  By the time Eddie and Jared had prepared themselves, Matt had finished cutting away the grille. After piloting the little submarine through the opening to check that the chamber beyond was actually accessible, he returned the robot to the apartment’s rear door. ‘Okay, I’ll hook up the bag,’ he said, collecting the now sealed zip-lock with the mission’s equipment and two bundles of clothes inside. ‘You guys ready?’

  ‘Almost,’ said Eddie. He and Jared were in wetsuits and swimming fins, sealing their extremities with neoprene gloves and socks so they would be protected from the canal’s polluted water. There was one part of their bodies they couldn’t cover with conventional diving gear, though. Full-face hoods that left no skin exposed simply didn’t exist – beyond very specialised latex clothing suppliers, at least, and Venice did not exactly have fetishwear emporia on every street corner.

  But swimming in the canals, even briefly, posed a great risk of infection to eyes, noses and mouths, even ears. Their heads would have to be completely enclosed, and the only way to do that was literally by taping a plastic bag over them. Making matters worse, once in the water they would have no air to breathe beyond however much was sealed in; the cellar’s opening was too small to fit through while wearing a scuba tank.

  Jared drew in his lips as Maximov opened a transparent bag. ‘I’m having really bad memories of my training to resist interrogation,’ he said unhappily. ‘Waterboarding in the morning, suffocation in the afternoon. That was not my favourite lesson.’

  Eddie took rapid deep breaths. The more oxygen and less CO2 in his system, the longer he would be able to resist the urge to breathe. ‘Sub ready, Matt?’

  The Australian was attaching the large bag to the little craft’s stern. ‘Nearly done . . . there.’ He watched the zip-lock sink beneath the rancid water. The ROV tipped backwards with the weight. ‘Huh. Hope Ringo’s strong enough to pull all that.’

  ‘You think of that now?’ said Eddie. ‘Okay, Jared. Ready?’

  ‘No, but it’s too late to back out,’ the younger man replied. ‘The trouble I get myself into for you, alter kocker!’

  ‘If you didn’t love trouble, you wouldn’t do what you do.’ Eddie turned to Ana and Maximov, both now holding bags open in their hands. ‘Let’s get started. And don’t try this at home, kids.’

  ‘Good luck,’ Ana said, with trepidation. She pulled the bag over Eddie’s head, and he held it against his shoulders while she quickly wrapped duct tape around his neck, squeezing it tight against the neoprene wetsuit. Maximov did the same to Jared. The Mossad agent gave Eddie a nervous look through the plastic.

  Eddie exhaled slightly. The bag inflated, but the seal at his neck held. Jared’s also stayed firm. The Englishman gave a thumbs-up, and both men entered the water. Matt had already returned to his laptop, sending the ROV back beneath the surface. Eddie followed it under.

  The water pressure pushed the
bag against his face. The sensation was horribly like being smothered, but he would have to endure it. If there had been more air inside, the extra buoyancy would have pulled his head upwards, making it almost impossible to swim.

  He started up the canal, four feet beneath the surface. The ROV was an indistinct grey shape ahead, colour leached away by the dirty water. But Matt had added something to make it easier to find: a small LED strobe light on its underside, blinking every few seconds. Eddie glanced back. Jared was not far behind him.

  Fifty metres had never seemed so far. He had swum without an air supply in colder, darker, deeper waters, but the bag seemed to be actively sucking the energy from him, a plastic facehugger sliding revoltingly across his skin. He looked for the ghostly submarine to make sure he was not falling behind. The distance was hard to judge in the gloom, until the strobe pulsed a few metres ahead.

  The flash also picked out lengths of mangled metal jutting from the canal floor, an old bed frame or broken scaffolding. Matt had already seen it, the ROV adjusting course. Eddie also angled clear of the obstacle. He could tell from the light above that he was coming to the intersection where the canal joined another at the Scuola Grande. Halfway there. He looked back at Jared again.

  The younger man was continuing on their original course. He hadn’t yet seen the submerged junk. Eddie twisted to warn him – but too late.

  The Israeli finally saw the scrap, but even as he swerved, his own momentum carried him into it. The impact dislodged one of the lengths of metal. It toppled, hitting Jared’s shoulder and knocking him into the slimy sediment below.

  Eddie hurriedly swam back, groping with gloved hands. The rusted pole was pinning the other man down. He grabbed the heavy spar and braced his feet against the canal bed to lift it. Jared pushed backwards, the bag over his head brushing the corroded metal. The Yorkshireman used a splayed hand to protect the plastic, then, as soon as his friend was clear, pulled him up.

  The bag wasn’t punctured. Relieved, Eddie looked for the ROV—

  It was gone.

  The drone had continued without them. With no guidance, he would have to guess at the direction to the cellar’s entrance, costing valuable time, or surface to check – which would expose them to onlookers, including security at the Scuola Grande.