Atlantis

by David Gibbins

  He nestled the ADSA against the rudder assembly and repeated the procedure he had carried out on the submersible less than an hour before. He extracted the second bubble-mine mesh and wrapped it round the rudder pintle, this time securing the ends with an additional strand beneath the screw. As he clicked on the detonator he glanced up and saw the wavering forms of two figures leaning against the starboard gunwale. Fortunately the oxygen rebreather produced none of the telltale exhaust of scuba gear, and he would not be seen against the inky depths.

  He knew there was a chance that Katya and Costas were in the vessel above him. The explosive would cause massive damage to the screw and rudder but should be deflected by the armour plating of the hull. It was a risk he had to take. Yet again he mouthed a silent prayer.

  He had gambled that the crew would be preoccupied with topside damage from the gun battle the day before and would already have carried out an inspection below the waterline. To minimize the risk of detection he opted to descend using the lateral thrusters rather than the buoyancy chamber, even though it meant draining the battery reserve.

  A mere ten minutes after first sighting the hull, the ADSA disappeared as silently as it had come, dropping into the murky depths and stealing off without being seen or heard by any of the crew on Vultura.

  Using the terrain-mapper to navigate, Jack jetted half a kilometre towards the western shore of the island and found a cove out of sight of Vultura. As the rocky seabed rose up to meet him, all power suddenly ceased. The battery was dead. He reduced his buoyancy and dropped down to complete the final leg on foot, striding upwards over the billowing folds of lava towards the surf line.

  He found a flat rock in two metres of water and cautiously broke surface. He locked the limbs of the ADSA and decoupled the neck ring. As he pushed open the helmet, he blinked furiously in the sunlight and gasped repeatedly, his lungs filling with fresh air for the first time since he had tumbled into the command module on Seaquest more than three hours previously.

  He hauled himself out and squatted on the rocky ledge. It was a brilliant summer afternoon, the sun glinting off the waves that lapped at his feet. Over the barren shore the precipitous slopes of the island rose ahead of him. Above the uppermost ridge he could see a plume of white framed against the sky.

  He had no time to savour the relief of survival. The pain from his wound was searing his side and he knew he had no time to lose.

  After quickly looking around to make sure he was alone, he removed the items he had brought from the weapons locker. He was still wearing the helicopter flight suit and shoved the detonator transceiver into one thigh pocket and the two Semtex charges into the other. He took out the Beretta, pulled the slide back to cock it and replaced it in his chest holster. He then extracted the SA80 and the three magazines, pushing one in place and sliding the other two into his waist pockets. After checking the sound suppressor, he pulled the bolt and slung it over his back.

  He closed the helmet and gently toppled the ADSA back beneath the waves. It had been his lifesaver, his reminder that Costas had been with him in spirit. But now no amount of technology would guarantee his safe passage. It was up to him alone, to his physical stamina and strength of will.

  He swivelled round to contemplate the rocky slope ahead.

  “Payback time,” he muttered under his breath.

  The jagged wall of rock loomed above Jack as he made his way inland. Between him and a plateau some eighty metres above were three terraces, each culminating in a razor-edged row of pinnacles and punctuated by fracture lines and gullies. The basalt was hard and coarse and gave an excellent grip. He had no alternative but to climb it.

  He slung the SA80 more tightly and began to ascend a vertical chimney that rose the entire height of the first pitch. About halfway up, it narrowed and he inched higher with his legs braced on either side, eventually heaving himself onto a narrow platform some thirty metres above his start point. The second pitch was precipitous but straightforward, Jack’s ample reach proving advantageous as he worked his way up a series of finger-holds and ledges. He continued past the second row of pinnacles onto the third pitch until he reached a point just below the summit where an overhang jutted out almost a metre along the entire length of the cliff.

  As he balanced spread-eagled against the rock face, he knew that any hesitation would only weaken his resolve. With his mind blank to the consequences of failure, he threw his right arm outwards and curled his fingers round the edge. Once he was certain of his hold he released his other hand and snapped it beside the first. He was hanging over eighty metres of vertiginous rock that would tear him to shreds if he fell. He began to swing his legs, slowly at first and then with increased momentum. On the second attempt he hooked his right leg over the top and scrambled to safety.

  The scene that confronted him was breathtaking. He crouched down to recover his strength and looked out over a wilderness of solidified lava. Some two hundred metres to his right lay the cone of the volcano, its chimney spewing out a voluminous cloud of vapour that rose in a swirling column high into the sky. Partway down the cone he could see an unassuming low entrance above a rock-cut stairway that meandered down the saddle towards him and disappeared out of sight to the left. It was evidently an ancient route up the volcano on the outside, the one taken by Aslan and his men when they first reached the island.

  The lesser peak some thirty metres ahead was a massive upwelling of jet-black lava. The top was level like a landing pad, an impression reinforced by the Kamov Ka-28 Helix parked in the middle. Round the perimeter Jack counted four black-clad figures, all armed with AK or Heckler & Koch submachine guns.

  The most astonishing sight was the structure surrounding the helicopter. Encircling the platform was a ring of giant megaliths, upright stones at least three times the height of a man and two metres in girth. The stones were weathered from millennia of exposure but had once been finely finished. They were capped by massive flat slabs that formed a continuous circular lintel. Inside were five free-standing trilithons, each pair of stones with its lintel arranged in a horseshoe pattern that opened west towards the volcanic cone.

  Jack realized with awe that he was looking at the precursor of Stonehenge. It was where the Atlanteans had observed the difference between the solar and lunar year they had seen tabulated in the passageway far below. The cone of the volcano was a sighting device, the position of the sun on either side indicating the season of the year. At the vernal and autumnal equinoxes the sun would appear to sink into the volcano, an event which would have affirmed the life-protecting powers of Atlantis.

  Jack concentrated on using the stones to his tactical advantage. After flipping off the safety on the SA80 he slipped into a fissure that ran like a trench towards the platform. By sprinting in short bursts he quickly reached the nearest megalith and flattened against it. He cautiously peered round and saw the helicopter was unoccupied with no guard in sight. After pulling out the Semtex he darted forward through the inner horseshoe and placed one block in the exhaust and the other under the cockpit, clicking on the detonators as he did so.

  He turned to leave and was suddenly face-to-face with a black-clad figure emerging from behind one of the trilithons. For a split second both men were immobilized by surprise. Jack was the first to react. Two thuds from the SA80 and the man dropped like a stone, killed instantly by the high-velocity 5.56 millimetre slugs that tore through his neck.

  The clatter of the man’s weapon alerted the other men. Jack ran directly into their path as they converged on the helicopter. Before any of them could raise their weapons he emptied his entire remaining magazine in a tight arc from the hip. The bullets spattered and ricocheted off the rock and all three men fell sprawled over the ground.

  He slammed in another magazine and plunged headlong down the ramp towards the stairway. He had gambled that the rest of Aslan’s men were either on Vultura or in the volcano.

  He reached the entrance at the top of the steps without any indicat
ion that he had been detected. The portal was more imposing close up, the opening wide enough for the processions that must have passed between the stone circle and the audience chamber. He could see the passageway veering off to the left in a dog-leg towards a distant source of light. After catching his breath, he levelled his weapon and cautiously advanced over the worn steps into the gloom beyond.

  Ten metres on he rounded the corner and saw a hazy rectangle of light. Then the column of vapour came into view and he realized he was approaching the same raised platform they had stood on the day before, only from a different doorway. He concealed himself in the shadows and sidled up for a look inside.

  Far above he could see the skylight in the dome. In front of him the ramp led directly down and he had an unimpeded view of the central space. On the dais were five figures, two of them black-clad guards flanking a woman on the throne. Her head was covered by a veil but her face was visible.

  It was Katya. She looked dishevelled and exhausted but mercifully free from injury. Jack closed his eyes for an instant, his relief overwhelming.

  To her right was a man facing away towards the vent. With his flowing red robe and the nimbus formed by the vapour behind his head he seemed a grotesque parody of the priests of old, some denizen of Hades sent to perform a macabre ritual and taint the sanctity of Atlantis forever.

  Aslan shifted slightly and Jack caught sight of another figure, a familiar form kneeling in the gap between the thrones with his head bowed dangerously close to the vapour chimney. He was bound hand and foot and was wearing the tattered remnants of an IMU E-suit. To his horror Jack saw that Aslan was levelling a pistol at the back of Costas’ head in classic executioner’s pose.

  Instinct took over and Jack sprang onto the ramp brandishing his weapon. Even as he ran he knew he had no chance. There was a vicious blow to his lower back and the SA80 was snatched from his hands.

  “Dr. Howard. What a pleasant surprise. I had not imagined we would be rid of you so easily.”

  Jack was pushed roughly down the stairs by the guard who had been lurking beside the entrance. His Beretta was removed from his flight suit and passed to Aslan, who began idly flicking rounds from the magazine. Katya was staring at Jack as if he were a ghost.

  “They told us you were dead,” she said hoarsely. “That explosion, the helicopter…” She looked dazed and bewildered. Her eyes were red-rimmed and had dark rings under them.

  Jack flashed her a reassuring smile.

  Aslan waved the gun dismissively and turned back towards the figure crouched between the thrones.

  “Your friend did not have a comfortable night. If my daughter had told us what she knew, things might have been easier for him.”

  Costas turned his head and managed a crooked smile before one of the guards slapped him back into place. Jack was shocked at his appearance. His E-suit was a mess and his face was covered in welts and bruises, and was flushed red where he had been scalded by the vapour chimney. One eye was closed and swollen and Jack guessed his head was not the only place he had been beaten.

  “Your friend had just agreed to guide my men through the tunnels to the submarine.” Aslan gestured at three sets of mixed-gas equipment laid out beside the ramp and then back at the ravaged figure in front of him. “As you can see it took some persuading. But now you are here he is expendable. You have destroyed three of my helicopters and there is a price to pay.”

  Aslan levelled the Beretta at Costas’ head and pulled back the hammer.

  “No!” Jack cried. “He is the only one who knows the route back. His job was to memorize waymarkers while Katya and I studied the archaeology.”

  Aslan smiled slyly and eased forward the hammer. “I do not believe you. But I am willing to spare your Greek friend for the time being if you agree to my demands.”

  Jack said nothing but stared at Aslan impassively. His training had taught him always to let the hostage-taker feel they had the upper hand, that they were in total control. If Aslan had known that half his men were dead and that his favourite piece of hardware was about to blow, he would probably have exploded in blind fury.

  “First, this.” Aslan produced the copy of the gold disc from his tunic. “I took the liberty of relieving you of this when you were my guest. A small return for my hospitality. I assume it is some form of key, perhaps to a secret vault.” Aslan swept his arms expansively round the doors that lined the chamber. “I wish to own all the treasures of this place.”

  He placed the disc on the throne beside Katya and stepped onto the circular platform. The vapour was abating and they could see down the cleft a few metres from Aslan’s feet. It was like a suppurating wound, a yawning gash that exposed the awesome tumult beneath the surface of the volcano. Far below them a surge of magma welled up, its lurid tendrils erupting like a solar flare over the river of lava that had borne it. In the distance they could hear bangs and crashes where pockets of gas were breaking through with explosive force.

  Aslan turned back from the spectacle, the heat giving his swollen features a demonic glow.

  “And my second demand,” he continued. “I assume your other vessel, Sea Venture, is on its way. You will call them off and tell them Seaquest is safe and sound. I assume you have an understanding with the Turkish and Georgian governments. You will tell your captain to relay the information that you have found nothing and are leaving the island. You have a dedicated radio transmitter? Search him.”

  The guard quickly found the detonator transceiver in Jack’s left pocket and held it up for Aslan to see.

  “Give it to me. What is the channel?”

  Jack caught Costas’ eye and nodded almost imperceptibly. He watched Aslan’s fat fingers curl round the receiver before replying with quiet assurance.

  “Channel 8.”

  The instant Aslan punched in the number there were two explosions outside, followed seconds later by a deeper boom that rolled up from the sea. The split second of paralysis was all that was needed for Aslan’s men to lose the advantage. Costas rolled on his side and kicked his guard’s legs from under him, and Jack took out his captor with a ferocious punch to the neck. Katya immediately saw what was happening and kicked out with lightning speed at the third man, hitting him hard in the solar plexus and leaving him retching on the floor.

  Aslan bellowed hideously when he heard the explosions, his face contorted with rage. He hurled the detonator into the chasm and tottered precariously on the edge, his arms flailing wildly as he struggled to remain upright and away from the searing blast of the vent.

  Katya screamed as she saw what was happening. Jack reached up to hold her back but it was already too late. The ground was shaken by a series of violent tremors, the explosions having set off a seismic disturbance. Aslan was sucked in by the centrifugal force of the chimney, his expression fleetingly showing the heightened awareness of a person facing death, at once aghast and strangely accepting, before his body burst into flame like a self-immolating idol. The scalding heat of the vapour consumed his robe and melted his skin until all they could see were the bones of his hands and the white of his skull. With a piercing shriek he toppled over and plummeted into the chasm, a living ball of fire swallowed forever into the inferno of the volcano.

  The river of death had claimed its last victim.

  JACK HOWARD. THIS IS SEA VENTURE. DO YOU read me? Over.”

  Costas passed the portable VHF receiver they had taken from Vultura a short time before and Jack pressed the recall button.

  “I read you loud and clear. What’s your status? Over.”

  Jack was thrilled to hear Tom York’s confident tones again. He had expected the worst, that York could never have survived the onslaught that wreaked such devastation on Seaquest’s foredeck.

  “We’re hove to three nautical miles north-west of the island. A flight of four Seahawks with Turkish marines and Georgian anti-terrorist commandos is heading your way. They should be in sight about now.”

  Jack had already heard th
e distant clatter and guessed their identity.

  “How did you make it off Seaquest?” he asked.

  “I was blown clear when Vultura attacked. Luckily the crewman in charge of the escape sub recognized the vibrations from the gun battle and came back to investigate. I have a nasty gash on my leg but am OK.”

  “And Peter?”

  York’s voice when it came back was taut with emotion. “We’re still searching. I have to be straight with you, Jack. It doesn’t look good.”

  “I know. You’ve done your best.”

  Though Jack was overjoyed that York had made it, Peter Howe had been a boyhood friend. It was like losing a brother, and the cost suddenly seemed far too high. Jack closed his eyes.

  York put the receiver on hold and returned a few moments later.

  “We’ve just had a message from Ben and Andy in the Kazbek. They’ve managed to float a radio buoy. They’re standing by.”

  The roar of the approaching helicopters began to drown out the conversation.

  “We’re going to have to terminate while the cavalry arrive,” Jack shouted. “Tell the captain to sail to the following co-ordinates and maintain position until further notice.” Jack read out a map reference corresponding to a point one kilometre north of the submerged pyramids. “I have some unfinished business to attend to. You’ll be hearing from us. Out.”

  Jack was in an emotional turmoil, anguished at the fate of Howe yet elated that the others had survived their ordeal. He looked at Costas’ battered face and was amazed at his friend’s unruffled demeanour.

  They were squatting on the steps outside the rock-cut doorway. They had left Katya seated just inside the audience chamber, a Heckler & Koch MP5 resting on her legs. Jack had tried to comfort her after the death of her father but she had been unable to talk about it or even make eye contact. He knew there was nothing he could do until the initial shock had worn off.