The Sam Reilly Collection

by Christopher Cartwright

  A series of Russian police cars approached the plane from the runway.

  “Look – they’ve come to welcome us,” Tom said.

  “Apparently so.” Sam pressed an intercom directly to his pilots. “Have they told you what they want?”

  “No, sir,” the pilot replied. “They’ve just advised me to stop so they can board us. It might be a routine inspection of a private jet.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Two minutes later, a small complement of men in thick black coats climbed the steps to Sam’s Gulfstream. He pressed the intercom to the pilot again. “Bring them into my office. If we’re going to have a meeting like this, I want it to be on my terms.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  Sam sat down in his office and closed the door. His private Jet, a loan from his father that he really never intended to give up, was armed more like a Lockheed Martin/Boeing F22 Raptor. Although nowhere near as agile, it had a weapons system that would send shivers into the commanders of most Air Forces around the globe. On the inside, Sam had spent a fortune having the small office built to repel boarders. In fact, behind his office, a secret room held the ability to remotely pilot the jet in the event that his pilots were killed. Also, his office had its own air supply, so that he could vent toxic gas into the main cabin if he really wanted to protect himself from unwanted boarders.

  He sat down comfortably in his office. His father worked closely with a number of oil and gas suppliers throughout Russia, and for the most part, he was treated nearly reverently when he arrived in the country. Still, Russia was well known for the pettiness of some of its officials, particularly in the outer areas.

  And Tunguska was an outer area.

  There was a knock at the door. Sam stared at the video screen where the feed from a secret camera displayed his unwanted guests. There were five in total. Underneath his desk, he kept his hand on a Glock with a silencer. He wasn’t taking chances.

  Then he saw her face.

  If she was here, and had taken the risk of entering Russia through unofficial means, it meant they were all in much worse danger than he’d realized.

  He opened the door and stood at attention.

  She walked in and closed the door, leaving Tom to look after her bodyguards. Pulling the dark hood off her face, she revealed the most exquisite deep red hair. Her hazel eyes had a rich opaline ring to them. And years of hard work in a dangerous world had left her with a smile that bordered on a permanent scowl.

  “Madam Secretary, are you on holiday too?”

  The Defense secretary’s scowl tightened, if that was even possible. “You know damn well what this is about.”

  “The Tunguska event,” Sam replied.

  “Officially, we were never there, and I have no idea what happened in Tunguska. From what I’ve read, it was a dirty meteor, made up of predominantly gas and small fragments of stone, which allowed it to penetrate the world’s atmosphere, whereby it then broke up about five miles above the Tunguska River. The powerful downward projection of air blew more than an estimated ten million pine trees to the ground.”

  Sam listened impatiently and then said, “And unofficially?”

  “We sent a team of researchers to investigate something in that region. They never came back. So, we sent a team of soldiers in to find out what happened.”

  “And what had happened?”

  “Nearly ten million pine trees were knocked to the ground.”

  “With all due respect Ma’am, a friend of mine is missing, and I’m pretty certain it’s tied in with the Tunguska event.”

  “Really? So that’s why I was sent halfway around the globe for you this time? You’ve lost that girlfriend of yours, Dr. Swan?”

  “She’s been kidnapped. And the only clue about where she’s gone is her own note, leading with the GPS coordinates of Tunguska.”

  “Kidnapped, Mr. Reilly?” Her voice was patronizing in its sympathy. “You let her get kidnapped? How very careless of you.”

  “Yes, well it was a mistake letting her out of my sight. Especially after she told me what she knew.”

  “And what does she know?”

  “The location of Atlantis.”

  She paused for a few seconds. Her normally abrupt nature softened.

  “Did you hear what I just said?”

  “Yes. If she knows the coordinates of Atlantis, then someone’s about to have a really bad day. Sam, you need to find her before she tells anyone else. It’s a matter of national security.”

  “Oh no, you don’t get to send me on an assignment just because I’ve now found something to keep you interested. First, you have to give me something. Tell me, what do you really know about Tunguska, and what does it have to do with Atlantis?”

  “I have no idea what it has to do with Atlantis, but I can tell you what I do know about Tunguska.”

  “So tell me.” She didn’t have to ask for his secrecy. He’d pledged that with his life when he’d been recruited and joined her secret taskforce years ago.

  “In 1906 a team of explorers attempted to cross the Canadian and Siberian Seas, and travel through to Moscow. On their way, they uncovered something.”

  Sam would have liked to know what they’d uncovered, but if she didn’t tell him, he wasn’t going to ask.

  “So, we sent a second team. This one was full of researchers. The Russians got wind of our operation and they wanted to be involved. When we no longer heard from the teams, Washington became concerned and sent a third team. This one was a mixture of scientists and soldiers. When they got there, they did something… and the effect of what they did resulted in what appeared to be the destruction of millions of pine trees, uprooted and lying on their sides. Local accounts talked of a strange blue light for about ten minutes emanating from the sky.”

  “Okay, and what about the original discovery?”

  “It was gone. All evidence of the structure had disappeared.”

  The word ‘structure’ wasn’t lost on Sam. She was letting him know what was really there in 1906, before the Tunguska event.

  “So, the Russian delegate and our own at the time, signed a contract. Agreeing to never speak of it again, until it no longer mattered. So, all the documents about what happened were buried in a top secret archive, not to be opened for more than a hundred years.”

  “It must be close to opening? It’s been more than a hundred years. You should have access to it?”

  “Well Sam, that’s just it. The Tunguska File is set to be released in exactly two weeks from now. I don’t know what it was really about, but given the date, I would strongly advise you find Dr. Swan and Atlantis before that file becomes public knowledge.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Siberia occupies about 5.2 million square miles, corresponding roughly to 9 percent of Earth's dry land mass. It is bounded by the Ural Mountains in the west and by the Pacific Ocean in the east. To the south lies central Asia, Mongolia, and China, and to the north, the Arctic Ocean.

  Lake Cheko is a small freshwater lake in Siberia, near the Podkamennaya Tunguska River, thought by many to have been formed by a meteor that caused the otherwise unexplained Tunguska event – but all attempts to examine the lake have failed to prove it had any connection to a meteor that fell in 1908.

  Somewhere in the middle of this giant landmass of snow and ice, a Russian-built, gigantic all-terrain vehicle known as a "Kharkovchanka," and built to conquer the Arctic and the Antarctic Circle, rolled toward a new history. Its truly gargantuan scale did not prevent it from moving at 30 miles an hour, and climbing 40 degree inclines.

  “Where the hell did you get this monster from?” Tom asked.

  Sam considered how much he should say. Then, trying to keep it to the simple facts, said, “Genevieve once knew a guy in Russia. Let’s just say their love parted, and he stayed there, while she joined our crew on board the Maria Helena. He owed her a favor, and she owes me several – so now we’re even.”

  The massive snow machin
e drove onwards, while Sam tried to guide it toward the little dot on his GPS that represented Lake Cheko. Its massive tank tracks continued to turn effortlessly through the complete whiteout known as Siberia’s winter landscape of snow tundra. It turned to the right, skipping the deepest section of a snow-buried river. Slowly, its tracks turned as they dropped toward the river’s stony bed, and then up the 30-degree incline on the other side.

  On the other side, Sam drove the snow machine through another series of ragged and struggling pine trees until he reached the crest of another hill. Through the opening of their heated windscreen a world made entirely of white came into view. Sam looked slightly perplexed. He tentatively scanned the GPS. They were close. And then he gently moved the throttle for the right tank tracks into forward.

  The massive snow machine turned on its axis to the left, presenting him with another hill to climb. He put the engine into low gear and crept upwards at a 40-degree incline – nearing the maximum capabilities of the machine. As Sam reached the top of the hill, his view of the sky ahead was replaced by his first vision of Lake Cheko. It was a small bowl-shaped lake, roughly 2500 feet long and 11,000 feet wide. As with the rest of the landscape, its surface was frozen solid. It would have been easy to drive across it, missing it entirely, although the Kharkovchanka’s 38 tons would have most likely prevented them from surviving the crossing. A dilapidated wire fence barred their way. Its purpose left no doubt with a sign that read, Stay Out – Or You will be Shot on Sight.

  “The fence doesn’t appear well maintained given the importance of this site.”

  “Perhaps it’s no longer valuable?”

  “And perhaps this is all a lie?”

  “I’m sure it is. But whose lie?”

  Sam left the question alone and continued to drive toward the lake’s outer edge. Mindful that his Kharkovchanka would crash through the ice, he left himself ample distance as he parked.

  “It doesn’t look very big,” Tom pointed out.

  “No, I’d say it would be pretty hard to hide anything substantial inside that for a number of years.”

  “Like Atlantis?”

  “Yeah, that seems impossible to me.”

  “So then, what are we doing here, Sam?”

  Sam scanned the lake again and then with a confidence he didn’t quite feel said, “Oh, something’s here all right. Billie told us to come here for a reason. If Atlantis isn’t hiding here, I bet you my dad’s Gulfstream, there’s a clue to Atlantis that Billie wants us to find.”

  “And the Russians haven’t already found it?”

  “No. Whatever it is, the Russians most certainly know about it.”

  “So, why not come out with it and tell the world?”

  “I have no idea. But there’s only one way to find out.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Covered in Arctic Survival Suits, Sam and Tom stepped out of their Kharkovchanka and climbed down the ladder on its side. Sam’s boots sunk into the heavy snow. He then slowly made his way to the back of the massive all-terrain vehicle.

  “Hey, the tourist information brochure says Lake Cheko is no more than fifty feet deep,” Tom said.

  Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Really, is that what the guide book says? I guess we didn’t have to haul these heavy ass diving suits here, after all.”

  Tom laughed as he unlatched the back cover and opened the roller door to the Kharkovchanka, revealing two enormous atmospheric diving suits, which more closely resembled space suits out of a 1960s science fiction movie.

  The atmospheric diving suit, or ADS, is a one-person articulated submersible of anthropomorphic form which resembles a suit of armor, with elaborate pressure joints to allow freedom of movement while maintaining an internal pressure of one atmosphere. The ADS can be used for very deep dives of up to 2,300 feet for many hours, and eliminates the majority of physiological dangers associated with deep diving; the occupant need not decompress, there is no need for special gas mixtures, and there is no danger of decompression sickness or nitrogen narcosis.

  The two ADS 2030 units sitting on the back of the snow machine were prototype diving suits, based on the ADS 2000, which the U.S. Navy built for submarine rescue. The ADS 2030 provided increased depth capability. Manufactured from forged T6061 aluminum alloy, they used an advanced articulating joint design based on the Newtsuit joints, and were capable of operating in up to 3,000 feet of seawater for a normal mission of up to 48 hours.

  It had a self-contained, automatic life support system. It even provided the occupant with food, water and the ability to excrete bodily waste through a system comparable to that used by astronauts. Additionally, the integrated quad thruster system allowed the pilot to navigate easily underwater, while the hydraulic powered limbs allowed equal maneuverability and strength while out of the water.

  Sam and Tom removed the two machines from the back of the snow machine and put together a winching system to run their safety lines, so that each of them could be returned to the surface. The device looked like a giant tripod with a large free-turning pulley attached to its point with a large bolt, which allowed a safety line to be connected to the snow machine. The two men quickly put the system together and then attached themselves to a safety line, which in turn was attached to the automatic winch at the front of the snow machine. They then walked along the hardened ice surface of the lake. The three sharp bases of the tripod slid along the ice like skates.

  Sam held out a GPS in his hand and watched as it picked up more than six satellites, providing it with the maximum accuracy. Satisfied that he was directly over the coordinates that Billie had left them Sam began to screw a round hook into the ice. “Okay, this is the spot.”

  Tom stepped forward and attached the second tether to the hook. Waiting for the automatic winch to take up some tension with the ice, he started his power saw. “Here goes.”

  In a slow and definitive motion Tom cut four lines in the foot-thick ice. Despite his cutting through it, the ice remained solid.

  Sam looked at him. “You ready for me to start the winch?”

  “Go for it.”

  Sam switched the remote control and the tether began to slowly furl. A moment later the ice pulled free, leaving an opening into the dark blue water eight feet by eight feet. The large square block stood on the water’s edge and together, the two men were able to push it to the side, allowing a clear run for any cable from the opening.

  Tom, focused on the plan, immediately began bolting the base of the tripod to the sheet of ice. He then tested it with the strength of his arms. Satisfied it would hold, the two returned to the snow machine to be suited up.

  Thirty minutes later, each man was fully integrated within his ADS and ready to discover whatever was waiting for them in the depths of Lake Cheko.

  “Tom, how do you read me?” Sam asked through the clear transmission of the advanced communications system.

  “Loud and clear.”

  “Then let’s go get whatever the hell it is Billie wants us to find so we can get out of these damn atmospheric suits. I feel like the Michelin Man!”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Sam stepped forward with his large mechanical leg and into the hole they’d created in the ice. His ADS machine was set to positive buoyancy so that he floated more like a boat, with his spherical helmet remaining above the ice cold water.

  Checking his internal instruments, he gave the ‘all clear’ signal to Tom. “Okay, I’m descending to ten feet to perform the first set of underwater safety checks.”

  “Understood, I’ll follow when you confirm all systems functioning.”

  Sam decreased his buoyancy by letting more water into his internal chambers, the same way a conventional submarine manages buoyancy. Likewise, when he wanted to increase buoyancy, he would simply blow out the excess water.

  His ADS machine quickly sank to ten feet, where he then balanced the system until he came to a neutral stop. Below the ice, the world turned blue. It was frightening in its
rich beauty and lethal environment. Here, any malfunction in their equipment would result in their deaths. No one knew they were here, and even if they did, nothing could be done to rescue them if something went wrong.

  Sam paused for a moment and let the thought run through his mind while he enjoyed the surreal view.

  He adjusted his position mildly. With each movement, he checked the responsiveness of the individual articulations of his machine. It was relatively simple to use, and as with normal diving, only took a short while to get the hang of maintaining neutral buoyancy. Happy with the controls, he began running a systems check on everything else.

  Depth: 10 feet.

  Distance to the bottom: 45 feet.

  Air supply: 48 hours remaining.

  Power: 6000 Amp Hours.

  External temperature: 34 degrees Fahrenheit.

  Internal temperature: 80 degrees Fahrenheit – Sam carefully adjusted the thermostat, reducing it to a more comfortable 74 degrees. Ice diving always tempted him to set it higher than he needed.

  “Okay, all’s good here. Are you ready to go find out what’s so important about this place?”

  “Sure am. Here’s to beating Billie to Atlantis!”

  Above him, Sam saw the still surface of the water below the ice sheets turn white with bubbles. The lake appeared upset by the disturbance, as though somehow its perfect, deathly peace, had been interrupted by the presence of a functioning machine.

  Tom maintained his position on the surface for a few moments and then sunk to Sam’s depth. He then rotated his position so that he was almost lateral, looking back up at the frozen world above the ice. “That’s one hell of a view!”

  “You can say that again, Tom.”

  Sam continued to enjoy it, while Tom ran his system checks. A few minutes later he said, “I’m good. Shall we go find our answers?”

  “Let’s. I don’t like the idea of becoming entombed below this ice if we spend too long down here. So let’s not dawdle too much.”