Atlantis

summit seemed to join the grey and lowering sky, the leading edge of the storm that was rolling in from the north with alarming speed.

Jack spoke again. “In antiquity seismic events were almost invariably viewed as signs from the gods. A volcano with low-key activity could have become a focus for ritual observance, perhaps one of the original motivations for settling at this spot. In such a fertile region I’d expect both the volcano and the ridge to be occupied. But we must choose between the two. We may not have the chance to stake a second claim before unwelcome visitors arrive. We’ve got twenty minutes before Seaquest is over that ridge. I welcome any suggestions.”

There was another brief hiatus while Jack conferred with York. They made several adjustments on the navigational console and scrolled through the radar surveillance images. As the two men turned back towards the assembled crew, Katya produced her palm computer and tapped in a sequence of commands.

“Either place would fit the text,” she said. “Both the ridge and the volcano overlooked a wide valley to the south with distant mountains and salt lakes in between.”

“Does the papyrus tell us anything more that might help?” one of the crew asked.

“Not really.” Katya peered at the text again and shook her head. “The final fragments of writing seem to refer to the interior of the citadel.”

“There is something else.”

They all looked at Costas, who had been staring intently at the image of the island as it became larger and more clearly defined. He drew his gaze away and turned to Katya.

“Give us that first phrase after reaching Atlantis.”

Katya tapped a command and read from the screen.

“Under the sign of the bull.”

They all looked questioningly at Costas.

“You’re familiar with the rooftop bar in the Maritime Museum at Carthage.”

There was a general murmur of assent.

“The view across the Bay of Tunis to the east, the evening sun splashing its rosy light on the sea, the twin mountain peaks of Ba’al Qarnain piercing the sky in the background.”

They all nodded.

“Well, perhaps fewer of you will be so familiar with the view first thing in the morning. The midsummer sun rises directly over the saddle between the peaks. To the Phoenicians this was a holy mountain, sacred to the sky god. Ba’al Qarnain means Two-Horned Lord.” He turned to Jack. “I believe sign of the bull refers to the profile of that island.”

They all looked up at the looming landmass on the screen.

“I’m puzzled,” Howe cut in. “From where we are the island doesn’t look anything like that.”

“Try another direction,” Costas said. “We’re looking south-east. What about the view from the shoreline, from below the volcano where a settlement would have been?”

Mustafa quickly tapped the keyboard to reorientate the view from the north-east, increasing the magnification as he did so to bring the viewpoint down to the ancient shoreline beneath the volcano.

There was a gasp of astonishment as the image locked into place. Above them loomed two peaks separated by a deep saddle.

Costas looked at the screen triumphantly. “There, ladies and gentlemen, are our bull’s horns.”

Jack grinned broadly at his friend. “I knew you’d do something useful eventually.” He turned to York.

“I think we have our answer. Lay in a course for that island at maximum speed.”

CHAPTER 12

The twin floodlights on either side of the Aquapods cast a brilliant swath of illumination on the seabed, the beams angled inward to converge five metres below. The light reflected off millions of particles of suspended silt as if they were passing through endless veils of speckly haze. Isolated rocky outcrops reared up and disappeared behind as they pressed on at maximum speed. To the left the bottom dropped off sharply into the abyss, the desolate grey of the sea floor sliding into a forbidding blackness devoid of all life.

The intercom crackled.

“Jack, this is Seaquest. Do you read me? Over.”

“We read you loud and clear.”

“The drone has got something.” York’s voice was edged with excitement. “You should reach its position in about five hundred metres by maintaining your present trajectory. I’m sending the co-ordinates so you can program in a fix.”

Earlier that day, the island had loomed out of the horizon like some mythical apparition. Just before Seaquest arrived, the sea had gone dead calm, an eerie lull that seemed to draw up its vapours in a ghostly pall. As the wind picked up again and curled the mist towards the barren shore, they felt like explorers who had chanced upon some lost world. With its lack of vegetation and sheer rock the island seemed old beyond belief, a craggy wasteland reduced by time and weather to its bare essence. Yet if their instincts were right, it was here that all the hopes and potential of mankind had first taken root.

They had brought Seaquest to a halt two nautical miles west of the island. For a reconnaissance towards its submerged slopes they had used a sonar drone rather than the ROV, which was limited to visual survey. For three hours now there had been nothing unusual in the sonar readout, and they had made the decision to deploy the Aquapods as well. Speed was now paramount.

Jack gave a thumbs-up to Costas, who was hugging the seabed at the 140 metre contour. They could sense each other’s excitement, a thrill of anticipation that needed no exchange of words. From the moment of the telephone call when Hiebermeyer first uttered that word from the papyrus, Jack had known they would be propelled to some greater revelation. All through the painstaking process of translation and decipherment he had felt supremely confident that this was the one, that the stars were all in alignment this time. Yet the pace of events since they cracked the code had left little time for reflection. Only days before he had been elated beyond belief by the Minoan wreck. Now they were on the cusp of one of the greatest archaeological discoveries of all time.

The Aquapods slowed to a crawl and they continued in silence, each man aware of the other through their Plexiglas domes as the yellow pods inched forward a few metres apart in the gloom.

Moments later a vista of spectral shapes began to materialize out of the haze. They had studied the images of the Neolithic village off Trabzon in anticipation of this moment. But nothing could have prepared them for the reality of entering a place which had been lost to the world for almost eight thousand years.

Suddenly it was happening.

“Slow down.” Jack spoke with bated breath. “Take a look at that.”

What had seemed strangely regular undulations in the seabed took on a new form as Jack fired a blast from his water jet to clear away the sediment. As it settled they could see the gaping mouths of a pair of huge pottery jars, buried upright side by side between low retaining walls. Another blast revealed a second pair of jars, and identical undulations continued upslope as far as they could see.

“It’s a storehouse, probably for grain,” Jack said. “They’re just like the pithoi at Knossos. Only four thousand years older.”

Suddenly a larger shape appeared before them, completely blocking their way ahead. For a moment it seemed as if they had come to the edge of the world. They were at the base of an enormous cliff extending on the same line in either direction, its sheer wall broken by ledges and fissures like a quarry face. Then they saw curious rectangular patches of pitch blackness, some at regular intervals on the same level.

They realized with amazement what they were looking at.

It was a huge conglomeration of walls and flat roofs, broken by windows and entranceways, all shrouded in a blanket of silt. It was like the Neolithic village but on a gigantic scale. The buildings rose four or five storeys, the highest blocks reached by terraces of rooftop platforms linked by stairways and ladders.

They halted their Aquapods and gazed in awe, forcing their minds to register an image that seemed more fantasy than fact.