Atlantis

upwards as he hit the water.

Without his helmet he reduced the risk of whiplash but even so the impact was bone-jarring. He sliced into the sea feet first and plummeted deep enough to feel the thermocline. He splayed his limbs to halt his descent. As he swam back towards the surface, he felt a stabbing pain where the wound in his side had torn open. Partway up there was a tremendous concussion that sent a shock wave coursing through the water. He broke surface and saw the burning remains of the Hind a short distance away, a scene of devastation that could easily have been his own funeral pyre.

He cracked the CO₂ cartridge on his lifejacket and made for Seaquest. He was suddenly overwhelmed by fatigue, the adrenaline rush having taken its toll on his already depleted reserves.

Seaquest was so far down on her bow that he was able to swim over the submerged forecastle and haul himself on the sloping deck in front of the gun emplacement. It was the scene of York and Howe’s last stand the day before. After grimly surveying the scene, Jack stripped off his lifejacket and picked his way cautiously towards the remains of the deckhouse. Just before reaching the hatch into the hold, he lost his footing and fell heavily. He realized with dismay that he had slipped on congealed blood, a crimson splatter that trailed to the starboard side of the hull.

Jack knew there was nothing to be gained from dwelling on the final moments of his crew. He sank back for a moment’s respite beside the hatch while he summoned all his remaining willpower and strength.

Almost too late he saw the helicopter out of the corner of his eye. It was far away, just off the corner of the island, and the sound of its rotor was drowned out by the noise of Seaquest breaking up. He knew from the vacant pad at the heliport that Aslan had a fourth attack helicopter, and he guessed this was a Kamov Ka-28 Helix flown off Vultura. He squinted into the morning sun and saw the helicopter low over the water, aimed directly at him. Jack had been at the receiving end of enough helicopter attacks to know what to expect, yet rarely had he felt so vulnerable.

There was a distant flash as a telltale halo dropped and began to enlarge with horrifying speed. It was a heavy anti-ship missile, probably one of the feared Exocet AM.39 warheads he had seen stockpiled at Aslan’s headquarters. Jack hurled himself through the hatch and tumbled to the lower deck, literally falling into the command module. Just as he spun the locking wheel, there was an immense crash. He was thrown violently back against a bulkhead and the world went dark.

CHAPTER 26

The door slammed behind Costas as he flew into the bulkhead. It was a jarring impact, the protruding ridge of metal taking him full in the chest and leaving him fighting for breath. The blindfold had been ripped off but all he could see was a crimson blur. He rolled back slightly, his whole body convulsed with pain, and slowly raised his arm to feel his face. His right eye was swollen and closed over, numb to the touch. He moved his fingers to his left eye and wiped away the sticky sheen before opening it. Gradually his focus improved. From where he was lying he could see whitewashed piping running along the bulkhead, the front stamped with symbols and letters he could just make out as Cyrillic.

He had no sense of time or place. His last clear memory had been Jack collapsing inside the audience chamber. Then there was blackness, a hazy memory of movement and pain. He had come to strapped in a chair with a blinding light thrust in his face. Then hour after hour of torment, of screaming and agonizing blows. Always the same black-clad figures, always the same question shouted in broken English. How did you get from the submarine? He guessed he was on Vultura, but all powers of analysis had shut down as his mind focused on survival. Again and again he was hurled into this room, then dragged back just when he thought it was all over.

And now it was happening again. This time there had been no respite. The door crashed open and there was a violent blow to his back, forcing up a slurry of blood and vomit. He was hauled to his knees retching and coughing and the blindfold was yanked on again, so tight he could feel the blood squeezing out of his swollen eye socket. He thought he could never feel another type of pain, but this was it. He concentrated his whole being on his one lifeline, that he was taking the punishment and not Jack. He had to hold on whatever it took until Seaquest arrived and the discovery of the warheads was made known.

He came round facedown on a table with his hands tied behind the chair he was sitting on. He had no idea how long he had been there and could only see a nauseating speckle of stars where the blindfold pressed against his eyes. Through the throbbing of his head he could hear voices, not those of his tormentors but a man’s and a woman’s. Earlier he had gathered from snatches of overheard conversation that his captors were expecting the return of Aslan by helicopter from their headquarters complex. Even the worst of them seemed apprehensive. There had been some kind of crisis, a downed helicopter, an escaped prisoner. Costas prayed it was Jack.

The voices seemed to be some distance away, in a corridor or an adjoining room, but the woman’s was raised in anger and he could hear them clearly. They switched from Russian to English and he realized it was Aslan and Katya.

“These are personal matters,” Aslan said. “We will speak in English so my mujahedin do not hear this blasphemy.”

“Your mujahedin.” Katya’s voice was full of contempt. “Your mujahedin are jihadists. They fight for Allah, not Aslan.”

“I am their new prophet. Their loyalty is to Aslan.”

“Aslan.” Katya spat out the word with derision. “Who is Aslan? Piotr Alexandrovich Nazarbetov. A failed professor from an obscure university with delusions of grandeur. You do not even wear the beard of a holy man. And remember I know about our Mongol heritage. Genghis Khan was an infidel who destroyed half the Muslim world. Someone ought to tell that to your holy warriors.”

“You forget yourself, my daughter.” The voice was icy.

“I remember what I had to learn as a child. He who will abide by the Koran will prosper, he who offends against it will get the sword. The faith does not allow the murder of innocents.” Her voice was a ragged sob. “I know what you did to my mother.”

Aslan’s heavy breathing sounded to Costas like a pressure cooker about to explode.

“Your mujahedin are biding their time,” Katya continued. “They are using you until you become expendable. That submarine will be your tomb as well. All you have done by creating this terrorist sanctuary is hasten your own demise.”

“Silence!” The demented scream was followed by the sounds of a scuffle and something being dragged away. Moments later there were returning footsteps. They halted behind Costas. A pair of hands jerked his shoulders back against the chair.

“Your presence is polluting,” the voice hissed against his ear, still breathing heavily. “You are about to make your final journey.”

Fingers snapped and two pairs of hands wrenched him upright. In his world of darkness he was unaware of the blow when it came, an instant of pain followed by merciful oblivion.

Jack seemed to be in a living nightmare. He saw only pitch-blackness, a darkness so complete it eclipsed all sensory points of reference. All around him was an immense rushing noise punctuated by creaks and groans. His mind struggled to make sense of the unimaginable. As he lay contorted against the bulkhead he felt oddly lightweight, his body almost levitating as if he were caught in the grip of some demonic fever.

He now knew what it felt like to be trapped inside the bowels of a sinking ship as it plunged into the abyss. His salvation was Seaquest’s command module, its fifteen-centimetre-thick walls of titanium-reinforced steel protecting him from the crushing pressure that would by now have burst his eardrums and collapsed his skull. He could hear rending and buckling as the remaining air pockets imploded, a noise that would have spelled instant death had he failed to make it into the module in time.

All he could do now was brace himself against the inevitable. The fall seemed interminable, far longer than he had expected, and the noise increased in a shrieking crescendo like an approaching express train. The end when it came was as violent as it was unheralded. The hull crashed into the seabed with a sickening jolt, generating a G