Deep Fathom

David continued his survey. The laboratory had the appearance of a twenty-meter-wide white doughnut sitting on a raised platter. He dove underneath the section, craning his neck to make sure the piece was properly seated, then keyed his transmitter. “All clear. Perfect landing. I’ll unhook the winches and lines.” David goosed his thrusters and swung around, aiming for the four thick cables that had been used to lower and guide the laboratory section into place.

“No need. We’re getting good video from the ROVs, Commander. Our team has practiced this a thousand times. All we need you to do is monitor from there.”

On the seabed floor, David watched as a pair of boxy robots slowly lurched forward, churning up silt behind them. The pair, named Huey and Duey, were remotely operated by the topside technicians. They set about the task of latching the first section to its support base.

Over the next day, the team would lower the other two sections, secure them together, one atop the other, and then evacuate the water from the drowned labs. The plan was to pressurize the facility to one atmosphere, exactly matching the surface pressure, thus allowing the scientists to journey up and down in their own submersible without the need to decompress.

So far, everything was proceeding smoothly. David had to give some credit to the Mexican leader of the research team. With a fire lit under his ass, Cortez ran a tight ship himself. As such, perhaps the scientist deserved a bone tossed in his direction. Since yesterday, Cortez had not stopped nagging him for a closer peek at the crystal pillar. Perhaps it was time to oblige him a little.

After giving the developing station one final pass, David circled out in a widening spiral. About fifty yards away rested the graveyard of Air Force One, many of its parts still strewn across the seabed floor. In the distance giant flat-topped seamounts shadowed the site, while surrounding it all lay the twisted forest of lava pillars. David could not imagine a more inhospitable place on Earth.

He pushed the throttles on his sub and swept toward the wreckage site. In the center, the strange crystal obelisk thrust up from the seabed floor. He gave it a wide berth in the Perseus, still nervous about getting too close to the giant structure that had demonstrated such odd properties during Kirkland’s dives. Even from ten yards away he could appreciate its size. The top of the spire disappeared into the inky gloom far overhead.

Hovering in place, David guided his lights along its length. Its faceted surface seemed to absorb his lamplight and cast it back tenfold. Undoubtedly a marvel — and if his boss was correct, also potentially one of the world’s most powerful energy sources.

With care, David maintained his distance. Using the touchpad on his video monitor, he zoomed in on the crystalline surface. Tiny scratches focused into row after row of small figures and geometric shapes, etched and shining silver. His eyes grew wide. It was writing!

“Goddamn you, Kirkland!” he mumbled.

“What was that, sir?”

“Nothing. Continue securing the station!” David thumbed off the transmitter. He needed to think. Jack Kirkland had not mentioned writing on the crystal in any of his reports, and David knew he’d been close enough to see this. He couldn’t have missed it. The silver symbols practically glowed on the crystalline surface. So why hadn’t he reported it? What was he up to? David gripped the throttles tightly. What else was Jack Kirkland keeping secret? Every instinct in him screamed with suspicion.

On his touchpad, he activated his private encrypted line to the surface. He had it implemented after running into problems communicating directly with his team through an open channel.

It was answered immediately by his second-in-command. “What is it, sir?”

“Rolfe, we may have a problem. I need access to all communication into and out of the Deep Fathom since it first arrived here.”

“Sir, we didn’t tap the ship’s communication system.”

“I know that. But it’s a goddamn boat. Any telephone communication would’ve passed through a traceable satellite system. We may not know what he said, but I want to know who he said it to.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll put Jeffreys on it right away.”

“I’m coming topside immediately. I want some answers by the time I’m on deck.”

“Aye, Commander.”

David switched channels and hailed the sub’s technician. He repeated his plan to surface earlier than scheduled. “Get Brentley suited up,” he finished brusquely. “The lieutenant can finish babysitting the robots down here.”

Without waiting for an assent, David flicked off the radio and blew the ballast on his sub. He shoved both throttles forward. The Perseus shot upward, its thrusters whining as they were fully engaged.

What was Kirkland up to?

9:42 A.M., off the coast of Yonaguni Island

With the sun hovering above the eastern horizon, Jack stood behind the wheel of the sleek nineteen-foot Boston Whaler. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered as he cut the motor and glided around the headlands of Yonaguni Island.

Ahead, the small coastal city of Chatan lay nestled along the shore, a ramshackle village of cheap hotels and seaside restaurants. But it was not the town that captured Jack’s attention. It was the pair of terraced pyramids towering above the waves offshore.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Karen said.

Beyond the pyramids, more of the ancient city appeared: basalt columns, roofless homes, sharp-edged obelisks, worn statues. The city spread toward the horizon, fading into the morning mists.

“ ‘Amazing’ hardly describes this sight,” Jack said. “You told me what to expect, but to see it…” His voice dwindled away in awe. Finally, he settled back into the pilot’s seat and throttled up. “It was worth the hassle getting here.”

“I told you it was.” Karen remained standing as the boat sped toward the city, her hair blowing back, her cheeks rosy in the wind as the boat bounced through the chop. Her figure was framed in sea spray.

Jack studied his companion from the corner of his eye. At the port of Naha, he had spent an aggravating hour scrounging up this boat. With the island’s U.S. military bases at full alert because of the Chinese, sea traffic had been congested and chaotic. Jack was forced to pay an outrageous rental fee for the day use of his boat. Luckily, they took his American Express. Still, as he watched Karen, he knew the trip was definitely worth the hassles.

As they neared the first pyramid, Jack cut the engine and slowed the boat into a gentle glide.

Karen settled into her own seat. “Once you see this city, how can you not believe that a prehistoric people once lived among these islands?” She waved her arm to encompass the spread of ruins. “This is not the work of early Polynesians. Another people, an older people, built this, along with the many other megalithic ruins dotting the Pacific: the canal city of Nan Madol, the lattes stones of the Mariannas, the colossal Burden of Tonga.”

“If these ancient people were so skilled, what happened to them?”

Karen grew thoughtful, eyes glazed. “I don’t know. Some great cataclysm. My great-grandfather believed, from studying Mayan tablets, that a larger continent once existed in the middle of the Pacific. He called it Mu…after the Hawaiian name for this lost continent.”

“Your great-grandfather?”

“Colonel Churchward.” She smiled back at him. “He was considered…well, eccentric in most respectable scientific circles.”

“Ah…” Jack rolled his eyes.

Karen scowled good-naturedly at him. “Regardless of my ancestor’s eccentricities, myths of the lost continent persist throughout the Pacific Islands. The Indians of Central and South America named these lost people the viracocha. In the Maldive Islands, they are the Redin, their word for ‘ancient people.’ Even the Polynesians speak of ‘Wakea,’ an ancient teacher, who arrived in a mighty ship with massive sails and oarsmen. Across the Pacific, there are just too many stories to dismiss it out of hand. And now here we have another clue. A sunken city rising again.”