The Hunt For Atlantis

those around it in the harsh daylight.

There were seven people in their group, three Americans and four Tibetans. The latter group had been hired as porters and guides; while they knew the area, they had been as amazed by the folktale come true as their foreign visitors. Even by Tibetan standards the region was bleak and isolated, and Henry realized they might be the only Westerners ever to have witnessed what they had just seen.

Except, perhaps, for the people whose clues had led them here in the first place.

Henry called the group to a stop. As the others gratefully brushed snow off nearby rocks and sat down, he removed his backpack and carefully took a slim binder from one of its pockets. Laura joined him as he flicked through the pages sealed inside protective plastic sheets.

“Checking again?” she asked, teasing. “I thought you’d have them memorized by now.”

“German’s not one of my strongest languages,” he reminded her, finding a particular page. The paper was discolored, stained by damp and time.

The secret documents of the Ahnenerbe-the German Ancestral Heritage Society, part of Hitler’s SS under the direct control of Heinrich Himmler-had been found hidden behind bricks in a cellar of Wewelsberg Castle in northern Germany. Wewelsberg had been the headquarters of the SS, and the center of the Nazi obsession with mythology and the occult. At the end of the war, orders had been given to destroy the castle and the knowledge it contained. Someone had chosen to disobey those orders and conceal the documents instead.

And now the Wildes had them.

The previous year, Bernd Rust, an old friend and colleague of Henry’s, had contacted him about the discovery. Most of the rediscovered SS documents had been turned over to the German government, but knowing of the Wildes’ interests, Rust had-at considerable professional risk-secretly retained a few specific pages, those mentioning Atlantis. Even from a friend they hadn’t come cheap, but Henry knew they were worth every penny.

While he felt a deep discomfort about using Nazi material to aid his search-to the extent that he hadn’t even told his daughter about the documents’ origin-he also knew that without it, he would never find Atlantis. Somehow, half a century ago, the Nazis had discovered something that had enabled them to jump almost to the end of the trail.

The Ahnenerbe had organized expeditions to Tibet during the 1930s, and even into the 1940s as the war raged in Europe. At the behest of the prominent Nazis who were members of the sinister Thule Society, Himmler among them, three expeditions had been sent to Asia. The Thule Society believed that beneath the Himalayas lay underground cities built by the legendary descendants of the Atlanteans, who shared a common ancestry with the Aryan master race. While the explorers made many discoveries about Tibetan history, they found nothing of the Atlanteans, and returned to Germany empty-handed.

But what the papers now in Henry’s possession revealed was that there had been a fourth expedition, kept secret even from Hitler himself.

The Fuhrer was not as inclined as his followers to believe in myths. As the war escalated, he decided pragmatically that the country’s resources were better spent on the Nazi war machine than in sending expeditions halfway around the world to hunt for a legend.

But Himmler was a true believer. And the Ahnenerbe’s discoveries had convinced him that legend was within his grasp.

What came as a shock to Henry was that he and Laura were on the same path… but half a century too late. Piecing together clues from dozens, hundreds of historical sources, tiny scraps of evidence gradually forming a picture like a jigsaw, the Wildes had traveled with Nina ten years earlier to a site on the coast of Morocco. To Henry’s jubilation, they had found traces of an ancient settlement hidden beneath the African sands… only for delight to turn to despair when they realized someone had beaten them to it. Aside from a few worthless scraps, the site had been picked clean.

Now Henry knew by whom.

The Nazis had assembled the same puzzle pieces and sent an expedition to Morocco. The handful of Ahnenerbe documents he now held revealed only hints of what they had found, but on the strength of those discoveries another expedition had been mounted in South America. What they had found there, the documents didn’t reveal- but they did reveal that the mission had led the Nazis to Tibet, to the Golden Peak.

To here.

“I just wish we had more information,” Henry complained. “I’d love to know exactly what they found in South America.”

Laura turned the pages. “We’ve got enough. They got us this far.” She read one phrase from the decaying, blotchy paper: “‘The Golden Peak, said to glow with the light of dawn between two dark mountains.’ I’d say…” she looked up at the looming mountain, “this fits the bill.”

“So far.” Henry examined the text. Even though he had already read it a hundred, a thousand times, he checked it again to assure himself that he hadn’t made a mistake in the translation.

He hadn’t. This was the place.

“So the entrance is supposed to be at the end of the Path of the Moon… whatever that is.” He surveyed the rising landscape through his binoculars, seeing nothing but rocks and snow. “Why do legends always have to have cryptic names? Does it seem to lead to the moon; does it follow the movements of the moon; what?”

“I think it looks like the moon,” said Laura meaningfully. “Specifically, a crescent moon.”

“Why do you think that?” There was still nothing even remotely moonlike in view as he panned across the face of the mountain.

“Because,” she replied, placing a hand on the binoculars and gently pulling them down from his face, “I can see it right in front of me.”

Henry blinked, wondering what she was talking about… until he saw it himself.

Ahead was a long, curving path that swung off to the left, rising up the flank of the peak before sweeping back around to the right and ending at a broad ledge some distance above. In contrast to the jumbled mix of dark rocks and patchy snow around it, the path was an almost unbroken crescent of pure white, indicating flatter, smoother ground. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before.

“Laura?”

“Yes?”

“This is another one of those moments when I’m so glad that I married you.”

“Yeah. I know.” They smiled at each other, then kissed. “So,” she said when they pulled apart, “how far do you think it is?”

“A mile, maybe… about five hundred feet up. Fairly steep.”

“If the ancient Atlanteans could get up there in sandals, I figure we can manage in hiking boots.”

“So do I.” Henry returned the binder to his pack, then waved to the rest of the expedition. “Okay! This is it! We’re moving out!”

The path proved trickier to negotiate than expected. The snow camouflaged a surface strewn with loose rubble from landslides, making each step treacherous.

By the time they reached the ledge, the sun had passed over the summit of the mountain, casting the entire eastern face into shadow. Henry turned and scanned the horizon as he helped Laura up the last few feet of the path. Heavy clouds were rolling in from the north. He hadn’t noticed it during the effort of the ascent, but the temperature had definitely fallen.

“Bad weather?” asked Laura, following his gaze.

“Looks like we might be in for a blizzard.”

“Great. Good thing we got up here before it starts.” She looked back at the ledge, which even at its narrowest was a dozen yards wide as it cut across the face of the mountain. “Shouldn’t be any trouble setting up camp here.”

“Get the guides to pitch the tents before the weather turns,” said Henry. The path ended here; above the ledge, the rock face was steep enough to require proper climbing gear. That was no problem, as they had the necessary equipment. But if the Ahnenerbe documents were correct, they shouldn’t need it…

Laura passed on Henry’s instructions to the Tibetans before returning to him. “What are you