The Hunt For Atlantis

In magnificence, however, it was something else entirely.

Even in the grainy, low-resolution video, she could clearly make out the red gleam of orichalcum, flashes of gold and silver, cat’s-eye sparkles from gemstones set into the walls…

“My God,” breathed Philby, “it’s incredible. The entire chamber must be lined with precious metals!”

“It’s not just decorative,” said Nina. She fiddled with her headset. “Eddie? Talk to me. What can you see?”

“I see… that if I had some tin snips and a crowbar, I could retire on this lot.”

“Very funny. Can you get closer to one of the walls?”

“Christ, let me get onto my feet first…” The video image jerked as Chase pulled himself out of the shaft and detached the cable gun, his breath rasping into his microphone. “Okay. Well, I was right about the shaft, it’s in the same place as the blocked one in Brazil. They must have used the same plans. The walls are… God, they’ve used the stuff like wallpaper. There’s sheet after sheet of orichalcum, and it’s all inscribed.”

“Let me see, let me see!” said Nina, bouncing in her chair in excitement.

Chase moved closer, his flashlight beam sliding over one section of wall. Nina immediately recognized the script: Glozel, though with none of the hieroglyphic symbols from the Brazilian temple.

Philby stroked his mustache as he peered at the screen. “Interesting. Maybe they assimilated the language of the Indians… The temple in Brazil would have taken years, even generations to build. That would be enough time for the two systems to intermix…”

“Eddie, give me a look at the whole chamber, please. Slowly.”

Chase stepped away from the wall and slowly turned in place, panning his camera around the room.

“Stop, stop!” Nina shouted, seeing something. “Back to the right a little bit… there! Go over there!”

“Now I know how Mighty Jack feels,” he complained amiably as he waddled across the room. “What’ve you seen? There’s nothing there.”

“Exactly!” The section of wall before Chase was sheathed in orichalcum like the rest of the chamber, but it was blank, the inscribed text stopping abruptly halfway down. “The whole chamber, it’s a record of Atlantis-but that’s where it ends! Which means whatever’s written there is the final record of the Atlanteans! Get closer, let me read it!” She hurriedly checked that the video feed was being recorded.

“Or you could let me unhook this rope from my arse and fix it to something so Hugo and Kari can climb up here as well,” said Chase. “You remember Kari? Attractive blonde, tall, has a camera?”

“Well, yeah, that might work too,” she replied, slightly deflated but still desperate to get the first look at what was written on the wall.

The first look. Nobody had set eyes on the text for over eleven thousand years…

She waited impatiently as Chase set things up. Finally he announced that Kari was on her way. “Okay, while we’re waiting, can you please go back to the final record?”

“You’re so domineering. I like that in a woman… sometimes,” he quipped, directing the camera at the text.

Nina looked across at Trulli. “Matt, is there any way to get a freeze-frame from the video?”

“Sure. The recorder’s digital, got a terabyte of storage-it’ll keep on recording. What screen do you want it on?”

“My big one.”

“It won’t be in 3-D.”

“I can live with that.” A few seconds later, the screen came to life with a frozen still of the last section of text.

The image was fuzzy, the colors smeared, but it was clear enough for her to make out the letters. She stared at it, deep in thought.

One of the crew hurried into the control room. “Captain Matthews? There’s a ship approaching.”

“What?” Matthews snapped. “How far?”

“About five miles. It was on a course for Lisbon when we first saw it on radar, but it turned towards us a couple of minutes ago.”

“Speed?”

“At least twelve knots, sir.”

“Is it Qobras?” The name caught Nina’s attention. She looked around at Matthews, worried.

“Very possibly. The ship fits the description of the one that set out from Casablanca.”

“Damn it!” Matthews rubbed his chin, thinking. “All right. Let everyone know that we have company, and to be ready. If it gets to within two miles, or they launch boats, break out the weapons. I’ll be on the bridge.”

“Yes, sir.” The crewman left, Matthews following.

“Eddie, did you hear any of that?” Nina asked. “They think Qobras is on his way!”

“What? Shit!” On one of the smaller monitors, Nina saw him helping Kari out of the shaft. “What do you want to do?”

“Record as much as you can, as fast as you can. As soon as I hear anything else, I’ll let you know. His ship’s still five miles away-Captain Matthews’s going to keep us updated.”

“Only five miles? There’s no way we’ll be able to get back to the surface and recover the sub before he gets here!”

“The submersible’s expendable, we can abandon it if we need to,” said Kari, ignoring the yelp of “What?” from Baillard. Out of the water, her transmission was much clearer. “We can build another, but the information in here is priceless. Video as much of it as you can-we can process it later if we need to enhance anything. I’ll take pictures.”

“Hugo, did you get that?” Chase asked.

The reply was barely audible, masked by static. “Most of it. What do you want me to do?”

“No point you coming in here now. Stay at the entrance in case we need any help.”

“Roger, mon ami. Don’t wait too long.”

Nina watched as Chase returned to the inscription-covered walls, then looked back at the still image on her main screen, trying to decipher its secrets.

Unseen by anybody aboard the Evenor, a head broke the surface of the ocean beneath the research vessel’s fantail. Then another, and another…

Thirty feet below the gentle waves, more divers released their Manta tow sleds, fast, streamlined three-man vehicles. The abandoned minisubs dropped slowly away into the darkness as their passengers headed silently for the Evenor’s boat dock. The ship was using its thrusters to hold position; the propellers were still.

The first man reached the ladder and carefully ascended, peering over the edge of the deck. One of the Evenor’s crew was about twenty feet away on the helipad, his back to him. Nobody else was in sight.

The frogman ducked back down, unslinging his weapon-a Heckler and Koch MP-7-and popped the red rubber seal from the end of the fat silencer with his thumb in one easy move. That done, he crept silently back to the top of the ladder and took aim.

There was almost no noise save the sharp metallic clack as the bolt cycled, the spent casing of the single 4.6-millimeter bullet caught in a mesh bag attached to the compact weapon before it could hit the deck. Even as the crewman fell, the frogman was already scrambling up onto the deck. He raced for cover against a bulkhead, listening for sounds of alarm. Nothing reached him but the slap of waves and the plaintive cries of gulls circling above.

Other men quickly boarded the Evenor, spreading out. The first man removed his mask, revealing a black patch over one eye.

Jason Starkman.

“Take the ship,” he ordered.

Chase continued around the altar room, scanning the texts on the walls. The video camera on his shoulder was