The Gods of Atlantis

22

‘F reeze. Down on the ground. Now! ’

Jack snarled the words as he aimed the Webley at the head of the nearer man, shifting his aim quickly to the other one and then back again, the hammer cocked and both hands tightly on the grip. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rebecca and Jeremy, still standing where they had been talking to the men while Jack had crept up from behind the truck. He kept the pistol trained but glanced at Jeremy. ‘Get back to the house, now,’ he said. Jeremy and Rebecca stumbled and then ran. A figure in black appeared with a Glock pistol, the MI6 man John who was helping to provide protection for Rebecca. The two men from the truck remained immobile where they had been reeling out the propane hose. A voice called out from behind. ‘I’m here, Jack.’ He glanced over and saw Mikhail, his Lee-Enfield cocked and levelled.

Jack snarled again at the two men. ‘ Down. Hands on your heads.’ They both slowly dropped to their knees on the gravel, their hands raised. John came up behind them and expertly kicked both in the small of the back so they fell forward on the ground, gasping. He holstered his Glock, took out two plastic wrist ties and in seconds had the two men handcuffed. Jack saw it again, the smudged tattoo of the tiger on one man’s wrist, identical to the tattoo he had seen on Shang Yong’s man two years previously in Afghanistan. John body-searched both men and removed a small arsenal of handguns and knives from their overalls, and several cell phones. He unholstered his Glock and trained it again, glancing at Jack. ‘Ben and I only had one plan of action should this happen. He scouted out a ravine a few miles away where body disposal won’t be a problem. Do you want to question them first?’

Jack knelt down beside the nearer man, seeing his Chinese features for the first time. He thrust the Webley into the nape of the man’s neck, and leaned down so close he could smell the man’s breath. ‘If you make the slightest move,’ he said quietly, ‘this. 455 slug is going to empty your head of everything inside it.’

John approached from behind. ‘Let me do this, Jack.’

Jack put up his free hand to halt John, his other keeping the Webley pressed against the man’s neck. He had just seen these men inches from Rebecca. It had been his worst nightmare, and it had nearly happened again. He felt a rage well up inside him, the same rage he had felt six months ago after Rebecca’s kidnapping, when he had hacked one of her assailants to death in the mineshaft in Poland. With the hammer cocked, it would take the slightest nudge of the trigger to fire the pistol. He would be protecting Rebecca again. But then the rational side of him took over, the side that had planned what to do from the moment he had spotted that tattoo from the house. He was in control of this situation, and he must continue to be in control if they were to reach the endgame he had planned.

He spoke up so the other man could hear too. ‘Listen to me, and listen well. Two of our security men are going to put you in your truck and drive you out of here. They are going to release you, return your cell phones and give you back your truck. You will tell your master that I know the location he wants in the Caribbean. I will give you a piece of paper with the precise co-ordinates. My team are on their way there now. Listen very closely. You will tell him that we know the prize he wants is in that place. We are willing to let him have it if we have the Nazi gold we know is there too. We both go away happy. But we also want the phial he already has, from the bunker. I will meet Saumerre at the site at 1500 hours tomorrow afternoon. Do you understand me?’

The man said nothing. Jack pressed the pistol hard against his neck. He felt the temptation again, stronger than ever. ‘Do you understand me?’ he snarled.

‘Fifteen hundred hours tomorrow afternoon,’ the man mumbled into the ground. ‘The co-ordinates you will give us. He gets the prize. You want the gold. Bring the phial from the bunker or nothing happens.’

Jack kept the Webley pressed in hard, took a deep breath and then released it. He saw that Mikhail remained stock-still, his rifle still trained. He stood up, and nodded at John. ‘They’re all yours.’ He turned to the house, seeing Jeremy outside the door holding the Ruger and Rebecca with the shotgun. ‘Okay, you two. Get your things together. We’re out of here in ten minutes.’

Fourteen hours later, Jack sat strapped in the rear compartment of the Lynx helicopter, charting their progress on the digital flight map as they neared the Bahamas chain. Out of the door window on the port side, he could see the leading edge of the hurricane, an ominous billowing darkness forked with lightning, a creeping malevolence that seemed immobile at this distance yet which Jack knew was a whirling maelstrom of wind. Paul had kept doggedly on course, having calculated their fuel consumption and the helicopter’s turnaround schedule with military precision. They would be on site in eight minutes now, would have four minutes to egress and then Paul would be able to return to Seaquest II having used almost exactly his fuel capacity, relying on the headwind in front of the hurricane to give him the edge he needed to get back. The storm would pass south of Seaquest II while they were diving, clearing off west by the time they expected to be back on the surface using their waterproof radio to call Paul back to pick them up. That was, if their luck held out. And if they survived the showdown that lay ahead.

Jack had taken a huge gamble. He and Costas had given away enough to Schoenberg the day before to allow Saumerre to prepare himself for operations in the Caribbean. He had given the co-ordinates to the two men on the farm assuming that Saumerre would not be able to get to the site any faster than he could. The biggest gamble had been the bargain he had proposed. Saumerre knew that Jack had enough to discredit him, that Jack would never meet him without having a contingency to expose him if anything went wrong. If he could convince Saumerre that they could maintain a stand-off, as they had done for the past six months, then the agreement to share the spoils might work. The Nazi gold was no more than an educated guess. If Himmler had dispatched a U-boat on its final mission to take the deadly weapon to his hideaway, the chances were he would have filled the boat with the loot that top Nazis like him were hoarding at the end of the war. Gold was the favoured commodity. Himmler would have needed to buy himself a future if his plan to ransom the world with the threat of the biological weapon failed. He was too shrewd an operator not to have had a backup plan. Jack had no idea whether the virus phial was actually at the site, but he desperately hoped that Frau Hoffman had been right in her instinct that Ernst would have managed to destroy it. He remembered the account of the Liberator bomber, the rear-gunner’s insistence that they had hit the U-boat as it entered the blue hole. Even if Ernst had not already found a way of ditching the virus, the attack might have destroyed the submarine and prevented him from taking it into the underwater habitat that Heidi said had been installed at this site before the war.

And getting Saumerre to bring the other phial, the Alexander bacterium, was another gamble. Yet Saumerre would have known that the bacterium was not a proven killer in modern times, that the virus was far more terrifying. He was a wily operator, an intellectual, a politician, very probably a fundamentalist sympathizer, but above all a gangster at the head of a criminal empire. For people like that, the bargain Jack had offered would strike a chord that would make him forget who Jack was, forget that profit and greed were not the only motivations for engaging in a deadly duel like this. He had to believe that Jack – like most of those he dealt with – had been seduced by the lure of gold.

Jack shut his eyes tight for a moment. Somewhere in that blue hole, in a cavern that would have been accessible to Ahnenerbe divers, were the ancient symbols that Heidi had seen in the slide show at Wewelsburg Castle in 1944. Finding those – finding just one symbol that proved the truth of the exodus from Atlantis – would be worth all the gold in the world to him.

Paul’s voice crackled over the intercom. ‘Apologies for the reception. We’ve got some kind of radio interference, maybe a localized electromagnetic phenomenon. There’s activity on site. The radar’s just showing a boat speeding away in the direction of San Salvador Island.’

‘Anything from the drone?’

‘It’s had to turn back because of the weather. But Lanowski’s just sent a message. It’s what you want to hear, Jack. The drone showed a boat bang over the blue hole, with two divers getting in the water before it sped off.’

Jack tensed. ‘Good. If there’s any sign of it returning, Macalister has a hotline to the head of the Royal Bahamas Defence Force to order an intercept. I don’t want it done yet in case the boat captain has some way of contacting Saumerre and he realizes what we’re doing. But if needs be, you can say we suspect it’s a drug-runner.’

That much had gone according to plan. The MQ-1 Predator drone had been an inspirational idea of Lanowski’s, and a masterpiece of string-pulling involving Macalister, their MI6 contact, Ben and finally Mikhail, who had gone straight to his CIA handlers at Langley and explained enough of the situation with Saumerre and the potential terrorist threat to have a drone launched from a secret US installation in Florida, with the imagery streamed via the airbase to Lanowski’s computer in the operations room on board Seaquest II.

‘Okay,’ Paul said. ‘Target in sight now. T minus two minutes.’

‘Roger that,’ Jack said. He made a diver’s okay sign at Costas, who was sitting beside him with his helmet visor already down, his e-suit covered by the tattered remains of the trusty old boilersuit he had somehow found time to patch and sew together after parts of it had melted during their volcano dive in the Black Sea four days previously. Costas patted his pockets, checking them, and Jack saw the grapple gun they had used in the volcano poking out of one side and attached by a metal carabiner to a hook under his arm. Jack snapped down his own helmet, made sure the rebreather system was operating and quickly scanned the digital computer readout inside his helmet. He listened to his breathing, keeping it cool, measured. He remembered what Paul had said. With their helmets now on and no intercom link to the pilot, the signal would be three sharp bangs on the metal bulkhead behind the pilot’s seat. Crude, but effective. He glanced at Costas again, visually checking his gear, and saw Costas doing the same for him. He reached up and grasped the sliding door handle, and then whispered the words he always said before a dive: Lucky Jack.

The helicopter pitched slightly to the rear and he felt it descend, seeing only a shroud of spray from the rotorwash out of the window. Then he heard three bangs. He looked at Costas, pointing his thumb down, and Costas did the same. They opened the sliding doors simultaneously, into a maelstrom of noise and water. Jack swung his legs out, contacted the skid with his fins, crouched down and rolled forward, holding his helmet with one hand and his backpack with the other as he somersaulted into the sea. He dropped a few feet underwater and then rose to the surface again, patting his head with one hand to show Paul that he was safe. He saw Costas do the same, his yellow helmet just visible in the sheets of spray against the looming blackness of the storm coming in from the east. Jack pressed his buoyancy compensator exhaust to expel air and then he was underwater, the tumult of the surface gone, feeling the instant sense of calm he always did at the beginning of a dive. Costas came alongside him, and they exchanged okay signals again and a thumbs-down. This was it.

Below them lay a massive jumble of rock and coral, fragments as large as houses that Jack knew must have been blown off the side walls of the blue hole by the explosions of the three depth charges dropped by the Liberator in 1945. In the centre was an opening, a gap between the rocks about ten metres in circumference, ten metres or so below the surface. They dropped through it, and were immediately confronted by an astonishing sight.

Wedged into the hole beneath the rocks was the rusted hulk of a submarine, clearly identifiable from its conning tower as a German Type XXI U-boat. It was angled down at about forty-five degrees, and they could see in the gloom below that the bow had been sheared off. As they swam slowly down the hull, they became aware of extensive evidence of damage from gunfire, with holes peppering the outer casing and the gun turrets; the forward deck gun was still loaded with a round in the breech and the barrel was angled high off to starboard. Costas stopped just before the bow section and put his hand on the casing, raising a puff of rust. ‘This confirms the airman’s story,’ he said into his intercom. ‘This U-boat was sprayed with machine-gun rounds, fifty-calibre, and then the bow was blown off by one of those depth charges that also collapsed the blue hole all around it.’

‘Remember Heidi telling us that Ernst had mentioned the torpedo tubes?’ Jack said. ‘If we’re going to find any evidence of whether or not he carried out his plan, it’s going to be there.’

They swam down into the twisted wreckage, immediately recognizing the forward tubes. Costas swam closer, and then backed out. ‘Bingo,’ he said. ‘The forward left tube’s been fired, and hasn’t been sealed shut. It must have happened just before the Liberator attack, even during it. Hoffman cut it fine.’

‘God only knows what was going on in those final moments in this boat. I only hope he had the satisfaction of knowing he’d succeeded before the end came. My guess is he would have been holed up in here, with no chance.’

‘Jack, take a look below you. You’re not going to believe it.’

Jack swam back about a metre and stared into the silt. He looked again, astonished. An object lay there, half inside a rotting leather satchel, something that seemed to have preoccupied them for as long as he could remember now, the object that had caused Rebecca’s kidnapping. It was a golden swastika, the reverse side up, the other side a slightly rusty iron colour. The palladion. He quickly reached down, pushed it into the satchel and picked it up, then strapped it to the front of his e-suit. It was incredibly heavy for its size. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Hoffman must have been given this by Himmler as the key to get into a chamber to store the virus phial. We can use it as a bargaining chip with Saumerre.’

‘Where are they?’ Costas said. ‘The two divers the drone spotted?’

‘In the habitat. Up above us, to the left of the U-boat’s bow.’ Costas followed his gaze. Perched against the only intact side of the blue-hole wall was a construction that looked like an early space-lab satellite, like two bathyspheres joined together, the whole structure secured on metal stilts on a rocky ledge.

‘This is what that German ship in 1938 must have been doing, placing this installation on the spot where the Ahnenerbe divers had made their discovery two years previously,’ Jack said. ‘The symbols Heidi said they found must have added to the mystique, allowing Himmler to sell this place as the new Atlantis, though what really mattered to him and his scheme was that they happened to have discovered a place perfectly suited to his needs: far outside territorial waters, on the edge of the reef drop-off accessible to U-boats, and suitable for putting in a secure storage facility like this.’

‘Hardly a centre of operations for Himmler after the war, though,’ Costas said. ‘Each of those spheres has barely enough room for a couple of people inside.’

‘It had one purpose only,’ Jack said. ‘It was to store the biological weapon. Himmler himself must have had other plans for his own base, in South America perhaps. What’s clear is that the story he told Hoffman and Heidi about their future was a lie, as it doubtless was to others of his followers he used to get his plan in motion. Nobody was ever going to live here, safe from the pandemic raging on land. This was no Wewelsburg reborn.’

‘Just as it was no Atlantis reborn, by the look of it,’ Costas said. ‘So what’s the plan?’

‘We play the game I’ve set up for as long as it takes Saumerre to relax and believe me. As soon as I have the bacterium phial from him, we make a move. If we can crack the valves on his diving tanks, we can empty them to prevent him from getting out, but fill the habitat with enough air for him to survive until the US Navy team we have on hold arrive to pick him up.’

‘I thought this was personal business for you, Jack.’

‘With the level of his terrorist connections, the US is the best bet for keeping him under lock and key permanently.’

‘I can think of a better place for him.’ Costas was staring at the silted floor of the bows, where space below the deck level of the U-boat was visible. ‘Jack, there’s something else here you should see. The palladion wasn’t the only gold on this boat. You were right.’

Jack followed Costas’ gaze. He dropped down and wafted some silt away. ‘Well I’ll be damned,’ he murmured. The sea floor was carpeted with gold bars, hundreds of them, spilling out of the U-boat where it had been blown open. Saumerre clearly had not seen the palladion when he dived down here just before them, but he must have seen this. Jack looked at Costas. ‘Okay. Let’s move.’

Five minutes later, they stood dripping inside the first sphere of the habitat. The tanks that Saumerre and the other diver had been wearing were on the floor beside the entry hatch, and had clearly been partly emptied into the spheres to create a breathable atmosphere. The interior was spartan, like the inside of a recompression chamber, with only a table in the centre of the room and a metal bed on either side of it, but nothing to suggest that people had ever spent time inside. Jack and Costas took off their fins but kept the rest of their gear on, only raising their visors. A voice spoke from the second sphere. ‘Dr Howard. We meet at last.’

Jack ducked through the hatch into the second sphere, followed by Costas. Saumerre was sitting at the bench in the centre, wearing a wetsuit, his black hair slicked back; the other man was standing beside him. Jack had seen images of Saumerre many times in the media, his face familiar from his public front as a European Union politician, but this was the first time he had seen him in the flesh. Beyond them he saw something that made his heart pound. It was a small metal container against the wall, like a safe, with the reverse swastika depression in the front. It was closed. So far, so good. He stared at Saumerre, saying nothing.

‘To business,’ Saumerre said. ‘Do you have the palladion?’

‘Give me the bacterium, and I will give you the palladion.’

‘I don’t believe you have it.’

Jack pointed at the leather satchel strapped to his waist.

Saumerre hesitated. ‘You don’t know any better than I do whether the virus phial is in there or not, do you?’

Jack looked at him impassively, and said nothing.

Saumerre narrowed his eyes. ‘Why would you be allowing me to have this virus?’

‘Because I believe there’s no chance you’ll use it. You’re an educated and civilized man. You’ll be like Himmler, keeping it as a bargaining chip for the future. Spreading the word in the underworld that you have a Nazi wonder-weapon will make you a hugely powerful man. As for me, every archaeologist who sees enough of it eventually succumbs to gold. With that amount, I can ditch the whole tiresome scientific business and set myself up as a treasure-hunter. Others of my team will come along with me.’ He jerked his head towards Costas, who smirked. ‘And be very rich men.’

Saumerre looked cautiously at Jack for a moment, and then a smile crept over his face. ‘So. The famous Dr Howard has seen the dark side, and he likes it.’

‘Leave us the gold, and you take the virus. But I want the bacterium. I can play your game, too. You know it’s far less deadly. It’s never been tried. And there’s an antidote.’

‘Not possible. Nobody has worked on this since the war.’

‘Professor Dr Heidi Hoffman has.’

‘Ah, yes. Of course. Your confidante.’ Saumerre hesitated again, then held out his hand. ‘The palladion?’

Jack reached down and unwrapped the leather satchel he had retrieved from the U-boat. The leather was strong enough to hold together, tough cowhide, but had perished on the surface and came away in his hands. He wiped them on his e-suit and took out the golden swastika inside. Saumerre gasped, and the other man’s eyes were riveted on it. Jack held it with one hand, his arm muscles straining with the weight, and held out his other hand, waiting. Saumerre unzipped the pocket of his buoyancy compensator, took out a waterproof box and opened it, revealing a cylinder inside the size of a large pen. Jack quickly checked it, seeing the marks Heidi had told him to look for and the sealing cover, still intact. Saumerre closed the box and handed it to Jack, who let him take the palladion and immediately slipped it into his leg pocket. Saumerre turned and slotted the palladion into the depression on the metal safe, where it fitted perfectly. A lock clicked, the door opened slightly and it was partly ejected from the hollow. Saumerre took it and placed it on the table, then turned back to the safe.

Jack glanced at Costas, looking at the grapple-gun handle just visible in his boilersuit. Costas nodded almost imperceptibly.

Jack held his breath. If the virus was in there, they were set for a deadly standoff in which there could be no winners. If it was empty, then he and Costas could seize the moment and gain the upper hand. He thought of Hoffman, of the U-boat outside with the fired torpedo tube, of Heidi’s absolute faith that Ernst would have done the right thing.

Saumerre opened the door to the safe.

It was empty.

Costas whipped out the grapple gun and held it to Saumerre’s neck. Jack picked up the palladion and thrust it at the other man, who buckled under the weight, falling on his knees and allowing Jack to slam his fist into his temple and knock him out. He picked up the palladion, grabbed the satchel and retreated through the hatch to the first sphere. Costas followed, keeping his gun trained on Saumerre, who seemed too stunned to move. ‘Visor down,’ Jack yelled, closing his own visor and waiting until Costas had done the same before unscrewing the regulators from the two tanks and cracking the valves open, thankful that their closed helmets dulled the noise of two-thousand-odd p.s.i. of compressed air escaping in such a confined space. After about twenty seconds the noise abated and the tanks emptied. Jack unhooked the hose from his own backpack and vented it for good measure, so that there was enough air in the chamber to ensure that Saumerre survived for at least a couple of hours. He hooked the hose back into his helmet, strapped the package with the palladion to his chest, and looked at Costas. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

They donned their fins and dropped one after the other through the entry hatch at the base of the sphere, then swam off over the U-boat. Jack checked his air pressure. He had vented half of his supply, but there was little risk with the surface only fifteen metres above them and Costas beside him with virtually full tanks in case of emergency. They stopped together beneath the crack between the rocks that led to the surface. ‘Good to go?’ Costas asked.

Jack looked around. There was one thing he had not seen. There had been no ancient symbols, no artefacts. He knew they would come back here after Saumerre was removed, would scour the place, but he still wanted to know now. He had spotted only one opening leading off the main chamber, about ten metres deeper beyond the bow section of the U-boat, a tunnel in the wall. He pointed. ‘I’d like to have a quick look down there.’

‘It’s too deep for the Ahnenerbe divers, probably almost thirty metres,’ Costas said. ‘We have to remember that the Nazi divers only had pure oxygen and that becomes toxic below ten metres depth. If you’re looking for the place where they might have found those symbols, that can’t be it.’

‘It could lead into a shallower cavern. And if you look at the wall directly ahead of us above that tunnel, there’s a place where I think there was a fissure connecting with this chamber, at about fifteen metres. It looks as if it was blocked by the explosions. That depth would have just about been possible with primitive oxygen rebreathers.’

‘How’s your air supply?’

‘Not a lot of margin, but if you stay close by, we’ll be fine.’

‘It’ll be an overhead environment in there, Jack. We haven’t got a safety line or spare tanks.’

‘No more than twenty metres in, I promise.’

Costas paused for a moment, floating still. ‘Okay. Your call.’ They dropped down and were soon at the tunnel entrance, a jagged hole about three metres wide and five metres long. They swam through into another chamber, the size of a small church, the walls rising high above them on every side. Jack ascended until his depth gauge read fifteen metres. Costas swam off to one side, looking hard at the cave walls, searching for anything man-made. ‘I’m remembering Lanowski’s CGI model of this place about 5500 BC. Where we are now would have been inside one of the hills he thought lay on either side of the cavern that became the blue hole. We’d have been maybe ten metres above sea level at this point. I’m just thinking of a guy in a boat arriving here after a trip across the Atlantic, exhausted, famished, thinking he’d seen the promised twin-peaked volcano but then realizing it was an illusion, yet still needing shelter. The cavern below us would have been a subterranean cave beside the sea, perfect for pulling a boat into during a storm. Where we are, higher up, could have been a separate cavern, almost like a mezzanine. You can imagine him finding a way up the rock and holing up here.’

‘And slowly going mad,’ Jack said.

‘Maybe not so slowly,’ Costas replied. ‘If it was hurricane season, he could have collected rainwater from the rock pools on the surface, and anyone who’d survived an Atlantic crossing on an open boat like that must have been a reasonably adept fisherman. But once the rains stopped, that would have been it. He would have had to move on. I don’t see him building a new Atlantis here.’

Jack stared at the walls, remembering Heidi’s description of the underwater cave in the primitive photograph she had seen, and knowing himself what he was looking for. Suddenly he spotted something close to the base of the ledge of the upper cavern, and swam towards it. As he got close to the wall, his heart began to pound. ‘Bingo,’ he said.

Costas swam towards him, Together they stared at a line of five carved symbols, eroded and obscured by marine growth. ‘Look at that,’ Jack exclaimed. ‘Those first three symbols: the pectiform symbol, the half-moon and the cluster of dots. That’s what Katya identified from the Stone Age code as the shaman name for Noah, Uta-Napishtim. It’s identical to the name Little Joey saw on the cave wall in Atlantis, except here I don’t see the symbols for Enlil-Gilgamesh. After Noah’s name, there’s the Atlantis symbol. And finally there’s the half-moon with dots over it, the symbol Katya interprets as meaning “west”.’

‘It’s like a carving on one of those castle dungeon walls in England. “I was here.”’

‘Dungeon is probably about right,’ Jack said. ‘But I think it says more than that. I think it says Noah-Uta-napishtim was here, from Atlantis, or going to Atlantis, to the west. It’s fantastic. It’s exactly what I wanted to find. It confirms one of the greatest voyages of discovery in prehistory, the fact that travellers from the most ancient civilization of the Old World went across the Atlantic more than seven thousand years ago. And I know where he was heading. I know where the new Atlantis lies.’

‘Jack, we have to move. Now.’

Jack felt a tug on his legs, but Costas was now several arm’s lengths away, moving rapidly across the cavern but somehow without finning. Jack suddenly realized what had happened. The tide had turned . He saw Costas drop down to the tunnel and begin to fin hard, making slow progress against the current that was suddenly racing through the lower part of the chamber from the blue hole into the bowels of the reef beyond. Jack realized that he was being propelled around the upper part of the chamber in an eddy created by the current, but he found it impossible to follow it to the point where Costas had managed to get down to the tunnel. He saw that Costas had disappeared, but his voice crackled on the intercom. ‘Jack. I’m through. There’s no way you can follow me now. The current must have increased by three knots in the last minute. It’s like a vortex in here, a twister that’s sucking the water down. But I’ve got a line I’m going to feed back into the hole for you to grab. I should be able to pull you through.’

Jack let the eddy take him to a rocky outcrop protruding above the current, now clearly visible as a turbulent stream in the water. He held the rock with one hand and reached into the current with the other, feeling his hand almost rip away. Then he saw Costas’ line snake through, a dark streak below him with a small orange buoy the size of a tennis ball at the end. It waved around violently, but it was at least three metres below the top of the current and there was no way he could reach it. He heard Costas again. ‘I always keep a buoy attached to float the line. It should come up to you.’

‘That’s a negative,’ Jack said. ‘The current’s too strong.’

‘I don’t have anything more buoyant on me.’

‘How long is this current going to last?’

The intercom crackled, the interference worse now. ‘A long time, Jack. It’s a spring tide at the moment, and it’s a high one. It’s like a bathtub emptying, and you’re somewhere down the sinkhole.’

‘You mean hours.’

There was no reply for a moment, then Costas came on clearly. ‘How’s your air?’

Jack glanced at his readout, and suddenly tensed. Five hundred p.s.i. He only had a few minutes left. ‘Bad,’ he said. ‘It was my call. I had to find the archaeology. I guess I’m paying the price.’

‘I’m coming in for you.’

‘Oh no you’re not.’

‘I’m going to find something to tie the line to out here, then tie myself off at the other end and work my way down the line through that tunnel. I should have the strength to kick out of the current long enough to grab you, and the line should be strong enough to allow both of us to use it to make our way back against the current. I’m probably going out of radio range, Jack. The interference is really bad out here. I’m going to find part of the submarine wreckage to tie on to. Hang in there.’

Jack pushed off and floated back up into the upper part of the chamber. There was no point struggling against the current. He tried to relax, to slow his breathing, to conserve his remaining air. He tried to keep calm. It was always like this in diving. Things happened quickly. One moment everything is fine, euphoric, but you take a little risk along the way, and before you know it everything has gone very badly wrong, in an instant. He was in his element underwater, but he knew it was utterly unforgiving. In a cave, one poor decision, one gamble gone wrong, and that was it. His gamble with his air had been based on Costas being beside him in case he had to buddy-breathe. But then something had happened that he should have factored into the equation. They had even talked about the current on the way down. He put it down to experience, for the next time they dived in this place.

He looked at the rock, seeing the symbols again: the Atlantis symbol that had come to mean so much in his career. The eddy had pushed him into a place of stillness in the water, like the eye of a storm, and he used his breathing to acquire perfect neutral buoyancy. He had always loved doing that, the feeling he got when he knew he had achieved total equilibrium, a sensation of utter oneness with his environment that was far better than any altered-consciousness experience he could imagine. He forgot for a moment where he was, what was happening, and just revelled in being where he had always wanted to be, underwater. Each breath, each slight exhalation was precious now, because he knew what was coming next, the greatest fear of all divers. He tested his breathing, trying a deeper breath. It was tightening. He was running out of air. He tried not to panic, to breathe like someone trapped in a prison cell, banging against the walls; he had to keep measured and calm until the final moment. He did not want to die. He felt his fingers and legs begin to tingle. He remembered something, and delved into a pocket on his leg, pulling out a small writing board with a plastic sheet and a pencil. He quickly pulled out his knife, cutting a piece off the sheet, and wrote on it, feeling his air going, realizing that his vision was tunnelling. He dropped the board and tucked the note into the sleeve of his suit, where it would be found. He began gagging and retching. His neck felt as if it were about to explode. He wanted to get his helmet off, to drown rather than suffocate, but he could no longer raise his arms. He began to sink, dropping down towards the current.

Suddenly something hit him hard, and there was a flood of air in his helmet. He breathed in, great gulping breaths, feeling his head reel, his body instantly coming back to life again. Costas was holding him tight, tying the line that was looped around his own shoulders to Jack’s, keeping it free from the backup air hose that he had plugged from his backpack into Jack’s helmet. He stared into Jack’s visor. ‘You okay?’

‘That was a bit tight.’

‘Okay. Let’s get out of here.’ Costas led up the line, his bulk providing a buffer against the current that Jack was grateful to follow, keeping close behind so that the air hose was not stretched. Inch by inch they pulled themselves back through the tunnel and towards the wrecked deck gun on the U-boat where Costas had tied the line. Ten minutes after leaving the cavern they were free of the current, which wavered in the water like a giant twister about five metres in front of the U-boat’s bow. Jack began to relax, following Costas as he made his way up the casing of the submarine towards the conning tower. ‘Okay. This is what I wanted to find.’ Costas took out a small crowbar from his kit and set to work on a low metal cover about the size of a small bed. It came away easily, revealing a folded inflatable boat that had clearly been sealed in an airtight space, looking in remarkably good condition as Costas shook it out. He fumbled around beneath it, found what he wanted and leaned back. ‘Heads up,’ he said. He pulled a cord and the boat suddenly began to inflate, then billowed up and rocketed towards the surface some twenty metres above. ‘Thought we may as well enjoy some comfort while we wait for Paul,’ Costas said.

They began to ascend towards the irregular gap in the rocks that led to the surface, steering clear of the lethal whirlpool that whipped through the opening on one side. Jack looked up, seeing sunlight streaming through. Whatever had happened to the hurricane, it must have bypassed them. A dark shape came across the hole, about ten metres from them and five metres higher. Jack stared. It was impossible. ‘Costas, we’ve got company.’

Coming towards them were two divers, Saumerre and the other man. They were both wearing primitive Nazi oxygen rebreathers. ‘Shit,’ Costas said. ‘They must have found those inside the habitat. I didn’t think to look.’ Jack looked at his depth gauge. They were still eighteen metres deep, almost twice the safe depth for pure oxygen diving. The second diver seemed sluggish, trailing behind Saumerre, almost certainly showing the effects of oxygen poisoning. But he was carrying a vicious-looking knife, and they were closing in. Jack looked at Costas.

‘The guy behind is suffering. Let’s take him out first.’

Costas removed his grapple gun from its holster and loaded a round. They were less than eight metres away now, easily within range. He aimed quickly and fired, but the metal grapple shot just to the right of the man’s legs and carried on for another few metres before dropping down, pulling the grapple line with it and catching the man’s fin. He twisted round, trying to free himself, but only entangling his leg more, pulling Costas towards him. Costas fumbled to disengage the line from the carabiner, where it was hooked to his e-suit. Jack watched as the line with the grapple dangling below began to twist round and round into the whirlpool. To his horror he realized that it was pulling the man and Costas towards the vortex as well. He pulled out his knife and grabbed Costas, who had realized what was happening and was desperately trying to fin towards the rock wall. Jack finned hard against the pull of the line, then severed it with one swipe of his knife. They both rocketed forward out of the vortex. The man was already limp in the water, unconscious from oxygen poisoning, and Jack watched him plummet with horrifying speed down the whirlpool, disappearing through the tunnel to a place from which there could be no return.

When he looked up again, he realized that Saumerre had swum through the hole and was now over the reef heading out into the open ocean. It seemed a hopeless enterprise, but there was always the possibility that Saumerre’s boat had not been apprehended and would return to pick him up. Jack and Costas were too encumbered with gear to catch up. Jack made a snap decision. They were only about eight metres deep now, so he could easily surface. The dive had been shallow enough to mean that they had not exceeded their no-stop decompression time, so they shouldn’t have to worry about the bends. He took several deep breaths, then unlocked the quick release on his backpack and his helmet, pulling the unit off and pushing it away, then reaching down to where he kept an emergency mask in a pocket on his leg, quickly putting it on and clearing it. Costas look at him in alarm, but Jack did a quick okay sign and pointed towards the rapidly receding form of Saumerre. He powered after him, the palladion acting as a useful weight in the absence of his backpack.

He was out beyond the edge of the reef wall over the abyss, and reached Saumerre just as his chest began to tighten. His plan was to push Saumerre bodily down below the ten-metre safety threshold for the oxygen rebreather, then to leave him as he became unconscious. He was on Saumerre before the other man had realized what was happening, pushing down on his shoulders and powering down with his fins. Saumerre reacted instantly and with surprising strength, twisting round and grasping Jack’s arms. His grip was like a vice. Jack remembered what he was carrying. He let go of Saumerre, reached into the satchel and pulled out the palladion, the gold and dull metal swastika, feeling its weight, seeing for the first time the Atlantis symbol impressed in the edge. Saumerre saw it too, and froze.

Jack held it out to him.

For an instant, Saumerre’s hands remained gripped on Jack’s arm. Then he let go, and grabbed the palladion, his eyes lighting up. He knew it now served no more purpose, that there were no secret chambers to unlock, but it had been a prize he had sought all his life, from the time his grandfather must have told told him what he had seen in that awful bunker outside the concentration camp almost seventy years ago. He was enraptured by it. Jack watched him sink down, oblivious to its weight, staring at it. He must have reached fifteen metres, then twenty, and below him there was nothing but a sheer drop of a mile or more into blackness. Too late he realized his mistake. He let go of the palladion, and grasped his head in agony, tearing at the rebreather. Then he went limp. The palladion had caught in the webbing on his chest, and Jack watched it as Saumerre fell, his body face up and slowly spinning until all Jack could see was the golden shape of the swastika spinning round and round, shrouded in a swirl of tiny bubbles, until it disappeared into blackness.

Jack’s lungs were screaming for air. A regulator was thrust into his face. He grabbed it and put it in his mouth, sucking hard, looking at Costas. The sun was shining brilliantly on the surface, and they could see the dark shape of the inflatable from the U-boat bobbing above them. Slowly they began to ascend together. Just before breaking surface, Jack looked down again, half expecting to see that shape somewhere below him, but there was nothing but darkness.

It was over.