David Gibbins - The Mask of Troy

He had felt like this before. It was like the final moment before a free dive. His body was in survival mode. He clicked on the com. His voice sounded different, distant. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Brace yourself, Jack. Rebecca’s been kidnapped.’

J ack snapped off his seat belt as the Toyota four-wheel drive came to a halt, then tapped his fingers impatiently as the driver spoke a few sentences into his cell phone. A moment later the wrought-iron gates to the compound opened, and the driver accelerated inside. He gates to the compound opened, and the driver accelerated inside. He drew up in front of a white building with a head frame above it for the mineshaft winch, and switched off the ignition. Jack opened the door and stepped out. The sky was leaden, and it was cold. He stretched, rising on his toes, extending his arms out with bunched fists, grateful for his fleece. He had not slept more than a few fitful moments since he and Costas had flown out of Turkey the night before. Thank God they had used the Aquapods to dive on the wreck. It had been Costas’ call, and he had been right. Jack had initially wanted to dive using SCUBA with trimix, but that would have meant a twenty-four-hour delay for decompression before they could fly. As it was, two hours after surfacing they had been in the Embraer jet on the way to the IMU facility in Cornwall in England, where the equipment they would need was already being prepared. Costas had flown out with it to Krakow in the early hours of the morning and was already here. Jack had remained in England a few hours longer to confer with the IMU security team. Ben had advised against informing Scotland Yard or the security service. But Ben would pull in every favour to uncover who was behind this. And meanwhile they would scrupulously follow the kidnappers’ demands. Almost.

Jack let his body relax, but the instant of release made him tense up. Rebecca. Where was she? What were they doing to her? He balled his fists again and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, watching it crystallize in the morning mist. Now more than any other time in his life he needed to remain focused. He needed to keep the rage inside him under control. He needed to forget that Rebecca was where she was because of him. Because of his relentless quest, his search for revelations that would pit him against people like this. Ben had told him to put that from his mind. The first reaction to kidnapping was always guilt. What could I have done to prevent this? The kidnappers knew that, knew the weakness of those first hours, would try to exploit it. Jack had to forget that. He remembered how Dillen had been when they had met at the airport in London. They had just embraced, and said nothing. James had already left a long phone message about Hugh’s revelations that afternoon, and Jack had listened to it over and over again on the trip from Turkey, trying to distract himself with the amazing discoveries they now knew Schliemann had made. It was all there, an extraordinary thing, as if he could hear every word of Dillen’s message, hear him speaking, yet it meant nothing, as if he had been staring for hours at a canvas in a gallery, imprinting it in his mind for some time in the future when he might actually be able to see it.

He had to use all his powers of lateral thinking to sidestep them, to stay ahead. He had to work with his team, with Costas, with Ben, the others. They would play the kidnappers’ game for now. The rage, the helplessness must remain in check. Focus on the goal. Focus on when Rebecca would be found. On when the kidnappers would be playing his game.

‘Jack.’ Costas came out of the door to the building and walked quickly up to him. He was unshaven and unkempt, wearing a hooded fleece, but he had a cold determination in his eyes. Jack felt a sudden rush of emotion. Costas was solid as a rock. They had been everywhere together, had looked out for each other. This time, this place, was no different. Just another dive. Costas peered at him. ‘You look how I feel.’ He passed him a bottle, an energy drink. ‘I bet you haven’t had anything to eat or drink. Not good before a dive. Get this down you. Now.’

Jack unscrewed the cap and drank the bottle dry, then tossed it into the Toyota. He swallowed hard, and shook himself. ‘Where the hell have they taken her?’

‘Put it from your mind, Jack. They want you to think that. They want it to consume you. I know what’s inside you. It’s inside me too. There are three guys here now. Focus on them, but keep your cool until the time’s right. We’re a team. We come out of this place alive, we’re one step closer to her.’

‘Right.’ Jack’s voice was hoarse. ‘What have we got?’

‘I’ve just come back up from the mineshaft to wait for you. Everything’s ready. Our three new friends are down there, kitting up. I can barely stand to be near them. You’ve got to stop me from going for them, Jack. Like I said to you on the phone, we’ve got to keep each other in check. Until the time’s right.’

‘Any more heads-up on them?’

‘They’re Russian. Just as Ben guessed. These aren’t the kidnappers, they’re hired heavies. They only speak basic English. I call the leader Chechnya, because that’s what’s tattooed in red across his hands. The European underworld’s awash with ex-military thugs like these, a lot of them Russian veterans of the war in Chechnya who couldn’t get enough of the blood and killing.’

‘Naval tech divers?’ Jack asked.

Costas shook his head. ‘Not from what I’ve seen. Ben was right about that, too. Our kidnapper has found some heavies who’ve got basic diving skills, but you don’t get ex-naval tech divers working as hit men. If you’ve got that level of skill, there’s far more money to be made doing legit commercial diving on the oil rigs. Our gamble has paid off, so far. They understand the SCUBA gear we’ve given them, but not the rebreathers you and I are using. I’ve made a big show of adjusting and fiddling with those. Lots of doubtful muttering from me. I don’t think they’ll question it. Ben said to play on the macho aspect too. Get into their little world. They’re the tough guys, with the tough old-fashioned gear. The stuff they saw their own navy divers use. We may be able to go deeper, but only by using fancy gear. They’re the real men. The hard men.’

‘Jesus,’ Jack muttered. ‘What a charade.’

‘We’ll use it against them, Jack. At the water’s edge. I’ve got some theatrics planned. Until then, just keep cool.’

‘Anyone else here?’

Costas nodded. ‘Wladislaw’s going to meet us up here, then we go down the shaft in the lift to the lowest level.’

‘Who the hell’s Wladislaw?’

‘Guy I mentioned to you on the phone. Site engineer. I know him – I realized that he and I met at a conference a while back. Trained in America, speaks excellent English. He’s straight up, I’m sure of it. He’s thrilled by this. Doesn’t have a clue about what’s really going on. You’re a star over here. Your book on Atlantis was a number-one best-seller in Poland. When the caller purporting to be IMU got in touch two weeks ago suggesting we wanted to look for Neolithic remains deep in the mine, Wladislaw was overjoyed. They promised to shut off the whole mine from visitors for the day of the dive.’ ‘ Two weeks ago? ’ Jack exclaimed.

‘Two weeks ago. The call came from someone claiming to be you. Whoever it was told him to keep it top secret. Something to do with a clue to the exodus from Atlantis, at the dawn of civilization. Something that would really put Poland on the archaeological map.’

‘Jesus,’ Jack murmured. ‘So they were planning the kidnap as far back as that. They must have been following Rebecca’s every move.’