Andy McDermott: The Hunt For Atlantis

“What about Madeira?” asked Hogarth, pointing at the map. The Portuguese island was some four hundred miles off the African coast. “Could that be a location for what was left of the island after it sank?”

“I considered that at one point. But the topography doesn’t support it. In fact, there’s nowhere in the eastern Atlantic that the island Plato describes could be located.”

Rothschild snorted triumphantly. Nina gave her as scathing a look as she dared before returning to the map. “But it’s this fact that forms the basis of my theory. Plato said that Atlantis was located in the Atlantic, beyond the Pillars of Heracles-which we know today as the Straits of Gibraltar, at the entrance to the Mediterranean. He also said that, converted to modern measurements, Atlantis was almost four hundred miles long. Since there’s no evidence that would reconcile both those statements, either Atlantis isn’t where he said it was… or his measurements are wrong.”

Philby nodded silently. Nina still couldn’t judge his mood-but suddenly got the feeling that he had already made his decision, one way or the other. “So,” he said, “where is Atlantis?”

It was not a question Nina had expected to be asked quite so soon, as she’d planned to reveal the answer with a suitable dramatic flourish at the end of her pre sentation. “Uh, it’s in the Gulf of Cádiz,” she said, a little flustered as she pointed at a spot in the ocean about a hundred miles west of the Straits of Gibraltar. “I think.”

“You think?” sneered Rothschild. “I hope you have more to back up that statement than mere guesswork.”

“If you’ll let me explain my reasoning, Professor Rothschild,” said Nina with forced politeness, “I’ll show you how I reached that conclusion. The central premise of my theory is that Plato was right, and that Atlantis did actually exist. What he got wrong was the measurements.”

“Rather than the location?” asked Hogarth. “You’re ruling out any of the modern theories that maintain Atlantis was actually Santorini, off Crete, and the supposed Atlantean civilization was really Minoan?”

“Definitely. For one thing, the ancient Greeks knew about the Minoans already. Also, the time scales don’t match. The volcanic eruption that destroyed Santorini was about nine hundred years before Solon’s time, but the fall of Atlantis was nine thousand years before.”

“The ‘power of ten’ error by Solon has been widely accepted as a way to connect the Minoans with the Atlantis myth,” Rothschild pointed out.

“The Egyptian symbols for one hundred and one thousand are totally different,” Nina told her. “You’d have to be blind or a complete idiot to confuse them. Besides, Plato explicitly states in Timaeus that Atlantis was in the Atlantic, not the Mediterranean. Plato was a pretty smart guy; I’m guessing he could tell east from west. I believe that in the process of the story being passed from the Atlanteans themselves to the ancient Egyptians, then from the Egyptian priests of almost nine thousand years later to Solon, then from Solon to Plato over several generations of Critias’s family… the measurements got messed up.”

Philby raised an eyebrow. “Messed up?”

“Okay, maybe that’s not the most scientific way I could have put it, but it gets the point across. Even though the names were the same-feet, stadia and so on-the different civilizations used different units of measurement. Each time the story went from one place to another, and the numbers were rounded off, and even exaggerated to show just how incredible this lost civilization really was, the error grew. My assumption here is that whatever unit the Atlanteans used that was translated as a stadium, it was considerably smaller than the Hellenic unit.”

“That’s quite an assumption,” said Rothschild.

“I have logical reasoning to back it up,” she said. “Critias gives various measurements of Atlantis, but the most important ones relate to the citadel on the island at the center of the Atlantean capital’s system of circular canals.”

“The site of the temples of Poseidon and Cleito,” noted Philby, rubbing his mustache.

“Yes. Plato said the island was five stadia in diameter. If we use the Greek system, that’s slightly over half a mile wide. Now, if an Atlantean stadium is smaller, it can’t be too much smaller, because Critias says there’s a lot to fit on to that island. Poseidon’s temple was the biggest, a stadium long, but there were other temples as well, palaces, bathhouses… That’s almost as packed as Manhattan!”

“So how big-or rather, how small-did you deduce an Atlantean stadium to be?” Hogarth asked.

“The smallest I think it could be would be two thirds the size of the Greek unit,” explained Nina. “About four hundred feet. That would make the citadel over a third of a mile across, which when you scale down Poseidon’s temple as well leaves just about enough room to fit everything in.”

Hogarth made some calculations on a piece of notepaper. “By that measurement, the island would be, let’s see…”

Nina instantly did the mathematics in her head. “It would be two hundred and forty miles long, and over a hundred and sixty wide.”

Hogarth scribbled away for a few seconds to reach the same result. “Hmm. That wouldn’t just be in the Gulf of Cádiz… it would be the Gulf of Cádiz.”

“But you have to take into account the probability of other errors,” said Nina. “The three-thousand-by-two-thousand-stadia figure Plato gave for the island’s central plain is clearly rounded up. It could have been exaggerated for effect as well, if not by Plato then certainly by the Egyptians, who were trying to impress Solon. I think you have to assume an error factor of at least fifteen percent. Maybe even twenty.”

“Another assumption, Ms. Wilde?” said Rothschild, a malevolent glint in her eyes.

“Even with a twenty percent margin, the island would still be over a hundred and ninety miles long,” added Hogarth.

“There’s still also the possibility of confusion if the figures were converted from a different numerical base…” Nina could feel the situation slipping away from her. “I’m not saying that all my figures are correct. That’s why I’m here-I have a theory that fits the available data, and I want… I would like,” she corrected, “the opportunity to test that theory.”

“A sonar survey of the entire Gulf of Cádiz would be a rather expensive way of testing it,” Rothschild said smugly.

“But if I’m right, then I’ve made the greatest archaeological discovery since Troy!” said Nina.

“And if you’re wrong, the department has wasted potentially millions of dollars chasing after a myth, a fairy tale.”

“I don’t want to waste the department’s resources any more than you do! I have complete documentation backing up my theory, all the historical references-I’ve spent two years of my life researching this. I wouldn’t have brought it to you if I weren’t totally sure that I was right.”

“Why are you doing this, Nina?” asked Philby.

The personal tone of the question took her by surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Philby said, a look of sad sympathy on his face, “are you pursuing this goal for yourself… or for your parents?”

Nina tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat.

“I knew Henry and Laura very well,” Philby went on, “and they could have had spectacular careers-if they hadn’t been fixated on a legend. Now I’ve followed your career ever since you were an undergraduate, and some of your work has been quite remarkable. I believe that you have greater potential than even your father. But… you’re in danger of going down exactly the same path that he and your mother did.”