David Gibbins - The Gods of Atlantis

‘We’ll have to ditch it and swim for the sub.’

‘This is a one-way ticket, Jack.’

‘But you’ll be there waiting for me.’

‘No. You first.’

‘No way,’ Jack said. ‘I need to see that you can get though that hole. You’re wider than me.’ In a few moves he stripped off Costas’ backpack, holding it in front of him with the air hoses still attached. Costas did the same for him, and they both floated under the crack. Jack felt the heat of the water searing into his elbows and knees where the thermal layer of the suit had melted. ‘Okay?’ he said. ‘Relax, take six long, deep breaths, then hyperventilate for four. Give me the okay signal when you’re ready.’ He heard Costas breathe fast and hard and hold his breath, and then saw him put his forefinger and thumb together in the diver’s okay signal. He quickly disengaged the hoses from Costas’ helmet and heaved him upwards, watching him disappear in a welter of bubbles. He breathed in deeply, then looked down. This was not happening. A huge ball of fire was surging towards him, an explosion of lava that would rip right through the crack and erupt on the surface of the volcano. He had no time to hyperventilate. He took one huge breath and held it, then pulled out his hoses. On a second’s impulse, he held the pack down and knocked open the safety release valve on the main tank, causing gas to rip out at high pressure. He held it for as long as it took to rocket through the crack into the sea above the volcano, then he let it spiral away. He finned frantically sideways just as the lava shot up in a geyser behind him, the force of the displaced water pushing him further. Below him the magma chamber imploded, the roof dropping into the space where they had been swimming only minutes before, now a fiery mass of molten lava.

He spun around, disorientated, seeing the plume of red fall back into a slick mass on the seabed. He could see no sign of the submersible, nor of Costas. He sensed the shadow of Seaquest II far above, but ignored it. He would never make it to the surface. Then he saw a yellow smudge down the slope of the volcano. It was the light from the submersible’s lamp array that could be activated externally. Thank God. Costas had made it.

He forced his vision to narrow into a tunnel, to exclude all sense of his surroundings other than his destination. He began to swim hard, ignoring the tightening in his chest, the feeling at the back of his throat that was his body’s first attempt to stop him breathing in water and drowning. He was eighteen metres, maybe fifteen metres away. He could see the submersible clearly now, a yellow cylindrical form about ten metres long, raised above the seabed on retractable legs, allowing divers to enter via a hatch in the floor. He saw Costas beneath it, frantically twisting something. The hatch swung open and Costas pulled himself upwards, his head out of sight, then dropped back down into the water, facing Jack. His helmet was gone, but he was wearing the black safety mask they kept as a backup in a pocket on their legs. Jack was ten metres away now, eight, focusing on Costas’ beckoning hands, trying not to black out. He felt his diaphragm heave upwards as his body counted down the final seconds to unconsciousness. The tunnel darkened, and his limbs felt impossibly heavy. Then he was grabbed and heaved upwards in a cascade of water. Costas slammed the locking points on either side of his helmet and the visor sprang open, flooding him with air.

Jack settled back in the water in the open hatch in the floor of the submersible, breathing in great gulps, his arms draped over Costas’ shoulders, his eyes dazzled by the fluorescent glow inside. He reached his left arm up to the camera pod on the front of his helmet, detached it and lowered it in front of his face, then pressed the record button. The little LCD screen lit up and showed a video image, at first a scatter of reflected light from particles in the water and then a sharp view of the chamber in the volcano. It was all there. It had been real. He saw the skulls, the basin, the paintings on the cave wall. The image zoomed in to his final discovery, the extraordinary pillars, and then it went blank. He carefully placed the camera pod on the floor of the submersible, then shut his eyes with relief and slumped back over Costas’ frame, breathing deeply, letting the energy return to his limbs.

‘Jack.’

‘What is it?’

‘The bear hug.’

Costas’ forearms were up on the edge of the floor, entirely supporting Jack’s weight, and his head was wedged sideways against Jack’s helmet. Jack gave a half-hearted kick, then slumped back. ‘Can’t,’ he gasped. They remained still for a moment, locked together, and then they both began to laugh uncontrollably. They kicked and heaved, and Jack pulled himself up until he was sitting on the edge of the hatch. He reached out to help as Costas clawed his way up on the other side and sat down heavily. They stared at each other’s dripping forms, and then reached across the water and slapped hands. Jack closed his eyes.

They had come here on a wing and a prayer.

But they had done it.

They had returned to Atlantis.

The Taklamakan Desert, western China

T he man felt himself being pushed out of the vehicle, and then being held roughly by one pair of hands while another untied his wrists from behind his back. He flexed his fingers, trying to bring back the circulation. His blindfold was yanked off, but he had the sense to reach into his overcoat pocket to find his sunglasses, putting them on before opening his eyes. Even so the glare off the desert was blinding, and he blinked hard a few times before beginning to discern anything of his surroundings. He glanced at his watch and saw that he had been in the Toyota for a little over two hours, from the time when the helicopter from Kashgar had left him at the appointed place, a remote location where a branch of the southern highway that skirted the desert had come to an abrupt end. The desert track beyond had been spine-jarring, little more than the natural rocky substrate cleared of sand, and the four-wheel drive had been engaged for most of the way. Yet the secrecy had been a charade. The one he had come here to find was already aware that he knew the location of this place. The discomfort of the past two hours had been to make a point. He was in someone else’s territory now.

An arm appeared from behind him, pointing ahead, and his driver spoke in a heavy Chinese accent. ‘Follow this track until you reach the fort. Wait there.’ The car door slammed, and the Toyota roared off in a cloud of dust. The man put his hand over his nose and mouth against the dust and walked forward as instructed, keeping slow in the searing heat. After a few minutes, he had descended from the dunes to a hard surface of compacted dirt that looked as if it had been deliberately cleared of sand. A few long-dead tree stumps surrounded a crumbled well-head, and beyond that he saw a water-tanker truck in front of the settlement, a motley collection of prefabricated single-storey structures. It had clearly once been a small desert oasis, one of numerous pockets of humanity that thrived in the Taklamakan at the time of the Silk Road, but had since been extinguished by the howling winds that pushed the dunes over everything in their path. The houses were typical of forced modern settlements in the desert, attempts by the Chinese authorities to stake their claim in a region that was one of the least hospitable on earth yet contained huge untapped mineral and oil reserves. He reached the first house and continued walking, passing men and women who seemed intent on some unknown business. It was odd that they ignored him completely, a European in a fine suit and overcoat striding out of the dunes and walking through their midst, but then he remembered that this place was not what it seemed.