David Gibbins - The Gods of Atlantis

‘Maybe a bit of genetics in that too, Jack,’ Costas murmured.

‘It’s a brilliant place,’ Jeremy enthused. ‘Completely cut off by the forest. The lake at the back’s great for canoeing and fishing, isn’t it? You can camp on the island. Perfect.’

Jack raised his eyes in surprise. ‘You’ve been there too?’

Jeremy shrugged. ‘I thought you knew. You’re always running between projects, Jack. Kind of hard to pin down over the last six months. Rebecca told Mikhail and Petra I was going back to the States last autumn to spend some time with my folks. Their place is only a couple of hours away.’

‘Huh. She didn’t mention it. I suppose I’ve been a bit preoccupied. I really wanted to get the Troy excavation wrapped up by now, to clear the decks for what lies ahead. Coming back to Atlantis has been a dream of mine, but it definitely wasn’t on the cards.’ Jack paused, pursing his lips. ‘Maybe I’ve had my foot pressed a little too hard on the accelerator. After Rebecca’s kidnapping last year, I thought the best thing for both of us would be to submerge ourselves in work, to get on top of the Troy project and tie up the loose ends before we took some off-time together.’

‘Some pretty big loose ends still out there,’ Costas said quietly. ‘Have you heard from Maurice yet?’

Jack took a deep breath, then shook his head. ‘Not yet. But he should be at the bunker in Germany by now. Last week I spoke on the phone to the British army officer in charge of the excavation, which is being carried out by a NATO nuclear, biological and chemical team because of the risk of what might lie inside. The excavation is top secret and under a massive security cordon, exactly what we insisted on when I first approached my secret-service contact in London six months ago and told her what we knew. There’s a full MI6 team in charge of the Saumerre case. Officially Maurice is there to provide expert guidance on any stolen art and antiquities that might be inside the bunker, but we all know there’s more to it than that. We got in pretty deep last year, and Saumerre is playing his waiting game with us, not with the security services.’

‘What about Rebecca’s safety?’ Costas asked.

‘Saumerre won’t go anywhere near Rebecca again or anyone else in IMU as long as I threaten to expose him, but that could change if he thinks we’ve discovered what he wants in the bunker and he decides that he’s got nothing to lose.’

‘You know Ben Kershaw was with her on the flight?’ Jeremy said. ‘I had no idea until I spotted him boarding the aircraft at the last minute.’

‘He is our security chief,’ Jack said grimly. ‘After what happened last year, Ben told me he wasn’t letting her out of his sight until Saumerre was history. Ever since he took over IMU security following Peter Howe’s death out here six years ago, Ben has really come into his own. There are two others already on the ground in New York to provide round-the-clock surveillance, one ex-SAS like Ben and the other a serving MI6 agent provided by our case officer in London. Petra and Mikhail are fully aware of the situation. Mikhail was a Soviet officer in the Afghan war before he became an academic and defected with Petra, one of the reasons why Elizabeth thought he’d be a good guardian for Rebecca when her family’s Mafia connections in Naples became too much of a threat. I think he’s enjoyed turning their farm into a temporary armed compound. It doesn’t mean I rest easy, but it means I know she’s being looked after by the best people, and my presence would only be an interference as long as the security is ramped up. It means I can focus on the archaeology now.’ He paused, then looked at Jeremy quizzically. ‘Speaking of which, how did Rebecca do in the potsherd cleaning programme at Troy?’

‘Brilliantly. She discovered at least a dozen more sherds painted with the reverse-swastika pattern. It firms up your theory that it really was the symbol of ancient Troy. She stuck with it far longer than I expected, even turned down a chance for some impromptu training in the Lynx. I kept her under close supervision all the time.’

Costas coughed. ‘I’m sure you did.’

‘She’s seventeen,’ Jack said to Jeremy firmly. ‘Lots to learn. And you’re what, twenty-six?’

Costas glanced at Jack, then waved his hand breezily. ‘A year or two from now, the age difference won’t mean a thing. And as you said, Jack. Happiness wherever she can find it.’

Jack narrowed his eyes at Costas, then turned back to Jeremy with a resigned smile. He got up, put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and guided him to a seat. ‘Okay. Let’s talk about Atlantis.’

‘Macalister asked me to remind you that the Lynx is fuelling up for your departure. The Turkish geological team is due in at 1500 hours, and the helipad needs to be clear by then.’

Jack glanced at his watch. ‘That gives us forty-five minutes.’ There was a sudden whoop from the far side of the room, and they all turned to look. Lanowski had moved from the ROV station to one of the computer consoles, its screen facing away from them. He was talking to himself, occasionally chuckling and leaning back in his chair, then leaning forward again and staring. He suddenly went ramrod straight. ‘Eureka,’ he exclaimed. ‘ Eureka.’

‘Uh-oh,’ Costas said quietly to Jack. ‘The girlfriend?’

Jack raised his voice. ‘What is it?’

Lanowski looked up. ‘Something I’ve been working on. Something I have to thank Maurice Hiebermeyer for.’

‘ Hiebermeyer? ’ Jack exclaimed. ‘I wasn’t aware that the two of you had ever exchanged a word.’

‘Email. He’s my new friend. My new best friend.’

‘What about me?’ Costas muttered.

‘Looks like you’ve been knocked off your pedestal,’ Jack replied, looking with concern at Lanowski. ‘Are you going to share with us?’

‘Of course, I’ve read everything Hiebermeyer’s ever written, and I’ve even donated two of my books to his institute in Alexandria,’ Lanowski said more to himself than to anyone else, looking at the screen as if he were talking to it. ‘Egyptology’s always been a fascination of mine. Engineering problems, mathematical problems. Pyramids, mummies, papyrus. Codes.’ He stared at them, his eyes gleaming. ‘Yes, gentlemen. Codes.’

‘What on earth is he on about?’ Costas whispered.

Jack spoke firmly. ‘What about the ROV, Jacob, what you’re actually here for?’

Lanowski kept his gaze on the monitor, but waved one arm behind him. ‘It’s running itself. If it’s still transmitting and anything shows through, it’ll appear on the big screen above the ROV station.’

‘Okay,’ Jack said. ‘We’re at Atlantis, not in Egypt, and we haven’t got all day. While we’re waiting for Jeremy’s image to upload, I want to talk to you about altered consciousness.’

Lanowski continued staring at the screen, then suddenly looked up. ‘About what?’

‘Altered consciousness. Costas said that neuropsychology was another one of your fascinations.’

Lanowski tapped a key and got up, then pushed back his chair and walked over to Jack, staring at him. ‘Yes?’

‘I had a couple of interesting experiences on the dive today. First in the tunnel going down into the volcano, a strange sensation of being in a vortex. Then in the final seconds before reaching the submersible, when I was out of air. Looking back on it, I remember more of what I sensed. The instant I knew I was about to black out I saw sparkly lights all round me in a kind of lattice pattern, and then a tunnel with a light at the end that I seemed to be drifting towards, with a face appearing and multiplying all around me. The face was Costas, of course, leaning out to pull me in, and the light was the open hatch of the submersible, but the closer I swam towards it, the further away it seemed. I wanted to relax and let it draw me in.’