The Hunt for Atlantis_A Novel Read online

  With a crunch, a large stone broke loose beneath her right foot. Caught by surprise, she fell on her back and slid helplessly down the slope. The flashlight clattered away ahead of her.

  “Laura! Laura!”

  “I’m okay! I just slipped.” She got to her feet. Her thick clothes had saved her from a bruising experience.

  “Do you want me to pull you back up?”

  “No, I’m fine. Might as well look around now that I’m down here.” She bent to pick up the tough metal flashlight…

  And realized she was not alone.

  For a moment she froze, more in shock than in fear. Then curiosity took over, and she warily swept the beam over her surroundings.

  “Honey?” she called up to Henry.

  “Yeah?”

  “You remember that secret Nazi expedition that went to Tibet and nobody ever heard from them again?”

  “Gee, you know, I forgot all about it,” he shouted back with more than a hint of sarcasm. “Why?”

  Triumph filled Laura’s voice. “I think I just found them.”

  There were five bodies in the cave. It quickly became clear they hadn’t been killed by the rock fall that had blocked the entrance; from the almost mummified appearance of the corpses, the most likely cause of death was exposure, the cold of the Himalayas preserving and desiccating the victims. While the other expedition members investigated the rest of the cave, the Wildes turned their attention to its occupants.

  “The weather must have deteriorated,” mused Henry, squatting to examine the bodies in the glow of a lantern, “so they came in here for shelter … and never came out.”

  “Freezing to death, not the way I want to go,” Laura grimaced.

  One of the Tibetan guides, Sonam, called to them from down the passageway. “Professor Wilde! There’s something here!”

  Leaving the bodies, Henry and Laura went deeper into the cavern. As Laura had thought, the passage was clearly artificial, carved out of the rock. Some thirty feet ahead, the lights of the other expedition members illuminated what lay at the end.

  It was a temple—or a tomb.

  Jack was already examining what appeared to be an altar at the center of the rectangular chamber. “This isn’t Tibetan,” he announced as the Wildes entered. “These inscriptions … they’re Glozel, or a variation.”

  “Glozel?” said Henry, surprise and delight mingling in his voice. “I always said that was a strong contender to be the Atlantean language!”

  “It’s a long way from home,” Laura noted.

  She shone her flashlight over the walls. Carved columns ran from floor to ceiling, the style angular, almost aggressive in its clean functionality. The Nazis would be right at home, she thought. Albert Speer could have devised the architecture.

  Between the columns were bas-reliefs, representations of human figures. Henry moved closer to the largest one. While the design of the relief was unfamiliar, as forcefully stylized as the rest of the chamber, he knew instantly whom it was meant to be.

  “Poseidon …” he whispered.

  Laura joined him. “My God, it is Poseidon.” The image of the god differed from the traditional Greek interpretation, but there was no mistaking the trident held in his right hand.

  “Well,” said Jack, “Mr. Frost will certainly be pleased that the expedition was a success …”

  “The hell with Frost,” Laura snorted, “this is our discovery. All he did was help with the funding.”

  “Now, now,” said Henry, jokingly patting her shoulder. “At least thanks to him we didn’t have to choose between breaking into our daughter’s college fund or selling our car!” He looked around. “Sonam, is there anything else here? Any other rooms or passages?”

  “No,” replied Sonam. “It’s a dead end.”

  “Oh,” said Laura, disappointed. “This is all there is? I mean, it’s a hell of a find, but I was sure there’d be more …”

  “There might still be more,” Henry assured her. “There could be other tombs along the ledge. We’ll keep looking.”

  He went back down the passage and returned to the bodies, Laura and Jack following. The corpses were huddled inside antiquated cold-weather gear, empty eye sockets staring back at him from darkened, parchmentlike skin. “I wonder if Krauss is one of them?”

  “He is.” Laura pointed at one of the figures. “There’s our expedition leader.”

  “How do you know?”

  She moved her gloved finger towards the body, almost touching its chest. Henry brought the lantern closer to see a small metal badge attached to the material, an insignia …

  A momentary chill, unconnected to the cold, ran through him. It was the death’s-head of the Schutzstaffel—the SS. It was over half a century since the organization had been destroyed, yet it still had the power to evoke fear.

  “Jürgen Krauss,” he said at last, peering more closely at the dead man. There was a certain poetic irony to the fact that the leader of the Nazi expedition now resembled the skull on his SS insignia. “Never thought I’d meet you. But what brought you here?”

  “Why not find out?” asked Laura. “His pack’s right there; it’s probably got all his notebooks inside. Take a look.”

  “Wait, you want me to do that?”

  “Well, obviously! I’m not touching a dead Nazi!”

  “Jack?”

  Jack shook his head. “These bodies are rather more recent than I’m used to dealing with.”

  “Wuss,” Henry chided with a grin. He reached around the corpse, trying to disturb it as little as possible as he opened its backpack.

  The contents were prosaic at first: a flashlight with bubbles of corrosion from the long-decayed batteries, crumpled pieces of greaseproof paper containing the expedition’s last scraps of food. But beneath these remnants, things became more interesting. Folded maps, leather-bound notebooks, sheets of paper bearing rubbings of more carved Glozel characters, a scoured sheet of copper with what looked like a map or chart scored into its surface … and something carefully wrapped in layers of what he was surprised to discover was dark velvet.

  Laura took the copper piece. “Sand-worn … do you think they might have found this in Morocco?”

  “It’s possible.” The notebooks should have been the first items Henry examined, but he was intrigued enough by the mystery object—flat, just under a foot long and surprisingly heavy—that he placed it carefully on the ground next to the lantern and peeled back the velvet.

  “What’s that?” asked Laura.

  “No idea. I think it’s metal, though.” The velvet, stiffened by time and cold, reluctantly gave up its contents as Henry pulled away the last layer.

  “Wow,” Laura gasped. Jack’s eyes widened in amazement.

  Inside the velvet wrapping was a metal bar some two inches wide, one end rounded off and marked with an arrowhead stamped into the surface. Even under the cold blue light of the lantern, the object had a radiance, sparkling with a reddish-golden glow unlike anything else found in nature.

  Henry, transfixed, bent down for a better look. In contrast to the piece Laura was holding, the bar showed no signs of age or weathering, seeming freshly polished. The metal wasn’t gold or bronze, but…

  Laura leaned closer as well, her breath briefly condensing on the cold surface. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Looks like it. My God. I can’t believe it. The Nazis actually found an artifact made of orichalcum, just like Plato described. A real, honest-to-God Atlantean artifact! And they had it fifty years ago!”

  “You owe Nina an apology when we get home,” quipped Laura. “She always thought that piece she found in Morocco was orichalcum.”

  “I guess I do,” said Henry, carefully picking up the bar. “There’s no way this is just off-color bronze.” The underside, he noticed, was not flat—there was a circular protrusion at the squared-off end. In the same position on the top side was a small slot at a forty-five-degree angle. “I think this was part of something larg
er,” he observed. “Like it was meant to hang from something.”

  “Or swing from it,” Laura suggested. “Like a pendulum arm.”

  Henry ran a fingertip along the inscribed arrowhead. “A pointer?”

  “What are those marks?” asked Jack. Running along the length of the artifact was a thin line, equally faint symbols scribed into the metal on each side. A series of tiny dots, arranged in groups of up to eight. Also visible were…

  “More Glozel characters,” said Henry. “But not quite the same as the ones in the tomb—look, some of these are more like hieroglyphics.” He compared them to the ones on the rubbings. They were the same style. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

  Jack looked more closely. “They look a lot like Olmec, or something related. Bizarre mix …”

  “What do they say?” asked Laura.

  “No idea. It’s not exactly a language I’m fluent in. Well, not yet.” He coughed modestly.

  “They look like they were added after it was made,” Henry noted. “The inscribing’s much cruder than the arrowhead.” He returned the mysterious object to the velvet. “This justifies us coming here all on its own!” He jumped to his feet and let out a triumphant whoop, then hugged Laura. “We did it! We actually found proof that Atlantis wasn’t just a myth!”

  She kissed him. “Now all we need to do is find Atlantis itself, huh?”

  “Well, one step at a time.”

  A shout from deeper inside the cave caught their attention. “Something down here, Professor!” called Sonam.

  Leaving the artifact on the floor, Henry and Laura hurried to the Tibetan. “Look at this,” Sonam said, holding up his light to the tomb wall. “I thought it was just a crack in the rock, but then I realized something.” Pulling off one glove, he stuck the tip of his little finger into the vertical crack and slowly ran it up the wall. “It’s exactly the same width all the way up. And there’s another one just like it over there.” He pointed at a spot on the wall about nine feet away.

  “A door?” asked Laura.

  Henry followed the path of the crack upwards, using his flashlight to pick out a barely discernible line running horizontally some eight feet above. “Big door. Jack’s got to see this.” He raised his voice. “Jack? Jack!” Nothing but echoes came back to him. “Where is he?”

  Laura shook her head. “Hell of a time to take a leak. The most important archaeological find of the century and—”

  “Professor Wilde!” One of the other Tibetans. “Some thing outside! Listen!”

  The group fell silent, barely breathing. A low thudding noise became audible, rapid beats underscored by a rumbling whine.

  “A helicopter?” Laura exclaimed in disbelief. “Here?”

  “Come on,” snapped Henry, running for the entrance. The sky outside had darkened considerably. He used the rope to pull himself up the pile of rubble, Laura behind him.

  “Chinese military?” Laura asked.

  “How did they know where we were? Even we didn’t know exactly where we were going until we got to Xulaodang.” Henry squeezed through the entrance and stepped out onto the broad ledge. The weather was definitely deteriorating; the wind had picked up considerably.

  But that wasn’t his main concern right now. He looked for the helicopter; the noise grew louder, but it was nowhere in sight.

  And neither was Jack.

  Laura emerged behind him. “Where is it?”

  Her question was answered a moment later as the helicopter swept into view.

  Not Chinese, Henry saw immediately. No red star markings. No markings at all, not even a tail number. Just an ominous dark gray paint scheme that immediately made him think Special Forces. But whose?

  He didn’t know enough about aircraft to recognize the type, but it was large enough to carry several people in its passenger compartment. He could see the pilots behind the cockpit glass, their heads turning from side to side as if looking for something.

  Looking for someone.

  For them.

  “Get back in the cave!” he shouted to Laura. With a worried look, she disappeared into the darkness.

  The helicopter moved closer. A blizzard whipped up from the ground, snow caught in its downwash. Henry backed up to the cave entrance.

  One of the pilots pointed down at the ground. At him.

  The aircraft swung around like some giant alien insect, the cockpit windows huge eyes taking a better look at him, then turned away again. A door slid open in its flank. A moment later two coils of rope fell out and whipped snakelike to the ground.

  A pair of dark figures dropped from the bobbing helicopter, rappelling down.

  Henry saw immediately that they were armed, automatic rifles slung over their backs.

  The only weapon the expedition possessed was a simple hunting rifle, carried more to scare off wild animals than for its effectiveness. And it wasn’t even with them—it had been left at the camp.

  Barely a second after the first two men reached the ground, another pair began to descend the ropes. They too were armed.

  Henry jumped backwards through the hole and slid down the pile of stones, hitting the cave floor hard.

  “Henry!” cried Laura. “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t think they’re friendly,” he said, face grim. “There’s at least four men, and they’ve got guns.”

  “Oh my God! What about Jack?”

  “I don’t know, I didn’t see him. We need to get that door open. Come on.” As Laura hurried towards the tomb, Henry snatched up the artifact from the ground near the bodies, wrapping it in the protective velvet as he ran.

  The four Tibetans frantically searched the tomb walls. “There’s nothing here!”

  “There’s got to be something!” Henry yelled. “A release, a keyhole, anything!” He looked back. A figure was silhouetted against the cave entrance. A moment later it dropped as if swallowed by the ground, to be replaced by another. “Shit! They’re in the cave!”

  Laura grabbed his arm. “Henry!”

  Another silhouette, and another, and another …

  Five men. All armed.

  They were trapped.

  Red lines lanced through the darkness. Laser sights, followed by the intense beams of halogen flashlights. The dazzling lights swept back and forth, before coming to rest on the little group of people in the tomb.

  Henry froze, almost blinded by the beams, unsure what to do. They had nowhere to run, and the laser spots dancing over their bodies meant they couldn’t fight either—

  “Professor Wilde!”

  Henry was stunned. They knew him by name?

  “Professor Wilde!” the voice repeated. Deep and rich, with an accent—Greek? “Remain where you are. You too, Dr. Wilde,” he added to Laura.

  The intruders advanced. “Who are you?” Henry demanded. “What do you want?”

  The men holding the flashlights stopped, a single tall figure continuing towards the expedition members. “My name is Giovanni Qobras,” said the man, enough light reflecting from the tomb walls for Henry to pick out his features. A hard, angular face with a prominent Roman nose, dark hair slicked back from his forehead almost like a skullcap. “What I want, I regret to say … is you.”

  Laura stared at him in bewilderment. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I cannot allow you to continue your search. The risk to the world is far too great. My apologies.” He lowered his head for a moment, then stepped back. “It’s nothing personal.”

  The laser lines fixed on Henry and Laura.

  Henry opened his mouth. “Wait—”

  In the confines of the tomb, the noise of the automatic weapons was deafening.

  Qobras stared at the six bullet-riddled bodies as he waited for the echoes of gunfire to die away, then issued rapid orders. “Collect everything that relates to their expedition—maps, notes, everything. And do the same for those bodies back there.” He pointed at the dead Nazis. “I assume that’s the remains of the Krauss expedit
ion. One historical mystery solved …” he added, almost to himself, as his men split up to examine the corpses.

  “Giovanni!” one man yelled a minute later, crouched over Henry’s body.

  “What is it, Yuri?”

  “You’ve got to see this.”

  Qobras strode over. “My God!”

  “It’s orichalcum, isn’t it?” asked Yuri Volgan, shining his light on the object he had just unwrapped. A deep orange glow reflected on the faces of the two men.

  “Yes … but I’ve never seen a complete artifact made from it before, just scraps.”

  “It’s beautiful… and it must be worth a fortune. Millions of dollars, tens of millions!”

  “At least.” Qobras gazed at the artifact for a long moment, seeing his own eyes reflected in the metal. Then he straightened abruptly. “But it must be kept hidden.” He took out a flashlight and examined the tomb walls, but saw nothing except bas-reliefs of ancient gods. Turning to the altar, he quickly examined the inscriptions. “Glozel… but nothing about Atlantis.”

  “Maybe we should search the tomb,” Volgan offered, taking one long last look at the artifact before carefully wrapping it in the velvet again.

  Qobras considered it. “No,” he said at last. “There’s nothing here, it must have been looted. I really thought the Wildes might lead us further along the trail to Atlantis itself, but it’s just another dead end. We need to get out of here before the storm arrives.” He turned and strode back towards the cave entrance.

  Behind him, Volgan glanced over his shoulder to make sure nobody was watching, then slipped the wrapped artifact into his thick jacket.

  Qobras stood at the edge of the ledge, waving a flare to summon the circling helicopter, then turned back to the man standing by the doomed expedition’s camp. “You did the right thing.”

  Jack’s face was hidden inside his hood. “I’m not proud of this. They were my friends—and what’s going to happen to their daughter?”

  “It had to be done,” said Qobras. “The Brotherhood can never allow Atlantis to be found.” He frowned. “Least of all by Kristian Frost. Funding intermediaries like the Wildes … he knows we’re watching him.”