Twenty minutes later they stood in front of a semicircle of men and women inside Seaquest’s command module. York had engaged the automated navigation and surveillance system, activating the virtual bridge which allowed the ship to be operated from the console beside Jack. The hemispherical screen above them displayed a panoramic view of the sea, its choppy grey surface an ominous portent of the storm which had been brewing in the north over the past twenty-four hours.
Jack folded his arms and addressed the group.
“We’re a skeleton crew, and our job is going to be that much more demanding. I’m not going to beat about the bush. We face a real risk, probably a greater one than we have ever faced before.”
After joining Seaquest by helicopter the day before, Jack had decided to reduce the complement to the minimum. The entire crew had volunteered, but he had refused to endanger the lives of scientists whose job would only really begin once they had made a discovery. In addition to the deck and engineering officers, he had selected the most experienced weapons technicians, including several ex — Special Forces men Jack had known since the Navy.
“What can we expect in the way of outside backing?”
The question came from Katya, who was standing among the crew wearing a standard-issue blue jumpsuit with the IMU shoulder flash. Jack had tried to persuade her to leave with the others when Sea Venture came out to meet them as they passed Trabzon, but she had insisted her linguistic expertise would be vital for any inscriptions they might find. In truth Jack knew from their long hours together the night before that she would not leave him now, that they had a bond that could not be broken and she shared his sense of responsibility for Seaquest and her crew as they sailed ever further into the danger zone.
“I’ll let our security chief answer that one.”
Peter Howe stepped out and took Jack’s place.
“The bad news is we’ll be in international waters, beyond the twelve-mile limit agreed in a 1973 protocol between the USSR and Turkey. The good news is Georgia and Turkey signed a Coast Security Cooperative Agreement in 1998 and have agreed to provide back-up in the event of a major discovery. The pretext would be the memorandum of understanding they’ve just signed with UN ratification to carry out collaborative geological research on that volcanic island. They would be acting under the provisions of international law.”
He stepped back and looked up at the Admiralty Chart of the eastern Black Sea above the console.
“The problem is they’ll only help if Russian suspicions can be allayed about that submarine last heard of somewhere near here in 1991. Any hint of other nations involved in a search and they’ll go ballistic. Literally. And there are other concerns. Since the early nineties the Russians have actively participated in the Abkhazian civil war, ostensibly as a stabilization force but in reality to draw the region back to Moscow. Their main interest is oil. In 1999 their monopoly on Caspian Sea output was threatened by the first pipeline to bypass Russia, from Baku in Azerbaijan to Supsa on the Georgian coast near Abkhazia. The Russians would do anything to prevent further western investment even if it means anarchy and civil war.” Howe turned to face the assembled group.
“We’ve told the Russian embassy we’re carrying out a hydrographic survey under joint contract to the Turkish and Georgian governments. They seem to have bought it. But if they saw warships converging on the spot, they’d assume we were onto the sub. The Russian bear may have lost most of her claws but she still has the biggest fleet in the region. Relations between Ankara and Moscow are already at rock bottom because of the narcotics trade. There would be an ugly international incident at least, very possibly a shooting war which could quickly escalate to engulf this part of the world.”
“A small point of interest,” Costas interjected. “I didn’t think Georgia had a navy.”
“That’s another problem,” York replied glumly. “The Georgians inherited virtually nothing of the Soviet Black Sea Fleet. They have a Ukrainian-built Project 206MP fast attack craft and a decommissioned US Coast Guard cutter transferred through the US Excess Defense Articles Program. But don’t get your hopes up. The FAC has no missiles because there are no storage and testing facilities. And the cutter has a single fifty-calibre machine gun.”
“That’s not the real Georgian Navy.”
They all turned towards Katya.
“The real Georgian Navy is hidden away along the coast to the north,” she said. “It is the navy of the warlords, men from central Asia who use Abkhazia to access the rich pickings of the Black Sea and Mediterranean. These are the ones to fear, my friends, not the Russians. I speak from personal experience.”
Katya was listened to with great respect by the crew. Her stature in their eyes was unassailable, since she had single-handedly defused the stand-off in the Aegean two days before.
“And the Turkish Navy?” Costas looked hopefully towards Mustafa, who had come on board from Sea Venture the previous day.
“We have a strong Black Sea presence,” the Turk replied. “But we’re badly overstretched in the war against smuggling. To support Seaquest the Turkish Navy would need to transfer units up from the Aegean. We cannot redeploy in advance because any change in our Black Sea fleet would excite immediate suspicion from the Russians. My government will only take the risk if a major discovery is confirmed.”
“So we’re on our own.”
“I fear so.”
In the brief lull that followed, York despatched two of the crew topside, the rising wind threatening gear that needed lashing to the deck. Jack quickly interjected to focus discussion on the matter to hand, the urgency of his tone reflecting the short time now available until Seaquest arrived on site.
“We must be sure we hit the right spot first time. You can be certain we’re under satellite surveillance right now, under the eyes of people who will not buy the story of hydrographic research for long.”
One of the ex-Navy men put up a hand. “Excuse me, sir, but what exactly is it we’re after?”
Jack moved aside to let the crew see the computer screen in the front of the console. “Mustafa, I’ll let you explain how we got here.”
Mustafa called up the isometric image of the Black Sea and swiftly ran through their interpretation of the papyrus text, advancing the boat along the shoreline until it reached the south-eastern sector. Now they had left their final port of call, Jack had decided to take the crew of Seaquest fully into his confidence. Those who had not yet heard the details stood mesmerized; even the veterans were transfixed by the immensity of a find that seemed to loom so fabulously out of the mists of legend.
“We reach target point by following the 150-metre depth contour, the shoreline before the flood. It swings out to sea as we move east from Trabzon. At present Seaquest is just over twelve nautical miles offshore but we’ll gradually head further out as we go east.”
He tapped a key and the image transformed to a close-up map.
“This is our best-fit scenario for Atlantis. It’s an area of seabed twenty nautical miles long by five miles wide. The 150-metre depth contour runs along the north side, so what we’re looking at here was all dry land. If we lower the sea level to that contour, we get some idea of its appearance before the flood.”
The image transformed to show an inland plain leading to a ridge along the coast several kilometres long. Beyond it was the volcano.
“There’s not much detail because there’s so little bathymetric data for this area. But we’re convinced the site must be either the ridge or the volcano. The ridge rises a hundred metres above the ancient shoreline. The trouble is, there’s no acropolis, no outcrop for a citadel. The papyrus is difficult to understand without it.”