Jack realized with awe that he was looking at the precursor of Stonehenge. It was where the Atlanteans had observed the difference between the solar and lunar year they had seen tabulated in the passageway far below. The cone of the volcano was a sighting device, the position of the sun on either side indicating the season of the year. At the vernal and autumnal equinoxes the sun would appear to sink into the volcano, an event which would have affirmed the life-protecting powers of Atlantis.
Jack concentrated on using the stones to his tactical advantage. After flipping off the safety on the SA80 he slipped into a fissure that ran like a trench towards the platform. By sprinting in short bursts he quickly reached the nearest megalith and flattened against it. He cautiously peered round and saw the helicopter was unoccupied with no guard in sight. After pulling out the Semtex he darted forward through the inner horseshoe and placed one block in the exhaust and the other under the cockpit, clicking on the detonators as he did so.
He turned to leave and was suddenly face-to-face with a black-clad figure emerging from behind one of the trilithons. For a split second both men were immobilized by surprise. Jack was the first to react. Two thuds from the SA80 and the man dropped like a stone, killed instantly by the high-velocity 5.56 millimetre slugs that tore through his neck.
The clatter of the man’s weapon alerted the other men. Jack ran directly into their path as they converged on the helicopter. Before any of them could raise their weapons he emptied his entire remaining magazine in a tight arc from the hip. The bullets spattered and ricocheted off the rock and all three men fell sprawled over the ground.
He slammed in another magazine and plunged headlong down the ramp towards the stairway. He had gambled that the rest of Aslan’s men were either on Vultura or in the volcano.
He reached the entrance at the top of the steps without any indication that he had been detected. The portal was more imposing close up, the opening wide enough for the processions that must have passed between the stone circle and the audience chamber. He could see the passageway veering off to the left in a dog-leg towards a distant source of light. After catching his breath, he levelled his weapon and cautiously advanced over the worn steps into the gloom beyond.
Ten metres on he rounded the corner and saw a hazy rectangle of light. Then the column of vapour came into view and he realized he was approaching the same raised platform they had stood on the day before, only from a different doorway. He concealed himself in the shadows and sidled up for a look inside.
Far above he could see the skylight in the dome. In front of him the ramp led directly down and he had an unimpeded view of the central space. On the dais were five figures, two of them black-clad guards flanking a woman on the throne. Her head was covered by a veil but her face was visible.
It was Katya. She looked dishevelled and exhausted but mercifully free from injury. Jack closed his eyes for an instant, his relief overwhelming.
To her right was a man facing away towards the vent. With his flowing red robe and the nimbus formed by the vapour behind his head he seemed a grotesque parody of the priests of old, some denizen of Hades sent to perform a macabre ritual and taint the sanctity of Atlantis forever.
Aslan shifted slightly and Jack caught sight of another figure, a familiar form kneeling in the gap between the thrones with his head bowed dangerously close to the vapour chimney. He was bound hand and foot and was wearing the tattered remnants of an IMU E-suit. To his horror Jack saw that Aslan was levelling a pistol at the back of Costas’ head in classic executioner’s pose.
Instinct took over and Jack sprang onto the ramp brandishing his weapon. Even as he ran he knew he had no chance. There was a vicious blow to his lower back and the SA80 was snatched from his hands.
“Dr. Howard. What a pleasant surprise. I had not imagined we would be rid of you so easily.”
Jack was pushed roughly down the stairs by the guard who had been lurking beside the entrance. His Beretta was removed from his flight suit and passed to Aslan, who began idly flicking rounds from the magazine. Katya was staring at Jack as if he were a ghost.
“They told us you were dead,” she said hoarsely. “That explosion, the helicopter…” She looked dazed and bewildered. Her eyes were red-rimmed and had dark rings under them.
Jack flashed her a reassuring smile.
Aslan waved the gun dismissively and turned back towards the figure crouched between the thrones.
“Your friend did not have a comfortable night. If my daughter had told us what she knew, things might have been easier for him.”
Costas turned his head and managed a crooked smile before one of the guards slapped him back into place. Jack was shocked at his appearance. His E-suit was a mess and his face was covered in welts and bruises, and was flushed red where he had been scalded by the vapour chimney. One eye was closed and swollen and Jack guessed his head was not the only place he had been beaten.
“Your friend had just agreed to guide my men through the tunnels to the submarine.” Aslan gestured at three sets of mixed-gas equipment laid out beside the ramp and then back at the ravaged figure in front of him. “As you can see it took some persuading. But now you are here he is expendable. You have destroyed three of my helicopters and there is a price to pay.”
Aslan levelled the Beretta at Costas’ head and pulled back the hammer.
“No!” Jack cried. “He is the only one who knows the route back. His job was to memorize waymarkers while Katya and I studied the archaeology.”
Aslan smiled slyly and eased forward the hammer. “I do not believe you. But I am willing to spare your Greek friend for the time being if you agree to my demands.”
Jack said nothing but stared at Aslan impassively. His training had taught him always to let the hostage-taker feel they had the upper hand, that they were in total control. If Aslan had known that half his men were dead and that his favourite piece of hardware was about to blow, he would probably have exploded in blind fury.
“First, this.” Aslan produced the copy of the gold disc from his tunic. “I took the liberty of relieving you of this when you were my guest. A small return for my hospitality. I assume it is some form of key, perhaps to a secret vault.” Aslan swept his arms expansively round the doors that lined the chamber. “I wish to own all the treasures of this place.”
He placed the disc on the throne beside Katya and stepped onto the circular platform. The vapour was abating and they could see down the cleft a few metres from Aslan’s feet. It was like a suppurating wound, a yawning gash that exposed the awesome tumult beneath the surface of the volcano. Far below them a surge of magma welled up, its lurid tendrils erupting like a solar flare over the river of lava that had borne it. In the distance they could hear bangs and crashes where pockets of gas were breaking through with explosive force.
Aslan turned back from the spectacle, the heat giving his swollen features a demonic glow.
“And my second demand,” he continued. “I assume your other vessel, Sea Venture, is on its way. You will call them off and tell them Seaquest is safe and sound. I assume you have an understanding with the Turkish and Georgian governments. You will tell your captain to relay the information that you have found nothing and are leaving the island. You have a dedicated radio transmitter? Search him.”