“Bigger than Vesuvius and Mount St. Helens combined,” Costas said. “Forty cubic kilometres of fallout and a tidal wave high enough to sink Manhattan.”
“It was a cataclysm that reached far beyond the Minoans. With the priesthood all but extinguished, the entire edifice of the Bronze Age began to crumble. A world that had been prosperous and secure slid into anarchy and chaos, torn apart by internal conflict and unable to resist the invaders who swept down from the north.”
“But some of the priests escaped,” Costas interjected. “The passengers in our shipwreck perished but others made it, those who left earlier.”
“Indeed,” Dillen said. “Like the inhabitants of Akrotiri, the priests in the monastery took heed of some forewarning, probably violent tremors which seismologists think shook the island a few weeks before the cataclysm. I believe most of the priesthood perished in your ship. But others reached safe haven in their seminary at Phaistos on the south coast of Crete, and a few fled further to join their brethren in Egypt and the Levant.”
“Yet there was to be no new attempt to revive Atlantis, no further experiment with utopia,” Costas ventured.
“Already dark shadows were falling over the Bronze Age world,” Dillon said grimly. “To the north-east the Hittites were marshalling in their Anatolian stronghold of Boghazköy, a gathering storm that was to scythe its way to the very gates of Egypt. In Crete the surviving Minoans were powerless to resist the Mycenaean warriors who sallied forth from the Greek mainland, the forebears of Agamemnon and Menelaus whose titanic struggle with the east was to be immortalized by Homer in the siege of Troy.”
Dillen paused and eyed the group.
“The priests knew they no longer had the power to shape the destiny of their world. By their ambition they had rekindled the wrath of the gods, provoking once again the heavenly retribution that had obliterated their first homeland. The eruption of Thera must have seemed apocalyptic, a portent of Armageddon itself. From now on the priesthood would no longer take an active role in the affairs of men, but would closet itself in the inner recesses of sanctuary and shroud its lore in mystery. Soon Minoan Crete like Atlantis before it would be no more than a dimly remembered paradise, a morality tale of man’s hubris before the gods, a story that passed into the realm of myth and legend to be locked for ever in the mantras of the last remaining priests.”
“In the temple sanctum at Saïs,” Costas ventured.
Dillen nodded. “Egypt was the only civilization bordering the Mediterranean to weather the devastation at the end of the Bronze Age, the only place where the priesthood could claim unbroken continuity back thousands of years to Atlantis. I believe Amenhotep’s was the last surviving line, the only one still extant at the dawn of the classical era. And that too was doomed to extinction two centuries later with the arrival of Alexander the Great.”
“And yet the legacy endures,” Jack pointed out. “Amenhotep passed on the torch to Solon, a man whose culture held promise that the ideals of the founders could one day be resurrected.” He paused and then continued quietly, with barely suppressed emotion. “And now that sacred duty has fallen to us. For the first time since antiquity the legacy of Atlantis has been laid before mankind, not only what we have seen but untold wisdom not even Amenhotep could have divulged.”
They left the chamber and made their way slowly down the stairway towards the well of light at the bottom. On either side the carved figures of the priests and priestesses seemed to ascend past them, a solemn procession forever striving for the holy of holies.
CHAPTER 33
There was a commotion at the end of the passageway and Ben came hurrying towards them along with two of Sea Venture’s crewmen.
“You should get out at once. We have a possible intruder.”
Jack shot Costas a glance and the two of them immediately strode ahead with the crewmen.
“What’s the situation?”
“Unidentified aircraft flying in low directly at us. The radar picked it up five minutes ago. It doesn’t answer any call signs. And it’s fast. High subsonic.”
“Bearing?”
“Trajectory 140 degrees. South-south-west.”
They reached the audience chamber and strode together round the platform to the exit on the opposite side. Even skirting close to the edge they could feel the scalding heat coming from the central chimney, a sudden upsurge of volcanic activity while they had been inside the passageway.
“It looks like we’re in for an event.”
“In more ways than one.”
Jack gestured for the others to hurry and waited while Hiebermeyer and Dillen caught up, taking up the rear as they stumbled through the exit tunnel. A wave of scorching gas blew past them as they huddled to one side in the brilliant sunlight outside the entrance.
“It’s an upwelling in the core.” Costas raised his voice against the increasing roar from the chamber they had just left. “One of those events the Atlanteans recorded in their calendar. There might be some lava.”
“Tom York has already ordered a complete evacuation because of the intruder,” Ben shouted. “It’s for your own safety.”
“We’re with you.”
They quickly followed Ben down the steps towards the makeshift helipad, blinking furiously in the glare of daylight. The last of the Seahawks had just taken up position offshore and the only remaining aircraft was Sea Venture’s Lynx, the rotors powered up and two crewmen hanging out of the side door ready to help them in.
“It’s a military jet.” Ben was pressing in his earphone against the cacophony as he ran. “They’ve never seen one like it here before. The Russian FAC captain thinks it’s a Harrier.”
Jack suddenly felt a sickening wave of certainty as he helped Dillen towards the helicopter.
Aslan’s blast-proof hangars. Olga Ivanovna Bortsev.
“They think it’s heading for the submarine. They’ve got a missile lock. They’re not taking any chances. They’ve fired.”
As he leapt into the helicopter Jack saw the streak of two missiles from the FAC craft nearest Kazbek. As they sought their target, a black dot appeared over the waves on the horizon to the east.
She’s not coming for the submarine. She’s come to join her lover in hell.
“Go!” Jack yelled. “It’s coming for us!”
As the pilot wrenched the helicopter off the ground they saw the aircraft hurtle over the submarine, followed by the contrails of the two missiles. Jack spun back towards the open doorway just in time to see the missiles impact and blow off the Harrier’s tail. The Lynx rose with dizzying speed as the wreckage hurtled beneath them, the helmeted figure in the cockpit visible for an instant as the explosion engulfed the forward part of the fuselage. Before they could register what had happened, an immense shock wave threw the helicopter upwards, nearly bouncing Jack and the doorman out of the aircraft as the others held on to anything they could.
The burning Harrier hit the cliff face with the impact of a comet. The aircraft had been aimed directly at the volcano entrance and its remains continued on into the audience chamber, vanishing as if they had been sucked into the maw of the volcano. For an extraordinary moment the fire and noise disappeared completely.
“She’s going to blow!” Costas yelled.
As the helicopter rose above a thousand feet and veered to seaward they stared aghast at the scene beneath them. Seconds after the concussion there was a mighty roar and a jet of flame burst out of the entrance like an afterburner. The Harrier’s impact had compressed and ignited the volatile gases which had collected inside the audience chamber. The cone of the volcano seemed to blur as the colossal rumbling of the detonation reached them. A geyser of fire shot up hundreds of metres where the vapour chimney had once been.