Tomb of Atlantis (16 page)

With a safe and uneventful landing behind him, Jack stepped out of the plane and sat down on the edge of his float. Listening to the quiet of the early morning breezes, he stared down in the water and visualized the location of the golden pyramid.

"By the numbers this time," he said to himself. "No nonsense. If you don't find it, come back tomorrow. Minimize the risks."

Suddenly,
he heard a loud sound behind him. Like a burst from a valve, the rush of escaping air grew in volume, then quickly dissipated. Snapping his head to his right, he caught the large vertical tail of a Humpback whale rolling through the surface, then descending.

"Holy mackerel!"
he exclaimed, his heart pounding from the sudden start.

He
brought his fins up out of the water and rested them on the float in front of him as he scanned the horizon. One by one, he began to see the presence of more whales off in the distance. He watched in quiet satisfaction as the colony of whales signaled their locations with a blast of water from their spouts.

"Wow, this is amazing,"
he said quietly, trying not to draw attention to himself.

As the whales drew nearer to the plane, Jack felt a slight uneasiness in the pit of his stomach as he considered the vulnerability of his situation. At first, he thought about taking off and avoiding any potential danger, but reconsidered, electing instead to sit perfectly still and try to avoid detection.

Closer they came, the whales now changed direction and headed straight toward him. Tensing a bit, he watched in nervous fascination as the large behemoths gracefully danced along the ocean's surface. Ascending and submerging, spouting and playing, Jack began to feel at ease as they swam on by. Passing along on both sides of the plane, darting his head back and forth, he examined each whale just as they examined him.

In curiosity, Jack watched a baby whale slow to stop. Lifting its head slightly out of the water, the two stared into each other’s eyes.
He sensed an intelligence that frightened him a first, but quickly he realized that the little giant meant him no harm. In the seconds that they connected, he could see the same playful curiosity that he had seen so many times in small children.

"Hey
, little guy," he said to the floating child. "Where’re you headed?"

Jack watched the baby whale's eye shift slightly and grow in size as it searched for the meaning of Jack's communication. Moments later, the proud mother pulled alongside and gave her baby a gentle nudge. Instinctively, the pair swam off together, joining the rest of the travelers.

As the last of the whales pulled far beyond his plane, exhilaration turned to sadness as he realized his enchanting experience had now come to an end.

"Man, no on
e's going to believe this," he said out loud, as he placed his feet back into the water.

With a sense of euphoria, he leaped from the float and into the water. Exhilaration now raced through his body. Somewhere, one hundred feet below, lay the golden pyramid and he was determined to find it.

Following the rope, hand over hand, he descended. Just as before, he passed the markers on the rope that visually signaled his progress downward. As he traveled into deeper water, more surface light began to filter out, creating a darker world with each foot he descended. Stopping for a moment, he checked his gauges for proper air pressure and depth. Satisfied with the reading, he looked around and continued his descent.

Suddenly, Jack noticed something peculiar outside his peripheral vision—beams of light from the surface were pulsating, not unlike that of the flickering light of a campfire. Stopping immediately, he looked all around him, but saw nothing unusual. Looking straight up,
his mouth nearly fell open.

Close to the surface, looming high above,
he watched enormous shadows cross the sun's path, blocking out the rays of light that pieced the water below. He held the anchor line and kept his position steady as he analyzed the strange anomaly that was occurring above him. As each shadow passed by, he speculated on the cause.

Suddenly,
his feeling of wellbeing was gone, now replaced by nervous reality. He knew what those shadows were. They were mammal. They were whales.

Unsure about the habits of creatures that size, Jack's natural instinct
s of fear and survival dominated his forethoughts. His previous experience with the behemoths proved uneventful, but that was when he was safely out of the water. Now, forty feet below, he was completely unprotected and vulnerable. He was in their world now and had no idea how they would react if he were spotted.

Playing it safe,
he decided to descend quietly. Still looking up, he released the air from his lungs. Keeping perfectly still and without air, his own negative buoyancy caused him to sink. Slowly at first, then building momentum, Jack picked up speed as he descended.

As he passed the fifty foot marker, he had trouble making out the fuzzy shadows that were so clear just ten feet above. Still looking up, he continued his descent. Now, approaching the twenty-five foot marker, the top surface was completely indistinguishable.

Jack began to breathe a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure of whale's eyesight or hearing, but felt certain that if they hadn't bothered him now, he was probably safe. Spinning around, he swam down the rope. Kicking hard, he did his best to put as much distance between them and him as quickly as he could.

Just as before, the ocean's floor popped into view as he reached the twenty-five foot marker. Pulling on the rope and kicking his fins harder, he raced toward the bottom, equalizing the pressure in his ears almost continually as he descended. Minutes later,
he touched the bottom, spun around, and looked straight up. He saw nothing. Turning off his flashlight, he sat in dim light until his eyes adjusted. In less than a minute, he began to see streams of light penetrating his depth. After a couple of minutes had passed, the area around him seemed dark, but light enough to just make out the edge of larger outcroppings.

With his visibility improving, he focused on the surface, insuring he hadn't been followed by any of the whales.

"Phew... Man, that was kind of scary," he admitted to himself. "What's next, sharks?"

He switched on his flashlight, illuminating the whole area around him. Taking a bearing from his compass, he headed toward the area of the last two artifacts. With his diver’s knife in one hand and the flashlight in the other, he poked and prodded at anything that raised his suspicions.

Atlantis - Chapter 10

On a normal day, Jack's Zenair 701 floatplane would float effortlessly, quietly taking in the morning’s sunlight. On a normal day, the only noise that could be heard would be the quiet lapping of the waves against the half-submerged floats. This was not a normal day...

Like fast moving buses, the large whales rushed past both sides of Jack's plane, creating large waves and frothy whitecaps as they chased after large schools of plankton and krill. With higher ocean temperatures caused by recent atmospheric anomalies, the krill and plankton population had been on the rise for quite some time. Taking advantage of the
overabundance, large colonies of whales chased the fleeing marine life, creating feeding frenzies that turned calm seas into roiling cauldrons of violent water.

Carelessly and callously, the whales bumped and collided with Jack's plane as it floated between them and their food.
In their frustration, some deliberately rammed the floats, pushing the plane out of their path instead of redirecting their own. Designed to withstand the loads encountered during landings, Jack's plane was not designed to take the loads encountered during feeding frenzies. With each hard blow, structures began to weaken.

Nearby, one hundred feet away, a baby and her mother swam together. Playfully, the baby whale demanded her mother’s attention as she porpoised through the water. Happily, the mother nudged her daughter in approval as she dined on large quantities of plankton. Nudging and playing, foraging and dining, the pair carried on oblivious to any obstructions in their path.

As the two raced through the water, they quickly closed the distance on Jack's plane. Less than forty feet away, the baby whale darted in front of her mom. In playful response, the mom darted far ahead of her daughter, cutting off her path and forcing her to change direction. Changing her direction once more, the baby whale headed for the plane. The mother's keen sense of hearing picked up the obstruction in the water, raising her maternal instincts. With fear of the unknown growing inside, she quickly darted ahead of her daughter, attempting to deflect her path away for the mysterious floating object.

As the mother whale hurried her pace, she instinctively feared for her baby’s life. Sensing her mother's speed, the baby whale sped up to prolong the playful act. Pulling ahead of her baby, the mother abruptly changed direction and slammed into her daughter. Mere feet away from Jack's plane, the mother's attempt to deflect her babies path, came too late. Instead of sending her baby around the floats, her bump sent the baby whale between the floats.

For the mother whale, all time stood still. Caught in Jacks netting, the baby whale was now stuck. Stunned and unable to move, the baby whale called to her mother in fear. Panic spread through the mother. Instinctively she attacked Jack's plane. With a running start, she built up tremendous speed and rammed the side of the float, nearly collapsing it, rocking the entire plane until the wingtips splashed in and out of the water.

With her baby still held in the clutches of the planes netting, the mother frantically came around for another blow. Hysterical and raving, the mother acted in single minded purpose. Nothing else mattered. With intense focus, she built up tremendous momentum and slammed into the menacing float once more, forcing the plane to give up its grasp on her baby.

The two blows delivered by the mother were catastrophic. The first blow broke off a wing strut and rupturing a seam in the base of the float. With the float taking on water, the plane listed to the damaged side. Moments later, the second impact ripped the float from the wing strut, releasing the baby whale. Instantly, without the support of the float, the listing wing splashed into the water and immediately sank below the surface. With the wing under the water, its heavy weight rolled the plane over on its side.

Although the doors were closed and sealed, they were not air tight. Slowly, the cabin took on water. Little by little, as the water rushed in, the plane began to sink.

Off in the distance, the mother whale and her baby communicated the lesson of the day. As they hurried to catch up to the rest of the colony, she eyed with contempt, the evil predator that almost claimed her baby’s life.

Atlantis - Chapter 11

Swimming along, slowly and methodically, Jack worked his way across the ocean floor. With the edge of his knife, he scraped any surface that took on a uniform shape, a shape he thought could possibly be man-made. When he saw circular looking holes, he poked and levered off bits and pieces of crustaceans, hoping to reveal an urn or pot. Even simple areas of sand and seaweed were searched in the hopes of uncovering buried treasure.

As he searched the rocks, boulders and sand, he was not alone. Swimming nearby, attracted by the light, were tiny tropical fish investigating the stranger invading their privacy. He marveled at their brilliant colors of reds, yellows, greens and blues.

In short time, Jack found the original spot of the last two artifacts and began a more intensive search. All surfaces were touched or scraped. Nothing was left to chance. Starting at the origin point, he worked his way out in circles. Each time he completed the circle around the origin, he moved out a couple more feet and searched the larger circle around the point. He started with a four foot circle, then an eight foot circle, then a twelve foot circle, continuing his search by adding two feet to each side of the previous circle.

After nearly twenty minutes, Jack had completed many rings around the original find. His search had turned up nothing and now he began to feel the disappointment of defeat. Checking his gauges once more, he realized he had run out of time and would need to return. He thought about staying longer, but remembered Moses' words: "reduce risk."

Jack turned and followed the towline back. Unwrapping and detangling the small cord as he went, he then coiled it back onto the spool attached to his side. Moving fast, he noticed a higher degree of particles in the water, reducing his visibility and slowing his speed a bit. Every few feet,
he looked up to keep track of his return path.

Slowly, strangely,
he began to notice something peculiar. The water had become cloudy. The visibility went from forty feet down to less than ten. He could not see the end of his towline, nor could he see the anchor line rising to the surface.

"What the hell?" he called out in confusion.

Jack started to feel uneasy. He could now see both tow and anchor lines, but only about ten feet of them as it disappeared into blackness. The low visibility sent a chill through his body as he now began to feel the isolation of confinement. With forty feet of visibility, he felt secure, like he was in a very large room and could see any danger that approached him. Now, with only ten feet of visibility, he felt like he was in a closet—dangers could spring on him and he'd be powerless to react.

Swimming and coiling, he kept an eye on his surroundings. Just ahead of him, the visibility seemed to reduce even further. As the particulate in the water floated by,
it were now larger in size and heavier in concentration. He passed his hand out in front and watched the particles swirl around his fingers in tiny vortices, like miniature whirlpools under the water.

Moving forward,
he noticed a large fuzzy rock far out at the edges of his visibility. Strangely, he hadn't noticed it before. He stopped for a moment, looked around, and took note of his position.

"I think I'm in the right location,"
he thought.

Looking down at the towline still traveling across the seabed, he felt a bit confused.

"Yup, this is right. There's the towrope."

He kicked his fins and swam a few more feet, collecting more of the rope, and keeping an eye on the ever-growing rock far up ahead. He stopped again and examined the rock. It had now grown large. Still fuzzy and indeterminable, he felt confused once more.

"Maybe I'm off course," he speculated. "Maybe the currents carried the rope here. I'm definitely off course. That rock shouldn't be there or...  I shouldn’t be here."

Jack looked around again. He was running out of time and now became frustrated by his disoriented state.

‘Dammit, what is going on here? This all looks so different
,’ he thought.

Slowly,
he continued to coil the rope knowing it would eventually take him back to the anchor. As he moved a few feet forward, the large fuzzy, nondescript rock starting to take on shape. Little by little, the fuzzy edges became sharper and more detailed.

Something wasn't right. Jack could now see color. The dark nondescript rock had a white tone about it. Suddenly, reality hit him. This was not a rock. This was a small boat.

"Wow, I must be way off course," he guessed. "Strange, I don't remember seeing this before."

Still coiling the rope, he moved closer. Although the object appeared blurred by the silt and particles floating around it,
he thought he could just make out the image of a hull. Long and narrow, it appeared to be lying on its side.

As he swam closer, he noticed something large sticking straight up from the center.

"What is that?" he asked himself, still puzzled.

The closer he neared, the more distinct it became. Little by little, the image took shape.
he began to feel uneasy. Deep in his subconscious, the forming image started to become recognizable.

Jack could see the lines of the structure. He could now make out what appeared to be round bars sticking out from it, twisted and kinked where it had been damaged. He focused hard and could see what appeared to be a larger rectangular port hole in its side, then he saw another....

Jack stopped in his tracks. His heart pounded and he began to shake uncontrollably. A cold chill broke out over his entire body. His mind instantly raced from confusion to stark fear.

"No. No. No
!" he called out in disbelief, his cries growing louder with each word he yelled.

He
swam forward and touched the surface of the object. He ran his shaking hands over bits and pieces of the structure, touching it, analyzing it, hoping somehow his touch could magically change what he was seeing.

Frantically, he swam front to back as well as up and over the structure, trying to make sense of something so senseless.

"NO!," he screamed through his regulator. "
How
could this have happened?" he shrieked.

Coming to the front, he ran his hand lightly over the propeller—
his
propeller. He looked up at the wing sticking straight up toward the surface—
his
wing. This was
his
plane.

Jack's beautiful plane, his pride and joy and most importantly, his lifeline, was now sitting at the bottom of the ocean, battered, destroyed.

In a moment’s desperation, devoid of rational thought, he grabbed the propeller and tried to lift the plane, hoping to raise it to the surface. With his muscles straining to their breaking point, he was only able to lift the front end a foot off the ocean floor.

Letting go, he floated backward, carried by the deep water currents. In shock and anguish, he closed his eyes and let out a loud, guttural scream, sending the regulator out of his mouth, dangling out in front of him. As his mouth instantly filled up with water, for a split second he thought about drowning himself. Fifty miles from the island and no means to get back, his situation was a death sentence. He could float to the top and wait to be eaten by sharks or he could drown himself quickly and avoid an agonizing death.

He thought about Moses' words. He thought of his parents and the agony they would feel at the loss of their child. He thought about life and never being able to experience it again. He felt extreme sadness as he contemplated the end.

‘
No!’
Jack called out defiantly in his head.

Quickly, he grabbed his regulator, popped it into his mouth, and began to breathe once more.

‘I’m not beaten yet. Mom and Dad won't see me dead, not if I have anything to say about it.’

He
looked around him. His situation was grim, but not without possibilities.

“I’m not going to just roll over and die
… not without a fight.”

Staring at his sunken plane, Jack took a moment to compose himself. He knew if he had any chance of survival, whatever he needed would have to come from that damaged plane, and he would have to take it now.

Quickly, methodically, Jack mentally categorized his needs in descending order: flotation, water, food, signaling, and cover. With his basic needs outlined in his mind, he then set out to collect whatever he could find.

Swimming toward the plane, he could see that the buoy he used to mark his position was still attached to the wing strut. Taking off his hoist bag, he clipped it to the bottom of the buoy. He then followed the rope from the wing strut to the spare tank that had previously been suspended below the water. Using his diver's knife, he cut through the rope with one quick slice, and brought the tank over to the buoy.

Next, he took a moment to examine the condition of the plane. The right hand wing and float seemed to be firmly attached, but as he floated over the topside of the fuselage, he could see the left hand wing and float had been torn from their attachment points.

Jack had built his plane by himself and knew its construction inside and out. Part of the allure of the Zenair 701 was the ability to remove the wings and floats for easy and compact storage. Now, he figured that choice in design might actually save his life.

“This will make a nice raft,” he thought to himself as he looked at the wing.

Quickly, he opened the door that now faced upward and reached inside behind the passenger’s seat. On the floor behind the seat sat a small tool box.
He grabbed it, pulled it outside, and set it up next to the plane on a small patch of sand. Without wasting a moment of time, he opened the box and found an adjustable wrench and hammer, then swam to the wing’s attachment point on the fuselage.

Moving quickly now, he pulled a cotter pin that secured a nut and pin assembly. Using the wrench, he unscrewed a large nut that held a pin in place. With the nut removed, Jack tried to pull the large pin that locked the wing to the plane. Using the claw of the hammer, he positioned it under the pin and tried to force it from its hole. As the pin resisted, Jack applied tremendous force, but the pin held firm.

“Shit, the connection must be bent,” he speculated in frustration.

He looked at the float still attached to the plane. The metal tubing that held it to the fuselage was bent and contorted. He wasn't sure if he would be able to pull the twisted wreckage out from under the plane in order to free the float, but with the wing stuck in place, he was left with little choice.

Grabbing the wrench and hammer, he pulled a cotter pin, then unscrewed a nut holding the float to the fuselage. Using the same technique as the wing, he wedged the claw of the hammer under the head of the pin and levered back on it with all his strength. Instantly, the pin popped out of its hole releasing one side of the float.

Jack moved to the second connection. Using the same technique once more, he removed the cotter pin and nut, then began to lever on the pin. Slowly, the large pin inched its way out. At the very end, it became stuck as the weight of the float shifted downward, squeezing the pin tightly inside the hole.

Jack stood back, reached under the float, and began to lift it up and down as he tried to shake the connections free. Straining desperately and rocking the float violently up and down, the pin fell to the ground, releasing the float from the plane.

‘
Yes,
’ he thought to himself. ‘Finally, a break.’

Jack cut off a length of rope and tied it around one of the twisted struts extending from the float. He then swam to the buoy and secured the other end to it. With the float secured to both the buoy and the hoist bag, he was certain he could get the float to the surface.

Jack next turned his attention to the fuselage. Inside held the key to his survival. Opening the door again, he reached inside and collected his water bottle, first aid kit, peanut butter sandwich in a Ziploc bag and his fleece pullover jacket. Behind the pilot’s seat, he pulled out his manual bilge pump used to pump water from the floats. Stuffing the items into a small, canvas duffel bag, he was now ready to ascend to the top.