Tomb of Atlantis (19 page)

“Where are you Jack?” he said to himself, his words torturing his soul.

He stared out his window again, hoping to see Jack’s tiny floatplane taxi up to the parking lot. On the opposite side of the lot, a small car drove up and parked in front of the FBO. Moses watched intently, hoping that somehow, Jack would appear from the car. As the door opened, a young brown-haired woman stepped out.

“Serena Arista. What in blazes is she doing here?” he said to himself.

Moses watched as Serena rounded a gate and headed toward the front door.

“Hi, Moses,” she said with a great smile as she entered. “Long time no see.”

“Hi
, Serena, nice to see you again,” he responded simply.

“Nice to see me again? No, ‘What are you selling’ or ‘Shouldn’t you be working’ kind of comment?”
she teased.

“Sorry, I guess I’m a little distracted,”
he replied.

Serena had known Moses since she was a little girl. Her father and he had become friends over the years while Moses flew charters between the islands, at times flying artifacts for Javier to the mainland. Although he had a reputation as a crotchety ol’ man, she knew it was just a facade. With his greeting sounding strangely out of place, she pressed him further for information.

“Moses, are you alright? Is there something wrong?”

“Remember that guy I sent to you with those artifacts… Jack Roberts is his name,”
he asked.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, that’s why I’m here. My dad was able to translate a small portion of the scrolls he found. I wanted to share the info with him. Is he around?”
she said, scanning the room.

“That’s just it… he should be here, but he’s not. He went on another one of his damn dives again this morning and hasn’t returned,”
he responded, his voice showing the strain.

“Well, maybe he’s just a little late. Maybe he flew somewhere else and just hasn’t returned yet,”
she suggested.

“He’s on a flight plan. If he had changed his original plan and flown somewhere else, Air Traffic Control would know about it. As it is, they’ve declared him missing,”
he said in grave tone.

“Missing? Oh, my God!” Serena blurted out in shock. “Is there any word yet?”

“I called the Coast Guard about an hour ago and spoke with a Commander Lewis at central dispatch. He claims they would have both an aircraft and a patrol cutter headed toward his location shortly. They should be searching that area right now, I suspect," he replied, then added, “It was a dangerous thing he was doing out there. I’m very worried.”

“Moses, I don’t know what to say. I’m shocked,” Serena replied. “Are you going to be ok?”

“You know, I’ve spent a lot of years here at the airport, seen a lot of search and rescues. I think this one’s going to bother me the most. I really like that kid. He reminds me of my son,” he said, his voice filled with emotion.

“I know, Moses, I like him too. He grows on you pretty fast,”
she replied. Seeing the deep sadness in his eyes, she tried to offer a small bit of comfort. “From what little he told me of himself, he seems like a very resourceful kind of guy. If he did have some kind of mishap, there’s no better person to make it through than Jack.”

“I hope you’re right,”
he replied simply.

EVENING:

As the sun touched the horizon, its hazy orange rays of light cast an evening glow that refracted off the ocean's surface, blending wave, light and Jack into one indefinable medium. As a result, the Coast Guard found no trace of Jack or his plane. Undeterred, they planned their next search at daybreak the following morning.

Earlier in the day, while the search parties flew precise grid patterns based on wind, ocean currents, and speculation, Jack swiftly floated far beyond the search region. Unbeknownst to all involved, the current's direction and velocity had changed dramatically, dragging Jack faster and farther than anyone had calculated. As the Coast Guard initiated their patterned search, Jack’s swift departure from the search area effectively rendered the day's effort useless. By the time they had finally reached a point where they could see him, the evening glow all but made him invisible.

----- ----- ----- -----

The last of the day's light had finally gone and Jack laid back and stared up at the stars. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he marveled at the twinkling beauty that was, up until an hour before, clear blue sky. With the glass like surface of the water reflecting the stars from above, he had great difficulty distinguishing between the horizon and the sky.

Jack sat up and looked around him. Eerily, in his mind, the peaceful and serene setting had transformed into a vastly frightening scene. Sitting in the middle of blackness, he began to think about his vulnerability. In the daylight, there was depth. He could see out across the ocean. He could see the sky above and in all that depth,
he felt a sense of security and control. At night, floating in that dark void, there was virtually no depth at all. Ocean and sky melded together creating one limitless expanse and in the middle of that expanse was one lone man, powerless—powerless to see, powerless to touch, powerless to feel his way through the blackness. Floating, suspended in time, his sense of control, his destiny, had been taken from him. He was now just a fragment of the sea waiting on destiny to show its hand, and that hand would be whatever the sea provided.

Jack was scared. The more he thought about it, the more frightened he became. Everywhere he turned, he saw blackness and stars. Somewhere below lurked dangerous, violent creatures. With his mind beginning to race, he knew he needed to get a grip on his mental state.
He closed his eyes and tried to force his fears from him mind. As he sat and listened to the soothing sounds of the water gently nibbling at the float, his eyelids began to grow heavy. For a moment, he gazed at the blank scene around him. A half-moon was climbing into the sky and had cast its brilliance across the ocean. Although it was still dark, he now had a slight sense of depth and proportion and he pushed his fears to the back of his mind, for now.

Atlantis - Chapter 13

DAY 2

MORNING:

With the moon’s light long since hidden behind the horizon, the sun now moved in to take its place. Nearly undetectable at first, the black horizon took on a soft orange glow. As the minutes passed, the sky brightened and the stars faded. Burning a path through the horizon, the sun broke the thin line that separated ocean from sky. Moments later, orange, warm, and gentle, the sun’s rays reached out across the water and touched everything in its path. In a matter of minutes, the sun sat high above the horizon, round, bright and encouraging, signaling the start of a new day.

Jack opened his blood shot eyes and smiled at the sight of morning. Having spent the night in complete discomfort, he felt exhausted and ready for more sleep, yet exhilarated by the warmth of the sun.

“Damn, what a night,” he said. “Can't wait to get the hell out of here.”

Sitting up, he looked at the water line of the float. With half of the body above the water, he felt pretty certain he had a couple more hours before he needed to start pumping again.

Jack’s legs and back were sore. With an early morning chill still hanging in the air,
he elected to stretch on top of the float, instead of in the water.

Carefully, so as not to make any sudden movements that might capsize his makeshift raft, he held one of the outrigger pipes and slowly stood to a standing position. Standing nearly in the middle, he bounced on his feet a couple of times and tested the float’s stability.

“Huh, pretty stable,” he said to himself.

Stretching out his limbs, he began to feel much better as the blood pumped through his body. For a moment, he thought about walking the short length of the float to get some exercise, but reconsidered after thinking about the further discomfort he would suffer by falling in so early in the morning.

He shuffled over to the duffel bag and brought out his Ziploc bag with his sandwich, as well as his water bottle. Opening the bag, he reached in for the half eaten peanut butter sandwich.

“Ah yes, time for a gourmet meal
,” he groaned sarcastically.

As
he brought the sandwich to his lips for a bite, it slipped from his hands and into the water.

“
Damn,” he exclaimed as he watched the sandwich float for a moment, then begin to sink.

Quickly, he reached down and snatched it from the water. Shaking it out, he thought about throwing the dripping sandwich back
in, but thought better of it.

Bringing the soggy sandwich to his mouth, he took a bite. With the flavor of the salt water and the texture of the soggy bread, he nearly gagged. Forcing the contents down his throat, he swallowed hard and kept the sandwich from coming back up.

Jack eyed his water bottle. It was only half full. With his thirst nearly raging out of control, he knew his willpower would be tested to its greatest limits. Pulling off the cover, he brought the bottle up to his mouth and let the water rest against it. The previous day’s heat had sucked the moisture from his lips and the water felt soothing as they soaked up the wetness.

He
took in a tiny sip. He let the wonderful liquid rest in his mouth, then swallowed. Again, he took in another small sip and swirled the water around in his mouth. He tilted his head back and gargled a bit, ensuring all surfaces of his mouth and throat were coated before swallowing.

Looking at the bottle, he realized the sips were larger than he thought. He
had just drank half his ration for the day and he hadn't even come close to satisfying his thirst. He tried to put the cover back on the bottle but in a moment of weakness, he took one more slug of water.

“Ahhh,”
he exclaimed loudly. “Man, that's what I needed.”

He looked at the level of water left in the bottle – there was only a sip left.

“Dammit, I knew this would happen,” he said in a guilty tone. “Well, at least once today I'll feel satisfied instead of suffering the entire day,” he rationalized. “Besides, they should find me today and that’ll take care of the thirst problem.”

Looking back at the bottle
again, he felt a bit uneasy about his rationalization, but knew there was nothing he could do. The damage was done and he would have to endure whatever hardship came his way. Stowing the bottle and the Ziploc bag, he continued his morning stretch.

After standing for nearly half an hour,
he sat back down and enjoyed the warmth on his face. Confident of his rescue, he began to think about the food that he'd eat when he finally got back. Unlike the bacon cheese burger he craved after climbing El Capitan in Yosemite, he now thought of a steak, specifically a rare Ribeye steak with all the trimmings. His stomach growled as he teased himself with his culinary fantasies and decided to change the topic to something less torturous – the elusive golden pyramid.

Thinking of his previous dives, he mapped out in his mind the areas he had already surveyed. He then began to visualize a sinking ship
with its contents strewn along the ocean’s floor. With the ocean’s currents flowing along the path he swam, he knew any artifacts would have to lie somewhere along that path. He had already searched two areas: one upstream of the anchor and one downstream of it. Having found two artifacts upstream, he deduced that the sinking ship must have impacted the ocean’s floor further upstream with the artifacts being carried downstream by the current to the location he had found.

“It’s got to be further upstream of the urn and scrolls. It all makes sense. Where else could it be?”

Jack let out a great yawn. As the sun started heating up, he decided to keep himself distracted by looking for search planes and boats. Scanning the horizon and sky, he rotated his head around to the right, then back to the left. Repeating the process over and over, his eyes began to hang heavy. Within five minutes of his search, he laid his head down on the float to rest for a moment. In less than a minute, he fell into a restless, yet much needed sleep.

Far out on the horizon, barely discernible from Jack's vantage point, the USCGC Fitzgerald sailed across the ocean while conducting its patterned search for their missing person. Silently, Jack slipped by without detection, once again never realizing the presence of his rescuers.

OFFICE OF JAVIER ARISTA
:

Javier hung up the phone and gently placed the handset back in its cradle. Bringing his fingers to his temples, he rubbed them purposefully, trying to relieve his anxiety. With his eyes closed, he heard Serena’s voice.

“Dad, you ok?” she asked, sympathetically.

“I’m ok, honey. I just got off the phone with Moses Rankin. He just talked to the Coast Guard and got an update,”
he replied.

“Yeah, and…”

“Nothing. No change. They still haven’t found him,” Javier replied in ominous tone.

“Yeah, I know
.”

“You know? How do you know? He just called them,”
he said, somewhat confused.

“I called Coast Guard Search and Rescue this morning. They told me they were expanding their search,”
she replied.

“Well, that’s good
.”

“Yes and no. If they find him, yes, but if they don’t find him by the day after tomorrow, Commander Lewis told me they would be changing the mission from recue to recovery,”
she explained.

“Recovery? They’re talking about recovery already?”
he responded in disbelief. “Doesn’t that seem a little premature?”

“I know it doesn’t seem like a long time, but he told me Jack could only last a couple of days out there without food or water and that was
if
he wasn’t injured and
if
he had something to float on. Furthermore, he wasn’t even sure if Jack was still alive. He could have died in the crash and gone done with the plane as it sunk.

“I don’t understand any of this. It seems to me they should have found him by now,”
he said in exasperation.

“Dad, it’s a big ocean out there and they’re not even sure about the coordinates Jack left with Air Traffic Control.”

“Why’s that?”

“They haven’t found any wreckage yet. Usually, they find something: a piece of wing, a cushion, especially if the crash was violent. Without some trace of the plane, Commander Lewis said they’re considering the possibility that Jack could have given them his coordinates in error. They simply could be looking in the wrong area,”
she said.

“So what do they do about that?”
he asked.

“He told me they make an educated guess of where he might have gone down and then search that area in grid patterns, basically flying parallel tracks back and forth. When they’re done with one area, they move onto the next. Pretty logical, actually. No real rocket science involved, just time,”
she said.

“I can’t believe this. He was such a nice kid,” Javier lamented.

“Dad, don’t give up just yet. He told me about some of his previous adventures. He’s very resourceful. If he’s alive… and my gut feeling says he is, he’ll find a way to make it,” Serena said, resolutely.

“I hope so.”
he replied simply.

----- ----- ----- -----

The heat of the midday sun bore down on Jack like a blowtorch. Still wearing his fleece jacket and lower wetsuit as protection from the sun, he began to overheat. He popped his eyes open and sat up. Feeling weak and dehydrated, he knew he needed some relief. Looking into the water, he studied it for dangers. Seeing nothing, he rolled over into it and floated, letting the water seep into his wetsuit, cooling him down and allowing him to stretch out once more. He rotated his head backward into the water and allowed his mind to drift for a moment as he closed his eyes.

Suddenly, Jack caught himself falling asleep. He snapped his eyes open and sprang to a vertical position in the water. He looked around and saw nothing - the float had disappeared. In horror, he flailed his arms and kicked his feet, spinning himself around in the water. There behind him, nearly thirty feet away was his float.

"Holy shit
! What the hell? How'd it get over there?" he exclaimed, his mind still fuzzy from his near sleep state.

Looking into the water around him, he felt scared. He knew there were dangerous fish lurking below and his mind began to play tricks on him. Tiny waves became dorsal fins; dark particles deep below the water became the shadows of things too ominous to envision.

Quickly, instinctively, and without regard for consequence, he kicked hard and swam as fast as he could toward the float. As he moved through the water, he had the strange sensation of slow motion travel, the kind of sensation he experienced in dreams where the harder he ran, the closer the danger drew near.

Pushing himself
harder, he started to make headway. Twenty feet, fifteen feet, ten feet... he closed the distance slowly, while breathing heavily and exhausting himself with each stroke. Suddenly, he realized his plight. He was swimming against a strong surface current. If he ran out of energy and didn’t reach the raft soon, he knew it would drift far out of reach before he ever regained his strength.

Even harder now,
he kicked and swam. His muscles ached and his lungs felt like they would burst. With mere feet left, he realized he wasn’t gaining ground. He had pushed himself to the limits of his endurance and had no more to give. He couldn’t reach the raft.

Slowly, he reached out, desperation consuming his every action. With four feet between him and the float, he made a frantic lunge for its edge. His hand slipped through the water
and briefly contacted something rough. Instantly, he recoiled in fear.

“Shark!”
he shrieked in horror.

He looked into the water to face his enemy. He stared for just a moment, then realized the root of his fear.
With his terrific lunge forward, he had reached out and grabbed the netting from the plane that hung just below the surface. Still attached to the float, he hadn’t realized it was there.