Atlantis: Bermuda Triangle Page 12

  Total living space was about 4,000 square feet. which when Dane divided by 9, didn’t make him feel any better. And square was the wrong term to use as there seemed to be an obsession for round shapes in all the designs from habitat to submersible. Dane understood that was the best shape to handle the enormous pressures they would encounter but understanding didn’t necessarily entail happiness.

  A new voice came through the headset-- Captain Stanton. “Deeplab is in place at seventeen thousand feet. They report everything is working fine. You’re cleared to descend and link up.”

  “Roger that,” DeAngelo said.

  “Godspeed and good luck,” Stanton said. The cable link-- their only means of communication, went dead as the divers on the outside disconnected it.

  There was sudden movement.

  “All right, we’re free,” DeAngelo hands were wrapped around the two levers. “What you’re feeling is the swell. That will be gone in a minute.” He let go of the right lever and pushed the center bar up. Dane felt out of balance, as if his head were lower than the rest of his body.

  “We’re going down,” DeAngelo said. “I want to get clear of surface effect, then I’ll trim us out.”

  A minute passed and the bobbing motion was gone. “OK,” DeAngelo said. “I’m getting us balanced.” He continued speaking as he worked. “The ship has several small ballast tanks placed around the hull. I’m shifting air to give us neutral buoyancy and also to balance us exactly, fore and aft.” He held a hand over the mike. “I could have done it by computer, but I’ve learned never to ask a lady their weight-- it’s easier to do it manually.”

  Dane glanced up at the screen showing the rear sphere. Sin Fen and Ariana were trying to get as comfortable as possible.

  “Done,” DeAngelo said. “We’re heading down.” He pressed forward on the center bar, then pulled back on both levers, the right one further back than the left. “We’re going down in a half-mile left turn spiral.”

  “How long until we’re there?” Dane asked. The only sound since they slipped under the surface of the water had been the hum of the engines and DeAngelo’s running commentary. At least there was none of the creaking and cracking noises Dane associated with going deep underwater, a legacy of too many World War II submarine movies.

  “We’re going down at four hundred feet a minute,” DeAngelo said. “To get to seventeen thousand feet will take about forty-five minutes.”

  “Have you been in the lab before?” Dane asked.

  DeAngelo shook his head. “I didn’t even know something like Deeplab IV existed before Foreman lined all this up. The military must have kept it deep in the black.” He smiled. “No pun intended.”

  “None taken,” Dane said. He studied the outside camera view relayed on the screens in front. The blue water quickly became dark green, then began fading to black.

  “Lights on,” DeAngelo flipped a switch and a halo of light surrounded the sub. To Dane it felt as if they were suspended in a black void, with no sense of movement, totally cut off from the rest of the world.

  “The pipe is off to our left,” DeAngelo said. “I’m going to spiral down around it, but keep it at a safe distance.”

  *****

  On the surface above Deepflight, Captain Stanton was settled into his command chair, a large, deep leather seat bolted to the deck directly behind the helmsman station. There was the traditional wheel at the station, but more importantly, an extremely accurate ground positioning receiver currently getting input from five GPS satellites. Next to the GPR was a series of controls for the thrusters that kept the Glomar in position. They were run by computer, insuring that the large ship stayed within half a foot of the same spot on the surface of the ocean.

  With the automated positioning system and the automated dampening system on the pipe there was little for those on board the Glomar to do other than wait. It was a situation Stanton was used to. He reached into the pocket on the side of his chair and pulled out a paperback. He had just opened it to the first page when his radar man broke the silence.

  “Sir, I have a contact!”

  Stanton put the book down. “Where?”

  “Directly below. Depth twenty-seven thousand feet.”

  Stanton stood and walked over to the radar console. “That can’t be.”

  “It just appeared on-screen, sir.”

  “What is it?”

  “It doesn’t fit any known profile, sir. It’s big!”

  “What about the profile we were given from the Scorpion?” Stanton asked. The thought of something six times the size of a Soviet Typhoon class sub staggered even the captain of a ship the size of the Glomar.

  “It could be, sir. Matches up in size. It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen before.”

  “Where did it come from? How come you didn’t pick up something that big earlier?”

  “I don’t know, sir. It just appeared.”

  “What’s it doing?” Stanton asked as he went over to the communications array.

  “Ascending, sir. Toward Deeplab.”

  Stanton picked up the phone that linked the Glomar to Deeplab through the cable attached to the pipe. “How quickly?”

  “Very fast, sir! Depth twenty thousand feet and rising!”

  Stanton picked up the phone. “Deeplab, this is Glomar.”

  The phone crackled with static. Stanton thought he heard something, a voice, but he couldn’t be sure. “Deeplab, this is Glomar,” he repeated.

  “Eighteen thousand feet and rising!”

  Stanton’s hand tightened on the phone. “Deeplab, this is Glomar.” He pointed a finger at his communication’s officer. “Get me Foreman.”

  “Seventeen thousand feet. Holding.”

  “Deeplab, this is Glomar.” The only sound in the receiver of the handset was static.

  “I’ve got Foreman on SATCOM,” the com officer held out another phone.

  Stanton paused as he grabbed the phone-- the entire ship shook and there was a loud screeching sound from the derrick.

  *****

  “We’re deeper now than the Titanic,” DeAngelo said.

  “Is that supposed to cheer me up?” Dane asked. He shook his head, trying to ease a pounding in his left temple. “Sin Fen?” he said into the boom mike.

  “Yes?”

  Dane looked up at the screen displaying Ariana and Sin Fen. “How are you feeling?”

  “My head hurts.”

  “Mine too,” Dane said. “Something’s not right.”

  DeAngelo scanned his gauges. “Everything’s reading correctly.”

  “Not here,” Dane said.

  “Deeplab,” Sin Fen said.

  Dane nodded. “Something’s wrong.”

  “Should I turn back?” DeAngelo asked.

  Dane closed his eyes and was silent for a few seconds. “No. We keep going.”

  *****

  “Get me Nagoya!” Foreman ordered. He turned back to the microphone that linked the War Room with the Glomar Explorer. “Status?”

  “The contact is descending,” Captain Stanton’s voice echoed out of the speakers that lined the roof of the cavern. “Twenty thousand feet and going down as quickly as it came up.”

  “Deeplab?” Foreman asked.

  “Read-outs from the umbilical say everything is functioning fine but no one is answering the phone. It’s stable now.”

  “Deepflight?”

  “We have it on radar,” Stanton said. “Passing through fifteen thousand and still descending on the planned glide path.”

  “There’s no way to communicate with it?” Foreman asked.

  “No, sir,” Stanton replied.

  An air force officer thrust a SATPhone at Foreman. “We have commo with Doctor Nagoya.”

  Foreman took the phone. “Nagoya, what readings do you have in the Bermuda Triangle gate?”

  “We’re not currently oriented toward the Bermuda Triangle,” Nagoya replied.

  “Damn it!” Foreman slapped his hand again
st the top of the conference table. “I’ve got people down there. Reorient now!” He hit the off button for the phone as Captain Stanton’s voice echoed out of the speakers.

  “Object is gone. It just blinked out at twenty-seven thousand feet.”

  “What about Deeplab?” Foreman asked.

  “Still there. Still no communication.”

  “Nagoya,” Foreman yelled into the radio, “get me some readings!”

  *****

  Deeplab reminded Dane of a hornet’s nest, hanging from a thin branch. The sub’s lights highlighted the lab against the surrounding dark ocean. A single lamp glowed where the pipe was bolted into the top of the lab.

  “Shouldn’t there be more lights?” Dane asked.

  “Why?” DeAngelo had brought them out of the spiral and was slowly approaching the habitat dead on. “They have no windows. They do have cameras and infrared imagers but there’s usually no need to have them on-- what are they going to see at this depth any way?”

  Dane glanced up at the screen showing the interior of the rear sphere. Sin Fen had her hands against the side of her head, eyes closed in concentration. Dane closed himself off to the space around him and opened his mind as Sin Fen had taught him.

  The habitat was less than forty feet in front of them, DeAngelo going into a slight dive to come up under the central access.

  “Something happened,” Dane said.

  “What?” DeAngelo was concentrating on piloting, eyes shifting between the forward display and his radar which was counting down the feet between them and the habitat.

  Dane opened his eyes. Sin Fen was staring at him in the screen. “Do you know?” Dane asked her.

  “No.”

  “What’s going on?” Ariana asked.

  “I feel something very strange,” Dane said.

  “Hold on,” DeAngelo warned as shifted the imager view to the top camera. They were directly below the habitat, the bottom hatch less than five feet away from the top of the forward sphere and closing. With a slight thud, they made contact and came to a halt.

  “We’ll go in first,” DeAngelo said, “make sure it’s secure, then I’ll come back in, move forward, let you out, go back and anchor us in. I’m pressurizing the lock,” he added.

  The difficulty of even the slightest maneuver or operation at deep pressure reminded Dane of the missions he had conducted in Special Forces in extreme cold weather environments. There every little task had to be thought out thoroughly before being attempted, and then it would take two to three time as long to conduct than it would in a more temperate zone. A mistake that would normally cause no more than a minor inconvenience could be fatal in such an environment.

  “I’ve got a seal,” DeAngelo was reading his gauges.

  For the first time since they were lowered into the water, he let go of the controls and turned onto his back, then sat up. He reached up and slid open a control panel on the side of the hatch.

  “I confirm a seal,” DeAngelo said as a green light came on in the panel. He looked at Dane over his shoulder and smiled. “If we open this thing without a seal-- well, we wouldn’t even know what killed us.”

  Dane heard him, but he was concentrating, trying to get a feel for what lay above. When he had searched for people, Dane had always been able to pick up people’s auras, the projections from their conscious-- and even at times, subconscious-- minds. Now he was reading nothing other than a vague sense of shock and fear.

  “Releasing secondary lock,” DeAngelo threw a switch.

  Dane reached out to Sin Fen with his mind. He felt her presence and she reacted to his probe, confirming she was picking up the same disturbing impression from the habitat.

  “Do we have a weapon on board?” Dane asked.

  “A weapon?” DeAngelo was momentarily confused. “Why would we carry a weapon? You shoot a gun down here, it’s the opposite of shooting one in an airplane with a hundred times worse results. You puncture or even weaken the hull around us, we don’t depressurize, we pressurize, which means we implode. Besides, what do we need a weapon for?”

  Dane shook his head. “Forget it.”

  DeAngelo went back to his checklist. “Secondary lock disengaged. Equalizing pressure.” He hit a button.

  Dane felt his ears pop.

  “Primary lock disengaging.” DeAngelo hit a red button.

  There was a solid thud sound as the locks in the hatch cycled back. DeAngelo unbuckled his harness and Dane did the same.

  “Give me a hand,” DeAngelo was now on his knees, hands on the hatch handle. “Push.”

  Dane did as instructed and with a slight hesitation, the hatch swung up into the lock. A splash of water came in, hitting both DeAngelo and Dane.

  DeAngelo now used the handle as a step to get into the lock. Five feet above their heads was the bottom hatch for DeepLab IV.

  “We’re here guys!” he yelled. He looked down. “They’ll open as soon as they’re sure we’re open and secure.”

  Dane looked up. “No, they won’t.”

  DeAngelo frowned. “Why not?”

  “Because there’s no one alive in there.”

  THE PAST

  Chapter 10

  999 AD

  As far as Ragnarok was concerned the only good thing that had happened since setting foot on dry land was that he had gotten a new ax-head made by a Saxon blacksmith. Other than that, the trip had been misery. Traveling only at night to avoid raising an alarm, Ragnarok plodded after Tam Nok as they went north. The only weather that England seemed to have was cloudy and rainy. They slept during the day, or tried to sleep, Ragnarok too concerned with security to get more than a few minutes of slumber here and there. He wasn’t used to walking so much and his leather boots had chafed the skin raw at several places on his feet.

  They had beached the longship along the coast to the west of the Isle of Man. As soon as Ragnarok and Tam Nok were ashore, Hrolf had the crew push the craft back into the water. Ragnarok had stood on the beach, watching his ship disappear into the night. They would meet back at the same place in six days.

  Two of those days had already passed, filled with nothing but walking, through forests and over hills and fields. Ragnarok could tell by the stars they were going northward, but he had no idea how Tam Nok was choosing their path or what their destination was. When he questioned her she told him the Gods were leading her and she would know where they were going when they got there; neither a very satisfactory answer.

  He had managed to persuade her to halt long enough for him to enter a village early one morning and find a blacksmith. The man had been half-frightened out of his wits to see a hulking Viking appear in the low doorway to his smithy, but a few gold pieces had induced him to bring out a large ax-head, such as the Saxons used to kill cattle, and spend all that day on the forge and anvil fashioning it in the shape Ragnarok wished.

  “I will call it Bone Cutter,” Ragnarok said, taking a slash with the ax through the air in front of him. It was dark and the land was growing flatter. Tam Nok was at his side, walking with a steady stride that never seemed to grow weary. She carried a pack with an equal share of the food and water without the slightest complaint. Ragnarok had to fight hard to keep from limping.

  “What?” Tam Nok didn’t pause, nor did she even look at him.

  Ragnarok waved the war-ax. “I said I will call it Bone Cutter. It has a good feel and that Saxon oaf did a good job with the edge. It is much sharper than my last one. It will slice through flesh and bone.”

  “Is a name for your weapon important?”

  Ragnarok was mystified that she would even ask such a question. “Of course. In battle a good weapon is a man’s closest friend.”

  “I have been in battle and I have killed,” Tam Nok said, “but I do not view my weapons as my friends.”

  Ragnarok shrugged, the gesture lost in the dark. “That is because you do not see battle for what it really is.”

  He waited for her to ask the inevitable question but
the next couple of miles passed in silence. Tam Nok was the strangest woman he’d ever met. Not only because of her dark skin and strange eyes, but even more so because of her actions. Viking women were strong and well-respected, but even they did not travel by themselves or wield weapons except when absolutely necessary. A Viking woman was most concerned with family and children, yet there was no sense about Tam Nok of that.

  The moon was full, making the traveling at night easier, but also making them more vulnerable to being spotted. Ragnarok was not overly concerned at being found at night. Most men did not seek out trouble in the dark and unless they had the misfortune to encounter a large armed force he felt they would be left alone.

  They crested a small hill and Ragnarok scanned the terrain ahead. A large plain extended to the horizon, but sparks of light in the distance caught his eye.

  “Torches,” he said, pointing. They were too far away to tell how many lights there were, or what the holders of the lights were doing.

  “I see them,” Tam Nok didn’t break stride.

  Ragnarok noticed something else unusual. “I do not like this,” he said tapping Tam Nok on the arm and pointing. Large, unnatural mounds dotted the plain in front of them, most around a hundred feet long, by seventy in width by ten in height.

  “What don’t you like?” Tam Nok asked.

  “Those are burial mounds. This entire plain is a graveyard. It brings bad fortune to walk through such a place.”

  Tam Nok spared him a glance. “We cannot go around. They are between us and where we wish to go.”

  “The place with the torches?” Ragnarok asked.

  “Yes,” Tam Nok’s voice held an edge of irritation. “The person I must talk to is there. We do not have much time.”

  “How can you know we don’t have much time?” Ragnarok asked, not at all impressed with her pronouncements after strolling across England for over two days. “How can you know that is the place we are to go and the person you want to meet is there?”