Atlantis Found (22 page)

“Have you picked out a spot to set down?” asked Giordino, staring at the little island and its single mountain that seemed to rise up out of the sea like a giant cone. There was no obvious sign of a beach or open field. He saw only 360 degrees of steep rock-covered slopes.

Gunn held up a magnifying glass in front of his eyes. “I’ve gone over every inch of this thing, and have come to the conclusion that it’s the worst piece of real estate I’ve ever seen. It’s nothing but a rock pile, good only for supporting a gravel company.”

“Don’t tell me we’ve come all this way only to turn back,” Giordino said sourly.

“I didn’t say we couldn’t land. The only flat area on the whole island is near the base of the mountain on the west side. Looks like little more than a ledge, maybe fifty by a hundred feet.”

Giordino looked downright horrified. “Not even in the movies do they land helicopters on the sides of mountains.”

Gunn pointed through the windshield. “There, on your left. It doesn’t look as bad as I thought.”

From Giordino’s angle, the only level site to be found against the mountain looked no larger than the bed of a pickup truck. His feet finessed the rudder pedals as his hands stroked the wheel on the control column, correcting his angle and rate of descent with the elevators and ailerons. He thanked heaven that he had a head wind, even if it was only four knots. He could see the rocks scattered across his tiny landing site, but none looked large enough to cause damage to the aircraft’s undercarriage. One hand came off the column and began manipulating the levers operating the prop rotors, tilting them from horizontal to vertical until the aircraft was hovering like a helicopter. The large-diameter propellers began sending small stones and dust swirling in damp clouds below the landing wheels.

Giordino was flying by feel now, head turned downward, one eye on the approaching ground, the other on the sheer side of the mountain not more than ten feet beyond the starboard wingtip. And then there was a slight bump as the tires struck the loose rock, and the tilt-rotor settled like a fat goose over her unhatched eggs. He let out a great sigh and pulled back on the throttles before shutting down the engines.

“We’re home,” he said thankfully.

Gunn’s owlish face crinkled into a smile. “Was there ever a doubt?”

“I’ve got the mountain on my side. What’s on yours?”

During the landing, Gunn’s attention had been focused on the side of the mountain, and only now did he look out the starboard window. Not more than four feet from his exit door, the ledge dropped off at a steep angle for nearly eight hundred feet. The wingtip hung far out over empty air. The smile was gone and his face pale when he turned back to Giordino.

“It wasn’t as expansive as I thought,” he murmured sheepishly.

Giordino threw off his safety harness. “Do you have a route to the chamber figured out?”

Gunn held up the aerial photo and pointed to a small canyon leading up from the shore. “This is the only way a hunting party could have penetrated the island and made their way up the mountain. Pitt said that according to the ship’s log, the colonel and his party climbed halfway up the mountain. We’re about at that level now.”

“What direction is the ravine?”

“South. And to answer your next question, we’re on the west side of the mountain. With a little luck, we won’t have to hike more than three-quarters of a mile, provided we can stumble onto the ancient walkway the colonel mentioned.”

“Thank God for small islands,” Giordino murmured. “Can you detect the old road on your photo?”

“No, I can’t see any sign of it.”

They proceeded to untie the straps containing the survival gear and donned their backpacks. The rain returned in sheets, so they slipped foul-weather gear on over their clothes and boots. When ready, they threw open the passenger door and stepped to the rocky ground. Beyond the ledge was the sheer drop, and beyond the drop, nothing but the Indian Ocean and gray pewter waves. As a safety precaution, they tied down the aircraft to several huge boulders.

The threatening sky made the island seem all the more drab and desolate. Gunn squinted through the rain and motioned for Giordino to lead, pointing in the direction he wanted to follow. They set off diagonally across the slope of the mountain, staying inside the larger rocks where the ground was flatter and firm beneath their feet.

They struggled across small ledges and narrow crevices, trying to walk upright without resorting to mountain-climbing gear, a skill in which neither was proficient. Giordino seemed impervious to fatigue. His thick, powerful body took the climb over the rocks in stride. Gunn had no problems, either. He was wiry and far tougher than he looked. He began to fall back from the unyielding Giordino, not from weariness but because he had to stop every twenty yards to wipe the moisture from his glasses.

About midway across the west side of the mountain, Giordino came to a halt. “If your reckoning is right, the stone walkway should be a short distance above or below us.”

Gunn sat down with his back to a smooth lava rock and peered at his photo, which had become dog-eared and soggy from the damp. “Assuming the colonel took the path of least resistance from the ravine, he should have worked his way across the mountain about a hundred feet below us.”

Giordino crouched, placed his hands on slightly bent knees, and stared down the slope. He seemed entranced for several moments before he turned back and looked Gunn full in the face. “I swear to God, I don’t know how you do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not thirty feet below where we sit is a narrow road paved with smooth rocks.”

Gunn peered over the edge. Almost within spitting distance, he saw a road, a path really, four feet wide, laid with stones long aged by the weather. The path traveled in both directions, but landslides had carried much of it down the slope. In the cracks between the stones, a strange-looking plant was sprouting. It had lettucelike heads and grew close to the ground.

“It must be the road described by the British colonel,” said Gunn.

“What’s that weird stuff growing in it?” asked Giordino.

“Kerguelen cabbage. It produces a pungent oil and can be eaten as a cooked vegetable.”

“Now you know why the road was indistinguishable on the photo. It was hidden by cabbages.”

“Yes, I can see that now,” said Gunn.

“How did it get established on such a godforsaken island?”

“Probably by its pollen that was carried across the water by the wind.”

“Which direction do you want to follow the road?”

Gunn’s eyes scanned the flat-laid stones as far as he could in both directions until they were lost to view. “The colonel must have stumbled onto the road down to our right. Below that point it must have been destroyed by erosion and slides. Since it makes no sense to start at the top of the mountain and work down, the chamber must be hidden farther up the slope. So we go to the left and climb.”

Stepping cautiously on the loose lava rock, they quickly reached the neatly laid stones and began ascending the road. The flat passage was a welcome relief, but landslides were another matter. They had to cross two of them, each nearly thirty or more yards wide. It was slow going. The lava rock was jagged and knifelike. One slip and their bodies would tumble down the slope, gathering momentum until they bounced over the cliffs far below into the sea.

After negotiating the last hurdle, they sat and rested. Giordino idly picked a cabbage and flipped it down the hill, watching it bounce and shred on its erratic journey. He lost sight of it and did not see the splash as it shot into the water like a cannonball. Instead of lessening, the atmosphere chilled and thickened. The wind gusts strengthened and whipped the rain against their faces. Though they were protected by foul-weather gear, the water found ways of seeping in and around their collars, soaking their inner clothing.

Gunn passed him a thermos of coffee that had gone from steaming hot to lukewarm. Their lunch consisted of four granola bars. They weren’t quite in the realm of miserable just yet, but they would soon enter it.

“We must be close,” said Gunn, gazing through binoculars. “There is no hint of a long scar continuing across the mountain beyond that big rock just ahead.”

Giordino stared at the massive boulder that protruded from the side of the slope. “The chamber better be on the other side,” he grunted. “I’m not keen to be caught up here when it gets dark.”

“Not to worry. We’ve got almost twelve hours of daylight left in this hemisphere.”

“I just thought of something.”

“What’s that?” asked Gunn.

“We’re the only two humans within two thousand miles.”

“That’s a cheery thought.”

“What if we have an accident and injure ourselves and can’t fly out of here? Even if we wanted to, I wouldn’t dare take off in this wind.”

“Sandecker will mount a rescue mission as soon as we notify him of our status.” Gunn reached into his pocket and pulled out an Globalstar satellite phone. “He’s as close as a dial tone.”

“In the meantime, we’d have to subsist on these stupid cabbages. No, thank you.”

Gunn shook his head in resignation. Giordino was a chronic complainer, and yet there was no better man to be with in a bad situation. Neither man had a sense of fear. Their only concern was the possibility of failure.

“Once we enter the chamber,” Gunn said loudly, his voice carrying above the wind, “we’ll be out of the storm and can dry out.”

Giordino needed no coaxing. “Then let’s move on,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’m beginning to feel like a mop in a pail of dirty water.”

Without waiting for Gunn, he pushed off toward the rock about fifty yards up the ancient road. The slope steepened and became a cliff towering above them. Part of the road had fallen away, and they were forced to pick their way carefully past the rock. Once around, they encountered the entrance to the chamber under a man-made archway. The opening was smaller than they thought—about six feet high by four feet wide—the same width as the road. It yawned black and portentous from inside.

“There it is, just as the colonel described it,” said Gunn.

“One of us is supposed to shout ‘Eureka,’ ” exclaimed Giordino, happy at last to get out of the wind and rain.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m getting rid of my rain gear and backpack so I can be comfortable.”

“I’m with you.”

Within minutes, their backpacks were removed and their foul-weather gear laid out inside the tunnel for the return trip to the aircraft. They removed flashlights from their backpacks, took a final swig of coffee, and stepped deeper into the subterranean vault. The walls were smoothly carved without bumps or indentations. There was a strangeness about the place, heightened by the eerie darkness and cavernous howl of the wind from outside the entrance.

They walked on, half curious, half uneasy, following the beams of their lights, wondering what they were going to find. The tunnel suddenly opened into a square chamber. Giordino tensed and his eyes hardened as his light traced out the skeletal bones of a foot, femur, hip, and then ribs and spinal column, attached to a skull with traces of red hair still visible. The remains of tattered and moldy clothing still clung to the bones.

“I wonder how this poor devil came to be here,” said Gunn, feeling numbed.

Giordino swung his flashlight around the room, illuminating a small fire pit and various tools and furniture; all of them looked handmade from wood and lava rock. There were also the remains of seal hides and a pile of bones in the opposite corner.

“Judging from the cut of what’s left of his clothes, I’d say he was a marooned sailor, a castaway on the island for God only knows how long before he died.”

“Odd the colonel didn’t mention him,” said Gunn.

“The
Madras
made an unscheduled stop for water after being blown far off the normal sailing track in 1779. This lost soul must have arrived later. No other ship called on the island for probably another fifty or hundred years.”

“I can’t begin to imagine how terrible it must have been for him, alone on an ugly rain-cold pile of volcanic rock with no prospects of rescue and the threat of a lonely death hovering over him.”

“He made a fire pit,” said Giordino. “What do you think he used for wood? There’s little but scrub brush on the island.”

“He must have burned what brush he could scrounge. . . .” Gunn paused, knelt on one knee, and moved his hand through the ashes until he found something. He held up what looked like the remains of a toy chariot with two badly fire-scarred horses. “The artifacts,” he said gloomily. “He must have burned the artifacts that contained wood to stay warm.” Then Gunn shone his light in Giordino’s direction and saw the beginnings of a smile arc across his face. “What do you find so funny?”

“I was just thinking,” mused Giordino. “How many of those awful cabbages do you think the poor fellow must have eaten?”

“You won’t know how they taste until you’ve tried one.”

Giordino probed his beam on the walls, revealing the same type of inscriptions that he’d briefly seen in the Telluride chamber. A black obsidian pedestal rose from the center of the floor where the black skull had sat until removed by the British colonel. The lights also picked out a cave-in of fallen rocks that spilled down, covering the far wall of the chamber.

“I wonder what’s on the other side of this rock pile.”

“Another wall?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” There was a vague certainty in Gunn’s voice.

Giordino had learned many years before to trust the intelligence and intuitive genius of little Rudi Gunn. He looked at him. “You thinking there’s another tunnel on the other side?”

“I am.”

“Damn!” Giordino hissed under his breath. “Our friends from Telluride must have gotten here first.”