Текст книги "Deep Fathom"

Автор книги: James Rollins

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Brought to his attention, Jack caught the acrid taint in the ocean breeze. “Fuel spill.” He finally noticed the slight stain on the ocean’s surface off the port bow. The oil slick spread in a black bloom. There was no question that some sort of crash had occurred here.

Within the oil slick, Jack spotted a few bobbing red buoys. Data buoys, he realized, dropped to give the searchers some indication where wreckage and bodies may have drifted. “Someone should have hauled my ass up here earlier,” he said.

George glanced at Lisa, who suddenly bore a more intense interest in the ocean. “And bear Lisa’s wrath? I’d rather face a Great White with chum hanging around my neck. Besides, Charlie contacted the head of operations here an hour ago.” George glanced at Jack with his brows raised. “The Coast Guard vice admiral himself…flown in from San Diego last night. Not exactly a friendly fellow, from Charlie’s description.”

“How do they want us to help?”

“We’re on standby until they localize the pinging of Air Force One’s data recorders and initiate an action plan. It seems NTSB is really only interested in our Nautilus. We’re to sit out here until our sub is called into play.”

“And what about Admiral Houston?” Jack asked. His old Navy commander had been the one to order them to service. “Isn’t he here?”

“Due to arrive tomorrow.”

“What’s taking him so long?”

“I guess it takes longer to grease the huge wheels of the U.S. military machine. He’s due at daybreak in the USS Gibraltar.” George waved his pipe forward. “All this malarkey is just preparation. Getting all the ducks in a row before the true deep-water search begins.”

“The Gibraltar,” Jack mumbled.

“You did a tour on that boat, didn’t you?”

Jack nodded. He had served aboard the ship for seven years. The Gibraltarwas a Wasp-class Landing Helicopter Dockship, one of the largest ships in the Navy, only dwarfed by the supercarriers themselves. The LHD was a part of the infamous ’Gator Navy, an amphibious task force combining the combat power of the Marines with the speed and mobility of the Navy.

Robert called out from nearby, pointing. “Look.”

Off to the port, a bit of debris bobbed among the buoys. It hadn’t been there a moment ago. It must have just surfaced. Jack squinted. “Get me a pair of binoculars.”

Robert hurried away and returned with a set of Minolta glasses. Jack donned them. It took him a moment to find and focus on the piece of equipment. It was the back of an airline seat, the presidential seal bright blue against the red seat back.

A sudden swell rolled the seat over. A flash of pale flesh. An arm hanging limply. Then the sight vanished.

“Is it wreckage?” Robert asked.

Jack could not answer. He flashed to his own tumble through the air twelve years ago. The crash of the shuttle Atlantis. The sight struck too close to home.

“Jack, are you all right?” Lisa touched his shoulder.

He lowered his binoculars, pale, trembling. “We should never have come here. No good can come of it.”

4
Blame

July 25, 9:34 P.M.

Oval Office, White House, Washington, D.C.

David Spangler waited outside the Oval Office. All around him, even at this late hour, the West Wing of the White House bustled with aides, underlings, and messengers. This current turmoil was not localized just to Pennsylvania Avenue. The entire Beltway remained in high gear: countless press conferences were convened, repeated emergency meetings atop Capitol Hill took place, and an endless amount of petty backdoor bickering occurred throughout the halls.

All the pandemonium over the loss of a single man – President Bishop.

David himself had been specially flown in this morning from Turkey. He and his ops team had been called back early from a mission along the Iraq border, but he had yet to be told why.

“Coffee, sir?” An aide approached David with a tray of mugs.

He gave the tiny-breasted girl the barest shake of his head.

Seated stiffly in an upholstered chair, David continued to study the room, not moving, just picking up everything around him: the casual banter, the half jokes, the faint scent of perfume. He breathed deeply. Opportunity was in the air.

His own boss, CIA Director Nicolas Ruzickov, was in conference with the new leader of the United States, Vice President Lawrence Nafe.

Each of Bishop’s former Cabinet members was meeting in private with Nafe. Who would be axed? Who would retain their job? Rumors spread like wildfire through government halls. It was well-known that a deep political gulf separated the former President from his running mate. Nafe had been named to the ticket only as a ploy to gain the South; since then, their two offices often found themselves in conflict. Today, David suspected Nafe had been getting his ass kissed like it had never been before – but not from the CIA director. Nafe and Ruzickov had always been close friends, fellow students at Yale and fellow ideologues when it came to dealing with foreign aggression.

David had once shaken Nafe’s hand at a White House function. He’d found the man as weak and dishonest as the next politician, all fake smiles and perpetual condescending air, but in his opinion Nafe was at least better than the former occupant of the White House. President Bishop had been too much of a dove, coddling the Chinese, while Nafe was willing to take a more hard-line stance.

Nafe’s secretary typed at her computer, a dictation device hooked to one ear. As David waited for the conference to end, he caught her glancing in his direction, smiling shyly when she was caught looking. He was accustomed to this reaction from women. He was tall, his shoulders broad and muscular, his blond hair cropped to tight angles about his hard features, his skin tanned by years under the sun of many foreign lands. Prior to the aborted mission in Turkey, his last assignment had been to Lebanon, where he and his ops team had dispatched a Lebanese terrorist with the usual economy, taking out the man’s family and fire-bombing the hotel, erasing all evidence of the assassination. It had been a clean operation.

Pride for his team fired his blood. They were men he had trained from the start. Handpicked. He knew each of them would die for him. They were one of the most successful covert ops teams, with a body count numbering over a thousand.

The phone at the secretary’s desk buzzed. David’s gaze twitched in her direction. She picked up the receiver. “Yes, sir. Immediately, sir.” She put down the phone and turned to face David. “The President—” She blushed at her mistake. Nafe had not been formally sworn in yet, not without more concrete evidence of Bishop’s demise. “The VicePresident requests you join Mr. Ruzickov in the Oval Office.”

David stood smoothly, a single line on his forehead marking his surprise at the invitation.

The secretary waved him toward the door, then returned to her typing. He crossed the room, unsure why he was being called into this conference. The door was opened by a Secret Service agent, whom David did not even acknowledge.

He took three steps inside, then snapped to attention at the edge of the circular rug bearing the presidential seal. The eagle icon on the carpet seemed to stare at him, as did the two occupants in the room. His boss sat in an armchair. The former Marine, though gray-haired and edging toward sixty, was as lithe and wiry as when on duty. As usual, his hard blue eyes remained unreadable. David respected Ruzickov deeply.

“Commander Spangler, please come join us,” the Vice President said, waving him in as the door shut with a click behind David. Lawrence Nafe stood, leaning on the edge of the wide desk. In appearance, he was the opposite of the CIA director. His features were soft: thick lips, a hint of a double chin, cow eyes. His belly bulged slightly over his belt, and the dung-brown color of his hair, what remained of it, clearly came from a bottle. “Please take a seat.”

Nodding curtly, David strode into the room, maintaining a stiff posture.

The Vice President came around the desk and settled easily into the chair, as if he had done so a thousand times before. The man nudged a folder on his desk. “Mr. Ruzickov has been telling me much about your team’s exploits.” His eyes rose to study David, who was still standing. “Please take a seat,” Nafe repeated, with a trace of irritation.

David glanced to the CIA director, who gestured to a neighboring chair. He sank into the seat, spine straight, not leaning back. Suspicious, alert.

Nafe continued, “Omega team has served our country well, whether the public knows this fact or not.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Nafe leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his belly. “I’ve read the report on Somalia. Fine job. We could not have a Communist newspaper starting in that volatile region.”

David nodded. Fourteen deaths, staged like a mass suicide. It was artfully done, discrediting the Communist insurgents while ending their threat. Besides Omega team, only two other people knew the truth, and they sat in this room now.

“We have been discussing another mission for your team. We believe you and your men are ideally suited.” The silent question hung in the air.

David answered it. “Anything, sir.”

His response raised a small smile from Nafe, again with an icy hint of condescension. “Excellent.” Nafe sat up straighter again, grabbed a folder and passed it to the CIA director. “Your orders and details are in here.”

In turn, Nicolas Ruzickov passed the folder to David, maintaining the chain of command in these matters. If anything went wrong, David could honestly say the order came from the CIA director, not from the Vice President.

David placed the folder on his lap.

His boss spoke for the first time, outlining the mission, while Nafe sat silently, leaning back, hands over his belly again. “As you know, the Chinese have been a thorn in our side for decades. While we’ve helped drag them into the twenty-first century with aid and favorable trade status, they in turn have grown more belligerent and inflexible.”

“Biting the hand that feeds them,” Nafe interjected.

“Exactly. While our government has kowtowed to these Communist leaders, the Chinese have grown stronger – increasing their nuclear arsenal, stealing the secrets for intercontinental ballistics, growing and spreading their naval presence. In just ten years they’ve grown from a Communist nuisance to a global threat. This tide must be stopped.”

David found his fingers tightening on the arms of his chair. No truer words had been spoken. He nodded, hard. “Yes, sir.”

Ruzickov’s eyes flicked to Nafe, then back to David. “But public sentiment does not favor such action. The average American is more interested in the value of his stock portfolio and what’s on TV at night. Confrontation with China is not a priority. If anything, the opposite is true. We have grown complacent. If we are to stem this rising tide of communism, then this sentiment must be changed also.”

David nodded his understanding.

Ruzickov studied him, then spoke again. “You know of the mobilization to recover Air Force One.”

David didn’t answer; the CIA director’s words were not a question. Of course he knew of the mobilization. It was in the news. The entire world had turned its eyes to an empty stretch of ocean. Still, his nostrils flared. He almost smelled his boss’s discomfort.

“We believe this is an opportunity not to be missed. A chance to gain some value for the loss of President Bishop.”

“How so?” David asked, intrigued.

“You are to join the NTSB’s go-team at the crash site.”

David’s left eye twitched in surprise. “To help in the recovery?”

“Yes…but also to help ensure that the information that comes from the crash site serves our end.”

“I don’t understand.”

Nafe clarified. “We want the crash to be blamed on the Chinese.”

“Whether the facts substantiate this claim or not,” the director finished.

Both of David’s brows rose.

Nicolas Ruzickov stood up. “With the Chinese blamed for the assassination of the President, there will be a public outcry for retribution.”

“And we will answer it,” Nafe added.

David appreciated the plan. With the world already in turmoil after the Pacificwide disasters, the moment was ripe for such a change.

“Does Omega accept this mission?” Ruzickov asked formally.

David stood. “Yes, sir, without question.”

Nafe cleared his throat, drawing both their attention. “One other thing, Commander Spangler. It seems that a colleague of yours is already on site. A fellow SEAL…someone you once worked alongside.”

Again David sensed a bomb was about to be dropped. “Who?”

“Jack Kirkland.”

A gasp escaped David’s throat. He barely heard the Vice President’s next few words. His vision grew black at the edges.

“We know you still blame the man for the Atlantisaccident. The entire country mourned the death of your younger sister.”

“Jennifer,” David mumbled. He pictured the girl’s face full of pride on the day of the launch, her first mission with NASA – at her side, Jack Kirkland, her teammate, wearing a shit-eating grin. Jack had won the shuttle’s military seat over David; both men had been up for the mission. But NASA had not wanted two siblings going up on the same mission – in case something happened. David closed his eyes. Jennifer’s body had never been found.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Nafe said, drawing back David’s attention.

He straightened, going cold. “Thank you, sir.”

Ruzickov spoke at his shoulder. “We just want to make sure Kirkland’s presence isn’t going to interfere with your mission.”

“No, sir. The past is the past. I understand the importance of this mission and will let nothing stand in my way – not even Jack Kirkland.”

“Very good.” Ruzickov turned toward the exit. “Then gather your team. You ship out in two hours.”

With a nod to the country’s new leader, David swung around on numb legs. He would do as he had been ordered. Omega team had never failed in a mission. But on this journey, David intended to add a side objective of his own.

To avenge his sister’s death.

5
Serpent’s Heart

July 26, 7:20 A.M.

Off the coast of Yonaguni Island, Okinawa Prefecture

With the sun yet to rise, Karen was already at the docks, bartering for the rental of an outboard motorboat. She stared out across the water. The twin pyramids lay just a couple hundred meters out past the bay. After yesterday’s discovery, she had refused to return to Naha and the university. Instead, over Miyuki’s protests, she chartered a fishing boat to drop them off at the small town of Chatan on Yonaguni Island’s coast.

“We should have returned to Naha yesterday,” Miyuki said, scowling at the condition of the boat. The old fiberglass craft showed significant wear – the metal railings dented and bent, the vinyl seats cracked and fraying at the seams – but the hull itself looked seaworthy enough to cross the hundred or so yards to the nearby pyramids. “We could have struck a better deal in Naha.”

“And lost half a day getting back here,” Karen answered. “I could not risk looters damaging the Dragons – or what if the pyramids sank again?”

Miyuki sighed, her eyes tired. “All right, but you’re driving.”

Karen, bubbling with excitement despite a restless night, nodded and climbed into the stern.

Last night, she and Miyuki had talked late into the night, sharing a bottle of saki between them. From their hotel room’s tiny balcony they had a clear view to the sea and the twin Dragons. Under the moonlight, the misted pyramids had shone damply, as if glowing with an inner light. Then, throughout the long night, Karen had risen many times from the cramped bed to stare out the window, afraid the sight might disappear. But the twin pyramids remained in the shallows off the coastline.

With the first blush in the eastern sky, Karen had hauled a grumbling Miyuki from her bedsheets. In the chilly predawn the two women had hiked the short distance to the docks and negotiated an expensive price for the day use of a fisherman’s old motorboat. An entire month’s pay. But Karen had no choice but to agree. There had been no other boat available.

She helmed the wheel, while Miyuki caught the ropes from the grinning fisherman, pleased with his profit.

“You know, of course, you’re being robbed,” Miyuki said.

“Perhaps,” Karen responded. “But I would have been willing to pay ten times as much for this chance to be the first to explore the ruins.”

Miyuki shook her head and settled into the passenger seat as Karen eased the throttle forward. The engine chugged harshly; the smell of burning oil wafted over them. Miyuki crinkled her nose. “It’s plain piracy.”

“Don’t worry, if there are any other pirates…” Karen patted her jacket, where her.38 automatic rested in its shoulder harness.

Miyuki groaned dramatically and sank deeper in her seat.

Karen smiled. Despite her companion’s protest, she had noted the twinkle in Miyuki’s eyes. The stoic Japanese professor was secretly enjoying this outing. Yesterday, Miyuki had ample opportunity to return to the university, but instead had remained with her. It was what forged their friendship. Miyuki tempered her wilder streaks, while she added a bit of spice to Miyuki’s professional routine.

Once clear of the marina, Karen sped up. The engine’s whining chatter filled the morning. As they circled clear of the breakwater cliffs, the rest of the ancient city appeared, filling the seas in front of them. Both women stared at the sight and rode the waves in silence. Behind them the seaside village of Chatan dwindled in size, fading as a morning fog settled over the island and the nearby seas.

To the east, the sun finally crested the horizon, spreading a rosy glow over the ruins. “Who built this drowned city?” Karen wondered aloud.

“Right now all I care about is my own city, my own lab.” Miyuki replied, waving a hand forward. “The past is the past.”

“But whose past?” Karen continued to wonder in awe.

Shrugging, Miyuki searched through her bag and pulled free her handheld Palm computer. She leaned back in her seat and, began tapping at the small screen with her stylus.

“What are you doing?”

“Connecting to Gabriel. Making sure everything is okay at the lab.”

A quiet voice rose from the handheld computer, synthetic and tinny: “Good morning, Professor Nakano.”

Karen grinned. “You two really should think about tying the knot.”

Miyuki just frowned at her and continued working.

“You’re already connected at the hip,” Karen teased.

“And you’re just jealous.”

Karen snorted. “Of a computer?”

“Gabriel is more than just a computer,” Miyuki countered, her voice strained.

Karen held up a hand to ward off a diatribe. “I know, I know.” Gabriel was a sophisticated artificial intelligence program designed and patented by Miyuki. The development of its theoretical base algorithms had won Miyuki the Nobel Prize. Over the past four years, she had turned theory into practice. Gabriel, named after the fiery Archangel, was the result. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s categorized all my e-mail and is still monitoring the Emergency Broadcasts across various international websites.”

“Any news?”

“The quakes have ended throughout the Pacific, but there seems to be a massive mobilization effort by American forces in the Central Pacific, though the details are sketchy. He’s been attempting to worm his way into the D.O.D. network.”

“D.O.D.?”

The answer came from the small computer: “D.O.D. is the acronym for the United States Department of Defense.”

Karen glanced in shock at her friend. Not only did it unnerve her when Gabriel answered one of her questions, but sniffing around a military computer network…that could bring down serious trouble. “Should Gabriel be doing that?”

Miyuki waved away her concern. “He’ll never be caught.”

“Why not?”

“You can’t catch what doesn’t exist. Though my mainframe birthed him, Gabriel lives within the framework of the Internet now. He has no specific address to trace back to.”

“A ghost in the machine,” Karen mumbled.

“More precisely, Dr. Grace. I amthe ghost in the machine. I am the only one of my design.”

A shiver traced up Karen’s back. Miyuki had tried once to explain Gabriel’s looping algorithms and self-learning subroutines – a form of synthetic intelligence – but it quickly went over her head. She had always felt uncomfortable around Miyuki’s lab. It was as if invisible eyes were staring at her all the time. She felt that way now.

“Darn it!” Miyuki swore under her breath.

“What is it?”

“The university is shutting down for the month. The chancellor just sent e-mail to all the department heads. Students are being allowed to return home to help their families.”

Karen’s brows rose. “And how is this bad news?”

“With my aides gone, it’s going to significantly set back my research. I’m supposed to complete a progress report on my grant in three weeks.”

“Considering the circumstances, I’m sure you can file an extension.”

“Maybe.” Miyuki snapped her stylus back in place. “Thank you, Gabriel. I’ll be streaming you digital video throughout the day. Please record the data to the mainframe’s hard drive and back them up to the DVD drive.”

“File name?”

Miyuki glanced at Karen. “Dragon.”

“Opening data file Dragon now. I await your next transmission.”

“Thank you, Gabriel,” Miyuki said.

“Good-bye, Professor Nakano. Good day, Dr. Grace.”

Karen cleared her throat, feeling awkward. “Good-bye, Gabriel.”

Miyuki lowered the Palm unit to her belt, clipping it in place.

By now they had neared the edge of the half-sunken ruins. Karen slowed the boat. “Miyuki, can you get an overview shot of this for me?”

Her companion shuffled through her bag, removed and hooked a compact video camera to the Palm computer at her belt. Standing, Miyuki scanned the view of the ruins, feeding the digital image through her portable computer back to her office computers. “Got it.”

Karen edged the motorboat slowly forward, the engine coughing as it idled. She knew she had to be careful. Near the risen ruins, the water was shallow, less than six feet deep. As she drifted forward, columns rose around them, green with algae. Pale crabs scuttled away as they neared. Drawn into this ancient world, she quickly forgot about Gabriel and advanced computer algorithms. “This is amazing.”

In the distance, a few other boats wove among the ruins. Excited voices echoed over the water, too distant to make out any words. As a nearby punt poled past, a trio of dark-complexioned men, Micronesian in heritage, stared out at the ancient columns and sea-drowned homes.

Could ancestors of these men have built this site? Karen wondered. And if so, what happened?

The punt vanished as Karen edged the boat slowly past a low roofless building, window openings gaping at them as they drifted along. All the structures seemed to be similarly constructed, of stacked and interlocked blocks and slabs. All the same dark stone. Volcanic basalt. Some of the slabs had to weigh several tons. Here was architectural skill seldom seen in the South Pacific. It rivaled the vaulted skill of the Incas and Mayas.

Rounding the building, a clear way led to the first of the Dragons.

“Get a picture,” Karen said, hushed with awe.

“I already am.” Miyuki held the camera in front of her.

Ahead, the pyramid’s crown towered twenty meters above the waves. Eighteen terraced steps climbed from the sea, each a meter tall, leading to the flat plateau on top. Morning sunlight blazed on the partially tumbled summit temple, a small structure composed of flat slabs.

As they neared, a flock of white cranes took flight at their noisy approach. Turtles, basking on the steps, plopped into the surf. Karen circled the pyramid. On the far side, the second Dragon appeared. It was a twin of the first, except its flat-topped summit was empty of any sign of a temple.

“Let’s take a closer look.” Karen aimed their boat toward the first pyramid, bringing the craft up to the lowest step. A short basalt pillar at the northeast corner was a good place to tie a rope and secure their boat.

“Hold the wheel,” Karen said as she throttled down. The waves bobbled the craft. Grabbing the aft mooring line, she crossed to the rail and used it to boost herself over the open water. Landing on the step of the pyramid, she slipped on algae and damp weed.

“Careful!” Miyuki yelled as Karen cartwheeled her arms.

Recovering her balance, she swiped a few strands of hair away from her eyes and gave Miyuki an embarrassed grin. “Safe and sound.”

With more care, Karen crossed to the meter-tall pillar, rope in hand. As she knelt she realized that the pillar was actually a sculpted figure of a robed man, its details eroded away by sand and sea, the nose gone, the eyes no more than shadowed depressions.

Karen hauled on the mooring rope until the boat’s hull bumped the lower step, then she secured the line to the statue’s base, cinching the hitch knot tight.

“Could you help me with my bag?” Miyuki asked, holding out her satchel filled with the photography gear. Karen relieved her of the bag so the petite professor could clamber over the rail.

Miyuki scrunched up her face as her heel squashed something bulbous and slimy. “You’re buying me new shoes when we’re through here.”

“New Ferragamos, I promise,” Karen quipped. “Direct from Italy.”

Miyuki bit back a smile, still refusing to admit she was enjoying the adventure. “Well, then that’s okay I guess.”

“C’mon. I want to check out the ruined temple on the top.”

Miyuki craned her neck. “That’s a long climb.”

“We’ll take it slow.” Karen pulled up onto the first step, then reached back to help Miyuki, who waved away her hand and clambered up on her own. But once up, she fingered a long strand of seaweed from her knee and tossed it aside in disgust, glowering at Karen.

“Okay, so we’ll visit Nordstrom, too, when we get back. We’ll buy you a new pantsuit.”

This earned a true smile from Miyuki. “New shoes, new suit. Let’s keep going. Before we’re done here, you’ll be financing my whole new spring wardrobe.”

Karen patted her friend’s arm and led the way up the steps, but she soon outpaced her companion. Halfway up, she stopped to give Miyuki time to close the distance, and meanwhile stared out at the spread of the drowned city. By now the sun had fully risen, a bright globe in the east. The columns and buildings cast long shadows across the blue water. From that height, she could see it had to be at least two kilometers until the ruins faded away. The surprising size of the city suggested it may have housed a population in the tens of thousands. So where did they all go?

Karen moved aside as Miyuki made her way up. “It’s not much further,” she assured her.

Miyuki, breathing hard, just flapped a hand. “I’m fine. Let’s keep moving.”

“We’d better rest,” Karen said, though in truth she wanted to rush forward. “We should pace ourselves.”

Miyuki sank down, ignoring the algae under her. “If you insist.”

Karen dug out a water bottle and passed it over. Miyuki flipped the cap and drank greedily, but her eyes remained locked on the view. “It’s so extensive. I would never have imagined it.”

Settling next to her, Karen took a swig from the water bottle, too. “How could all this have been hidden for so long?”

“The water here is…or wasvery deep, the currents tricky. Only experienced divers could explore out here. But now! Once word gets out about this place, it’ll be swamped.”

“And trampled,” Karen added. “Now’s the best time to study the city.”

Miyuki scooted up. “If you’re ready to go on, so am I.”

“We could rest a little longer. These ruins have waited centuries to be explored. A few more minutes won’t make any difference.”

Miyuki settled back.

Karen did, too. She stared out over the amazing view. “I appreciate your help, Miyuki. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

“Me, too,” Miyuki said softly.

The two women had met at a Ryukyu University social function. Both were single, about the same age, and working in a male-dominated environment. They had begun socializing – trips to a local karaoke bar, late dinners while grading midterms, matinee movies on Saturdays – and had become close companions.

Miyuki said, “Did I tell you I heard from Hiroshi yesterday?”

“No! You didn’t!” Karen sat straighter. Hiroshi Takata, a fellow university professor, had been engaged to Miyuki, but her success in her field had raised some professional jealousy and driven a wedge into their relationship. Two years ago he had abruptly broken off the engagement and transferred to Kobe. “The bastard! What did he want?”

Miyuki rolled her eyes. “He wanted me to know hewas okay after the quakes. He didn’t even bother to ask how I was doing.”

“Do you think he wants to reconcile?”

“In his dreams,” Miyuki snorted.

Karen laughed. “We do seem to attract the most obnoxious men.”

“Spineless, more like.”

Karen nodded knowingly. In Canada she had run through her own long series of bad relationships, from cold to abusive. And she was in no hurry to continue the pattern. It was one of the reasons she accepted the four-year position here on Okinawa. New city, new future.

“So what do you make of all this?” Miyuki asked, changing the subject. “Could this be a part of your great-grandfather’s lost Atlantis?”

“You mean the lost continent of Mu?” she said slowly. “I doubt it. Hundreds of other megalithic ruins dot the Pacific: the statues of Easter Island, the canal city of Nan Madol, the Latte stones of Guam, the Burden of Tonga. All of them predate the oral histories of these islands. No one has been able to connect them together.” She warmed with the mystery.

“And you hope to do that?”

“Who knows what answers may be found here?”

Miyuki gave her a crooked grin and pushed up. “There is only one way to find out.”

Karen shoved to her feet, matching her friend’s grin. “I should say so.”

The pair continued their climb, staying together, each helping the other up the high steps. In twenty minutes, with the sun climbing higher, they reached the summit. Karen scrambled up first, breathing heavily.

The plateau was a single monstrous slab. A long crack traversed the surface, but the split was clearly due to more recent damage, most likely from the seismic activity. Karen guessed that when the pyramid was built, the slab must have been lifted intact atop this structure. She slowly turned. Ten meters on each side, she estimated. The meter-thick slab had to weigh hundreds of tons. How did these ancient builders get it up here?