The Tiger Warrior (51 page)

“What?”

“The Black Death. The plague. Sometime in the fourteenth century, carried along the Silk Route on the backs of rats.”

“You’re kidding me. The Black Death. From this lake. The one I’m about to go swimming in.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. Personally I think it’s another myth, created to keep people away from this place. All the more reason to explore it, if you ask me.”

“Hawaii,” Costas muttered, raising his hands in prayer. “Why is it that every time there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, you make me go through another nightmare?”

Jack slapped him cheerfully on the shoulder. “Because you’re my dive buddy. And I need you to watch out for me.”

The boat was on idle now. Jack sniffed the air. It was an unexpected smell, not the usual slightly rank odor of a lakeshore, but the scent of herbs, of lavender, of crushed dry leaves. The wind here came powerfully from the west, sweeping across the water like an army of ghosts, but the smell held the exotic fragrance of the east. On the shore Jack had glimpsed distant ramparts, the minaret of a fallen mosque, toppled by an earthquake, and he sensed a handhold from over the mountain pass, from the foothills of China beyond. The western end of the lake, where they had met Katya and Altamaty among the petroglyphs, was a place of desolation, a place people only passed through by necessity; but here to the east there was permanence, a place people had chosen to settle, Han traders of antiquity, Sogdian, Mongolian followers of Genghis Kahn and Dungan Muslims, expelled from the western fringes of China within living memory.

One of the crewmen made his way toward them from the deckhouse. “We’ve been in contact with shore. The seismic readout remains unaltered, but it’s still condition orange. The navy divers have been clearing a collapsed jetty, which is why the Zodiac’s been delayed. They hope to be heading out here in about fifteen minutes. We’re over the GPS coordinates now. The advice is not to go in, but if you have to, do it now. Keep at least ten meters above the seafloor. And avoid any deep gullies. I repeat, the advice is not to go in.”

“Advice understood, Brad,” Costas said, struggling into the strap of his cylinder backpack. The crewman moved over to help him. “Jack and I have dived into a lava tube, you know,” he said, gasping. “Into a live volcano. In Atlantis.”

“Yeah? Cool.”

“No. Hot.” Costas peered up at the crewman, who pointed skeptically into the water. They had spent most of the voyage together in the deckhouse talking about torpedoes and radiation leaks. “Don’t say it, Brad,” Costas said. “Just don’t say anything at all.”

“I was just going to say good luck, sir.”

“Sir again,” Costas grumbled. “Me, sir?”

“Lieutenant-commander, U.S. Navy, as I recall,” Jack said.

“A nuts-and-bolts man. Just one of the guys. And I never pulled rank.”

“That’s because you’re a born leader, and everyone always listens to you,” Jack said, pushing his shoulder.

“Everyone except you.”

“I don’t need to listen. I just follow.” Jack slapped Costas’ back, then nodded at the crewman, who eased down the mask on Costas’ helmet, snapping closed the locks, and then did the same for Jack. Both men ran through their life support systems, checking the computer screen readout inside their helmets, then double-checked each other. The crewman put up a splayed hand and pointed at his watch. Jack nodded at him. Five minutes to go. The engine revved slightly, and he felt the boat move as they repositioned. For a few moments before activating his intercom Jack was completely cut off All he could hear was his own breathing, the pounding of his heart, a slight ringing in his ears, a legacy of gunfire. He thought again of Wauchope, and then of the Romans. Maybe one of the legionaries had survived too, made it ashore, escaped east over the saddle of the mountains toward Chrysê, the land of gold. Maybe it was Fabius himself Jack wondered whether they would ever know. He had only his instinct to go on, and that told him the story did not end in the waters here.

Jack looked down and saw the layer of reflection again, like quicksilver. He shook away the thought and switched on his intercom. Costas gave him the thumbs-down signal, and Jack repeated it. He felt the suck of the air from his regulator, and checked his gauge readout again. They slipped over the side together. Jack dropped down, under the surface, then floated back up again. He was in his element and was coursing with excitement. He suddenly knew they were in the right place. It was his instinct again. He glanced at Costas, who was bobbing in the water looking at him. Jack put his hand on his buoyancy valve, and pressed the intercom. They always said it. It was their ritual. Their good-luck talisman. He grinned at Costas. “Good to go?”

“Good to go.”

Three minutes later they had descended more than twenty meters below the surface. There was no sign of the bottom, but Jack knew from his compass that they were facing the landward side of the lakebed as it sloped up to the shoreline half a kilometer to the east. To begin with the water had been remarkably clear, and Jack had rolled over and seen the dark shape of the boat’s hull above, the figures of the two crewmen visible in wavering outline as they peered over the side. He rolled back again just as they hit a thermocline, indiscernible inside his E-suit but registered in a change in temperature on the readout inside his helmet.

“It’s getting colder. This might not be radioactive soup after all,” he said on the intercom.

“Just as long as all this seismic activity hasn’t stirred up anything,” Costas replied, his voice tinny with the increased pressure. “Like they said, whatever’s down there is probably best left undisturbed.”

“I’ll remind you of that next time we see something that needs to be defused.”

They continued down. Below the thermocline the visibility dramatically reduced, a result of particulate gray and brown matter in the water. Jack sensed a darkness underlying the gloom below them. He flicked on his headlamp but instantly regretted it, dazzled by the glare off the suspended particles in the water. He switched it off again, and blinked as his eyes readjusted to the gloom. He checked his depth readout. Thirty-five meters. Suddenly it was there, a gray, featureless plain about eight meters below them, gently undulating up the slope. “I take back what I said about radioactivity,” he murmured. “Looks like something killed this place dead.”

He neutralized his buoyancy two meters above the bottom, careful not to stir it up with his fins. “That’s nowhere near as solid as it looks,” Costas said. “With all this seismic activity, it’s soup. Close your eyes, drop down and you wouldn’t know you’d gone into it. After a while it’d become glutinous, and you’d be stuck. Only consolation is your body wouldn’t be eaten by marine borers. Even they wouldn’t live here.”

Jack gazed at the sediment. “We’re hardly going to see anything ancient sticking out of this stuff, are we?”

“We might. The earthquake’s shaken it all up, and the silt that normally blankets the bedrock protuberances and other solid features may have slid down the slope. The brown haze in the water shows there’s been movement, a turbitude. But the shake-up also leaves everything unstable. There could be another mass of sediment farther up the slope ready to drop down and bury whatever might have been revealed.”

Jack looked around. “So the walls, the ravine, whatever it was Rebecca saw on the sonar readout, might actually be visible.”

“They did the sub-bottom profiler run more than twenty-four hours ago. According to the bearings I programmed into my computer, we should follow this contour for about fifty meters, toward the south. That should put us over the gully, directly opposite that creek on the shoreline. The old Soviet seismological reports put this contour at about the level of the shoreline two and a half thousand years ago. Everything upslope was dry land. They think there was a single event that put it all underwater, a violent localized quake about 2,200 years ago.”

They turned carefully and began to fin south, Costas in the lead. They were within a horizon of improved visibility, able to see five or six meters ahead, beneath the blanket of suspended sediment a few meters above them. Jack scanned the grayness below for anything solid, any protuberance. After about twenty meters Costas suddenly stopped finning. “I’ve got something,” he said. Jack came up alongside. The lake floor was more mottled, irregular. Jack gingerly put out a hand. It was hard clay, smearing his glove. “Looks like a ridge, coming out from shore,” he murmured. “It could be decayed mud-brick, but there’s no visible stonework, no masonry.”

“Check this out.” Costas fanned his hand over something embedded in the clay. Jack switched on his headlamp, and gasped in astonishment. “It’s a bronze handle,” he exclaimed. Costas pulled it out. The handle was attached to a disk about the size of a dinner plate. Jack took it, wafting away the adhering clay. “It’s a mirror,” he said. “The surface has oxidized green, but it’s intact.”

“Weird thing to find in this place,” Costas said.

Jack turned the object over. “Bronzes like this have been found along this shore before, hauled out by fishermen,” he said. “Mirrors, elaborate horse harnesses, cauldrons. It was what first excited the attention of the Russian, Przhevalsky. The objects were all like this, intact, very high quality workmanship, not the kind of things people usually throw away. Rumors spread of a sunken palace, a drowned city.”

“Or a tomb?” Costas said.

“That’s my gut instinct,” Jack said. “But these finds don’t fit with the story of Genghis Khan. Mongol tombs were concealed, discreet. And I don’t think a Mongol warlord would have had grave goods like these, mirrors, cauldrons. It doesn’t add up. But I’ll wager this must have been thrown up out of a burial site by the earthquake, something pretty prestigious. That would explain the past finds too. And these are not the result of tomb robbing in antiquity, when this slope was still dry land. Tomb robbers don’t abandon valuable items like this.”

Costas pointed to where fine lines of incision were visible on the handle, swirling shapes and bulbous eyes. “The decoration reminds me of that halberd Katya found in the Roman burial on the other side of the lake. It looks the same, Chinese.”

“I agree,” Jack replied. “The local population here includes those displaced Muslim Chinese from the fringes of the Taklamakan Desert, and there were earlier migrations, Uighurs. This mirror looks more than two thousand years old, but back then this end of the lake would have been a cultural melting pot, a staging post between west and east. Prestigious Chinese artifacts could have found their way here. But I don’t think that accounts for these finds. Stuff like this wouldn’t just be tossed into the lake. These people were traders.”

Jack put down the bronze, and Costas placed a miniature electronic beacon beside it. Jack took the lead this time, finning along the forty-meter depth contour. The visibility was still only a few meters, but it was enough to see that the ridge of clay curved around to his left, and the lakebed dropped off to the right. “An erosion channel,” Costas said from behind. “This must be the edge of the gully that leads down from the creek, cutting a ravine into the lakebed. It’s consistent with the profiler readout. It should be dropping down ten meters deeper, and be twenty meters or so across. I think it’s normally smothered in sediment, but the earthquake’s shaken it away. This must be the converging feature Rebecca saw on the printout, that looked so promising. Maybe not man-made after all.”

“I want to look a bit farther. Just to make sure.”

“The mirror’s a great find, Jack. We can surface with it like a pair of treasure hunters. Rebecca will be thrilled.”

Jack was already finning ahead. “I’ve just got a feeling about this.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a feeling too,” Costas replied urgently. “And it’s a bad one. Did you see that?” There was a shimmer in the water, then a shudder. “Jack, there’s a wall of sediment about three meters above you. It’s where the turbitude slipped down that revealed the channel. Any moment it’s all going to come down. We need to get out of here. Now.”

Jack looked up, saw the darkness of the sediment wall, then looked down again. He was motionless, spread-eagled above the lake floor. The shudder had lifted a veil of silt that had obscured his vision almost completely. The glow from the headlamp behind him diminished as Costas began to ascend. Jack knew Costas would remain a few meters to one side until he was certain Jack was following. He flicked on his own headlamp, so Costas could see him, and looked at his compass readout. He had come far enough. There was nothing more to be seen. “Roger that,” he said. He reached for the buoyancy control on his E-suit. Costas was right. This was no place to die.

There was another shimmer in the water. Jack was suddenly wary, feeling that he himself was an active part of the forces around them, that his own movement could trigger the next quake. He looked down at the buoyancy valve on the front of his suit, checking that it was clear of sediment that might jam it open. It was a design glitch he had noticed before. He would have a word with Costas about it. He kept his right hand over the valve, then raised his head. His helmet bumped against something. He rolled over and looked up, seeing only the reflection off sediment. It would be unlike Costas to be so close overhead when he knew Jack was ascending. It must be something else. He rolled back, and felt forward with his left hand. It was a solid object, angled out of the lakebed toward him. It felt like a tree trunk. He suddenly remembered the lost torpedo. But this was wrong. The surface was like bark on an old maple, thickly segmented. He felt his way up with both hands, to where it angled above him. If it was an old tree trunk, it was hoary, twisted, with the remains of branches on either side. He felt the top. The trunk narrowed, then came out again before ending, like a bulbous growth.

Jack froze. He had seen something.

“You okay? You stopped.” Costas’ voice came harshly over the intercom.

Jack’s voice faltered. “I’ve got something.”

“Drop it. You need to get out of there. Now.”

“Roger that.” There was another shimmer, and the suspended sediment that had obscured his visibility suddenly flashed away, like a school of tiny fish. There was a moment of total clarity. Jack could see it clearly now.