Tomb of Atlantis (26 page)

Atlantis - Chapter 2
1

DAY 19, continued

The waves rolled under the float, causing it to rise and fall with the peaks and troughs. At the bottom of the trough, the float encountered some resistance as it struggled to make the transition between descending down into the trough and rising back up to the peak. With each entry into the valley between the waves, the float dug into the water, then rose back out as its natural buoyancy floated it back to the surface. The larger the waves, the deeper the trough and the further the float sunk below the surface.

The two-foot waves were barely a cause for concern as the float negotiated the troughs with little difficulty. Rising and falling, Jack continued to sleep while his body lightly rocked from side to side.

Several miles away, the winds grew in intensity as the storm blew in from the west. While Jack slept soundly, larger waves charged into his area and absorbed the smaller waves, creating rough and violent seas.

Like a sadistic demon, a rogue wave rolled up on the raft and broke, punishing Jack with a heavy wall of water. Instinctively, he grasped the netting and held on as the water rushed over him. Sitting up, he stared out at the angry ocean that just an hour before, was peaceful and serene.

Groggy and dazed, he stared at the tempest approaching with little concern. As his mind began to register the dangers, he slowly began to realize that he had neither the strength nor the desire to fight. Sitting patiently, he wrapped his sore fingers around the netting and accepted his fate. He knew the end was near.

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

Flying from Lisbon, France to Miami, Florida, an Airbus 3
80 flew its westerly heading at an altitude of thirty-six thousand  feet. With the storm’s peaks reaching just beneath their altitude, the crew of Air France 207 monitored its development cautiously.

“Where’s the storm cell now,” Captain Lafleur asked his first officer.

“We have an intense cell about a hundred kilometers ahead, still paralleling our course. We might just clear it to the north,” First Officer Rieu replied.

“Seems we never catch a break. Every time I fly this route, we run into something,” Captain Lafleur said.

“I don’t know about that. We’ve had a few crossings that were rough, but I think most of them have been pretty uneventful as of late. You getting scared in your old age?” First Officer Rieu responded.

“Observant, my friend. I like to think I’m just being observant,” Captain Lafleur replied. “And speaking of observant, radio
Center and ask them to clear us to the north of the cell. No sense playing around with a storm that ugly.”

“Roger that,” First
Officer Rieu replied.

Keying the microphone, First Officer Rieu began his transmission, “Miami Center, this is Air France 207. Requesting clearance to the north of the storm.”

“Air France 207, stand by,” Center Control responded immediately.

Moments later,
Center Control continued its transmission.

“Air France 207, clearance to the north approved. Use your discretion. Contact Miami approach on one twenty point five.”

“Roger that. One twenty point five. Air France 207,” First Officer Rieu replied.

As Captain LaFleur entered a slight bank to the right, First Officer Rieu began to plug in the frequency on the primary Navcom. Keying the mic once more, he radioed Miami approach as directed.

“Miami approach, this is Air France 207,” First Officer Rieu announced.

“Air France 207, do you have an emergency?” came an authoritative voice over the intercom.

First Officer Rieu shot Captain LaFleur a puzzled look. The question from ATC seemed out of place.

Shrugging his shoulders, Captain LaFleur asked, “Do they know something we don’t?”

“Let’s hope not,” First Officer Rieu replied with an uneasy smirk.

“Better ask for further definition,” Captain LaFleur responded.

“Miami Approach, Air France 207 does not have an emergency. We’re diverting around a storm cell. Center control approved our new course and directed us to contact you on one twenty point five,” First Officer Rieu explained.

“Air France 207, you’ve contacted Miami Emergency on frequency one twenty-one point five. Please contact approach control on one twenty point five,” the authoritative voice responded.

“Sorry about that. A case of fat fingers I guess,” First Officer Rieu replied, trying to hide his embarrassment for the simple mistake.

“No problem
, 207. We get that from time to time,” the authoritative voice replied.

First Officer Rieu reached for the keypad. Looking at the display, he saw his mistake.

“That’s a first. I’ve never broadcast on the emergency frequency before.”

“Honest mistake. It’s only a digit off,” Captain LaFleur replied.

As First Officer Rieu smiled back at the Captain, he noticed a peculiar expression cross his face. Feeling self-conscious, he said, “You’re going to keep this our secret, right?”

Captain LaFleur didn’t respond, instead he turned his head slightly to one side and stared past First Officer Rieu.

First Officer Rieu looked out the window behind him, trying to see what the captain was looking at. Turning back, the Captain now stared at the Navcom, he face intense with concentration.

“Jacque, what is it? You alright?” First Officer Rieu asked, now concerned.

“Do you hear that?” Captain LaFleur asked, still focused on the display.

“Hear what?” First Officer Rieu asked, now becoming worried.

“That beeping sound. Listen close. It’s faint, but it’s there. Low and steady,” Captain LaFleur responded, his voice now intensely serious.

First Officer Rieu listened quickly, then shook his head, “I don’t hear a thing.”

“Right there. Hear it?” Captain LaFleur persisted.

First Officer Rieu listened again. As he did, the captain pointed out when the beeps sounded out.

“Right there. Hear it?” he said quickly, the added, “There it is again.”

“Yeah, I do hear it. Every few seconds or so. It’s pretty weak, though. What do you think it is?” First Officer Rieu asked.

“You ever hear what an emergency locator beacon sounds like?” Captain LaFleur asked, his face now devoid of all expression.

“Not really. Why? Is that what one sounds like?” First Officer Rieu asked, now intrigued.

“Absolutely, someone’s beacon is going off. You better stay on this frequency and let Miami Emergency know about it,” Captain LaFleur instructed.

With a quick nod, First Officer Rieu keyed his mic, “Miami Emergency, Air France 207.”

“Go ahead, 207,” the authoritative voice came back.

“Yeah, we’re hearing an emergency locator beacon sounding off on this frequency. Are you aware of the broadcast?” First Officer Rieu responded.

“We don’t hear it on our end and nothing’s been reported to us. Stand by,” the voice requested.

As
Flight 207 continued on its path, the sound of the beacon became stronger and more distinct. Looking over to First Officer Rieu, Captain Lafleur said, “It’s getting louder and ATC doesn’t hear it. I can’t be sure, but I’m betting there’s a boat or plane down there setting that thing off. Now the question is, is it a malfunction or are they in distress?”

“Probably a malfunction, I’m guessing. With a storm this rough, the seas are probably pretty high. The ELT in the boat probably just got a good jolt from a wave and set it off,” First Officer Rieu speculated.

“If the seas are really that rough, it could also be from a sinking boat,” Captain LaFleur responded ominously.

“Air France 207, we have your location and are sending out Coast Guard search and rescue. Thanks for the report. Change frequency to Approach Control, one twenty point five,” the authoritative voice instructed.

As First Officer Rieu switched to the new frequency, he shot Captain LaFleur an uneasy glance.

“I sure hope you’re wrong about that beacon,” First Officer Rieu said.

“I’m sure we’ll know before we land,” Captain LaFleur replied.

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

Lieutenant Commander Ryan Briggs watched his instruments as he piloted the HH-60 Jayhawk Helicopter into the driving rain that streamed down from the angry tempest raging above. Flying solely by reference to instruments, he rapidly scanned through the heads-up display, altimeter, heading indicator, GPS's, as well as other system's gauges as he fought the violent winds that rocked the helicopter repeatedly off course.

Seated in the cockpit to the left of the Lt. Commander, Lieutenant JG Scott Davidson monitored the various radar systems as well as organized the rescue operations. Checking the storm’s path on radar, he then scanned the ocean's surface with night vision binoculars. After a minute of a visual search, he rechecked the charts and gauges, insuring the mission's objectives. Looking back into the cabin, he smiled at the two ensigns performing their duties admirably.

Ensign Andrew Matola and Ensign Kent Waters nervously sat in their seats and contemplated the complexities of their mission. Dressed in their dry suits, the two men tightly gripped their night vision binoculars and periodically scanned their side of the aircraft.

Each man had
his own duty that counted on the skill of the other. They were a team, yet functioned independently with his respective task. Any break in the chain of success could spell almost certain failure to the mission and as such, each man looked out for the success of the other.

As Lt
. Commander Briggs flew east toward Air Frances 207’s last reported position of the emergency locator beacon, Lt. Davidson monitored his systems, listening for the first sign of the telltale signal. Flying at one hundred eighty knots, they were already a hundred miles out at sea and calculated hearing the beacon at any time.

“Anything yet?” Lt. Cmdr. Briggs asked.

“Nothing, just white noise,” Lt. Davidson replied.

“We’re close. You should hear something anytime now. Give me a vector as soon as you locate the signal,” Lt. Cmdr. Briggs said.

“Understood,” Lt. Davidson answered.

Their short conversation was nothing more than nervous chatter. Flying into the storm at night was mentally
, as well as physically demanding and they used conversation to help soothe their anxiety and apprehension.

After several minutes of silence, Lt. Davidson’s voice roared over the intercom.

“I’ve got a signal. Fly a heading of one zero zero degrees,” Lt Davidson announced.

“Got it. One zero zero degrees,” Lt. Cmdr. Briggs confirmed.

Moments later, Lt. Davidson announced, “Signal strength growing in intensity. Turn to heading one zero five.”

“Roger that. One zero five degrees,” Lt. Cmdr. Briggs responded.

Looking down into the blackness, Lt. Cmdr. Briggs watched grimly as the helicopter’s searchlight picked up the enormous swells. Fighting the controls, he struggled to keep on course as turbulence and gusts blasted the aircraft from all sides.

“Damn, what a storm. No autopilot tonight,” Lt. Cmdr. Briggs joked as he muscled the controls.

“That’s why we get paid the big dinero, my friend,” Lt. Davidson responded.

“I have a sick feeling we’re going to earn every dime of them tonight,” Lt. Cmdr. Briggs replied ominously.

Atlantis - Chapter 2
2

DAY 19, continued

The large violent storm generated high winds that ravaged the once calm seas. Blowing hard and gusting even harder, the effects were devastating. The wave heights now reached an impressive ten feet from trough to crest
, and were growing in size and frequency.

Within minutes of waking from his sleep, Jack was hit with a tremendous wall of waves. They slammed into the float, crushing him with its weight and thrust him into the water.

Without the aid from ballast, the tiny raft relied solely on the water rudder for stability. The resultant change was disastrous. With each wave that rolled in, without the support of weight suspended from below, the heavy water easily pushed and rocked the light unbalanced structure. The unrelenting routine of violent waves and wind shook the tiny raft, causing it to flip the outrigger over the float, capsizing it upside down with one wave, then flipping it right side up the with the next.

Like a rag doll, Jack was tossed into the raging seas and clung to the netting for safety as the float flipped over and over. Battered and confused, he relied solely on raw instinct for his survival. It was all he had left.

He kicked his feet in the water as he gripped the netting, desperate to keep afloat. As the blackness cloaked the behemoths that rolled in, he could only react to them as the change in water level signaled the next wall of waves that threatened his life.

Jack felt terror. Even in his deteriorated state, the helplessness and desperation of his crisis overwhelmed him, and he knew the end was near.

As he fought to stay alive, a bolt of lightning lit up the sky and showed the frightening scene around him. Hopelessly, he watched and waited for the next wall of water to crash over him. Taking another voluminous breath of air, he waited.

Like a supernatural entity with immeasurable strength, the mountain of water broke over the top of him as the tiny raft tried to negotiate the trough. Crushing him at the surface and below, the sheer weight and force of the wave drove him deep into the water, wrenching his grip from the netting and knocking his single breath of air from his lungs.

Badly battered, Jack needed air. Ignoring his pain, he kicked his feet and drove his hands through the water, thrashing wildly to make the surface ten feet above him. His lungs were burning and he could feel his desperation mounting as his nostrils flared in willingness to breathe in the deadly water. What felt like an eternity was merely seconds as he continued his swim for the top.

Even in the blackness, Jack could sense the fringes of a faint clawing its way over him. Unsure of how far from the surface his was, he began to give into feelings of resignation. The overpowering need to breathe was taking over his instinct to survive. He tightened his muscles and prepared to suck in the water. Suddenly, at the moment of inhalation, Jack burst through the surface, driving in an immense volume of air deep into his lungs.

Seconds later, he felt the surge of foam and spray overtake him, thrusting him below the surface once more. Thrashing wildly again, his hand touched something solid. In reflex, he clenched, wrapping his fingers around the pipe of the outrigger. Matching hands, he pulled himself up through the water, breaking the surface and gasped for air.

Jack felt his body rising in elevation. The climb to the crest of the massive wave gave him time to grab the netting in front of him. With his adrenaline pumping, he mustered the strength to pull himself onto the semi-submerged hammock.

The tiny raft topped the crest and flung itself down the windward side of the wave, crashing into the trough and flinging him over the top as it capsized from the force of deceleration.

As he drifted away from the float, he felt the crushing force of the next wave fall on top of him, driving him below the surface once again. Swimming for his life, he felt a tremendous surge lift him through the surface and propel him backward, slamming into the float and tumbl
ing over the opposite side.

He barely was able to take a breath, when the float was flung over the top of him by the next wall of water. As it slammed against his head, it knocked the breath from his lungs.

Just then, light illuminated the sky. Seeing the oncoming mountains of water ended any further hope for survival. Out of strength, out of breath, out of desire, he relaxed his battered and tormented body and slowly began to sink.

Suddenly, Jack felt a blunt, yet soft object strike his neck and carry him momentarily to the surface. With the sky lit up, he could see the float heading for him. In resignation, he closed his eyes and waited for impact.

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

Dropping down to a hundred feet above the water, the crew of the Coast Guard HH-60 Jayhawk Helicopter flew steadily along, guided by the drone of the emergency beacon. So close to the ocean’s surface, they now began to see the magnitude of the seas and felt the heavy hand of the winds as the helicopter struggled to keep its course.

As the signal continued to strengthen, Lt. Davidson monitored the needle on the direction finder for subtle changes in its position. The closer they flew to the source of the signal, the stronger the needle locked on its course.

Suddenly, the needle swung around and pointed downward, indicating that the source of the signal was now behind them.

“Crossover, come back around on a heading of two eight five degrees,” Lt. Davidson announced.

“Two eight five degrees, Roger that,” Lt. Cmdr. Briggs replied. Looking back at the two crewmen seated behind him, he said, “Ok guys, stay sharp. We’re coming back around. Target is somewhere down there.”

“Yes, sir,” responded Ensigns Andrew Matola and Kent Waters simultaneously.

Each man shifted nervously in his seat as the announcement hailed the need for heightened focus. Performing as trained and practiced, the three men began their structured scans, carefully viewing each quadrant in their field of vision before moving to the next quadrant.

As the three searched for objects in the water, Lt. Cmdr. Briggs aided in the search by flying at a reduced speed. With slower speeds came greater visibility, but he paid the penalty with increased effects from the elements continually correcting his flight path and altitude to compensate for the increased wind effect.

Looking out through night vision binoculars, the crew stared through the greenish hue of their lenses, looking for any lighter shading that identified warmer temperatures picked up by the binoculars
’ infrared sensors. As they watched massive green walls of water rolling at them, the sight sent chills through their hardened minds.

The longer they loitered, the more intense the storm grew, making the helicopter more difficult to control. With each violent jolt from the wind, the aircraft was pushed up and down and side to side, shaking the occupants with disturbing frequency. Periodically, bolts of lightning lit up the sky and they caught brief glimpses of the savage storm that was masked behind the veil of darkness. As heavy rains began to fall, a sense of dread and fear insidiously infiltrated their subconscious, requiring greater focus as their minds were pushed to distraction.

“Crossover, turn heading one zero five degrees,” Lt. Davidson called out as the needle on the direction finder swung back around once more.

“One zero five degrees,” Lt. Cmdr. Briggs responded. “You guys see anything down there?” he asked, his voice now showing the strain.

“Nothing yet, Sir,” Ensign Matola shouted out.

“Nothing on this side either,
Sir” Ensign Waters replied.

Circling back, Lt. Cmdr. Briggs now began to make sweeps back and forth, flying perpendicular to their original flight path as they made their way back to the origin point of their search.

Suddenly, a jarring blast of wind slammed into the side of the helicopter, rotating it over on its side. In quick reflex, the Lt. Commander increased power, added aggressive control inputs, and powered out of the dangerous condition.

“You guys alright back there?" Lt. Cmdr. Briggs called out to the two ensigns seated in the rear cabin.

“I'm OK. I always bring a change of shorts, just in case,” replied Ensign Matola, grinning ear to ear.

“Man, for a minute there, I thought we were ditching,” Ensign Waters added, still a bit shaken.

“What do you say we identify this beacon and get the hell out of here? First man to make contact gets a twenty,” Lt. Cmdr. Briggs said, hoping to soothe their fears with a contest.

“Twenty? What are we talking here? Push-ups or
pesos?” Ensign Matola joked in characteristic fashion.

“Cash
, my boy. Cold hard cash,” Lt. Cmdr. Briggs replied.

“For twenty bucks, Matola would sell his own mother,” Ensign Waters joked, hoping to get a rise out of his friend.

“Sir, you impugn my good character. Everyone who knows me, knows I wouldn't settle for anything less than fifty,” Ensign Matola retorted with tasteless humor.

“OK
, boys, let's cut the chatter. Your twenty is burning a hole in my pocket,” Lt. Cmdr. Briggs said, gently refocusing his men.

As he return
ed his own focus to his instruments, an enormous flash of lightning burst in front of them, instantly reporting a deafening crack of thunder. Each man jumped in his seat, shocked that something so powerful and deadly could be so close.

“Wow, this is one big
-ass storm,” Lt. Cmdr. Briggs said quietly to the Lieutenant seated next to him, slipping out of character briefly.

“Yes
, sir,” Lt. Davidson replied, feeling a bit uneasy about the ever worsening conditions.

“What do you estimate the wave height at?” Lt. Cmdr. Briggs asked, still working the controls aggressively.

“Got be at least fifteen feet, sir,” Lt. Davidson answered, his binoculars still glued to the ocean below.

“If I had to guess, I'd say more like fifteen to twenty feet,” Lt. Cmdr. Briggs offered.

“You could be right,” Lt Davidson replied with dread in his voice.

Circling back and forth across their original path, they concentrated intently on finding the source of the beacon. In the time it took them to fly to the scene, an hour from their base, the wave heights had grown dramatically from two feet to the twenty. Watching the waves, large, powerful
, and never-ending, they all knew this mission was now anything but routine.

Suddenly, from the rear of the cabin came a shout from Ensign Matola.

“Bingo, you owe me twenty bucks, sir!” Ensign Matola hollered into his microphone.

“You spotted it? What is it?
Plane or boat?” Lt. Cmdr. Briggs yelled back in slight disbelief.

“Port side, eleven o'clock, three hundred yards. A man and what looks like a raft of some kind,” Ensign Matola responded immediately.

“A raft?” Lt. Cmdr. Briggs replied as he searched the area himself.

“Eleven o'clock? Son of a...” Lt. Davidson called out, feigning insult. “How'd you find him before me? That's my quadrant.”

“When there's cash involved, I can move mountains,” Ensign Matola replied.

“You suck up,” Ensign Waters said, elbowing his friend in the arm.

“I got him now,” Lt. Cmdr. Briggs announced, with a sense of relief in his voice.

“I got 'em too,” Lt. Davidson called out.

With a quick flick of the control stick, the helicopter quickly veered off to the left on a heading to intercept the man’s position. With all eyes on the lighted spot in their binoculars, their minds couldn't believe what their eyes were seeing. Even with the limited fidelity of the binoculars focus at night, the four could still make out the violent action taking place a hundred feet below. Staring in horror, they watched as the waves manhandled the man, tossing him about like a weightless doll by an angry child.

“Whoa. Holy shit, did you see that?” Ensign Matola yelled out in shock.

“I saw it. That guy's in real trouble down there. Let's get this done,
now
!" Lt. Davidson yelled out anxiously.

Approaching the man’s location, Lt. Cmdr. Briggs switched on their outside searchlight, flooding the area with light and illuminating the difficulty they were facing. Putting away their binoculars, all four watched as the large waves and wind created a horrific scene below.