Tomb of Atlantis (8 page)

He slammed the power full forward and immediately the plane sped up along the wave tops. He held back on the stick as the nose of the plane fought to break free of the ocean’s grasp.

Like a violent beast, the ocean punished the plane with large waves and spray that threatened to swallow it whole. Determined and focused, Jack held his control inputs and waited for results.

Seconds later, the violent shaking ceased and the little plane began to climb. Jack lowered the nose slightly to gain some much needed speed while maintaining his height above the raging waters.

With his minimum climb speed reached, he pulled back on the stick and began to gain altitude. Higher and higher, he climbed and with each passing foot of altitude, turbulence increased.

Without warning, a flash of lightning streaked across the sky. Instantly, a deafening crack of thunder followed. Within seconds, Jack was sideswiped by a savage gust of wind that rocked the wings to vertical. Before he realized, he had already taken corrective action. The wings leveled and the plane continued to climb into the thunderstorm.

Moments later, Jack heard a loud pop… then another. Suddenly, the sky above him opened up with torrential rains nearly obscuring his vision.

“What the
hell
! How much more do I have to take?” Jack cried out in frustration and fear.

Holding his wings level and continuing to climb, he began to feel water pouring in on his arm and shoulder.

“Shit! The friggin’ door’s still open,” he called out loudly.

He grabbed the handle and pulled it shut, closing off the water. Returning his attention to his instruments, he continued to monitor his altitude: thirteen hundred feet.

Jack tightened his lap belt as the winds and rain shook the plane. Mentally and physically exhausted, he was now breathing heavily. Again, a large bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. His hands shook with fear and he struggled to maintain his grasp on the controls.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted some movement. Quickly, he darted his head to the left and looked out the window: Land. With the reduced visibility, he had missed the approaching landmass. Checking his GPS’s, he turned to a new heading as he fought the winds and turbulence.

Jack depressed the button for the microphone.

“Providenciales tower, Zenair 8362 Lima is five miles west, inbound for landing,”
he announced to the control tower at Providenciales International airport.

“Zenair 8362 Lima, land one zero, straight in approach approved,” the tower controller announced immediately, then added, “Please be advised… thunderstorm in the vicinity with a large cell in your region.”

“Found it,” Jack replied simply, as he struggle to maintain control.

“Do you want to declare an emergency?” the tower controller asked.

Fighting to keep the wings level and struggling to see through the torrent of rain, Jack ignored the last response.

“Zenair 8362 Lima, do you need to declare an emergency
?” the tower controller repeated once more.

“I have an extra pair of underwear in my baggage. I think I’ll be OK,” Jack shot back in serious tone.

“Understood,” the controller replied simply.

Jack looked out his windscreen in front of him and watched for the lighted runway. With visibility greatly reduced, he figured he could see no more than a quarter mile.

Suddenly, he heard: “Zenair 8362 Lima, steer heading one five for vectors to the airport.”

“Vectors? Thank God for that,” he said to himself. “They must know I’m in trouble.”

Without having to concentrate on navigation, it freed him up to focus on just flying the plane. Jack steered the heading the tower controller specified. As the winds and rain continued their violent assault, he battled back and kept his wings and altitude stable.

“Zenair 8362 Lima, runway one zero is one mile in front of you. You should be able to see it shortly,” the controller announce
d.

He squinted through his windscreen. He saw nothing. Suddenly, another jarring blow struck the plane, knocking it off course. Immediately, he responded and brought the plane back around as he concentrated on the gauges in his instrument panel.

Jack saw a flash of light and looked out his windscreen. There in front of him, was the long brightly lit runway.

He lowered the nose and cut the power, while fighting to keep the wings level.

“Almost there, Bud. Keep it together,” he said to himself.

Jack descended rapidly. As he crossed the threshold to the runway, he cut the power completely and worked the ailerons to keep the plane from drifting off the tarmac and into the grass. With the winds and rain pelting the fuselage, he barely noticed the wheels as they
touched the ground. He held the nose high for a moment, then lowered it and slammed on the brakes.

As the plane came to an abrupt stop, Jack let out a welcome sigh of relief. He had made it. Shaking and dripping with sweat, he just sat and breathed a moment.

“Zenair 8362 Lima, that’s not a general aviation parking lot. Please proceed to the next taxiway. The FBO will be straight ahead,” the controller joked, the added, “Welcome to Turks.”

“Understood,” Jack replied simply.

Atlantis - Chapter 4

Jack woke refreshed and feeling invigorated. The previous day's events had drained him both mentally and physically, and by the time he had tied down his plane and found a comfy couch in the pilot’s lounge, he could barely function. After a brief call to his parents, he laid his head down on a makeshift pillow and quickly fell asleep. The couch was as comfortable as any he had "rented" in many pilot's lounges and he considered avoiding the exorbitant fees for a hotel and continuing to borrow it for the remainder of his adventure. Looking down at his watch, he noted the time: six thirty. With a full twelve hours of sleep behind him, he was now ready for the real adventure to begin—the dive for treasure.

Jack stared down the long runway. This was it. Nervous excitement flowed through his body. He took a deep breath and exhaled. Pushing the throttle full forward, the floatplane roared to life. Inching forward under the strain of the extra weight, it took what seemed like an interminable amount of time just to roll fast enough to activate the airspeed indicator. As his momentum grew, so did his anxiety. Moments later, as the wheels left the runway and the plane settled into a gentle climb, Jack's fears seemed to vanish as he concentrated on flying the plane.

He flew straight out from his runway heading of two-hundred-eighty degrees and crossed from land to Chalk Sound, a large shallow bay on the west side of the main island. Upon reaching one thousand feet in elevation, Jack turned to his predetermined heading of one hundred eighty degrees, the track that would take him directly to the last known location of the sub-sea artifact.

Scanning his GPS's, Jack noted the time to his destination: forty-three minutes. As the land behind him grew smaller by the minute, he replayed the upcoming landing over and over in his mind. Outside the plane, as he continually scanned for aircraft, he kept an eye on the ocean's surface, watching for any sudden change in wave heights.

Close into shore, Jack had seen a few pleasure boats traveling around the shallows of the island’s bays. Further out at sea, the pleasure boats vanished and were replaced by commercial fishing boats engaged in their day's occupation. Soon though, as the land became no longer visible, even these boats too, disappeared from sight.

Jack looked out the windows around him. Miles from land, devoid of civilization, he began to feel the reality of isolation. He had forgotten what it was like to be this vulnerable, and the thought of it left him feeling very uneasy. He listened intently to the drone of the engine, using its steady purr as a means to calm his fears, but with each passing minute, apprehension grew more conspicuous and distinct.

Trying to ease his nerves, Jack divided his attention between the horizon and the instruments panel. His eyes moved from instrument to instrument, analyzing, interpreting, then moving on to the next. As minutes ticked by, his focus became more concentrated and intense, slowly quieting his fears.

Suddenly, Jack heard the sound of alarms sending a startling jolt through his body. Quickly, he readjusted his focus on the source of the distraction. Prior to the flight, he had programmed both GPS's to sound an alarm one mile from his destination. He was now there, just one mile from his intended point of landing.

Jack's heart began to pound wildly. He looked out at the water below. The last time he’d flown over this spot, he could just about see to the bottom. Now, years later, the water was much darker and ominous, sending a chill through his body.

Jack reduced his power and pitched the nose over to enter a descent. He opted to not land immediately, instead deciding to fly over his point of intended landing, continuing to circle back around to land when his nerves soothed a bit.

At one hundred feet above the water, Jack lowered his flaps and added more power to maintain altitude. Holding his heading for another minute, he heard the GPS's sound the alarm again. Peering out his window, he looked down. Jack strained his eyes but saw nothing except the eerie darkness of deep water.

Flying past his destination, he
said aloud, “Well, this is it, Amigo. All your money's on black."

He waited five minutes, then entered a one hundred eighty-degree turn. Coming back about, he lined his plane up on the heading instructed on the two GPS's: three hundred sixty degrees. This was it. He was motivated and determined. He reduced the power once more and lowered the nose of the plane again, entering a shallow
descent.

Jack took out his water landing check list and started checking off the items as he completed the task: "Power setting, twelve hundred rpm's. Heading three sixty. Flaps, full. Water rudder, check."

He looked out his side window again. The ocean's surface held small irregularities and tiny waves, creating a condition perfect for landing. He was getting closer by the second and needed to time his landing so that he touched down before his destination. After touchdown, he would float to his final point and drop his anchor to hold that position. It was going to be a difficult feat of timing and coordination. Any miscalculation would require just that much more swimming when he eventually started his dive.

Alternating his focus between his heading indicator inside the plane and the water outside the plane, Jack nervously counted down the feet until touchdown: "Fifty, forty-five, forty feet."

He was now talking to himself out loud, using the sound of his voice to keep his mind working.

"Thirty, twenty-five, twenty feet. Airspeed thirty knots. Heading three sixty. Water still calm," he announced.

His hands were sweaty and he re-gripped the control stick for a better feel. Quickly looking out the front windscreen, he made sure the wings were level.

"Fifteen, ten, five feet. Airspeed twenty-five knots. Heading, still three sixty. This is it," his said, his voice quivering.

Jack gradually pulled back on the control stick to slow his descent rate. He was now barely descending a mere few feet per minute. Looking out his side window, he watched the plane’s float reach out toward the water.

Ever so slightly, Jack felt the first hint of touch down. The floats contacted a tiny wave, sending a minor jolt through the fuselage and sending a small amount of spray up and over the windscreen. Jack held his breath for a moment as another wave contacted both floats. Again, another wave made contact, then another.

Jack's sweaty hands maintained the controls as each wave passed under the plane. Scanning the horizon, the stark remoteness of his location momentarily caused him to relax his grip. The plane plowed through a small wave. Instinctively, Jack hauled back on the stick and for a moment, the plane became airborne again. Without the speed over the wings to create lift, the plane began to settle back into the waves. Abrupt and startling, Jack felt the wave slam into the floats and he held the stick back to absorb the harsh blow. The plane bounced off one wave and struck another.

"Aughh." Jack yelled as he let out a loud guttural exclamation, fearing for the safety of the flight.

Again, he heard another loud bang as the floats plowed through two more waves. As he cleared the next wave, he noticed a slight break in the wave patterns ahead of him. Smoother water: this was his opportunity. He quickly reduced power and held the nose of the plane higher as the rear of the floats began to drag in the water.

Steadily
now, the continual flow across the floats sent vibrations through the plane. Jack cut the power and held on. The plane settled into the smoother water, then struck another smaller wave. Like a bucking bronco, the plane resisted its landing and rode the swells in violent protest. Jack felt the tightening of his seatbelt as he lifted out of his seat.

In a blink of an eye, the ride was over. The plane's weight created heavy drag and slowed
it to a near stop. Jack's floatplane was now a small boat in the middle of the ocean. Still a couple hundred feet from his destination point, he added a touch of power to continue the forward momentum. Gliding ahead, the plane drifted off course a bit due to currents and he added opposite rudder to steer the plane back on course.

"Ok, you're down, but the ride ain't over yet. Stay focused,"
he called out to himself.

As he closed in on his destination, he cut the power to the engine and allowed his forward momentum to carry him the rest of the way. Fifty feet from his dive point, Jack opened his door. In the passenger seat next to him sat a coiled length of rope and an anchor attached at one end. He grabbed the anchor and watched the GPS's intently. His plan was to drop the anchor just before he crossed the latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates of the object he had seen six years before. If he timed it right, the anchor would eventually land near the spot and hold.

Jack tossed the anchor into the water. As it sank, he fed the rope out the door, taking care of any knots in the rope as they appeared. Keeping an eye on the GPS's, he was closing in on his final destination quickly. With mere feet left, he began to feed the rope out more quickly.

His moment of truth had arrived. The alarms sounded on the GPS's and the "miles to destination" registered as zero point zero miles. He’d made it. Excitedly,
he looked into the water hoping to see something, anything. Unfortunately, all he could see was the sun’s rays penetrating the ocean’s surface, then disappearing into blackness. Undeterred, he continued lowering the anchor.

Jack had marked off lengths in the rope with pieces of tape. Having passed the seventy-five foot mark, he knew he was close to the bottom. Taking the other end of the rope, he wrapped it over the strut that ran from floats to wing, allowing him to control how much he fed out the door.

He watched as the hundred foot marker passed his hands on the rope. Moments later, the anchor found its purchase and held. As the plane’s momentum carried it forward, he resisted the rope as it pulled through his hands, over the strut and into the water. Slowly, as he fought the rope’s pull, the plane came to a stop.

Jack climbed out of the plane and stood out on the edge of the float. He looked around and swallowed hard. This was even more isolated and scary than he ever imagined. He looked down in the water hoping to spot the golden pyramid, but all he saw was the darkening shades of color that descended below him. Jack listened intently. Aside from the subtle lapping of waves against the floats, there was almost no sound out there in the middle of the ocean. The quiet seemed loud and conspicuous.

"Damn, this is freakin' scary," he said out loud, then added, "Well Jack ole boy, you didn't come this far just to get a tan. Your destiny is down there somewhere."

With characteristic resolve, he stepped back into the plane and prepared himself for his next adventure.