Trout tapped the screen. “This one here is from the site Chi calls MIT Where you first ran into the chicleros.”
Gamay felt a frisson along her spine at the reminder of beating sun, jungle rot, and unshaven, unfriendly men. “What about the others?”
“All from different locations Chi has visited.”
“What made him pick these, aside from the fact that they are almost identical?”
“Location. Each face was from an observatory carved with the frieze showing the boats that may or may not be Phoenician.”
“Intriguing.”
“Uhhuh. The professor thought so. The boat theme tied them together.”
“What's it all mean?”
“I don't know,” he said with a shrug. “I'm afraid that's the extent of my Meso-american expertise.”
“Why don't we call Professor Chi?”
“Just tried. He wasn't in his Mexico City office. They said he was there earlier but would be unavailable.”
“Don't t tell me. They said he was in the field.”
Trout nodded. .“I left a message.”
“Don't hold your breath now that he's got his HumVee back. What about Orville?”
“The nutty professor? Exactly what I had in mind. First I wanted to run this stuff by you in case you had any inspiration.”
“Call Linus Orville. That's my inspiration.”
Trout flipped through his card file and punched out a number. When Orville answered Trout put him on the speaker phone.
“Ah, Mulder and Scully” Orville said, referring to the FBI characters in the popular TV program. “How are things with the X-Files?”
In the most serious tone he could muster, Trout said, “We've uncovered solid proof that those mysterious carved boats are from the lost continent of Mu.”
“You're kidding!” Orville replied breathlessly.
“Yeah, I'm kidding. I just like to say the word Mu.”
“Well, moo to you, too, Mulder. Now please tell me the real reason you called.”
“We need your opinion on those sketches Professor Chi left with Paul,” Gamay said.
“Oh, the Venus glyphs.”
“Venus?”
“Yes, the series of eight. Each figure represents an incarnation of the god Venus.”
Gamay looked at the grotesque profiles with their protruding jaws and foreheads. “Ugh. I've always thought of the goddess of love as a delicate maiden drifting out of the sea foam on a scallop shell.”
“That's because you've been brainwashed. by Botticelli's vision and wasted your time on classical studies before you got out of the Temple of Doom game. The Mayan Venus was a male. ”
“How chauvinistic.”
“Only to a point. The Maya were firm believers in equal opportunity when it came to human sacrifice. Venus symbolized Quetzalcoatl or Kukulcan. The feathered serpent. It's all tied in. The analogy of birth and rebirth. Like Quetzalcoatl, Venus disappears for part of its cycle only to reappear.”
“I get it,” Trout said. “The Maya decorated their temples with representations of the god to make him happy so he'd come back.”
“There was some of that, yeah, toadying up to the big guy. You have to understand how architecture was worked into theft religion. Mayan buildings were often fixed on key points like the solstice and equinox or where Venus appears and disappears. A celestial calculator. in other words.”
Gamay said, “Professor Chi compared the observatory tower at the MIT site to a computer's hardware, the inscriptions on its side to software. He felt that it was only part of the whole picture, the way one circuit is part of a computer.”
“Yes, he ran that theory by me, but your carved tower has a long way to go before it becomes an IBM clone.”
“Still, it's possible that the tower and the others were part of a unified plan?” Gamay persisted.
“Don't get me wrong. The Maya were incredibly sophisticated and always manage to surprise. They often lined up palace doorways and streets to point to the sun and stars at various times of the year. You see, predicting the movements of Venus would give the priests tremendous power. The Venus god told the farmers about important dates like planting, harvest, and rainy season. The Caracol at Chichen Itza has windows that line up with Venus at various points on the horizon.”
“There are no boat inscriptions on the Caracol, as far as I know,” Gamay said.
“Only on those eight temples the glyphs came from. Venus disappears for eight days during its cycle. A scary thing if you were depending on the planet for important decisions. So the priests tossed a few maidens into a well, did some creative bloodletting, and everything was peachy again. Speaking of bloodletting, I've got a class in five minutes. Can we resume this fascinating discussion later?”
Gamay wasn't through. “You say Venus disappears for eight days and that there are eight temples we know of with the boat carvings. Coincidence?”
“Chi didn't think so. Got to go. Can't wait to tell the class about the Musters.”
The phone clicked off. Paul picked up a yellow legal pad.
“That was edifying. Let's go over what we have. We've got eight temple observatories. Each one was built to chart the movements of Venus.” Trout made a note. “These structures were also dedicated toward a single theme, the arrival of boats that could have been Phoenician, bearing great treasure. A wild guess. The observatories and Venus have something to do with the treasure.”
Gamay agreed. She took the notebook and drew eight circles at random. “Say these are the temples.” She drew lines connecting the circles and stared at her doodles for a moment. “There's something here,” she said.
Paul looked at the scribbles and shook his head. “Looks like a flat-footed spider.”
“That's because we're thinking in earthbound terms. Look.” She drew two stars near the edge of the page. “Rise above the earth. Let's say this is Venus at its extreme points on the horizon. That temple I saw at MIT had two slot-like openings like an archer's port in a castle. Here's what you would see if you drew a line from the window to one extreme of Venus. Now I'll do it out the other window.” Satisfied with her artwork, she drew lines from each observatory to the Venus points.
She stuck the rough grid she'd produced under Paul's nose.
“Now it looks like the mouth of an alligator about ready to have dinner,” he said.
“Maybe. Or a hungry serpent.”
“Still thinking about that snake?”
“Yes and no. Dr. Chi wore an amulet around his neck. He called it the feathered serpent. That's what this reminds me of, the jaws of Kukulcan.”
“You need the exact locations of the observatories, even admitting it's possible to make sense from this. Too bad Chi is in the field.”
Gamay was half listening. “I just thought of something. That talking stone Kurt and Joe are out looking for. Wasn't it supposed to show some kind of grid?”
“That's right. I wonder if there's a connection.”
Trout picked up the phone. “I'll call and leave a message for Chi to get in touch with us as soon as possible. Then we'll give Kurt a ring to tell him you may have something.”
She examined her doodlebug sketches again. “Yes, but what?”
Nantucket Shoals
Serpent
41
THE CABIN CRUISER THAT HAD BEEN circling the salvage boat pulled alongside within hailing distance and cut its engine to an idle. The white, red, and green tricolor of Italy fluttered on the signal mast under the American flag. The slim, silver-haired figure of Angelo Donatelli stepped out of the pilothouse and waved.
“Hallo, Mr. Austin, I've come on a rescue mission. I understand you are running out of grappa. May we make a delivery?”
“Hallo, Mr. Donatelli,” Austin yelled back. “Thank you for the resupply. Until now we've had to drink battery acid.”
Captain McGinty cupped his hands around his mouth, an entirely unnecessary gesture because his normal voice was a bellow. “Skip
per thanks you, too, and invites you to come aboard on your mission of merry.”
Donatelli saluted in acknowledgment and went back into the pilothouse. The anchor dropped into the water with a rattle and a splash, and the engine died. Donatelli and his cousin Antonio stepped into an outboard launch the yacht had been towing, buzzed the short distance to the salvage ship, and climbed aboard.
Donatelli handed the captain a bottle of the fiery Italian liquor. “With my compliments,” he said, then turned to Austin and swept his hand toward the cabin cruiser.
“How do you like my blue beauty, Mr. Austin?”
Donatelli's continued use of the honorific was Old World habit or simply the practiced good manners of a restaurateur used to dealing with a high-class clientele, Austin figured. It was a refreshing change from the phony first name, “Hi, my name is Bud” informality that was one of Austin's favorite gripes.
Austin's eyes swept the cruiser stern to stern and took in its navy hull and creamy superstructure as if he were studying the curves of a lovely woman. “She's got classically beautiful lines,” he said. “How does she handle?”
“Like a dream. I fell in love the first time I saw her abandoned in a boatyard in Bristol, Rhode Island. I've spent thousands restoring her. She's forty-five feet, but the sweep of her bow makes her look even longer. A very stable boat, perfect for taking the grandchildren out.” He laughed. And a way to escape the family when I need peace and quiet. My clever accountant has made the boat part of the business, so I have to catch a fish now and again for the restaurants.“ He paused and looked mistyeyed at the sea where a flock of gulls speckled the dark water like snowflakes. ”So this is where it happened."
Austin pointed to the red plastic bubble bobbing in the slight chop. “The top of the ship lies thirty fathoms under that marker. We're directly over her.” There was no need to use the Doria's name; they both knew what vessel he was talking about.
“I have cruised the waters all around the island,” Donatelli said, “but I have never, never been to this spot.” He chuckled softly. “We Sicilians are superstitious people who believe in ghosts.”
All the more reason to thank you for helping with this project."
Donatelli affixed Austin with piercing deep-set eyes. “I wouldn't have missed this for the world. Where do we start?”
“We've got a set of plans in the captain's cabin.”
“Bene. Come, Antonio,” he said to his cousin, who'd been imitating a fire plug. “Let us see what we can do for these gentlemen.”
Captain McGinty unrolled a sheet of heavy white paper onto a table in his cabin. The paper was labeled Italian Line plano delle sistemazioni passeggeri," or plan of passenger accommodation. At the top was a photo of the liner cutting its way through the waves in better days. Below the photo were diagrams of nine decks.
Donatelli tapped the area that showed the Belvedere Lounge at the front of the boat deck. “I was working here when the Stockholm hit us. Boom! I landed on the floor:” His finger moved to the promenade deck. All the passengers are here waiting for rescue. A big mess,“ he said, shaking his head in disgust. ”Mr. Corey finds me, and we go down to their cabin. Here. On the starboard side of the upper deck. Poor Mrs. Carey is trapped. Off I go like a scared rabbit to find a car jack Down here.“ His finger retraced his route of that night. ”Past the shops on the foyer deck, but the way is blocked, so I go way back here to the stern, then down to A Deck."
Donatelli halted his straight-forward account, remembering the terror that gripped him as he descended into the dark bowels of the sinking ship. “Excuse me,” he apologized, a catch in his voice. “Even now, after all these years . . .” He took a deep breath and let it out. “That night I found out what Dante went through in his descent to Hades.” He puffed his cheeks and continued. "So finally I make it to B Deck, where the garage is. Everyone knows the rest of the story?'
The others gathered around the table nodded.
“Good,” Donatelli said with obvious relief. Although the cabin was cool his brow glistened with perspiration, and a vein throbbed on the side of his head.
“Could you tell us exactly where in the garage you saw the armored truck?” Austin said.
“Sure, it was up here in this corner.” He borrowed a pencil and made an X. “I heard there were nine cars in the garage, including the fancy one the Italians built for Chrysler.” He compressed his lips in a tight smile. “I never found the jack I was looking for.”
“Our plan is to go in through the garage doors,” Austin explained.
Donatelli nodded. “The cars could drive right into the garage from the pier. I think it's a good plan, but I know little of these things,” he said with a shrug.
Captain McGinty was less equivocal. A few minutes earlier he'd been diverted by a call on the ship's phone. Now he was back at the table shaking his head: “Hope you boys aren't going on a fool's errand. I see a big problem staring me in the face.”
“That may be an understatement. I'd be surprised if the problems weren't jumping up and down on our backs like an eight-hundred-pound gorilla,” Austin said.
“This one is a pisser. I know guys who've gotten into that hold, coming down through the decks.” He indicated the starboard wall of the garage. “Everything in that spacecars, trucks, cargo would have fallen onto this side that's lying in the bottom sand. Your armored truck could be buried under tons of junk. Guys who've been in that hold saw that future car Chrysler was shipping over, but they couldn't get at it because the space is full of twisted beams and busted bulkheads. You go in with gym suits like you're planning, there's the danger you could get caught up.”
Austin was well aware this could be one of the toughest assignments in his varied career. More difficult in its own way than raising that Iranian container ship or the Russian sub.
“Thanks for the warning, Captain. My idea is to approach this as if we were looking for a target where the bottom's been littered with wrecks. Like the East River, for example. You may be right, that the job is impossible. But I think it's worth taking a look” He grinned. “Maybe we'll even find Mr. Donatelli's car jack.”
McGinty let out a whooping laugh. “Well, if it's a fool's errand, you're my kind of fool. What say we offer a toast to our success?”
Donatelli opened the grappa and poured drinks all around using a waiter's flourish that hadn't deserted him.
“By the way, that was the boys down below calling from the bell,” McGinty said. “They've just about cut through the hull. I told them to get things ready for tomorrow, then take a rest. You'd be down first thing in the morning to do the job.”
Austin raised his glass. “Here's to lost causes and impossible missions.”
The quiet laughter was cut short as Donatelli solemnly raised his glass high. “And here's to the Andrea Doria and the souls of all those who have died on her.”
When they tossed their drinks down, it was done in silence.
Serpent
42
LIFE IS NEVER DULL AROUND THE Andrea Doria for the schools of silver-scaled fish that claim squatter's rights in luxurious cabins that cost their previous occupants thousands of lira. But nothing could have prepared the denizens of the blue twilight world for the arrival of two creatures more bizarre than any inhabitant of the depths. Their plump bodies were covered with shiny yellow skin, their backsides protected by a black carapace. In the center of their bulbous heads was a single eye. Twin stumps protruded from the bottoms of their rotund bodies. Near the top were similar, shorter appendages, each ending in a claw. Most curious were the softly whirring fins on each side.
The creatures hung in the water like balloons in the Macy's Thanksgiving parade. The soft laughter of Zavala's voice cackled in Austin's headset.
“Have I ever told you how much you resemble 'the Michelin man?”
After the meal with McGinty last night I wouldn't be surprised at anything. My gym suit is a little tight around the gut."
.
The Ceanic Hard Suit must have been nicknamed by someone with a vision problem. The so-called gym suit was actually a bodyfitting submarine. The forged aluminum skin was technically a hull. Vertical and lateral propulsion thrusters on each side were activated by foot controls. With its oxygen recirculation and carbon dioxide scrubbing capability, the suit was good for six to eight hours of dive time with forty-eight hours of emergency life support. It topped the scales at nearly half a ton, yet in water the suit weighed less than eight pounds. The Hard Suit provided mobility, long dive time, and no decompression. The suit's major disadvantage was its bulkiness. Penetrating the interior following Donatelli's route would be suicide. They would become ensnared on wires or lines within minutes.
In formulating a dive plan, Austin reviewed all past dives on the Doria, successful or not. Austin thought the Gimbel expeditions had the right idea. The 1975 attempt tried to use a submersible for reconnaissance, but the craft lacked the power to fight the current. The diving bell intended for use as an elevator and work station was improperly ballasted and went dangerously out of control. What impressed Austin was the fact that saturation divers working from the surface with umbilical hoses managed to accomplish a great deal against formidable odds. They actually got into the garage. The 1981 Gimbel expedition was better prepared. The bell system worked well. Although it ran into all sorts of problems, including nasty weather and a current that tangled the umbilicals, divers managed to find the safe and hook it up to a crane.
In the end, Austin chose a combination of Hand Suits and saturation divers. He patched together an expedition relatively well equipped for the task. His father provided the Monkfish and crew. Gunn combed through the NUMA expedition and ship schedule and pulled together the diving bell and a decompression chamber on the deck that was equipped with showers and bunks. The borrowed mini-sub, with its recon capabilities, was an unexpected bonus. Most important were NUMAs six experienced saturation divers who were flown in from Virginia. Since their arrival on the Monkfish they had been worked in round-the-clock shifts to cut a hole in the liner's hull.