The Mask of Troy Read online

  ‘He made his way along the tunnel. His team had dug out where the entrance collapsed yesterday and they’d shored it up with timber. Aysha’s arrived, by the way. She banned him from going anywhere near it, but he snuck back by himself over lunchtime.’

  ‘That’s my man,’ Jack said, eyeing his screen. He had no sense of lateral movement, of their horizontal speed. He looked down and caught his last glimpse of the shipwreck, a black smudge in the gloom far off to the right. Currents were always disconcerting, barely discernible without waymarkers unless you tried to fight against them, but sometimes alarmingly apparent if you veered away from your dive partner in a separate stream. They were rarely uniform, more like a swirl of tendrils weaving around each other, and this one was no exception. At any moment the two Aquapods might be drawn towards each other by forces they could never hope to counter with the water-jet engines. He could see that Costas sensed the danger too and had edged further off, at least thirty metres distant now. Jack looked up, and saw the dark form of Seaquest II’s hull above. That was a relief. Macalister was a damned good captain. He remembered Lanowski’s model for the current, suggesting that they should be out of the main flow at about fifty metres’ depth. He glanced at the gauge. Sixty metres. Another ten to go. He tapped the intercom. ‘I’m listening. Over.’

  ‘Okay. Didn’t want to distract you. So anyway, Maurice goes down the tunnel, and reaches this mass of ancient masonry that’s fallen in such a way that it leaves a passage ahead. He sees those hieroglyphics on the wall. Other inscriptions. Different languages. That linear thing James was on about.’

  ‘Linear B,’ Jack exclaimed. ‘Fantastic.’

  ‘He says they’re like dedications. He says it’s like walking into UN Headquarters, as if lots of different countries have put in a plaque.’

  Jack felt a lurch, like flying over a thermal in a light aircraft. He remembered Lanowski’s warning that the sea here would be like that, with different water density and temperature caused by the outflow from the Dardanelles, little patches of the Black Sea expelled from the strait that continued outwards into the Aegean, eventually to meld with the more salty Mediterranean. He looked at the gauge. Fifty-one metres. He suddenly lurched again, this time more alarmingly, the back of the Aquapod lifting up, followed by a violent juddering. He saw only a yellow blur in the direction of Costas’ Aquapod. He compensated for the tilt but could do nothing about the juddering. They had reached the top of the fast-moving current and were breaking into the calmer water above. The juddering was caused as they bounced and skidded along the top of the faster current, while being slowed down by the water above. He saw the basket in front of him shaking, and decided to gamble on a big blast into the buoyancy tank. The Aquapod jumped upwards, leaving his stomach somewhere below, and then he was free, coming quickly back to the level. The basket was still there. Costas’ Aquapod appeared close alongside him. ‘Everything okay? Over.’

  ‘Bit of a rollercoaster ride.’

  ‘See? Submersibles are fun.’ Costas grinned at him, then pulled on the sombrero he’d pushed off behind his back at the wreck site. ‘Macalister’s just been on again. They know we’re ahead of them but into safer water, so we’re to maintain this depth until they come overhead again. You copy?’

  ‘Copy that. Maintaining depth. So, back to Maurice. He’s got more inscriptions. Amazing. I think it’s some kind of ancient meeting chamber. That UN analogy might not be so far off.’

  ‘Wait for it. There’s more. So Maurice crawls further along. He says somebody’s been there before. He said it was the strangest thing. He found tools, neatly arranged. A couple of trowels, a mattock. Almost as if someone had left them.’

  ‘Well I’ll be damned,’ Jack murmured.

  ‘Then at the end, there’s a door, metal. Made out of bronze. A door into a chamber. He thinks it’s slightly ajar, but blocked up with debris. He’s going to get his guys in there tomorrow and try to open it.’

  ‘Incredible. I’ve got to be there.’

  ‘There was one other thing. The thing that might save him a crate of whisky. Or that means he owes one too. In the door. A kind of keyhole. He really wanted you to know. He thinks it’s the palladion. Well, not exactly. More like the impression of it. But he thinks that counts.’

  ‘What did he say about it exactly? What was it?’

  ‘That’s what baffles me. He says it’s in the shape of a swastika.’

  Jack was stunned. He tried to think, talking as he did so. A swastika. A keyhole. The palladion in the shape of a swastika. ‘Okay. Incredible, but not as bizarre as you might think. That’s where the Nazis got the swastika from, a symbol used across the Indo-European area. It’s found stamped on pottery at Troy. Schliemann even had it put as decoration on the house he had built in Athens. It didn’t have a sinister meaning then, not until Aryan nationalists hijacked it a few decades later.’ He paused. ‘One question. Did he tell you which way around it was?’

  ‘Reverse. Counterclockwise.’

  That was it, then. The Trojan swastika. The symbol of Troy. The key to a chamber beneath Troy. Jack thought of that face again, the face that Schliemann had lifted from the tomb at Mycenae, the face that lay concealed in the basket in front of him, staring upwards, seeing yet not seeing. The face of Agamemnon. Had he, too, stood before those bronze doors? Had he locked that door seemingly for ever, and taken away the key? Had Schliemann found the key, and gone there himself? What had he seen? Jack had thought that the day before had been the most extraordinary day of discoveries in his life, yet today there was more, much more. It was incredible. Yet over it all still hung that elusiveness, that uncertainty, that particular quality of Troy, as if it were all just beyond their grasp; it was as if the mask of Agamemnon lay over the whole site, and to lift it might reveal untold treasures, or merely a void. The mask of Agamemnon. The mask of Troy.

  ‘Jack. Are you getting Seaquest II yet?’

  Jack pressed the com, but heard only crackles. ‘Nothing. Another fifteen metres and I’ll try the other channel. Over.’

  ‘Okay. Ben’s talking to me. Stand by.’

  Jack looked up. He could see the safety divers in the water now, ready to attach the cables that would draw the two Aquapods into the docking bay. He would go up first, with the shield. They would be taking no chances with that. He craned his neck, seeing the entire form of the hull above him, distorted through the Plexiglas dome. He remembered the last time he had peered up from underwater like that, in the lake of Issyk-Gul in Kyrgyzstan six months before. Rebecca had been there then, waiting for him, and he had seen her long hair falling down as she peered over at him from the Zodiac, framing her face. Then, he had been yearning to tell her about the most extraordinary discovery in the lake bed, an ancient tomb glimpsed and then vanished beneath tons of silt. This time, he had something tangible, something she could see and touch. One of the greatest treasures he had ever found. He wished she were here now, looking down on him. He wanted to show it to her before anyone else. He took a deep breath. Next time.

  ‘Jack. We’re holding position here while they manoeuvre the cables into position.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  ‘Jack, there may be some worrying news. Rebecca seems to have disappeared.’

  Jack forgot the shield. ‘What do you mean, disappeared?’

  ‘From her hotel in London. About an hour ago. Our security guy called Ben at once.’

  ‘The County Hall Marriott? Have they checked the swimming pool?’

  ‘Apparently there was some guy in the lobby she knew. He’d been at a meeting in the hotel. Happened to have something in his car she might like to see, something he’d just been doing a presentation on. She told the security guy it was really important, that you’d want her to have a look. She said she wasn’t going beyond the hotel entrance. Our guy wouldn’t let her go until he called Ben to check this man out. Someone from the Courtauld Institute, a professor.’

  ‘You mean Raitz? Hans Raitz?’

>   ‘That’s the one. Ben said they’d checked him out when Rebecca went to see him before. A Nazi specialist.’

  ‘A Nazi, full stop,’ Jack replied. ‘Got the Gold Medal of the Royal Institute of British Architects a couple of weeks ago, probably in line for a knighthood. But I don’t trust anyone with a Nazi family background who specialized in Nazi art. To me it looks as if he’s furthering the cause.’

  ‘At least he’s legit,’ Costas said. ‘Whatever his views, he’s hardly a gangster.’

  ‘Rebecca would never willingly get into a car with him. She told me she thought he was a creep. Her words. I think he might have tried it on with her. I was going to drop into the Courtauld next time I was in London and have a quiet word.’

  ‘Probably best let Rebecca handle that. He’d be on the receiving end of one of those karate chops Ben’s been teaching her.’

  ‘She’s probably just gone out for a walk,’ Jack replied, trying to keep calm. He could feel his hands going cold. ‘Like any seventeen year old in London. Maybe we’re wrong to put her on such a tight leash.’

  ‘Ben’s taking it seriously, Jack. I think he feels he should have flown with her to London. He’s got four of his guys there combing the South Bank and Westminster, and he’s prepped an old special forces buddy of his who runs a private security company in London, got him to put another half a dozen guys on to it. I just hope that when Rebecca comes back from her stroll, she’s grateful.’

  Jack tensed. They both knew Ben never overreacted. There must be legitimate cause for concern. Jack looked across and saw Costas peering up towards the divers. ‘Okay,’ Costas said. ‘Cables ready. We’re good to go.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  The Aquapods rose together, side by side, and soon passed the twenty-metre depth mark. Jack pressed the com, heard another crackle and then it was clear. ‘I think I’ve got the external link at last,’ he said. Ben’s voice came over the intercom. ‘Jack, was that you? Do you read me?’

  ‘Loud and clear. Fill me in.’

  ‘There’s been an ultimatum. Relayed to Macalister from IMU just minutes ago. You and Costas have to be ready to move. I’ve alerted the Embraer crew and the equipment team at IMU HQ. The ultimatum’s very specific. It doesn’t leave us any leeway. You’re in the helicopter ten minutes after you step out of the Aquapod.’

  Jack stared ahead. Suddenly his breathing, each breath he took, was his entire focus. Nothing else mattered. Everything fell away, the wreck, the shield, as if it had all disintegrated into sand. He sensed his hands. They felt heavy, leaden. He stopped breathing. He was utterly still.

  He had felt like this before. It was like the final moment before a free dive. His body was in survival mode. He clicked on the com. His voice sounded different, distant. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Brace yourself, Jack. Rebecca’s been kidnapped.’

  17

  Wieliczka Salt Mine, Poland

  Jack snapped off his seat belt as the Toyota four-wheel drive came to a halt, then tapped his fingers impatiently as the driver spoke a few sentences into his cell phone. A moment later the wrought-iron gates to the compound opened, and the driver accelerated inside. He gates to the compound opened, and the driver accelerated inside. He drew up in front of a white building with a head frame above it for the mineshaft winch, and switched off the ignition. Jack opened the door and stepped out. The sky was leaden, and it was cold. He stretched, rising on his toes, extending his arms out with bunched fists, grateful for his fleece. He had not slept more than a few fitful moments since he and Costas had flown out of Turkey the night before. Thank God they had used the Aquapods to dive on the wreck. It had been Costas’ call, and he had been right. Jack had initially wanted to dive using SCUBA with trimix, but that would have meant a twenty-four-hour delay for decompression before they could fly. As it was, two hours after surfacing they had been in the Embraer jet on the way to the IMU facility in Cornwall in England, where the equipment they would need was already being prepared. Costas had flown out with it to Krakow in the early hours of the morning and was already here. Jack had remained in England a few hours longer to confer with the IMU security team. Ben had advised against informing Scotland Yard or the security service. But Ben would pull in every favour to uncover who was behind this. And meanwhile they would scrupulously follow the kidnappers’ demands. Almost.

  Jack let his body relax, but the instant of release made him tense up. Rebecca. Where was she? What were they doing to her? He balled his fists again and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, watching it crystallize in the morning mist. Now more than any other time in his life he needed to remain focused. He needed to keep the rage inside him under control. He needed to forget that Rebecca was where she was because of him. Because of his relentless quest, his search for revelations that would pit him against people like this. Ben had told him to put that from his mind. The first reaction to kidnapping was always guilt. What could I have done to prevent this? The kidnappers knew that, knew the weakness of those first hours, would try to exploit it. Jack had to forget that. He remembered how Dillen had been when they had met at the airport in London. They had just embraced, and said nothing. James had already left a long phone message about Hugh’s revelations that afternoon, and Jack had listened to it over and over again on the trip from Turkey, trying to distract himself with the amazing discoveries they now knew Schliemann had made. It was all there, an extraordinary thing, as if he could hear every word of Dillen’s message, hear him speaking, yet it meant nothing, as if he had been staring for hours at a canvas in a gallery, imprinting it in his mind for some time in the future when he might actually be able to see it.

  He had to use all his powers of lateral thinking to sidestep them, to stay ahead. He had to work with his team, with Costas, with Ben, the others. They would play the kidnappers’ game for now. The rage, the helplessness must remain in check. Focus on the goal. Focus on when Rebecca would be found. On when the kidnappers would be playing his game.

  ‘Jack.’ Costas came out of the door to the building and walked quickly up to him. He was unshaven and unkempt, wearing a hooded fleece, but he had a cold determination in his eyes. Jack felt a sudden rush of emotion. Costas was solid as a rock. They had been everywhere together, had looked out for each other. This time, this place, was no different. Just another dive. Costas peered at him. ‘You look how I feel.’ He passed him a bottle, an energy drink. ‘I bet you haven’t had anything to eat or drink. Not good before a dive. Get this down you. Now.’

  Jack unscrewed the cap and drank the bottle dry, then tossed it into the Toyota. He swallowed hard, and shook himself. ‘Where the hell have they taken her?’

  ‘Put it from your mind, Jack. They want you to think that. They want it to consume you. I know what’s inside you. It’s inside me too. There are three guys here now. Focus on them, but keep your cool until the time’s right. We’re a team. We come out of this place alive, we’re one step closer to her.’

  ‘Right.’ Jack’s voice was hoarse. ‘What have we got?’

  ‘I’ve just come back up from the mineshaft to wait for you. Everything’s ready. Our three new friends are down there, kitting up. I can barely stand to be near them. You’ve got to stop me from going for them, Jack. Like I said to you on the phone, we’ve got to keep each other in check. Until the time’s right.’

  ‘Any more heads-up on them?’

  ‘They’re Russian. Just as Ben guessed. These aren’t the kidnappers, they’re hired heavies. They only speak basic English. I call the leader Chechnya, because that’s what’s tattooed in red across his hands. The European underworld’s awash with ex-military thugs like these, a lot of them Russian veterans of the war in Chechnya who couldn’t get enough of the blood and killing.’

  ‘Naval tech divers?’ Jack asked.

  Costas shook his head. ‘Not from what I’ve seen. Ben was right about that, too. Our kidnapper has found some heavies who’ve got basic diving skills, but you don’t get e
x-naval tech divers working as hit men. If you’ve got that level of skill, there’s far more money to be made doing legit commercial diving on the oil rigs. Our gamble has paid off, so far. They understand the SCUBA gear we’ve given them, but not the rebreathers you and I are using. I’ve made a big show of adjusting and fiddling with those. Lots of doubtful muttering from me. I don’t think they’ll question it. Ben said to play on the macho aspect too. Get into their little world. They’re the tough guys, with the tough old-fashioned gear. The stuff they saw their own navy divers use. We may be able to go deeper, but only by using fancy gear. They’re the real men. The hard men.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Jack muttered. ‘What a charade.’

  ‘We’ll use it against them, Jack. At the water’s edge. I’ve got some theatrics planned. Until then, just keep cool.’

  ‘Anyone else here?’

  Costas nodded. ‘Wladislaw’s going to meet us up here, then we go down the shaft in the lift to the lowest level.’

  ‘Who the hell’s Wladislaw?’

  ‘Guy I mentioned to you on the phone. Site engineer. I know him - I realized that he and I met at a conference a while back. Trained in America, speaks excellent English. He’s straight up, I’m sure of it. He’s thrilled by this. Doesn’t have a clue about what’s really going on. You’re a star over here. Your book on Atlantis was a number-one best-seller in Poland. When the caller purporting to be IMU got in touch two weeks ago suggesting we wanted to look for Neolithic remains deep in the mine, Wladislaw was overjoyed. They promised to shut off the whole mine from visitors for the day of the dive.’ ‘Two weeks ago?’ Jack exclaimed.