A wall of black volcanic rock peppered with a dazzling array of orange anemones, sponges, pink staghorns, and yellow-green mollusks rose to his left. But for the fact the water was twenty-eight degrees he could have been on a coral reef. Light dimmed overhead in the frozen ceiling, and what had just appeared as a cloudy sky, in varying shades of blue, steadily went black.

The ice above had apparently been replaced with rock.

He unclipped a light from his belt and switched it on. Little plankton floated around him. He saw no sediment. He shone his light and the beam seemed invisible, as there was nothing to backscatter the photons. They simply hung in the water, revealing themselves only when they struck something.

Like a seal, which shot past, barely flexing a muscle.

More seals appeared.

He heard their trilling call and even felt it in his body, as if he were being sonar-pinged. What an a.s.signment. An opportunity to prove himself to men who could literally make his career. That's why he'd instantly volunteered. He'd also personally chosen Sayers and Rowland, two men he knew could be depended on. Rowland had said the signal source was maybe two hundred yards south. No more. He estimated that he'd swum at least that far. He searched the depths with light that penetrated maybe fifty feet. He was hoping to spot NR-1A's orange conning tower rising from the bottom.

He seemed to be floating in a ma.s.sive underwater cavern that opened directly into the Antarctic continent, volcanic rock now encircling him.

His gaze searched. Nothing. Just water dissolving into blackness.

Yet the signal was here.

He decided to explore a hundred more yards.

Another seal rocketed past, then one more. Ahead of him, their ballet was entrancing. He watched as they glided with no effort. One of them whirled in a broad somersault, then beat a hasty retreat upward.

He followed with his light.

The animal disappeared.

A second seal flicked its fins and ascended.

It, too, broke through the surface.

How was that possible?

Only rock should be above him.

"Amazing," Dyals said. "What an adventure."

Ramsey agreed. "My lips felt like I'd been kissing frozen metal when I surfaced."

The admiral chuckled. "I would have loved to have done what you did."

"The adventure's not over, Admiral."

Dread punctuated his words and the old man now understood that the visit contained a dual purpose.

"Tell me."

He recounted the Magellan Billet's breach of NR-1A's investigative file. Cotton Malone's involvement. His successful effort to retrieve the file. And White House access into the personnel records of Zachary Alexander, Herbert Rowland, and Nick Sayers. He omitted only what Charlie Smith was handling.

"Someone's looking," he said.

"It was only a matter of time," Dyals said in a whisper. "Secrets seem so hard to keep anymore."

"I can stop it," he declared.

The old man's eyes narrowed. "Then you must."

"I've taken measures. But you ordered, long ago, that he would be left alone."

No name was needed. The he he was known between them. was known between them.

"So you've come to see if that order still stands?"

He nodded. "To be complete he he must also be included." must also be included."

"I can't order you any longer."

"You're the only man I willingly obey. When we disbanded thirty-eight years ago, you gave an order. Leave him alone. Leave him alone."

"Is he still alive?" Dyals asked.

He nodded. "Sixty-eight years old. Lives in Tennessee. Teaches at a college."

"Still spouting the same nonsense?"

"Nothing has changed."

"And the other two lieutenants who were there with you?"

He said nothing. He didn't have to.

"You've been busy," the admiral said.

"I was taught well."

Dyals continued to stroke the cat. "We took a chance in '71. True, Malone's crew agreed to the conditions before they left, but we didn't have to hold them to it. We could have looked for them. I've always wondered if I did the right thing."

"You did."

"How can you be so sure?"

"The times were different. That sub was our most secret weapon. There's no way we could have revealed its existence, much less that it sank. How long would it have been before the Soviets found the wreckage? And there was the matter of NR-1. It was on missions then, and it's still sailing today. No question-you did the right thing."

"You believe the president is trying to learn what happened?"

"No. It's a few rungs lower on the ladder, but the man has Daniels' ear."

"And you think all this might destroy your chances at nomination?" "Without a doubt."

No need for him to add the obvious. And also destroy your reputation. And also destroy your reputation.

"Then I rescind the order. Do as you see fit."

FORTY-ONE.

AACHEN, 9:50 PM.

MALONE SAT ON THE FLOOR IN A TIGHT EMPTY ROOM THAT opened off the upper gallery. He and Christl had taken refuge inside after avoiding the tour group. He'd watched through a one-inch s.p.a.ce beneath the door as lights inside the chapel were dimmed and doors banged shut for the night. That had been over two hours ago and there'd been no sounds since, except the hushed murmur of the Christmas market leaking in through the room's solitary window and a faint whistle of the wind that ravaged the exterior walls. opened off the upper gallery. He and Christl had taken refuge inside after avoiding the tour group. He'd watched through a one-inch s.p.a.ce beneath the door as lights inside the chapel were dimmed and doors banged shut for the night. That had been over two hours ago and there'd been no sounds since, except the hushed murmur of the Christmas market leaking in through the room's solitary window and a faint whistle of the wind that ravaged the exterior walls.

"It's strange in here," Christl whispered. "So quiet."

"We need time to study this place without interruptions." He was also hoping that their disappearance would confuse Hatchet Face.

"How long do we wait?" she asked.

"Things need to settle down outside. You never know, there still could be visitors inside before the night is finished." He decided to take advantage of their solitude. "I need to know some things."

In the greenish light from the exterior floodlights he saw her face brighten. "I was wondering when you'd ask."

"The Holy Ones. What makes you think they're real?"

She seemed surprised by his inquiry, as if she'd expected something else. More personal. But she kept her composure and said, "Have you ever heard of the Piri Reis map?"

He had. It was supposedly created by a Turkish pirate and dated to 1513.

"It was found in 1929," she said. "Only a fragment of the original, but it shows South America and West Africa in correct longitudes. Sixteenth-century navigators had no way to confirm longitude-that concept wasn't perfected until the eighteenth century. Gerardus Mercator was one year old when the Piri Reis map was drawn, so it predated his method of projecting the earth on a flat surface, marking everything with lat.i.tude and longitude. But the map does just that. It also details the northern coast of Antarctica. That continent wasn't even discovered until 1818. It wasn't until 1949 that the first sonar soundings were made under the ice. Since then, more sophisticated ground radar has done the same thing. There's a near-perfect match between the Piri Reis map and the actual coastline of Antarctica, beneath the ice.

"There's also a notation on the map that indicates the drafter used information from the time of Alexander the Great as source material. Alexander lived in the early part of the fourth century before Christ. By then Antarctica was covered in miles of ice. So those source materials showing the original sh.o.r.eline would have to be dated somewhere around ten-thousand-plus years before Christ, when there was much less ice, to around fifty thousand years BCE. BCE. Also, remember, a map is useless without notations indicating what you're looking at. Imagine a map of Europe with no writing. Wouldn't tell you much. It's generally accepted that writing itself dates from the Sumerians, around thirty-five hundred years before Christ. That Reis used source maps, which would have to be much older than thirty-five hundred years, means the art of writing is older than we thought." Also, remember, a map is useless without notations indicating what you're looking at. Imagine a map of Europe with no writing. Wouldn't tell you much. It's generally accepted that writing itself dates from the Sumerians, around thirty-five hundred years before Christ. That Reis used source maps, which would have to be much older than thirty-five hundred years, means the art of writing is older than we thought."

"Lots of leaps in logic in that argument."

"Are you always so skeptical?"

"I've found it's healthy when my a.s.s is on the line."

"As part of my master's thesis I studied medieval maps and learned of an interesting dichotomy. Land maps of the time were crude-Italy joined to Spain, England misshapen, mountains out of place, rivers inaccurately drawn. But nautical maps were a different story. They were called portolans-it means 'port to port.' And they were incredibly accurate."

"And you think that the drafters of those had help."

"I studied many portolans. The Dulcert Galway of 1339 shows Russia with great accuracy. Another Turkish map from 1559 shows the world from a northern projection, as if hovering over the North Pole. How was that possible? A map of Antarctica published in 1737 showed the continent divided into two islands, which we now know is true. A 1531 map I examined showed Antarctica without ice, with rivers, even mountains that we now know are buried beneath. None of that information was available when those maps were created. But they are remarkably accurate-within one half-degree one half-degree of longitude in error. That's incredible considering the drafters supposedly did not even know the concept." of longitude in error. That's incredible considering the drafters supposedly did not even know the concept."

"But the Holy Ones knew about longitude?"

"To sail the world's oceans they would have to understand stellar navigation or longitude and lat.i.tude. In my research I noticed similarities among the portolans. Too many to be mere coincidence. So if an oceangoing society existed long ago, one that conducted worldwide surveys centuries before the great geological and meteorological catastrophes that swept the world around ten thousand years before Christ, it's logical that information was pa.s.sed on, which survived and made its way into those maps."

He was still skeptical but, after their quick tour of the chapel and thinking about Einhard's will, he was beginning to reevaluate things.

He crawled to the door and peered beneath. Still quiet. He propped himself against the door.

"There's something else," she said.

He was listening.

"The prime meridian. Virtually every country that eventually sailed the seas developed one. There had to be a longitudinal starting point. Finally, in 1884, the major nations of the world met in Was.h.i.+ngton, DC, and chose a line through Greenwich as zero degree longitude. A world constant, and we've used it ever since. But the portolans tell a different story. Amazingly, they all seemed to use a point thirty-one degrees, eight minutes west as their zero line."

He did not comprehend the significance of those coordinates, other than they were east of Greenwich, somewhere beyond Greece.

"That line runs straight through the Great Pyramid at Giza," she said. "At that same 1884 conference in Was.h.i.+ngton, an argument was made to run the zero line through that point, but was rejected."

He didn't see the point.

"The portolans I found all utilized the concept of longitude. Don't get me wrong, those ancient maps did not contain lat.i.tude and longitude lines like we know today. They used a simpler method, choosing a center point, then drawing a circle around it and dividing the circle. They would keep doing that outward, generating a crude form of measurement. Each of those portolans I mentioned used the same center. A point in Egypt, near what's now Cairo, where the Giza pyramid stands."

A pile of coincidences, he had to admit.

"That longitude line through Giza runs south into Antarctica exactly where the n.a.z.is explored in 1938, their Neuschwabenland." She paused. "Grandfather and Father both were aware of this. I was first introduced to these concepts from reading their notes."

"I thought your grandfather was senile."

"He left some historical notes. Not a lot. Father, too. I only wish they both would have spoken of this pursuit more."

"This is nuts," he said.

"How many scientific realities today started out the same way? It's not nuts. It's real. There's something out there, waiting to be found."

Which his father may have died searching for.

He glanced at his watch. "We can probably head downstairs. I need to check a few things."

He came to one knee and pushed himself off the floor. But she stopped him, her hand on his trouser leg. He'd listened to her explanations and concluded that she was not a crackpot.

"I appreciate what you're doing," she said, keeping her voice hushed.

"I haven't done anything."

"You're here."

"As you made clear, what happened to my father is wrapped up in this."

She leaned close and kissed him, lingering long enough for him to know that she was enjoying it.

"Do you always kiss on the first date?" he asked her.