‘Six is fine,’ she replied. ‘Where’s your room?’
‘McBain Hall, on 113th Street.’
‘Okay, I’ll see you there at six. It’s a date. Well, not a date date.’ She blushed a little. ‘Not with both of you there. Free love is one thing, but that’s going a bit too far.’
Henry laughed. ‘Definitely for a first non-date date. So, see you later. Hopefully I won’t bore you to death about Atlantis!’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Laura as she turned to leave. ‘I absolutely won’t be bored.’
Once she had gone, Jack let out another huff, much louder. ‘Goddamn, Henry! You got yourself a date without even asking. It’s that hippie haircut of yours. Maybe I should try it myself.’ He ran a hand through his own much shorter hair.
‘It’s not a date,’ Henry reminded him, unable to hold in a broad smile. ‘Well, not this time.’
‘You think she’ll want to see you again after you drone on about Atlantis for the whole evening?’
Henry moved to the exit to watch the redhead walk away. ‘It’s funny, but… yeah. Somehow I think she will.’
Laura headed through the spring sunshine across the quad, a smile still on her lips, towards a bench. An older woman, her hair a more auburn shade than Laura’s, looked up at her approach. ‘So?’ she demanded. ‘Is there anything to this Henry Wilde’s theory?’
‘I really think so, yes. It’s actually very exciting!’ Laura sat beside her, talking quickly in her enthusiasm. ‘He didn’t go into specifics, because he was mostly concerned with locating Atlantis itself, but he definitely believes that the Atlanteans established outposts as far afield as the Himalayas.’
‘He actually said that?’ Laura nodded. ‘And he has evidence to back it up?’
‘I just spoke to him. Apparently he’s got boxes and boxes of research notes.’
‘All well and good, but it’s not finding Atlantis itself we’re concerned about. We need to stay focused on Talonor’s journey, and the cave.’
‘Don’t the others still want to investigate Santorini?’
The woman shook her head in annoyance. ‘Yes. I think they’re wasting their time, but we were outvoted, so…’ Another shake, then: ‘Anyway, if this boy has anything promising, it may render all that academic. You should try to get hold of his work and find out if he really has anything concrete about the Himalayas.’
Laura smiled. ‘I’m meeting him tonight.’
‘In his room?’ The words were filled with disapproval.
‘Oh, Mother!’ protested the younger woman. ‘It’s not a date; his roommate’ll be there.’
‘Even worse! I know what these college boys are like.’
‘I don’t think I have anything to worry about. He seems very nice.’
‘Does he now?’ The woman regarded her daughter sternly. ‘Just remember that this is business, for the Legacy. You’re looking for anything that could lead us to the Midas Cave, not a boyfriend.’
‘Yes, I know that,’ Laura replied.
‘Are you sure? Because I always know when you’re not telling me everything…’
‘Okay, yes, he’s very tall and very handsome,’ she admitted, exasperated. ‘But he’s also smart — and I genuinely want to find out more about his Atlantis theories.’
‘So long as you keep your interest to the theoretical, that’s fine.’
Laura sighed. ‘I do at least have permission to enjoy myself while I’m doing it, don’t I?’
‘Ah, the joys of parenthood: sarcastic children.’ Her mother stood. ‘Well, since you clearly have everything worked out, I’ll let you get on with it.’ Her tone softened slightly. ‘Do be careful, Laura.’
‘I will, Mom,’ she said, smiling again. ‘But I think Henry’s going to change things. I just have a feeling…’
1
Nina Wilde gazed in wonderment at the ruins of Atlantis rolling past beneath the submersible. Ten years had passed since she’d discovered the lost civilisation, using the lifelong work of her parents, Henry and Laura Wilde, as the foundations of her own research. The intervening decade had seen others join the task of excavating the wonders lost for eleven millennia, what had once been a rolling expanse of silt eight hundred feet beneath the Atlantic now dotted with buildings, many still surprisingly intact despite the earthquake and deluge that had dropped an entire island below the waves. It was an incredible sight.
But to her frustration, she wasn’t seeing it in person.
The submersible was relaying the images picked out by its spotlights and laser scanners up an umbilical cable to a research vessel above, which in turn was transmitting them to an operations centre in the offices of the International Heritage Agency at the United Nations in New York. As much as Nina desperately wanted to revisit the site, she had — with deep reluctance — settled for watching the expedition unfold on a screen several thousand miles away. Adding to her annoyance, her husband was aboard the submersible… despite not especially wanting to go.
‘Wish you’d kept up your dive certification,’ said Eddie Chase over the comm system, his deep voice with its broad Yorkshire accent reverberating inside his spherical acrylic helmet. ‘Then you could be freezing your bum off down here while I sit around drinking coffee in a nice comfy chair.’
‘You remember what the IHA’s office chairs are like, right?’ Nina replied, a little tersely. ‘And, y’know, having a baby kind of affected our priorities. You missed those new Star Wars movies; I didn’t qualify to use a new version of a deep submergence suit. Not that I needed some certificate when I was running the IHA,’ she added, with a glance at the man beside her. ‘I just learned how to use the thing, then used it.’
Dr Lester Blumberg peered over his horn-rimmed glasses with a patronising smile. ‘Yes, but we’re a lot less — how shall I put it? — improvisational now than when you were in charge, Nina. Everyone needs proper training and certification for any IHA operation. Health and safety, you know.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ Nina’s own smile was decidedly lacking in both humour and warmth. After her resignation almost four years previously, the post of director of the IHA had eventually been filled by the Minnesotan. Blumberg would not have even made it on to her shortlist, as she considered him merely competent at best — safe and unimaginative, a plodder — but she’d had no say in his appointment.
She turned her attention back to the screens. The main display showed a pilot’s-eye view of the submersible’s voyage, but one of the smaller monitors flanking it had an angle on one of its passengers, standing on a landing skid: Eddie. ‘How much further?’ he asked.
An Australian voice came over the comm. ‘Be there in about three minutes,’ said the couple’s friend Matt Trulli from inside the sub. It could accommodate three, but today he was the only person in the cabin, making it far less cramped than normal.
The two men holding on to its hull had no such luxuries. On the other skid was a second diver, Nerio Cellini. The Italian was only young, in his mid-twenties, but already had years of experience of underwater exploration. His enthusiasm made Nina nostalgic for when she had been filled with the same youthful vigour, and also a little jealous of it.
‘I see the site,’ Cellini reported.
Nina looked back at the main monitor. The blue-green lasers used to pierce the water’s murky cloak had the side effect of leaching away all colour except an eerie turquoise, but a small patch of white faded into sight at the screen’s centre. ‘That’s it?’ she asked Blumberg.