Free Tomb of Atlantis by Christopher David Petersen

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