Free Tomb of Atlantis by Christopher David Petersen Page B

He reached over and grabbed the anchor line, took one last look around and began to descend.
    His plan was a simple one. He would follow the anchor line, head first, down to the bottom. The point at which the anchor held would be very close to the metallic object he saw in the water six years ago. He knew he had drifted past it upon landing, so his plan was to swim twenty feet past the anchor to compensate for overshooting, then swim on a heading of two hundred eighty degrees for the next twenty minutes, figuring the currents might have caused the metal object to drift in that direction. If after twenty minutes he found nothing, he decided that he would turn around and go back to the anchor point, where he would head for the surface.
    One small complication Jack worried about with a dive this deep was upon ascending, he would need to stop just before the surface at the fifteen foot level where he had suspended a spare air tank, and "hang" at that depth for fifteen minutes while his body decompressed. Anything less and he would be susceptible to the bends, a painful and deadly condition that occurs as your body absorbs nitrogen bubbles due to the higher pressures in deep waters.
    As he swam down the line, the sun’s rays penetrated the clear water, illuminating the rope many feet in front of him. Although he couldn't see the bottom yet, he estimated the visibility to be somewhere around thirty to thirty-five feet.
    He kicked his fins hard and used the rope to help him descend. Pulling on the rope, hand over hand, he worked his way deeper. As he descended, he relieved the painful pressure in his ears by holding his nose, closing his mouth and blowing hard until the pain receded. Every five feet he needed to repeat the process. He hated this part of diving due to the slight headache that resulted from equalizing the pressures, but welcomed the necessary evil over the alternative—ruptured eardrums.
    Jack descended past the seventy-five foot marker on the rope. He was now roughly twenty-five below the surface. Looking up, he could see the bottom of the floats to his plane clearly, and above that, he could just make out the silhouette of the wings and fuselage. Turning back toward his descent, in front of him loomed the darkness of the unknown. Looking around, he wondered what man-eating fish might be stalking him just beyond his visibility. He swallowed hard and continued on, trying not to let his fears get the best of him.
    As he pas sed the fifty foot marker on the rope, the area took on quite a different feel. He could tell the water was still clear, but now it was much darker. Looking up toward the surface, he could see faint light of the sun’s rays still penetrating through the water. He had the sensation of being suspended in midair and the same eerie feeling that he was being watched. Once again, he buried his fears and focused on his descent.
    Jack stopped swimming. Although there was still some light at his depth, he was now at the point where a flashlight would greatly improve visibility. He reached back and fumbled for his flashlight. Switching it on, he pointed it in front of h im. Several feet below him was the twenty-five foot marker. He was close to the bottom now and the prospect of touching the ocean's floor sent a surge of excitement and energy through him. He kicked hard and continued his descent.
    The light began to pick up small particles in th e water. Unlike those that he’d been seeing down through the depths of his descent, these were slightly heavier and took on a greenish hue. Jack focused hard as he continued downward and noticed they started to form in masses that took on strange shapes. Passing the twenty-five foot marker on the rope, the strange shapes suddenly began to look distinct.
    Concentrating hard now, Jack strained his eyes to make out what he was seeing. Suddenly, the strange irregular shapes became the ocean's floor. He was nearly there and each kick of his fins brought definition that