Decipher by Stel Pavlou Page B

called Mercator, real name Gerard Kremer. Supremo map-maker, who draws an exact map of Antarctica from ancient sources and develops a sudden need to run off and visit the Great Pyramid in Cairo. And then in 1737, French geographer Philippe Buache comes up with a map that is so accurate, it shows what Antarctica would have looked like with no ice on it— at all. Which would have been around fifteen thousand years ago! This is a hundred years before it was even supposed to have been discovered, Dr. Scott! Then we got Hadji Ahmed’s map of the world from 1559. He was another Turk, and his chart also shows a land bridge between Siberia and Alaska.
    â€œI got on the phone to Sarah Kelsey, our company’s best geologist. You read her report. She said there used to be a land bridge there about twelve to fourteen thousand years
ago. There’s tons of scientific evidence for it. Copies of all those maps are on the table too, if you care to look.”
    Scott stood firm. He was not so easily swayed. “I’ve heard of most of those maps, Mr. Matheson. They’re not new to me. But—and it’s a very big but—they do not prove the existence of Atlantis. They simply prove that our ancient ancestors were damn good map-makers and that we as a species are very forgetful. I won’t dispute with you on that count. But think about what you’re asking me to do. You’re asking for a leap of faith of such magnitude that it defies all reason.” Scott looked at him sadly. “I’m sorry.”
    Pearce was shaking his head. “Aren’t you the same guy who collected the myths and legends of over five hundred cultures from around the world which speak of an ancient flood—the deluge myth? Isn’t that you? You are Dr. Richard Scott, aren’t you?”
    â€œTales of the Deluge . Yes. But those are myths. Legends. Stories that make great bedtime reading. The Sumerian Epic of Gilgamesh dates from around 5000 B.C.E. It has the same flood story as the Bible’s—matches Noah’s story exactly. But it’s just literature … A story.”
    â€œSchliemann followed a story and found the lost city of Troy.”
    Pearce rounded the desk. Snatched up the remote again and keyed the play button. The picture was a little fuzzy and was of far lower quality than before, but it was clear what was happening. A tiny camera was descending down the inside of a long dark pipe-line. There was another, smaller pipe about five inches in diameter going down the center through which the oil would have been funneled. It was clear that the camera was lodged in between.
    â€œIt’s a service camera,” Matheson explained, “designed to check the pipe-line from the drill node on the sea floor, down to the bore site. Visual was really irrelevant, but it was a prototype, so I stuck a camera on the thing. Didn’t think we’d ever need it.”
    The camera got lower and lower. Some of the damaged pipe was visible, and there were tears in the steel-alloy. Finally, through a mist of debris in the water, the destination became visible.
    â€œThese weren’t rocks we found on the sea-bed, Dr. Scott.
We hadn’t hit a buried shipwreck. This is two miles down. Half a mile into the sea floor. We hit a wall. A real, honest to goodness wall. Like you build houses out of. A wall . Are you following me?”
    â€œYes,” came the clipped response.
    â€œOnly this wall wasn’t made out of bricks and mortar, it was made out of diamond. One, huge, solid chunk of diamond. And there’s no telling how vast it really is.”
    Through the darkness, lit up by the onboard flashlight, a field of blue crystal was visible. At the bottom of the picture sat the destroyed drill-bit. In the wall was an impact crater where chunks of the diamond had sheared off and a hole was punctured straight through the wall. It was obvious that beyond there must have been water under