Then he returned to the main part of the church. The figures were still sitting there, completely motionless. The place in the third row was still empty.
He aimed the camera directly at the empty seat. Filmed it for 30 seconds. Then he looked toward the altar.
The young woman was standing there. Dark scarf. Hands folded. Looking straight at him.
Vance froze, while the camera kept running. The woman slowly raised one hand. She pointed toward the door with a clear, unmistakable gesture.
The meaning was plain: Leave. Vance gave a slow nod. He turned and walked toward the exit in heavy, measured steps.
He did not hurry. He did not look back. He reached the door and stepped outside. Only then did he turn.
All 23 figures were standing in the doorway in a straight line. They stood there silently, watching him. Vance yanked the signal line hard, and they hauled him up fast.
As soon as the heavy helmet came off, the consultant asked, “Did you get the book?” Vance nodded and undid the strap. He pulled out the book, now soaked through.
Water ran off the pages in streams. But the text was still readable. The consultant took it carefully and opened it.
He read a few lines. His face stayed calm, but his eyes narrowed. “Very interesting,” he said quietly.
The film was developed the next day. The results were remarkably clear. The camera had captured everything Vance described.
It showed the motionless bodies, the empty seat, and the woman at the altar. It captured her gesture and the line of figures in the doorway. And the hydrophone recorded all the underwater sound.
When they played it back, the speakers filled with loud, many-voiced singing. It was a clear old church chant. It lasted exactly three minutes, then stopped abruptly.
It stopped at the exact moment Vance stepped out of the church. The consultant listened to the recording three times. Then he said firmly, “This needs to be studied carefully, but not here.”
“Where, then?” Somers asked. “In Washington. In a special lab.” “And what happens to the site itself?”
“The site stays where it is, but access is closed. The area must be restricted, and no dives are to be made without authorization.” “And how do you explain any of this?”
The consultant looked at him for a long moment. “At this point, we can’t,” he said at last. “That does not mean there isn’t an explanation.”
The commission left on December 20. They took the film, the recordings, the recovered book, and all reports with them. What they left behind was a strict order.
The area around the submerged church was declared restricted. Warning buoys were installed. All river traffic was rerouted.
The divers were reassigned to other jobs. Vance, Carter, and Mullen were ordered to report to Washington on December 25 for additional statements.
Before leaving, Vance walked down to the reservoir shore. He stood there a long time, looking at the gray, cold, motionless water. Somewhere down there, on the bottom, the old church was still standing.
And inside it, those figures were still sitting. Maybe the service was still going on. Maybe the candles were burning again in the dark.
He didn’t know. But he knew one thing: the story was not over. They arrived in Washington on the morning of December 25.
They were met briskly, with no ceremony. A man in plain clothes motioned them toward a government car and told them to follow. They were not taken to a hotel.
Instead, they were brought to a gray three-story building on the outskirts of town with no sign out front. Inside were long hallways, numbered doors, and the lingering smell of disinfectant and tobacco. The divers were placed in small but clean separate rooms.
Each room had only a bed, a table, a chair, and a sink. The windows looked into an interior courtyard. There were no bars on them, but the place had the feel of a government holding facility…
