Vance dipped a hand over the side and frowned. “Suspended silt?” he asked. “Shouldn’t be,” Somers replied, standing nearby for the dive.
There was no current, so the bottom should not have been stirred up. Vance wiped his hand dry. The water left behind the feeling of a greasy film, though it looked perfectly ordinary.
He said nothing and got into the suit. Mullen tightened the bolts on the helmet. Then they checked the seal, the pressure, and the line.
“You hear me?” Somers’ voice came through the headset clearly. “I hear you,” Vance answered. He confirmed he was ready and stepped over the side.
The water took him without a splash. He sank slowly, as if moving through syrup. The lead soles pulled him down in a steady, even way.
The light from the surface disappeared almost immediately. At six feet, gray haze began. At twelve, there was complete darkness.
He switched on his underwater lamp. The beam cut through the murk for maybe three feet. The suspended matter in the water was so dense the light barely penetrated it.
Visibility was less than three feet. Worse than a stormed-up harbor. Vance kept descending.
He counted depth by time. Twenty feet. Thirty.
Thirty-six. Then he reached bottom. His boots sank into soft, yielding silt.
Vance crouched and felt the surface with one hand. The silt gave way for about a foot. Beneath it was dense clay.
No rocks. No debris. The surface was level. “On the bottom,” he reported.
“Visibility critical. Navigating by compass.” “Understood. Move east,” Somers said.
“The structure should be about 50 feet from your drop point.” Vance moved forward. His steps were slow and careful.
The lamp picked out only scraps of silt and a few strands of weed. He counted his steps. Ten, fifteen, twenty.
Nothing. “No structure,” he said. “Impossible, the coordinates are exact,” Somers answered.
“Bottom’s clear,” the diver repeated. After a short pause, Somers told him to continue the search. Expand the radius.
Vance kept going. Ten more steps. Then fifteen more.
And then a wall appeared in front of him. It did not gradually emerge from the murk. It was simply there all at once, sharp and solid, as if he had stepped out of emptiness into something fixed.
Stone. Masonry. The joints between the blocks were overgrown, but still even. “Structure located,” Vance said.
“Stone wall. Feeling it out now.” He ran his hand over the surface. The stone was cold and slick with slime.
He raised the lamp and saw the wall rising high above him. Twelve feet, maybe more. At the top he could make out a curve. It was the church vault.
Vance moved along the wall, trying to find an entrance. The masonry was solid, with no obvious damage. He went about 30 feet, found a corner, and turned.
A few yards later he found a double wooden door. It was closed. The diver stopped.
He listened to his own breathing inside the helmet, steady and calm. His pulse was normal. He placed a hand on one of the doors.
The wood under his palm felt dense, not waterlogged. It was as if the water had barely touched it. “Found the entrance,” he said…
