Bloodstorm- a Dane and Bones Origin Story

by David Wood

  “A conceit on his part. The golden diadem was indeed fit for a queen, but it almost certainly was not worn by Helen of Sparta, if she ever existed at all.”

  “Did he ascribe any other pieces to Helen?”

  “None that I’m aware of but it would not surprise me. You might enquire at the Topkapi museum. In addition to the authentic artifacts, they have replicas of the entire collection. Of course, you...” He eyed Petrov with thinly disguised disdain, “could always visit the real collection at the Pushkin Museum in Moscow.”

  “You know, we just might at that,” Maddock said, taking Petrov’s elbow and steering him away before he could say anything else inflammatory.

  When they were alone again, Leopov asked, “Well, did that give you the context you were looking for?”

  Maddock did not answer the question directly, but instead posed one of his own. “Why do you think Schliemann changed his story?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “First he said his wife helped him sneak the treasure out. Then he claimed she wasn’t even there.”

  “Why does it matter?” pressed Leopov.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t. It just struck me as an odd detail. Why mention it at all?” He looked from Leopov to Petrov.

  “Maybe someone caught him in the lie,” replied Leopov. “Maybe the story about his wife was meant to deflect suspicion from his real accomplices. But then someone figured out that she wasn’t there when it happened, so he had to admit the truth.”

  Petrov had another idea. “Schliemann was German, but his wife, Sophia, was Greek. The Greeks and Turks have never gotten along. It is an enmity that goes back... well, at least as far back as the Trojan War. Perhaps the idea of a Greek woman helping steal the treasures which rightfully were the property of the Turkish people added insult to injury.”

  Maddock pondered the competing explanations for a moment, then directed his attention to Petrov. “Just how many pieces are in the collection?”

  “I don’t know an exact number, but several dozen.”

  “And some of the pieces are big, right? Aslan mentioned a copper shield? And a cauldron?”

  “Yes. There were also many cups and utensils of silver and copper. Some gold as well. Also blades of copper—lance heads, daggers, axes.”

  “That’s a lot of metal to dig out of the ground during the workmen’s lunch break. Probably would have taken a few trips to get it all away from the excavation.”

  “Which suggests the story about his wife sneaking it out under her shawl is probably the lie,” said Leopov.

  “Maybe.”

  Leopov did not miss his equivocation. “But you have another idea, don’t you?”

  “We’re looking for Helen’s Charm, right? Something that allegedly has the power to...” He shrugged. “Bewitch people, I guess.”

  “You think Schliemann used Helen’s Charm to hide what he was doing.” Leopov’s tone was not so much incredulous as accusatory. “You think it is real.”

  “I’m just floating the idea. Let’s say the charm was something like a ring or necklace, something that he might have pocketed and given to his wife as a gift. And then later...” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I guess it does sound crazy.”

  “Sergei Yukovitch does not think so,” Petrov said. “He thinks Helen used the Charm to make Paris fall in love with her, and to make Priam endure a decade of war to protect her. And he believes Hitler used it to deceive an entire nation into following his mad schemes. Using it to smuggle treasure seems like a very little thing by comparison.”

  “Schliemann probably thought he was being clever by claiming his wife helped him, but it backfired on him,” added Leopov. “But that still doesn’t tell us what it is.”

  Petrov cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. “Helen’s Charm went to Berlin with the rest of the collection, and that’s where Hitler got his hands on it. But it was not with the rest of the treasure that Red Army took to Moscow. If we could find a record of the treasure when it was acquired by museum in Germany, and then compare with what is in Pushkin Museum, we might be able to figure out what we are looking for.” Then, as if in afterthought, he added, “You should put Lia on the job. She’s very good at this sort of thing.”

  “I’m not sure she’s available at the moment,” Maddock replied, “But you’re right. We need to go to Berlin.”

  FOURTEEN

  Off the coast of Brazil

  After days of nearly non-stop air travel, Bones was grateful to once again feel the deck of a ship and the roll of the waves under his feet. Unfortunately, that was about the only thing he felt grateful for.

  Huntley’s phone call had yielded what had seemed at the time like good news. The Agency had agreed to fully underwrite a search for the U-398. Despite his boast to the contrary, Bones wasn’t at all certain that he could convince Maxie to convince the Navy brass to take on what would probably amount to a wild goose chase, so letting the CIA handle the logistical challenges sounded like a win-win situation.

  One of the biggest challenges was finding a research vessel from which to conduct a search of the target area, and Huntley had come through for them. Under the auspices of a dummy corporation owned by a shell company in Delaware, he had leased the RS Besnard, an oceanographic vessel owned by the University of Sao Paolo, ostensibly for the purpose of conducting sea salinity surveys of the Amazon discharge zone. Huntley had also taken care of the travel arrangements, providing forged passports which would stand up to the closest scrutiny. He had, in fact, thought of everything, and was so uncharacteristically accommodating that Bones had begun to smell a rat.

  Before leaving for Brazil, he had casually asked Huntley for five minutes to check in with Maxie. When the CIA man had told him that it was already taken care of, Bones had tried being a little more insistent, at which point Huntley had fallen back on his tried and true excuse.

  “No can do, Sitting Bull. Loose lips sink ships, and in case you forgot, that’s exactly where we’re gonna be. On a ship, I mean.”

  “Come on, dude. I’m not asking to call my girlfriend. Maxie’s my CO. He’s got a need-to-know.”

  “Not right now he doesn’t. We are radio silent until further notice. No phone calls, emails, tom-toms or smoke signals. Not until I tell you otherwise. Copy?”

  “Well can you at least find out if Maddock made it out okay?”

  Huntley had only offered an indifferent shrug.

  The episode had left a bitter taste in Bones’ mouth that still lingered two days later as the Besnard cruised along the equator toward the last known position of the Bahia.

  When they arrived at the target coordinates, Professor and Willis set to work deploying the Argo, a remotely operated camera sled designed to operate as deep as 20,000 feet, on loan to their expedition from the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute. With the Argo’s multiple cameras and high-intensity searchlights, they would be able to conduct a “flyover” survey of the benighted depths by towing the array back and forth across the search zone in overlapping lanes—a technique known to treasure hunters as “mowing the lawn.” If they spotted something of interest they would be able to zoom in or even direct the Argo to move in closer, and if further attention was warranted, they could send down Jason, a remotely operated vehicle—or ROV—equipped with sonar, magnetometers, and a manipulator arm for taking samples.

  Professor, in particular, was ecstatic at the chance to use the legendary deep-sea survey equipment. Argo and Jason had both been used in the successful search for the Titanic several years earlier, and the fact that Huntley had been able to procure them and have them transported half a world away told Bones that the spy’s agency bosses were taking the search seriously, even if Huntley did not seem to be.

  They found the wreck after just two hours of searching. It was not a pretty sight. Following the explosion which had obliterated the stern, the naval cruiser had sunk quickly—eyewitness accounts from the handful of survivors reckoned th
e ship had gone down in about three minutes. The rapid descent had continued apace, and the Bahia had been nearly vertical when it arrowed, bow first, into the seafloor. The impact had devastated the funnels and superstructure, but by some quirk of fate, the hull remained upright, jutting up from the murk like a dark tower in a Tolkienesque fantasy tale.

  In the control room of the Besnard, Professor zoomed in for a closer view of the wreck. Twisted beams and armor plates, encrusted with oxidation, blossomed like a flower at the upraised stern, but in the middle of that flower was a gaping wound that seemed to drive all the way to the heart of the stricken naval vessel.

  “Something blew her open all right,” Professor announced. “Hard to say whether it was an enemy torpedo, or one of her own depth charges though.”

  “Mark the location,” Bones said, “And resume the search.”

  Eight hours of searching however yielded no further results. No wreckage, no debris field that might indicate a damaged vessel of any stripe.

  With dusk settling over the world, Bones set up a duty roster to continue the search through the night. Ideally, the research ship should have been crewed by at least a dozen officers and able seamen, but the secrecy of the mission prevented that, so it fell to the three SEALs to operate both the ship and the ROV.

  “We’ll run round the clock,” Bones said. “Prof, you hit the rack. Willis, you’ll watch TV.” He jerked a thumb at the console where a large video monitor displayed the surreal but unchanging landscape of the deep ocean floor. “I’ll stay at the wheel. In four, we’ll rotate.”

  “I want to help,” Lia said. “What can I do?”

  “How ‘bout you get me a sandwich,” Huntley said.

  “Get your own damn sandwich,” Willis shot back.

  Bones gave him an approving nod, but then went on. “Actually, we’re going to be living on coffee, so having someone available for galley duty will really help. We could also probably use an extra set of eyes to watch the video feed.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Huntley said, feigning a yawn. “I’m just here to ensure the security of this operation.”

  “Then why don’t you park your ass in the radio room and leave us alone?” Bones retorted. Huntley had already set up a cot in the ship’s communications room and kept the door locked when he wasn’t inside.

  “This isn’t a pleasure cruise,” Bones went on. “Saying that we’re all going to have to pull our weight is sugarcoating it. This is going to be a slog, and the longer it goes on, the worse it will get.”

  Huntley folded his arms over his chest. “Just how long is it going to take?”

  “It’ll take as long as it takes.”

  Professor added, “Even with the right equipment, and a general idea of where to start looking, it still took weeks of searching to find the Titanic. We haven’t even been at this a full day.”

  “Weeks?” Huntley snorted in disgust.

  “It won’t take us more than a few days to complete our grid,” Professor clarified. “But if we don’t find the U-boat there, we’ll have to expand our search area.”

  “We’re shooting in the dark as it is,” Huntley retorted. “You don’t even know for certain that there is a U-boat out here.”

  “You know, what would really help our chances is if you’d let us consult with Alex. She could keep digging into the archives.”

  Huntley frowned, but seemed to actually be considering Professor’s request. Finally, he shook his head. “No. I’m sorry, but we have to keep a lid on this. If you can’t find it, it probably means there’s nothing to find. I just hope you figure that out before we’re all old and gray.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and stalked away.

  “God, I hate that guy,” Willis sighed.

  “It’s almost like he’s rooting for us to fail,” Professor mused.

  “You just figuring that out?”

  Bones stared at the monitor. “Why do you suppose that is?” he said. “He takes over our operation, won’t let go, gives us everything we ask for, even though he doesn’t think we’ll find anything. What’s his angle?”

  “Maybe someone higher up in the Agency doesn’t share his low opinion of our treasure hunting game,” Willis offered.

  “But then why tie our hands? Why not let us consult with an expert?” Professor shook his head. “Something about this stinks.”

  Willis turned his gaze to Lia. “Maybe we’ve got it all wrong. Maybe it’s about keeping us—or maybe just her—out of the way for a while.”

  Lia stiffened in alarm. “Me?”

  Bones shrugged. “Spooks are always playing games.”

  “And we’re the pawns,” Professor added, nodding sagely.

  “Homie done playin’,” Willis growled. “I say we toss his ass overboard.”

  Bones smiled at the thought but shook his head. With Maddock still LIA, it fell to him to keep the team out of trouble, and that meant exercising impulse control.

  “As much as I’d like to, we’re gonna have to come up with a fix that doesn’t land us in the brig.” Being in charge really bites, he added silently. He swung his gaze to Professor. “You really think Alex could help?”

  Professor shrugged. “This was always a long shot. But maybe she could point us in a different direction.”

  Bones sighed and rose from his chair. “I’ll go talk to him... Plead our case.”

  “Good luck.” Willis’ tone was more sarcastic than hopeful, a sentiment which Bones shared.

  He didn’t like the idea of bowing and scraping before Huntley, submitting to the man’s authority. Following orders was the reality of military life—a reality that seemed to be chaffing a lot more as the years passed—but taking orders from a skidmark like Captain Midnight was positively galling.

  Maybe it’s time to cash out, he mused.

  Hanging it up without putting in twenty years would mean sacrificing his retirement, but if it meant never having to deal with men like Huntley again it would be worth it. He could request a transfer, serve out the rest of his enlistment on a ship or maybe even a cush desk job. And after that? Maybe he’d do security work for his uncle, Crazy Charlie, at the tribal casino. Hell, he could always get a job as a bouncer at a strip club.

  Just thinking about being done with the Navy was enough to buoy his mood a little, but the feeling ended when he reached the commo room.

  He rapped his knuckles on the door. “Huntley! Open up. We need to talk.”

  Huntley opened the door, grinning sardonically. “Hey, I didn’t call for room service, but since you’re here, you can take away my dirty dishes.”

  Bones ignored the dig, and pushed inside the small room. “How about you and me call a truce for five seconds. Talk to each other like professionals.”

  Huntley smirked. Bones braced himself for another wise-ass comment, but the CIA agent nodded. “Go on.”

  “I need to call my CO.”

  “Damn, Tonto. How many times do we gotta hoe this row? Radio silence means—”

  Bones raised a hand. “What happens if we call it quits?”

  Huntley’s smirk softened into what might have been a hopeful smile. “I knew you’d eventually throw in the towel, but I figured you’d drag it out at least a couple days. Okay, short answer: You all sign non-disclosure agreements and never, ever... ever speak a word of this to anyone. Break the NDA, and we’ll disappear you. We’re very good at that. Oh, and in case you’re thinking of resuming the search on your own time... Same rule applies.”

  Bones nodded slowly. He had expected as much. “And Lia? What happens to her?”

  Huntley shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s above my pay grade.”

  “Sounds like maybe you’re not the person I should be talking to.”

  “Ha. You know, I could probably set that up if you really wanted.”

  “What I want is to talk to my boss. You know, kick the decision upstairs, like you do.” Before Huntley could veto the idea, Bones went on. “Let me put this i
n language you can understand. With or without your permission, I’m going to be calling my commander to verify what you’ve told me and ask for guidance. Obviously, with would be the preferred option, but I’m comfortable doing it over your dead body.”

  Huntley’s smile slipped a degree or two. “You’re not that reckless.”

  “You’re right. I’d probably just knock you senseless and hog-tie you. I think the Navy brass would understand, but if not, I’m prepared to take that hit.”

  “Is that a fact?” Huntley barked a short, sharp laugh. “Damn, you’ve got some cajones on you.” He threw his hands up in a show of surrender. “One thing though. Commander Maxwell will be able to confirm the orders seconding you to my authority, but that’s it. He hasn’t been read in on the rest of it. Any of it, which means you won’t be able to ask for advice. You’ll have to make that call all on your lonesome. Understood?”

  Bones gave a reluctant nod.

  “All right then.” Huntley gestured to the wall of radio equipment. “Use the sat-phone. Make your call.”

  Bones turned and reached for the handset but before he could dial, Huntley called out. “Hey, Bonebrake!”

  Bones turned and found himself staring into the muzzle of a compact semi-automatic pistol. Huntley held his aim for a few, meaningful seconds, then lowered the weapon. “Do we need to review the list of approved topics?”

  “No, dude. I got it.” Bones turned back to the phone and started dialing.

  “Do me a favor, and put it on speaker.”

  Bones nodded without looking back, and hit a button on the console. An electronic trilling sound filled the room, and then was replaced by Maxie’s familiar voice. “This is Maxwell.”

  “Maxie, it’s me.”

  “Bonebrake?” The SEAL team commander sounded only mildly surprised.

  “Yes, sir.” He threw a glance over his shoulder. Huntley was standing just out of reach, his arms folded over his chest, the little pistol still in his right hand. Bones went on. “Sorry we’ve been incommunicado for a while. I take it you don’t need me to explain the reason for it?”