by Jack Conner
She shrugged. “Bye bye Lynch.”
He wasn’t sure if this was a description of what would have happened, or if she were saying farewell. He supposed it would to for both. “One last thing. Major Berndt -- and the others . . .”
She smiled. “They already drug. They in my house, with my girls. They no get out -- no alive. I no like Nazis.”
“And Gunnerson? He won’t be pleased when he shows up.”
“He get same treatment.”
Surprising her, Lynch reached forward and hugged her. She protested and beat him away, but she had reddened slightly. Guo’s face remained inscrutable, as did the two large guards that stood in the alley.
“You. Go now,” Madam Wan said.
Lynch tipped an imaginary hat. “It’s been a pleasure.”
“Find me in New Yo’,” she said. “You. Still. Owe. Me. Money.”
He was lighting a cigarette when he hit the street, and when the taxi driver asked him where to, he said, “Where else? The Palace.”
Chapter 14
Commander Higgins held the elaborate arrival ceremony for Lord Wilhelm in the lobby of the Queen’s Arms, an appropriately splendid place for such an occasion. Late morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows, sparkling on all the silver and brass, making the wood furnishings gleam. The Commander beamed and veritably bounced on his toes as the time approached, and Eliza could not remember ever seeing him in such a state. She stood with Lars Gunnerson, Dr. Jung, and several other prominent members of the Society on the expensive carpet of the lobby, under the shining chandelier, while soldiers rebuffed the few outsiders. When asked why, the troopers replied, “State visit.” People would assume one of the ministers was arriving. No one argued, and there was not much traffic in any case.
Eliza herself did not feel nearly so ebullient as Higgins. The call that had come in just a half hour ago --
Don’t think about it.
She’d had time for a nap and a wash, no more, before word had come that Lord Wilhelm neared Brookshire, but she did not feel tired. Adrenaline and grief burned through her and wild thoughts tumbled through her mind. She shot frequent looks at Dr. Jung, who just hung his head drunkenly; the word that had just come in had been of sufficient caliber to send him drinking again. His boils and wasted skin showed in stark contrast to the elegant surroundings, and it was a good thing no one else was admitted or else they would have serious questions about his condition.
Tires squealed outside. Eliza snapped to attention.
Commander Higgins clicked his heels and bowed as a stately figure appeared at the doorway. Lord Wilhelm was a tall man, in good shape for his age, with full silver hair streaked with black and an impressive mustache and beard; the effect bestowed a leonine air to him, Eliza thought, an impression heightened by his arrogant, powerful stride. His gray eyes lanced the room like the sweep of a Panzer’s turret. For some reason Eliza felt that they lingered on her.
“Graf Wilhelm von Ostholstein,” Commander Higgins said, using the honorific that denoted a junior brother to the Reichsgraf, or Count. Of course, there were no true counts left in Germany, nor any nobility, the Weimar Constitution had seen to that. Wilhelm and his brother, then sons of the last true Count of Ostholstein, had loudly opposed the Weimar Republic, especially their signing of the Treaty of Versailles, and this opposition had garnered them much love among the German people, who hated the treaty, and with the Nazi Party that rose partly as a result of that hate. It was said Wilhelm and his brother participated in the Night of Long Knives and helped vault Hitler to power with infusions of cash. As a result, Hitler granted them honorary nobility, reestablishing their family’s title, if only in an unofficial capacity.
Wilhelm did not seem impressed with Higgins’s use of the title, however. He regarded the Commander with hard gray eyes.
“Bring me some wine,” he said. “I am parched from the ride.” He spoke French, perhaps to avoid German in a public place, and his French was flawless, without accent. Eliza, who had studied French as had most people of her class, was impressed.
A servant fetched a glass of wine, and Wilhelm perched in an overstuffed chair as he sipped it. For the first time Eliza noticed how unkempt he was, tired-looking and rumpled overall from his ride. Still, as soon as his gaze found her, she forgot that he might not be fully himself at the moment and could only feel awe. He truly did project a certain aura. Power, she supposed.
“It is an honor to have you here, my lord,” Higgins said, speaking French as his guest had done.
“Is it? I should not think so,” Wilhelm said. “This is my operation. Mine and my brother’s. You are our instruments. Should an instrument be honored by the presence of the hand that wields it?”
Higgins swallowed. “Quite correct, my lord.”
Wilhelm lit a cheroot, and smoke swirled around his head. “Now -- I realize we cannot have the full debriefing now, here, but I need to know. We are alone. The find, it is intact?”
Higgins nodded, and some of his enthusiasm returned. “It is, my lord.”
Something stirred in Wilhelm’s eyes, some change in the size of the pupil. “Excellent.” He smoked for a moment in silence. “I understand there was a shipment of arms last night. Was it satisfactorily taken care of?”
Higgins paled. “Ah . . . allow me to introduce you to Lady Eliza de Courtney. She led the operation. She will give you a full debriefing.”
Eliza felt cold. Trying not to show her nervousness, she stepped forward. As she neared Wilhelm, she smelled the smoke from his black cheroot; it was acrid yet sweet, and she found herself both intrigued and repulsed by the smell. She bowed, imitating Higgins, and said, “A pleasure, Graf Wilhelm.”
“The pleasure’s mine, I assure you. Lady, is it? I enjoy a country that knows its betters.” His voice sharpened. “Now tell me. Was the mission a success? Be general.”
She forced herself to look into his eyes. They swallowed her, hungry and alive. “It began well. We were on target. On time. But . . . there was a saboteur. He rewired the bombs before we arrived on target, destroyed the release mechanism that would have allowed us to deliver the bombs.”
Wilhelm’s expression stilled. Eliza could practically feel him tense, see the hairs rise on his arms and scalp as he bristled. She felt like a deer who has just smelled the musk of a wolf.
“The Eva Braun . . . my luxury liner . . . she is well, I trust.” It was not a question.
Eliza dropped her gaze. Staring at the elaborately-worked carpet, she said, “I am most sorry, Graf. It was destroyed.”
Because she was looking down, she did not see the blow coming. One moment she was staring at the carpet, the next she lay on it, head ringing. A hand went to the side of her face, and she felt something wet. She lay on her side, the world spinning around her.
Lord Wilhelm occupied his chair as if it were a throne, his eyes like those of a cobra, staring straight at her, his face rigid. “I care not for trains and bombs, but . . . the Eva Braun . . . ”
Eliza felt her eyes grow wet, more as a physical reaction to the violence than anything else, and suppressed the tears as best she could. “Again, I am most sorry, my lord.” She cursed the thickness in her voice.
“I am not your lord. You are Albion swine.”
She felt very, very cold. Wilhelm was quite capable of having her tortured and killed.
“And the saboteur?” he pressed. “He was seen to, I trust.”
She had to fight from closing her eyes, from wincing. “He parachuted out of the craft. Escaped.” Hastily, before he could strike her again, she said, hating herself for it, “But word just reached us from Gaston. He has . . . been taken. He is in our custody.”
Lars Gunnerson, without being asked, stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. Eliza could smell his cologne as he all but stepped over her, not even sparing her a glance. He looked confident but not smug. His servant Fieglund stood at the corner of the room, watching on.
“I am off
directly to deal with the saboteur,” Lars said. “I plan on dispatching him myself. Unless . . . you would like the honor?”
Wilhelm started to say something, then reconsidered. “The man who destroyed my ship . . . yes. Yes, I believe I would like a hand in that, in a perfect world. But no. I do not want him transported here. Too many opportunities to escape. Kill him in Gaston and be done with it. Is there a special reason you intend on claiming the kill yourself, Herr Gunnerson?”
So . . . he knew Lars already. Eliza should have known.
Lars’s face was hard. “He burned my house and killed my sister.”
“How do you plan to do it?”
“He is in a cage. I will roast it over an open flame and cook him alive.”
Wilhelm smiled, a sudden flash of hard sharp teeth, and again Eliza thought of a wolf. “Excellent.” He regarded Lars with approval. The smile vanished. “I understand you have been part of Project Ascendance from the beginning.” When Lars nodded, Wilhelm said, “Good. I look forward to comparing notes on our visit to the dig -- if, that is, you can delay your vengeance that long?” He asked this last part as an honest question, giving Lars the opportunity to depart for Gaston and Lynch’s murder if he felt it necessary, without any qualm on Wilhelm’s end. But if he stayed there was obviously the chance to get closer to Wilhelm.
Using the distraction, Eliza climbed to her feet, her head still ringing.
For the first time, Lars bowed. “It would be my honor to accompany you to the city below, my lord.”
Higgins frowned, and he and Eliza shared a glance. She did not like the way his eyes lingered on the side of her head, to where she bled. Higgins had smelled blood, and that could not be good.
With Lord Wilhelm in the lead, and Lars following nearly at his side, the party descended via the elevator, going downward, toward the ruins.
***
Eliza had not been particularly impressed with the ruins during her one and only visit to the dig site months ago. Still, she admitted to a certain curiosity, if only to herself, as soldiers escorted her and the others through the Black Sector. It was hot and clammy here, and sweat trickled down the back of her neck. Her blouse clung to the small of her back, to the top of her breasts. Every noise around her seemed to be the leaping of Bone-Men. However, hers was a large party and the poor creatures would not be likely to attack.
Her curiosity in the ruins lay not in the structures themselves, but in the fascination they held for those around her. Why were these high-born men -- and yes, women, too -- so obsessed with the myth of Atlantis? No, she corrected herself -- the reality; she had seen the ruins and restored technology herself. Yet it did not obsess her as it did the others. Perhaps it was only her distance from it. She had heavily involved herself in the organization and logistics of the Society, not its research. Its research, however, was its true aim, she knew that well enough, though she did not know everything, such as the ultimate goal of Project Ascendance, nor what it would mean to Casveigh or the world if it was successful. Nothing good, she could imagine, but the mechanics of it eluded her.
They passed through a metal gate, and it clanged loudly behind them. The troopers relaxed, but only somewhat. They still trained their guns on every shadow large enough to conceal a person.
“Ah, here we are,” said Lord Wilhelm, when they reached the entrance of the tunnel leading down into the dig site. “I have waited for this day for too long. I remember first seeing the site . . . what, over a year ago . . . I knew it was here the key would be revealed . . . that the last piece of the puzzle would fit into place . . . that it only needed to be unearthed . . . and now, finally . . . ”
He took a last moment, as if to savor the anticipation, and stepped through into the tunnel. The others scurried after.
Commander Higgins strode beside Eliza. He looked sideways at her, and she did not like the greedy glint in his eyes.
“Things will move faster now,” he said.
“Indeed.” Things had moved quite fast enough already for her taste. It did surprise her that no one seemed overly disappointed by the failure of Operation Condor, only the loss of the ship. Whatever they had in mind, whatever the Ascendance held in store, it must achieve what Operation Condor could not.
As they strode through the tunnel, she looked at their faces and saw an almost religious zeal. She felt as if she were on a pilgrimage to some holy place, only she was not a believer. She was, however, surrounded by fanatics who didn’t blink at murder; indeed, they killed fellow human beings just to survive -- actually to be elevated over their fellow man. To be supermen.
The tunnel thrust down, and down, at a steady incline, and gradually they reached cross-tunnels, and the sights and sounds of activity greeted them.
At last they reached the primary dig site, Sector Six -- or, as they had taken to calling it, the city below, or simply the City.
As soon as Eliza stepped out of the tunnel and into the City, awe fell over her. It was as if a great stone had reached out from the wall, seized her in its grip, and squeezed. She could not catch her breath. Her knees felt weak.
“Dear God . . . “ she heard herself whisper. No one seemed to notice. Each was uttering exclamations of their own, except for those who had been here most frequently, such as Higgins and Lars.
Lord Wilhelm threw back his head and laughed. At the sound, some of the workers in the chamber glanced up. But only a few. For, as Eliza saw at once, it was a truly vast chamber. The excavators had made startling progress in the months since Eliza had been down here, thanks in large part, she was sure, to the now-maimed Mr. Roark. Before there had been hints of a larger room, and provocative ruins caked in earth, but mostly there had only been a few twisting corridors carved through what Peters had assured her was a much larger room. Now she saw that he had understated the room’s size greatly.
It stretched over a kilometer in diameter if it stretched an inch. The ceiling reached half a mile high, a perfect dome. The floor dropped away into an irregular bowl. Through the vast spaces Eliza saw that the great chamber was indeed a city -- the City -- and it was fabulous. Much of it was still encased in earth and stone, and most of the walls and floor were coated with dust, but the diggers had removed enough earth, and cleaned what lay underneath enough, that she caught more than a glimpse at the City’s grandeur.
Light shown down through the center of the dome overhead -- sunlight -- and a thousand mirrors arrayed about the bowl below caught the light and bounced it back and forth throughout the City so that the whole place glowed with light as if they stood in open daylight. And the walls tapering up to that grand skylight . . . Eliza caught her breath . . . they seemed to be wrought of gold. A great golden dome, shimmering with light, with intricate patterns running through the walls to break up the monotony, flashes of jade and silver, glitters of diamond . . .
Buildings climbed the sides of the golden walls, and Eliza was reminded of pictures she had seen of the cliff-dwelling Indians of America. But these were so much more. For one thing they were sophisticated buildings of an almost Oriental style, with tapered roofs and grand facades. For another, they were wrought of red jade. She caught her breath, looked closer. Yes, it certainly looked like jade. Red jade, though as far as she was aware there was no such thing. It glowed with light and some of it almost seemed half-translucent, so that she caught glints of large chambers within, and shimmering halls. Grand red towers sparkled under the sun.
A great waterfall boomed from an opening in the golden wall, and its cascade of foaming blue water plunged down into a river below.
The bowl beneath the dome was not even, and this seemed by design, to make the room more visually interesting. Rivers wound throughout sinuous valleys, and more amazing buildings reared from their rivers’ banks and the peaks of hills. Eliza imagined that once grass had climbed on those hills, but now they were only dirt. Most of the buildings were encrusted by earth, but she saw hints of the magnificence within, proud jade towers and domes, jade of
all different colors, from red to green to blue to gold to purple, all glittering with light. A cloud of bats swept past a fantastically-wrought minaret of many different colors, shining in the sunlight, and Eliza wanted to clap her hands in excitement.
“Magnificent!” Lord Wilhelm exclaimed as he set off into the city. He and Lars had been side by side, talking quietly, but now, for the first time, he glanced at Commander Higgins with approval. “You have done well, Commander.”
Higgins’ chest swelled. “Thank you, my lord.”
They entered the city, where workers were busy scraping dirt off buildings and hauling away huge mounds of earth with construction equipment.
“During its heyday, there were four waterfalls, not just one,” Higgins said as they strode along. “All three others blocked now, of course, but we are working on unstopping them. It took us weeks to unstop the chutes to the skylight, but we did it, and it gave us time to find and clean the mirrors.” He chattered on as they walked.
The way ahead grew more and more covered in dirt and through the crusts Eliza could only vaguely see the great buildings surrounding her. Even that was enough to set her heart fluttering. She walked through another world. A dream.
“Did all Atlantis look like this?” she asked. “Before the Fall?”
“We think so, but of course we cannot be sure,” Higgins said. “We have only their tablets and bas-reliefs to go on, and they seemed reluctant to depict anything before the Fall, though they did depict the Fall itself. Perhaps it was taboo, a subject too dark for them to relive. We know so little of that time. They lived in great luxury and great decadence, we know that much, and they possessed a race of slaves who hated them. It was this, we believe, that led to the Fall. According to various carvings, the slaves rose against them, used the Atlantans’ own technology against them, to destroy their sub-continent utterly. It triggered an earthquake, sunk the land. Millions perished. A few survivors led by the Queen escaped and landed on the mainland. For years they wandered, and at last they settled -- here, in the chalk country of Casveigh, though it wasn’t Casveigh back then, of course. That came much later. Well, they built their little communities, their towns, all the while hiding from their enemies, the slave race that had risen against them and fled the isle before its destruction.
