Ethan frowned.
‘So you think the American expedition pulled out for fear of their lives?’
‘The leader of the expedition, Admiral Byrd, discussed the lessons learned from the expedition with International News Service aboard USS Mount Olympus, and warned of the danger of future wars resulting in foreign nations mounting aerial assaults via polar regions. Byrd said that the most important result of his observations and discoveries was the potential effect that they have in relation to the security of the United States. The fantastic speed with which the world was shrinking was one of the most important lessons learned.’
‘Sounds reasonable enough,’ Hannah pointed out.
‘But then, having established that point, neither the Soviet Union or the United States ever established a permanent military presence in Antarctica,’ Forrester went on. ‘Not only that, but a single documented event in 1946 seemed to precede the following flying saucer events of 1947. The expedition had captured some seventy thousand photographs and had been scheduled for five months’ duration, well through the Antarctic winter, but then it was abruptly and without public acknowledgement cancelled after just two months in what seemed to be a panic. No further announcements regarding the expedition were made by the Navy, and no further expeditions were conducted in the region.’
Ethan thought for a moment.
‘They found something,’ he said with clairvoyant certainty.
‘They found what the Germans had done,’ Forrester explained. ‘In August 1945, a year and a half before Byrd’s expedition, German U-boats U-530 and U-977 surrendered in the Argentinean harbor of Mar del Plata. The U-boats were from the so-called Führer convoy, an extremely secret formation whose exact mission remains unknown to this day. The crews of the submarines refused to talk, so we were able to learn very few details, although the captain of U-530 did supposedly speak of an operation by the name of Walküre 2. In line with this operation, his ship set sail from Kiel in Northern Germany for Antarctica two weeks before the end of the war; thanks to the Walther snorkel, it only had to surface once during the entire voyage across the Atlantic.’
Forrester guided the Polar Star to the right of a gigantic chunk of polar ice trapped in the frigid waters.
‘On board the U-Boats were passengers whose faces were allegedly masked, as well as important documents from the Third Reich. The captain of U-977, Heinz Schaeffer, confirmed to his captors that he sailed the same route with his boat shortly thereafter and in conducting their own research, we realized that numerous German U-boats travelled in the direction of Antarctica during the war and in its immediate aftermath.’ Forrester looked at Ethan. ‘Operation Highjump was a fully militarized operation to hunt down the last of the German Navy, believed to have been hiding beneath the Antarctic ice in a purpose-built base. So, one has to ask: what did Byrd’s fleet encounter down there and why has nobody ever returned to the site?’
A silence pervaded the bridge for a long moment before Hannah shrugged off the chilly atmosphere the captain had created.
‘Let’s stick with what we do know for now,’ she suggested. ‘Do we have precise coordinates for this German base you’re speaking of?’
‘Not precise coordinates,’ Forrester replied. ‘The base is likely to have been designed to ride the glacier it’s encased within otherwise it would have been torn apart by now. We’ve made a few calculations based on its likely position, seventy years after its construction. Your team will be deployed there from the shore as soon as we arrive.’
‘Which will be when?’ Ethan asked.
‘Four hours,’ the captain replied as he glanced up at a GPS display mounted to the ceiling of the bridge. ‘We’ll make the mouth of the glacier by dawn, at which point you’ll be on your own.’
Ethan turned away from the bridge and looked at the commander of the SEAL team. Lieutenant Riggs was leaning against a bulwark and had watched the entire exchange in silence.
‘We’d better get what rest we can,’ he suggested. ‘It’s going to be a long day.’
***
XII
George Washington University Hospital,
Washington DC
The man stood across the street from the hospital and watched in silence as patients and loved ones filed in and out of the building. One of the busiest hospitals in the district, it would not be easy to get inside unobserved, find the target and eliminate them while leaving no trace. But he knew that the price paid for the taking of the life of Nicola Lopez would be well worth it, and that there would be nothing that she could do to prevent her murder.
He stepped off the sidewalk and strolled casually across the street, the bright winter sunshine enabling him to wear sunglasses which aided in shielding his identity from the myriad cameras dotted around the city’s streets.
He kept his head down as he walked through the hospital’s entrance and into the crowded lobby, the characteristic clinical scent of the wards filling the air as he weaved through the queues of visitors and patients and headed for the private wards.
At the first opportunity he made his way toward a public rest room and pushed through the doorway. The stalls inside were busy as he moved through and found an empty one, closed the door, and then slid out of his jacket and pants to reveal a doctor’s uniform. From his pocket he slipped an identity badge and pinned it on his shirt lapel, and then a small pager to his belt as he rolled up his jacket, cap and pants and slid them behind the latrine cistern.
He walked out of the stall and turned for the exit, pushed through the doorway into the corridor and turned immediate right. A quick glance across the busy lobby revealed that nobody had noticed anything untoward, the staff far too busy to take any notice of another doctor hurrying to and fro.
He knew from his research that Nicola Lopez was no longer under armed guard in her room. The terrorists who had shot her had themselves been neutralized within a couple of hours of the incident, and the conspiracy that they had formed to murder senior politicians in the administration had failed. Thus, there was nobody any longer gunning for Lopez and no need for round the clock protection. Or so they thought.
He moved toward an elevator and then thought better of it, taking the stairs up to the third floor of the hospital where a series of private wards were located. Doctors and nurses milled this way and that as he walked toward a ward tucked away on the south west corner of the building.
His nearest escape route was the stairwell at the far end of the ward, with a secondary route to the elevator should he require it. He knew that he would only have a few moments to enter the room, complete his mission and escape without detection. He knew well the consequences of being identified– Majestic Twelve would spare no expense in removing him from the equation and preventing any connection between them and the murder of Nicola Lopez.
The corridor was deathly quiet as he moved through it and identified the room in which Nicola Lopez lay. Her name was emblazoned upon a chart resting in a plastic holder on the door, and he could see through a window into the room. Even the briefest of glances told him that she was alone, the nurses having already completed their rounds and moved on.
Comatose. That was the detail he had received from his discreet enquiries: that Nicola Lopez had been in an induced coma while her body recuperated, and was now on strong medications designed to maintain her in a sort of stasis, unconscious but not in a coma, to give her body the best possible chance of recovery from her ordeal. He had never before encountered Lopez in such a vulnerable state and now it would serve his purpose well.
He opened the door and walked in. The room was well ventilated, flowers arranged on a table near the bed where Lopez lay amid a tangle of intravenous lines. Her sheets were pure white, her long black hair neatly tied in a pony-tail and snaking like black oil beside her head. Her features were drawn, somewhat pale, her breathing soft and a gentle rhythmic beeping from the heart monitor informing him that she was still alive.
He pushed the door closed b
ehind him and moved toward her bed, one hand slipping into the pocket of his pants to produce a slim syringe filled with a clear fluid. He reached up to the intravenous line plugged into Lopez’s left arm, and carefully slipped the tip of the syringe into the line and squeezed.
In absolute silence the clear fluid emptied from the syringe and flowed into the line, and from there into Nicola Lopez’s helpless body.
*
‘I’m here to see Nicola Lopez?’
The woman leaned casually on the counter and smiled at the receptionist, a young African American nurse who began tapping on her keyboard as she scrutinized her files.
‘Miss Lopez is on a private ward, level three. Do you have an appointment?’
‘I do,’ the woman said, flicking her long blonde hair out of her way as she reached into her handbag and produced a card and an appointment form. ‘I’m Angela Raymond from Clearwater Insurance. We’re acting for Miss Lopez’s family in regard to the shooting that injured her. We’d like to visit her to assure ourselves of her condition so that we can make arrangements on behalf of her family.’
‘And her family are where?’ the nurse asked.
‘Mexico,’ Angela replied, ‘Guanajuato, to be precise. They’re hoping to travel here soon but we’re working for them until they can reach the States and start proceedings. I’ll only need a quick visit and a word with her physician to clarify her injuries.’
The nurse nodded and glanced at her screen.
‘Level Three, Doctor Hazeem Reyen is the duty physician. He’ll inform you of everything you need to know.’
Angela flashed the nurse a bright smile of gratitude and made her way to the elevators. Within moments she was travelling up to the third floor, the elevator humming as she held her card in one hand and waited patiently for the elevator to reach its destination.
The doors opened onto the third floor and Angela followed the signs to the private wards as she sought out some sign of Doctor Reyen. She spotted a Middle Eastern looking man near the reception desk and hurried over.
‘Doctor Reyen?’ she asked.
Hazeem Reyen turned to the attractive blonde in the smart suit and shook her hand, responding to Angela as men always did, surprised and delighted at her attention. Angela smiled back as the doctor introduced himself and she informed him of what she required.
‘Of course,’ Reyen replied, ‘Miss Lopez is in room five. I’ll show you there now.’
Doctor Reyen led the way to the ward and as he reached room five he glanced back at Angela.
‘I didn’t realize that there was any valid insurance claim for Miss Lopez’s family? She survived the shooting and should make a full recovery, given time.’
‘They’re looking into legal action against the government,’ Angela explained. ‘Miss Lopez was unsupported when she tackled two terrorists in the Capitol, and they feel that her safety was neglected by the police.’
Doctor Reyen opened the door to room five and gestured for Angela to enter. She walked into the room and turned to look at Nicola Lopez, who was laying in silence before her, the heart monitor beeping softly.
‘I’ll just be a moment,’ Angela said to the doctor.
Doctor Reyen smiled.
‘That’s fine, but I cannot leave you alone with the patient I’m afraid. I’ll have to wait until you’re done here before I can leave.’
Angela smiled gently. ‘I understand. Could you close the door for me?’
Doctor Reyen turned and pushed the door closed.
The blade was slim and easy to conceal as Angela let it fall from the inside sleeve of her jacket and swung it overarm toward Doctor Nazeem’s back, aiming for a spot directly between his shoulder blades where the spinal column travelled up toward the brain stem. The blade flickered in the light as it rushed down upon the doctor, but then something slammed into Angela’s shoulder with tremendous force and hurled her aside.
Angela’s head smacked into the unforgiving wall as the blade in her hand slashed down the back of the doctor’s arm and he cried out in surprise and pain. Angela turned in the direction of the blow that had struck her and saw Lopez propped up on her elbows, her dark eyes flaring with rage and one leg outstretched where she had launched her attack.
Angela fought to get to her feet even as the door to the room was hurled open.
Doctor Reyen staggered backwards out of the way as a large man burst into the room, dark eyes glaring down at Angela.
*
Nicola Lopez hauled herself off the bed as she saw the blonde woman on the floor look up in terror as Aaron Mitchell’s boot swung into her slim wrist with a hefty blow. The blade in her hand spun through the air as Lopez heard the brittle bones in the woman’s arm snap like twigs.
The blonde woman screamed, the scream cut off abruptly as Mitchell’s boot slammed down onto her face and silenced her with a brutality that sent a pulse of fear writhing through Lopez’s guts.
Lopez slid off the bed in panic and almost fell as her legs betrayed her, weakened from lack of use. Mitchell loomed before her and she gathered her strength and swung her best effort at a punch to his jaw. Mitchell blocked the blow with ease and then caught her before she fell. Lopez sucked in air, her eyes aching and her limbs weak as she realized that the giant assassin held her life, quite literally, in his hands.
Mitchell turned and looked down at the injured doctor.
‘Get your wound tended to and call the police,’ he growled. ‘Ensure that woman is restrained and detained before she regains consciousness! Believe me, she will kill anybody who tries to stop her!’
The doctor nodded frantically as he scrambled to his feet, one hand clamped around the bloody wound to his arm as he pushed through the door and out into the corridor outside, screaming for a security team.
Aaron Mitchell turned to look at Lopez, his dark eyes smoldering with restrained violence.
‘Come with me if you want to live.’
***
XIII
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Lopez gasped, her voice a whisper, and despite the effort it required she still managed to add: ‘Asshole?’
Aaron Mitchell did not reply as he carried Lopez out of the hospital and across the parking lot outside until he reached a non-descript sedan he had hired with cash he had withdrawn from a safety deposit box in Missouri. The journey from Colorado had been a long one, but he had long maintained a network of such caches in case of emergency. He opened the passenger door and lowered Lopez into the vehicle, strapped her in before he took his place behind the wheel and drove out of the lot.
Lopez was, by any standards, out of the game. She knew that Mitchell had slipped something into her saline drip to bring her back to consciousness, because she had seen him toss the empty syringe into a trash can on their way out of the building. Likewise, she also knew that the woman whose face Mitchell had brutally stomped had been there to kill her.
‘I asked you a question,’ she murmured as the car veered onto the beltway, headed south.
Mitchell grabbed a chilled bottle of water and handed it to her.
‘Drink, as much as you can. We need to get you back up to strength.’
Lopez stared at the man who had opposed her and Ethan for so long, quite uncertain of what was going on. She took a small sip of the water from the bottle, and then immediately realized how parched she was and promptly guzzled the rest of the water down as Mitchell negotiated the traffic heading out of the district toward Maryland.
‘Why did you get me out of the hospital?’ she demanded, slightly more energetic now as the water hit her system.
Mitchell spoke in a serious tone that brooked no argument.
‘How much do you remember?’
Lopez blinked, her mind reeling as she tried to recall her last moments of consciousness.
She had been near the White House, running down two terrorists hiding in a goods vehicle to the south west of the building. They had been using an advanced form of technology, one that she an
d Ethan had been searching for, that allowed the user to control the mind of an implanted human being. She struggled to recall the man’s name: Hazeem? No, Abrahem – Abrahem Nassir.
‘I was running toward a vehicle,’ she said finally. ‘Shots were fired at two cops coming from the opposite direction. They went down and the vehicle started its engine. I got to the rear of it, pulled on the door and it flew open, knocked me off balance. There were two guys inside and they got the drop on me.’ Lopez hesitated as she realized that she had recalled the moment she had been shot. ‘Two rounds to the chest,’ she whispered.
Mitchell nodded, driving sedately amid the traffic in order to avoid standing out.
‘That’s the last thing you remember?’
‘Before that woman in my room and you turning up,’ she confirmed.
‘Then you’ve got some catching up to do,’ Mitchell replied. ‘You were in an induced coma for four weeks, and unconscious for as long again. You were shot two months ago.’
Lopez stared into the distance for a moment and then yanked down the sun visor and looked into the small vanity mirror upon it. Her pallid skin, sunken eyes with dark rings and messy hair peered back at her.
‘Jesus,’ she gasped.
‘You’re alive,’ Mitchell countered. ‘You’ll recover fast, provided the people who hired that assassin to take you down don’t get to you first.’
‘And who hired them?’ Lopez demanded.
The Black Knight Page 8
