The Martian Pendant

by Patrick Taylor

  Objections by the owners of items marked for reparations, whether artwork, gold or machinery, led to their being shipped off as slave labor to the Gulags in Siberia. In cases of those who were especially vociferous, summary executions by these same agents, usually employing the garrote, were commonplace.

  Dragunov was one of those operatives. He took special pleasure in the brutal liquidation of any who stood in his way. It mattered not whether they were Nazis, neutrals, or even citizens of Allied nations. His techniques were singularly sadistic, and often extended to family members of his primary victims as well. Most efficient in his interrogations were his Genghis Khan-like threats of violation and torture of the wives and daughters of those arrested. This always brought the needed information regarding the location of treasure.

  It was obvious that he would not blend in easily with the local population, as might the swarthy Mafioso priest from the Vatican, but his cover as a South African mining engineer was perfect for the situation. In his lengthy preparation for espionage, he had learned to speak English fluently.

  Big Oil

  In Los Angeles, some executives of United Oil of California were having second thoughts. Oil and natural gas had become the king of energy in the U.S., replacing coal on the railroads and for much of heating uses, but was being threatened by the infant nuclear power industry in the generation of electricity. Boardroom debate, which in the past had mostly been concerned with rival coal, now seemed to always end with concern about the plans certain electrical utilities had for building nuclear plants. Still, hard-bitten oilmen were convinced that petroleum and natural gas would remain the top priority for transportation and furnaces, both home and industrial, for many decades. Fully one-third of U.S. energy consumption was for internal combustion engines, land, sea and airborne, and that meant gasoline, diesel, bunker oil, and the recently added jet fuel. But the perceived potential of nuclear energy, theoretically at least, remained a serious threat.

  The new data generated from GeoSat suggested the possibility of the discovery of oil, but the intensity of the signal focal to the Great Rift Valley of East Africa meant that something else might be found there. To most it looked like uranium ore of unprecedented concentration, and all of them were afraid of what that might mean. Plans had, of course, already been made to mount an expedition to the region, and final preparations were awaiting the ponderous but necessary British bureaucratic clearances for exploration in their protectorate of Tanganyika, which they had obtained from the defeated Germans during World War I.

  But they were meeting governmental resistance. Officials there were concerned about the possible plundering of resources that could be brought about by letting in such a powerful force as the American Oil Cartel. Further, there was no doubt that the drilling specialists and others sent there would have to be accompanied by ample American security agents, and the local native police were resisting the project. It seems they wanted that plum for themselves. Corrupt, and always short of funds, guarding an oil expedition could prove golden for them.

  Some of the executives were pushing for a cover for the operation, and much time in the boardroom in Los Angeles was spent examining possible solutions. They finally agreed upon a plan that would certainly expedite things with the British authorities in Tanganyika. The preliminary exploration would be, in effect, an archeological dig! Governments had always favored that activity, more willing to trade their ancient fossils and artifacts than natural resources for scarce foreign currency.

  A three-man task force was appointed by the Board to contact an appropriate archaeology department at a top university. Normally, they would have sounded out a nearby California school, but it was decided to enlist academics from a university in the Midwest, far away from any petroleum interests that might arouse suspicion. So they made a connection with the Anthropology Department at the University of Chicago.

  * * *

  Max Werner was due for a sabbatical. He had been teaching palaeoanthropology at the University of Chicago for eight years. At the time, he felt a bit stale, and he needed a break. He had participated in some minor digs in the Southwest, and the one in Spain, but he yearned for something of significance. The position offered by the oilmen, that of leading their expedition, seemed perfect. Many insufficiently sampled sites, he knew, existed in the Great Rift Valley, but most specialists in the field would have balked at the deal. A dedicated scientist would rarely agree to serving as cover for such a sub-rosa venture that was so completely different.

  When it was pointed out that oftentimes many bones were found in conjunction with oil or tar deposits, it occurred to him that this could prove to be a chance to achieve priority in the discovery of bones of early man. The La Brea tar pits in Los Angeles had shown that well-preserved pre-historic animal skeletons could be found in quantity, under the right conditions. Admittedly, it was a long shot regarding human or pre-human remains. Even primitive humans had too much intelligence to be trapped under those circumstances. So he held out for an overly generous stipend, with all expenses paid for his group, and when his demands were met, he gleefully signed on.

  Serendipity

  In the Langley, Virginia, facility of the CIA outside Washington, DC, the leadership was uncharacteristically out of touch with the situation. One of their operatives had been embedded with the Buell organization when it first became allied with the JPL to work on perfecting a practical satellite, and this continued with the military ICBM work. But oddly, they had been shut out of the GeoSat project until it was in orbit. Only when Diana was selected to analyze the statistics generated by the Cray supercomputer did they, quite by accident, get wind of the true purpose of the satellite and its potential. Rather than being the product of super-efficient sleuthing for which the agency was known, this was a fluke.

  Dan Stuart had joined the agency as an operative, having just finished his training. He had fallen in love with Diana during their dig in Spain, but other priorities had somehow kept their initial contact from blossoming. He did enter her phone number in his little black book, however. From a telephone call to the Anthropology Department at the University, he learned of her current whereabouts in Culver City.

  It was a well-known news item that Buell had outbid other holders of defense contracts for the only supercomputer available at that time. Until then, the Intelligence people had no idea that the Cray was processing raw data relayed from GeoSat. It was serendipity, really, as Dan later related, that led him to make the connection. He was naturally intrigued about Diana’s working there, but he hesitated making the trip just for unofficial business reasons. But he was still in love with her. When vacation time came, he flew to L.A., rented a car, and got a room at a motel. With his cover as a police investigator, he was able to gain access to the Culver City facility, and from there, to the office over the computer room where Diana worked. He made his way to her building, thinking, this is so easy, but what a lot of work just for a date! As he stood outside her door, she almost ran into him on her way to lunch. He was at first speechless as she stopped when she recognized him.

  “Oh, hi,” he finally said happily.

  With a warm smile, she exclaimed, “Danny! What brings you to Culver City? I’m on my way to lunch. Come along. A lot has happened since we last saw each other, but I’m too starved to stop now.”

  Falling into step with her, he told her about his work with the CIA. “But I’m not here to investigate you,” he lied. Then, not exactly lying, he added, “I’m here to check up on an altogether different matter.”

  “Too bad,” she jokingly replied, “I had hoped that if this were official business, perhaps your CIA expense account would cover the tab.”

  They spent an hour together in the company cafeteria, and it soon became evident to her that his motives were entirely social. Disarmed, she allowed him inside her office when he followed her after lunch. No word had yet come down of the need for secrecy anyway; her work was only later designated as classified. But after sh
e accepted his invitation for dinner, he began to wonder about her work. It was as if her smile of acceptance caused him to see the light. When they returned to her office, his attention strayed to the arrays of printouts papering the walls. The GeoSat technical manuals on her desk provided the final pieces of the puzzle. He would have so much to tell when he returned to Langley, maybe enough for a promotion. But, he told himself, he was on vacation, and now he even had that date!

  He did call his supervisor to fill him in on his fortuitous discovery. After an excited conference with the Agency Chief, his supervisor called back, changing Dan's assignment on the spot.

  “Stuart,” he said, “get an apartment in West L.A. or Santa Monica and apply for work at Buell in Security. They’re always looking for sharp guys, and with your cover background in police investigation, you’re a shoo-in. Just keep reporting back to us like always. If you have any problems with their personnel department, get on the horn to me. It’s best that the agency keeps a low profile in this, but one way or the other, we have to get you in there. Got it?”

  “Yeah, boss,” Dan replied happily, “but what about Diana Howard? She knows I’m CIA.”

  “You know the answer to that one. Convince her your presence is for the good of the free world. Any reasonable person would go along with that.” Then, before hanging up, his superior snapped, “Watch her closely, but be a good boy and keep your distance.”

  Dan put down the phone, thinking, That’ll be the most difficult part of the assignment.

  When he picked Diana up at her apartment that night, they decided to try a new restaurant in Santa Monica, where she’d heard the seafood was wonderful. They had driven less than a mile north when everything became enveloped by incoming fog. Not the low clouds of the marine layer that would periodically cycle inland during the summer, but a cold, dense, ground-hugging blanket.

  “God,” Dan exclaimed, slowing the car, “I can hardly see a thing ahead of us! I never thought this could happen in sunny California.” Shivering, he reached to turn on the heater, muttering, “Brrr.”

  “Oh, such fog is not uncommon near the coast, or for that matter, in the inland valleys in the winter, California or not. Danny, you call this fog? If you’d ever spent much time in London, you’d understand what fog really means.”

  “Well, driving in this stuff is not safe, even at twenty per. I’m for heading back. My place or yours?” With that, he turned the car around, heading south.

  She smiled at him. “Did you bring this fog with you in order to lure me to your motel? To begin with, the least a gentleman should do is return the lady to her apartment.” Snuggling next to him, she continued, “The invitation would then be hers to give.”

  The fog outside was bad enough, but with his mind clouded by her nearness and what she had just said, he missed the turnoff from the Coast Highway. She seemed even more compliant when he put his right arm around her, and at that point he lost all track of time. It was she who finally said, “Danny, I think we’ve indeed gone too far.”

  Withdrawing his arm hastily, he replied sheepishly, “I’m sorry, Di, I just couldn’t help myself.”

  “You sweet idiot, I’m not complaining about your affection, rather I'm saying that by now we must in fact be almost to San Pedro! And look, now the fog is closing in. We’ll never make it back safely tonight unless it lifts. Turn this machine around, please, and pull over whilst we decide where we are and what we do next.”

  As he cut the engine, he reached over to her again, but instead, she took his hand and with her attention elsewhere, held it. “Look, just over there! That red glow, barely showing through the murk. It has to be a restaurant or a petrol station. In our present predicament, we could use dinner, or directions. Actually, both.”

  She was out of the car before he could answer, and when he joined her, she took his hand. “Come along, it’s an eating establishment of some sort. Wasn’t that what your invitation called for tonight?”

  Dan, embarrassed by his mistaken navigation, could only mumble agreement as they entered the warmth of the interior, especially inviting due to the subdued lighting. Several people were drinking at the polished bar, behind which was a mirrored wall with shelves lined with every imaginable bottle of liquor and wine. Despite the tobacco smoke, the air had the delicious aroma of seafood and seasoning. There were diners at banquettes lining the opposite wall, which was covered in a deep red fabric hung with marine paintings. The conversation inside temporarily ceased as Dan removed Diana’s coat. Her arrival always had that effect at any gathering. When they found a table, the clinking of glasses and conversation resumed. They were then greeted by a friendly waitress, offering them menus.

  Diana was the first to speak. “I say, Miss, this fog is as bad as I ever encountered in London, and we’re in fact lost. Could you tell us where we are? We were heading for Santa Monica.”

  “Why, this is Huntington Beach, ma’am, and this is The Mariner’s Lodge. You’re miles too far south. But now that you’re here, have a look at this menu. We feature seafood, of course, but we also serve a mean steak. Then looking at Dan, she added, “If you stay lost tonight, we also have king-sized beds upstairs.”

  Diana turned to Dan, smiling sweetly, “I suggest first we share drinks and a meal, and worry about the fog later.”

  Warmed first by a glass of scotch, and then by a savory seafood plate, Dan slid over next to Diana after both had opted for port wine and chocolate for dessert. Taking her hand, he whispered, “This is so wonderful tonight, I can’t help but regret the time we’ve wasted since we were in Spain together.”

  In response, she leaned against him and put her head on his shoulder. “My life has been such that were I to dwell on events-–or non-events—of the past, I’d be spending most of my time wallowing in regret, soaring in remembrance, or fearing the future. While I do see your point, Danny, and my memories of Spain with you are all about the soaring, it wasn’t yet the time for us. I was in a sort of fog then too, made up of the past, and my ambitions at the time. My goals, including being with you, should have been clear, but were as confounding to me then as the fog outside is now.”

  Kissing the top of her head, he said, “Isn’t it time for us to start soaring again? How long can you let your past keep us from having a future together?”

  That seemed to have struck a chord with her. She turned her face to his, and kissed him on the lips. After toasting each other with more port, he paid the bill. When they emerged into the night, the cold fog was the worst they had ever seen. Only a few steps from the restaurant door, she stopped him from walking any further.

  “Danny, look! Already the door is largely obscured. I can’t let you drive in this soup. If it were a balmy night, we could spend it in the car; that is, if we could find it, but this chill is too much.” Then, in a huskier voice, she added, “Don’t you agree we should stay the night here?”

  His answer was to draw her close to him, his lips eagerly finding hers. She returned his kiss passionately, oblivious to the cold and the swirling fog for a full minute. Then, pulling away, in that same tone, she said softly, “It’s back inside, right?”

  He was so excited that as they re-entered the little place, he stammered as he again helped her off with her coat, “I think I’ll need something to calm me, Di, before we go much further.”

  She smiled up at him. “If you’re this worked up over merely removing my coat, you had best have a double before attempting the rest of my attire.”

  It seemed only a few minutes had passed as they sat at the bar, sipping scotch on the rocks. Recalling their experiences since they had last been together, the time flew. When the bartender told them it was closing time, and that the fog was worse than ever, she led Dan upstairs, where they registered for a room under the sleepy approval of the desk clerk.

  When the door clicked shut behind them, she turned and kissed him again. “Excuse me a moment, Danny dear, whilst I freshen up. Do put some soft music on, to go with the very ro
mantic mood I’m now enjoying, and turn down the lights a bit.”

  As he went about fulfilling her wishes, anticipating what would come next, his excitement grew. But God, he suddenly realized he didn’t have any condoms! All such concern left him as she emerged from the bathroom. He had never imagined her to be so beautiful, standing almost naked before him, her long hair cascading over her shoulders, only partially obscuring her lovely breasts. Smiling invitingly, and wearing only her filmy half-slip, she took his hand and led him to the bed. As she sat down, looking up at him invitingly, she patted the spot next to her, and began to unbuckle his belt. He needed no prompting after that, hastily throwing off the rest of his clothes. Gently pushing her back, he began with caresses, following up with kisses. Enjoying the thrill of his touch, she began to reply in kind to his hands and lips, and through the night, their pent-up longing found, for them, the ultimate in passion that can be experienced together by two people in love.

  By checkout time, the fog had lifted. Earlier, aided by quantities of black coffee, both had downed breakfast hungrily despite nursing mild hangovers. It was a workday for each, despite feeling like honeymooners. On the drive to Buell, he voiced his concerns over his lack of using protection.

  “Remember, Danny darling,” she whispered, as she snuggled more closely, “as an old married woman, I took the necessary steps beforehand.”

  Putting his arm around her, he said, “Now I see why mother told me it’s taboo to rummage through a lady’s purse.”