by Greig Beck
Cate cleared her throat. “So, he’s a good boss?”
Sonya’s glossy lips curved slightly. “The best.” She continued to study Cate for a moment. “He is also a very busy man, and needs to be on a plane in a few hours. You must be brief, and to the point.”
Cate nodded, feeling suddenly under pressure. “He gets a lot of these, huh?”
Her face softened. “No, in fact, he gets none of these. He never sees anyone like this; you must have really piqued his interest.”
Cate brightened as she felt the elevator slow. The door shushed open again, and just like on the foyer, another pair of enormous men waited either side of the door. Valery liked his security. Must be a Russian thing.
The statuesque assistant led Cate to a huge set of double doors, with ‘AKM’ in calligraphic-style crest on a band of gold across the panels. She paused, giving Cate a genuine smile.
“You’ll do fine. Good luck.” She pushed open the door and stood back, not entering herself.
Cate sucked in a deep breath and walked in.
The first thing she noticed was the echo of her heels in the cavernous space. The lighting was soft, and the decorations sparse. There were a few islands of furniture – a huge antique desk that must have been twenty feet long, and a dark burgundy leather couch. But what drew her eyes was one entire wall was made of glass, a shimmering blue, and behind it, there were all manner of strange creatures gliding past. It must have contained an enormous amount of water as further into its depths clarity was lost in a deeper blue haze. Sea grasses swayed in an artificial current, and sand floored one side, building to weed-covered boulders in another, giving the whole scene a natural habitat quality.
Two eel-like fish sinuously approached the front of the tank to eye her, and Cate stepped closer to return the examination.
“Incredible,” she whispered. Both creatures were a little over a foot long, and had thick scales like armor plating. Along their backs was a tall, serrated dorsal fin like some sort of ancient dimetrodon dinosaur.
“Polypterus Senegalus.” The voice was deep, with the hint of a Russian accent.
Cate nodded without turning. “The dinosaur eel; very rare, very aggressive.”
“What else?” the voice asked.
Cate smiled, enjoying the game. “Native to tropical African waterways, and have primitive lungs – they can leave the water for short periods of time. A true evolutionary transitional form.” She felt the man come up behind her, and examined his reflection in the tank. He was tall, thin, and younger than she expected, and with a perfectly manicured Hemmingway-style beard.
“Very good, Professor Granger.”
“Was that a test?” she asked, turning.
Mironov shrugged. “Only a handful of people in the country could have recognized those fish for what they are.”
He stuck out his hand, and Cate grasped it. His palm was leathery, dry, and told of a man who worked with weights, wood, or maybe even rope – a sailor, she bet.
“Valery Konstantin Mironov – call me Valery.” He turned and motioned to the couch. She saw there was a coffee pot waiting.
Cate stole one more look at the tank, and then followed him to sit. Mironov lifted a remote from a slot in the armrest and pointed it at a wall. A panel slid back and then a screen appeared. The image flickered, and then came to life. It was her footage. He froze it at the image of the tooth, and laced his fingers in his lap.
“And this was taken in a sealed subterranean cavern, deep beneath the surface of the west Alaskan coast?” He watched her carefully. “And no one else knows about this?”
“The local Nantouk people have probably known about it for ten thousand years.” Cate tilted her head. “But other than my close colleagues, then no, no one else is aware of what this potentially is.”
“And what is it?” Mironov’s ice-blue eyes were unblinking.
She turned back to the screen. “An alpha predator, living in a massive body of water that is of tropical temperature, and one that could have been sealed off from the outside world for hundreds of thousands or maybe even many millions of years.”
“A mutation then?” Mironov tilted his head.
“Perhaps, but I think it is more likely something caught in an evolutionary cul-de-sac. A creature that has been frozen in time by a benign and unchanging environment… a remnant species.”
Mironov stared for a moment. “Sometimes evolution…” he turned to her. “…or maybe God himself, tries things out. Sometimes they don’t work, or God realizes He has made a mistake.” He turned back to the screen. “And then these things get cancelled out. Some for good reason.” He turned to her with a flat smile. “And now it is back.”
“It never went away… just like the coelacanths you have at home.” She raised an eyebrow as she sipped her coffee.
His mouth lifted into a smile. “Yes.” He raised his cup, saluting her. “So, Ms Granger, this sounds like something you would kill for, hmm? Why aren’t you already there, exploring, filming, negotiating television rights to a documentary?”
“You know why I’m here,” Cate said, feeling irritation at the man’s knowing smile. She bet he had done more to check on her bona fides than ask a few questions about rare fish. “My university hasn’t the capital to fund an expedition right now. At least not in my lifetime.”
“Perhaps not in a thousand lifetimes, I think.” He smiled again.
She scoffed. “You know what?” Cate got to her feet. “I didn’t come here to play games. This site could potentially hold Lazarus species that have been extinct on the surface world. There may be secrets of evolution that could be beyond anything we can ever imagine.”
Mironov opened his hands and held them wide. “But you can’t get there, and soon someone else will find the site, and then…” He made a small popping noise with his lips, and shrugged.
Cate looked back to the fish tank. “We know there is life there, and I believe a helluva lot bigger and more interesting than a dinosaur eel.” She tilted her head, her lips curved into a confident smile.
His mouth turned down, and he turned back to her image of the serrated tooth on the screen. “Maybe, but without scale, it might be nothing more than a few blind salmon trapped in a cave.”
Cate shook her head. “Well, that blind salmon took out all our equipment. So no, I think it’s something damned substantial.” She narrowed her eyes. “And so do you… or I wouldn’t be here. Whatever it was, we need to check it out – fully map the location, document what we find and do a hands-on exploratory. Be first in, so we can save the habitat, before someone else exploits it.”
Mironov’s eyes narrowed. “Hands on? You want to go in; scuba tanks?”
Cate shook her head. “No. This body of water is so huge it has its own horizon. It’d be a cave dive of unprecedented proportions, and way too big for a free dive. I’m betting it will also have a million places to get lost or hooked up, so a remote vehicle would more than likely become snagged and lost.” She shrugged. “But, the only way to get any sort of accurate sonar mapping and research done, and have immediate decision-making capability is to be there, in person. And yeah, sure, I want to go.” She shook her head again. “No, I intend to go.”
Mironov’s smile returned. “Those that lead and do not take risks themselves, cannot truly expect their followers to also take risks.” He steepled his fingers and leant forward. “And what type of budget did you have in mind? Ballpark?”
She inhaled deeply. Think big. “A million dollars.”
He nodded slowly, his brows up. “A million dollars?” Mironov eased back into his chair. “And you will need a submarine. Hmm? Or do you already have one?” One eyebrow remained up.
Cate tried to appear relaxed as she also eased back into the soft leather. She shook her head slowly, but smiled. “We have nothing but our expertise, and the location.”
He tilted his head. “I already know the location. It took me all of a few minutes to have your communication
traffic accessed and then pinpoint the conversations you had with your colleague, Mr Frederick Wan Ling, on Baranof Island.”
She stood, anger flaring. “Listen, I didn’t come here with a begging bowl. I came here because I admire your dedication and interest in ancient species. I assumed you’d be an ideal and enthusiastic sponsor. I’m thinking now I was wrong.”
Mironov never flinched. “What’s in it for me?”
Cate paused, analyzing the question. She had assumed that just being involved was enough for the man. After all, he didn’t need fame, money, recognition, or a new circle of friends. She folded her arms. “Knowledge, unique knowledge. To a man like you, a million dollars is a small investment for that type of payoff.”
“A million dollars?” Mironov rose from the couch. “So, I think you would need a multi-man submersible with potential deep-sea capability, a crew, specialists, and supplies. You would need to excavate into the cavern void with sophisticated mining equipment – you’d need a team of specialists for that. You would also need to sink communication relay silos along the way. You would need transportation costs for personnel and equipment, and also be undertaking your project in an extreme environment. All up, I estimate an initial investment requirement of one hundred and fifty million US dollars.” He shrugged. “And possibly a lot more when it comes to retrieval.” He turned an unblinking gaze on her. “Expensive price for knowledge, even unique knowledge.”
Cate licked her lips, realizing he was right, and she had been thinking like an amateur in regard to her projections. I’ve got nothing to lose. “Yeah, one fifty million, expensive, sure, but not for you. So, in or out?” Cate held his gaze.
Mironov turned and walked to a huge window of darkened glass that overlooked the city. He clasped fingers together behind his back. “Those that lead and do not take risks themselves, cannot truly expect their followers to also take risks.”
Cate smiled, immediately understanding. “You want to come.”
He turned. “Like you said, we have a lot in common, Professor Granger.”
“Cate.” Her smile broadened, and she joined him at the window.
“Cate.” He held out his hand. “Here’s to unique knowledge.”
She nodded. “Welcome aboard, Valery.”
* * *
Valery Mironov sat staring into the depths of the huge, blue tank, watching the pair of dinosaur eels coil around each other. One slowed, its bony eye socket swiveling to regard him momentarily before it vanished into the deeper recesses of the contained lake.
“What do you think?” Sonya asked, standing beside him.
“Interesting.” He pursed his lips.
“Interesting enough to spend all that money?” She asked her voice carrying a hint of caution.
He looked up and saw the concern in her eyes. “Sonya, I spend that much money on construction every year. And for that, I just get more buildings. But how many times do you get a chance to travel back in time?” He smiled, raising one eyebrow. “Yes, I think the investment is warranted.”
“Full check?” She tilted her head.
“Yes, please. Full background check on Cate Granger and everyone close to her.” He stood. “I’ll have a hardware list for you soon.”
“Valery, this will be very high risk.” She reached out to place a hand gently on his forearm. He covered it with his own.
“I know, but when we feel our hearts racing fastest, then we know we are living life to its fullest.” He patted her hand. “Go now, we have work to do.”
* * *
Cate was back in California with Greg and Abby hovering over each of her shoulders as she typed up plans. “We need him.”
Greg was pacing, but stopped and turned. “A Russian exile – are you kidding me? We need his money, sure, but we don’t need him.”
“Inseparable,” Cate said without hesitation. “For the amount of exploration we want to do, and to do it properly, would require a good-sized submersible. I didn’t even stop to think how we were going to get the submersible into that underground sea – Valery pointed out that we’d need a damn big hole to lower it into. That’s engineering on a grand scale, with costs running into nine figures.”
“But can’t we assemble the submersible there? Drop it down in sections?” Greg asked.
Cate turned to him. “We’re not talking about a flat-pack Swedish dining table, Greg. We need a hi-tech machine that will house several crew for up to twenty-four hours and be able to take us deep, even down to a potential crush depths.” She turned back to the screen. “And as the digging is taking place over a cavern it needs all the excavation expertise we can muster. Or rather all the experts Valery Mironov can muster… and pay for.”
“It’s going to take time to source,” Abby said. “Most civilian submersibles are only two-man operations, and deep-dive vehicles have a battery life of around twelve hours, max. So, where’s he getting it?”
Cate shrugged. “Mironov said he had contacts and could organize it within sixty days; I trust him. Besides, what choice do we have? I did some quick research; if we wanted to get a sub that was suitable, it’d need to be built to spec – it’d cost us at least a year in wait time alone. I stopped counting when the numbers screamed past forty million.”
“And that’s his golden ticket, huh?” Greg asked.
Cate looked over her shoulder. “Uh-huh, but I get to pick my own crew… well, most of them.”
“And that includes Mironov.” Greg’s lips came together.
“Get over it.” Cate turned back to her screen. “This is really happening, so everyone better just lock and load, or step out of the way.”
Abby grinned. “I can’t believe you’re able to stay so calm.”
“Experience.” Cate faked a smile, perspiration running down her sides.
CHAPTER 3
Brogidan Yusoff, head of the Russian Ministry of Resources and Agriculture, leaned in closer to Uli Stroyev – his second in charge – as he flicked through the printed folder of the satellite images intercepted from their American counterparts. The final one was a deep-earth penetration shot taken with a high-energy strategraphic sonar imager and then enhanced with computer graphics. It showed the vast body of liquid extending under Alaska, and well across the Bering Sea.
“So, Mr Stroyev, I think now we know what Valery Konstantin Mironov wants with one of our deep sea submersibles, hmm?”
“A little ocean trip, I think, Minister.” Uli Stroyev smirked, watching as Yusoff’s large head bobbed in enjoyment. The Minister had oversized, fleshy features, and heavy epicanthic folds over each eye giving him a slight Asian appearance that betrayed his Mongolian heritage.
Stroyev knew of the hatred Yusoff harbored for the wealthy defector. Valery Mironov had many run-ins with the Russian business and political establishments, but managed to stay on the right side of President Volkov through huge donations to the man and employing many of his children in prestigious, high-paying jobs. It was smart, and the only thing that saved his skin. But old enmities ran deep. The people who ran rival companies, and supported other politicians, detested Mironov for his inflexible approach to competition, and his willingness to bring rival’s aberrant behavior to the attention of Volkov. In turn, the President got to be seen as stamping down hard on corruption, and made himself popular with the masses. The transgressors had their assets seized, and ended up in jail, while Mironov went from strength to strength.
Stroyev looked into the large, fleshy face of the minister, seeing the venomous hatred twisting his features. Brogidan Yusoff had been caught up in a foreign currency transaction that helped move the ruble, making him millions, but losing the country billions in export revenue. Mironov found out, reported it, and President Volkov paid Yusoff a personal visit. The minister had only stayed out of prison by signing over his hugely-profitable national construction business to the president, and also blaming his son for the illegal trading. The young man was still rotting in one of their forced labor camps.
>
Yusoff kept his job and his skin. All this while Mironov moved to America, with Volkov’s blessing, and his own children got green cards?
Yusoff had lost a lot of political capital, money, and credibility. What remained was a hatred that burned deep. He had personally ordered Mironov’s assassination, but the man had fled with his billions to the west, and while he was there, he was relatively safe. But once outside of his guarded towers, well, then his head belonged to Yusoff.
“It seems his hobby draws him out. He mounts an expedition to somewhere in Alaska, and now, at great expense, he has bought a Priz Class submersible, and hired a crew.” Yusoff clasped one fist in another. “We must find out where.”
“He gives us many clues. Mironov is also organizing an engineering team – miners and geologists.” Stroyev tapped the screen’s satellite image of the colossal body of subterranean water. “I think maybe it is not in Alaskan waters he plans his mission, but somewhere inland.”
“What clues?” One of Yusoff’s eyebrows lifted a folded eye a little wider.
“I have a friend… a miner. He told me once that the deeper you go into the earth, the hotter it gets – in fact, one-degree increase for every seventy feet you travel down. It is called a thermal gradient, I think, and it is why some deep mines are like blast furnaces. This underground body of water Mironov seeks is very deep in some places and will be much warmer than the outside temperature.” Stroyev stroked his chin. “So we look for warmth in a frozen land; where it comes close to the surface, it will give itself away.”
“Good.” Yusoff’s big head bobbed again. “Once the spider crawls from his hole, then he can be trapped. On the surface he will be guarded. But once he is in the submarine he is alone. You said he is hiring a crew? Maybe we should assist in picking that crew, hmm?”
“My thoughts exactly, Minister.” Stroyev grinned. “But Mironov will be vigilant in running background checks on his chosen team members. Our man must be inserted later – perhaps as a substitute?”
