by Sean Ellis
Peter Kerns was practically stove-up from the ordeal of his imprisonment and the brutal trip down the mountain. Kismet nevertheless roused him with a mug full of coffee and planted him at the table in front of the map. Kerns stopped in mid-sip, suddenly aware of the paper spread before him. "Ah."
Kismet sat across from him. "You found the Golden Fleece," he stated plainly. "But it wasn't up in the mountains."
Kerns sighed. "How did you know?"
"There were too many pieces to the puzzle that didn't fit. The first was when Harcourt showed me a golden helmet fragment that you had found. The metal had a trace of salt scale on it. Of course I really didn't believe there was a Golden Fleece to be found at that point." He paused to take a sip of his coffee. "The equipment down in your cellar was another clue, but I still wasn't sure; not until I got a look at the mountain dig site."
"How did that help?"
Kismet smiled patiently. “Although Harcourt hasn't figured it out yet, I immediately saw what you did all those years ago when you first discovered that old mining camp. The settlement had been abandoned. The Greeks, or whoever, had mined the ore until the vein was dry. Then they packed up everything but the trash and left. If they found the Golden Fleece, they certainly wouldn't have left it behind."
"No. I suppose they would not."
Kerns remained evasive, unwilling to be forthcoming with the answers Kismet needed. Kismet decided not to press him just yet. "They must have followed the old river down to the coast, loaded their ships, or more likely built a new ship to ferry their wealth back home. But something terrible happened. Their treasure ship sank, not too far from the shore, and the Fleece was lost to the ages."
"How do you know that they did not make it safely home? The Jason legend says that he did return with the Fleece."
"I'm not talking about the legend," Kismet snapped, tiring of Kerns' feigned ignorance. "I'm talking about reality and we both know it. So cut the crap and tell me the truth about what you found."
Kerns sagged in defeat. "I should not tell you. Better that the secret remains lost. This world is no place for such powers."
"I understand your concerns. But the Fleece will be recovered. If not by us, then by Grimes and his gang, or by the Russians. Who would you prefer possess it?"
"You are right, of course." He drew in a breath, steeling himself for the confession. "You are wrong in one respect. I did not find the Golden Fleece; only a few artifacts scattered on the sea floor. I dove to retrieve them—"
"SCUBA?"
"No. All I had available was an old Russian Navy-issue three-bolt rig, with compressed air pumped down from the surface. I had to install a second petrol tank on the compressor in order to work alone. I told no one of my discovery; not my daughter, nor my best friend Anatoly."
"I thought we were finished with this little game, Kerns. You found more than just a few old relics."
The old man sighed, sinking back into his memories. "It took me weeks of secret diving, in a careful search pattern, to find the pieces. But when I began discovering fragments of gold and temple stones of marble, it was as if my feet were set upon the path. As I moved from one discovery to another, I drew closer to something strange.
"I first began to notice the fish. It was as if they stood guard around a certain place. I remembered hearing talk--superstition really--from the fishermen in the village. They spoke of a place that was haunted, where the ocean glowed with a yellow light during the night. Nets lowered there would always come up filled, but no one lingered in that place, fearful of tempting whatever powers lurked below. I, of course, dismissed the stories, trusting the assurance of my intellect that no such haunting was possible. But as I stood on the ocean floor, surrounded by some increasingly aggressive fish, I became a believer."
"Just because of some fish?"
"Not just the fish. I saw something else. A wreck, I think, though I cannot to this day be certain. It was the axis around which the sentry fish orbited. Whatever they protected was concealed there. I know, for the whole place was alive with a golden light."
Despite his willingness to believe, Kismet was momentarily plagued with skepticism. "You never went any closer? Why do you believe the Fleece is there?"
"I did not. In fact, upon returning to the surface, I stored my equipment and never dove again. I had already taken enough relics to pay for my flight from the USSR. It did not occur to me that the Golden Fleece might be there until I was captured by those men and interrogated concerning it. Only then did I realize what it was I had seen."
"But you didn't tell them anything. And when they pressed you, you led them to the old mountain camp. You took a hell of a chance with your daughter's life."
Kerns returned his gaze with an earnest expression. "I believe you would have done the same thing, Mr. Kismet. We both know that one life here or there is of little consequence against something as potentially dangerous as that Fleece. Power like that could reshape the world.
"However, my efforts to mislead them might have proved successful. The site is genuine. Harcourt verified that from the beginning. They would have searched for a while and, finding nothing, given up, believing that I had cooperated fully. It was the only thing I could think of doing."
Kismet sat back, unconsciously stroking the stubble on his chin. "You probably made the right decision. Your cooperation would not have made a difference though. Grimes ordered Irene's death the minute they had you out the door."
"I feared as much. Still, I had hoped they would honor their word."
"All of which leaves us with the question of how to proceed. Despite our escape, I believe Harcourt will continue to dig up there, at least for a while. I want you to do two things for me. First, show me on the chart exactly where you found the wreck. And second, teach me how to use the diving equipment."
Kerns hesitated only a moment then stabbed at the map with a finger. He was pointing to a shelf, roughly twenty fathoms below the surface, after which the sea floor dropped dramatically. Anything lost beyond that point would be gone forever from the world of mankind; sunk to depths where the pressure would crush any diver or submarine. Kismet studied the location carefully, committing it to memory. He had no intention of leaving a paper trail for his foes to follow.
"My equipment ought to function, despite the years," Kerns offered. "But it will take me a while to show you how it works."
Kismet checked his watch. "You've got three hours."
* * *
Three hours and fifteen minutes later, Nick Kismet swung down from the broad back of the draft horse and scanned the inky waters of the Black Sea for signs of motion. He saw nothing, but the moon was still low in the sky and the sea revealed little about itself. Still, he was where he was supposed to be, and even a few minutes early. He dug into his waist pack, took out his MagLite and removed the red lens cover. After a quick compass reading, he positioned himself facing due west, after which he flashed the naked light three times out across the black water. A moment later three pulses of light, like echoes of his own signal, flickered in the distant darkness.
"This is it," he declared, offering his hand to Irene. With some difficulty, due to fatigue and soreness, she and her father dismounted from the other horse.
They waited in silence for fifteen minutes. Before that time had passed, Kismet was sure that he heard the distinct whine of an outboard motor, but the noise ended abruptly before his eyes could distinguish the source. Shortly thereafter, he glimpsed a shadowy spot that didn't reflect starlight. The form drew closer, but it wasn't until the small craft was drawn onto the beach that Kismet and the others could correctly identify it as a large inflatable rubber boat.
Two large men dressed entirely in black, with faces stained by dark greasepaint, stowed their oars in the raft, then jumped out into the gentle surf and pulled the boat onto dry ground. A third person, smaller than the others, but similarly decked out, remained seated in the craft until it was secure. Kismet went down to meet them.
"Hey, Lyse."
The smallest member of the shore party looked up, her grin a white crescent in an otherwise darkened face. "Nick. Son of a gun, you're still alive."
Eschewing what he expected to be the protocol of clandestine meetings, Lysette Lyon threw her arms around him. Somewhere behind him, he thought he heard Irene clearing her throat.
"You sound surprised."
She withdrew after a moment. "Pleasantly so. We've been monitoring all kinds of radio traffic. You've definitely stirred up a hornet's nest or two."
"I was only aware of one. Germans."
"The Russians are talking about you too, both military and something else. A code we haven't been able to break yet. Face it; everyone knows you're here. The sooner we get out of here, the better." She gazed past Kismet at Irene and her father as they moved to join the reunion. "I see you got what you came for."
"Not quite. But I'll have the Golden Fleece in two days. What I need right now is for you to get them—" He jerked a thumb casually in the direction of his companions, speaking softly so that they would not overhear—"somewhere out of the way until I can get it."
"What's going on, Nick?" Irene touched him on the shoulder as she came to a standstill beside him. Kismet couldn't tell if she was harboring jealousy toward Lyse's unexpected presence or merely curious.
"I'm entrusting you and your father into the care of my friend Lyse. She works for the--"
Lyse quickly cut him off. "Ah-ah, Nick." She then addressed Irene. "We're just some concerned folks, looking out for our fellow citizens abroad."
"Right. Anyway Irene, I want you and your father to stay with Lyse while I go after the Fleece."
"My father should go with you," Irene agreed, addressing Lyse. "He's suffering from fatigue, and God only knows what else those bastards did to him. Is one of you a medic?"
"I'll get him some medical attention," promised Lyse.
Irene nodded. "However, Nick, I am staying with you."
"Absolutely not."
"Think about it. Everyone knows we're together. You said you were afraid that someone in the village might be an informant. You're bound to raise suspicions if you show up without me."
"She makes a valid point," Lyse intoned.
"Stay out of this." He turned to Irene, but she was already forestalling him. "Face it, Nick. As long as we're together, no one will be any wiser."
His retort fell silent. He knew that her logic was sound, yet the thought of exposing her to further risk filled him with dread. "All right," he relented. "It will only be for a couple days. Lyse, we'll be back here in exactly forty-eight hours. If all goes as planned, we'll have the Golden Fleece. Then you can get us all out of here."
"I think it would probably be better for you to plan on exfiltrating through normal channels," Lyse opined. "You've got the documentation. If you two vanished from here then popped up back in the States, people would notice and it might cause an embarrassing situation."
"I would personally find it a lot more embarrassing if I got killed trying to smuggle the Fleece across the border."
"I thought you were in the business of protecting sovereign claims to these relics?"
Her question was rhetorical, but still gave him a pang. It was true; he was doing the very thing he sought to prevent as part of the UN Global Heritage Commission. It had been easy enough to justify, at least to his own conscience; the Fleece wasn't simply a valuable relic, it was potentially very dangerous. It might also be just the thing he needed to gain the upper hand on the Prometheus group.
Lyse did not wait for him to answer. "All I'm saying is you should plan on leaving through the front door, whether or not you find the Fleece."
"I'll find it."
"Fine. When you do, we'll go from there. Deal?"
Kismet narrowed his eyes, suddenly suspicious. "You're up to something, Lyse. I can tell."
She raised her hands in a gesture of innocence. "Moi?"
Kismet nodded, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Lyse didn't disappoint.
"Well, there is one thing, but it's nothing you're not already aware of."
"Go on."
"It's just that things are heating up here, Nick. Even you'd agree that you're working under somewhat dangerous conditions."
"I've had a busy couple of days," he said equivocally.
"It might be a good idea for you to tell me what you did with the information from the statue, right now. If anything were to happen to you, that data might be lost forever."
Although he had been expecting the request, it triggered an unexpected realization that caught him by surprise. "I don't believe it," he whispered hoarsely, more to himself than to the CIA operative. "You're giving up on me."
"Nick, please. We need that information. There is a new kind of arms race heating up, and we need to know what the other side is up to."
Kismet barely heard her. "You don't think I'll find it," he accused, then amended: "Your people—CIA, or whoever you work for—they don't believe me. You're just humoring me until you get the information. Then what? Leave me out here on my own? Or just turn me over to the Russians and let them quietly dispose of me?"
Lyse started to protest, but closed her mouth without speaking. She glanced at Irene and her father who looked on, uncomprehending, then looked back at her two accomplices who waited apprehensively by the raft. "Walk with me."
They stepped a few paces away from their companions. Lyse then moved close to Kismet and began speaking in an urgent whisper that was barely audible over the lapping of the sea. "Damn it Nick, this has gone far enough. I've jumped through too many hoops for you. What you're doing by withholding that information is treason."
"Treason," he echoed, loud enough for the others to hear. "You don't get it, do you? If you let Grimes get the Golden Fleece by not helping me, you're the one who will have sold out our country."
"You said it yourself. The Fleece is a fairy tale."
"Grimes doesn't think so."
Lyse shook her head and rubbed her eyes, like a weary parent unable to reason with a wayward son. "We think this whole affair with the Golden Fleece is a smokescreen designed to distract attention from the real reasons Grimes has defected. He probably wanted your help to lend more authenticity to the illusion."
"Bullshit."
She ignored him. "Grimes doesn't care about fairy tales. He's pissed off at the Pentagon for giving him the boot, not to mention for backing down from Iran and North Korea...Hell, he‘d like to pave all of Asia. He hates the President with a passion. And it turns out he's been getting chummy with a German defense contractor, who also happens to be a leading figure in their Nationalist Party. This is all about money and revenge, Nick."
"Ans I'm just a pawn in some political game?" Kismet accused. "His pawn and yours. Believe it or not, that doesn't surprise me. What I don't get is why you've gone along with me so far. Why not just arrest me for withholding the information you need? It would have been a lot easier."
"No kidding. If you had any idea how much the President has authorized for this little jaunt of ours—well let's just say that if it ever got out, he could kiss his Presidential library good-bye."
"Then I repeat: Why go along with it until now?"
"Because you still have something we need," she explained, her voice growing taut, as if tiring of the argument. "And you have to give it to me now."
"You would go to all this trouble just to get the information on that memory card?" Kismet shook his head. "I find that hard to believe."
"You shouldn't. People died to get that information out of Germany. You said you thought it was research for some kind of bomb, right? Well it is. It's a formula for a super EMP bomb. I don't really understand the details, but I know that whoever can make a weapon like that could rule the whole planet. We, meaning everyone from the President down to me, think that getting it before the Germans, or anyone else, is worth any expense or risk."
Kismet was unimpressed. "So why not try
to buy me off? Or threaten me? Hell, you might have appealed to my patriotic fervor; waved the flag and told me I'd be a hero."
"Actually, it was my idea to go along with you," Lyse stated with unexpected sobriety. "I certainly haven't forgotten how you served your country during the first Gulf War; it's what inspired me to talk to a Company recruiter in the first place. More than that, you know how to keep a secret. I thought you deserved a little better treatment, especially after I scammed you into helping me get the information back to America."
"You should have been up front with me Lyse," he accused. "I'd have rather known the score going into this."
"You know how this business works, Nick. Need to know."
He sighed. "What about Grimes?"
"That's the other reason for all of this. My team has another assignment besides babysitting you. We're going into Germany to grab Grimes and take him back to the States to stand trial."
Kismet chuckled. "Grimes isn't in Germany. He's here with an entire company of commandos, trying to recover the Golden Fleece. Right now, they're camped up in the mountains about thirty miles from here, because they believe that the Golden Fleece is real and that it is worth any effort to recover. So do I, but apparently I'm the only one on our side who does."
Lyse began shaking her head. "I don't get it. It's just a myth, and not a particularly interesting one, at that. Our researchers looked into it. The Fleece has no real value as an occult object or weapon; even in the legends it was mostly a curiosity piece."
"Since when did you become an expert?" Kismet snorted derisively. "Look, as things stand now, Grimes will never find the Fleece. But I know where it is and I can get it inside of two days. I just need you to keep the status quo until then."
Lyse pressed her hands together under her chin, deep in thought. Kismet knew he had failed to convince the intelligence officer of the Fleece's importance, and so he was mildly surprised by her next statement. "All right. This is too important to be overlooked. You can have your two days. Hell, take a week if you can do it without arousing anyone's suspicion. No more than that though."
