by Bob Finley
"Frank...?" Janese tenuously called.
"Frank! What's wrong?" Kim returned and took the preoccupied man by the arm.
Frank looked at him but it took a moment before he actually seemed to see him.
"I just realized...finally realized...what I should have already known," he said slowly, with reverence in his voice. "Some geologist I am. Do you have any idea what this is?" His gesture took in the whole of the cavern. His rising excitement began to crest. "I mean, do you really have any idea at all what this is...where we are?!" He smacked himself comically on the forehead in a classic gesture. "How could I have been so stupid? How could I not have seen it?!"
"What's he talking about?" Banner demanded of Kim, who shrugged helplessly and turned back to Frank Sheppard.
"What are you talking about, Frank?"
"This! This!!" Frank spread his hands helplessly and looked at them all. Their blank looks only further exasperated him. Finally, almost in a stage whisper, he said, "We're inside a lava dome. I mean, actually inside a sure enough, honest to goodness, undersea volcanic lava dome!
Banner looked at Frank Sheppard. Then he looked at Kim and Janese. Again, all Kim could do was shrug. Banner turned back to Frank.
"So?" he said.
Frank was jolted. He looked with disbelief at Banner.
"So? So?! " he retorted. "You don't really understand anything, do you?" He looked around them again, reverently. "There are lava caves all over the world...Iceland, New Zealand, Washington State...there's one in Mt. Hamilton in Victoria, Australia that's a half-mile long; one in Hawaii that's as long as a football field; and...you wanna talk big? In the Canary Islands, there's a lava cave three and-a-half miles long and almost seven hundred feet high! But...they're all on land, not under the sea! As far as I know, nobody's ever discovered an undersea lava cave. I mean, how could they, they're under the sea, right? But," he spread his hands in a grand gesture and looked around, his eyes dancing with delight, "here we are. Inside an undersea lava cave. Incredible! I can't wait to write this up!" A thought struck him. "I've got to have pictures. I've got to document this." He looked at Kim. "Do we have a camera?" Before Kim could answer, Banner pushed past him and started toward Frank.
"What's amazing, though, is that this one hasn't collapsed. I mean, with the weight of all that water up above us, and the plug probably isn't all that thick..."
Banner stopped in his tracks. "Collapsed?" he echoed. Frank appeared lost in thought.
"Collapsed?!" Banner's voice doubled in volume. Frank jumped. Blinked. He also had Kim and Janese's undivided attention.
"Well, yes, collapsed. Though, I suppose ‘eroded’ would be more correct, since weather was probably the most contributory factor innnnnnng...!"
Since Frank could no longer breathe with Banner's massive hand squeezing his throat, he stopped talking. His bulging eyes riveted on Banner, who moved in closer and put his own face just six inches from Frank's.
"Can you be quiet and speak only when spoken to?" Banner asked in a controlled rumble. Frank nodded his head. At least, it looked like a nod, considering his immobility. Banner, by degrees, released his hold on Frank. But there was no question that he still held Frank's attention. And his throat.
"Tell me, in easy to understand words, what you mean by ‘collapsed’. Can you do that?" Frank gave a very brief nod, as if he were afraid any greater gesture would cause his head to fall off.
"Then, do it."
Frank involuntarily rubbed his neck and swallowed. "Well..." he began hesitantly, obviously searching for just the right words that would satisfy his antagonist, "...you see, a lava dome...this, that we're in, is a lava dome...is an anomaly...I mean, it's, uh, unusual. See, usually when magma flows through a volcano and becomes lava, it erupts through a central vent or through multiple lateral fissures, or even both at the same time..." He stopped, realizing from Banner's scowl that he was rambling again. His obvious efforts to reorganize his thoughts would have been comical under other circumstances. Finally, Frank took a deep, quavering breath. "Okay. Lava flows out through a hole, hits the air, and cools. Now, how quickly it cools is important, ‘cause the slower the cooling process, the more minerals are crystallized...quartz, feldspar, mica, and ferromagnesians like olivine." He held up his hands to ward off the interruption he saw coming. "Now, if lava cools fast, you get a denser material that's more like glass...obsidian, pitchstone, pumice...like that. But, if a volcano erupts, but then subsides and becomes dormant, a crust can form over the top of the vent. If the lava cools fast, the crust is harder because of its dense, glassy nature. Now, what can make it cool fast?" He looked at each in turn. Banner's face darkened. "Water!" he prompted impatiently. "Cold water hitting the hot lava cools it..." he snapped his fingers, "like that. Within a few hours it would be hard enough to walk on. This particular volcano...which later became Centinela Seamount... was born at sea, with plenty of cold water to put the fires out. A glassine ‘plug’ hardened and corked the vent...the lava, at a thousand-plus degrees, simmered for a while under the cork, liquefied the chamber that contained it, found lateral fissures and blew out the sides. When no replacement lava filled up the space, the mountain cooled down, the walls of the cave and fissures hardened and...voila!...formed the only undersea lava dome known to man...this man, anyway. And, because of the dense nature of the ‘plug’, the roof hasn't caved in...yet." He wound down and, finally, stopped talking.
Banner walked away a few steps, looked toward the ceiling, and came back.
"So, what you're telling me," he said, watching Sheppard carefully, "is that the roof could fall in."
"Well..." Frank struggled with a dozen scenarios but remembered who he was dealing with, "...yeah, but..."
"Yeah, but...?" He leaned toward Frank, who defied gravity by never moving his feet while leaning precariously in the other direction.
"...but it isn't likely to happen anytime soon. Not after all this time."
"But it could?" Banner persisted.
"Well..." They all waited.
Frank Sheppard shrugged fatalistically. "...yeah...it could."
Banner looked once more toward the ceiling, then out across the vast cavern. "That lying Jambou! He said this place was safe! ‘A fortress’ he said! And now...!"
"Who?" Kim asked. "Who's...what did you call him...?'
The question brought Banner back to reality. He gave Kim a hostile look. "Never mind," he growled. He shook his head, muttered something unintelligible, and walked away. They automatically followed.
The floor became unlevel and, finally, they began to climb steps cut into a hillside that quickly became much steeper. At the top of the steps, having climbed what Kim estimated to be thirty or forty feet above the main floor level, they entered a tunnel. At first almost twenty feet high, in ten yards or so it narrowed to a passageway only about eight feet in diameter and slanted slightly upwards, softly illuminated by fluorescents recessed behind a wide chair railing half-way up the wall. Frank hurried to catch up with Janese Cramerton. Excitedly he explained, "This would have been one of the alternate vents for the lava flows. See, how it angles up? It probably vented somewhere down the side of the cone! This is great! I can't wait to publish this!"
Janese Cramerton laid a restraining hand on Frank's arm. "Frank, I'll be honest with you. At this point I feel just a bit like Chicken Little. I just hope the sky doesn't fall in on me." But Frank's enthusiasm wouldn't be damped.
They almost bumped into Kim and Banner, who had stopped.
"Through there," Banner nodded toward a side passage on their left. Kim led the way, Banner bringing up the rear. The tunnel flared out into an anteroom twelve feet high, and thirty-five feet long and wide. Coming out of the subdued lighting of the tunnels, they blinked in a brightness that rivaled daylight by comparison. From where they stood, they looked down the length of a "street" six feet wide and at least thirty-five feet long. On each side of the street ran a wooden sidewalk not quite three feet wide. Each sidewal
k bordered what looked strikingly like the clapboard storefronts of an old movie-set western town. At the far end, against the dead-end wall, was one "building" twice the size of the others.
"Welcome to Dodge City," Banner said with a trace of sarcasm. In answer to the looks he got, he almost smiled. "This is the bunkhouse. The staff lives here, two to a unit. They say it looks like Dodge City in the ‘Gunsmoke' classics. There's a couple units vacant down there," he inclined his head slightly. "The two o' you can have one. The woman can take the other. The one at the far end is mine. Don't even think about going near it."
Janese Cramerton bristled at being called ‘the woman’, but stifled a response.
"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" Frank Sheppard chanced.
"Probably. What is it?"
"What do you do here?"
Banner considered his answer. "I'm head of security."
"What do you...secure? I mean, what is this place? And why are we here?"
"You're ‘here’ because you chose to be. Nobody made you do it. As to what this place is, you'll find out when you're supposed to...but it won't be from me."
Kim interrupted, a little more belligerently than he intended. "What've you done with Doctor Layton? And the navy man, Bryson?
Banner coldly regarded him before he disdained to answer. "Doctor Layton is upstairs."
"I want to see him. Now."
Banner surprised Kim. He smiled. Kim wished he hadn't...it was more of a grimace and was anything but reassuring. When he spoke, his voice was low, flat and full of menace.
"I'll say this just once, little man. I don't care what you want. Nobody cares what you want. You're only here because your boss is here. That's it. The best thing you can do is stay out of trouble. And stay out of my face." He turned to include the others. "That goes for the rest o' you, too. These I-Discs that I gave you authorize you to go anywhere you want to...except areas that are marked off-limits. Don't take 'em off, not even in the shower. Stay out of the off-limits areas. And stay out o' trouble," he said ominously. "You won't be told twice." He turned to leave.
"Mr. Banner!" Frank Sheppard called after him. "So what happens if I do forget, or I lose this little... doohickey?" He fingered the little plastic button on his front pocket.
When Banner spoke, it was in a strangely quiet voice. A careful voice.
"Don't," he said. "It'll be the last thing you ever forget. Leo will make sure of that."
"You never said where Terry Bryson is," Kim reminded him.
When Banner looked his way, it was with eyes that were cold and veiled. "He isn't," he carefully enunciated.
"What do you mean?" Kim demanded, alarmed.
"Bryson thought Leo was a game. A challenge. He lost." Banner turned abruptly away and strode back down the tunnel.
"What do you suppose he meant by that?" Janese Cramerton asked no one in particular.
"I don't know," Kim mused, "but I don't like the sound of it. I've got a bad feeling about Bryson."
"You mean he's...?"
"...dead. Yeah."
Everyone thought that one over.
"What are we going to do?" Janese looked from one to the other.
Kim looked around and sighed. "Well, right now, I think we need to concentrate on finding out what we can about this place, until Marc gets back."
"How are we going to do that?" Frank asked.
"Didn't what's-his-face...Banner...say we can go anywhere...almost anywhere...we want to?" They nodded, remembering. "So, let's do it. But," he added, "let's stay together. I don't think it'd be a good idea for us to get separated right now until we know what's going on."
They headed back down the tunnel.
"One other thing..." Janese offered.
"Yeah?" Kim called back over his shoulder.
"Let's stay away from anybody named Leo."
Chapter 29
It wasn't the black carpet, so lush that he actually looked down to see whether his feet had disappeared, that bothered him. It wasn't the parabolic lighting that discretely drew him like a moth toward one of the two plush chairs in a pool of light while the rest of the room remained in shadow that disturbed him, or the remarkable realization that the fifty-foot-wide, twenty-foot-high room was an almost perfect dome. Nor was it the throne-like chair on a dais with its seven-foot high back to him in the half-light that made him uneasy. It was whoever...or whatever...was in that chair that made him feel like a kid on his first Halloween who dreaded what his knock on the door might bring.
"Please. Have a seat, Captain."
The Voice. In stereo, it came from everywhere...and nowhere. With a start, he realized why. The circular room was almost acoustically perfect. No wonder the speaker sounded like God. He sat down. And smiled. That peeled away one layer of the mystery.
With the barest whisper of sound, the chair smoothly pivoted to face him. Justin could tell that there was someone there, but sitting as he was in the light, he was at a disadvantage. He felt very much like an entrapped fly being examined by the spider from the darkened edge of its web.
"So. It really is you. The famous Marcus Justin: self-made billionaire, inventor, explorer."
Justin made no comment.
"I am pleased that you are here, Mister Justin. It reinforces my faith in the predictability of the military intellect...if that isn't an oxymoron."
Justin waited.
"Sulking doesn't become you, Captain."
"I like to see who I'm talking to."
"Ah. But, of course..."
There was an almost inaudible click. Tiny spotlights, like the overhead reading lamps on commercial aircraft, flared around the edges of the chair and Marc got his first good look at the man who'd led him on a 3,500 mile chase and now held him, his ship, and his crew hostage.
Though sitting, he looked to be six-one and maybe two hundred and ten pounds; late thirties; athletic; a mulatto, maybe; a resonant voice with an accent. . .Jamaican?. . .Haitian?. . possibly the South African element that called themselves ‘Coloureds’. The intense light of the tiny spots danced with a sheen over a loose fitting, black silk blouse. It was open at the neck, revealing a gold chain that would have anchored a heavy cruiser. The blouse was tucked into black leather trousers that flared into bellbottoms. Heavy, black snoot-toe harness boots polished to perfection punctuated casually-crossed legs that implied a man completely at ease and in control. Red and blue fire danced from a five carat diamond ring on the right hand that draped casually over the end of the chair arm.
If the clothing and jewelry didn't sufficiently convey arrogance, the face more than made up for it. Marc's appraising eyes slid down the shaven head as if it were a peeled onion until the other's eyes met his. Heavy-lidded eyes. Hooded. Condescending. Then on to the broad nose. The right ear pierced with an oval, two-carat diamond. And, finally, the mouth. Marc expected the ruthlessness he saw there. But there was something else...something harder to put a label on. He saw in the smug amusement a rogue who would laugh in his enemy's face as the rope jerked tight around his neck. He realized with a start that he was being watched with the cold detachment of a cobra.
"Better?" The glistening head tipped inquiringly and the voice was syrupy.
Marc Justin regarded him coldly. It wouldn't do to flinch. "Actually, I might have made a mistake when I asked for more lights," Marc replied caustically.
The big man threw his head back and mellow laughter rolled around the room.
"Very good! Excellent! I like your sense of humor, Captain." He chuckled once more.
"Let's cut the foreplay and get to the good stuff," Justin said, trying to assert some degree of control. "Who are you and what do you want from us?"
The amusement slowly faded from the other man's face and he regarded Marc quietly for a long moment. When a smile finally crept back onto his face, it was not one of amusement. And it was a long way from friendly.
"You are an abrupt man, Captain. And, if I were to allow it, an irritating one. But...you
're right. Let's do get down to business. To answer your first question: I am Bereel Jambou." He pronounced it as if it were French...‘Buh-reel Jahm-boo’, rolling the ‘r’, and with a soft ‘j’ and accenting the ‘boo’. Marc noticed that he said it with a flair, as if announcing royalty.
"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"
"Not yet...but we'll get to that. As to what I want with you..." his voice dropped to a stage whisper and his smile broadened, "...that's the good stuff!" He chuckled again, but this time it was obviously an inside joke.
Justin waited.
"By this time tomorrow, who I am will be on the lips of people all over the world. And what I am will be even more critical to those same people."
This time, it was Jambou who waited. Finally, Justin said, "I don't understand."
Jambou laughed his private laugh again, savoring the moment. "Of course you don't, Captain. But you will. And, if you think you're famous now, wait until tomorrow!" He laughed again, delighted with his secret.
"You still haven't told me anything," Justin observed dryly.
"No...no, I haven't, have I?" Jambou murmured coyly. "I'm afraid I can't tell you everything you'd like to know just now, Captain. It wouldn't be...in my best interest. But, there are certain things I can tell you, things you need to know so you'll have time before tomorrow to adjust to them." He leaned forward, caught up in the excitement of his plan, the chair leather creaking softly and the spotlights making a relief mask of his face. He had clearly rehearsed this moment many times.
"You and I have an appointment with destiny tomorrow afternoon. At two o'clock, our time, nine in the morning New York time, you will go on television to announce to the world the existence of a new country. And of a new king!" He smiled broadly and sat back with obvious relish. "Now, what do you think of that?" he asked. The only thing missing was the fanfare of trumpets.
Justin knew his mouth must have fallen open. He waited for the punch line, but it didn't come. He shook his head in disbelief.
"You're kidding," he finally managed.
A frosty smile creased the rotund face. The smile didn't spread as far north as the eyes.
