by Nick Thacker
Sarah nodded. “My classmate and then colleague. We were best friends.”
Julie put her hand over her mouth. “God, that’s terrible.”
“Felt like the end of the world.”
“What’d you do?”
Sarah shrugged. “What any pissed-off academic would do, I guess. I threw myself into my work, published more papers and research articles than any sane woman should, and started building a reputation for myself.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“I lost fifteen pounds and almost was hospitalized because I refused to eat.”
“Oh.”
“No big deal — I got over it, kept working, and eventually became more recognized than her in our field.”
“That had to feel nice,” Julie said.
“Not really, actually,” Sarah said. “That was the biggest surprise. I thought I could ‘beat her’ by being better than her at our profession. But it was short-lived, the feeling of victory. I still felt robbed, like my life had been stolen from me. I didn’t even love him anymore, but it was still… crappy.”
“I bet.”
The elevator dinged. They’d reached the lowest level, ‘Sub-3,’ and the doors began to open.
Julie looked over at Sarah. “Hey,” she said. “I just want you to know — I’m sorry. I had a bad attitude, and you’re new to the group. I think I felt intimidated too. I like you, and I’m really looking forward to getting to know you better.”
Sarah smiled, a genuine grin that Julie couldn’t help but return. “Me too, Juliette. I’m excited for this trip, and I can’t wait to find out what this place is all about.”
Julie sighed as she followed Sarah over the threshold and onto Sublevel 3. I wish I could be excited about that too, she thought. But I have a feeling it’s not going to be anything good.
26
THE MAN SAT FORWARD IN his tall, leather chair. Nearly on the edge, he swiveled slowly, rocking back and forth just slightly, enough to notice he was moving but not enough to appear disinterested. There was a calm smile on his face. The dimple was suppressed, still present but not glaringly obvious.
Ben walked farther into Adrian Crawford’s private office, Reggie following just behind him. “Good morning,” Ben offered.
Crawford’s smile grew. “Welcome, both of you! Thank you for taking the time to visit me here.”
Is he being serious? Ben thought. We’re the ones on vacation.
“We know you’re busy, Mr. Craw—“
“Call me Adrian.” There was no ‘please,’ no beckoning of politeness, just an assumption between old friends. “I hate when people try to be formal. We’re all peers here, wouldn’t you say?”
Not at all, Ben thought.
Reggie smiled back. “Of course, thank you Adrian.” He walked forward and took a seat in one of the chairs in front of Crawford’s desk. Another brown leatherback, but this one didn’t swivel and had a lower back. Ben followed suit and sat down in the chair adjacent to Reggie.
“I’m glad you set this up,” Adrian said. “I apologize for not thinking of it myself. It will be a perfect opportunity to talk man-to-man.”
Reggie nodded.
“I do wish your fiancee and Dr. Lindgren could join us, however,” Crawford said.
Ben opened his mouth to explain where they had gone, but Reggie beat him to it. “They’re taking a little tour of the outer ring,” he said quickly. “Sunbathing, swimming, and probably enjoying the morning drink menu.”
Crawford laughed. “Of course they are. And quite a menu it is. As I mentioned last night, we’re understaffed at the moment, but we’re certainly not undersupplied. You and the group of investors staying here will have just about free reign of any of our fabulous bars, though — between you and me — I wasn’t terribly impressed with the drinking choices of the investors. It’s all about one-upping each other on expensive bottles of wine.” He made a face. “I’m more of a whiskey man, myself.”
Reggie’s grin widened, and he sat back in the chair, getting more comfortable. “Well, I can get behind that, Adrian.”
Ben nodded.
“Great, well let’s get started. Reggie, you mentioned you had a few questions for me?”
Reggie sat back up. “Yes, I — we do. As you know, we’re here on behalf of the CSO.”
“The Civilian Special Operations. A wonderful group — you’re treasure hunters, no?”
Reggie’s head tilted slightly. Ben nearly frowned, but caught himself. They weren’t ‘treasure hunters,’ but they certainly had come across what might have been considered ‘treasure’ in the past. Biological and genetic discoveries, new drugs, and not a small amount of actual cash, in the form of gold and silver. But the main directive of the CSO was to seek out and find the perpetrators of crimes against the American people, domestic or abroad, that fell outside the jurisdiction — or the realm of plausible deniability — of the government.
They were like a private security force, with less emphasis on solving crime cases and more on cases of historical significance. They were led by a philanthropic billionaire, and each of them were board members, along with one member from each of the armed services.
“Sort of,” Reggie said. “But the treasure we’re usually after isn’t really what people would consider ‘treasure.’ More like ‘history hunters.’”
“I see,” Adrian said. “And I’m intrigued. That’s part of why I was so eager to host you all: I’m a bit of a history buff myself, though my background in is in the applied sciences. I’ve been following your careers ever since Antarctica, and I must say — your work results and reputation precede you.”
Man, this guy’s good, Ben thought. He now understood how Crawford had gotten this gig. He may have had a background in the sciences, but he was a killer salesman. The man could probably sell ice to an Eskimo.
“Thank you,” Reggie said. “And we are excited to be here. This place is — well… it’s amazing. You already know that, but seriously. Well done.”
“Thank you,” Crawford said. “I am quite proud of our work here at OceanTech, and I’m hoping Paradisum is but one of many such parks we open in the near future.”
“Me too.” Reggie shifted in his chair, a clear sign that he was about to deepen the conversation. “You mentioned last night that this whole place is right on top of a shipwreck.”
Adrian Crawford watched Reggie’s face as he spoke, offering nothing.
“…What wreck is it?”
Finally, he spoke. “We don’t know, actually. Spanish, of that much we are sure. Probably from one of the treasure fleets that came up from South America, but we have yet to have a definitive match. There’s really not much left of it but a shell and some framing.”
“Why build it right there? Is it an exhibit?”
“Yes and no,” Adrian said. “It’s an exhibit, but it’s also a real, live scientific expedition. We want to know everything about this ship, and we have teams in place beginning to salvage and clear the wreckage, all the while maintaining the integrity of the site. We hope it can serve as a backdrop to the public-facing research we do here at OceanTech. The general public has no idea what these sort of expeditions look like, and our dream here at the park is to change that. If the public had a better perception of what ‘exploratory diving’ or ‘anthropological undersea research’ meant, there would be many more young men and women taking up careers in those fields. And there would be more publicity, and more funding.”
Ben nodded. He fully agreed with Crawford. At Yellowstone he and the other park staff had often complained about the lack of young people interested in the outdoor programs they ran and the decreasing numbers of people interested in careers in national and state parks. They mostly agreed that education was the main issue: if children learned about the outdoors in a tactile, hands-on way from a young age, they would carry that interest and knowledge with them through their adult years.
“So you’re planning on showing the wreck?�
�
Crawford’s eyes glistened, and Ben sensed his excitement rising. “Why, yes. That’s exactly what we’re planning.” He smiled at each of them, then continued. “Unfortunately the viewing chamber is not ready yet — we’d like to clear the wreckage and pump the room first.”
“That’s fine,” Reggie said. “I’m sure it will be impressive. Crawford — Adrian, sorry — we’re actually here for a different reason, as you’re probably aware.”
Crawford nodded. “I’m aware you’re here for a different reason, though your benefactor wasn’t willing to confide in me what that reason was.”
“He tends to be a bit… reserved.”
“Indeed. Well, if I had to guess, based on your prior engagements I’ve been following, I’d say you’re here to investigate our security protocols.”
Ben looked around the wall behind Crawford. He saw the obligatory credentials, the framed diplomas from at least three institutions hanging around the huge window. He saw newspaper clippings and magazine articles, apparently declaring something praiseworthy that Crawford had done or been a part of. There were no pictures on the wall, but Ben’s eyes fell to the desk.
There was one picture on the man’s desk, facing inward toward Adrian’s seat but at an angle, diagonal enough so that Ben could see part of it. A man, a younger version of Adrian Crawford, standing next to a boy in a wheelchair. The boy was smiling, but Crawford’s face was an emotionless mask.
“Not an investigation,” Reggie answered. “Your business is your business. We’re merely trying to track down a man we believe the government will be interested in speaking with.”
“And what man is this?” Crawford asked.
“He’s the head of your security team here,” Ben answered. “Vicente Garza.”
Crawford closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Yes, Mr. Garza. Ex-military, somewhat of a strong-arm.”
“Somewhat.”
“And what interest does the CSO have in Mr. Garza?”
“The government. Not the CSO. But — and I’m sure you can appreciate this — the ‘government,’ at least in name, wouldn’t be willing to make the trip down here. Wouldn’t serve their interests, or yours.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t,” Crawford said. “But tell me, Mr. Red, what am I supposed to do in this situation? Turn over Mr. Garza to you two? Let you take him away from his post here at the island?”
Reggie shook his head. “We just want a meeting.”
“Of course.”
“Of course?”
“Yes, of course you do. And what shall I tell him is the nature of this meeting?”
Ben frowned. “Just… tell him we’re here to see him.”
Crawford eyed Ben suspiciously. “Here to see him. Right.”
Reggie leaned forward on his chair more, and Ben felt the tension in the room rising. Ben glanced at Reggie, waiting for some sort of cue, but receiving none, he continued on his own. “Listen, Mr. — Adrian — we’re trying to find a man we believe was involved in some less-than-reputable business back in Philadelphia. We’re thankful for your willingness to host us here for your soft opening, and — trust me when I tell you this — we’ve never seen anything quite like this place. But we’re here on business. And our business is Vicente Garza.”
Crawford stared at him.
“Can we meet with him?”
“Of course.”
“Really?”
Reggie reached his hand over to Ben and silenced him. “Adrian, thank you. Just tell us when and where and we’ll be there.”
Crawford smiled at both of them, the tension suddenly lifting and leaving the room entirely. The dimple had returned, and even Ben felt at ease. “Indeed. Gentlemen, thank you. We are already short-staffed here, but there are not very many guests. We’re getting ready for our major launch and Mr. Garza will need every bit of time to prepare his team, but I’m sure I can carve out an hour for you.”
“I really think we’ll only need a half —“
“We run things tightly here,” Crawford said, interrupting. “An hour will give him time to take the Subshuttle back here to the central tower. It’s a slow beast, but it’s efficient. Have you seen it yet?”
Ben and Reggie shook their heads.
“Well, I highly recommend a trip. It’s marvelous — a combination of engineering and art, perfectly balanced. Slow, as I said, but it gives you the time to revel in the underwater scenery.”
“We’ll be sure to do that,” Reggie said, standing up from the chair. “When should we expect this meeting?”
Crawford glanced down as if examining some invisible desktop calendar. He looked for a moment then pulled his head back up and addressed both of them. “I’ll put a call in now. I believe he breaks for lunch in an hour; will that do?”
Reggie looked over at Ben but was already nodding. “That — that’s great, thank you.”
Ben stood up to leave, then started walking toward the door. He heard Reggie over his shoulder.
“Where should we meet him?”
“You’ll be taking the Subshuttle out to the second ring. Simply walk down to the elevators, take it to the first sublevel, and you’ll find the entrance to the Subshuttle right there on your left. There’s a map on the wall outside the doors of the elevator on every floor in case you get lost. You won’t need any ID or escort to get into the shuttle; I’ve already disabled the security protocol. When you get to the second ring, you’ll find a staff-only dining hall there. Buffet-style. A bit underwhelming compared to the feast we had last night, but I hope that’s amenable.”
“That’ll work great, Adrian. Again, thank you.”
Ben had reached the door, but he stopped and waited for Reggie to catch up. He glanced back at Crawford, still seated at his desk. The man was smiling, but his head was down, once more examining the invisible calendar that sat on it.
Reggie made a face at Ben as they walked out of the room. Ben waited for them to leave, waited for the door to close fully. “What?” he finally asked.
“That was easy,” Reggie said.
“Too easy?”
“Maybe. We’ll see.”
“What’s the plan?” Ben asked. “I thought we were supposed to grab him in three days, when the chopper comes back.”
“We don’t have a choice now. We’ve got a meeting with Garza, Ben. Maybe he shows, maybe he doesn’t. If he does…”
Ben looked at him. “Reggie, you haven’t been honest with me.”
Reggie glanced left and right, up and down the curved hallway. They were standing in front of the elevators now, waiting for it to rise to their floor. “I know…” he started. “I haven’t been.”
Ben clenched his jaw.
“Look, Ben. Mr. E wanted us to grab Garza, to bring him in. He wanted to turn him over to the authorities; said he and Mrs. E are working on building a case against him that will include evidence from Philly.”
“That’s… good, right?” Ben asked. He was confused, and Reggie wasn’t helping.
“No, Ben. It’s not. Not good enough, anyway. I want to turn him in about as much as you do.”
Ben waited.
“Meaning I don’t want to turn him in. I don’t want any chance that he gets off the hook for what he did.”
Ben felt the anger returning, the same things he’d felt when he’d watched Vicente Garza — The Hawk — stare him down as he shot and killed their friend, Joshua Jefferson. He clenched his fists, his jaw and his hands in a competition of strength. “What’s your point, Reggie?” he asked. He couldn’t hide the emotion from his voice, and he didn’t try to. Reggie knew he wasn’t mad at him.
“That is my point, Ben,” Reggie said, his voice now merely a whisper. “I’ve got zero interest in turning that bastard over to the authorities, just so he can rot in a cell until some high-powered lawyer finds out a way to free him.
Ben’s head cocked down and to the side. “You’re saying…”
“I’m saying I’m not meeting Gar
za to try to subdue him. I’m meeting him so I can kill him.”
27
THERE WERE TWO SUBSHUTTLES — ONE on Sublevel 3 and one on Sublevel 1. Julie and Sarah had ridden the elevator down to the lowest, and were now standing inside the shuttle as it slid through the black, murky water, suspended on its cable. The system was simple in design, both making the Subshuttle an efficient transportation method as well as an inexpensive alternative to something more elaborate. The cable appeared to be nothing more than a stainless stretch of rolled metal fiber, like what Julie had seen propelling ski lifts and gondolas along their course. There was a ballast system as well to keep the Subshuttle from pulling or pushing against the cable. Automated, judging by the label on the floor hatch in the vessel, which apparently led to the innards of the Subshuttle and allowed for maintenance.
The roof of the shuttle was glass, which bubbled around to the sides and halfway down, where the glass terminated into thick, dark plastic. The entire submersible was rectangular-shaped, with rounded edges. They stood on a plastic floor, like the hull of a boat, and everything appeared to be bolted down and waterproofed.
In spite of the earthquake-proof space, the engineering and design of the vehicle was impressive. The glass ceiling and walls gave Julie the feeling she was traveling through space, the only light coming from the submersible itself and whatever rays of sunlight reached them from the surface of the water, forty feet above them. The front and back of the craft were identical, the sloping plastic beneath the glass windows curving gently into the long, flat floor. Seats had been placed across an aisle from one another, two on each side, with three total rows.
“Impressive,” Sarah said.
Julie nodded. It was a little unnerving, being this far underwater inside a submarine. She’d never been in one, and the closest thing to it she could imagine was walking through a glass tube that sat underwater at an aquarium she’d visited as a kid.
“Nervous?” Sarah asked.
“Huh? Oh, sorry. No, just… yeah, a little, I guess.”
Sarah smiled. “It is a bit weird. Even though we’re only thirty or forty feet under, it seems like much more.”
