B00DSDUWIQ EBOK

by Schettler, John

  “Not the whole of it?” the Duke questioned.

  “Six feet has proven to be more than enough in prior circumstances, your Grace.”

  “Yes, well that might do on foreign soil, Mr. Thomas, good for the tunnel work in Egypt I suppose, but this is the homeland we’re speaking of. Can you assure me this won’t make news one unfortunate morning with something on the order of a sink hole?” The Duke wasn’t really concerned about it, but pretended nonetheless. There wasn’t time to be worried. There were only four days remaining.

  “Oh, most assuredly not, sir. All the reinforced wood work remains in place. There should be no trouble of the sort. In fact, I would venture to say the ground is stronger now than before. Remember that I was able to use that utility tunnel to get a good deal of the way. Otherwise I could never have completed a tunnel of that length in just nine days. The rest has been very well sealed.”

  “Won’t it erode?”

  “In time, sir, but the cavity is likely to simply fill up with rain water, which will give the whole scene the appearance of a natural aquifer if ever uncovered.”

  The Duke gave him a dubious glance, indicating that he simply didn’t buy that argument, but the man didn’t seem prepared to quibble the point further.

  “Sufficient quantity, you say?”

  “Seven pounds, your Grace—that’s two pounds beyond the normal delivery specification. Quite adequate.”

  “Quite,” said the Duke. “And certification?”

  “Everything is in order, sir. DNA testing has come back double plus to the good. I have the lab reports right here with me as part of the delivery.”

  “Very well,” said the Duke, turning now to regard the man he had been speaking to for the first time. Ames was a tall man, straight back, impeccable deportment, a thin twirl of a mustachio beneath a well used face, yet the lines there had given him a stately expression, haughty yet deepened with hint of hidden wisdom, the eyes dark and yet soft in their regard and lit with the confidence of intelligence. He was a man who had seen enough of the world to know the difference between good times and bad. And times were good on the Elvington Estate just now. Very good.

  “Mister Thomas, might I inquire on another matter?”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “Have you any training in martial arts, military matters, weaponry and such?”

  “I was a Lieutenant in Four Five Commando, Royal Marines, sir. Well trained in special combat arts and operations.”

  “Excellent. And would you be available for a very special assignment in the immediate future—say a few days time?”

  “For you, sir, I am available any time at your convenience.”

  “This would be a rather long term assignment, somewhat dangerous, I suppose, but also somewhat exciting.”

  “I am yours to command, your Grace.” Thomas knew better than to ask what the compensation would be. He knew he would be well rewarded, and was pleased to land a potential new contract this quickly.

  “Very well…You may make your delivery then, Mister Thomas. Leave the report on my desk. The secretary will issue a sight draft for the agreed commission—all this subject to verification by the auditors, of course. I will contact you tomorrow regarding the new assignment I mentioned.”

  “Certainly, sir. And thank you, sir.” Ian Thomas made a polite head bow, bending slightly, recognizing he had been dismissed without so many words. One had to have a keen ear for intonation when speaking to this sort, and Thomas had done business with some of the wealthiest men in Europe.

  He turned and walked back down the long carpeted hall, bowing slightly again as he backed out the door and pulled it gently closed. Only then did he allow himself the broad smile that finally stretched his wide features into a Cheshire Cat grin. The image of the sight draft he was about to collect was already running through his imagination. Not bad for a few days work, he thought, and an second assignment to boot!

  In his office the Duke ambled casually over to his desk, hands clasped behind his back, eyes searching out the file the man had left him. He sat down in his comfortable leather chair, and opened the file, his lips taut as he read, with the occasional scratch of his chin.

  “Ah, Winston,” he said aloud. “To think that you’ll soon be gleaming on a pendant.”

  He thought on that…who to gift with this little treasure? It would buy the affections of the Lady Pomroy, yes? But he would have to show it round the group, and soak up a bit of the envy a good finished stone was likely to induce. Old Maitland would have a fit if I should trot this one out, what? The man thought he was firmly planted on the high ground with the Marlboro stone. We’ll see what he has to say about old Winston. Then again… I could take it with me when I leave.

  He held that thought for a while, considering.

  The Duke was a member of a very select club, one of many such gatherings in a wealthy man’s social circles. For years now they had been amusing themselves by seeking out the remains of famous people the world over, all long since dead and safe in the arms of history. Yet new technologies could take a sufficient quantity of their ashes and create something extraordinary, something rare and beautiful, something utterly unique, and such things had a way of being particularly desirable in the circles he frequented.

  In this case his agent had just certified delivery on the remains of one Sir Winston Churchill, fresh from his cemetery repose at Bladon in Oxfordshire. The material, mostly just ash but still laden with carbon, would be soon be subjected to the immense pressures and temperatures required to create a certified diamond, and Sir Winston would become the latest glittering acquisition in the Duke’s collection. A company called “LifeGem” had been creating diamonds this way for years, mostly run of the mill ring stones made from the remains of passed “loved ones.” But the Duke, and a select group of like-minded men and women of means, had grander tastes.

  He thought, for a moment. This man Thomas was good, very good indeed. Four Five Commando is it? Well enough. He may just be the man I need for this little adventure. Rumors had been floating about for some time that Maitland was up to no good again. It was said he had an exceptional find to present at the next meeting…the final meeting in just a few days time. There weren’t many left, he knew. A pity that this would be their final meeting.

  We shall see, he thought. Perhaps I just might steal a bit of Maitland’s thunder with this if LifeGem can roll it over in time, yes?

  He chided himself for not thinking the whole plan through carefully. A little foresight and he might have had something more in keeping with his chosen path. Being fond of themes, perhaps a nice stone created from the remains of another famous duke might compliment this one—say, the Duke of Wellington? For that matter, his nemesis Napoleon Bonaparte might be a worthy compliment. Yes, those two stones side by side would make an awesome display, would they not? Particularly if everything works out as I imagine.

  He seemed pleased with that thought, and opened a drawer, slipping the file inside and pushing it closed again until the security latch clicked tight. Now onto more pressing matters. This business in the news of late, British flagged tanker struck amidships by a missile in the Straits of Hormuz, Royal Navy frigate attacked by the Russians in the Black Sea and another Fairchild tanker sent to the bottom there. What was this about now? It was sounding rather ominous. He tapped his desk, thinking on the matter.

  Fairchild & Company, he thought. Yes, I was told to look out for that one in the latter days. It was a small outfit that had been making runs out of the Gulf into Milford Haven. He had the file open now, reviewing the company profile…Assets of a reported seventeen billion, most of that in fleet tonnage and estates in Aberdeen and on the Isle of Man. What was this note due now at month’s end? Bank of London, $200 million in US denominated dollars. How gauche. He preferred his accounting in British pounds, particularly for any company serving the interests of the Crown. But as this was primarily an oil company, and oil was exclusively traded in dollars, or h
ad been until very recently, he excused the transgression.

  He flipped the page, glancing at the company’s last reported balance sheet, with a particular interest in cash flows. He noted that there had been four entries over the last month, each one attributed to deliveries received at Milford Haven, where the company berthed its fleet tankers. The revenues had been diverted out to cover the last three months operating expenses, licensing, insurance, payrolls, and then there was this last entry labeled ‘Special Projects,’ that aroused some interest.

  It was a $200 million credit line Bank of London was calling in at month’s end. What with the chaos on the markets of late, Barclays sniffing up the skirts of Goldman before it collapsed, Halifax, a big British housing lender damn near buggered, Northern Rock gone, Bradford & Bingly nationalized, he could see why. Credit was tighter than ever throughout the world. But this was a rather extravagant expense to slip in under an opaque heading like ‘Special Projects.’ Could Fairchild be involved in the special project, the same project he had been favoring and arranging for some time now? Was she a key holder too?

  He flipped the page, noting the biography of one Elena Fairchild, the company owner and CEO. Well named, he thought, struck by the mature beauty of the woman. Decent pedigree, he concluded, with ancestors fighting in the Crusades. Family tree connected to the Landkey Fairchilds of North Devon…Coal and iron merchants owning a fleet of small vessels, which plied to Wales and Sussex. My, how the acorn never seems to fall far from the tree, he mused. A bit of spark in the blood line. They rigged out several of their ships to fight with Drake and against the Spanish Armada. Decent of them.

  “Well, Miss Fairchild…” he said aloud, noting she remained unwed with some interest. She might make for an interesting companion on his little journey, then again, she might be nothing more than an encumbrance. It didn’t matter. She was half a world away, and the world was going to hell. He knew it, and a handful of other very wealthy and well connected men and women knew it too, and the days were running down. There wasn’t much sand left in the hourglass. This war was going to spin out of hand and make a grand end of things, and that was very inconvenient—unless you were very well prepared; unless you had a plan.

  He had carefully positioned all his assets in recent months, making sure that his exposure to the black hole in the markets that was eating Goldman Sachs this morning could not touch him in any way, not that it mattered any longer. His mind had been focused on one thing only, a singular project…yes…how to find a place of quiet and serenity where he could live out his life in peace and exercise the considerable wealth and power he possessed at the same time—unmolested by current regulations and constraints, or the wild annoyances of the modern financial system.

  Now he had just the ticket—as did a very few others. They were men like Maitland; women like Lady Pomroy, and perhaps even promising newcomers like this Elena Fairchild. She would have to pass muster, of course, and the scrutiny of the committee, but it might be arranged at the next meeting. It might. Then again, perhaps she is already a key holder as well. No one really knew the names and identities of every person privileged to hold a key. A pity to leave a woman like that one behind. Perhaps he could make inquiries.

  “I see your cash flow is running a bit thin, Miss Fairchild. Seems to me you’ve got most of your quarterly profit burning in the Straits of Hormuz or lying on the bottom of the Black Sea.”

  Yes…Princess Royal was your largest tanker, and you were probably counting on her to make good with the Bank of London. Pity. Let’s hope you make it through the Bosporus with your last two ships. And what’s this bit here…Argos Fire, a converted Daring class destroyer purchased some years ago for refit. How very interesting.

  He thought on this large sum columned off to ‘Special Projects,’ his curiosity getting the better of him. He’d have a word with Jameson over that the Bank and see what they knew about it. Under the circumstances, and given the rather thin reserves this lady seems to have in hand at the moment, the company is looking just a tad vulnerable now, isn’t it? He sighed, realizing his old instincts for an easy kill and quick acquisition were misplaced here. It didn’t matter any longer. He had other ‘arrangements’ now, and if this Fairchild was a key holder then she would have other arrangements as well, and not be bandying about in the Black Sea worried about oil.

  With that in mind he wondered if he should consider taking a man like this Thomas fellow along with him for the utilization of his special talents. He might prove very useful indeed. He decided to make him an offer, and was confident all would be well, reaching for his intercom to buzz the secretary.

  “Yes sir?”

  “Calendar clear for the day?” he asked.

  “Nothing the remainder of the afternoon, sir.”

  “Good. Ring Mister Thomas Tell them I should like to meet with him again in the morning. Shall we say six AM?”

  “Very good, sir.”

  That should be sufficient, he thought. A man like Thomas could be much more useful than Fairchild. She’d have to be looked after, fawned over, and might end up being a nuisance more than anything else. He had come round to thinking of his plan as something more like a safari than a pleasure cruise. In that circumstance, Thomas was the much better fit.

  Then he looked at his calendar for the next week. It’s a pity he was going to have to disappoint so many people. Some were coming to seek venture capital, others to make business proposals, merger offers, lucrative expansion deals. He left all the appointments in place, though if all went well he would not be here to ever worry about them again. He would be somewhere else entirely if all went as planned.

  That thought brought all the excitement of the chase back again, the eagerness and anticipation of the great journey—if it worked. That was the kicker. It had to work. He decided to give this Professor Dorland another call to see about it. After all, he bankrolled a goodly amount to indulge the man’s extravagant ideas. But if he was on to something…if it actually possible…

  Even as he reached for intercom to have his secretary arrange a secure line the telephone on his desk rang—Line 1. That raised an eyebrow, and a flash of concern as he reached for the receiver.

  “Yes,” he said quietly, wondering what this was all about.

  “Good afternoon, sir. I am sorry to report we may have an anomaly.”

  “I see. You may have an anomaly?”

  “We believe so, sir. The variation readings are very high. Would you care to look at the data?”

  “Yes, of course. Please have a file on my desk within the hour.”

  My, my, he thought. An anomaly! This was interesting. Was someone else planning something? Could it be Maitland? The lady Pomroy? Whatever it was, he had to get a handle on it at once.

  Chapter 17

  It had been forty-eight hours since the disastrous eruption of the Demon imposed its will on the seas around Hokkaido. In that time the remnant of the Red Banner Pacific fleet had withdrawn into the Sea of Okhotsk as the wounded CVBG Washington retired on Guam. Even as the battle erupted in the Black Sea between units of Fairchild Inc. and the Russian Black Sea Fleet, Captain Tanner’s stricken carrier had effected a loose rendezvous with CVBG Nimitz in the region north of Marianas. Additional support was close at hand with CVBG Eisenhower, which had moved up the coast of Malaysia and through the Sulu Sea to head east for Guam.

  The US was now consolidating its naval power for the next phase of its planned operations. Intelligence had been unable to ascertain the fate of the core of the Russian fleet. Satellite photography was impossible due to the enormous and expanding plume of ashfall from the volcano, and submarine contact was hit and miss on sonar due to the continuing seismic turmoil caused by the eruption. Now both sides were quietly prowling the undersea environment with subs, listening on passive sonar as they crept through the deep murky waters. Behind it all the constant rumble of the volcano growled from subterranean depths with an ominous undertone.

  Naval planne
rs on the American side deemed further operations by the Russian fleet would be impossible unless the flotilla sortied into the Sea of Japan where it would be vulnerable to land based air power from the main island of Honshu. For this reason they elected to withdraw south and consolidate to confront the real threat in the ongoing operations being mounted by China against Taiwan.

  Rod Leyman, White House Chief of Staff, was meeting again with defense analyst Lt. Commander William Reed, Air Force General Henry Lane, and the newly appointed five star Navy Admiral William Ghortney. A tough and experienced naval professional, Ghortney had pinned on his gold wings long ago as a naval aviator, and the stripes on his cuff were well earned with well over 5000 error free flying hours and 1200 safe carrier landings under his belt. He had served in executive capacities on six fleet carriers, including both the Nimitz and Eisenhower, both now prowling like angry sharks in the waters north of Guam. It was his combat experience in operations against Iraq and service involving other maritime security roles that made him the ideal man for the job now facing the Navy. But the Admiral had some hard questions to ask that day.

  “Who the hell sent that flash traffic to Tanner? That’s what I want to know. We had Nimitz out there on his right flank and that order prodded him to act unsupported. Damn sloppy in my judgment.”

  “It didn’t come from this office,” said Leyman. “We paint the broad strokes here, but I have no idea what flash traffic even is.”

  “You’re telling me the order did not originate from the White House Situation Room? Well it sure as hell didn’t come from the Joint Chiefs. I was in a meeting with the entire group not three hours ago and we heard nothing of this flash order that sent Tanner into action.”

  “If I may, sir…” An adjutant stepped forward at the Admiral’s elbow and handed him a file.