The Lance

by Alex Lukeman

  "You have been helpful," the man said. "I've brought something to show our appreciation." He reached into the box with his right hand.

  The silenced pistol spat once and a small, dark hole appeared in Khalid's forehead. He never felt the second shot that entered his ear.

  The Visitor replaced the pistol in the box. He lifted Khalid's body onto the narrow bunk and turned his face to the wall. Anyone looking in would see a sleeping prisoner. The Visitor left the cell and closed the door, bolting it after him. Five minutes later he had disappeared into the crowds on the street outside. Another soldier, hurrying to his appointment with the god of war.

  Back in his apartment, the Visitor made a call.

  "It's done."

  "Good. Your time there is finished." A brief silence. "You failed with the agent."

  "It was unavoidable. I lost three people. He is a worthy adversary."

  "It doesn't matter. Return to Washington. Call when you are settled."

  The Visitor could hear an opera playing in the background, something by Wagner.

  "Yes."

  The Visitor broke the connection, smashed the phone with his heel. He began packing. When he was done, he sat on the edge of the bed. He closed his eyes, his mind soaring to a summer meadow high in the Bavarian Alps.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  At Andrews, Rice ordered the Secret Service to provide Nick with transportation. They gave him a shiny black Suburban with armor reinforced doors and wheels, tinted bullet proof glass and a Remington pump twelve gauge set upright between the front seats. The vehicle was fast, too. He watched for anyone following and took a circuitous route around the city. When he was sure no one was behind, he headed for the safe house.

  He pulled into the garage and went inside. Ronnie and Selena were at the kitchen table. Ronnie was flashing cards filled with diagrams and data at Selena, teaching her to store essential information in her mind with only a brief look.

  "Hey, Mr. TV personality himself. Welcome home, Nick." Ronnie put the cards on the table.

  "TV Personality?"

  Selena said, "You've been on the news all day. The networks can't get enough of you jumping into that hole and protecting the President. Over here, you're a hero. In the Mid East, you're a murderer. You've even been hung in effigy. They've made a martyr out of the man who tried to shoot you and Rice."

  Nick felt a headache starting. Harker and Stephanie came into the room. Director Harker wore casual sweats. The outfit was black and white, if not up to her usual standard of elegance. She looked tired, more frayed around the edges than he'd ever seen before.

  "Nick, I know you just got here, but we need to go over what we've found out."

  "You mean Dysart?"

  "That and more. Let's sit down."

  The silver pen came out and Harker began tapping. The sound echoed in his head like a ball ratcheting around a pinball machine.

  "Dysart mentioned Antarctica in his emails. A German research station in Antarctica burned to the ground two nights ago. The fire was set with phosphorous grenades and all personnel were shot and killed. A plane landed and took off around the time of the raid. The German government has sealed the whole thing off and clamped the lid down on inquiries."

  "If they aren't talking, how come we know about it?"

  "Stephanie hacked into Berlin's intelligence network looking for reaction to the Jerusalem bombing. She found the Antarctica reports."

  Steph made a mock curtsey.

  Nick rubbed his forehead, then the back of his neck. The headache was kicking in big time. "What's got them going?"

  "Nazis."

  "Nazis? As in Hitler, swastikas, all that stuff? How do Nazis come into it?"

  "Two scientists found an old bunker complex in the mountains the day before the station was attacked. No one knew it was there. They discovered a radio station, barracks, generators and crates marked with swastikas. They opened one of the crates and found rare paintings missing since the war. The radio had swastikas on it and one of those Enigma coding machines next to it. There was also a vault they couldn't open.

  "They called it in to Berlin. That was on Wednesday afternoon. Early Thursday morning someone showed up, blew the door off the vault and cleaned the place out. It looks like a military op. They didn't leave anyone behind to talk about it. Berlin thinks this was a secret Nazi base rumored to exist since the war, built to research experimental weapons. Everyone thought it was a myth, until now."

  "What was in the vault?"

  "No one knows. The only things left behind were files. Inventories of jewelry, gold teeth, wedding rings and other property stolen from Holocaust victims. All neatly cataloged."

  Carter thought about that. Gold teeth and wedding rings. Who could fathom the pathological cruelty of the Nazi mind?

  Harker continued. "Inside the vault were two mummified bodies in World War II German naval uniforms. They'd been shot at close range with a pistol. One of them had ID that showed they came off a submarine, U-886."

  "You think this is what Dysart was referring to in his email?"

  "It must be. There's not much happening in Antarctica. The email said the 'key' to Parsifal had been found there, whatever that is."

  "How do we use the Antarctica connection?" Nick tugged at his ear.

  "We need more data."

  Harker's pen tapped. Nick wanted to snatch it from her and break it in half. His head was throbbing. The room vibrated with a faint light.

  "What about the sub those mummies came from?" Ronnie said. "Why was it there? If we knew that, we might know why someone came back years later and took out that research station. That's pretty cold, killing a bunch of civilian eggheads studying penguins and snow."

  "We have the number of the sub." Harker tapped her pen. "There should be records, maybe an action report. Almost all the U-Boats have been accounted for. We could start by tracking it down."

  "That's easy. We can Google it." Stephanie got her laptop and plugged it in. It booted up and routed through the mainframe sitting in the other room. Steph tapped keys and entered a search. In a few seconds the display screen showed a numerical list of all Nazi submarines. She clicked on U-886.

  U-886 was listed as a type IX D2, built in July 1944 by AG Weser at the Bremen yards. She'd been sunk with depth charges by a British destroyer on 22 February, 1945. Stephanie pulled up the Admiralty report. The co-ordinates of the action placed the sub's grave at fifteen miles east and south of Mar del Plata on the Argentine coast, on the continental shelf in 35 fathoms of water.

  Elizabeth coughed. "It looks like they were running for Argentina. Type IX D2's were converted to carry cargo. They must have had something on board."

  "Or they left something behind," Nick said. "If the sub was carrying something away, wouldn't they have taken the crates with the paintings?"

  "Why leave anything in Antarctica? The war was almost over and they were heading for safety." Selena looked at the screen. "They couldn't have planned on coming back anytime soon."

  Nick thought. "They killed two of their own. Why would they do that?"

  "Only one reason makes sense," Ronnie said. "Whoever shot those guys didn't want them talking about what was in the vault."

  "And the paintings were outside, not in the vault." Stephanie picked it up. "So whatever was in there was more important to the Nazis than a bunch of Old Masters. That's got to be something pretty special."

  "Whatever it was, they never came back for it," Ronnie said.

  "Until a few days ago." Harker tapped her pen, set it aside. "Why not before?"

  "Maybe they didn't know where it was." Ronnie cracked his knuckles. "Maybe the location went down with the sub. When the scientists found it someone jumped on it before the German government could step in."

  Harker frowned. "That means someone would have to monitor transmissions from the Antarctic or have deep contacts in Germany. Then they would have to mount an armed expedition and get it on site in less than a day. That'
s pretty sophisticated."

  The pen came out again, tapping.

  "Steph hasn't been able to track the other end of those emails yet. It might be worth it to see if there's anything left on that sub. Something that could tell us what Dysart was referring to."

  "If we can find it," Nick said. "Even if we could, there's not going to be much left. It's a waste of time."

  He didn't usually argue with Harker, but he was tired. The headache was stabbing him in back of his left eye. He felt nauseous.

  She looked at him. "Do you have a better idea?"

  "No, but it sounds like a wild goose chase to me."

  "We've got the coordinates in the action report. It's a long shot, but if we can find the wreck, I think it's worth a try. It's the only direct connection to Antarctica and whatever happened there. The only connection to Dysart."

  "How are we going to get to it?"

  "We'd have to dive on it. You must know someone, Nick."

  "As a matter of fact, I do know someone. Ronnie knows him, too. His name is Lamont Cameron. He just got out of the Seals."

  Ronnie nodded. "Shadow? He'd be perfect."

  "Shadow?" Harker's pen stopped moving.

  "His mom named him after Lamont Cranston," Nick said, "the Shadow on the radio show. That's how he got the nickname."

  "Can you get hold of him?"

  "Probably. His mom lives in D.C. She would know where he is. I can track him down, but I still think it's a waste of time."

  Harker looked annoyed. "Do that. If he's interested, brief him and bring him here."

  "What did Arslanian's flash drive have on it?"

  "It's encoded. Steph hasn't cracked it yet."

  Later, after he'd gone upstairs, Nick sat on the edge of the bed. His head was splitting. The stitches on his leg were inflamed and sore, he ached from being blown down twice in almost as many days, and he was jet lagging from the air journeys. His left hand was painful and stiff. He didn't know if he should lie down or throw up.

  I'm getting too old for this, he thought. Not for the first time.

  Selena sat down on the bed. The movement made his stomach turn over. He reached the bathroom just in time. When he came out, Selena helped him undress.

  The last thing he remembered was the feel of her slipping into bed beside him and the warm curling of her naked body against his.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Ronnie and Nick met Lamont Cameron at a bar popular with past and present members of the various SOCOM units. It was crowded. It smelled of stale beer and overcooked frankfurters. No one ever came there for dinner.

  Lamont looked good for pushing forty. His head was shaved and smooth. His skin was dark reddish brown, the color of fresh ground coffee. His eyes were an odd pale blue, a genetic trait inherited from his Ethiopian ancestors. He had even features, square cheekbones, and an aquiline nose.

  A thin, jagged ridge of pink scar tissue cut through one black eyebrow and across his nose, a souvenir from Iraq. He'd left the Seals as a Master Chief. In the Seals that was a real accolade. Lamont was one of the smartest and toughest men Nick had ever met.

  He was at a table in the back. He stood up as they approached. The three men high-fived.

  "Hey Nick, you look a little rough around the edges."

  "Yeah, good to see you too." Lamont signaled the waitress.

  "Double Jameson's for me," Nick said, "soda back."

  "Coke, with a lime if you've got it," Ronnie told her. Ronnie didn't drink. On the Reservation he'd seen what it could do.

  Lamont held up his half empty bottle.

  "Another Bud." When the waitress had gone he said, "Saw you on the tube saving the President's ass. What were you doing there, anyway? You Secret Service now?"

  "Nope. That's part of what we want to talk with you about. How've you been, Shadow?"

  "Can't complain. Nobody would listen anyway." He grinned, lifted the beer in mock salute.

  "How's civilian life?"

  "Not what it's cracked up to be. I'm staying at my Mom's for now, keeping her company. Lots of changes since the last time I came home and none of them good. I'm trying to get her to move to a better part of town, but she's stubborn. Her church is there, her friends. She'll never move."

  Carter had been to the house. It was in part of the city where the landscape looked like a war zone. Decent people like Lamont's mother lived with drive-by shootings, gang bangers and iron bars on the windows as part of life. It was one of those places most of America didn't want to know about. Right in the heart of the American dream, the nation's capitol. Even the cops didn't go there unless they had plenty of backup.

  The waitress brought the drinks. Nick downed the Irish and ordered another before she left.

  "You have any plans?" he said. "What you're going to do?"

  "I know a guy who's a commercial diver. I was thinking maybe I'd hook up with him. He wants to open a dive school."

  "Pretty tame." Ronnie lifted his coke, sipped.

  "Yeah." Lamont looked a little depressed. Nick figured it was time to cheer him up.

  "What would you say if I told you there's another option? Not so tame?"

  "Not so tame, like whatever you were doing in Jerusalem?"

  "Yes."

  "Tell me all about it, amigo."

  During the next hour they filled him in on Harker and the Project. Nick kept the Irish coming. After the fourth one something let go. He began to relax for the first time since he'd left for Israel.

  "What do you think, Shadow? You want to meet Harker?"

  "You talked with her?"

  "She pulled your jacket and cleared you earlier today. It's up to you. Travel, pay, exotic places, meet new people—what more could you ask?"

  He smiled. "Damn." He held his hands out and spoke in a whispery Marlon Brando voice. "Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in."

  "Your Brando sucks, and besides it was Pacino said that."

  Cameron shrugged. "Hey. As long as we don't leave the gun. When do I meet her?"

  "Tomorrow. We'll pick you up."

  They clinked glasses.

  The team was getting stronger.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Morning light filtered through the windows of the safe house. Lamont looked sharp in a light blue suit and lavender tie. Ronnie had on his usual Hawaiian riot. Nick wore a throbbing hangover, a black turtleneck and a gray jacket. The aspirin hadn't kicked in. His .45 felt like it weighed fifty pounds. Something kept squeezing his back. Selena looked fresh and ready to go.

  Harker gave Lamont the pitch, an ID, a Glock and had him sign his life away. He cracked the slide, checked the magazine and clipped the holstered pistol onto his belt with the ease of practice. She briefed him on Dysart and the week's events. She told him about the sunken submarine.

  "Yeah, Nick told me about it."

  "If we found that sub, could you dive on it?"

  "Thirty-five fathoms? That's two hundred and ten feet down. Sure. Straightforward, unless there are bad currents and poor visibility."

  "That deep you should have a partner, but you're going to have to go it alone."

  "He doesn't have to go alone." It was Selena. "I've got enough experience. I've been deep before."

  Something made Nick say, "Is there anything you can't do?" His headache stabbed him.

  There was a brief silence. Selena's face closed down. Lamont's expression was unreadable.

  Harker's pen stopped moving. "You're an experienced diver, Selena?"

  "I've done over a hundred recreational dives and two dozen deep, technical dives."

  She looked at Lamont. "I know it's not the same as what you've done. But you need someone with you, in case there's trouble."

  "We're talking seventy meters," Lamont said. "That's not recreational diving. Something goes wrong, it's pretty far to the surface."

  "If something goes wrong and you're by yourself, you won't make the surface."

  Strong words. Lamont raised hi
s eyebrows. She went on. "We're not just talking about diving an old wreck. We're talking about getting inside it, looking for something. We don't even know what it is we're looking for. That's dangerous. You need backup."

  "I could maybe get some ex-Navy guys I know to help out."

  "There's no time for that," Harker said. "Besides, they'd have to be vetted, cleared. It's not an option."

  Lamont asked Selena, "You checked out with rebreathers?"

  "I've been to three hundred and fifty feet with one."

  Steph said, "What's a rebreather?"

  "It's diving apparatus. It cycles breath and breathing gas within a closed circuit system. We used them all the time in the Seals." Lamont rubbed his palm on his leg. "The advantage is no bubbles going to the surface if you're in a combat situation. You don't need big tanks and you can stay down longer and deeper than with the open circuit stuff. With the right mix the decompression stops aren't as long."

  The pen started up, then stopped. Harker made up her mind. "Selena's right. If you can find the sub, she goes down with you. Nick, you and Ronnie will back them up on the surface. I'll requisition a plane to take you to Mar del Plata. Take weapons. I'll clear you for entry, you shouldn't have trouble. We have an arrangement with the Argentine military and it's friendly at the moment. They have an air base near there."

  Lamont said, "We'll need gear."

  "Tell Ronnie what you need. Mar del Plata is a big fishing port, right on the Atlantic. It shouldn't be a problem to rent a boat down there. I'll arrange for accommodations and a vehicle. Selena, you speak Spanish, don't you?"

  "Fluently."

  Harker put her pen down. "Any other questions?"

  "When do we leave?"

  "Tomorrow."

  "Hey, I always wanted to see Argentina," Lamont said.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  It was a warm October morning in the nation's capitol, the sky blue and cloudless. Senator Gordon Greenwood was in his office on the Hill, thinking about an upcoming meeting with a group of deep pocket constituents. His secretary interrupted his thoughts.