Deep Sea One

by Preston; Child

  Calisto sauntered down the corridor in front of Nina's window. The sight of her competition for Sam's affection shifted her decision instantaneously. If she left, she would not only be excluded from all credit due the contributors of this expedition, she would, no doubt, be excluded from Sam's life. Calisto was nothing like her, but in her own tough way she was very appealing to any man and she would have no trouble in seducing the wayward boyish journalist.

  "I'll stay," she smiled suddenly, to the delight of both men.

  "Fantastic!" Purdue exclaimed, and locked his hands together in elation. He was relieved that the looming threat of silencing Nina was eradicated before it had to be addressed and he nodded to Calisto to notify her that she could stand down now. The three carried on talking inside the lab, discussing the schedule of the inspection and the workings of the software he had created to assist her in her analysis of the relic. The bodyguard took the opportunity to return to the window of the other laboratory. Two scientists were busy examining Johann's eyes, unaware of the woman watching them. Quickly she took a chair and placed it under the peephole of one of the cells. Peeking through it, she could see another man inside, sleeping. He was remarkably tall and his hair was blond. She found it peculiar that he looked so much like Johann. Hastening, she climbed down, checked for any movement and placed the chair under the window of the next cell. Inside was a young girl, aged about nine years, sitting on her bed. She was reading a book on ethnicity. On her bed lay strewn literature on civilizations of ancient Nordic origin and occult roots of the Third Reich. A textbook on physics lay open at her feet, implying her level of intellect at such a tender age.

  Calisto swallowed hard. She could not believe what she beheld in front of her. Keeping her presence hidden she whispered to herself, "My God! They did it! They actually managed the absurd." Her entire body trembled as she watched the young girl look up at her with pristine blue eyes filled with an old wisdom. "Jesus! They are creating a new Aryan race!"

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  Chapter 33

  Eickhart planted a slug just off the center of the target. The corner of his mouth curled to one side, impressed that his recent life-changing condition did not much influence his aim. The rifle kicked harder than before though, now that he had no solid stance to steady him and his shoulder ached from the repeated impact of the butt.

  Behind him Dieter entered with the stranger he was expecting. Patrick did not merit a look, but the old man spoke while his rifle was reloaded for him.

  "Herr Braun, it is wonderful to see you here. I trust your accommodation is in order?" he asked with great authority, but as Patrick replied, the old man pulled the trigger, shattering the silence with barrel thunder.

  "It is perfect, thank you," Patrick repeated.

  "I trust you will be joining us for a bite?" Eickhart said, as he laid his sight straight ahead of the rifle, but this time Patrick waited for the clap before speaking. They exchanged the obligatory pleasantries before the boss gave the order for his staff to pack up. On their way back up the pathway there was an uncomfortable silence.

  "Herr Braun, I would like for us to start today, if you do not mind. This project is urgent and quite rushed, considering the usual time frame of such endeavors," he said, with a deceptive patience ringing in his voice.

  "I had a look at your specifications, Herr Eickhart, and I must say, I am just a bit curious. Why the rush?" Patrick asked in his most cordial tone.

  Eickhart stopped his wheelchair. He did not turn his head to face the insolent idiot who dared question him. Dieter and Patrick exchanged glances and immediately the spy knew that he made a grave mistake. Dieter cringed somewhat, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

  "I mean," Patrick continued, with no small measure of confidence, "this kind of structure rushed could have catastrophic results and I will not allow that."

  Silence persisted among them at the architect's blatant statement. Now Eickhart turned to face him.

  "Excuse me?"

  "I reiterate—I will not allow any unnecessary hazards on this project in favor of rushing, Herr Eickhart. I have built bunkers before. Yes, I am aware that you are building a bunker, although an extravagant one. I am no fool. But in my business I do not only design and supervise the construction of secret compounds, I also assure the safety of my clients, which is of much more value to me than your money. So if you think me brash for stalling to make sure the structure is impervious to God himself, I am happy to bow out," Patrick rambled in his best authoritarian voice, while inside he shuddered, disbelieving his own words as they came.

  "Well, I can't argue with that, now can I?" the old man said with a hiccup of amusement in his response, and without further conversation they continued on to the house.

  After a luncheon of good food, rich wine and light conversation among Eickhart, his wife Greta and Patrick, the two men retired to the site of the construction excavated and ready for building.

  "I wanted to show you this myself. I need this chamber to be as big as an average dance hall. I need the measurements just as I posted them, for optimal acoustic value. You will not deviate from my measurements, no matter what," the old man narrowed his eyes at Patrick and for the first time DCI Smith could discern the wicked recklessness in the old war criminal. Now he resembled his reputation in all its malevolent glory and Patrick felt his blood turn to ice.

  "Absolutely. You have my word," Patrick replied, his face stoned and his eyes resolute. He needed to know more. Why were the acoustics important? Why a bunker? Why the rush? All that nudged at him.

  "I need to know that I can trust you, Herr Braun. Your company has done work for me before, so I know what to expect from them, but since the head architect's untimely passing I am left uncertain of who would take his place, you see?" the boss drawled while tapping his wrinkled elongated fingers on the armrest of his motorized chair.

  "I don't in any way claim to have pristine values, Herr Eickhart, nor do I perpetuate an ersatz front. I do not believe in bullshit, if I might be so crass," Patrick felt that subdued villain emerge from his hidden mind once more, ready to play the part. "I don't care if you build a church for your daughter's wedding or a cathedral for heretic practices, but I want to know what I am erecting and why. That way I know what enhancements to employ. After all, I know the science and the art better than my clients. If they entrust me with their desires, I can make their most twisted needs materialize." He bent down to take a sample of the soil without waiting for a reply.

  "I don't believe in bullshit either, my friend," Eickhart said, "which is precisely why your predecessor left you this cushy position to fill. Need I say more?"

  Patrick felt that strange coldness again at the old man's admission. Of course he had to do away with his previous architect. The secrets held here in Katzwang were of global-scale catastrophe and historical impact. These were things that had to be kept very covert or the slightest miscalculation could result in World War III. He played it slowly from there, keeping strictly to the details of the construction.

  Gradually he realized that the so-called bunker was not to protect, but to contain.

  "I will soon be coming in possession of an ancient artifact that needs to be kept in the confines of a certain frequency. If not, it can be quite destructive and that would defy the purpose, wouldn't it?" Eickhart boasted.

  "Ooh, Egyptian, perhaps? I have an affinity for those," Patrick fished, just like he used to when he played along with perps, only to have them get comfortable. That was when they would give up their secrets and talk themselves into arrest.

  "No, no! That is lavish, but utterly useless I have to say. No, this is something of pertinent importance, a relic viewed as . . ." the old man searched his mind for the correct term, ". . . holy."

  Keep going, thought Patrick. He dismissed the old man's statement as fanciful. Nothing was really holy as it was believed in biblical days, he insisted, and watched the old man's temperature rise in frustration at his architect's disregard f
or the mighty artifacts he was capable of attaining.

  "Oh, no, this one is capable of great power! It was said that it could wield terrible force so great that the oceans obeyed, that it could perform miracle or devastation at the hand of its wielder," the old man shouted, adamant to convince Patrick of his sincerity.

  "It was said by whom, Herr Eickhart? These clandestine merchants will tell you anything to smear off a cheap knock-off on you for exuberant amounts of money," Patrick said nonchalantly, as he pretended to survey the area. The boss tried to maintain his cool, but this ignorant fool tested him beyond measure and he finally felt that he had to put the young man right in his place.

  "Have you ever heard of the Spear of Destiny, Herr Braun?" the old man asked categorically.

  Patrick froze for a second. To the old man it looked like shocked silence at realizing what league he was in, but to Patrick it was confusion. He was here to uncover the pending trade of biological weapons and viral terrorist acts in the pipeline. He was here to detect the mole that Eickhart had sent to procure these strains, the location of the culprit and when they would rendezvous. He was not here about relics and grave robbery.

  Perplexed, he stood for a moment, and then decided to play it all by ear and hope that the old man would reveal more about his mission soon.

  "I have read about it somewhere, I think. Some biblical rubbish they claimed was a treasure?" Patrick said, deliberately playing dumb. This time Eickhart saw his ignorance as a relief. At least with his completely oblivious mindset toward these things, he would be no threat when designing a chamber for the artifact. To him it was nonsense, a welcome demeanor in Eickhart's opinion. This architect would not have to be silenced, because he did not believe.

  "Yes, some relic from the time of the Bible, son. And whether you believe its powers or not, I am going to own it," Eickhart said calmly.

  "And I will make sure you have a perfect chamber to keep it in, sir," Patrick smiled for the first time, reading the old man's gaining trust in their mutual disclosure.

  "Good. Good. Do you have everything you need?" he asked Patrick, who found the irony amusing.

  "Yes, for now," he smiled and nodded, placing his faux samples in his case.

  He had to somehow find a reason to get into Eickhart's study or to bug his office to find out more about the plans. Whatever he had to do, had to be done within the next few days. The SIS could pull him at any moment and he had better have something to offer. Unfortunately, what Patrick Smith neglected to remember, was that rushing the construction of dangerous things could result in catastrophe. This very sentiment was used by him to sway the opinion of Walter Eickhart, but he forgot that it pertained to the delicate weaving of an undetectable and potent snare to obtain vital information. A lesson he did not want to learn in the house of Eickhart.

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  Chapter 34

  "Look at this! Clear skies for the first time in a week," Liam reported to the boys of the new shift who stood around drinking tea before commencing work.

  "Oh, I see, you are waiting for the storm to rise out of nowhere, aren't ya?" Tommy grinned behind the rim of his mug and a few lads sniggered at the remark. They all knew the mechanic was awfully superstitious. It made him a good source of entertainment and none of them would admit to feeling just a little vulnerable, recalling his tales of angry sea gods and such, when the heavy storms battered the lone oil platform out in international waters where no rescue organization would take note.

  "Aye, great to see you again too, Tommy. Hope the shits didn't dry up your brain completely," Liam snapped and reveled in a roar of laughter from the lads before the siren sounded to summon them to their stations.

  "I'll give you that one, geezer," Tommy laughed. "Now fuck off. Darwin and I have work to do."

  "You're in high spirits, Tommy," Darwin noted.

  "The rest did me well, the rest away from here, I mean. The illness was a bitch, though," Tommy replied. "Anything exciting happen here?" He laughed loudly. "Like I can say that with a straight face."

  "You know, there was a strange thing or two happening here, but not the kind of crap you'd be interested in," Darwin said, as he scrutinized the horizon, much like Liam always did before he believed him.

  "Like what? I might be amused, you never know," Tommy smiled.

  Darwin gave it some thought at first, fearing that his words would give life to the absurdity of it all if he came out and said it. Tommy waited with bated breath.

  "Do you know if Peter employed a new subsea engineer?" Darwin spoke softly out of reluctance. Tommy raised his eyebrow.

  "What the hell are we, then?"

  "Precisely what I said."

  "God, I hope they are not thinking of letting me go behind my back . . ." Tommy started, but Darwin lifted a hand to stop him.

  "I don't think Purdue knows about this new guy. We never saw him come here in the first place," Darwin continued.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Me and Liam, catching a smoke or two outside, saw this bloke strolling like a lost fart in the middle of the night. Weird-looking fucker, way tall, looks like Mr. Barbie. We don't know him, right? So we ask him, right? And he says he works here, but the idiot is walking around in a hard hat, looking for the docking area! How daft is that?" Darwin spilled the entire chain of events and mentioned how Peter came to collect the stranger and took him down the steps to God knows where.

  "Have you seen him again?" Tommy asked, astonished.

  "Man, he came from nowhere. Disappeared to nowhere. And nowhere is nowhere other than this fucking oil rig, you savvy?" Darwin whispered loudly with eyes wide and wild.

  "That is interesting. I wonder what Purdue knows," Tommy pondered out loud.

  "Yah, and that too. But do you see the level of fucking weird in this tale? It is like an old-time horror mystery," Darwin whined, while his colleague sank into deep thought about the whole matter.

  "Where did they go, then? Peter and this bloke?" Tommy asked with a deep frown.

  "Down the second reds, the same stairs Purdue always uses to his special elevator," Darwin said, but he was satisfied that someone else was listening to him and Liam. He expected Tommy to laugh it off, but he did not. For once, instead of ridiculing them, he displayed some interest.

  He was about to ask more questions when a distinct presence made itself known in the doorway. Both men turned and found the female bodyguard standing there, leaning against the side.

  "So, you boys are smelling a rat on this oil rig?" she said in her low husky voice.

  "What's it to you, sergeant?" Tommy retorted defensively, but she ignored him and laid her eyes on Darwin.

  "I think there is something amiss too, but being so close to the boss, I am not supposed to make observations, you know? I must just shut my mouth and cover his back," she sighed, working her voodoo on the smitten engineer. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

  Darwin swallowed hard as heat flooded his skin.

  "What is it that you think you know? If you know anything, if anything bad is going down here like drugs or lay-offs, I wanta know about it," Tommy urged.

  "Drugs or lay-offs. Really?" she smiled sarcastically, again aiming for Darwin.

  "We have been seeing people we don't know, sergeant, and we are worried about them taking our jobs. Call it vocational paranoia," Darwin explained, composing himself and trying to keep his eyes from the dent between her breasts showing just above the zipper of her hoodie.

  "Your jobs, your jobs," she chanted plainly. "Honey, there is something so much bigger going on here that you will ever understand." Her eyes narrowed seductively as her confidence flooded their resistance.

  "What do you mean?" Tommy asked.

  "I'm not sure I wanna hear this," Darwin said reluctantly.

  "Well, ignorance is a wonderful thing," she started, and put her hand on Darwin's heaving chest, "if you're on land."

  "She's right, Darwin," Liam said from the doorway. He stood in the door, lookin
g out down the corridor every now and then to make sure their discussion was as private as they could keep it.

  "You see, out here in the middle of Poseidon's trap we are at the mercy of two things—the gods and the boss. Without helicopters or boats we are fucked, gentlemen. Right now, as we speak, there is a hidden laboratory compound beneath us."

  The three men stood astounded, silent and waited eagerly for more.

  "Apparently Purdue is keeping something special down there, guarded by special people," she sang softly, hypnotizing the men with her efficient guile, "special people like the stranger you say you saw up here."

  "What are they guarding?" Liam asked, but Tommy pressed his hand on his colleague, pushing him aside.

  "Wait a minute, how do you know?" he asked Calisto.

  "You're an engineer?" she asked. "With that level of intellect? I was down there, you imbecile."

  "What is down there? Is it dangerous, like, can bombs go off and kill us all?" Darwin asked, mostly kidding, but curious nonetheless.

  "See?" Calisto told Tommy, "a man with common sense. Yes, my friend, there are things down there that could flatten this place." She was not certain of that fact, of course, but they knew less about the labs than she did. This would be a perfect opportunity for a bit of a mutiny. They had to be warned about possible disaster. And there would be disaster. Of that she would make sure. In fact, it was imperative to her end. After some snooping through Purdue's office and with a little help from his predictable password software she had the codes to the labs.

  Nina and Sam had begun their work there and Purdue was furiously busy contacting various organizations as if he was a wedding planner. She had no idea who he considered so special that he would tell them about the relic, which she was almost certain was the real deal. But somewhere something would go wrong. Breeding a master race, immoral scientific experiments and relic hunting could never end well. And Calisto had a knack for smelling tragedy. She deliberately came on to Sam to drive Nina away and it almost worked. She almost saved the historian from what was coming, but failed in getting her to return to the mainland. Now she could only hope that Dr. Gould would survive whatever was boiling toward the brim of the stewing pot Purdue had foolishly cooking on high. It was a bad recipe of boast and greed and reckless ambition.