Intulo: The Lost World

by JE Gurley

  10

  July 5, 2016, 2:30 p.m. Klerksdorp, South Africa –

  Eve relaxed on her sofa in her home in Klerksdorp, a few kilometers from the mine. Freshly showered, she wore only her robe. She had disposed of the filthy, scorched jumpsuit she had worn into the mine. She knew she could never launder away the stench of death that permeated its fibers. In her hand, she held a glass containing a liberal splash of South African single-malt whisky over ice. She preferred Glenfiddich Scotch, but the Value Added Tax and import duty made it unaffordable on her salary. She needed the drink to settle her nerves.

  Fear tempered her excitement over her discovery of the insects. Men had died, yet she knew she could not allow such an opportunity to slip through her fingers. Since her husband’s death, she had been half-alive, simply going through the motions each day. She had remained in South Africa only because she hadn’t the determination to leave. Now, she had stumbled upon the find of the decade, perhaps of the century.

  The creatures in the lava tube system had been living for millions of years completely cut off from the outside world in a pristine environment, isolated from modern diseases and air pollution. Any other creatures in the tube could be equally unique. They provided a rare and unique study group. Who knew how they got there, or how they managed to survive for so long? She needed to learn upon what the creatures normally fed, what their environment was like, how long individuals lived. There was the potential for new drugs, new branches of biology, and maybe even new searches for similar creatures in cave systems throughout the world.

  She would be right in the thick of it. She would see to it. Her paper on the creatures would make her famous. Their adventures today would provide material for a bestselling novel. The grisly deaths of so many, though she regretted the loss, would only enhance the mystique of the discovery. She felt the blood throbbing through her veins and delighted in it. She had been dead for so long. It felt good to be fully alive again.

  When she had lost Frederick in the cave-in, she had been frantic, urging the company to do all it could, prowling around in the bowels of the earth searching for other ways in, fighting everyone who said they were dead and that it was time to give up. She knew Frederick would not give up. He would go on as long as he could draw a breath.

  In the end, she had lost. They had sealed the shaft forever as being too dangerous for further digging. She knew it was to cover their mistakes. Her husband had warned that the stratum was too brittle to dig. He knew the roof would never hold.

  If only they had Alan Hoffman’s Cerberus.

  Alan Hoffman. Just saying his name thrilled her. Something about him reminded her of her husband. They didn’t look alike – Frederick was barely 5’8’’ to Alan’s 6’2”, and her husband’s thinning red hair couldn’t compare to Alan’s well-groomed, blond locks, but they both had that same look of determination that she cherished. Alan had saved them all with his quick thinking today. He had saved her. Perhaps when it was all over, she would ask him out for drinks and dinner in a show of gratitude. If that bold move didn’t frighten him away, perhaps they could move on from there.

  She was tired of being lonely. The excitement and the danger had not only awakened her from her long hibernation, it had reminded her just how alone she had been, deliberately cutting herself off from friends and family. Today had provided the catharsis she had needed to jumpstart her life. Pursuing Alan wasn’t wrong. After all, she was a widow, and it had been four long years since she had a man in her life.

  She knew Verkhoen wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate the creatures to get to the diamonds. The World Wildlife Organization had the muscle to put pressure on Van Gotts. With the videos and her report, she could get enough backing from the scientific community to stop Verkhoen. The diamonds were not important; the creatures were. Scientists would have to study them in their natural environment, install cameras in the lava tube to monitor them. They could even set up a website with a live video feed. The project could pay for itself through web hits at two Euros each. She would be on the cover of Scientific American and perhaps be asked to speak before the British Royal Anthropological Society. Her father would have been so proud. So would Frederick.

  One suspicion she kept to herself. It was likely they had merely seen one small branch of an extensive network of lava tubes and caverns. She wondered what other wonders awaited discovery so deep beneath the earth.

  She decided to enlist the aid of Doctor Simon Tells, a pre-eminent paleo-archaeologist from the University of Johannesburg she had met at seminars a few times over the years. With his credentials and contacts, word would quickly spread. Verkhoen could do nothing to stop them.

  She checked her contact list in her cell phone, located Doctor Tells’ number, and hit dial. He listened attentively, as she detailed the situation, but she could tell from his lack of questions that he thought her mad.

  “Perhaps this would go better if you read the e-mail I just sent you. I’ve attached a video clip taken in the mine.”

  She waited for several minutes while Tells watched the video. When he came back on the phone, he was excited and full of questions.

  “Did you manage to obtain a dead specimen?”

  “I’m afraid not. We had to leave in a hurry.”

  “Were there other similar insects?”

  “We didn’t have time for a proper exploration. To do so, we will have to move quickly. Verkhoen will stop at nothing to recover the diamonds. We must present these creatures to the world before it is too late.”

  Tells paused, and said, “I’ll be there in two hours.”

  When she ended the call, she felt she had gotten he jump on Verkhoen. She had no idea bugs in the lava tube weren’t the only bugs she had to worry about.

  11

  July 5, 2016, 5:00 p.m. Klaus Verkhoen’s office, Ngomo Mine –

  Duchamps’ meeting with Verkhoen wasn’t going as well as he had expected. His first clue that Verkhoen had literally called him on the carpet was Verkhoen’s refusal to offer him a chair when the secretary ushered him into the office. He stood across from Verkhoen’s desk, trying not to let his anger show, as Verkhoen berated him.

  “You have been with this company for fifteen years, Captain Duchamps, and have performed your job admirably until this point. Now, through your gross incompetence, you have cost us the lives of ten people and have jeopardized the find of the century.”

  Duchamps had expected Verkhoen to stand behind his actions, not blame him for everything. How could he have anticipated giant bugs? He protested.

  “Surely you cannot hold me responsible for the deaths of those men. We barely escaped with our lives. We went down there to apprehend a suspect in a possible murder, not fight hordes of giant insects.”

  Verkhoen waved his hand in the air. “Nevertheless, ten men are dead, are they not?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But nothing!” Verkhoen snapped. “I could forgive the loss of lives, but you have allowed Doctor Means to broadcast a video of the events. Now, the entire world knows about the diamonds, the creatures, and the deaths. I will be lucky if the Board of Directors allow me stay on as curator of their new wildlife museum.”

  Duchamps was well aware of Verkhoen’s vicious temper. He had witnessed others wither under Verkhoen’s icy gaze, but he had never been on the receiving end, especially not while being accused of shirking his duty.

  He offered what defense he could. “Doctor Means is an employee who signed the same nondisclosure contract we all signed. How was I to know she would contact her colleagues so quickly? I was in the process of setting up a tap on her phone per your instructions.”

  “Luckily, I was a step ahead of you and had her telephone bugged by a reliable outside agency. Doctor Means is an ambitious woman and still holds us responsible for her husband’s death. She will use this opportunity to make a name for herself and to inflict as much damage to the company and to me personally as possible.”

  Verkhoen stood up and
walked around his desk to confront Duchamps. Duchamps tried not to flinch, as Verkhoen circled him like a hyena probing for weakness. A hyena wearing a 36,000 ZAR Desch suit and 12,000 ZAR Baldinini shoes. “Your gross incompetence forced me to leave Pretoria and come here. Now, I will personally take charge. I must make a deal with Hoffman to procure the use of his laser to protect a team I will send to retrieve the diamonds. Humbling myself to that … crass American irks me greatly. I will allow you lead this team, but let me assure you, if you fail in this task, I will see to it that you find no work in security anywhere in South Africa, ever again. You will not be able to guard a candy store in strip mall. Do I make myself clear?”

  Duchamps swallowed hard. “You are being entirely unfair.”

  Verkhoen paced the length of the desk, returned to stand in from of Duchamps, and stared at him, saying nothing. Duchamps raged inside, but knew he had no choice but submit. Verkhoen still pulled all the strings.

  “Yes, sir,” he replied stiffly. “I understand.”

  Verkhoen turned his back on him and said, “We cannot waste time. Prepare to leave for the lava tube in six hours. You are dismissed.”

  Dismissed. Duchamps stared at Verkhoen’s back, shaking with anger, fighting down the urge to plunge his knife deep between Verkhoen’s shoulder blades. Then he would skin him like a gazelle and hang his carcass on an acacia tree for the vultures to eat. He had poured his life into the company, fourteen hours a day, and seven days a week. If Verkhoen thought he could get rid of him so easily, he had a surprise coming.

  Since the moment he had first seen the diamonds, Duchamps had hardly thought of anything else. Not even the giant bugs held his attention as closely as the enormous, glittering raw stones. He had never carried out a single nugget from the mine in all his years as security chief. It would have been easy. He knew all the security procedures and all the myriad flaws and limitations of the mine’s security systems. He had instituted most of the procedures himself. His integrity and his dedication to the company had forbidden such an abhorrent breach of trust.

  Duchamps knew Verkhoen was capable of carrying out his threats. Indeed, he probably would do so as he had promised, despite the results of the coming expedition to retrieve the diamonds. Verkhoen was a spiteful, vindictive son of a bitch with a long memory. If fired, Duchamps would lose his company house, his pension, his bonuses, maybe even his stock options. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t allow it to happen.

  He checked his watch. Verkhoen wanted him in the mine in six hours. That gave him just enough time to set in motion his own half-conceived plan. The idea had slowly formed in his head, the kind of thing a bank teller dreams of as he sits at his desk, ways to rob the vault and get away with it; impulses upon which a bank teller, or himself, would normally never act. They were fanciful daydreams to fill the long boring hours, dreams that would never have borne fruit but for Verkhoen’s threats.

  Duchamps knew he could count on three of his men, men who held their positions in spite of their dubious backgrounds simply because he had wanted them there. He would devise a way back into the lava tube and steal the diamonds, or at least as many as they could carry out. He would show Verkhoen just what he was made of. He would retire to a tropical island, perhaps Tahiti, a very rich man.

  All he needed was a diversion, something to occupy everyone’s mind while he made a clean getaway. He could be across the border of Namibia in an hour and aboard a jet for Tahiti in four. He smiled as he thought of what would serve nicely. The deaths of the electrician and her assistant had provided a clue. Everyone but him seemed to have forgotten that at least one of the creatures was loose in the mine already. All he needed do was to let more of crawly beasties out of the lava tube. With scores of those damn giant muggies running loose in the mines, eating drillers and causing a panic, he could walk out of the mine with a knapsack full of sparkling, white diamonds right under Verkhoen’s nose. If a few miners died, so what? Hundreds died every year. If he were going to break a few dozen laws, a few more wouldn’t bother him. He didn’t intend to stick around afterwards to pay the consequences.

  He would have no trouble convincing his three shady comrades to go along with his plan. A combination of their instinctive greed and threats of exposure would win them over.

  Moving quickly, he retrieved several automatic weapons from the arms locker, as well as extra magazines of ammunition. He didn’t intend to become insect meat. First, he had to move the Cerberus and free the creatures. He would have to convince one of Hoffman’s men to do that for him. Hoffman and the young engineer were at the hotel, leaving only the old man with the salt-and-pepper beard on duty. If he couldn’t bribe him, he would force him to cooperate.

  * * * *

  Bill Bakerman was listening to the recently repaired audio connection to the Cerberus’ video camera. He couldn’t see much, just the metal skirts sealing the opening, but he could hear the creatures’ hisses and clicks. They were searching for a way out of the lava tube. When the door to the Shack opened, he turned around smiling, expecting to see Trace relieving him. Instead, it was Duchamps with three of his security men. Duchamps’ dour expression troubled him.

  “What can I do for you, Captain Duchamps?” he asked, bewildered by the security chief’s presence and the automatic weapons they carried.

  “You can move that great, metal beast out of the way for me, if you please,” Duchamps replied.

  Bill stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending, unconsciously stroking his beard. “Why do you want me to do that? The creatures could get out with no one on guard down there.”

  “Move the Cerberus,” Duchamps repeated a little more firmly.

  Duchamps’ brusque manner made him uneasy. “I’ll check with Alan.” He reached for the phone. Duchamps slammed the butt of the rifle onto the back of his wrist. Excruciating pain radiated up his arm the carpus bones shattered. He jerked his throbbing hand back and cradled it against his chest. Duchamps shoved the barrel of the rifle in his face, letting the tip of the barrel brush his nose.

  “If you pick up that phone, it will be the last thing you do. Move that machine out of the way. My men and I have business down there.”

  “At least let me wait until you’re down there,” he pleaded. “Otherwise, by the time you get there, those things could be everywhere.”

  Duchamps’ cold, deadly smile startled him. The livid scar on the security chief’s cheek danced as Duchamps replied, “Exactly. We want them out of the tube so they won’t be a nuisance to us. Now, do it.” To emphasize his point, he rapped Bill’s forehead smartly with the barrel.

  Bill swallowed hard. He had seen action as part of the 20th Engineer Battalion during the Gulf War. Attached to the Third Armored Cavalry in Kuwait, he had destroyed Iraqi bunkers and repaired destroyed bridges. That same rush of being under enemy fire returned. He knew without a doubt that Duchamps would pull the trigger.

  “Okay! Okay! I’ll do it.”

  Duchamps nodded. “Very good. Now, move it and do it quickly.”

  Bill was now in fear for his life. He had no choice but to cooperate and hope to delay Duchamps as long as possible until someone showed up. He bit back on the pain of his hand, which was making his head throb. Typing with only one hand was slow work as he moved through the various pop up screens detailing Cerberus’ diverse systems. Duchamps grew more agitated and impatient, tapping his foot on the floor. Finally, Bill started the Cerberus’ turbine. He didn’t need the turbine’s power to move the machine, but he hoped Duchamps didn’t know that. Maneuvering the powerful machine using the joystick with his left hand was awkward. After several false starts, he began backing the laser driller away from the opening it had punched into the lava tube.

  The steel plates barricading the opening fell backwards, covering the headlights, but not before he detected furtive movements all around the entrance, flickers on the edge of darkness. The bugs were breaking out, and he could do nothing about it.

  “How do
you operate the lasers?” Duchamps demanded.

  He took a chance and pointed to Trace’s laptop, which ran diagnostic programs on the Cerberus’ systems. The pain hit his leg before he heard the report of the rifle. The bastard shot me. He looked down at his leg. The 5.56x45mm NATO round had blown an exit wound as large as a quarter in his calf. Blood flowed profusely down his leg, but it wasn’t spurting. Through the haze of pain clouding his mind, he noted Duchamps had missed the artery. He hoped he had missed intentionally. That meant he might have a chance of surviving.

  “I can read, asshole,” Duchamps yelled. “That computer is running a diagnostic program. It shows 90% complete on the bottom of the screen. I ignored your clumsy attempt to delay me by cranking the turbine engine. I know the machine can move without it. Your second attempt at deception deserved a penalty. Now, show me the right one, or the next bullet goes in your head.”

  Over his pain, Bill pointed to his laptop with his good hand. “This one,” he sobbed. “This one controls the lasers.” He tried to hold back the tears, but the pain was too intense and his anger too deep. With his fingers, he pressed on the bullet hole just above his knee, trying to suppress the flow of blood running down his leg and soaking his pants.

  Duchamps fired a short burst through both his and Trace’s laptops before placing a bullet in the video camera in the corner of the room. Shards of plastic from his shattered laptop peppered Bill’s face, adding to his misery.