The Black Silent

by David Dun

When he reached the landing, he went to the first door and listened.

  Nothing.

  "No."

  The word came out muffled. The bed creaked. Quickly he stepped to the next door, where he heard her more clearly. He put his hand on the knob and concentrated on moving the latching tongue out of the door frame without a sound. Once he had the knob all the way turned, he slowly opened the door. They were on the bed. Her hands were tied and her feet, so she was spread-eagled, gagged in a bra and panties.

  Rafe had his knife under her chin.

  It was time to move. Sam passed through the doorway and stood quietly, worried about the knife so near her carotid.

  "Just talk to me and I'll stop," Rafe said.

  On a dresser stood a large, glass snow globe. In one smooth motion Sam picked up the globe and hurled it at the back of Rafe s head from a few feet away. The ball exploded on Rafe's skull; Rafe fell on top of her, quivering. Sam checked his pupils and determined he was out cold.

  He grabbed Rafe's knife and quickly cut Haley loose. Once she spit out the gag, she grabbed him and held him tightly. He wrapped himself around her. He knew they had to leave and did his best to calm her as fast as he could.

  "I was so scared," she cried.

  He murmured assurances as he helped her dress. Together they went back to the stairs.

  Gibbons, at the bottom, gave a nod with his head. The second man was in the living room, no doubt assuming the crash upstairs was part of the torture program.

  "Listen," Sam whispered. "I need you to run down those stairs hysterical, with me chasing you. The guy in the living room will go after you. I'll be right behind."

  "That's risky," she said. "What if I get too far ahead?"

  You won't."

  They looked at each other one more time and without hesitation she ran down the stairs screaming.

  "Help me! Help!" She sounded terrified.

  Sam limped after her with Rafe's knife. The man came running out of the living room and intercepted her in the hallway.

  He never saw Sam come around the corner. With his knife hand Sam punched the side of the man's head. He whirled. In a fluid motion Sam switched the knife to his left hand and struck with the palm of his hand into the man's nose, then smashed an elbow into floating ribs. The man dropped in a state of semiconsciousness, bleeding badly from the face.

  Sam grabbed the railing, put his foot against the wall, and, despite new pain in his knees and back, heaved with all his might. The bottom of the railing broke away, leaving Gibbons with his hands free.

  "Frick probably has the key to those cuffs," Sam said. "You got any bolt cutters?"

  "I'll get them," Gibbons said. He went to the basement door and disappeared with his hands still cuffed in front of him. Sam checked the guy on the floor. He wore blue jeans and a flannel shirt with a Kevlar vest beneath the shirt and cuffs in his back pocket. In seconds Sam had the guy chained to the radiator pipe in the living room. He wouldn't go anywhere, even if he regained full consciousness, any time soon. Sam hoped he hadn't overdone it when he hit him. He checked his pupils and his pulse, worrying about intracranial bleeding. There was no emergency room on the island, although there were paramedics and rapid helicopter evacuation to a trauma center.

  Gibbons returned with a large pair of bolt cutters. Sam quickly snipped the cuffs.

  "Come with us," Sam said.

  "I'm not leaving," Gibbons said. "I'll hide in my basement. They'll never find me."

  "They may, and if they do, they'll kill you." "Believe me, they won't."

  Sam realized that arguing was a waste of time that they couldn't afford. "You need your car?"

  Gibbons thought for a minute. "Better you take it; that way they'll think I've left. And one more thing." The way he said it, Sam knew it was big. "I think Ben might be hiding at the foundation."

  "Why didn't you say so before?" Haley cried. Sam took Haley gently by the arm, kept her back, and worked on getting Gibbons talking.

  "Why do you say that?" Sam asked.

  "A hunch."

  "Tell me. You can see these guys aren't screwing around."

  "In the workshop there's a small study. It's hidden behind some shelves that move. You might find him in there. And I think you'll find more of his research too. Maybe you would be interested in those volumes, even if you don't find Ben." He paused. "But you might indeed find Ben. It's a good bet." Just when he thought Gibbons was done with the revelations, the older man cleared his throat.

  "There is also a small storage room that you access with a door that's behind some lumber racks." "Anything there?"

  "I don't know. I just mention it because it's out of the way."

  They moved to leave, but on second thought Sam stopped and grabbed Gibbons's bolt cutters.

  Outside in Gibbons's car Haley seemed lost in thought. Sam wondered if she was reliving whatever had happened upstairs.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  "I'm fine. Just wondering how we get back into the foundation. Now we have two reasons to go there. The plankton volumes and Ben."

  "Once we get in, we still have to get out. Since you told me about the volumes in his office, I've been giving some thought to it." Sam looked at her more closely. "Are you sure you're fine?" She seemed to be putting effort into not crying. "You didn't come any too soon," she said. "The bastard. He was all over me. I hate him. I hate him. I want him rotting in jail."

  Sam started the motor and clicked the electronic garage door opener. In seconds they were on the street. As he drove, he saw her hands clenched so tight they were turning white. The tears were coming now.

  On a back street Sam pulled over and faced her. Touching her seemed different, but he chanced it and put his arm around her. Perhaps it was becoming more natural. At first she resisted; then she came close. "Laitimer was lying." she said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "He has an ax to grind. An agenda," she said. Sam drove. "How?"

  "It's just a hunch," Haley said.

  "He acted like his evasiveness was all about being loyal to Ben."

  "I think he is paranoid," she said.

  "His agenda is certainly not our agenda."

  "Well, at least he gave us the documents he had." She began flipping through the computer printouts. "Every one of these pages has ARCLES at the bottom of it."

  They entered the parking lot above the Friday Harbor Marina, where boat owners parked. It was well-lit, with few cars and quiet-a typical off-season night in Friday Harbor.

  "It's time to call Rachael," Sam said. It took the punch of a button because he had her number in memory. "Are you ready?"

  "As I'll ever be," Rachael said. "Meet us at the marina parking lot."

  "I'll be there in about twenty minutes. Maybe just a little more."

  "Here's a section about Arcs," Haley said. "Ben apparently has other scientists working on this. I recognize Jacob Krevitz, a retired fellow from UW. Oh, and Miles Knoff, retired from Cornell. Ben's really been putting brainpower into this."

  She read on. "Here are some calculations regarding a methane/sulfate cycle. Not that I know what that has to do with anything."

  "What's it mean generally?" Sam asked.

  "It's a cycle that doesn't use oxygen," she said. "By comparison we breathe oxygen, we exhale CO; vegetation does the opposite. You know?"

  "Sure."

  "According to this, some Arcs live on a methane/sulphate cycle like we live on an oxygen/CO cycle. Methane-producing Arcs take in CO and hydrogen and make 2 2 methane. The point is, if you calculate the available energy in their various chemical cycles, factoring in the normal amounts of energy required to maintain an organism, then Archaea cannot possibly live. None of them. That means that by our standards these Arcs are energy efficient beyond comprehension. It would be equivalent to discovering a race of people that could live for a year on a slice of pizza." She returned to the pages.

  "Somebody actually did the pizza calculation." She was quiet for a
while. Sam watched a couple men coming up Water Front Street-mere shadows passing through the streetlamp halos. He studied them. Not in a hurry, relaxed, nothing in their hands, they looked like people accustomed to the island.

  "Wow," she said.

  "What?"

  "The ramifications of what I just told you-they're enormous."

  "Tell me," Sam said.

  "Aside from the fact that these things appear to live on practically nothing, the methane makers produce much more methane than the methane eaters consume. Ben did a mass calculation for methane production by Arcs. He says there's more methane stored in the bottom of the sea than all the oil, coal, and gas reserves put together."

  Sam whistled long and low.

  "Not so hard to believe," Haley said, "when you consider what Ben says here: 'Arcs comprise one-third of all the living stuff on earth.' Unbelievable! And to think Nelson Gempshorn worked on this."

  "Who is Gempshorn?"

  "He's a vice president of American Bayou Technologies."

  "The company that's merging with Sanker?"

  "Yeah." Haley looked surprised that Sam knew this. "That's right. And you know, I don't think I ever mentioned it to you, but I walked in on Ben and Nelson one day at Ben's place. They had some kind of a model of something and they sort of seemed to panic when I came in. The model had something to do with the seafloor and ships. Now that I think about it, American Bayou Technologies is in the energy business. Offshore oil, mainly."

  "You see where this is leading?" Sam said. "American Bayou would have a huge stake in what we're looking at here. In the merger Ben may not only have the key for Sanker with aging, he may also have the key for American Bayou. If American Bayou obtains a big energy discovery, that would enable them to win in this merger struggle."

  "But who says you can use this methane?"

  "That's a good point," Sam said. "Gempshorn might know something about that."

  "It's probably not relevant, but Gempshorn had cancer."

  "What do you mean had?"

  The windows were fogging, reducing visibility. Sam started the motor and turned on the defrost. Twenty minutes was forever.

  "I don't know. He's still alive. In fact, that day I saw them, Nelson had an IV plugged into his arm. Said it was for the cancer, but said not to tell anyone because his family didn't know. He didn't want to worry them."

  "Do you know for a fact he was treating cancer?" Sam asked. "Doesn't that seem odd, doing chemotherapy at a friend's home?"

  "Ben's a biologist, but, yeah, I suppose it does."

  "What if they were panicking in part because you saw the IV?"

  "God, you have a suspicious mind. On the other hand…" She stopped.

  "They told you nothing about the IV?" "They said it was doing good things, working, whatever, and they asked that I keep it confidential."

  "And, of course, this cries out for the possible conclusion that they were giving him some kind of antiaging formulation. Would that be a huge leap?"

  "I think it would," Haley said. "I never knew Ben to experiment with people. It's completely unethical without an approved trial, and he had no approved drug trials that I know about."

  "At any rate this document is amazing," Sam said. "And Gibbons was just sitting on it."

  "The question's whether it has anything to do with long life."

  "I see more pages," Sam said.

  Haley read for a minute, while Sam studied a couple men parking a car in the marina.

  They had a big anchor in the back of their pickup. He doubted Frick would do anything that subtle, but he wished Rachael would hurry.

  "Oh, my God." Her voice startled him. "Here's something else altogether. One of Ben's colleagues shows that this methane could explode up from the ocean floor." Sam looked around, watching for Rachael, watching for deputies.

  "They think methane explosions have caused catastrophes a number of times already.

  Some of this looks like a literature review to substantiate the calculations," she said as she flipped through the pages.

  "According to this, it could have caused the mass extinction at the end of the Permian Era. Ninety-five percent of the marine species and seventy percent of land animals and plants. Gone."

  "That's scary, but it's just a guess." "It says, 'Methane was also involved in precipitating a giant underwater slide off Norway…' Man, we're talking a massive one. Sam. It was eight thousand years ago, but it created tsunamis sixty-five feet high. Compare that to Indonesia. An earthquake triggered the methane release, and that caused the landslide."

  Sam nodded, his eyes still on the parking lot. "Oh, my God. They think that in prehistoric times the atmosphere itself lit on fire as a result of a methane release. Or even if there wasn't enough to burn, this says, oxygen could get so thin it would be like living on top of a sixteen-thousand-foot mountain."

  That one Sam could imagine, having climbed Mt. McKinley as a teenager with his father. Sixteen thousand feet was substantial. He could imagine someone sitting in their living room unable to breathe except in gasps, nauseated, head aching… incapacitated.

  "Listen to this conclusion," she continued. '"The world slumbers not realizing the great peril of an unstoppable chain reaction methane release.'

  "'The seafloor methane cycle is part of earth's carbon cycle and exercises a great influence over climate shifts that has not been sufficiently studied. Vast quantities of methane have been stored in ocean sediments and there are various potential mechanisms for catastrophic release.' But there is a note here that Ben wonders if this would happen over time, threatening a crisis round of global warming, rather than asphyxiation in your living room."

  "Astounding, perhaps deadly either way," Sam said. "I get Ben's meaning now. 'One sigh and we all die.'"

  He checked his watch. "It's time."

  CHAPTER 16

  A fter what Gibbons said, Sam had altered the escape and diversion plan to allow for a return into the Sanker Foundation facility. It was worth taking one last look inside to find Ben or more of his research. Then, depending on what he found, or didn't find, they'd leave the island and go to Lopez Island across the channel, per the original plan.

  Haley appeared as stunned on the review of the plan as she had the first time. She bore a significant responsibility in the scheme to keep Sam alive while they went after Ben.

  Sam could see that she appreciated being trusted to this degree. The problem was, though, that what she would be doing was very dangerous, and he wasn't sure she could do it and survive. A bond had been growing between them, and Sam realized that he was probably more concerned about Haley's safety than she was worried about herself.

  The parking lot was well-lit, but the mist blowing through left halos everywhere, the fog sending an extra chill down the backbone, especially when one contemplated extreme boat maneuvers in the black of the night.

  Sam turned to her. "There's something I need to tell you. It's about the work I've done."

  "I know it's been ugly. You've told me enough to know that."

  "It's not just that. I've lost a lot of people. Some were people I loved. So far, I haven't lost me. But what works for me doesn't always work for my fellow travelers. And here's the thing, Haley: I might be able to hit Sanker and do the rest without you. Would you consider walking to a friend's house and just hiding until this is over?"

  "Absolutely not," she said. "Your plan depends on diversion, on rattling Frick and making him look weak in front of the deputies. I see how it works-Ben's life, our lives, depend on it-and I'm going to do it."

  "I know how important Ben is to you. And stopping Frick." "That's right. Thanks to Ben, I'm an experienced pilot, and thanks to growing up in these islands-and my ex-boyfriend and Ben-I know a lot about fast boats.

  "I need to live long enough to see my heel on Frick's neck," she said. "If I die, I swear I won't hold it against you."

  At that, he struggled to smile but couldn't quite pull it off.

  "We ca
n't let Frick hurt Ben," she continued. "You just need to trust yourself. I don't know what those people did to you, to your legs, but I know you're here, and so one way or another you beat them."

  He looked at his watch. Rachael was due. "If we assume that Ben discovered something that would slow aging, or prolong youth, how long ago do you suppose he did it?" Sam said.

  "I'd say quite a while. Frick came to Sanker nine months ago, so it was probably at least three months previous that Ben somehow tipped his hand to Sanker that he had something of value working. It must have been years in the making."

  "So Ben has kept his work to himself a long time."

  "Yeah," she said. "And let's not forget Glaucus, the youngest old octopus in the world."

  "Right. How old's he?"

  "Now I have figured out that he is probably seven. And it seems like Ben could have had something five years ago, if that's the case. Or maybe even seven if he genetically altered Glaucus at conception."

  "There she is," Sam said. A car had pulled in behind them.

  "What now?"

  "I've got to go down to the dock with her and help her find a hiding place until you come by with Frick's boat. I'll get a portable VHF radio from a friend's boat. I'll leave her there and she'll get ready. Then we've got to go park her car."

  "Was this sort of thing routine for you during the great silent period?" Haley asked.

  Sam opened the door. "Regrettably, it was."

  It had come to Frick at a moment of frustration. McStott was droning on, taking a long time to say nothing, and something triggered a memory of Sarah James. Her mention of the safe-deposit box had seemed choreographed-another of Ben Anderson's precautions. She lived on Lopez Island and commuted daily to Friday Harbor on her speedboat. As his assistant she knew Anderson's comings and goings, and she was also his close friend. Frick suspected that they had become lovers, or at least that they thought about it.

  He needed Sarah under his control. Now.

  Frick sent men to fetch her and authorized them to soften her up on the way. He started to think of a cover story for her abduction, then stopped. At the moment it was a waste of his time. If things flew much more out of control, or took much longer, his deal with Sanker would be history, anyway. If that happened, it would be every man for himself, and cover stories and disappearing bodies would start to lose their importance.