Overlord

by David Wood

  1

  Cape Town, South Africa, today.

  Sam Aston swam with his legs only, letting his arms trail as he curved around a rock and over a bed of brightly colored coral. Hundreds of small fish darted past, then shifted direction in that mesmerizing way, as if they each shared a small part of a single brain, able to make a unified decision. Aston enjoyed the embracing silence, but for the bubbles of his respirator rising up, glittering in the light. The cool water calmed him. Here he was at peace.

  A sleek gray bull shark moved down from above, heading directly for him. Then another. From his left, two more approached, silent, deadly, relentless. Aston reached into a large net sack at his belt, pulled out a fish, its head removed. He lofted it in the water and into the waiting maw of the nearest shark. As the others drew closer, circling, he took out more fish, feeding casually left and right. He raised one hand, covered in a light chainmail glove, and waved to the gawping crowd in the dim light on the other side of the aquarium glass. Sometimes, if he didn’t look in that direction, he could almost believe he was back in the open ocean.

  But the illusion was always shattered when he had to leave the huge tank, if not before. The job was good, he got to work with the animals, caring and feeding, even taking part in a little research. But it was a big step down from the career he had left behind after the events at Lake Kaarme. He couldn’t use his extensive marine biology qualifications any more than he could use his real name. Not until Chang was paid off, the mobster back in Australia still out for Aston’s blood. On this salary, that wouldn’t be any time soon. Maybe one day Sam would save up enough to cover that black market debt and he’d be able to resume some semblance of a normal life.

  He finished the feeding show, waved to the tourists and watched them drift away, disappointed. He didn’t know what they expected, but they always seemed to think it was somehow an anti-climax. They probably hoped the tank’s inhabitants would turn on him, take off limbs in clouds of blood like a scene from Jaws.

  He lingered in the water as long as he thought he could get away with, then made his way back to the small ladder leading out of the huge tank, into the area out of bounds to the public. As he stepped into the noise of purifiers and filters, kicking off his fins, he saw Ashley Carter walking toward him. The way she moved her hips was enough to make his knees weak, not to mention everything about the rest of her. He’d asked her out a couple of times, but she’d always made some excuse, even while she gave him a sly smile. He got the feeling she wanted him to work for it, but wasn’t going to make it easy for him. He would ask one more time, though he would also be careful not to act like a dick. If she refused him again, he’d back off. Maybe those smiles were just her trying to be polite while she had no intention of ever agreeing to a date. Sometimes it was hard to tell. But maybe now she had found him alone, out of sight of staff and public alike, for a reason. Perhaps she’d decided to take matters into her own hands.

  She stopped halfway across the large room. “There you are, Pete. You have a visitor.”

  Aston did his best to mask his disappointment. What a fool. He really ought to know better. “Who is it?”

  “What am I, your secretary? Bob told me to come get you. There’s a visitor.” Before he could answer, she smiled and walked off.

  There it was again, that cheeky grin she always gave him. Surely she was playing games. So be it, he’d play along. But the idea that he had a visitor put him a little on edge. No one knew him here, even under his fake identity, let alone as Sam Aston.

  He changed into his aquarium shirt and chinos, stowed his SCUBA gear, and headed out to the staff office. Bob was nowhere in sight, but a man in a tailored suit sat on the faux-leather lounge reserved for visitors. He was tall, and filled the suit with muscle rather than fat, and had a strong, confident face under a close crop of salt and pepper hair. Aston thought the guy had a kind of ex-military vibe about him, and found that unsettling.

  He reached out a hand to shake. “I’m Pete Cartwright. You wanted to see me?”

  The man stood, smiling warmly. “I’m Solomon Griffin, but everyone calls me Sol. It’s nice to meet you, Sam.”

  Every warning nerve in Aston’s body fired at once, adrenaline racing into his system. His hand felt suddenly trapped in the vice of Griffin’s giant paw. Was this another of Chang’s goons? How had they found him here? He had figured Cape Town was about as far from both Australia and Finland as he could get. His left fist clenched, ready to knock the guy on his ass if need be.

  Sol obviously saw the concern in Aston’s face. Not releasing the handshake, he gripped Aston’s forearm with his other hand, but the touch was comforting rather than aggressive. “Relax. Your secret is safe. Can I buy you a cold one?”

  Aston didn’t like any of this, but one thing he definitely needed was more information. Even though he had finished for the day, this Solomon Griffin didn’t need to know that. “I’m only on a break, but I have time for a cup of coffee. We can go to Café V. It’s right here in the aquarium.”

  Sol flashed his warm smile again. “Sounds good.”

  They each got a stool at one end of the blue, neon-lit corner bar in Café V and waited in companionable silence while their order was filled. In those few minutes, Aston’s mind ran through a hundred different scenarios of what this guy might want. And a hundred ways he might slip quickly and unnoticed from Cape Town at the first opportunity. He hadn’t planned on being found, but he did have a bug-out bag in the room he rented not far from the aquarium. He could be on the road in less than an hour if necessary. But he didn’t really want the disruption of running. It was a hassle, and it had taken him a while to develop a secret identity here, paying less than savory people for false papers, always at risk of becoming their victim instead of their client. He didn’t want to have to go through all that again somewhere else.

  Before he wound himself up too tightly about it, Sol turned to face him, still wearing that smile. He seemed so upbeat it almost came across as insincerity. “So! I’m assembling a team for a job that’s right up your alley.”

  “How do you know who I am?”

  “There are many ways to find people, Mister Aston, even in this big old world.” To his credit, he kept his voice low so that no one else might hear the name Aston. “For now, how about we accept that I’m with people who have extensive resources, and let me tell you about the job.”

  Aston frowned, but chose to say nothing. He didn’t like any of this, but let the guy talk.

  Sol nodded. “I’m working for a company called SynGreene.” He paused, as if an answer was expected.

  “The green energy outfit, right? Solar power, home batteries, all that stuff. What would they want from me?”

  “Well, I can’t reveal too much due to non-disclosure agreements, which you would need to sign before you get the full story. But in a nutshell, we think we’ve located a new source of renewable energy. A genuinely world-changing new mineral. However, before we can mine it, we need a full environmental assessment. You know the kind of thing, the geology, flora, fauna, all that stuff. And some other things.”

  “What other things?”

  Sol gave an apologetic shrug. “Things covered by the NDAs.”

  Aston sighed. “So where do I fit in? Surely there are thousands of other people qualified.”

  “Well, we need you mostly with regard to the fauna. And we need this on the quiet, so your desire to remain in hiding makes us think you’re less likely to risk breaking any secrets. Plus we think some of your unique experiences make you a perfect fit.”

  Aston sipped coffee, thinking fast. Unique experiences? That just set off more alarm bells for him.

  “We’re offering decent compensation. Starting with thirty grand, US.”

  Aston raised his eyebrows. The exact amount required to cover his debt to Chang and give him a chance to restart. How much did these people know? Everything, it seemed. And the temptation was strong, but his instincts told him to turn thi
s guy down with extreme prejudice. Sol presented as friendly enough, but there was clearly something under the surface the man was hiding. His real intent circled down there, like a shark in a shallow bay, awaiting its chance to attack. “Look, that’s one hell of a tempting figure,” Aston said. “But the last time I received an offer like that, things didn’t turn out so well.”

  Sol nodded, laughed softly. “Yeah, we know all about Lake Kaarme.”

  “You saw Jo Slater’s documentary.”

  “Of course,” Sol said. “Who didn’t, right? But we know it’s real even if ninety-nine percent of the population wrote it off as a giant hoax.”

  “And from what I’ve seen online, the whole thing seems to have damaged Jo’s career more than helped it,” Aston said. He winced internally at the mention of Slater, guilt chewing at him. He hated not backing up her story in public, not letting her know he was still alive, especially after the documentary had included an incredibly touching In Memoriam at the end. Her emotion on screen was real, he knew her well enough to see that. He told himself she was better off without him, but the truth was her documentary declaring him dead did more to help him hide from Chang than anything else. He’d stopped reading the online comments about it, even though he knew lots of people, especially the scientific community in Australia, still considered him missing rather than deceased. He wondered how much grief Jo Slater had received from the authorities over it. More guilt for him. But if she genuinely thought him dead, she was safe from his past and his future.

  “Regardless of what the rest of the world thinks,” Sol said, “we know the documentary was real.”

  “Just what are you playing at?” Aston’s anger was more for himself, he knew, but it was easier to direct it at Solomon.

  “I promise, everything with us is above board. We’d be happy to leave you to your exile, but it’s not that simple.”

  “I’m pretty sure it is!”

  Solomon paused, lips pursed. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but we found a door.”

  “A door? Damn it, Griffin, I’m a marine biologist, not a carpenter.”

  “An unusual door.”

  Scenes from Slater’s documentary flashed through Aston’s mind. Her piece to camera about the mysterious door of carved stone, supposedly an entrance to the Hollow Earth, that had been lost when the explosives took out the beast down there under Lake Kaarme. Slater’s film had included sketches drawn from her memory, but no footage was made at the time. They’d had rather more pressing concerns. Regardless, the doorway was real, and it mystified him constantly. But it was lost now. Could there be another? How many more? And where?

  Sol nodded again, watching Aston work it out. “It’s just like the one beneath Lake Kaarme.”

  Aston shook his head slowly. He wanted no part of any of this. Did he?

  Sol cleared his throat. “The figure I offered, that’s only the up-front payment to get you on board. We’ve been in touch with Mr. Chang in Brisbane, and he will accept it to clear all your debts with him.”

  “What? How do you know how to–?”

  “When the mission is over,” Sol interrupted. “We’ll pay you that much again as your own salary. It’s a lot of money for what will be a couple weeks’ work at most.”

  Aston knew he would regret any agreement to go along with this frankly frightening turn of events, but he was tired of living with a price on his head. He imagined unknown years more swimming in tanks, feeding sharks for gawping tourists who were never satisfied. Last time, the chance to make good money and clear his debts hadn’t worked out well at all though. Surely he couldn’t be that unlucky twice?

  “Rest assured,” Sol added, “that our founder and chair, Arthur Greene, is no Ellis Holloway.” He paused, watching Aston’s face closely. “Admit it. You want to know what’s behind that door as much as we do.”

  Aston swallowed the last of his coffee, then clunked the mug down onto the bar. “I’ll take the job,” he said resignedly. He raised a hand before Sol could speak. “But I have two conditions. One, I want evidence that Chang is paid and satisfied before I go anywhere. And two, I want full disclosure from day one.”

  Sol smiled. “You’ve got it.” He reached out a hand to shake and seal the deal.

  As Aston returned the handshake, he said, “But if it’s anything like Lake Kaarme, I know what’s behind the door.”

  “Really? What?”

  Aston grinned at the well-dressed man. “Nothing good.”

  2

  V&A Marina, Cape Town, South Africa.

  Jo Slater walked along the waterfront of the V&A Marina in Cape Town, questioning pretty much everything in her life. The two and three story blue and white port buildings to her left bustled with people as she threaded through the milling crowds heading onto ships going to exotic locations, or disembarking into Cape Town, eyes wide to capture whatever wonders might come their way. The city billed itself as the “Best Destination in Africa” and even without her foul mood, Slater was pretty sure she would scoff at that claim. Sure, it was nice, but better than Morocco? Or the savannahs of Zimbabwe? Kruger National Park? Victoria Falls? Hardly.

  Table Mountain stood tall in the background behind the man-made expanse of Cape Town, and that was most definitely a breathtaking sight. She thought maybe she would rather be there right now. But she had a job to do, and a job was important these days after the debacle of the Lake Kaarme film. Of course there would always be a certain percentage of the population who considered anything a hoax. There was huge movement denying the truth of the moon landings, after all. And an equally large contingent convinced the attack on New York on September 11th, 2001 was the work of the government, or aliens, or the Illuminati. One thing for which humanity could always be relied upon was its consistent percentage of absolute idiots.

  But the vitriol she had received for her documentary, the solid mockery from all quarters, had been brutal. And the network had told her, enthusiastically, that a bombshell like that was the perfect note to end the series on. Which was just another way of firing her, none too subtly. So she had been left treading water, unsure where to go with her career, the chances of ever being taken seriously as a genuine journalist more damaged than ever.

  Then came Solomon “Call me Sol” Griffin, with his wide smile, sharp suit, and irresistible offers. Come and document this expedition, he had said, and SynGreene would fund a full new season of her show in exchange for those services. Similar format, bigger budget, new channel. It all seemed too good to be true. And if Jo Slater had learned anything in television, it was that too good to be true usually was exactly that.

  But what choice did she have? There weren’t any other offers on any tables. She thought it an odd arrangement, with virtually no information given, but Sol promised it would all make sense once she’d signed her NDA and learned the full story. And he had also pointed out that as her reputation was in tatters, no one would take her seriously if she broke those NDAs. That was a backhanded compliment if ever she’d heard one. Regardless, she needed the work.

  So here she was in Cape Town, with a new team. Marla Ward, sound engineer, and Jeff Gray, cameraman, trailed along a few steps behind, smart enough to leave her to her thoughts. She’d been prickly with them both, and had apologized for it, but hadn’t been able to shake off the black mood that hung over her. Marla, bless her, had been supportive and was intelligent and fun to have around. Jeff, not so much. As if on cue, the man coughed and laughed. Marla made a sound of disgust. Slater glanced back to see Jeff wiping ice cream from the front of his t-shirt with one palm, the melting cone dripping over the other. His huge backpack of equipment hung off his shoulders, made him stick his rotund gut forward like a ram. His wheeled case stood unattended in the crowd a yard or so from him. There had to be more than five grand’s worth of camera gear in there and he acted like he’d forgotten all about it.

  Marla shook her head, moved to stand beside the wheeled hard case while Jeff got himself fixed up. Mar
la was everything Jeff wasn’t. Slim, short, mousey in appearance. But Slater had quickly learned not to judge this particular book by its cover. She had a firecracker personality when roused, happy to stand up for herself and anything she believed in. Marla was a competent and confident colleague. At least one of them was.

  Slater tapped her foot while Jeff finished cleaning up. She missed Dave, who had been lost, like so many others, at Lake Kaarme. Dave, Carly, Aston, all gone. She swallowed the rising lump in her throat and had a moment of realization. It wasn’t just the disruption to her career that was making her melancholy and on edge. It was the start of a new job, so like the last one that had ended in disaster and death. That had begun with a boat, and now she was headed to a ship to meet Sol and the rest of the expedition. To learn exactly what it was she had agreed to. No, she reminded herself. Not agreed to. Only agreed to hear about. She would sign the NDA, find out what the expedition was, and if it all seemed too dangerous or too crazy, she would walk away. The NDAs she, Marla, and Jeff signed would remain in effect. They wouldn’t tell anyone anything. Besides, her reputation was in tatters, as Sol had so kindly pointed out. But they were under no obligation to go along if they didn’t want to.

  They moved on again and Slater saw Sol waving from the gangplank of a huge ship. Bright red, with a sharp, high prow, a crane in front of the bridge and a tall scaffold tower of antennas and satellite dishes above the bridge, it was an impressive sight.

  “That’s an ice-breaker,” Jeff said, appearing beside her.

  “Is that what it is?”

  “Yeah. And since we’re meeting here, I bet the expedition is to Antarctica.” He immediately started bouncing in a weak imitation of a hip-hop dance. “Ice, ice baby!”

  She rolled her eyes and nodded, figuring he was likely correct. The details of their mysterious invitation had been discussed at length on the flight over from Washington DC. Slater had assumed the expedition would be somewhere in Africa, but if Jeff was right about this vessel being an ice-breaker he was probably right about Antarctica too. Her entire perception of what might lie before them shifted dramatically sideways. She had been picturing heat and wild animals, maybe distant tribes. Now a chill ran down her spine despite the blistering sunshine, the perspiration beaded on her forehead cold, as she imagined nothing but ice and snow in every direction.