Deep Sea One (24 page)

"I have a confession to make," he started.

"Oh, God, what now?" Nina sighed, looking at Sam. But Sam was listening intently.

"I have been keeping some information from you, pertaining to the full purpose of this structure. You see, this is, in fact, not an active drilling platform and the men you see working here are strictly for the upkeep of the machinery we use, the electrical systems and construction—" he lectured in a matter-of-fact way, until Sam interrupted him.

"Construction of what?"

"That is of no consequence to you, Mr. Cleave," Purdue dismissed his question, "but what I am trying to tell you is that the oil rig is just a disguise. It is situated conveniently offshore outside local jurisdiction, in international waters. That ensures an amount of privacy for me to perform my work and conduct my research, you see?" he revealed, resembling some mild-mannered dictator stating his case.

"I shudder to ask," Nina chipped in.

"Indeed. Why would you need so much . . . uhh . . . privacy if you aren't up to no good?" Sam added to Nina's cynicism.

"You are both blowing this whole thing out of proportion. The bottom line is that this is not an oil rig, but in fact a submerged laboratory, masquerading as a drilling platform. And that, my dear Nina, is why you will have everything you require for your research on the Spear," he stretched out his arms proudly, "right here on Deep Sea One."

The two of them sat in a moment's silence, digesting Purdue's revelation.

"Why do you have a hidden laboratory, Mr. Purdue? It sounds rather shady to me, as you might understand," Sam pried.

"Why I have a hidden laboratory is none of your business, Sam. That I have a hidden laboratory where you can examine the artifact is what you should be focusing on," Purdue insisted, his light-hearted disposition threatening to leave him.

"Okay, well, when can I see it?" Nina asked. She surprised both men with her sudden compliance, but she did consider the prospect of finding out what else he was up to that might determine why he needed to operate outside the laws of any country.

"What, now?" he asked.

"Why not?" she replied, shrugging, as if to call Purdue's bluff. But she should have known better not to challenge someone with so much money and even more eccentricities.

"All right, then," he exclaimed, jumping up like a showman.

The chest and its priceless contents were locked away in Purdue's safe, locked by a security system designed by his best techs. Calisto joined them on their way to the cleverly concealed capsule elevator, which had perplexed his crew members so many times. Liam stood on the deck, having a smoke in the cold night air when he saw the four figures getting on the strange elevator. He wondered where it went, but, among all the strangeness going on here of strangers appearing and disappearing and sudden storms reported only around the oil rig, he was not even shocked anymore.

He wondered what they had done with the sinister wooden box he drew from the long missing ROV and why the cursed thing was not just tossed back to Davy Jones Locker where such wicked things belonged. He sucked on the bent cigarette and watched the elevator descend below deck, while he thought of the sunken submarine they discovered on the floor of the ocean below them. Liam's innate superstitions entertained the wildest ideas of what they were up to and what could be surrounding their pathetic souls out here where they were all at the mercy of the elements.

In the white buzz of the elevator light Nina looked at Sam. He was as attractive as the day she met him, perhaps even more so, and she could not help but feel that their destinies were entwined somehow. He was asking Purdue about the pressure capacity of the elevator and how it was constructed, while Nina studied the contours of his face. His soft dark eyes, his strong nose and the dark stubble that gave him a boyish charm all interested her, even if they were constantly butting heads.

Then she looked at Calisto, who was listening to the discussion of the men, and she recalled that instance where she walked in on her seduction of Sam. Never one to let competition perturb her, Nina felt a stinging disdain for Purdue's bodyguard.

"When are you leaving to go back home, sergeant?" Nina bit suddenly, hushing all conversation with her blatant bitchery. Calisto smiled warmly at her, not a good sign to those who knew her. Eager to watch the development of this conversation, the men kept quiet.

"I don't know, actually. I thought I'd stick around a bit longer," she replied.

"I'm sure you have a lot to do away from this dreadful hunk of steel," Nina said, trying to tone down on her cattiness, but she had lit a match that loved burning.

"Not really, no. I think this is where I'm needed most," and with that she deliberately looked at Sam before Purdue cut in to avert an estrogen laden bloodbath, "I have asked Sergeant Fernandez to extend her service, as I will be needing her a while longer than expected, Nina. I have stepped on a few toes, as you know, and I would not want to wander about without security," he explained, as tactfully as he could.

"Yes, besides, you never know when you might be crying about a gun against your skull again, right . . . Nina?" Calisto rapped her hard, reminding her that she did in fact save her life in Nepal. It was a fact to which Nina had no retort.

Sam thought it was very harsh of her, but on the other hand he figured that Nina should get put in her place for starting it in the first place. Either way, he enjoyed being the object of desire between two gorgeous women of opposite natures. Purdue saw the same appeal in the company of Nina and Calisto, but he was unfortunately aware that he was not in the running for their affections.

Thank God I'm rich,
he thought, as the elevator halted at its designated level.

The doors slid open with a sucking sound, which reminded Sam of old 1980s sci-fi movies and their overdone technology, which never came to fruition in the real-life future.

"Allow me to lead," Purdue said gracefully, as he stepped in front to wait for the two women and Sam to tail him. Ahead of them there stretched a long narrow white corridor arched overhead high enough to accommodate some space between the occupants and the ceiling.

"Is this the ground floor?" Sam asked.

"No, there is only one floor, Mr. Cleave. These corridors are built in three legs over a circular foundation, one of which is living quarters for our resident scientists and assistants," Purdue shared.

They made their way down the first hallway, its doors painted green. It consisted of ten rooms, some of which served as laboratories while others were converted to kitchens, restrooms and lounges for off-duty people or those on short breaks. The other compartments looked disturbingly like jail cells. As the group passed the first three glass windows Nina noticed the chemistry tubes and Bunsen burners, the glass beakers and an array of greenery growing under UV lights in a controlled environment.

"How are the three legs laid out?" Nina asked, as she scrutinized the fabric of the ceiling where large circles of white luminous light sank a few inches into the ceiling.

"Oh, they are built in a triangle, Nina, so that we can have access to all three areas in succession and still keep them separate," he explained proudly. Two rooms they passed had doors sporting only small rectangular windows near the top.

"This part of the lab is primarily for laser technology, global security protocol tests and such. Plus, we have one lab devoted to miscellaneous research, such as cultivation of agricultural foodstuffs that would present prolonged sustenance."

They passed the last two rooms.

Nina nudged Sam, "Cells." He nodded, but it intrigued him that the peepholes were that tall, implying the people who used them were above average height.

"Where will I be working, then, Dave?" Nina asked curiously. At first she only played along for as long as she could to ascertain the peril of the project, but now Dr. Gould was finding the tour very interesting. Now she actually looked forward to working here, regardless of the fact that it was an enclosed structure quite a few terrifying meters below sea level.

"Oh, you will have your own private little lab, my dear Dr. Gould," Purdue exclaimed, as they came to a door that was the entrance to the next leg where the color code was yellow.

Punching in his code, Purdue led his colleagues through the door where there were only two labs and four cells with small windows.

"This looks a tad more hazardous," Calisto remarked.

"I suppose it is. As you will notice, the doors to the labs here are sealed for your protection. We do mainly medical research here," Purdue pointed to the scientists in hazmat suits on the other side of the windows.

"Medical, as in?" Sam asked the dreaded question Dave Purdue hoped they would not ask.

"We develop various biological cultures and experiment with them to determine their efficacy," he played a wide angle on the description, deliberately evading the obvious answer.

"Biological cultures, Mr. Purdue? As in viruses and deadly strains that can devastate and obliterate the human body within minutes?" Calisto asked outright from the back of the line. Nina frowned and looked back at the beauty behind her. Calisto returned her questioning expression. Purdue had to disclose his secret. After all, he trusted them with the location of his lab.

"Yes, Dave, what manner of biology are you talking about?" Nina pressed.

Dave Purdue turned and looked them in the eye with a somber countenance, "The strains we collected from . . ." he hesitated. Nina raised her eyebrow and Calisto nailed him with her cold black eyes, insisting on an honest answer. He cleared his throat, "The strains we collected from . . . uh . . . Wolfenstein," he said quickly, but it profited him nothing as both Nina and Sam exclaimed their exasperation and disbelief.

"You saw what those strains did to the soldiers! Are you fucking insane?" Nina shouted at him, and all the scientists stopped working to look at the woman yelling at the boss.

"Nina," Calisto said, in a threatening calmness from behind her. "Not here. Not now." She placed her hand lightly on Nina's shoulder as a subtle reminder that she was Dave Purdue's bodyguard and was paid to keep misbehaving people in line. Dr. Gould held her tongue, wondering if Sam would protect her if Calisto ever tried to hurt her.

"It is unethical, Mr. Purdue," Sam advised sincerely, "You are playing with extinction here."

"I am aware, Mr. Cleave. But there is much to learn about biological agents that we could utilize to produce future antidotes in the event of an outbreak. There are pros and cons to a disease, you know? Not everything is configured for destruction," Purdue told Sam with conviction. Nina could not accept it, but she was not in a situation to throw her weight around. Besides, she could learn more about what was happening here by not antagonizing Dave Purdue and his minions.

Nina looked at Calisto, who was leaning against the window with her hands cupped over her eyes to immerse herself in the doings of the viral scientists. From her fascination, Nina deducted that she had a morbid fascination with pestilence and the sticky ends of the humans who endured it.

The party came to the red door of the next section.

"This will be where your lab is situated, Dr. Gould. It is secluded from all the bustle of the other legs, so you will be able to devote all your time to your research, undisturbed," he smiled as he got to the door. Instead of his code he pressed the red intercom button and said simply, "Ich bin nicht allein."

☼

Chapter 31

Patrick Smith could not sleep. No nightmares were to blame, neither the weather nor the eerie wailing of the wind battering the hotel's ancient walls. Formerly a fortress, the inn was well restored and opulent, so he spent most of the evening after dinner exploring the place. He had never been to Bavaria before and he wished Sam could help him partake in the considerably tougher weight of their beer, but regrettably he had drunk alone. And so it was as if he had drunk for both of them.

Not a believer in the paranormal, he had no apprehension about specters in the age-old structure's nocturnal halls, but rather the day to come. All his life he had desired the position he was now on probationary assignment for, but now he found that he lacked the courage to go through with it. After all, it involved a Nazi war criminal and a crooked UK business located in this unknown part of Nuremburg. The very atmosphere made him uneasy, let alone the price if he should be found out. Suddenly Paddy felt dreadfully alone and the only lullaby he was afforded rested in the sorrowful moan of the night outside.

If he fucked up, it was his ass, plain and simple. No margin for error in this board game, he thought as his eyes rapped the ceiling above, following the sway of the sinister talons on the tree clawing outside his window. From now on it was the big time.

You'd better stay awake, Paddy,
he heard in his head. It was not quite his own thoughts alone, but a warning from somewhere deep inside, there where we find the truth we'd rather avoid. Patrick's throat was dry and his hand fell gently on his piece, caressing the blue steel of the barrel and sliding back to grip the butt for comfort. It was not loaded at the moment, but the shape of it had an enthralling comfort to the contours of his hand. He was nervous about his German not being up to par. He felt agitated by the level of sophistication of the criminals he would have to deal with and masquerade as. Patrick's mouth twitched into an inadvertent smile as he could almost hear Sam telling him
, Oh, shite, man! Every scumbag and thug you have ever encountered have taught you well, son. You just behave accordingly. Those lads taught you well, so take off the skirt and whip Fritz's arse!
and with the spurt of courage his friend's pretended assurance granted him, Patrick Smith welcomed the beckoning oblivion of blissful sleep under the angry skies of Katzwang.

The following morning was a frigid, windy onslaught to wake the senses and Patrick enjoyed the crispness. Besides, he needed a cold wave of air to wake him and keep him perked for the assignment ahead. Like a boy on his first day of school, long before a fresh shirt and polished shoes had become obsolete, he eagerly groomed himself to look as professional as possible. His cover would be modest, something he could easily improvise, but it still depended on the mark whether he would be allowed in to the inner sanctum of the villain he was trailing. All that MI6 had ordered for this mission was for him to point out the rogue agent working illegally for Eickhart—nothing more. It sounded simple, but as a DCI he was well aware that undercover operations took months, sometimes years, to break. Intelligence was not always freely available for those who merely paid attention.