EXOSKELETON II: Tympanum

by Shane Stadler

  Just before his feet hit the deck, a pair of strong hands grasped his harness and reeled him in. The man who’d been riding tandem released the latch, transferring him to the North Dakota’s deck. Daniel was than shuttled inside and down a ladder. At the bottom, another man grabbed him.

  “Welcome aboard,” the young man said, pulling him along. “Let’s get you into some dry clothes. Ever wear a poopy-suit?”

  Daniel had no idea what in hell’s name the man was talking about, and must have conveyed that in his expression.

  The man laughed. “You look like a medium,” he said, and handed him a folded blue garment. “What’s your shoe size?”

  “Nine,” Daniel responded.

  The man reached in a locker and pulled out a pair of sneakers. “These are 9 ½ s, closest we have.”

  The sailor led him to a room smaller than a bathroom on a commercial jet and instructed him to change clothes. “I’ll come back in five minutes and take you to the planning room where you’ll meet with the rest your group,” the man said. “You’ll meet the captain there.” He closed the door, leaving Daniel to change.

  The so-called “poopy-suit” was a blue, one-piece garment that reminded him of the overalls the mechanics wore at his oil-change garage in DC. He sighed and smiled to himself. With all of the research and writing that he’d done for the past twenty years, something always seemed to be missing. Perhaps this was it: actually doing something, going somewhere.

  The overalls fit comfortably, if not a little loose, and the shoes were just right. They’d given him an assortment of other clothes as well – a tee shirt, boxer shorts, and comfortable socks. It struck him funny that they’d be giving Sylvia the same attire. Even more so, it would be the same for Horace. He wondered how Horace would fare the exchange from the helicopter to the North Dakota. From what he knew of Sylvia, she’d find it exhilarating.

  He wondered how long it would take to get to the Nazi base. He wanted to be there already. Something was beginning to stir deep inside him. Maybe this was the most important thing he’d do in his life. It was as if everything he’d ever done had merely been preparation for what he was about to do.

  5

  Saturday, 30 May (8:05 p.m. CST – Chicago)

  The scent of cherry pipe tobacco filled Denise’s senses as she walked into Jonathan’s office. He was smoking and staring out a window into the night. She cleared her throat to let him know she was there.

  As he turned, he toked on the pipe from the corner of his mouth. “Ah, Denise,” he said. “Have a seat.”

  She remained standing. “Will sent us more information.”

  He nodded as he puffed. “What did he get this time?”

  “Lists of Syncorp personnel, locations of Syncorp branch companies, and a map of the Baton Rouge facility – updated to include some new construction,” she explained. “This goes far beyond what he got from the CP inmates. It came from a Syncorp employee.”

  “Great work,” Jonathan said. “We’ll need to hire more people just to keep up with him.”

  “He asked about how to go about large data transfer,” she explained. “The person on the inside is going to get him access to data storage drives.”

  “Hmmm …” Jonathan walked from the window and put his pipe in an ashtray on the coffee table. “A place like Syncorp would have cutting-edge security for such things. And the files will be encrypted. Why doesn’t he let us come down there and help?”

  “He won’t,” she said.

  He nodded with an expression that Denise had seen many times – an indication of stubbornness. Sometimes it was a good trait.

  “And he wants to know how we can protect his source,” she added.

  “Tell him I’ll to talk to a few people and see what we can do.”

  “Have you been watching the news?” she asked. “China and Russia have joined the training exercises around Antarctica.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “It’s heating up down there.”

  “You think it could lead to war?”

  “Of course,” he replied. “When was the last time the U.S., China, and Russia all had such massive military forces in the same location? Why can’t the media see that something is going on down there?”

  Denise shrugged. She was used to the media missing things. When the Red Box went down, they’d fallen for the story that a gas leak had caused the explosion. The initial stories of torture had been squelched; they’d claimed earlier reports were rumors propagated by conspiracy theorists. “You think Daniel and Sylvia are involved in some way?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “Maybe we’ll find out at some point,” he said. “In the meantime, you should verify the information that Will sent, starting with the satellite companies – see if they exist and what they do. Then dig up anything you can find on the employees.”

  She agreed and went to her office, pulled up the lists on her computer, and selected the first company on the list of over a dozen: Pangor Bioengineering Solutions, Waukesha, Wisconsin. It was a good place to start. And the sooner she verified the data, the sooner they’d get to the next step, which she hoped would involve some action.

  6

  Saturday, 30 May (9:51 p.m. EST – Antarctic Circle)

  McHenry looked over the three people sitting in front of him: a man in his forties who looked too weak to climb a ladder; a young woman who, except for the red-highlighted hair, looked like a librarian; and a frail old man ancient enough to have designed the Nazi base himself.

  For an instant he felt ashamed, then suppressed his superficial assessments and gave them the benefit of the doubt. He took a seat at the small table, making it a total of five, including himself and Lieutenant Diggs.

  “My name is McHenry, the captain of this vessel,” he said, “and this is my first officer, Lieutenant Diggs.”

  Diggs nodded.

  “We’ll arrive at the base in a little more than three days,” McHenry continued. “I’ve been instructed to show you the important features along the way. That means dead subs and manmade structures. There are also subs in the slips below the facility.”

  “Do you by chance have the markings on those subs?” Daniel asked.

  “We’ll get them for you,” Diggs replied.

  “We have two German translators on board if you need them,” McHenry said.

  Horace nodded. “We all read a little, but we’ll need them.”

  “Do you have any idea of the purpose of that place?” McHenry asked, trying to soften the formal tone of their interaction.

  Horace coughed and took a sip from his mug. “We can only speculate,” he said. “But we think it’s connected to the beacon.”

  “The emblem on the Nazi banner in the bay area is significant,” Daniel added.

  “How so?” Diggs asked.

  “It’s from a secret Nazi project called Red Falcon,” Daniel responded. “It’s also consistent with a torture chamber being in the facility.”

  “Did the base have any other obvious functions?” Sylvia asked. “Other than repairing subs, that is.”

  “In my opinion, the functionality of the base was for torture. Maybe they were trying to get information from people – they seemed to be trying to break some kind of code.” McHenry explained. “It being exclusively a sub base was unlikely. The mechanical facilities aren’t geared for that purpose, and the location is inconvenient.”

  Daniel nodded. “We have quite a puzzle to solve. Good thing the Nazis were so organized – I saw the pictures of the library and the vault.”

  “Did you have a look at the file we brought back with us?” McHenry asked.

  Daniel nodded.

  “I just pulled one out at random,” McHenry said. “Signed by Josef Mengele himself.”

  Daniel nodded. “I’m not surprised he had a hand in this.”

  “And the date,” McHenry said.

  “After the war ended – 1948,” Daniel said. “If that’s correct, it must’ve been why the US launched Operation Highjum
p around that time. They knew the Nazis were there.”

  “Highjump was just an exercise,” McHenry said, recalling the operation from his naval history class at the Naval Academy.

  “You mean like the one that’s being conducted right now?” Horace countered.

  McHenry nodded and smiled. “I suppose so,” he admitted. “We should learn a lot in the coming days. Now, it’s time for you three to get some rest. We’ll be at the mouth of the tunnel at 09:00.”

  The civilians were escorted to their bunks, leaving McHenry and Diggs at the table.

  “What do you think?” McHenry asked.

  Diggs shook his head. “I don’t like it, Captain. Not one bit.”

  McHenry nodded. He’d gotten word just before they’d submerged that Russian and Chinese forces had been spotted on the Antarctic coast, and inland, just tens of miles from the base. Such maneuvers were both costly and dangerous in such horrible conditions, which implied they knew something. It also meant the North Dakota, and its contingent of civilians, might have less time to accomplish its mission.

  American subs and destroyers were guarding the mouth of the tunnel. A sonar detection vessel was also there, lighting the place up like the sun. No one else could get into the tunnel. He also assumed that there was no way that the Russians or Chinese could know the exact location of the base; it was the right call not to radio from the lake when they were there the first time. Now they’d have to keep radio silence until they solved the mystery.

  There seemed to be a lot at stake, he just didn’t know what exactly – and neither, it seemed, did anyone else.

  7

  Sunday, 31 May (8:36 a.m. EST – Antarctica)

  “I’ve been shaking you for a full 30 seconds,” the young man said.

  Daniel rubbed his eyes and stared up at him.

  “We’re approaching the tunnel.”

  Daniel looked at his watch. He’d been asleep for eight hours, which was twice that of most nights. He rolled out of his bunk, dressed, and realized he had no idea where he was supposed to go. He walked out of his quarters and the sailor was waiting for him.

  He followed the man through narrow walkways and up steep steps to a room filled with electronics and visual displays. Captain McHenry, Horace, and Sylvia were already there and staring at one of many monitors suspended from the ceiling.

  McHenry spotted him and waved him over. “One of the dead subs,” he said, nodding to a monitors. “A German U-boat.”

  He’d already known about the sub, but it was surreal to actually see it.

  “It’s intriguing,” McHenry said. “The American sub further up the tunnel is the SS-193 Swordfish.”

  Daniel thought it was even more interesting that the U.S. had falsified the records of SS-193. It meant that, long ago, someone had known about the tunnel, and maybe the beacon. It could have been one of those secrets that was so well kept that it really did fade away. It was rare. People always talked – that is, if they didn’t die first. “We’ve been briefed on both,” Daniel said. “The German one is U-530. It was captured in Argentina, and eventually scuttled by the U.S. The Swordfish had supposedly been sunk by the Japanese in the Pacific.”

  “The way I see it, there are two possibilities,” McHenry explained. “Either U-530 was not destroyed after its capture, which I seriously doubt, or the Germans made duplicates.”

  It was an interesting idea, Daniel thought. One sub assigned to conventional war activities, while the other ran secret missions.

  “How were these subs destroyed?” Sylvia asked.

  “I could be wrong but, by the looks of them, the U-530 was scuttled and the Swordfish was sunk by torpedo.” McHenry said. He cleared his voice and changed tone. “I don’t think we should lollygag here,” he said. “The next checkpoint is about a day away – some structure in the tunnel for you to observe – and a few more places along the way. My orders are to get you to the base as soon as possible.”

  “Agreed,” Horace said.

  “You three should get to the mess hall and get some breakfast,” McHenry said, his suggestion sounding more like an order.

  The last thing on Daniel’s mind was food. But he had to calm himself – the trip was going to take a few days. He decided he should pass the time by reading the mountain of information that had been scanned and loaded onto his computer.

  He felt like he had as a kid just before Christmas – hardly able to concentrate on anything. His mind yearned for the information at the base. It was going to be the biggest challenge of his life and, as his subconscious somehow conveyed to him, the most important.

  8

  Tuesday, 2 June (2:55 p.m. EST)

  It took three days, but Daniel had finally adjusted to the cramped quarters of the North Dakota. One thing he hadn’t anticipated was the smell: it was like that of an old locker room, bringing back unpleasant memories of his youth. Lieutenant Diggs had told him that the North Dakota, being new, smelled much better than older subs.

  He was getting used to everything – even the food – and it gave him confidence. He thought that, when the mission was over and he got back to his normal life, simple trips to the grocery store would no longer cause him anxiety. His heart sank a little, however, when he realized it was only the beginning. He didn’t know what to expect once they got to the base, and wasn’t sure if he’d ever get back to normal life.

  He, Sylvia, and Horace, passed the time reading files and discussing what they’d learned. They’d failed to make any new connections, but were confident they’d make progress once they got to the base. That there were files there from the infamous Dr. Mengele himself, and dated after the war had ended, made them all expectant. Maybe they’d unravel the entire mystery.

  It was 3:01 p.m. when a crewman notified him that they were approaching the base. He met Sylvia and Horace in the control room where McHenry and members of the crew watched a video monitor. McHenry waved them over.

  The tunnel opened into a gigantic cavern. The ceiling had two peculiar features. One was a manmade structure composed of six slips – three occupied by subs – and a set of large bay doors. A bank of observation windows lined the steep wall above the slips. The other feature was a large, smooth-looking area on the ceiling of the cavern. It was an opening to the surface, and must have looked like a small lake from the outside. McHenry informed them that the water in the cavern was both warmer than that of the rest of the tunnel, and brackish. Finley, the sonar operator, suggested that warm freshwater came from vents in the floor, about 1,000 meters below. The same was also responsible for the current they’d bucked all the way in from the fork.

  Finley pinged the bay doors, and they opened slowly, like a coffin.

  McHenry explained that the doors moved more quickly than they had the first time, probably because the power source that was used for this purpose was now fully charged since they’d energized the emergency grid during their first visit.

  “I’m surprised they even opened the first time,” Sylvia said. “Any batteries would have been dead after seventy years, right?”

  McHenry shook his head. “We don’t know – it’s something our engineers are going to look into. They suspect it’s some sort of capacitive storage, rather than a conventional chemical battery.” He chuckled. “We were a little confused when we were about to depart from the base the first time and the bay doors had closed beneath us. Turns out there’s a spring mechanism that closes them automatically.”

  The North Dakota rose towards the now fully opened bay doors. Daniel examined the three Nazi subs sleeping in the slips as they passed. One was U-505. He pointed and said, “That one’s on display at the World War II museum in Chicago. It operated in the Atlantic.”

  “Another duplicate,” McHenry said, shaking his head.

  After 10 minutes of fine maneuvering, the North Dakota surfaced and docked. McHenry sent a scouting team out to secure the area. Next, a group of engineers energized the emergency power grid using the North Dakota’s p
ower plant. Daniel was impressed that the sub could power the entire facility. This time they brought all of the equipment needed to construct a permanent electrical setup capable of powering everything – not just the emergency circuits. They’d stick with the submarine power; the old German generators, if they could even get them running, would be noisy and produce exhaust that would have to be filtered and expelled at the surface. The last thing they needed was a heat signature, or smoke, to reveal the location of the base.

  An hour later, McHenry cleared them to go ashore.

  From the instant he emerged from the North Dakota, Daniel’s gut seemed to tie itself in knots. His eyes tracked to the large banner with the Red Falcon emblem on the far wall. It was time to find some answers.

  The base could have been the eighth wonder of the word. It was hard to believe that it was the work of humans; it was as if it were carved out of solid stone. Its musty smell, reminiscent of wet cement, permeated his sinuses. His eyes adjusted to the now well-lit bay; Diggs informed him that the engineers had replaced most of the burnt bulbs in the light fixtures hanging from the 100-foot ceiling. The air swirled gently through the space.

  Even though the entire crew wore sneakers, their work produced noises that echoed as if they were in a cathedral. The only other noises were that of the water slapping gently on the sides of the North Dakota, and the faint, 50 hertz hum of the electric lamps.

  McHenry walked over. “I thought I’d give you the basic tour so that you can get a feel for the layout,” he said. “After that, you’ll be on your own.”

  As they walked through the bay, McHenry explained how his engineers had configured the power grid. “We could run this whole place at full power for months on the North Dakota’s reactor, and not create a wisp of evidence on the outside that the place was in operation. We’ll still have to be careful of our heat signature, so space heating will be used sparingly.”