"That does it, it's going to kill them," Jenks said as he applied forward thrust to Turtle.
Mendenhall grabbed for the two handholds along the top of the canopy, pushed back in his seat by their sudden acceleration as they rushed toward Yoyo at full speed.
The beast pulled up suddenly as it was struck by the pressure wave sent out from the advancing Turtle. It stopped its attack and hovered for a moment, eyeing the threat coming at it. Then it swam back toward the bell, going from window to window to look into the interior. Then an explosion of bubbles came from its mouth as it reached out toward the window Ellenshaw was close to and struck it hard, rocking the bell from side to side. Finally it suddenly broke off the attack and vanished into the darkness in a swirl of bubbles.
"Beats the hell out of looking for Bigfoot, doesn't it?" the shaking Keating said with a nervous chuckle.
Ellenshaw ignored the slight and continued to alternate between his window and the monitor mounted on the bell, trying desperately to find the beast once again.
"Okay, Jack, it's off the scope, bring us up," Sarah said as she slowly pulled off her headset and sank down into her seat.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Sarah was back in Teacher, in navigation, plotting the underwater cave the sonar had picked up.
"It may just be an extinct lava vent, but look at this," she pointed at the graph laid out on the large map table. They saw that her hand was still shaking slightly from their encounter in the water. "See how perfectly round this is? It's about fifteen feet in diameter, I would say. I don't know, Jack, but if I were forced to guess at this point, I would say that cave is man-made and not a lava vent at all."
"Lieutenant, if I may point out, the depth on your graph indicates that vent is over four hundred feet below the surface of the lagoon. A task quite impossible for man to have carved it out," Danielle said as she looked from Sarah to Carl and finally to Jack.
"Not if at one time this lagoon wasn't here," Sarah countered, holding the Frenchwoman's eyes.
"What are you saying?" Jack asked.
"I have a theory, and it's just a theory," she said, "that maybe this used to be an open pit mine, a natural formation that was discovered and used by the Inca, or maybe another civilization. I had time to think about it and I think this lagoon is a natural geological feature. A caldera — a creater — of a volcano that isn't quite extinct, but stable enough because the lava flow and steam vents act as a natural pressure relief valve, never allowing the volcanic pressures to build up to the point where it could erupt. My guess is a rough one, but I don't think this once-active site has erupted for close to twelve or fifteen million years. And maybe, just maybe, the tributary and the river above the lagoon that creates the falls were once flowing in other directions. I think that at some later time they were diverted here to fill a man-made lake, this very lagoon."
"What evidence is there that even hints at such an outrageous theory?"
Sarah didn't answer Danielle's question at first. She reached over and placed a CD into one of the networked players beside the navigation table. She hit a button and an underwater picture appeared.
"Now the absence of light hurts the quality of the video taken, but we got these on the way down before our visitor appeared. See this far wall — its about a hundred feet below the waterfall and two hundred above the cave opening, or lava vent. Now look at this," she said as she used a pencil to trace a line that at first only she could see. The pencil point zigzagged as she moved it down the screen.
Jack and Carl didn't see it at first. But then Jack noticed a formation that nature could never duplicate on its own. "A staircase?"
"Bingo."
"Damn," Carl and Danielle said at the same time at a pattern that was too precise not to be man-made.
"I must apologize, Lieutenant. You have a valid theory going here," Danielle said as she studied the rock wall. "But why would men build a staircase underneath the water?"
"I need to go back down, Jack," said Sarah.
Jack straightened and scratched his forehead. "Let's just assume you're right, that this vent is a man-made portal of some kind. I think we have enough to go on."
"But if you were hesitant about going into the mine without an escape route, why does an underwater cave reassure you?" Danielle asked.
"I'll make a wager that the cave is a viable exit from the mines. Ancient man had a habit of doing impossible things, Ms. Serrate. For all we know, there is a pressure area just beyond that opening that holds the water back and keeps the shaft beyond dry."
"Like a diver's trunk on undersea platforms," Carl volunteered.
Jack just nodded and looked at his watch. It was already well after three in the afternoon, but he wanted a few more answers now. He hit the intercom.
"Chief?"
"Yeah," Jenks answered from engineering.
"You ready to take Snoopy for a walk to see what the hoopla was about for all these centuries?"
* * *
Farbeaux watched as Mendez squeezed his fat body into the wetsuit and as Rosolo placed a rubberized nylon bag on his dive belt and made sure it was secured properly. The other men sat about with their wetsuits on and checked their rebreathers. There were sixteen men in all, including him. Enough, Farbeaux thought, to almost guarantee a foul-up while traveling that long a distance underwater to the mine.
Santos was leaning out of the bridge window with his large cigar tucked into the corner of his smiling mouth. Farbeaux walked to the opposite side of the boat, where the remaining crew was bringing over some of the packed supplies from the anchored barge. He thought he saw something flash out of the corner of his eye. As he strained to see, the movement didn't recur.
* * *
The commander of the assault element had been following the Rio Madonna for days. The track had been difficult to follow, but the colonel had been raised in the thick canopied forests of Brazil. He watched as his men performed their preparations deep inside the jungle.
"Are you ready?"
The small man walked up to the colonel but remained in the shadows. "We are ready."
"The radios will have no trouble operating underneath this cursed tree canopy, so have it monitored closely. I will signal when it is time for you to move the men in force into the lagoon, are you clear on this?"
"Yes, but my men, they are not used to water travel. We are at home on the land; our training has been for land assault."
The colonel looked angry for a moment but then quickly calmed. "My orders were to get your men to the assault point and let you do what you were paid to do; you will inflate your boats past the rapids and enter the lagoon. I expect you will only have to face a third of the Americans, the rest will be inside the mine by now."
"What about these fools on the boat? They pose a threat to my men, yes?"
The colonel looked through the darkness at the Rio Madonna. The men onboard were loud as they prepared to enter the river.
"They may make your assault all the more easy. I suspect they are at cross-purposes to our American friends. In any case, they must be eliminated also. No one leaves this valley alive; those are my orders and thus, your orders. Your employers will be very unforgiving if you fail in this."
"We do as we are paid to do. I have worked many times for your general and have never failed him. We will kill every person in the lagoon and then seal the others in the mine. But the situation has changed, hasn't it? We were told about the Americans, but your general never said anything about this second group. This will double the price, otherwise you can use your own military for these murders."
The colonel looked about in exasperation. "Your price will be met. But I will be with you to ensure your contract is fulfilled."
The mercenary nodded and ordered his men forward with the rubber boats. "Soon your general will have many dead Americans."
* * *
Onboard the Rio Madonna, Farbeaux went to the fantail and started situating his equipment. He still
had the strange feeling that they weren't alone. The jungle opposite the boat was quiet but he still glanced up every few moments to examine the area as far as his limited sightlines permitted.
The rebreather he held was large and bulky but he would only have to carry it beyond the rapids. Then at that point, he and Mendez's men would enter the lagoon unnoticed. As he placed his nine-millimeter and five extra clips into a plastic satchel, his hand brushed against the large cross in his pack. He took a breath and curled his fingers around it. He brought it up into the fantail's weak deck light. It had been stolen by a contact who had known the item had been lifted by the U.S. government in the 1930s. How they had come into possession of it, Farbeaux had no idea. But it was his, and that included the unusual items inside the cross. The reason he was here. He rattled the large object and was satisfied when he heard the two samples inside slide up and down in the false bottom. It had been an ingenious design by none other than Father Corinth himself, the very same man who was responsible for one of the very first political cover-ups in the New World. As he held the cross and felt its internal warmth, he knew the priest of the Pizarro incursion had been beyond his years in wisdom. With what he held in his hand, Farbeaux knew beyond doubt that he could change the balance of world power forever. But it would be he who had that choice, not some banking blood-sucker that was far more evil than the men he once served.
PART SIX
PADILLA'S HELL
Abandon all hope ye who enter here.
— DANTE'S INFERNO
19
THE WHITE HOUSE
The president listened with difficulty to Niles as he gave the latest update on the Group's incursion into the Amazon tributary. He was finding it harder and harder to concentrate on the words the director was saying. He had informed the First Lady about the predicament their daughter was in; he couldn't keep it from her any longer, unable to lie about something that was clearly showing on his face every time he saw her.
"The latest coordinates have been passed onto Proteus so they will have a general idea where they will need to orbit." Niles repeated the longitude and latitude.
"Anything else?"
"Not yet, Mr. President, Pete Golding and I have been assembling a time-line and historical record for everything we have on Padilla and the subsequent expeditions to that area. A most important bit of intelligence should be in our hands soon. A man in his nineties, Dr. Allan Freeman, a retired professor from the University of Chicago, will be able to finally tell us what it was he was doing down there in 1942."
The president could hardly pay attention to these details. "When is Collins going into the mine?"
"They are starting now."
* * *
The national security advisor sat with the president on one of the two couches arranged in front of his desk, waiting for the president to continue. But the man sat silently, the fingers of his right hand rubbing his right temple.
"Sir, you were saying?" prodded Nathan Ambrose.
The president looked up and seemed lost for a moment, not recognizing the face looking at him. Then he shook his head as if startled awake.
"I'm sorry, Nathan. Caught me there, didn't you?"
"Is there something happening that you're not telling me about?"
The president looked at him and said nothing.
Ambrose tossed his notebook onto the coffee table and leaned forward on the couch.
"Has the secretary of state made any headway with your request for assistance from Brazil?"
"No, for some reason Brazil is acting as though the Zachary expedition was a cover for something else. They're stonewalling the secretary."
"Have you spoken with the Brazilian president yourself?"
"No, Secretary Nussbaum informed me that the president will not speak to me directly, but only through the secretary's official office. He's even threatened to go to the UN Security Council."
Ambrose had to admire the secretary; he did have the balls it took to run this country. Keeping the leaders of both countries at arm's length could only cloud an already confusing state.
The door from the outer office opened and a Secret Service officer stepped in.
"Sir, the First Lady is on her way down for the reception."
The president stood and walked to his desk as he pulled up the knot of his tie and buttoned his jacket.
"Sorry, we'll pick this up later."
"Sir, I'm your national security advisor. You have to tell me what's happening here."
The president straightened his tie and then brushed at his lapels. "It's being handled. But if things become more active, I'll get you up to date."
"Sir, you're moving whole carrier groups around the Pacific. You shut down Panamanian airspace for three hours without any official explanation, and the secretary of state is trying hard to avert a conflict with a friendly neighbor where there wasn't a conflict this morning."
"Later, Nathan," the president said, clenching his teeth. His jaw muscles worked visibly beneath his skin as he glared at his advisor, then he brushed passed him.
Ambrose watched his boss leave and then counted to three. He moved quickly to the president's phone, then quickly looked up to make sure the doors were closed. He had decided to take a very dangerous but necessary chance three hours earlier while the president was with the First Lady. He had placed a small bug inside the cap of the receiver, a small gift from a friend across the river. He deftly unscrewed the cap, transferred the small device to his pocket, then replaced the cap. He then moved swiftly away from the desk. None too soon, as the outer door opened and a Secret Service agent stepped through.
"Mr. Ambrose, you know this area is off limits when the president isn't in." "Yes, I was just gathering my briefing materials; the president left rather abruptly." The national security advisor made a show of reaching for his case as the agent reached out and held the door open for him, the move so sudden it made Ambrose nervous.
* * *
Once in his own office, Ambrose decided that the information on the miniature recorder couldn't wait. He had to know what was going on. He removed the small round object from his pocket and placed it inside a small device that resembled an iPod. He quickly tapped the play button as he put on his headphone. A voice he didn't recognize explained to the president a plan Ambrose just couldn't believe. As he listened, he jotted down the coordinates Niles Compton had given in his last phone conversation. This information had to be placed in the hands of the secretary as soon as possible. The national security advisor had to stop this mission at all costs. How had the military sneaked Proteus by him?
* * *
Ten minutes later, after he had used several sources in the military to confirm the existence of Proteus and its abilities, he placed a call to the U.S. embassy in Brazil. The private cell phone number was answered by the American secretary of state.
"I hope you've come through for us, Mr. Top Advisor."
Ambrose didn't like the tone the secretary was taking with him lately. They would have to discuss their roles in this melodrama at a later date.
"You believe the president already has people on the ground in Brazil. Well, I may have just confirmed it."
"Imagine that, the national security advisor to the president of the United States has come up with something concerning the military he was supposed to be overseeing in the first place. I'm stunned. I'll have you know, I also have people on the ground, thanks to our Brazilian Air Force friend."
Ambrose closed his eyes and waited for the secretary's sarcasm to run its course. Lying to both presidents must be taking its toll, and it was coming through in the cabinet member's temper.
The advisor continued, "I can't confirm the rescue attempt, but I believe I may have come across their security blanket against your mercenaries. And it's right up the road you wanted to go. To protect the ground unit in the Amazon Basin, the president has ordered up a Proteus scenario."
"That Star Wars crap the air force has? I thought
that project had been shelved."
"It was. But the air force flexed its muscle and got one prototype built before the cancellation."
"So, what's this to do with what I need?"
"Think, Mr. Secretary. In order for Proteus to be of any value, they have to be on station."
There was silence on the other end of the phone and Ambrose couldn't resist a smirk. Having the upper hand in talking with the secretary was a situation he liked very much.
The national security advisor decided to spell it out. "They'll have to intrude on Brazilian airspace to accomplish their mission against the force you arrayed. However, I am now in possession of the coordinates where Proteus will be taking up station. I'm sure the president of Brazil would be none too happy over having their sovereign territory not only invaded but their airspace compromised. Down that plane and there will be no helping the ground team when they need it most. Let's see the president talk his way out of that one. I think you may say that he has pulled the rug out from under your diplomatic efforts, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, I believe you have indeed earned your spot in my new cabinet, Mr. Ambrose. I will contact our friend in the Brazilian government and get his guarantee of action."
"Not too hard to do with what you have hanging over his head already."
"Remember, Mr. Advisor, we're still talking about American men in that aircraft and the people on the ground. I just hope we haven't gone too far."
"By my estimation, Mr. Secretary, we've gone just far enough already. We have covered exactly thirteen steps up the gallow's staircase. And with your official statements to both sides confusing the issue of a rescue, I would think its safe to say that the few remaining steps to the hangman's rope are already in the bank. I see no other choice here."
"Give me the coordinates."
BLACK WATER TRIBUTARY
Jack had several operations going at once: Charles Ray Jackson was on the sonar in a constant watch for their underwater friend. Tom Stiles was atop the main mast finishing up the repairs to the satellite communications dish, and Mendenhall and Sanchez were working on Operation Spoiled Sport: In the darkness surrounding the lagoon, they were attaching small battery-operated heat cells to nylon line attached to semitransparent Mylar balloons, which would be raised with the help of the helium tank Sanchez had carried in a backpack as the men made their way nervously around the perimeter of the lagoon. The balloons would raise a package that emitted a high-temperature signature through the use of heating coils in the foot-long cylinder.
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