by John Hunt
“What do you think of her?”
“It will be easier to see when the water clears more. It’s still pretty murky from all the turmoil. A little bit of the bow is above the sand. You can see that for yourself. The midsection is completely buried. But the stern section is clear. About two meters of the keel is actually above the sand. I hope she doesn’t break there.”
“What about the bell?”
“I haven’t looked too closely yet.”
“We have to find that bell!”
Heinrich asked, “Where exactly would you expect to find it?”
“It should be just forward of the mizzen mast. Right there on the aft deck.”
Heinrich turned to look back over the cove. The three other men were all floating on the surface now, talking among themselves. He called out, saying something in German.
The reply came back in English, with Petur yelling back, “It’s there, Joseph! Hanging just where it’s supposed to be!”
The bronze bell had not survived unmarred. It had been oxidized profoundly, and, after gentle removal from the salty water, was entirely green. When Petur walked into Joseph’s small study later that evening, he found him rubbing at the now-more-gleaming metal with a toothbrush.
“Are you planning on using that thing on your teeth later, Joseph?”
“I’ve got to get two-hundred-plus years of accumulated crud off without injuring anything.”
“Off your teeth? I didn’t think you were that old.”
Onbacher declined the parley.
“Do you have a deadline for getting this done?”
“No. Except, it will be clean before I go to sleep tonight.”
Petur scratched his scruffy face lightly and leaned against the doorframe. He looked at the back of Onbacher’s head while attempting to figure out if the man was serious. His face was close in to the bell, studying some tiny scratch or dimple.
“I’ll need to interrupt your work for about fifteen minutes tonight, at 2 AM,” Petur said.
Onbacher replied with an absent-minded “Hmmm.”
“Joseph, I need you to be on the front porch of the Guest House at 2 AM, on the dot. Not a moment later.”
Onbacher put down the toothbrush and picked up a Q-tip. He dipped it into a plastic cup partially filled with a clear liquid and began gently scrubbing at the bottom rim of the bell.
“The British Navy has left the uninjured Mexicans on Paradise 4, but supplied them with shelter and food and latrines. Dr. Standall bandaged up Juan Marcos’s hand. Marcos is getting surgery on board the British carrier soon. They keep an orthopedic surgeon on board all the time, apparently, and the fellow they have now is a hand specialist. Unfortunately, they do not have anyone who can adequately fix up Professor Harrigan’s broken face. There is a Medevac arranged that will be picking him up in a few hours to go stateside. He wanted to stay for my late-night meeting, but his pain is getting worse. Oh, and the island is pretty much a mess. Most of the windows in all the houses and buildings are shattered. Rather like the windows in your house. There’s glass everywhere. Bare feet won’t be safe for ages around here. We’re going to make some windowpane manufacturer very happy next week. Also, planes are already warming up on runways all over the world, and awaiting orders from us. That is, in regard to getting everyone back here.”
Onbacher responded with a guttural noise of noncommittal affirmation while delicately turning the bell on its side and peering within. The clapper was absent and, despite several more dives on the Bounty and the combined efforts of the German engineers and Petur, had not yet been recovered. He grasped a flashlight and aimed it about the inside.
“Joseph! Joseph, are you with me at all?”
Something clicked within Onbacher, and he quickly put down the Q-tip and spun around in his chair. The tip of his nose had a prominent olive-brown smudge. He had been getting a bit too close to his work.
“Petur, I’m sorry. I haven’t heard a word you’ve said.”
“That’s okay. What are you finding on that bell?” Petur walked over to his side. He was impressed at how much cleaner it now appeared. There were areas where the yellow metal was as if newly forged, although most was still patchy.
“It has the Bounty’s name and commissioning date, just like the lamp. You see this here?”
Petur noted the meticulous carving where Onbacher pointed. It was still difficult to read, but where Onbacher had performed some feats with the Q-tips, it was becoming both legible and, indeed, clean.
“But maybe the most interesting part is inside here. I knew there had to be something here, so I started cleaning more aggressively. Look what I just found!” He shined the light inside the bell and motioned him in closer to look. “See this here. Someone has carved figures into the bell. They’re faint. No way they would be seen unless you are really looking. From what I can tell, these few are numbers. I think I see a five and an eight and a three. Oh, there are words too! Yes, definitely words. Not sure, yet, though.”
Petur peered over Joseph’s shoulder. Although he, too, found it very exciting, he could add little to Joseph’s efforts. “Please keep me closely informed. In the meantime…” He interrupted himself, as Onbacher seemed to be getting lost in fascination with the bell. Sharply, he said, “Joseph! I need you at the Guest House at 2 AM. Not a second later. OK? And don’t fall asleep!”
Joseph started at the forcefulness of the request and removed himself from the bell. “Petur, I’m with you. Guest House at 2 AM. Why? What’s going on?”
“Something I am sure you will not wish to miss.”
“Damn, Petur. You are always keeping secrets. You’re not supposed to do that, you know.”
“You’ll be there?”
“I’ll be there!”
59. Hope Lost
THE SMALL COTTAGE that Elisa had acquired as her own had suffered the same damage as almost every other building on the island. The shards of glass that littered the ground reflected the light that emanated from inside, as if the ground were actually covered in thousands of Christmas-tree lights. There was no safe path to avoid the debris, so Petur crunched through them as delicately as he could, to approach the front door.
A rap on the door led quickly to its opening by a smiling Elisa. She was beautifully attired tonight in a blue sleeveless dress that ended enticingly above her knees. It fit her form nicely. There was no sign of burlap anywhere.
Her hair was down to her shoulders, flowing and dark and gleaming. There were no glasses anymore to block the view of her wide hazel-green eyes. Her style was extraordinary without even a hint of her usual awkwardness. The only defect in her appearance was the unfortunately obvious evidence on her face of the abuse inflicted by Marcos.
“Petur, I’m so glad you came by.” Her voice was smooth, gentle, but somehow still retained its commanding and authoritative quality. She held the door wide open for him to enter. “Isaac is here visiting as well.”
Petur smiled at that. For some reason, he was not all that surprised that he would find his good friend and long-time partner here at this house. The inside was clean and debris free. Petur had come to expect this after his wanderings of the evening. The damage caused by the sudden drop in air pressure was almost entirely restricted to the windows of the buildings, and all that glass had been propelled outward. The only other damage seemed to arise from some shampoo bottles, window cleaner, and the like, many of which had spewed their contents out in various locations throughout peoples’ homes. Due to the vacuum lock on the doors, items in refrigerators had maintained their integrity, fortunately. Otherwise, the floor soon would have become malodorous as well as messy.
Isaac was sitting on a small reclining chair, sipping at a cocktail. He smiled as Petur entered. There was some hesitation behind the smile, though — perhaps the product of a bit of guilt. “Amazingly good work today, Petur. I am most impressed! You stood up against the Mexican Navy with a handful of nerdy scientists and a couple of engineers, and won!”
“Yes, it does seem that some caring eyes were watching over us today. I still don’t understand most of what happened.”
Petur nodded. “I’m still trying to put the pieces together myself. That’s why I’m here, actually.”
Elisa had retreated to the kitchen, bringing back with her a pewter mug for Petur.
“Isaac, what brings you by Elisa’s place this evening?”
Isaac immediately winked. “I find it very difficult to stay away from beautiful women. Some sort of magnetic attraction between us, I imagine. Wouldn’t you say, Elisa?”
Elisa threw Isaac a glaring, but exaggerated, frown of disapproval. “Hardly,” was her petulant reply.
Isaac pretended to be dismayed. He pouted, his lower lip protruding. With his hair in disarray as usual, and his clothes somewhat worse for wear from the events of the day, Isaac presented the appearance of a street bum.
“Please, Isaac. I’m trying to piece things together here.” Petur looked at Elisa. “And you are one of the big pieces that makes no sense to me. I’ve been talking to some people about you.”
Elisa sat down confidently on the sofa. She crossed her legs in a motion that was both seductive and self-assured. “Let me guess. Sophia and Jeff.”
Petur nodded. “Sophia first, actually. Do you mind if I speak freely in front of Isaac?”
Elisa did not have time to answer, for Isaac interjected, saying, “I know when I’m not wanted. And I know when I need another drink. Please excuse me.” He departed for the kitchen.
Petur spoke quietly. “It took a great deal of torture and psychological manipulation, but Sophia finally recognized that it was okay to tell her brother your little secret. I would like to, first, thank you for so generously investing in the Island Project. You were the only one who demanded anonymity, and I have been eager to meet my one secretive financier. Little did I know that I already had.”
Elisa replied, “It has been my greatest pleasure. My money is derived from my father. He would have provided it to you himself had you ever asked him.”
“I look forward to meeting him someday.” Petur continued with a nod. “Next, I would like to relay the thanks of the whole Project for your undercover work within Juan Marcos’s organization. And also, once again to pass on our thanks for somehow saving the life of another of our biggest assets, Jeff Baddori, while on some mysterious escapade of yours in Russia, of which I know nothing. Quite the secret agent you are!”
She took the effort to make an exaggerated look of innocence.
“And finally, I would like to tell you” — Petur’s face became flushed suddenly — “that I have been thinking of you ever since I first saw you in that hotel elevator in Amsterdam, and again in the lobby of another hotel in Mannheim, Germany. Although over the years the details faded from my memory, the overall image has stayed with me always.”
Elisa spoke now, some of her appearance of self-command fading. “Please accept my apologies. I didn’t think you or Dr. Standall would recognize me, but I was much more concerned that I might bump into Jeff. He certainly would have. As you may have realized, I always tried to leave the island whenever I knew he was coming.”
“He did think it strange that he had never met you. I mean, met you as Elisa, that is.”
“I have good sources of information. I knew when to stay and when to go.”
Petur nodded his head knowingly. “And now, please tell me who you are?”
Elisa sat back farther into the couch and crossed her legs in the other direction. She reached for her glass and took a sip. She looked at her toes for a moment, and then back at Petur. She was just about to speak.
“She is my daughter.” Isaac walked in through the kitchen door. “And her name really is Elisa. It was her grandmother’s name. My mother’s.”
Petur sat stunned. For a moment, the only thing he could think to say was, “Why, Isaac?”
Isaac moved across the room to sit near Petur. He put a hand on his knee. “Because I was convinced that we needed her. And I was convinced that we needed someone like Jeff Baddori.” He looked away from Petur’s piercing stare. “I told you once that we needed a secret service of sorts — a spy network. You refused rather adamantly.”
“But you did it anyway.” Petur could hardly be mad.
“I have the benefit of being a great deal older than you. With age comes, among other things, a great deal of cynicism. I do not trust the world. You trust too much. I did what I thought was best.”
“And you were right. Deviousness is not in my nature, but today, I’m sure glad it’s in yours.”
Elisa laughed loudly. “Not in your nature? What do you call that stunt you pulled today with the laser in the observatory? Talk about devious!”
Petur grinned sheepishly. “I have learned from the best, if perhaps only by osmosis.”
Isaac said, “Elisa had the honor of training with both Mossad and the CIA. She found Jeff, and made sure he would meet Sophia. Nothing went smoothly, but it went. Elisa is my pride and joy. And, Petur, so are you.”
All three sipped their drinks for a moment. Petur contemplated all that he had learned today about the woman in front of him. He wondered how little he really knew her. But mostly, he thought about how embarrassed he was now that he had informed Elisa regarding his little obsession with her.
He was able to speak in a confident voice, nonetheless. “At 2:00 a.m. tonight, sharp, I would like you both to join me on the verandah of the Guest House. There will be an important announcement. I think you would both highly regret missing it.” He tossed the last of his beer back. “2:00 a.m., sharp.”
It was another glorious night in paradise. The cloud that hung above the island during the days was gone most nights, including this night. The air was crisp and cool, and the coolness helped to make the night sky particularly transparent. The stars seemed close enough to reach out and extinguish with a pinch of one’s fingers. A razor-thin crescent moon was just rising in the Eastern sky. It was dark enough. Evan Harrigan could not have planned it better. It was perfect.
No planes had yet arrived to deliver the first of the returning citizens of the Island Project. So it was only the same people who had been there in Science Hall early that morning who were here now to learn what Petur had to say. Some conversed among themselves, hypothesizing what the Mexicans might do next, awed at the British Navy vessels, numbering nine, which lay just to the East. However, with almost every step crunching on the shattered reminders of the havoc created from the destruction of Paradise 5, people were naturally drawn to discuss how such a thing might have been accomplished.
Petur looked around the small gathering of his people on the verandah and grass of the Victorian-style Guest House. It was not surprising that some people had not yet arrived. What was somewhat more surprising was how many people were already there, even though it was half an hour before the appointed time. Well, they would have to wait.
He had taken up accommodation in one of the rooms of the Guest House, primarily because, unlike most, he had gone home to find that some of the littered glass had indeed been thrown inward at his house, some of which now littered the floor of his bedroom. And it had been filled with the pelting drops of water. He didn’t understand why it had happened to his house and not others, but accepted it and gave it no more thought.
Stepping out of the door and onto the verandah, he caught the attention of Dr. Standall and Otto Wagner. Dr. Standall raised an eyebrow, hoping for some advance news. Petur shook his head, smiled, and pretended to look at his watch. Standall got the message.
The verandah was brightly lit, welcoming. But that changed suddenly after Petur stepped back inside for a moment, throwing all the switches down. Then the building was bathed in darkness, with only a faint glow coming from a light somewhere inside, perhaps the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” Petur said as he eme
rged. “I want your eyes to get accustomed to the darkness. Please keep the lights off.” He walked down the wooden stairs and off the verandah. “I promise to be back by two.”
There was not a lot of time, so he walked quickly. He could have taken a cart, but he, too, did not want to be night-blinded, as would certainly happen if he used the cart with its automatic headlights. However, it was not a long walk to Joseph’s house. He was there in four minutes.
He knocked on the door briskly, and receiving no answer, let himself in. “Joseph! Hello!”
Again there was no response. Aware of the recent distractibility of the man, Petur did not lose heart. He was probably here somewhere. He made a beeline to Joseph’s study.
Joseph had his hand on his chin, his elbow resting on his desk. He was staring at a piece of paper. Petur noted the bell, gleaming as if new, but sitting alone on the other side of the room.
“Joseph?”
Onbacher turned. His face appeared ashen, as if he had just been stricken with news of a loved one’s death. The eyes were hollow, with no hint of his usual light-hearted and hopeful nature. Petur moved closer and put his hand on Joseph’s shoulder.
“Joseph, what is it? What’s wrong?”
Onbacher responded with a gentle shake of his head. “I have done the calculations over and over again. I’m not sure that I’m doing it right even now. Can you check my work?” He pulled a nautical chart across the table toward them. It was a chart of the Paradise Islands. This copy was covered with pencil marks, doodles, and calculations scrawled in the margins. There was an X drawn at the highest-elevation line of Paradise 1, with a line drawn due west to the edge of the paper. On the line, at various places were further X marks. Several were scribbled out, Onbacher having failed in efforts at erasure.
“What calculations do you need done?”
“That inscription that I showed you on the bell gives exact directions to where Christian has hidden the chest with the sphere. It took me a long time to figure what he meant, where to even start, but then it became clear.”