Leviathan Rising

by Jonathan Green

  "Are you all right, Miss Celeste?" Ulysses asked, with genuine concern, ignoring her employer.

  "Y-yes, thank you, Mr Quicksilver," she said, the smile gone once more, her eyes cast down at the ground. "Thank you for your concern, but if you will excuse me we must be on our way. I have delayed Mr Carcharodon quite enough already."

  Ulysses watched, anger rising within him at the attitude Carcharodon had displayed towards Miss Celeste. He wanted to say something, to make the man realise how egocentric and insensitive he was being.

  But the moment passed as Glenda took his arm in hers once again and, on tiptoe, whispered, "You're my hero," into his ear. He could smell the intoxicating aroma of her now that she was so close to him. The touch of her breath on his face sent a frisson of excitement thrilling through his adrenalin-heightened senses.

  Ulysses looked at her and smiled, disarmed once again, delighted by her apparently innocent, almost naïve reaction to events that were, for him, virtually a matter of daily occurrence.

  "You look like you could do with a drink." she said

  "Yes, I think you're probably right," Ulysses agreed, already imagining the nectar-sweet bite of cognac on his taste buds. "Would you care to join me? I hear there are a number of bars with an ocean-view on the Strand."

  "That sounds lovely," Glenda said, dipping her chin and looking up at him with appealing puppy-dog eyes, "but I really ought to check in with the paper. We have an office here. Did you know? I hope you don't mind."

  Ulysses was taken aback. "N-no, not at all," he stammered, wrong-footed. "I might take a rain check then myself. You know what they say about drinking alone."

  "I'll see you later, though," she said, a definite twinkle in her eye, "back at the ship, where I'm sure you'll be happy to grant me an exclusive interview about your heroic antics, in more convivial surroundings."

  Still high from the rush his race through the park had given him, Ulysses felt a tingling stirring deep down inside him. "I'll look forward to it," he said, blushing despite himself.

  She planted a lingering kiss on his lips. "So will I," she murmured. "Now, don't go getting into any more trouble, and I'll see you later for that exclusive."

  With Glenda gone, Ulysses was surprised to find himself feeling at a loose end. Beautiful as the coral gardens were, he had no great desire to take in any of the other tourist attractions Pacifica had to offer. He was merely marking time, after all, until an opportunity presented itself.

  Going over the events in the park, Ulysses made a decision. If you really wanted to understand a city, find out what made it tick, just as with a human body you had to peel back the surface layers and look at what lay beneath.

  He had spent long enough enjoying that which the city governors wanted visitors to see; now it was time to take a look at the seedier side of things, the gritty reality of life in the city beneath the sea.

  Ulysses paused in the shadow of a rust-stained arch, becoming motionless in an instant as Doctor Ogilvy stopped and darted an anxious look over his shoulder for what seemed like the umpteenth time since Ulysses had caught up with him, quite by chance, close to the warehouses down below the docks at city bottom. Ulysses knew that he didn't exactly blend into the background in his fine-tailored suit and was somewhat encumbered by his flamboyant dress sense, but Ogilvy was really starting to draw attention to himself, with his cringing behaviour. And what was he doing down here anyway?

  Ever since spotting the ship's seemingly-suffering doctor as he was cruising the opium-dens located in an outer dome of the complex metropolis, his insatiable curiosity piqued, Ulysses had found the perfect way to while away a few hours in Pacifica. And, before too long, the doctor's anxious steps had brought them here.

  Ogilvy had stopped outside a seemingly abandoned and shuttered shop-front. He looked around him again but still he didn't see the cunningly hidden Ulysses. Ogilvy knocked three times on the shuttered doorway, paused, then knocked again, three times, paused and then gave another three knocks. The shutter finally rattled upwards, revealing two men of obviously Oriental origin. These two Chinamen shot suspicious looks up and down the detritus-strewn street before admitting Dr Ogilvy. The shutter was pulled down again after them.

  Two suspicious-looking Chinese characters having a clandestine meeting with the eminent Dr Ogilvy, chief medic aboard the foremost sub-liner in the world on its maiden round-the-world voyage? Even Inspector Allardyce of Her Majesty's Metropolitan Police would have realised that something was going on here that could not be left uninvestigated.

  Sure the coast was clear, Ulysses crept forwards.

  Awareness flared in his hindbrain and he turned to see a lithe figure detach itself from the gloom behind him. In that split second Ulysses realised someone else had been following him, unnoticed, so caught up had he been in his pursuit of Dr Ogilvy. And then his unerring sixth sense flared again as two iron-strong hands seized him from behind.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Our Man in Shanghai

  "Thank you, Mr Quicksilver," the Chinaman said, returning Ulysses' card holder.

  Ulysses snatched it back and returned it to his jacket pocket. "Not that I really had much choice," he said sourly, looking pointedly at the larger of the two Chinamen. "And now it would appear that you have me at a disadvantage, Mr -"

  The smiling, well-spoken man sitting opposite him did not take up Ulysses' cue.

  "I must apologise most profusely, but my aide was only acting on my orders."

  That same aide now glared at Ulysses, his curiously Cro-Magnon Chinese features showing no other emotion. Unusually for one of his racial heritage he was taller than the Englishman, and big in every way, built like a navvy from his broad gorilla-like frame to his huge hands like great meaty paws.

  "Can't he speak for himself?" Ulysses challenged but the huge Chinaman's expression remained impassive and he said nothing.

  "He does not speak English, Mr Quicksilver."

  "Oh, I see. I suppose I should commend you on your own command of the Queen's English," Ulysses said grudgingly. "If you will forgive me," he said with forced politeness, "you speak it almost like a native."

  "Why thank you. That means a great deal to me."

  "Your accent - sounds almost Home Counties."

  "Hong Kong, via Oxford. I spent a very rewarding three years at Boriel College. My grandfather was British."

  "I see, but you're loyal to your Chinese roots."

  "My grandfather had no great love for your empire."

  "His empire as well, surely."

  "He didn't see it that way."

  "Really? That is interesting."

  "But hardly relevant. It strikes me that you could be an Oxford man yourself, Mr Quicksilver."

  "Indeed," Ulysses confirmed. "Boriel College also, but before your time I suspect."

  "I think you are probably right, although not by much, I'll warrant."

  "So, now we know we share the same alma mater, if we're both Oxford men, old school tie and all that, I think you can tell me your name."

  "Of course, I am Harry Cheng, agent of the most glorious Imperial Throne of China and its affiliated colonies," he said, offering Ulysses his own ID, "and this is my colleague Mr Sin."

  "Now, why doesn't that surprise me?"

  Ulysses glanced up and down the street. All manner of cafés and eating establishments had set up here, away from the grander restaurants and hotels in the main dome. There were Turkish eateries with surly individuals seated outside smoking hookahs, other Mediterranean-styled tavernas and an Oriental-themed fast food joint. The place where the three of them now sat proclaimed itself to be an Italian coffee house.

  Ulysses could quite easily have believed that all human life was here. This street, with its cafés and bars, was a microcosm of all Pacifica life, a clear cosmopolitan cross-section of the city's populace.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, taking in all the various aromas of the street, feeling the heat of the sun-lamps on his face. Th
at was one thing about life inside an underwater city: the weather was always predictably good. The artificial arc-lights, powered like the rest of the city, by geothermal energy tapped from submarine volcanic vents, generated enough light for an artificial sun all year round, only dimming as the city began its night cycle.

  "Now, if we could return to the matter in hand," Cheng said.

  "Ah yes, you mean how you forcibly abducted me and dragged me here? Why was that?"

  "Might I first ask you, Mr Quicksilver, what you were doing at City Bottom amongst the warehouses of the slum quarter?"

  "I could ask you the same thing," Ulysses retorted.

  Harry Cheng sighed and muttered something in Chinese. At that Mr Sin's lips curled back and he growled like a mastiff. Another word from Cheng, however, settled him again.

  "You have me at a disadvantage once again," Ulysses said, with arrogant bravura. He had dealt with worse than Mr Sin.

  "Mr Quicksilver, we could play this game all day. I can assure you that it is in both our best interests that we are open and honest with one another."

  "Mr Cheng, it would appear to me that you are living in something of a cloud cuckoo land if you think it is in the best interests of an agent of Imperial China and a loyal servant of the crowned head of Magna Britannia to work openly together."

  "Then, if it will earn your compliance and cooperation, there is something I must share with you."

  "You're welcome to try."

  Cheng leaned forward over the table. In response Ulysses leaned in closer himself.

  "Mr Quicksilver, I suspect that you and I are very alike, in so many ways that we could be a formidable team, if we chose to work together, or deadly rivals. But ultimately we are working towards the same goal."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "More than that, we are working for the same side."

  Ulysses responded to this revelation by raising one suspicious eyebrow. "That is a bold claim and, if it is the case, can you prove it? Where is your ID? Prove to me that you are a double agent."

  "Please, Mr Quicksilver," Cheng hissed, throwing anxious glances up and down the street, "I am not overly fond of that term. The fact is that I have shared with you something very personal and private, and in the strictest confidence."

  "But can you prove it?" Ulysses badgered.

  "I can tell you why you were exploring City Bottom, why we ran into each other when and where we did."

  "That would be a start." Ulysses rocked back in his chair, ignoring the cappuccino cooling in front of him and folded his arms. "Go on then. Fire away."

  Cheng picked up a napkin and rested his arms on the tabletop. "You were following someone from the ship you came in on, the chief medical officer, Dr Ogilvy." His fingers moved nimbly as he began to flip and fold the pliant tissue. "Am I right so far?"

  "Go on," Ulysses said.

  "And although the public may believe that you joined the maiden voyage of the Neptune for some well-publicised rest and relaxation following recent events in London, you are actually on board as much for work as you are for pleasure."

  Cheng looked up from his origami to judge Ulysses' reaction. Ulysses simply nodded again.

  "You believe that Dr Ogilvy is part of an illicit smuggling racket, just one pawn in an opium smuggling ring."

  The two agents looked at one another, Cheng's narrowed eyes emotionless, Ulysses' gaze fiery, challenging Cheng to say more.

  "Correct," he admitted.

  "The last shipment due for London's smoking dens never arrived and those who stand to profit from such an enterprise want to know what happened to it. This is your chance to infiltrate their operation, find out who's in charge and discover the identity of the criminal mastermind behind it all."

  Cheng put a cupped hand down on the table between them. When he removed it, a paper crane stood there, wings outstretched as if making ready to fly.

  "Very good, Mr Cheng, very good. Now, seeing as how you appear to know so much, perhaps you could fill in a few of the gaps for me."

  "That seems only fair, Mr Quicksilver."

  "How do you know so much about my covert mission? Who told you?"

  "I told you, you and I are on the same side. We have the same bosses who reveal the same pertinent facts to us as and when necessary. No one person ever has the whole picture, of course, and I have to admit that it was a bold move by our masters to put someone so in the public eye, and known for being an agent of the throne of Magna Britannia, on the case."

  "Have you not heard of the expression 'hide in plain sight'?" Ulysses threw back. "But getting back to the matter in hand, as you put it, how much do know about Ogilvy's part in all this?"

  "Enough. I know that he is not a big player within the ring and that his own addictions are what those with the real power have used to ensnare him."

  "Tell me again - how do you know?"

  "As I keep trying to tell you, Mr Quicksilver, we are working for the same side. We are just tackling this investigation from opposite ends."

  "Were you recruited at Boriel, then?" Ulysses asked.

  "I was. I take it that you -"

  "Indeed, although you might say I was also following my father into the family trade."

  "Ah, of course. The celebrated Hercules Quicksilver."

  "You know of him?"

  "Almost as well as I know of your recent career, Mr Quicksilver."

  "Really?"

  "Oh yes. It thrilled me to read of your adventures in The Times."

  "So," Ulysses said, bringing their discussion back on track. "If you know so much about Ogilvy, what else do you know?"

  "The intelligence that I have access to suggests that an old adversary of yours could well be behind all this."

  Ulysses could not hide his interest now, despite himself, as a host of villainous characters whose nefarious plans he had thwarted in the past came to mind, a veritable rogues' gallery.

  "Which one? Tell me."

  "The Black Mamba."

  Ulysses gasped. Harry Cheng smiled, satisfied that he still had the upper hand and that he had been able to startle this otherwise ice-cool character.

  A host of painful memories flooded Ulysses' consciousness. He was there, high above the Himalayas once again, the two balloons locked together, tumbling through the swirling snow of the midnight blizzard towards the unforgiving peaks beneath. The Black Mamba's sinister Mandarin Emperor's face inches from his, swiping scimitar in hand, Ulysses holding him off with his own sword-cane, Davenport clinging to the side of the gondola, clutching at the stab-wound to his chest, fingers numb with frostbite.

  "Mr Quicksilver?"

  And then - with Cheng's words - he was abruptly back in the muggy heat of the undersea dome.

  "I... I thought I had done for that blaggard over Mount Manaslu."

  "Thought, or hoped? We both know how slippery a character the Black Mamba can be. I sometimes wonder that he shouldn't be monikered the Black Cat. He seems to have the lives of one. Did you ever recover the green-eyed monkey god of Sumatra?"

  Ulysses shot the Chinese agent a look as if to say, 'How the hell do you know about that?' but didn't bother answering the question. Instead he looked into the surface of his cooling coffee as if seeing something else there, as a gypsy fortune-teller might scry into a crystal ball.

  "If I might be candid, Mr Quicksilver?"

  "I wouldn't want you to be anything else, Mr Cheng."

  "If Mr Sin and myself had not stepped in when we did - and I must apologise again for any inconvenience caused - you could have ruined everything."

  Ulysses snorted in annoyance at the patronising Cheng. "It's what I do. I mix things up a bit. What were you doing there then, if you weren't going to act and you know so much about this operation already? Keeping Ogilvy under surveillance, I suppose."

  "No, Mr Quicksilver, I'm sorry, but that's where you're wrong. We were keeping you under surveillance."

  "It would seem that while you were busy making sure
that I didn't blow your operation, your one and only lead has got away. How are you going to find out if the Black Mamba is behind this opium smuggling ring now?"

  Cheng continued smiling in that irritating, ingratiating way of his. "But he hasn't got away, Mr Quicksilver. I rather suspect he will be boarding the Neptune again, along with the rest of the passengers, very shortly."

  "But if you take him in then you will be making a very public spectacle of yourself, and quite probably in front of the world's press at that. Surely that's not the best way to avoid alerting the Black Mamba to the fact that you are onto him."

  "I couldn't agree with you more," Cheng said, still the same ingratiating smile on his lips.

  "Then what, in God's name, are you planning to do?"

  "I have reason to believe that the good doctor is not the only connection that exists between the smuggling operation and the Carcharodon shipping line," Cheng explained. Reaching into his jacket pocket he carefully extracted a card wallet, with two cards inside it.

  "Two tickets, Mr Quicksilver, one for myself and one for my aide, Mr Sin. The mystery of the missing consignment of opium has not yet been resolved. We are coming with you, on board the Neptune. We are joining your cruise."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Casino Royale

  "Gentlemen, if you would please take your seats?"

  "Come on chaps," Major Marmaduke Horsley said loudly, at the croupier's request, "let's play Blackjack!"

  The Major had lost none of his old military manner. When he issued a command it was in a tone of voice that broached no refusal. The hubbub of interrupted conversations fizzled out, and the invited guests approached the Blackjack table.

  The Neptune's onboard casino, the Casino Royale - named in homage to the crown of Magna Britannia - was a hive of bustling activity, the atmosphere tense with the prospect of a great deal of money being won or lost on the turn of a single card.

  Ulysses took another sip of his French brandy, and from his place at the bar quickly surveyed the room. He could see most of the guests from dinner at the captain's table, some nights since now, and a number of other well-to-do chancers hoping for a piece of the action at the table that night.