Mayhew signaled the man and he pulled the sheet back to reveal the ravaged face of the red-eyed creature that had been shot aboard their boat. He didn't seem so terrible with his eyes closed. His face had lost its permanent snarl and seemed more in repose.
"A little rough around the edges," Mayhew said. "Not bad-looking for a Frenchman."
"Are you displaying your Anglo bias or do you know for a fact that he's French?" Austin said.
Mayhew smiled and reached into his pocket, producing a thin metal tab with a chain attached. He handed the object to Austin. "This was around this gentleman's neck. It's a little timeworn, but you can read the writing." .
Austin held the tab under the light and read the words: Pierre Levant Capitaine, L'Armee de la Republique de France, b. 1885.
"Looks like our friend here stole someone's dog tag."
"I had the same thought at first, but the tag actually belongs to this chap."
Austin responded with a quizzical look. Mayhew was not smiling as he would if he meant the wild assertion as a joke.
"That would make him more than one hundred years old," Austin said.
"Close to one hundred and twenty, to be exact."
"There must be some mistake. How can you be sure this is the man whose name is on the dog tag? Millions of men were lost during World War One."
"Quite true, but the armies did a tolerably good job of keeping records despite the chaos. Men were often identified by their comrades or officers. As the fighting moved on, bodies were cleared by special units and the director of graves registration took over, aided by the unit chaplain. There were cemetery maps drawn, information filtered through a casualty clearing station, hospitals and grave registrations and so on. That information has been put on a computer. We learned that there was a Pierre Levant, that he served as an officer in the French army and that he disappeared in action." "A lot of men disappeared in action."
"Oh, you skeptical Americans," Mayhew said. He reached into his suit and pulled out a pocket watch, which he handed to Austin. "We found this in his pocket. He was quite a handsome devil at one time."
Austin examined the inscription on the back of the watch. "A Pierre, de Claudette, avecamour." Then he flipped the watch open. Set into the cover was a picture of a young man and woman.
He showed the watch to the other members of the NUMA team. "What do you think?"
Gamay examined the tag and the watch. "One of the first things I learned in marine archaeology was the importance of establishing provenance. For instance, a Roman coin found in a Connecticut cornfield could mean that a Roman had dropped it, but it's just as likely the source was a Colonial-era coin collector."
Mayhew sighed. "Perhaps Dr. Blair can convince you." "I didn't believe it either," said the white-frocked pathologist. "We did an autopsy on the gentleman. The cells in this individual are comparable to those of a man in his late twenties, but the brain sutures, the joints of the skull, indicate the gentleman is " He cleared his throat. "Ah, more than a hundred years old."
"That would mean the work on the life extension formula goes back much further than we've assumed," Austin said.
"An incredible yet reasonable assumption," Mayhew said. "There
were rumors during World War One of attempts to develop a
"berserker," a super-soldier of sorts who would charge enemy trenches in the face of fierce fire."
"You're thinking that it's related to the life extension research?" "I don't know," Mayhew said. He drew the sheet back over the creature's face.
"Poor hombre," Zavala said, glancing at the happy couple in the watch photograph. "What a waste of a hundred years."
"We may only have uncovered the tip of the iceberg," Mayhew said. "Who knows how many have died to keep this terrible secret?"
"I don't blame them for not advertising failures like the one on that table," Gamay said.
"It goes beyond that," Mayhew said. "Suppose this elixir has been perfected. What kind of a world would we have if some people could live longer than others?"
"A world that will be very much off balance," Gamay ventured.
"My feelings exactly, but I'm a lowly detective. I'll leave that for the analysts and policymakers to deal with. Do you plan to stay long in the UK?" he asked Austin.
"Probably not," Austin said. "We'll talk about our plans and let you know what we decide."
"I'd appreciate that." Mayhew produced a business card with his name and phone number and handed it to Austin. "Please call. Night or day. In the meantime, I can't overemphasize the importance of keeping this to yourselves."
"My report will go only to Dirk Pitt and Rudi Gunn. I'm sure the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution will be interested in the fate of its submersible."
"Fine. I'll let you know what our marines find on the island. Maybe we can track down the people behind this thing. Murder, kidnapping, hijacking, slave labor," he mused. "Immortality is a potent
motive for evil. I'd wager that anyone in this room would sell his firstborn rather than pass up the chance to live forever."
"Not everyone," said Austin.
"What do you mean? Given the chance, who wouldn't want to live forever?"
Austin gesturing toward the sheet-draped gurney. "Ask the old soldier lying on that table."
I HATE TO THROW cold water on this warmhearted reunion," Gamay said. "But with all this talk of red-eyed monsters and the Philosopher's Stone, we've~forgotten we have some unfinished business to attend to."
After the meeting with Mayhew, they had gone to their hotel lounge to discuss strategy. Sandy, the Alvin pilot, had been anxious to leave, and Mayhew had put her on a flight to London where she could catch a plane home. The scientists were still being debriefed.
"You're right," Zavala said, lifting his glass to the light. "I'm way behind in my goal to drink all the top-shelf tequila in the world."
"That's very laudable, Joe, but I'm more interested in the survival of the world, not its tequila supply," Gamay said. "May I sum the problem up in one word? Gorgon weed."
"I haven't forgotten," Austin said. "I didn't want to spoil your reunion with Paul. Now that you've brought the subject up, what's the situation?"
"Not good," Gamay said. "I've talked to Dr. Osborne, the infestation is spreading faster than anyone imagined."
"The mining operation has been stopped. Won't this halt the spread of Gorgon weed?" Austin said.
Gamay heaved a heavy sigh. "I wish. The mutated weed has become self-replicating and will continue to spread. We'll see harbors clogged along the east coast of the U.S. first, then Europe and the Pacific coast. The weed will continue its spread to other continents."
"How long do we have?"
"I don't know," Gamay said. "The ocean currents are moving the stuff all around the Atlantic."
Austin tried to picture his beloved ocean turned into a noxious saltwater swamp.
"Ironic, isn't it?" Austin said. "The Fauchards want to extend their lives, and in doing so they will produce a world that may not be worth living in." He looked around the table. "Any idea how we can stop this thing?"
"The Lost City enzyme holds the key to halting the weed's spread," Gamay said. "If we can figure out the basic molecular makeup, we may be able to find a way to reverse the process."
"My body is covered with bumps and bruises that tell me the Fauchards don't give up family secrets easily," Austin said.
"That's why Gamay and I should go back to Washington to set up a conference at NUMA with Dr. Osborne," Trout said. "We can try to get a flight out of here the first thing in the morning."
"Go to it." Austin looked around at the weary faces. "But first I suggest we all get a good night's sleep."
After bidding his friends a good-night, Austin found a computer room off the hotel lobby, where he did an abbreviated report for Rudi Gunn and sent it off by e-mail with the promise to follow up with a call in the morning. He rubbed his eyes a few times as he was typing and was glad when he pressed th
e SEND button and sent the message winging across the ocean.
He went up to his room and noticed that someone had called his cell phone. He returned the call, which turned out to be from Dar-nay. He had located Austin through his NUMA office.
"Thank God I have found you, Monsieur Austin," the antiquities dealer said. "Have you heard from Skye?"
"Not lately," Austin said. "I've been on the move or out at sea. I thought she was with you."
"She left here the same day she arrived. We had discovered what looked like a chemical equation etched into the crown of the helmet and she wanted to show it to an expert at the Sorbonne. I saw her off at the train. When I didn't hear from her after that night, I called the university the next day. They said she hadn't been in."
"Maybe she's been sick."
"I wish that were so. I called her apartment. There was no answer. I spoke to her landlady. Mademoiselle Skye never returned to her home after visiting me in Provence."
"I think you had better call the police," Austin said without hesitation.
"The police?"
"I know you have an understandable aversion to the authorities," Austin said in a firm voice, "but you must do this for Skye. Make an anonymous call from a pay phone if you'd like, but you must call them and report her missing. Her life may depend on it."
"Yes, yes, of course. I'll call them. She's like a daughter to me. I warned her to be careful, but you know how young people are."
"I'm in Scotland now, but I'll return to France tomorrow. I'll call you again when I get to Paris." He hung up so Darnay could notify the police and stared into space for a few moments, trying to make
sense of Skye's disappearance. His cell phone rang. It was Lessard, the manager of the glacier power plant.
"Lessard? Thank God. I've been trying to get you," he said.
"Sorry. I've been away from the phone," Austin said. "How are things at the glacier?"
"The glacier is as it always is," Lessard said. "But there are some strange things going on here."
"What do you mean?"
"A few days ago, a boat came with divers on the lake. I wondered whether NUMA had come back to finish its survey, but the boat was not the color I remember."
"The survey is over," Austin said. "There was no NUMA activity planned that I know of. What else is happening?"
"An incredible thing. The tunnels under the glacier are being drained."
"I thought you said that was impossible."
"You misunderstood. It would have been impossible to do it in time to save the people who were trapped in the tunnel. It has taken a few days to divert and pump water, but the observatory tunnel is almost dry."
"Was this a decision of the power company?"
"My superiors hinted to me that the decision was the result of some influence at a very high level. The work is funded by a private scientific foundation."
"Is Dr. LeBlanc involved?"
"I thought so at first. His little car Fifi is still here, so I assumed he was coming back. One of the men who had been diving in the lake came to the plant, showed me the authorization, and his men have taken over the control room. They are a hard-looking bunch, Mr. Austin. They watch my every move. I am afraid for my life. I am talking now at great risk. I've been told not to intervene."
"Have you told your boss of your feelings?"
"Yes. He told me to cooperate. The decision is out of his hands. I didn't know where else to turn. So I called you."
"Can you leave?"
"I think it will be difficult. They sent my crew home, so there is only me. I will try to shut down the turbines. Maybe headquarters will take me seriously when the power stops."
"Do as you see best, but don't take any chances."
"I'll be careful."
"What was the name of the man who came to you?"
"Fauchard. Emil Fauchard. He reminds me of a snake."
Emil Fauchard.
"Behave as if everything is okay," Austin said. "I'll be at Lu Dormeur tomorrow."
"Merci beaucoup, Mr. Austin. It would not be wise for you to show up at the front door, so how will I know when you've arrived?"
"I'll let you know."
They hung up and Austin pondered the turn of events. Then he picked up the hotel phone and called Joe and the Trouts to say that there had been a change of plans. When they showed up at his room, Austin told them about the phone calls.
"Do you think the Fauchards have kidnapped Skye?" Zavala said.
"It's a reasonable assumption, given their previous interest in the helmet."
"If they have the helmet, why would they need Skye?" Gamay asked.
"One guess."
Light dawned in Gamay's face. "I get it. They're using her as bait to lure you into a trap."
Austin nodded. "My first impulse was to go directly to Chateau Fauchard," Austin said. "But then I thought that is exactly what they would expect me to do. We should do the unexpected and go after Emil instead. He might be able to give us some leverage, and I'm
worried about Lessard, too. I think he may be in immediate danger. They'll keep Skye alive until I take their bait."
"What would you like us to do?" Paul said.
"Probe the defenses around the chateau. See if there is a way in. But be careful. Madame Fauchard is much more dangerous than her son. He's a violent sociopath. She's smart as well as murderous."
"Charming," Gamay said. "I can hardly wait to meet her."
They bid each other good-night and returned to their rooms. Austin called the number on the card Mayhew had given him, told the intelligence agent that he needed to get out of Scotland as soon as possible and asked for his help. Mayhew said he was leaving the next morning on an executive jet and would be glad to give Austin and the others on the NUMA team a ride to London, where they could catch a shuttle to Paris.
Austin thanked him and said he would return the favor one day, and then went to catch a few hours of sleep. He lay in bed on his back and brushed aside distracting thoughts so he could concentrate on the task at hand, which was to rescue Skye. Before long, he fell into a restless sleep.
THE EXECUTIVE JET lifted off at daybreak the next morning, but instead of heading toward London's Heathrow airport it set a direct course for Paris. Before the plane was in the air, Austin had talked Mayhew into changing his flight plan. He said he didn't have time to go into details, but that it was a matter of life and death.
Mayhew asked only one question: "Does this have anything to do with the matter we discussed last night?"
"It could have everything to do with it."
"Then I should expect that you will keep me up-to-date as to the progress of your investigations?"
"I'll give you the same report I send to my superiors at NUMA."
Mayhew smiled and they shook hands on the deal. By late morning, they were at Charles De Gaulle airport. The Trouts split off and headed to chateau country and Austin and Zavala hopped aboard a charter flight to the quaint alpine village nearest the glacier.
Zavala had called his friend Denise in the French parliament. After extracting a promise from Zavala to see her again, she arranged
to have a fast eighteen-foot powerboat waiting for them at the village. They had traveled up the twisting river all afternoon and arrived at Lac du Dormeur at dusk. Not wanting to announce their arrival, they kept their speed low as they crossed the misty, mirror-still lake waters and wove their way around the miniature icebergs that spotted the surface. The four-stroke outboard motor was whisper-quiet, but to Austin's ears it was like someone shouting in a cathedral.
Austin steered the boat toward a single-engine float plane that was anchored a few feet off the beach. The boat pulled alongside the plane and Austin climbed onto a float to peer inside the cockpit. The plane was a de Havilland Otter with space for nine passengers. Three seats were stacked with scuba gear, confirming Lessard's observation that the plane was being used as a dive platform. Austin got back in the boat and surveyed the beach.
Nothing moved in the gray light. He ran the boat farther along the shore, pulled it behind a rock outcropping, and then he and Zavala made the long hike up to the power plant.
They traveled lightly, carrying water, power bars, handguns and extra ammunition. Even so, it was dark when they reached the plant. The door to the portal building was unlocked. The interior of the building was hushed except for the hum of the turbine. Austin slowly pivoted on his heel as he stood in the power plant lobby, his ears tuned to the beehive humming that issued from the bowels of the mountain. His coral-blue eyes narrowed. "Something's wrong," he said to Zavala. "The turbine is working."
"This is a power plant," Zavala said. "Isn't the generator supposed to be working?"
"Yes, under normal circumstances. But Lessard told me on the phone that he would try to shut down the turbine. The power loss would start bells clanging at the main office and they'd have to send someone in to investigate."
"Maybe Lessard changed his mind," Zavala said.
Austin shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I hope it wasn't changed for him."
After exploring the office and living quarters, Austin and Zavala left the lobby and made their way to the control room. Austin paused outside the door. All was quiet, but Austin's sixth sense told him that there was someone in the control room. He drew his pistol, signaled Zavala to do the same and stepped inside. That's when he saw Lessard. The plant manager looked as if he had fallen asleep, but the bullet hole in his back proclaimed otherwise. His right arm was outstretched, his fingers inches away from the blood-spattered line of switches that would have stopped the generator.
A look of barely restrained rage came to Austin's face. He silently vowed that someone would pay for killing the gracious Frenchman whose expertise had enabled Austin to rescue Skye and the other scientists trapped under the glacier. Pie touched Lessard's neck. The body was cold. Lessard was probably killed shortly after he called Austin.
The fact that it would have been impossible to save the Frenchman gave Austin little solace. He went over to the computer monitor that displayed a diagram of the tunnel system and sat down in front of the screen to study the flow of water through the tunnels. Lessard had done a masterful job of diverting the water from the glacial streams away from the observatory tunnel using a complex system of detours.
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