White Death nf-4

by Clive Cussler

  Gleason explained that in 1871, Barker's ship, the Orient, was wrecked, and the captain was the only survivor. "The natives saved Barker's life, and he spent the winter in an Eskimo settlement. He recounts how the chiefs wife pulled off his boots and thawed his frozen feet out with the warmth of her naked bosom."

  "I can think of worse ways to thaw out. Where does the Kiolya tribe come in ?"

  "They were the ones who saved him."

  "That seems out of character with what you told me of their blood- thirsty ways. I would have expected them to kill a stranger."

  "That would have been the normal case, but don't forget that Barker stood out from the ordinary whale hunter. With his pure white hair, pale skin and eyes, he must have looked like some sort of snow god."

  "Toonook, perhaps." "Anything is possible. Barker didn't go into detail about some things. Quaker society in New Bedford would not have approved of one of their number posing as a god. The experience transformed him, though."

  "In what way?" "He became a staunch conservationist. When he got home, he urged his fellow whale men to stop slaughtering the walrus. The Ki- olya rnuscled in on the walrus hunting grounds like a street gang tak- ing over new drug turf. They even took women and tools from those they conquered. The other Inuit tribes practically starved as a result until they banded together and drove the Kiolya away. Barker saw this conflict over walrus meat and wanted to end it. He was grateful

  to the Kiolya and thought if the walrus were saved, they might change their marauding ways." "Was he right?"

  "Barker was naive, in my view. I don't think anything would have changed their behavior, short of brute force."

  Austin pondered over the answer. As a student of philosophy, he was a great believer in the theory that past is present. The Kiolya might be the key to unraveling the tangled skein that surrounded Oceanus.

  "Where could I go to learn more about the tribe?" "Canadian police blotter, for the most part, I'd venture. There isn't much information between their diaspora and the present, but I did find a crazy story that verifies what I said earlier about the god thing." He rummaged around in a filing cabinet and produced a 1935 clip from The New Yor/ Times, encased in a plastic envelope. It was datelined Hudson Bay. Austin took a minute to read the story:

  The Arctic north added another mystery to its history of explo- ration when a half-crazed German crawled out of the frozen tun- dra claiming that he was the sole survivor of an airship disaster.

  Canadian authorities said the German, who identified himself as Gerhardt Heinz, was brought in by a group of unknown Eskimos who had apparently rescued him. The Times found Mr. Heinz in a hospital ward, where he died a short time later. In the interview, Mr. Heinz said,

  "I was on a secret trip to the North Pole for the greater glory of the Fatherland. We landed at the pole, but on the way back, we sighted the wreck of a boat frozen in the ice. The captain insisted on landing on the ice to investigate. It was a boat of great antiquity, probably hundreds of years old. We removed a frozen body, which we placed in the airship cooler, along with some unusual items.

  "After rising from the ice and traveling a distance, we experi- enced mechanical problems, and had to land. The survivors de- cided to try to cross the ice, but I stayed to guard the zeppelin. I was near death when the local natives found me, and I was nursed back to health."

  Mr. Heinz said that the natives spoke no English, but he learned that their name was 'Kiolya.' He said that they thought he was a god, having come from the skies, and when he requested through sign language that they bring him to the nearest settlement, they complied.

  German authorities contacted by the Times said that they had no knowledge of Mr. Heinz nor of any dirigible voyage to the North Pole.

  Austin asked Gleason to run off a copy of the article and thanked him for his time and information. "Sorry about your exhibition," he said on the way out.

  "Thank you." Gleason shook his head. "It simply astounds me why they pulled up stakes so abruptly. By the way, have you heard about Senator Graham? That's another disaster. One of our strongest supporters."

  Austin said, "I think I saw Graham last night at the reception."

  "You did. While he was driving home to Virginia, his car was forced off the road by a truck. He's in critical condition. Hit-and- run."

  Sorry to hear about that, too.

  "Damn," Gleason said. "Hope it's not true about bad things run- ning in threes."

  "There may be a simpler explanation for your run of bad luck," Austin said.

  "Oh, what's that?" Austin pointed to the sky, and in all seriousness, said: "Toonook."

  27

  ST. JULIEN PERLMUTTER stepped into his spacious Georgetown carriage house and cast an appreciative glance around at the hundreds of volumes, old and new, that spilled off the sagging wall shelves and flowed like a vast river of words, breaking off into tributaries that ran into every room.

  An ordinary human being confronted with this seeming confusion would have fled the premises. A beatific smile came to his lips, as his eye lingered on one stack, then moved on to another. He could rat- tle off titles, even quote whole pages, from what was generally ac- knowledged to be the world's most complete collection of literature regarding historic ships.

  He was starving after dealing with the rigors of a trans-Atlantic flight. Finding space aboard a plane to accommodate his substantial bulk was not a problem; he simply reserved two seats. But even the Binary offerings of first class were, to Perlmutter's way of thinking, the equivalent of a church ham-and-bean supper. He headed for the kitchen like a heat-seeking missile and was glad to see that the house- keeper had followed his shopping instructions.

  Even though it was early in the day, before long he was dining on a Provenale-style stuffed lamb with potatoes perfumed with thyme and washed down with a simple but well-balanced Bordeaux. Thus fortified, he was dabbing at his mouth and magnificent gray beard with a napkin when the phone rang.

  "Kurt!" he said, recognizing the voice on the line. "How in blazes did you know I was back?"

  "There was a report on CNN that Italy had run out of pasta. I as- sumed you would be coming home for a square meal."

  "No," Perlmutter boomed. "Actually, I returned because I missed being taunted on the phone by impertinent young whippersnappers who should know better."

  'You sound in fine fettle, St. Julien. It must have been a good trip."

  'It was, and I do feel as if I've eaten all the pasta in Italy. But it's good to be back on my own turf."

  "I wondered what you had turned up on my historical query." "I was going to call you later today. Fascinating material. Can you drop by? I'll brew up some coffee, and we can talk about my find- ings.

  "Five minutes. I just happen to be driving through Georgetown." When Austin arrived, Perlmutter served two giant cups of cafe latte. He pushed aside a pile of books to reveal a chair for Austin, and another stack to make room for his own wide haunches on an over- sized sofa.

  Perlmutter sipped his coffee. "Well, now, getting down to business… After you called me in Florence, I discussed your query about the Roland relics with my host, a Signor Nocci. He remembered a his- torical reference he had seen in a letter to the Medici Pope penned by a man named Martinez, who was a fanatical supporter of the Span- ish Inquisition, particularly where it applied to the Basques. Mr. Nocci put me in touch with an assistant curator at the Laurentian Li- brary. She dug out a manuscript written by Martinez in which he di- rects particular venom at Diego Aguirrez."

  "The ancestor of Balthazar, the man I met. Good work." Perlmutter smiled. "That's only the start. Martinez says flatly that Aguirrez had the sword and the horn of Roland and that he would pursue him, and I quote, 'to the ends of the earth,' to retrieve these objects."

  Austin let out a low whistle. "That establishes that the Roland relics were real and puts them directly in the hands of the Aguirrez family."

  "It would seem to verify the rumors that Diego was in possession
of the sword and horn."

  Perlmutter passed over a folder. "This is a copy of a manuscript from the Venice State Archives. It was found at the naval museum in a file having to do with war galleys."

  Austin read the title on the first page. "An Exoneration of a Man of the Sea." The publication date on the frontispiece was 1520. The preamble described the work as, An account by Richard Blackthorns an unwilling mercenary in the service of the Spanish Inquisition, a hum- ble sailor who has always stood in defence of His Majesty's name, in which he proves infamies that have been brought against him to be untrue and warns any and all never to trust the murdering Spaniards.

  He glanced up at Perlmutter. "Blackthorne is surely a master of the never-ending sentence, but what does he have to do with Roland and the long-dead Aguirrez?"

  "Everything, m'lad. frything." He looked into the bottom of his coffee cup. "While you're up, old boy, would you fetch me a re- fill? I'm feeling peaked after the rigors of travel. Get one for your- self."

  Austin had no intention of getting up, but he rose from his chair and went for the refills. He knew that Perlmutter functioned best when he was eating or drinking.

  Perlmutter sipped his coffee and ran his hand over the manuscript as if he were reading it with his fingers. "You can study this at your leisure, but I'll give you a quick summary now. Apparently, Black- thorne fell afoul of rumors that he had willingly served the hated Spaniard, and he wanted to set the record straight." "That came across loud and clear in the preamble." "Blackthorne was worried about the stain on his name. He was born of a respectable merchant family in Sussex. He went to sea as a youth and worked his way up from cabin boy to master of a merchant vessel plying the Mediterranean. He was captured by Barbary pi- rates and forced to become a rower on an Algerian galley. The gal- ley was shipwrecked, and he was rescued by the Genoese, who turned him over to the Spanish."

  "Remind me never to be rescued by the Genoese." "Blackthorne was a hot potato. According to the Inquisition sys- tem, any Englishman was a heretic, and subject to torture, arrest and execution. English and Dutch sailors shunned Spanish ports for fear they would be arrested. If you were caught with a copy of the King James Bible or possessed some ancient classic deemed heretical, you were, to put it literally, toast."

  Austin glanced down at the folder. "Either Blackthorne survived or his memoirs were ghostwritten."

  "He had nine lives, our Captain Blackthorne. He actually escaped once from the Spanish but was recaptured. He was eventually dragged from his dark cell in irons to stand trial. The prosecutor called him an enemy of the faith and 'other opprobrious names,' as he put it. He was condemned to death and was headed for the stake, when fate intervened in the unlikely form ofEl Brasero."

  "Isn't that the name of a Mexican restaurant in Falls Church?" "You're asking the wrong man. I've always considered 'Mexican' and 'restaurant' uttered in the same sentence as no less an oxymoron than 'military intelligence.' El Brasero means 'brazier' in Spanish. It was the nickname given the aforementioned Martinez for his zeal in putting the torch to heretics."

  "Not the type you would invite to a barbecue."

  "No, but he proved to be Blackthorne's savior. The Englishman impressed Martinez with his resourcefulness, and his ability to speak Spanish, but more important, Blackthorne was familiar with war galleys and sailing ships."

  "That shows the lengths to which Martinez would go to catch

  Aguirrez, even sparing a victim."

  "Oh, yes. We know from his writings that he thought Aguirrez was especially dangerous because he had been charged with the steward- ship of the Roland relics and might use them to rally his countrymen against the Spaniards. When Aguirrez escaped arrest in his ship, Mar- tinez went after him. Blackthorne was commanding Brasero's lead galley when they caught up with Aguirrez on his caravel off the coast of France in 1515. Although he was becalmed, outnumbered and out- gunned, Aguirrez managed to sink two galleys and put Martinez to flight."

  "The more I learn about Diego, the more I like him." Perlmutter nodded. "His strategy was brilliant. I intend to include this fight in a collection I'm preparing of classic sea battles. Unfor- tunately, Brasero had the services of an informer who knew that Aguirrez always stopped in the Faroe Islands to rest before crossing the ocean to North America."

  Austin leaned forward in his chair and murmured, "Skaalshavn." "You know it?"

  "I was in Skaalshavn a few days ago."

  "Can't say I'm familiar with the place."

  "Can't blame you, it's quite remote. A picturesque little fishing vil- lage with a natural harbor of refuge. There are some interesting caves nearby."

  "Caves?" The blue eyes danced with excitement. "Quite an extensive network. I've seen them. From the drawings on the walls, I'd say they've been occupied off and on going back to ancient times. The Basques, or others, may have been using them for hundreds, maybe thousands, of years."

  "Blackthorne mentions the caves in his narrative. In fact, they were instrumental in his story." "In what way?"

  "Aguirrez could easily have outdistanced his pursuers and fled to North America, where Brasero would never find him. The Basques were the only mariners intrepid enough to sail the Atlantic in those days. But Diego knew that Brasero would go after his family. And he knew that even if he stashed the relics in North America, when he returned to Europe, Brasero would be waiting."

  "Maybe he decided to take a stand for the most primal of reasons," Austin said. "He wanted his revenge on the man who had ruined his life and stolen his fortune."

  "No disagreement there. Brasero was just as determined to finish the job he'd started. He had switched from his galley to a warship twice the size of Diego's caravel. He had put Blackthorne in com- mand. The ship bristled with guns that would have made short work of the Basques. But Diego knew from their previous encounter of the informant on board Brasero's ship and prudently moved the caravel away from the caves. Diego stationed a handful of his men on shore, where they could be seen by Brasero, and when Martinez launched his boats, the men ran into the caves, drawing their pursuers after them."

  "I smell a trap." "You've got a better nose than Martinez, although in fairness, he

  was probably distracted by thoughts of all the fun he was going to have burning Diego and his crew."

  "Shades of Custer's Last Stand. That cave system is a labyrinth. Perfect to stage an ambush."

  "Then I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear that's what hap- pened. It was a two-pronged strategy. The caravel swept down on the warship and cowed its skeleton crew with a few cannon shots. Then they boarded the ship and took it over. Meanwhile, Diego launched his ambush. He had dragged one of his ship's cannon into the caves and used it to take the wind out of the attack." Perlmutter raised a pudgy fist as if he were reliving the battle. "Brasero was a skilled swordsman, but Aguirrez was better. Instead of killing him, he toyed with Martinez before he doused Brasero's flame forever."

  "Where was Mr. Blackthorne in all this?"

  "One of Brasero's men went to take a shot at Diego. Blackthorne killed the man. Diego had his men bring Blackthorne to him. The Englishman laid out his story. Diego needed a skilled captain to command the warship, so he made a deal. Blackthorne would take charge of the ship and get Diego's men home safely. Several weeks later, by Blackthorne's account, he sailed up the Thames with his prize."

  "What happened to the Roland relics?"

  "Blackthorne never mentions them. But by his account, Diego called for a small volunteer crew to stay with him and sent the oth- ers home with Blackthorne. Diego no longer needed gunners and cannon crew, only skilled sailors. Even with Brasero dead, he knew the relics would not be safe as long as the Inquisition was alive. So he continued west, never to be heard from again. Another unsolved mystery of the sea."

  "Maybe not/' Austin said. He handed Perlmutter the news clip about the zeppelin crash.

  Perlmutter read the story and looked up. "These unusual 'items' Heinz mentions could be the long-los
t relics."

  "My thoughts exactly. Which means they're in the hands of Oceanus."

  "Would Oceanus give them up?"

  Austin thought of his run-ins with the Oceanus thugs. "Not likely," he said, with a rueful chuckle.

  Perlmutter gazed at Austin over tented ringers. "It seems there is more to this whole saga than meets the eye."

  "A hell of a lot more, and I'll be glad to tell you all the gory details over another cup of coffee." Austin lifted his cup. "As long as you're up, old boy, could you fetch me a refill? Get one for yourself."

  28

  AUSTIN ARRIVED THREE minutes before his appointed meeting time with Aguirrez. After leaving Perlmutter's house, Austin drove down Embassy Row. The gods that look over Wash- ington drivers were smiling, and he found a parking space with no trouble. He walked along Pennsylvania Avenue until he stood in front of a square building that consisted of several dark-glass stories grafted onto some old Washington houses. Austin read the sign next to the front door and wondered if he had the wrong address. Given the troubles the Aguirrez family had had with the Spanish authori- ties through the centuries, the last place he would have expected to find Balthazar was at the embassy of Spain.

  Austin gave his name to a security guard at the door and was passed on to the receptionist, who punched out a number on her in- tercom phone and spoke in Spanish to someone on the line. Then she smiled and, in a lovely accent that evoked visions of Castile, said

  "Mr. Aguirrez is with the ambassador. He'll be with you in a mo- ment."

  A few minutes later, Aguirrez came strolling out of a hallway. Aguirrez had shed his blue sweat suit and black beret and was im- peccably dressed in a dark-gray suit that would have cost Austin a week's pay. But even the best of tailors couldn't hide the peasant hands and sturdy physique. He was talking to a snowy-haired man who walked beside him, hands behind his back, head lowered in thought as he listened intently to what the Basque was saying. Aguir- rez saw Austin and waved at him. The two men broke off their con- versation, parting with warm handshakes and smiles. Aguirrez