Colleen Gleason

by Siberian Treasure

  She was being shot at, assaulted, and she was going to have to visit Dad’s house and search through everything. She’d done such a good job of moving on, dealing with having a non-father in her life, and now she was going to have to immerse herself in those banned emotions. Her stomach hurt.

  The sooner she got it over, the better.

  Another fifteen minutes, and they were on their way back on track to Victor Alexander’s small log cabin nestled deep in the woods, on a bluff overlooking Lake Superior. When the truck eased to a halt at the end of the curving drive, Marina hesitated before stepping down from the running board.

  The hair at the back of her neck prickled, and she felt her pulse kick up. Either she was inexplicably nervous about what secrets she might find inside her father’s home … or her instincts were at work, warning her to be cautious—or, perhaps, to turn tail and run.

  Of course, that wasn’t an option, so Marina called for Boris to come, and watched the dog as he dropped to the ground at her feet. Instantly, Boris came to attention, his ears straight up—not pointed forward, which was a good sign—and his tail raised but still.

  MacNeil watched in open curiosity, obviously respectful of the dog’s non-human instincts. He slid the gun from the back of his waistband and met Marina’s eyes, giving her the wordless signal to let the canine assess the situation.

  It was a damn good thing they hesitated, for Boris suddenly froze and his ears snapped forward, then laid back flat and he whined, ramming his nose into his mistress’s leg, then dashing toward the open door of the SUV.

  “Get in the truck!” Marina yelled, a split second before Boris moved. She vaulted herself back into the vehicle in Boris’s wake. Bergstrom hadn’t climbed out, and MacNeil was already moving. Their doors slammed shut in perfect unison.

  Fast with the keys, MacNeil had the engine turning over before he’d even settled in his seat, but he didn’t have enough time to even shift the truck into gear before the little log cabin exploded into a rolling inferno.

  -18-

  July 8, 2007

  Siberia

  “The test phase of the operation Ypila has concluded satisfactorily,” Roman told the Naslegi, the advisory council of his clan. “The events occurred at three sites as planned. Today we will finalize the details for the second phase, and I will work with Stegnora to implement the plan.”

  The Naslegi had been meeting in the same room for centuries; but it was only due to Roman’s influence over the last three decades that its furnishings had become more comfortable, and technologically updated. Running on massive amounts of stored solar power and crystal energy, the lights, computers, and flat screens completed the chamber’s amenities.

  “Shall we not first give thanks to Gaia?” asked Hedron in a pompous voice. Several others slid sidewise glances at him as if appalled that he would interrupt or divert Roman. “It is only because we act in her name that our mission can be accomplished.”

  “Indeed.” Roman turned frigid blue eyes toward his wife, Nila’s, brother. “I trust that no one needs to be reminded that our very actions are for her glory and protection.” His stare lingered on his brother by marriage for another moment, and then shifted to the opposite end of the elongated, triangular table. “That is the reason I named this mission ‘Praise.’”

  Opposite Roman, at the point of the triangle and just above the height of the table, was a crystal orb. It rounded large enough that a man would need two hands to cup it in his palms, and even then would not be able to wrap his fingers completely around it. The orb emanated a faint incandescent glow of brilliant greens slowly fogging into deep azures and disintegrating into aqua, teal, indigo, and moss in turn. Warm to the touch, as many members of the Naslegi had occasion to know, the crystal was much too heavy to hold comfortably. A single column of clear crystal acted as a throne for the orb, and lent the impression that it floated in mid-air. Just as Gaia herself did.

  “Let us then turn ourselves to praise for our Oneness with Gaia,” Roman said.

  The others joined him with a low rumble murmuring the wake of his words: “Oh Gaia, Mother, Source of Plant and Rock and Mortal; Abundant, Loving, Devastating … One in All … Maid who links eternity in our own world, Immortal, Blessed, crowned with every grace, Draw near, and bless your children … .”

  When he was finished, Roman placed his palms on the smooth table before pushing himself upright with his large, splayed hands. When he removed them from the crystal slab to clasp them at his waist, they left moist fingerprints near the table’s edge. A flaw on the otherwise smooth, clear expanse.

  “With Gaia’s grace, we now consider the next phase in her Ypila by focusing on the greatest threat to her well-being.

  “As you well know, the rape of Gaia and the destruction of her being comes from every direction, affecting all aspects of her entity: fossil fuels plunged relentlessly from her depths; smoke and chemicals belched into the very breath of her air, and the razing of natural habitats and landscapes to make way for concrete roads and steel skyscrapers. Unceasing noise shatters the stillness of our world, scattering our wild brothers and sisters, and the unnatural blare of light shattering the midnight darkness that should be broken only by the stars and moon.

  “Our work in her name will send a message to those Out-World that they must change their ways, or Gaia—through our actions—will destroy them.” Roman looked over the room, his gaze resting on each of the nine men, and finally, Stegnora, who sat next to him.

  “How many targets will be identified?” one of the elders asked.

  “Three is the optimal number. And unlike our test phase, we will be targeting an industry, rather than one particular pollutant. The devastation will be immense.”

  “Perhaps now that the test phase was completed, a second phase will not need to be executed,” suggested Hedron with a sly look. “Surely the Out-Worlders will listen to us now.”

  Roman’s fingers went back onto the crystal table, adding twin images to the already marred surface. “I have lived among the Out-Worlders, Hedron, and you have not. They are foolish capitalists and ignore even the warnings of their own scientists in favor of their financial gain. They build more buildings, drive more cars, manufacture more and more unnecessary machines. And stuff Gaia with their waste.”

  “We have only your word that you attempted to turn the Out-Worlders to our perspective, Roman,” Hedron continued, undeterred. “And that was over thirty years ago. Perhaps—“

  “Your own sons have visited the Out-World, Hedron. Even your nephew agrees that they are not yet ready to listen to reason.” While Hedron’s sons had not spent more than a month at a time in the Out-World, and then only when they were carefully monitored by Roman or his spies, Hedron’s nephew, Rue Varden, had studied Western medicine and lived Out nearly as much as he lived among the Skaladeskas. It was a particularly tender point to Hedron that Varden, who was estranged from his uncle, was the confidant and heir-apparent to the childless Roman.

  This was a point that Roman never failed to drive home when confronted by Hedron.

  He continued with rapid-fire words shooting from his mouth like staccato notes, “Anyone who is foolish enough to believe the Out-World will listen to reason when they have not been threatened does not belong as part of the Naslegi. I was not accepted by the others when I moved among them; anyone who leaves here will not be accepted by them. That is the reason Varden and the others continue to return to our world. They know that they cannot have a place out side of this.”

  “Indeed.” Hedron stared back at Roman, his eyes burning angrily, but said nothing further.

  “Now … .” Roman scanned his attention over the room. “I have a recommendation that I hope the Naslegi will accept, regarding the industry we will target. Through the reporting of Varden, and my dear brother Viktor, we have concluded that the businesses that promote the burning of gasoline and the use of oil be our first targets. The Out-World cannot do without its modes of transport—two and
three cars for every family in America, one person per vehicle to commute to their places of business, yet many travel to the same place from the same cities.”

  “But we have the solution to the oil problem,” said a younger member of the council, a man named Bruce. Despite the cloistered settlement of the clan, influences from the Out-World colored everything from entertainment to names and technological developments—hence his untraditional moniker. “Why do we not simply bring it to the world leaders and share it with them? Then we do not have to take such measures.”

  “If it were that simple, Bruce, that would have already occurred. Three decades ago. I attempted to bring a solution to the Out-World, and not only were they disinclined to listen to my suggestion, they found the concept of crystal energy as a replacement for electricity laughable. A grievous mistake on their part, and one that has become our strength.”

  Once again, he scanned the room, making certain that he had the attention of the entire group. Even Hedron was attentive; and Stegnora, though she knew all of his stories and more, was watching with rapt attention.

  “Thirty-some years ago, I returned here to the Skaladeskas, and vowed to lead our people in Gaia’s name, ignoring the closed-mindedness of the Out-World. As you know, we have done so until now. And now, Gaia has called us to act in her name. She has named this the ideal time. And we will not fail her. She has been angered, and she is not helpless.

  “In her name, it is our duty to destroy that which is bent on destroying her.”

  -19-

  July 8, 2007

  Point Abbeye, Upper Peninsula of Michigan

  “The explosive detonated here.” Gabe pointed to a concave black hole in what had been the kitchen of Victor Alexander’s house. “Could be a professional grade, or a simple fertilizer bomb. We won’t know that for a few days. I’m guessing it was a plastic bomb.”

  The remains of the simple log cabin smoldered around them. The last breaths of wispy smoke spiraled into the air, still managing to annoy Marina’s nose. Grit from ash and soot irritated her face and darkened the coppery fur of Boris’s neck hair. Water-logged cushions of Dad’s once cranberry and gold sofa littered the ground, along with the charred remains of his books. Some were nearly whole and untouched; others no more than piles of fragile, curling ashes.

  Marina half expected to find a few blackened bottles of Stoli amid the ruins.

  The firefighters had just rolled back down the narrow drive, their job finished, and she, Gabe, and Bergstrom had been picking through the smoldering logs, crumbled walls, and charred furnishings.

  Dammit.

  Things were just getting worse.

  She was getting in deeper and deeper and she was finding it harder to blame the CIA.

  Her father yes; the CIA, not so much.

  Bergstrom had had a point when he said if it weren’t for the CIA she wouldn’t have had a clue what was going on.

  She’d probably be dead or kidnapped by now.

  And aside of the physical danger, this whole situation made her want to break out in a cold sweat. Because now she had to let all those buried emotions bubble to the surface.

  It was so much easier to ignore them.

  The problem was, she couldn’t ignore it. Dad was involved in something serious—and had somehow involved her, the dutiful daughter, who couldn’t walk away knowing he could be in danger. Where had she learned this dedication, this devotion? Certainly not from him!

  Going home, or even going to Myanmar, wouldn’t solve anything. It wasn’t going to keep her safe, keep her away from the shootings and the car chases and the break-ins and the explosions.

  Going home and ignoring all of this was likely to get her killed.

  What if helping the CIA meant she lost her only chance to see the Lam Pao Archive?

  That was not a thought that bore contemplation now. She focused on the real question: how was she going get out of this mess?

  Forget doing her duty, giving only the bare minimum. She was going to have to jump in as deeply as Gabe MacNeil and Colin Bergstrom if she was going to climb back out.

  And if that jeopardized the Lam Pao Archive validation, she would have to live with it. As she had with all of the other ways Dad had impacted her life.

  She picked her way through the rubble to where Bergstrom and MacNeil crouched in the ruins. They wore gloves to protect their hands from smoldering embers and clinging ash. MacNeil appeared to be rummaging through a blackened file cabinet. The open drawer sported an awkward vent, as if it had been pried open. It probably had, if the metal rod lying in the rubble next to it was any indication. Bergstrom looked up from his handful of half-burned papers.

  She spoke without preamble. “I’m going to delay my trip to Myanmar and do whatever I can to find Dad and stop whatever’s going on here.”

  “Welcome aboard.” Bergstrom nodded once, but there was a satisfied gleam in his eye.

  “I don’t think I’m going to be much help wandering through the mess here, but I’ll give it a shot,” she added.

  “Right. Thanks.” Bergstrom continued to flip through charred papers that looked like nothing more than old phone bills and Sears credit card statements. “Why don’t you wander over there and see if anything strikes you as being out of place.”

  She took the hint and turned to walk toward what had been the back of the house, the side facing the bluffs of Lake Superior. If she focused and worked hard, they’d find Dad all the more quickly, and she’d be back to life as she knew it.

  A large, black, molten mass caught her attention and she stumbled over a charred two-by-four as she made her way toward it. It looked like a melted tub of sorts … on a cedar-planked dais.

  In fact, it looked like a hot tub.

  Weird. Dad hated hot tubs. He said the chlorine was a terrible pollutant and awful for the body. Marina, too, eschewed chlorine-laden pools and tubs in favor of clean lakes, natural hot springs, and tubs scented with essential oils instead of stinging chemicals. It made her shudder to think of how those unnatural compounds affected the skin, eyes, and nose.

  A hot tub.

  She clambered gingerly to the other side of the tub, which had melted in the heat and now looked like some oversized plastic black ashtray from the ‘70s. As she touched the shiny plastic in one of the indentations that would hold a giant cigarette, she suddenly knew where to look.

  And exactly why her father had a hot tub in his house.

  “Colin! Gabe!” she called as she began to scrabble through the rubble near the ground around the cedar stage. The door was there, easy to find now that the tub had melted and become deformed.

  It was a door, a cellar door, not unlike the one Dorothy’s Auntie Em ducked into when the tornado was bearing down upon them. Hidden under the base, the door flipped up to reveal a ladder than dropped into nothingness.

  “I’m thinking there might be some clues down here that weren’t burned to a crisp,” Marina said, gesturing to the hole as Gabe jogged up, leaving the slower Bergstrom scrambling through the rubble behind him.

  “Well screw me blind.” He pulled a flashlight from the clip at his waist and beamed it into the darkness.

  Excitement and apprehension pumped through her veins. “You can follow me down,” Marina told him, moving purposely past him to step onto the first rung.

  “Wait. You don’t know what’s down there.”

  “I’m going.” Marina gently but firmly pulled away and descended into the darkness.

  He swore, but kept the light trained so she could see where she was going while he clanged down the metal rungs. Gabe wedged the flash under his arm and slipped his Smith & Wesson from its holster.

  But when he got to the bottom, he slipped his gun back into its place before Marina noticed. She’d found a light, and with the flip of a switch, fluorescent bulbs hummed white noise, then sputtered on.

  It was a small room, blinding with its white-painted concrete block walls and floor. No more than ten by ten feet. And
rigged with more communication equipment than an air traffic control tower: two computers with flat-panel monitors, a satellite radio, a printer, a sat phone, and another radio. Plus some other equipment that Gabe didn’t recognize. Boxes that looked like electronic components, and a six-foot machine that looked like a massive metal detector. Wires and boxes with buttons and lights.

  Marina had already begun to move through the room, touching the computers, turning them on, resting her hands on every item as if to prove to herself that they were real. Gabe figured she must be in some kind of shock, finding out that her father had a secret life.

  At least, he assumed that was the reason for the blank expression on her face.

  Marina didn’t speak; she pulled open drawers and flipped through files. Gabe should have sat down at one of the machines to see if there was anything helpful, but he watched her instead.