by Bob Finley
Keith shook his head again and grinned reluctantly. "You're a little crazy, you know that?"
Valance slid off the desk and pulled the office door open. He turned and his grin turned wicked.
"Trust me. Suite 4 in ten minutes," he said in a stage whisper and pulled the office door closed behind him.
"Said the spider to the fly," Presnell muttered under his breath and glanced at the clock above his desk.
Chapter 49
At 1:59 p.m. Greenwich time, as the only television studio beneath the Atlantic Ocean blazed to life under its artificial suns, it was one minute before four on a spring afternoon in downtown Johannesburg, South Africa.
Thousands of office workers, shop clerks, vendors, domestics, government clerics and shoppers began to think about quitting time and the crush of commuters that would throng the rail platforms in their daily exodus into the countryside.
A warm breeze blew steadily out of the southeast, as it always did this time of year, flowing through and over the great city as an unseen river that would inevitably find its way around rocks and bleached tree stumps in its march to distant places. It swept, rustling and sighing, across the verdant hill country beyond, pressing inexorably toward its next obstacle to the north, Pretoria.
As the teeming, transient population of Jo'burg cascaded into its arteries with single-minded intensity, there was no way of knowing that within minutes, just before the wave of humanity crested, the history of South Africa would change forever with the appearance in its sky of a new sun unlike any they'd ever seen. Or would, for those present at its birth, ever see again.
Inside a crate in a railway car on a downtown siding, an internal clock ticked one digit that changed a display from 15:59:59 to 16:00:00. A relay clicked. A green light came on. The monster was awake.
Chapter 50
Since the fight between Kim and Banner, Bill Layton had organized and thrown a protective net around their diminutive colleague. Kim was accompanied by at least two others at all times, an arrangement he wasn't altogether happy about. The critical time frame, of course, was immediately following Banner's revival and recovery. But with scouts out, they finally realized that the impending broadcast would occupy the man’s time at least until it actually took place. They all agreed the next most critical time would be immediately following the broadcast. But their own personal vulnerability as they entered that new situation was also very much on their minds.
Now they were moving en masse along the corridor leading to the commissary, where the broadcast would be available to all the security personnel on big-screen video monitors. Each group carefully avoided the other and congregated along invisible demarcation lines.
"Where's Janese?" Frank suddenly asked, alarm obvious on his face. His concern reflected their growing communal paranoia.
"I saw her crossing the main floor, heading this way just a few minutes ago," Cy said.
"What about Banner?" Layton asked.
"He was just getting on the penthouse elevator when I came up," Cy added. The collective relief was so obvious Bill and Kim smiled self-consciously across the table.
"Maybe that'll keep him out of mischief for a while," Bill observed quietly, noting Kim's strained response.
Janese Cramerton entered the room and took a couple of erratic steps toward the small group of cloistered prisoners but veered away unexpectedly to the big coffee urn across the room. Bill and Kim's eyes met. Layton got up casually and walked across the room. Kim saw her flinch when Bill eased up behind her and spoke. He watched as Layton moved closer and gently touched the back of her arm. They talked while she filled a mug with coffee and spooned in packets of creamer and artificial sweetener, taking much longer than necessary. Finally, they walked back to join the others at the table. She was noticeably pale. Layton looked at Kim and barely shook his head. No one else had noticed.
The wide-screen television on the wall came to life. The clock on the wall stood at two o'clock and five seconds. Everyone in the room, prisoners and guards alike, turned as one to face it and conversation turned off like a faucet. Bill Layton drifted around the table and, in stages, came to stand behind Kim. After several seconds he eased into a chair and pulled it close, leaning in until his lips were only a couple of inches from Kim's right ear.
"She ran into Ross Breton down on the main floor," he breathed almost inaudibly. Kim didn't move, just waited. "He told her he'd been assigned to stay close to Banner until the broadcast. Said Jambou told him if he tried anything funny toward you he was to drop him in his tracks with a stun gun."
Kim slowly turned his head in Layton's direction.
"Why would he do that?" he murmured, perplexed.
"Don't know. But then, when it got to be air time, Banner had to go up to the penthouse. Security, I guess. And so did Breton. I think he runs the T.V. stuff." He pulled back a moment and looked around surreptitiously. Finally he moved a little closer and dropped his voice almost to a whisper.
"It's what he did...Breton did...before he went upstairs that shook Janese up."
Kim involuntarily held his breath and leaned backwards slightly to hear better.
"He slipped her the stun gun."
"What?! " Kim whispered incredulously.
"Shh! He gave her the stunner. Told her to keep it hidden."
Kim turned partially around in his seat.
"Why would he do that?"
"That's what upset her so. Apparently Breton thinks that after the broadcast is over, Jambou's going to declare open season on us."
"Yeah? That's no secret. We've been sayin' that all along."
"True...but we're not female."
Kim turned completely around, the better to look into his friend's eyes. He saw there what he was afraid he would see. Layton slowly nodded.
"Jambou first," he said slowly. "Then the animals." They both looked across the room at the scruffy misfits. The outcome didn't take a lot of imagination.
"What are we going to do?" Bill Layton asked. Kim Matsumoto looked out across the room and drummed his fingers angrily on the table.
"I wish I knew," he finally said, as much to himself as to his companion.
And then, in living color and bigger than life, the Devil himself appeared on the television across the room and a murmur of voices surged animatedly among the uniformed crowd.
"Welcome," boomed the mellow voice from the speakers as Jambou smiled amiably, turning on the charm. "I've been looking forward to our meeting."
Chapter 51
At first, Marc had shifted his view of Jambou alternately between the image on the wall monitor below the window and the real thing in the adjoining room. But gradually he ignored the monitor and riveted his attention on the pageantry taking place within the harsh island of light beyond his temporary prison. What he saw was a glib, self-assured performer who had the easy and natural air about him of one who assumed that wealth and power were his rightful heritage. He tried to imagine how this performance would be viewed by the people it was beamed at, people who didn't know they were looking at a maniac.
"...so this broadcast," Jambou was explaining, "is coming to you by satellite from beneath the Atlantic Ocean just a hundred miles out from the entrance to the Mediterranean Sea. It is being transmitted simultaneously to specifically designated television networks in the United States, France, Great Britain, Spain and South Africa. Especially to South Africa." He paused and smiled enigmatically, looking to Justin like a cartoon cat that was about to devour a canary. But then he continued.
"You are wondering who this man is, and why is he on your television set. I shall tell you. But you must pay close attention because you are about to witness an historical event that your grandchildren will ask you to tell them about, and you'll want to get it right."
"My name is Bereel Numolani Jambou. My ancestors were Bantu Swazis in South Africa. They were wealthy herdsmen and owned many cattle. But a drought took all that away. So they became diamond miners. And they found a
great diamond! A wonderful diamond!" His voice was hypnotic, his eyes round, and face expressive. His delivery was in short sound bites, easily remembered. He would have made a good storyteller for a children's television program, Justin grudgingly conceded. "The diamond became so famous it was given a name: the "Victoria Stone". He paused dramatically, with his eyes focused on a vision far away. Slowly, slowly he allowed his smile to fade and his face to gradually become more serious, then saddened, as the marching shadow of a passing cloud might cast gloom over a majestic mountain. Now his eyes bored into the camera lens.
"But then," his voice rolled ominously, as approaching thunder reverberating through high, windswept crags, "then the greedy company that was gobbling up all the land and all the mines for miles around, the company that was already rich beyond any man's dreams, beat and killed my poor ancestors who had risked all they had, and stole the Victoria Stone from them! And the families, the wives and children of these noble men who had died fighting for their families' survival, murdered by this greedy company that wanted it all, these families never recovered. They never regained their rightful heritage, the respect of their neighbors, their birthright! Until now." He leaned forward and his eyes narrowed. The camera zoomed in until the screen was filled with just his head and shoulders.
"Today my family, my ancestors, will regain their honor. Today, I, Bereel Jambou, will restore their dignity. I announce to you today, at this very moment, the birth of a new nation! A new country! I have gone into the wilderness of the Atlantic Ocean and, like brave pioneers before me, I have claimed a mountain that no man, no country, has ever claimed, and I have built my home here!" He reached to a low table sitting beside his "throne" and brought a glittering metal urn reverently to his lap. He lifted it slowly and held it before him. "I have brought the ashes of my ancestors here to this new land. It will be their land. Their lost souls, wandering unavenged for over a century, will have a home...a resting place." He lifted the urn in salute toward the camera. "In the name of my ancestors, I hereby claim this land to belong to us. From this day, it shall be known as...New Victoria!"
The moment was electric. Even Justin, knowing the murderous history of the man, was impressed by the sweeping drama of the story and its inspired presentation. How much more would an uninformed public, who loved rooting for the underdog, be impressed?
"That is why I'm here today," Jambou was once more the suave man of reasoning. "Now I'd like to introduce you to someone who is with me here in the studio for this momentous occasion. A man you will recognize instantly and whose reputation as a scientist, inventor and explorer is beyond reproach. I have asked him to say a few words on my behalf in order to convince you that I am who I say I am. I must preface his appearance, however, by assuring you that he doesn't especially like me. Nevertheless, you may be certain that I have not attempted in any way to censor his comments and that whatever he tells you about me I believe will be the truth. Please welcome the world renowned oceanographer and industrialist, Captain Marcus Justin!"
Marc could see Ross Breton's silhouette against the bright studio lights in the next room as he swung the television camera on its ‘pod in his direction. A red light winked on. He was startled to see his own image appear on the monitor beneath the window sill. Breton zoomed in so there'd be no mistake about his identity. Breton pointed at him from the gloom. He felt inadequate and ill-prepared.
"I don't really know where to start." He paused. "Yes, I'm Marc Justin and it's true that I'm in a television studio a hundred feet down under the ocean and a hundred miles off the Spanish-African coast. I don't know how much of what you just heard is true and how much is a lie. And he's right about one thing...how much I don't like him. But that's not a strong enough statement. You've only heard what he wants you to hear. Now let me tell you the rest of it. The real story!" He was warming to his subject and wondered when Jambou would cut him off.
"The man you just heard is not the man you think he is. Oh, I don't mean that isn't his name...though to tell the truth, I'm not sure about that! But he told you that tear-jerker of a story to get you to sympathize with him. What he is...and this you can be sure of...is a murderer, a pirate, a thief, an egomaniac, and a terrorist!" He waited for the monitor to go blank, but he was left staring at himself instead. He drew a steadying breath.
"Almost four days ago, a civilian scientist aboard a deep manned platform two miles under the Atlantic Ocean sold his soul to the devil. You just met that devil. He helped Mr. Jambou hijack the research submarine of which he was a crew member. Mr. Jambou took the crew hostage and brought them here, to this undersea fortress. I have discovered since my arrival here that he kidnapped them as bait to ensure that I would attempt to rescue them. He knew that I would do so because one of his hostages, Doctor William Layton, is a personal friend of mine, and because I have the only ship in the world that could handle both the speed and the depths. When I, and my crew of three plus Jambou's traitor, arrived on the scene, my ship and crew were also taken hostage by threat of killing us all if I didn't surrender. Once captured, I discovered several things about this...man, and I use the word advisedly...that he seems to have forgotten to mention to you. For example, as the ship taking the construction crew home that had finished building this place got out to sea, he blew it up so they couldn't tell anybody about this place until he was ready, and so he wouldn't have to pay them. All hands died when their ship was blown out from under them. We've been told that he'd murdered one man just before we arrived, and he's killed another one since our arrival, one of his own private army. And, finally, I found out the real reason he hijacked an innocent ship and took hostages is because he wanted my ship as a getaway vehicle. That's all. And, for that, people have died. You might also wonder where this ‘poor man’ got his money? Remember the armored truck diamond robbery five years ago? A billion dollars? He did it. I've seen the diamonds. And he admitted to me that he considered the innocent people, women and children that he gassed to death during the robbery, to be, as he put it, ‘casualties of war’. But that isn't the worst part of it. And I hope the right people are listening to me. He claims to have nuclear weapons hidden in several countries that he can somehow blow up whenever he wants to. And I hate to admit it, but he may be telling the truth about that. I have seen, here in this undersea castle of his, what he claims is a nuclear device. I'm no expert, but it looks to me what I'd expect one to look like. He says if his demands aren't met, or if anybody tries to get in here, he'll blow it up, and all of us with it." Justin paused. He was amazed that he'd been allowed to get away with all the things he'd said. Unless all this was a hoax and they weren't really broadcasting at all. But he couldn't afford to take the chance. If there was any possibility that somebody out there was listening, he had to at least go through the motions.
"As to what he wants: he says all he wants is to be left alone...and for any ship, any plane, anything that crosses what he's declared to be the borders of his so-called ‘country’, to pay a ‘toll’. That's supposed to provide him with an on-going income, I suppose, though with the diamonds he's got stashed from the robbery, I don't think he's gonna run out of cash for a while. It's prob'ly more likely that charging people to cross ‘his’ territory just feeds his ego. Anyway, that's the situation here. He and his cut-throat mercenaries are holding six of us hostages against attack. I've told him I don't think that'll keep the dogs of war from the door, but he isn't listening. As to whether he'd actually use nuclear weapons...if he really has them...for what it's worth, I think he just might be crazy enough to do it. None of us especially wants to be cremated. But we don't figure we'll live long anyway, once he's got what he wants. So, if anybody out there's listenin'...ya'll just do whatcha gotta do." There seemed to be nothing else to say, so Marcus Justin sat back. His image remained on the screen for several seconds, then the camera swung back to Jambou. The focus swam in and out several times. Then it settled down and Jambou's face filled the monitor in an extreme close-up. Though he wasn't smilin
g, he seemed relaxed and not at all upset at what had been said. More than anything recently, that very fact clutched at Marc's consciousness. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
"Thank you, Captain. I knew I could count on you for a reasonably accurate summary. Biased, of course, but for the most part, accurate." His smile, like the lava under his feet, was hard and quickly cooled. "It's a pity that the rest of the world has become so jaded, with its broken promises, political treachery, and hollow posturing that no one knows what to believe any more." He was speaking slowly, gently, as if to himself. Then his head swiveled toward the camera lens and his eyes locked on his audience as menacingly as if he had leveled the cannon of a battle tank at them.
"The news media tells us what they think a politician is going to say. Then the politician tells us. Then the news media tells us what they think the politician said. Then the wind shifts, and the politician changes what he said. The carousel is endless. Governments have become as wind-up toys...mindless and without a vision. Without vision, there is no conviction to see them through the difficult times. Without conviction, there can be no success. So they rush from crisis to crisis, frivolously depleting their finite resources, achieving nothing. They are demented shepherds, leading you, their mindless flocks, into oblivion."
"I, on the other hand, am not one of those demented shepherds. I have a vision. I know who I am, where I'm going, and how to get there. I will not flinch in the face of difficulty. And what I tell you is going to happen, will happen."
"I have shared with you the treachery visited upon my ancestors by a company a hundred and forty years ago. That company still exists. Its name is DeVries. And it still manipulates the diamond market and most of the world's gold. It still bloats the value of its product by controlling supply and criminally overcharges the gullible public who fall prey to its manipulative advertising. Nothing has changed in a century and-a-half. Greed still prevails." He sat back and regarded his audience with cool haughtiness. The camera pulled back until he was visible from the knees up.