With These Eyes

by Horst Steiner

  Isabelle: "If I get to Berlin, I'll find a way in there. It's my only chance to stop my pursuers and more importantly stop what they’re doing to my father. I have to get Gene to lift the quarantine and find the cure for the illness they gave him."

  Lars: "That place is locked down like a summit meeting."

  Ryan knew what he had to do. He would never have a crush on a terrorist and it was time to prove to himself that Isabelle wasn't one. Ryan was sure that such chivalry would anchor him soundly in Isabelle's heart. Ryan saw himself as the knight in shining armor, who had to rescue his damsel in distress. It worked in fairytales and Ryan was ready to find the happy ending where the grateful maiden ends up in the arms of her victor. The only question was how to get to her. With all the media attention, it seemed unlikely that Isabelle would stay in Spitsbergen much longer. She couldn't well hide out in the ice and expect to live. Everyone in the town must have been looking for her. It seemed even less likely that Isabelle would return to Los Angeles. There were just a few people who would have been able to access computers and media on such a high level and bypass Ryan unnoticed. Only Gene and his immediate staff had such a high clearance. Most of Apophis' top brass was scheduled to attend Gene's inauguration later that week. In a week-long global celebration, the Apophis Corporation had been busily promoting their place as the one and only provider of everything. Even those who still favored choices, soon fell victims to the constant media barrage. The culmination at the end of seven days of concerts, candy and coupons was to take place away from the public eye in Berlin. Gene had scheduled himself for a coronation ceremony before a court of his officers and politicians to ring in his reign as the world's most powerful leader. There, the inside crowd that was part of Gene's web of deceit would swear their devotion and loyalty to the nefarious sovereign.

  Preparations at the Prussian palace had been under way for days. Ryan knew of the festivities because he had been tasked with implementing a failsafe security system for the evening. Management had the utmost concern they'd be safe from intruders and the public eye. Ryan pulled up the event's guest list. It was comprised of congressmen, entertainers and leaders of industry who had played Gene's game and helped him along. Those who didn't, mostly found themselves in Lionel's position. Ryan swiftly added his personnel file to the guest list. He pushed his glasses up. With a nerdy giggle, Ryan watched his name appear right after Dr. Kenshin as one of the invited guests plus one already cleared date.

  The next day, it had come time for Ryan to charge to the rescue of his fair maiden, Isabelle. With nothing more than his soft-side attaché for a carry-on, Ryan had arrived at the executive terminal of the Bob Hope airport in Burbank. Apophis maintained a fleet of corporate jets at this location, which was much less cumbersome than the overcrowded Los Angeles International Soskyh-Aeroplex - LAX.

  Over the hill from LAX, the valley-airport's executive terminal populated with business men and politicians was lacking the x-rays and scanners of the public airport. A very attractive attendant was helping Apophis board members and special friends of the firm board the flight to the festivities in Berlin. Dressed in an Italian suit, Senator Yubellow was at the gate. The man in his late 50s of Anglo-Saxon descent with graying hair had proven a valuable ally to push Gene’s agendas on Congress. Yubellow placed his right index finger on the scanner that the attractive attendant was holding out to him. The scanner's display window confirmed the crooked politician as an invited guest to the celebration. The gate attendant ushered Yubellow into the jetway with a smile. A little nervous, Ryan approached the gate. He kept having to push his glasses up because he was perspiring quite a bit. Isabelle's admirer placed his sweaty finger on the scanner. Worried he may have fogged up the reader, he felt relief when he heard the attendant's words.

  "Thank you Mr. Kensington, I know you’ll have a pleasant flight."

  His finger left a foggy mark as he lifted it off the glass. Ryan proceeded swiftly down the jetway. He had expected to board a single or dual engine corporate jet, the view of the plane from the terminal had been obscured. This was the first time Ryan traveled with the company's top brass. He had reached the end of the jetway and stepped onboard. He found himself inside a two-story jumbo-jet that resembled a luxury hotel more than an aircraft interior. One of many flight attendants happily placed Ryan's attaché bag in one of the plane's amply-sized closets.

  "Feel free to sit anywhere you'd like," he heard the friendly lady who looked like a super model say. Ryan looked around for a while. There wasn't a bad seat in the entire plane. Ryan chose a spot in the front the large aircraft, below the 2nd-story cockpit. His chair was so comfortable, he considered that he might just stay seated for the entire journey. The rest of the guests boarded the opulent jet.

  Ryan closed his eyes and dreamt of ways Isabelle might thank him as the plane lifted off for its destination in Germany.

  25 CONCRETE ISLE

  After a long journey through the Arctic Ocean, the S.S. Galaska had reached Scandinavia. She sailed south along the coast to Öresund bay, the large body of water between Sweden and Denmark. The two coasts where connected with a structure that was quite unique - the Öresund bridge-tunnel.

  A bridge carried road and rail to the middle of the bay where they reached an artificial island. There, traffic dropped into a tunnel that lead across the other half of the bay in four separate tubes on the ocean floor. The two smaller tubes carried one track of rail for each direction. Two lanes of highway traffic each, traveled in the larger tubes. Like a forest of mushrooms, a wind farm towered from the water in part of the bay. The white blades that turned the generators looked picturesque against the clear-blue Nordic sky. The public had celebrated the bridge-tunnel's unusual design and, in their lack of understanding for architecture, had overlooked the simple fact that a structure of that sort just didn't make sense.

  Isabelle stood on deck once again, this time contemplating her next move. Tasha's hovercraft had been in the same position, one nautical mile behind, slightly off the port quarter. Isabelle knew her problems would pick up right where they had left off after Spitsbergen once she would set foot on land. That hovercraft had been so persistent for a reason. She noticed how out of place the bay crossing and its adjacent wind farm looked where she was. Isabelle would have loved to find out more but she had a much bigger issue to address. The ship would sail into port soon.

  There were a few things that Isabelle’s parents and Fuji had repeatedly told her. One of them was a concept that had simplified Isabelle's life to great extend. Often when she was faced with two problems, it would be easiest to turn each into the solution for the other, instead of spending time seeking separate solutions externally. This was once again the case. The universe was guiding Isabelle on her quest. She was beginning to see how the wisdom Fuji had taught her was nothing but the skill to read the road map of life. Isabelle saw enlightenment as the ability to see the universe for what it truly was. It wasn't a place that could simply be called good or evil. The universe was a place with light and shadow, and those who understood this, knew that the path to their true mission in each lifetime had been labelled. Modern man had lost the memory of how this path was marked. Isabelle had been working on rediscovering this ancient memory in studies and chanting with Fuji.

  The land was two nautical miles away. Isabelle knew what to do. Less than a minute later, she was in the submarine bay with Lars. It was time for a quick hug good-bye. After she let go, Isabelle looked into his steel-blue eyes. She saw a man who was genuinely concerned.

  "There you go, Love," Lars helped her step onto the sub. "You're sure you'll be alright?"

  "I have no doubt." Isabelle's confidence was very reassuring to him. She really had no doubt.

  A smile spread across his weathered face. "May the sea protect you."

  Isabelle felt in every fiber of her being that there was only one response to Lars. "She will." Isabelle had no fear. Her mind was clear to focus on her mission. She climbed through the h
atch and turned around before she disappeared inside. "I will never forget what you did for me, Lars." Isabelle sealed the hatch. She depressed a few switches and the craft had powered up. Lars stood by the controls for the crane. He lifted the bright-yellow submarine out of its docking position. Underneath, the water surged in turbulent waves. On their way from the bridge to the submarine bay Lars had spent the entire time counting off reasons to Isabelle why the icebreaker had to be stationary to launch the submersible. When he had finished, Isabelle's responded while shrugging, "I know."

  Lars saw no better way, so he wanted to at least do what he could to make Isabelle's journey as safe as possible. Isabelle looked at him through the enormous bubble window. She gave him the okay with her thumb and index finger. Isabelle folded her hands before her chest and mouthed "thank you." Lars pushed down on the button that released the sub from its mounts on the crane. The craft splashed into the whirling water in the launch. Knut, the first mate was upstairs at the wheel. He noticed Tasha's craft had fallen back by a mile more in an effort to not draw attention to their pursuit. He held the ship steady in the cold Baltic Sea. Below, Isabelle's little yellow craft was bouncing violently in the turbulent water. Isabelle's hands and feet were busy with conn and pedals, but the small craft's rudders had little impact on the strong forces of the ocean.

  The little sub had almost cleared the steel hull of the heavy ship when a wave pushed it on its side. The conning tower was nearing the icebreaker's enormous starboard propeller. The submersible's forward antenna-array tore off and wrapped around the propeller's axle before it snapped like tinsel. The bubble window was going to be next. Isabelle replayed Lars' parting words in her mind as the propeller came within an arm's length of her face. She held her mother's beads between her left hand and the conn. The sea was indeed protecting her. Only a person who had no fear would have been able to see this. Isabelle's instinct had been right on the nose. Although Tasha had dropped back a nautical mile, a gyroscopic camera mounted on the hovercraft's antenna tower kept a close watch on the icebreaker. What kept Tasha and her Troopers from noticing the submarine's launch, was the very same roll to the side that brought Isabelle facing the ship's propeller.

  The wave that had obscured the submarine had moved on. Isabelle hit the water with all her ballast tanks open to flood. She was sinking to the ground like a rock. The bearer of light had been prepared to send air into the tanks and her left hand came down quickly on the valve that connected to stern and aft. While the submarine's descent was slowing, Isabelle had managed to upright the craft and stabilize its travel. She turned towards the artificial island in the center of the bay.

  On the surface, Tasha was getting restless with anticipation. She had spent the last couple of days doing little more than sit in the Commander's seat in her surveillance room and spy on the daily activities aboard the icebreaker ahead. Tasha had no interest in the nature around her. The endless ice had little appeal to the woman who grew up in the desert of Africa. She missed her family but she didn't miss the lack of technology or democracy that so defined her homeland. The long journey had given her time to think about what it had been like, growing up in Eritrea. Tasha wasn't much one for living in memories. She was a woman of action in the present. The time had come. She keyed the microphone for the craft's public address system. Tasha's orders were booming across bridge and crew quarters. "Skipper make way for the Danish port. I want the platoon assembled in the briefing room in thirty seconds." Tasha exited the room and turned back towards the Troopers who had gotten used to the quiet of an Arctic journey. "What are you waiting for? She's not going anywhere. Double-Time!"

  The Troopers sprang to the attention position and hastily exited the room behind her. On her way to the briefing room, Tasha had an important order for a member of her platoon walking next to her. "Trooper, notify the port authority that a kidnapper is stowed away on the icebreaker. Make sure you report to the briefing room on time." Tasha walked on swiftly while the Trooper was making the phone call Tasha had ordered.

  Once again, Isabelle had managed to do what Tasha wasn't used to. She had slipped away. The massive presence Tasha presented played a big role in her hunts. Most individuals would be so intimidated by the manpower, hardware and detailed knowledge of their lives that their fear did much of the work for Tasha. No one had ever noticed her radioactive tag or outrun her supersonic jet. This was new territory for Tasha and the past few days at sea let fear work its way into her own mind in the most subtle ways. Tasha would never consciously allow herself to entertain a weak emotion such as fear. It was the mark of the hunted, not of the hunter. Tasha's mind gave her arrogance to mask the more primal emotion of fear. It was Tasha's arrogance that had allowed Isabelle to get away. She had grown accustomed to the power her technology provided. She felt no threat leaving the transmitter range when the two ships sailed into Öresund bay. Tasha's logic had dictated the most effective cause of action was to have Isabelle detained by the authorities upon landing in Denmark.

  Isabelle's intuition had guided her onto another path. That path had lead her to the small cargo port at the bridge’s island. Two Apophis freight ships were moored inside the small harbor. A fire ship and a tug boat laid docked on the other side of the port. There was little traffic, each nation operated separate harbor master's stations on their shorelines. Few even used the island; it offered little but sea walls, the port, and the transition from bridge to tunnel.

  Isabelle skillfully maneuvered the submersible into a berth between the tug boat and the fire ship. Through the huge fishbowl-shaped window, Isabelle saw a tie-off line hat had slumped into the water next to one of the ships. A thick layer of barnacles had encrusted the thick loop of rope, much like the ones that covered the hull of both ships. It was pretty clear that neither of these vessels had been taken out in some time. Isabelle thought the two ships to be safe cover. She surfaced in between the much larger boats, separated by the wooden docks that lead down the length of the ships. Isabelle looked in all directions through the glass bubble that surrounded her. The docks around the ships were deserted. She equalized the boat's pressure and felt her ears pop. She hadn't gone deep enough where she'd have to wait before she could do so, a necessity that would have trapped her in the submersible for half an hour, had she gone to the bottom of the bay. Isabelle picked up a tie-off line from the stowage compartment by the side of the ladder and slung it over her shoulder. She climbed the ladder and a few turns of the hatch's metal wheel later, the seal was broken. Isabelle pushed the hatch open and climbed up. The sound of seagulls and the crashing waves of the Baltic Sea had replaced the ringing in her ears from the pressure shift. The brisk wind smelled salty and a lot less fishy than the oceans in warmer climates like the beaches of Southern California, to which she had grown accustomed. The fire ship's water cannon and its wheelhouse were under their protective winter covers, a layer of icicles ran along every rope and rail on the ship.

  The tug boat moored on the other side of her sub was in similar condition. Both ships were lacking the appearance of any recent human contact. Isabelle cleared the hatch. She walked to the aft section of the sub and popped the cover off a utility panel. Isabelle placed the craft's keys inside the compartment and replaced the water-tight seal. This was where Lars would find them before he’d leave port. Isabelle revered the trust Lars extended towards her simply based on the fact that she was her mother’s daughter. The woman onboard said Isabelle could keep the Arctic gear. She had found it suited Isabelle well. She looked indeed like Gemma in some of the pictures that decorated the ship's mess hall. Although she was south of the Arctic circle, the breeze that came in constantly from the sea was that of a Nordic winter. Isabelle stood across from a small rail yard that was connected to the bride-tunnel's tracks and lead the length of the small harbor. A parking lot between two sections of track was occupied by a few tractor-trailer combos, a bulldozer and a road/rail work truck that had the ability to travel on tracks or with regular street traffic. It
was a large all-wheel drive utility truck with the Apophis Rail and Toll-Roads logo on its doors. The bright yellow emblem showed an old-fashioned steam engine with rays emanating from its wheels like the beams in the Apophis sun-logo. The trademark's bright color stood out against the truck's shiny, dark-blue finish. Across the second set of rails was an empty auto parking lot. At the far end of the harbor from where Isabelle had landed was a young freight train engineer, Ralf Müller. The man was loading shipping containers from one of the cargo ships onto the flatbed cars of his train. Isabelle saw no one else on the inhospitable island, the crews of the two cargo ships stayed below deck to avoid the ice-cold wind that was whipping across the concrete structure in the middle of the bay. Isabelle had reached the train. The man stood on the crane's operating platform a few steps up from Isabelle. She waited until he placed a crate down on the train car and waived to gain his attention.

  "Excuse me!"

  The man took his hands off the crane's controls. "Yes?" he asked. A visitor here, let alone a young woman, was very unusual. Isabelle took down her jacket's fluffy hood that was obscuring her face. The man's expression of surprise gave way to a friendly smile. "Ach du liebe Zeit!" he burst out in German. "Isabelle de Fleur?" The man climbed down the short metal ladder from the crane. "I used to watch your news off the satellite feed, back when that was still possible. You had the most amazing reports. Because of your story on the Alaskan Railroad, the feds created a whole set of new safety standards.