“Seven years bad luck,” he said with a grin that looked as if it had been forged in a foundry.
“Who are you?” Gamay said.
He ignored the question. “Where is husband?”
Gamay truthfully told the leather man that she didn’t know where her husband was. He nodded, as if he knew something she didn’t, and spun her around to face the wall. She expected a blow to the head or a bullet to the back. Instead there was a sharp bee-sting in her right arm. A needle. Bastards! They had jabbed her with a hypodermic. She looked over in time to see the syringe plunge into Francesca’s arm. She tried to go to the aid of the other woman, but her arm went dead. Within seconds the numbness spread to the rest of her body. The room whirled, and she felt as if she were hurtling into an abyss.
Paul heard the mirror crash to the floor and from the top of the stairs saw the man throttle Gamay. He was about to spring from the staircase when the creep in the leather coat came in. Paul went back into his office and tried to call for help. The phone was dead. The lines must have been cut. He crept silently down a narrow back stairway to the kitchen. He kept a revolver in the study, but the only way to get to it was along the hallway. He saw the two armed men split off, one heading upstairs, the other coming his way, and ducked back into the kitchen.
He looked around for a weapon. Knives were obvious, but they were messy and wouldn’t stand a chance against the ma chine pistol. Even if he got the upper hand the others would come running to finish him off at the slightest noise. He needed someplace where he could dispatch the man with a minimum of racket. The last time he and Gamay remodeled the house they had sunk a year’s salary into the kitchen. All new oak cabinets had been installed along with a restaurant type stove. The biggest change was a walk-in cooler whose ceiling was high enough for Paul to go inside without bumping his head.
Seeing no alternative, he slipped into the cooler and left the door ajar about six inches. He unscrewed the light bulb, placed it just inside the door, and plastered himself into the recess next to the heavy door. Just in time. Through the frosted glass he saw the man come into the kitchen, his gun ready. He stopped and looked around, and the open door caught his attention. He approached it warily, pushed it open with his elbow, and stepped inside. The toe of his shoe sent the bulb skittering noisily across the wooden floor. The gun barrel swung around, and his finger tightened on the trigger. Then the roof fell in on his head. His knees buckled, and he crashed to the floor.
Trout put down the frozen smoked Virginia ham he had used as a club. He grabbed the machine pistol and stepped out into the kitchen, well aware that he and the women weren’t home free. First he checked the stairs that led from the kitchen to the second floor. He could hear the other man moving around up stairs. He’d deal with that after he made sure Gamay and Francesca were safe. He slowly eased himself into the hallway. The machine pistol only gave him limited leverage. He didn’t want to catch the women in the pistol’s scattershot spray.
As he stepped into the hall he saw the other men bending over the prone figures of his wife and Francesca. He brushed caution aside and moved forward, so intent on the scene that he never saw the man come up behind him.
He felt the cold steel of a knife between his ribs and tried to turn to face his attacker only to have his legs turned to scram bled eggs. He fell to the floor, smashing his face on the rug and breaking his nose.
Melo had been covering the back door for a possible escape when he saw Trout emerge from the cooler. Seeing blood pool around Paul’s body, he stepped over him and went over to pat his brother on the back.
“Your suggestion to cover the rear was a good one, brother.”
“It seems so,” the other twin said, looking at the sprawled figure. “What should we do with him?”
“Leave him to bleed to death.”
“Agreed. We can take the women out the back way without being seen.”
He called to the man upstairs to come back down. Then they carried the unconscious women to a waiting Mercedes four wheel drive, stuffed them in the back, and drove off, followed a few minutes later by the fake DPW truck. The initial shock of the knife wound had turned to pain, and Paul regained consciousness for a few moments. Using every bit of strength at his command he dragged himself to the study, where he had a cell phone, and called 91 1. He awoke in a hospital bed.
His cursing wore him out, and he fell asleep again. When he awoke he was aware someone else was in the room. Through gluey eyes he saw two figures standing by his bed. He grinned feebly.
“What took you so damned long?”
“We hitchhiked with a couple of fighter planes out of Elendorf and came east as fast as we could,” Austin said. “How do you feel?”
“The right half of my body isn’t so bad, but the left feels as if it’s being pinched by red-hot pliers. And my nose doesn’t feel great.”
“The knife missed your lung by this much,” Austin said, pinching his thumb and forefinger. “It will take a while for the muscle to heal. Good thing you’re not a southpaw.”
“Figured it was something like that. Any word on Gamay or Francesca?” he said apprehensively.
“We think they’re still alive, but they were kidnapped by the goons who did this to you.”
“The police have checked airports and stations, the usual stuff,” Zavala said. “We’re going to start our own search.”
The pain in Paul’s blue eyes was replaced by a look of steely determination. He swung his long legs out of the bed and said, “I’m coming with you.” The painful effort made him dizzy, and he stopped as his stomach roiled for a few seconds. He jiggled the IV tube. “I may need a hand here, fellas. Don’t try to talk me out of this,” he said, catching Austin’s concerned expression.
“The best thing you can do is spring me from the joint. Hope you’ve got some pull with the floor nurse.”
Austin knew Paul well enough to realize he would drag himself from the hospital if he had to. Austin glanced at Zavala, who was smiling, and knew he’d get no help from that quarter.
“I’ll see what I can do.” He shrugged. “In the meantime, Joe, maybe you can get our friend here something more modest than that hospital johnny,” he said. Then he turned and headed for the nurses’ station.
Chapter 33
The mood in the tenth-floor
NUMA conference room was as somber as a crepe hangers’ convention. Admiral Sandecker hadn’t expected Trout to attend the emergency meeting, given the dire reports from the hospital. The lanky ocean geologist looked like warmed-over spit, but Sandecker kept his thoughts to himself. Nothing he could say would dissuade Paul from joining the hunt for Gamay and Francesca.
Sandecker flashed Trout a reassuring smile and looked around the table. Flanking Paul in case he fell out of his chair were his NUMA colleagues Austin and Zavala. The fourth figure at the table, a slightly built, narrow-shouldered man whose heavy horn rimmed glasses gave him a professorial air, was NUMA operations director Rudi Gunn, second in command to the admiral.
Sandecker checked his watch. “Where’s Yaeger?” His voice carried a hint of impatience.
Yaeger’s special computer skills bought him latitude with the NUMA dress code, but not even the president would dare show up late for a Sandecker meeting. Especially one as important as this.
“He’ll be along in a few minutes,” Austin explained. “I asked Hiram to check out something that might have a bearing on our discussion.”
A thought had been fluttering around like a butterfly inside
Austin’s skull. He had allowed himself a few hours of sleep after coming in from Alaska. The rest must have refreshed his mind. On his way in from Virginia he caught the elusive notion in an imaginary net. Seconds later he was talking to Yaeger on his cell phone. The computer whiz was driving in from the fashionable section of Maryland where he lived with his artist wife and two teenage daughters. Austin quickly outlined his idea, asked Yaeger to follow through, and said he would cover for him at t
he meeting.
Sandecker got right down to business. “We have a mystery on our hands, gentlemen. Two people have been kidnapped and one attacked by unknown assailants. Kurt, would you bring us up to date?”
Austin nodded. “The D.C. police are investigating every possible lead. The city van was found abandoned near the Washing ton Monument. The vehicle had been stolen a few hours earlier. No trace of fingerprints was found. All the airports and train stations are being watched. With help from Paul, the FBI put together a composite of the leader of the gang, and it’s being circulated with Interpol.”
“I suspect they will get nowhere,” Sandecker said. “The people we’re dealing with are professionals. The job of finding Gamay and Dr. Cabral will be up to us. As you know, Rudi has been out of the country on assignment. I’ve kept him current as best as I could, but it might help if you quickly gave us a chronological summary of the situation.”
Austin was prepared for the question. “This thing began ten years ago with the failed attempt to kidnap Francesca Cabral. Her plane crashed in the Venezuela rain forest, and it was assumed she was dead. Fast-forward ten years. Joe and I, quite literally, run into a dead pod of gray whales off San Diego. The whales died after being exposed to extreme heat emanating from an underwater facility off Baja California in Mexico. The facility blew up while we were investigating it. I talked to a Mexican mobster who was a front for the real owner, a California consulting firm called the Mulholland
Group. The mobster’s lawyer confirmed that Mulholland in turn is part of a transnational conglomerate named the Gogstad Corporation. The mobster and his lawyer were assassinated shortly after they talked to us.” “Rather spectacularly, as I recall,” Sandecker noted.
“That’s correct. These weren’t exactly drive-by shootings. The murders were well planned, and the hit men used sophisticated weaponry.”
“That would suggest well-organized assassins with extensive resources,” said Gunn, who had once served as director of logistics at NUMA and was well acquainted with the difficulties in pulling together any operation.
“We came to the same conclusion,” Austin agreed. “It was the kind of organization and resources that could be provided by a big corporation so motivated.”
“Gogstad?”
Austin nodded.
“I’m not sure I understand the significance of the name Gogstad,” Gunn said.
“The only connection I could find was the company logo. It shows the Gogstad Viking ship that was discovered back in the 1800s. I asked Hiram to see what he could dig up on the company. There isn’t a lot. Even Max had problems finding information, but basically it’s a huge conglomerate with holdings worldwide. It’s run by a woman named Brynhild Sigurd.”
“A woman,” Gunn noted with surprise. “Interesting name. Brynhild was a Valkyrie, one of the Norse maidens who carry the fallen heroes from the battlefield to Valhalla. Sigurd was her lover. You don’t suppose that was her real name, do you?”
“We don’t know much about the woman.”
“I know megacorporations can be ruthless in their business dealings,” Gunn said with a shake of his head, “but we’re talking about gangland methods here.”
“That’s the way it seems,” Austin said. He turned to Zavala. “Joe, could you fill Rudi in on your findings?”
“Kurt called me in California with the Gogstad lead,” Zavala said. “I talked to a newspaper reporter from the Los Angeles Times. He knew Gogstad quite well. In fact, he was heading an investigative team looking into the corporation. He told me they were doing a story on what he called the water pirates. It would reveal how Gogstad is cornering the world’s supply of water.”
“I can’t believe it’s possible for one company to control the world’s water,” Gunn said.
“I was pretty skeptical, too,” Zavala replied. “But from what the reporter told me it’s not that far-fetched. Gogstad’s companies have legally taken over the privatization of the Colorado River. Water is going from public to private ownership on every continent. Gogstad has muscled out the competition. The re porter said that there have been deaths and disappearances worldwide over the past several years. The missing or dead were all people who competed with Gogstad or opposed Gogstad takeovers.”
Gunn whistled softly. “That story should cause quite a stir when it hits the headlines.”
“That won’t happen any time soon. The paper killed the Gogstad story for no reason. The other three members of the investigative team have disappeared, and my friend has gone into hiding.”
“You’re sure there’s no mistake,” Gunn said with alarm.
Zavala slowly shook his head. There was silence in the room, then Gunn spoke.
“There’s obviously a pattern, then,” he said. “Let me think about this.” Gunn’s unprepossessing appearance was misleading. His graduation at the top of his class in the Naval Academy was no accident. He was a sheer genius, and his analytical skills were uncanny. He cradled his chin between his thumb and forefinger and lost himself in deep thought for a moment. “Something has changed,” he said abruptly.
“What do you mean, Rudi?” Sandecker said.
“Their methodology has shifted gears. Let’s assume that our basic premise is right and Gogstad is behind all this murder and mayhem. According to Joe, they have acted quietly. People quite simply vanished or were killed in so-called accidents. This changed with the murders of the Mexican and the crooked lawyer. I believe the word the admiral used to describe them was spectacular. ”
Austin chuckled. “Those were love pats compared with the attack in Alaska. Joe and I had to contend with an all-out military assault.”
“The attack on my house was on the heavy-handed side, too,” Trout added.
“I think I see where you’re headed with this, Rudi,” Sandecker said. “Paul, how soon did word get out that Dr. Cabral was alive?”
“Almost immediately,” Trout said. “Dr. Ramirez called Caracas from the helicopter that rescued us. The Venezuelan government lost no time making the news public. I would guess that CNN was broadcasting the story around the globe while we were still in the rain forest.”
“Events accelerated shortly thereafter,” Sandecker said. “The situation is clear to me. The catalyst was the news that Francesca Cabral was alive. Her emergence from the grave meant that her water-desalting process was again within the realm of possibility. With her expertise once more available, all that was needed was the rare substance that makes her process work. Dr. Cabral again planned to give her discovery to the world. The people who opposed this simply picked up where they left off ten years ago.”
“Only this time they succeeded,” Austin said.
“Okay, that explains Francesca’s kidnapping,” Trout said. “But why did they take Gamay?”
“This outfit does nothing at random,” Austin replied. “Gamay may have been lucky. She might have been killed if they didn’t have need of her. Is there anything else you can remember about the kidnapping, Paul?”
“I didn’t see much after the first few minutes they were in the house. The leader, the guy in black leather, spoke with an ac cent I can’t place. His pals had heavier accents.”
Sandecker had been sitting back in his chair, fingers tented in front of him, listening to the conversational byplay. He snapped upright.
“These hoodlums are the small fry. We must go right to the top. We must find this woman with the Wagnerian name who runs Gogstad.”
“She’s a ghost,” Austin said. “Nobody even knows where she lives.”
“She and Gogstad are the key,” Sandecker said firmly. “Do we know where their headquarters are?”
“They have offices in New York, Washington, and the West Coast. There must be a dozen scattered across Europe and Asia.”
“Quite the hydra,” Sandecker said.
“Even if we knew where their central office was, it wouldn’t do much good. To outward appearances, Gogstad is a legitimate business. They’ll deny any acc
usations we make.”
Hiram Yaeger slipped quietly into the room and settled into a chair. “Sorry,” he said. “I had to run some stuff off for the meeting.” He looked expectantly at Austin, who took the cue.
“I was thinking about something Hiram showed me earlier. It was a hologram of a Viking ship. The same ship is the centerpiece of the Gogstad corporate logo. I reasoned that this ship must have some significance to be given such a prominent place. I asked Hiram to start playing around with Gogstad, to go beyond the scant corporate stuff Max dug up for us.”
Yaeger nodded. “At Kurt’s suggestion I asked Max to go back and brush over the historical and maritime links I had pretty much ignored before. Tons of material on the subject exist, as you might imagine. Kurt had said to look for a California connection, perhaps with the Mulholland Group. Max picked up an interesting newspaper story. A Norwegian designer of antique ships had come to California to do a replica of the Gogstad ship for a wealthy client.”
“Who was the client?” Austin asked.
“The article didn’t say. But it was easy to track down the Norwegian designer. I called him a few minutes ago and asked about the job. He had been sworn to secrecy, but it was years ago, and he didn’t mind saying he built the replica for a big woman in a big house.”
“Big woman?”
“He meant tall. A giantess.”
“Sounds like a Scandinavian folktale. What’s this about the house?”
“He said it was like a modern-day Viking compound on the shores of a large lake in California surrounded by mountains.”
“Tahoe?”
“That was my conclusion.”
“A big Viking house on the shores of Lake Tahoe. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
“Already done. Max linked up to a commercial satellite.” Yaeger passed around copies of the satellite photos. “There are some big places around the lake, trophy homes, resorts and hotels. But nothing like this.”
The first picture showed the icy blue waters of Lake Tahoe viewed from a high altitude as if it were a puddle. In another photo the camera had zoomed down on a dot alongside the lake, enlarging the details so that the sprawling building and the nearby helicopter pad were clear.
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