Atlantis Found dp-15

by Clive Cussler

  "I did a favor for the chef once. Trust me, we'll have the best table in the house. Pick me up in front of my place at seven-thirty."

  "Can you get me a discount on the wine?"

  "You're cute," said Loren softly. "Goodbye."

  Pitt wasn't in the mood to wear a tie to a fancy restaurant. As he pulled the Ford up in front of Loren's town house in Alexandria, he was wearing gray slacks, a dark blue sport coat, and a saffron-colored turtleneck sweater. Loren spotted him and the car from her fourth-story balcony, waved, and came down. Chic and glamorous, she wore a charcoal lace-and-beadwork cardigan with palazzo pants pleated in the front under a black, knee-length imitation fur coat. She carried a briefcase whose charcoal leather matched her outfit. She'd seen from the balcony that Pitt had put the top up on the Ford, and so, since she did not have to worry about windblown hair, she didn't bother to wear a hat.

  Pitt stood on the sidewalk and opened the door for her. "Nice to see there are still a few gentlemen left," she said, with a flirty smile.

  He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "I come from the old school."

  The restaurant was only two miles away, just across the Capitol Beltway into Fairfax County, Virginia. The valet parking attendant's face lit up like a candle inside a Halloween pumpkin when he spotted the hotrod roll up in front of the elegant restaurant. The mellow tone from the exhaust pipes sent quivers up his spine.

  He handed Pitt a claim check, but before he drove away, Pitt leaned in and scanned the odometer. "Something wrong, sir?" asked the parking attendant.

  "Just reading the mileage," replied Pitt, giving the young man a knowing look.

  His dream of taking the hot rod out for a spin while its owner was inside having dinner now suddenly dashed, the attendant drove the car slowly into the lot and parked it next to a Bentley.

  St. Cyr's was an intimate dining experience. Established in an eighteenth-century colonial brick house, the owner-chef had come to Washington by way of Cannes and Paris after having been discovered by a pair of wealthy Washington developers with palates for fine food and wine. They'd bankrolled the restaurant, giving the chef a half interest. The dining room was decorated in deep blues and golds, with Moroccan-style decor and furniture. There were no more than twelve tables served by six waiters and four busboys. What Pitt especially enjoyed about St. Cyr's was the acoustics. With heavy curtains and miles of fabric on the walls, all sounds of conversation were cut to a bare minimum, unlike most restaurants, in which you couldn't hear what the person across the table was saying and the din literally ruined any enjoyment of a gourmet meal.

  After being seated at a table in a small private alcove off the main dining room by the maitre d', Pitt asked Loren, "Wine or champagne?"

  "Why ask?" she said. "You know a good Cabernet puts me in a vulnerable mood."

  Pitt ordered a bottle of Martin Ray Cabernet Sauvignon from the wine steward and settled comfortably into the leather chair. "While we're waiting to order, why don't you tell me what you've found on Destiny Enterprises?"

  Loren smiled. "I should make you feed me first."

  "Another politician on the take," he said satirically.

  She leaned down, opened her briefcase and retrieved several file folders. She passed them discreetly under the table. "Destiny Enterprises is definitely not a corporation that delights in public relations, promotional programs, or advertising. They have never sold stock, and are wholly owned by the Wolf family, which consists of three generations. They do not produce, nor do they distribute, profit-and-loss statements or annual reports. Obviously, they could never operate with such secrecy in the U.S., Europe, or Asia, but they wield enormous clout with the Argentine government, beginning with the Perons soon after World War Two."

  Pitt was reading the opening pages of the file when the wine arrived. After the wine steward poured a small amount in his glass, he studied the color, inhaled the scent, and then took a mouthful. He did not daintily sip the Cabernet but gently swirled it around in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing. He looked up at the wine steward and smiled. "I'm always amazed at the finesse yet the solid soul of a Martin Ray Cabernet Sauvignon."

  "A very excellent choice, sir," said the wine steward. "Not many of our patrons know it exists."

  Pitt indulged in another taste of the wine before continuing his study of the file. "Destiny Enterprises seems to have materialized out of nowhere in 1947."

  Loren stared into the deep, fluid red in her wineglass. "I hired a researcher to examine Buenos Aires newspapers of the time. There was no mention of Wolf in the business sections. The researcher could only pass on rumors that the corporation was made up of high Nazi officials who had escaped Germany before the surrender."

  "Admiral Sandecker talked about the flow of the Nazis and their stolen wealth by U-boat to Argentina during the final months of the war. The operation was orchestrated by Martin Bormann."

  "Wasn't he killed trying to escape during the battle of Berlin?" asked Loren.

  "I don't believe it was ever proven the bones they found many years later were his."

  "I read somewhere that the greatest unsolved mystery of the war was the total disappearance of the German treasury. Not one Deutschmark or scrap of gold was ever found. Could it be Bormann survived and smuggled the country's stolen wealth to South America?"

  "He heads the list of suspects," answered Pitt. He began sifting through the papers in the files, but found little of interest. Most were merely newspaper articles reporting business dealings of Destiny Enterprises that were too large to keep confidential. The most detailed analysis came from a CIA report. It listed the various activities and projects the corporation was involved in, but few if any details of their operations.

  "They seem quite diversified," said Pitt. "Vast mining operations for recovering gemstones, gold, platinum, and other rare minerals. Their computer software development and publishing division is the fourth largest in the world behind Microsoft. They're heavily into oil field development. They're also a world leader in nanotechnology."

  "I'm not sure what that is," said Loren.

  Before Pitt could answer, the waiter approached the table for their order. "What catches your fancy?" he asked her.

  "I trust your taste," she said softly. "You order for me."

  Pitt did not attempt to pronounce the menu courses in French. He held to straight English. "For the hors d'oeuvres, we'll have your house pate with truffles, followed by vichyssoise. For the main course, the lady will have the rabbit stewed in white wine sauce, while I'll try the sweetbreads in brown butter sauce."

  "How can you eat sweetbreads?" Loren asked, with an expression of distaste.

  "I've always had a craving for good sweetbreads," Pitt replied simply. "Where were we? Oh yes, nanotechnology. From what little I know on the subject, nanotechnology is a new science that attempts to control the arrangement of atoms, enabling the construction of virtually anything possible under natural law. Molecular repairs inside human bodies will be possible and manufacturing will be revolutionized. Nothing will be impossible to produce cheaply and with quality. Incredibly tiny machines that can reproduce themselves will be programmed to create new fuels, drugs, metals, and building products that would not be possible with normal techniques. I've heard that mainframe computers can be built with a volume as small as a cubic micron. Nanotechnology has to be the wave of the future."

  "I can't begin to imagine how it works."

  "It's my understanding the goal is to create what nanotechnology experts call an assembler, a submicroscopic robot with articulated arms that are operated by computers. Supposedly they could construct large, atomically precise objects by controlled chemical reactions, molecule by molecule. The assemblers can even be designed to replicate themselves. Theoretically, you could program your assemblers to build you a new custom set of golf clubs out of metals yet to be developed, a television set of a particular shape to fit a cabinet, even an automobile or an airplane, including special fu
el to run them."

  "Sounds fantastic."

  "The advances over the next thirty years should prove mind boggling."

  "That explains the file on Destiny's project in Antarctica," said Loren, pausing to sip her wine. "You'll find it in file 5-A."

  "Yes, I see it," acknowledged Pitt. "An extensive facility for mining minerals from the sea. They have to be the first to have ever profitably exploited seawater for valuable minerals."

  "It seems Destiny's engineers and scientists have developed a molecular device capable of separating minerals such as gold from seawater."

  "I assume the program is successful?"

  "Very," said Loren. "According to Swiss depository records obtained covertly by the CIA- I swore to them on a thousand Bibles that this information would remain strictly confidential- Destiny's deposits of gold into Swiss vaults come close to matching the hoard at Fort Knox."

  "Their retrieval of gold would have to be held on a select level, or world gold prices would plummet."

  "According to my sources, Destiny's management has yet to sell so much as an ounce."

  "For what purpose would they squirrel such an enormous hoard away?"

  Loren shrugged. "I have no idea."

  "Maybe they've slowly and discreetly sold to keep market prices up. If they suddenly flooded the market with tons of gold, their profits would go down the toilet."

  The waiter arrived with their pate with truffles. Loren took a dainty forkful into her mouth and made a gratified expression. "This is wonderful."

  "Yes, it is good," Pitt agreed.

  They relished the pate in silence, finishing the last morsel before Loren resumed the conversation. "Although the CIA has accumulated a mass of data on a neo-Nazi movement after the war, they did not find evidence of an underground conspiracy involving Destiny Enterprises or the Wolf family."

  "Yet according to this," said Pitt, holding up a stapled file of papers, "it was no secret that the loot stolen by the Nazis from the treasures of Austria, Belgium, Norway, France, and the Netherlands, plus much of the gold and financial assets of the Jews, were slipped into Argentina by U-boats after the war."

  Loren nodded. "Most of the gold and other hard assets were converted to currency and then diverted through central banks."

  "And the holder of the funds?"

  "Who else? Destiny Enterprises, soon after it was organized in 1947. What's strange is that there is no record of a Wolf on their board of directors in the early years."

  "They must have taken control later," said Pitt. "I wonder how the family shoved aside the old Nazi who fled Germany in 1945?"

  "Good question," Loren agreed. "Over the past fifty-four years, the Destiny empire has grown to where their power influences world banks and governments to an unimaginable degree. They literally own Argentina. One of my aides has an informant who claims a significant amount of money goes into campaign funds for members of our own Congress. That's probably the reason why no government investigation of Destiny Enterprises ever got off the ground."

  "Their tentacles also reach into the pockets of our honored senators and House representatives, and many of the people who have served in the White House."

  Loren held up both hands. "Don't look at me. I never knowingly got a dime under the table from Destiny for my campaign funds."

  Pitt threw her a foxlike look. "Really?"

  She kicked him under the table. "Stop that. You know perfectly well I've never been on the take. I happen to be one of the most respected members of Congress."

  "Maybe the prettiest, but your esteemed colleagues don't know you like I do."

  "You're not funny."

  The bowls of vichyssoise were set before them and they savored the taste, enhanced by an occasional sip of the Martin Ray Cabernet. The wine didn't take long to course through their veins and mellow their minds, and the attentive waiter was always nearby to refill their glasses.

  "It's beginning to look like what the Nazis couldn't achieve by mass slaughter, destruction, and warfare, they're accomplishing through economic power," said Loren.

  "World domination is passé," Pitt disagreed. "The Chinese leaders might have it in the back of their heads, but as their economy builds the country into a superpower, they'll come to realize that a war will only bring it crashing down. Since Communist Russia fell, the major wars of the future will be economic. The Wolfs understand that economic power ultimately leads to political power. They have the resources to buy whatever and whoever they want. The only question is what direction are they headed in."

  "Did you get anything out of the woman you apprehended last night?"

  "Only that doomsday is just around the corner, and the entire human race, with the exception of the Wolf family, of course, will be wiped out when a comet strikes the earth."

  "You don't buy that?" asked Loren.

  "Do you?" Pitt said cynically. `A thousand doomsdays have come and gone with little more upheaval than a passing rain shower. Why the Wolfs are disseminating such a myth is a mystery to me."

  "What do they base their reasoning on?"

  "The predictions of the ancient race of people known as the Amenes."

  "You can't be serious," she said, bewildered. "A family as affluent and shrewd as the Wolfs buying a myth from a race that died out thousands of years ago?"

  "That's what the inscriptions said in the chambers we found in the Indian Ocean and Colorado."

  "Admiral Sandecker briefly mentioned your discoveries in our phone conversation before I picked you up at the airport, but you've yet to tell me about your discoveries."

  Pitt made a helpless gesture with his hands. "I haven't had a chance."

  "Maybe I should begin putting my affairs in order."

  "Before you prepare to meet your maker, wait until we run it by astronomers who track asteroids and comets."

  The soup dishes were removed and their entrees were placed on the table. The chef's presentations of both the stewed rabbit and the sweetbreads were works of art. Pitt and Loren admired the sight in anticipation of the taste. They were not disappointed.

  "The rabbit was an excellent choice," she said between mouthfuls. "It's delicious."

  Pitt had an expression of ecstasy on his face. "When I'm served sweetbreads from a master chef, I hear bells with every bite. The sauce is a triumph."

  "Try my rabbit," said Loren, holding up her plate.

  "Care to try my sweetbreads?" queried Pitt.

  "No, thank you," she said, wrinkling her nose. "I'm not keen on internal organs."

  Fortunately, the portions were not as large as dishes served in lesser restaurants, and they did not feel stuffed when it was time for dessert. Pitt ordered the peaches cardinal- poached peaches with raspberry puree. Later, over Remy Martin brandy, they resumed their discussion.

  "None of what I've seen or heard about the Wolfs makes sense," said Pitt. "Why amass a fortune if they think their financial empire will go up in smoke after the comet's impact?"

  Loren swirled the brandy in her glass, staring at the golden sparkle of the liquid in front of the light from the table's candle. "Perhaps they intend to survive the catastrophe."

  "I've heard that from Elsie Wolf and one of their assassins in Colorado," said Pitt. "But how can they survive a worldwide disaster better than anyone else?"

  "Did you read file eighteen?" Loren asked.

  Pitt did not immediately answer, but sifted through the folders until he found the file marked "eighteen." He opened it and read. After two or three minutes, he looked up and stared into Loren's violet eyes. "Is this verified?"

  She nodded. "It's as though Noah built an entire fleet of arks."

  "Four colossal ships," Pitt said slowly. "One passenger liner, actually a floating community, six thousand feet in length by fifteen hundred feet wide, thirty-two stories high, displacing three and a half million tons." He looked up, his brow furrowed. "A fanciful concept, but hardly practical."

  "Read the rest of it," said Loren.
"It gets better."

  "The gigantic oceangoing vessel has a large hospital, schools, entertainment centers, state-of-the-art engineering technologies. An airport with an extensive runway on the upper deck will house and maintain a small fleet of jet aircraft and helicopters, and living quarters and office facilities will accommodate five thousand passengers and crew" Pitt shook his head in disbelief. "A huge vessel like that should hold at least fifty thousand people."

  "Actually, twice that number."

  "Check out the other three vessels."

  Pitt continued reading. "They also have the same mammoth dimensions. One is a cargo and maintenance vessel, housing machinery and manufacturing facilities with an immense cargo of vehicles, construction machinery, and building materials. The second is a veritable zoo-"

  "See," Loren interrupted. "There is an ark."

  "The last vessel is a supertanker built to carry tremendous amounts of oil, natural gas, and various other fuels." Pitt closed the folder and gazed at Loren. "I heard such vessels were on the drawing boards, but I had no idea they were actually built, and certainly not by Destiny Enterprises."

  "The hulls were built in sections and then towed to a secluded shipyard owned by Destiny Enterprises on an isolated fjord on the southern tip of Chile. There, the exterior superstructure and the interior build-out was completed, and the ships furnished and loaded. Estimates state the passengers and crews of the fleet should be self-sufficient, with enough food and supplies to last them twenty or more years."

  "Haven't outsiders visited the vessels? Hasn't the news media written articles on what has to be the world's largest seagoing vessels?"

  "Read the CIA's report on the shipyard," explained Loren. "The area is heavily restricted and patrolled by a small army of security guards. No outsiders get in or get out. The shipyard workers and their families are housed in a small community ashore without ever leaving the ships or the yard. Surrounded by the Andes, a hundred mountainous islands, and two peninsulas, the only way in and out of the fjord is by sea or aircraft."

  "The investigation by the CIA seems cursory. They haven't studied the Destiny Enterprises project in depth."