On the other side of the screens sat Calisto with her hands folded in her lap, as she always did, like a frightened schoolgirl in the principal's office. Her dark eyes shimmered in the brightness of the white room where he first encountered her. Calisto held her hands open wide and Purdue motioned with his head for the captain of the security team to scan her fingerprints.
"Calisto Fernandez, born in London, 1975. Police sergeant for four years in Madrid where she was dismissed for shooting a colleague?" Purdue said, sounding more amused than shocked.
"Boyfriend. Caught him cheating on me, so I shot him," she explained, not sounding sorry at all.
"Ah! Makes sense. Is he dead?" Purdue smiled, as he tossed the little ball from one hand to the other.
"I did not check. His boyfriend ran and I gave chase," she said, without any change in tone of expression. After the three security guards and Mr. Purdue took a moment to take that in, she added with a shrug, "He's dead."
Among astonished scoffing and some sniggering, Purdue continued.
"I see you took some extra courses during your police career, sergeant—studied criminal psychology and some background in basic tactical training. Good. There is not much on you otherwise, which is odd," he noted, and looked up from the monitor with a questioning frown.
"Well, I'm a Leo. I love chocolate and folk dancing. Sometimes I grind my teeth when I sleep . . ." she said in a monotonous drawl, while her eyes rested on the ceiling. The security guards did everything not to laugh, although the captain was not amused at all.
"Show some respect!" he shouted at Calisto.
She turned to him and narrowed her eyes, "Why? Do I have the sniveling puppy job now?"
Purdue cleared his throat.
"You seem to have a problem with discipline, Ms. Fernandez," he announced, "and the places I go call for a strictly obedient bodyguard. I need to know if I could trust you to tail me, protect me and . . . Listen. To. Me," Purdue emphasized the latter with accentuated words.
"With all due respect, Mr. Purdue, until you pay my salary I don't give a flying fuck who you are or who people think you are. I need incentive to be leashed, unlike these ladies here," Calisto said, in her low husky voice, displaying absolutely no emotional ripples or fear.
Purdue liked that. Not only was she as efficient and cold as the late Ziv Blomstein, but he guessed that she used her own discretion under pressure and she obviously was not easily subjugated. These things could count in his favor, he reckoned.
"Gentlemen, would you please excuse us?" Purdue finally said in his normal lighthearted way. When he was alone with Calisto he printed her contract, on which her substantial fee was posted.
"Goddamn! You want me to kill the queen or what?" she marveled at the amount he offered her.
"No, Calisto, I am buying the most expensive and ultimately the most costly service from you—trust, unchallenged loyalty. And when this contract is concluded you will have the prerogative to apply for a permanent post in this capacity. Consider this your probation period," Purdue sang in his best sales pitch.
Calisto spared no time in grabbing his pen to sign her name to join his service.
"I have two other people already recruited. This top-secret venture is among four of us only and I expect everything to be handled with utmost confidence. Do you understand?" he asked.
"Unequivocally, sir," the rigid discipline rang in Calisto's voice, as she took on her duty immediately.
"Excellent," Purdue smiled with glee.
In the late afternoon he sent a very important email to Sam Cleave. Although things were rocky between them, Purdue turned to Cleave to record the progress of the new discovery. Cleave had an established reputation now, his work was excellent and he was not the worst person to have on a trip. How he would gel with Dr. Gould after their jagged parting was none of his concern. Purdue trusted Cleave to keep a secret as long as he needed him to, a rare quality in a world-renowned investigative journalist. There were secrets in that U-boat at the bottom of the ocean and whatever they were, he needed an expert, such as Nina to decipher and interpret them.
He felt his excitement bound as he started typing the message.
Dear Mr. Cleave,
I trust you are well and handling the pressures of society swimmingly.
If you are not held up with another project, I would once more like to procure your services to document a venture I am embarking on within the next two weeks, if all goes well.
Of course, I cannot discuss the details here, so I would appreciate it if you could grace me with a visit within the next three days.
I am afraid time is of the utmost urgency for me to finalize the details of the excursion, so I need to impress on you the gravity of our meeting. You can reply to this email to confirm your interest. The rest we will discuss when you come to see me.
Appreciate your swift response, Sam. I look forward to seeing you.
Have a good week.
Regards,
Dave Purdue
PS: Do you have scuba training?
By the following week Purdue had meticulously laid out his plans, signed contracts with Sam and Nina and notified them of the rendezvous point from where they would be transported to the platform of Deep Sea One. The manufacturers from Holland had delivered his new submersible to the oil rig where it was docked and ready. Now things began to fall into place for the first phase of his discovery. Purdue could not wait to sink beneath the waves to meet her, to excavate her and see what she held hostage.
☼
Chapter 9
Nina felt queasy when she saw the small private helicopter. Not only was she claustrophobic, but the thought of seeing Sam Cleave again only exacerbated her apprehension. It was as if she was forced to deal with Frank Matlock's lackeys wherever she went lately. Because of the excitement she felt after Purdue had informed her of the exact nature of the new exploration, she had hardly been able to get more than two hours of sleep a night. Her eyes felt swollen and sandy, although she looked perfectly normal to the untrained eye. Nina felt as if she had stepped into a dream. Lack of sleep made her feel like a zombie and she dreaded the obligatory small talk she would have to engage in before she would be forced to deal with that traitor she once thought she had developed a fancy for.
"Good morning, Dr. Gould," Gary, the pilot, smiled, as the small lady's posh bop cut became disheveled by the gusts of the rotors. Her clothing whipped up from the upturn of the machine's gale but she attempted a smile, "Good morning. I'm sorry I am a bit tardy—overslept."
"No problem, ma'am. I needed a coffee break anyway," the friendly pilot winked.
His kind demeanor made her feel better. For a minute she forgot that she was unhappy about getting into the helicopter, but Gary was one of those people who could make a paranoid agoraphobic feel at ease if he had to. After loading her bag into the Robbie he helped her in.
"Everything okay? No worries, ma'am, I have been a pilot for twenty years and I have a smashing good record," he assured her, and then realized his choice of words were rather unfit for the passenger's comfort. Nina raised an eyebrow to the remark and the poor man smiled sheepishly.
"I am a bit uncomfortable in cramped spaces, that's all," she winced politely, so that he would understand any strange reactions from her.
"Ah!" he nodded as he closed the door. The sound of the rotating blades above Nina's head reminded her of a carnivorous ceiling fan that was sucking her up into it. From the inside of the helicopter the chopping thuds pulsed into her gut, an awfully peculiar sensation she had never had before. Gary got in and showed her how to strap in. He was always reluctant to buckle up women, because it was uncomfortable and dangerous. One slip and he'd be sued for sexual harassment. Nina did not usually mind flying, but now that she was again in some form of hovercraft, just like her trip to Wolfenstein, she was inadvertently thrown a slideshow of memories to the expedition from which she thought she'd never escape alive.
It was perhaps a good thing
that she jumped at the sudden lift of the Robbie. It saved her from remembering the particularly heinous things about Wolfenstein that she still had nightmares about on occasion. Her tummy tingled from the positive Gs she pulled as the craft ascended higher and higher in the mild wind, which rocked it gently. Gary smiled at the lady's sudden grip on the seat as they bunted forward, snout tilted forward.
He knew enough about people skills to read when someone did not want to talk during the flight. She seemed to be one of those, so the pilot kept quiet and hoped that the scenery would impress Dr. Gould. But Dr. Gould thought of other things than the majestic panorama. After Purdue briefed her she had plowed into her books and data disks about Nazi treasure and the U-boats that were supposed to transport it to various locations around the world. It was a fascinating, although generally unfounded, theory.
With her research Nina had discovered that a few U-boats went missing during the latter part of the Second World War, unaccounted for and never registered. Registered submarines from numerous countries that were using the XXI class were all accounted for, regardless of how and where their fate had finally led them. Three that she knew of never made it to their destinations after trying to reach a German ally, Japan, with supposed art treasures. It was a well-known fact that a lot of those treasures had never been recovered. The thought of maybe having found one of them excited her to no end. Not only would it finally initiate her success to open academic doors, but on a personal level, as a lover of history, the thought was undeniably exhilarating.
On the other hand, she could not find anything good about seeing Sam again. Her mother always told her that holding grudges only made life heavier, "like dragging an anvil strapped to your ankle." She gave it some thought and decided that Sam Cleave's betrayal was worth a bit of weight training on her part. Before she knew it, her flight had grown much shorter, speeding by with some good old contemplation.
"There is Deep Sea One, ma'am," Gary motioned with his head to his right, as the mighty structure came into sight. "Your new temporary home." Gary winked at her, hoping that the quiet passenger at least harbored a sense of humor.
"Gee, thanks," she said, keeping her tone lighter than her heart to appease the playful pilot. Besides, she enjoyed being addressed as "ma'am" instead of "doctor," for a change. It made her realize just how terrible and nonexistent her capacity as woman had become. She was far from the sexy carefree chick she used to be when she started studying. Now she was just a brain in a hot body that was never flaunted, a sexless drone with too many books. Gone was her flirtatious side, her passion and her whimsy. And funny thing was, she had not noticed until being addressed by her gender just then.
"It is huge! It looks like the death star or a city of mangled iron!" she exclaimed in awe, hoping that the isolation of the place would be kinder than the tent in the ice. There was as much chance of this group of people stranded on a desolate surface to turn on one another the same way the others had. "Is it actively running oil lines?"
"Yep," Gary said, "Built in 1986 and still going strong."
Nina's eyes took in all the intricate angles and beams, perfectly woven for functionality, but what scared her was the size of the drills and the cranes that silently lurched over the platform teeming with sea spray every time the giant ocean shifted under its blue grey blanket. As the Robbie slowly descended on the giant circle marked "H," Nina combed the area for Sam Cleave, but there were only four men standing under a corrugated metal roof. She recognized Purdue among them, nursing a huge mug of something he was using to warm his hands.
"How was your trip?" Purdue asked, when she stumbled along the platform in the wild water, which seemed to come from all sides.
"It was okay. Your pilot is nice," she shouted in the thunderous pattering, as he led her to the deck landing and down some stairs.
"Yea, he's Canadian. It is built in. Would you like a hot beverage while we wait?" he asked, as he closed the door, locking out the wild waves.
"Yes, please. I'm soaked. What are we waiting for?" she asked, and as her words left her mouth she knew the answer.
"Sam should be arriving soon, I think, and then we can have a look at the footage. Nina, you have to see this vessel. It is perfectly intact. Just some water corrosion, but otherwise it looks easily accessible. I must admit I have not been sleeping much since I first saw it on the minisub's camera footage," Purdue spilled.
"Oh, I know what that's like," Nina replied, quite curious to see the vessel. "Can we have a look?"
"I have to wait for Mr. Cleave, my dear. Is my charming company not enough?" he purred, and Nina suddenly remembered why she hated hearing his name. Hoping to break Purdue's advances, she threw in a question which had been plaguing her, "Why would you want to get a journalist in on your secret discovery, Mr. Purdue? Is that not directly counterproductive?"
"To document the findings, why else?" he said nonchalantly.
"And if he runs off and purges his knowledge for a price? After all, is it not his profession to inform and report about things other people wish to keep secret?" Nina almost shrieked. She failed miserably at hiding her defensiveness. It appeared that Sam Cleave was more of a sore spot for her than Purdue initially thought.
"Now, now, Nina, you know he was an invaluable member of the previous venture. If I recall correctly, he was your choice of companionship for most of the time. Can't you just tuck away that hostility?" Purdue coaxed, but Nina felt that he rather had the ability to provoke her rage.
"Whatever you say, Mr. Purdue. I hope you are paying him enough to keep your secret," she said, and looked out on the angry ocean, akin to her own frustration. Shamelessly she coveted a cigarette and wondered if there was any alcohol on Deep Sea One.
At the airfield Sam Cleave waited for the helicopter pilot to collect him from the lounge. On the table in front of him were his cell phone and an ashtray with four crumpled butts in it. He rhythmically kicked his duffle bag under the table while he looked out from the wide window to the goings-on of the airstrip. A blunt headache chiseled away at his brain, filling his skull with burning waves every time something loud happened. On the tender spot above his navel, nausea persisted that he could not rid himself of, no matter how many potions he prepared to alleviate the discomfort. There were few things worse than a hangover and today he had the pleasure to host one. Checking his watch he realized that there was time for one more cigarette before his ride would arrive. The orange fire of the burning tobacco brightened as he sucked in the smoke and he wondered what Purdue was up to this time.
He had not been given any more detail than the basic. Most important, his camera gear was needed. Apart from that he was not quite sure what it was all about, but he knew it was on the North Sea and had to be kept discreet. The money was extravagant, so Sam was happy to comply with anything Purdue wished to bribe him for. Knowing the flamboyant billionaire it was probably an island of mermaids he bought or maybe he managed to perfect what the USS Eldridge could not complete during the Philadelphia Experiment. Nothing would surprise him.
"Mr. Cleave," a man in a uniform addressed him. His voice was remarkably clear in the din of the roaring planes, something Sam did not appreciate.
"Yes."
"This way for the Purdue party," the man said loudly and led the way.
Good God, can your voice be any sharper? Sam thought, as he gathered up his gear and followed.
A few hours later he was circling over Deep Sea One, marveling at the deserted location. It was far offshore and immediately Cleave grew suspicious. It was in international waters, not bound by any specific country's laws and that roused his bullshit meter. Cynicism was part of his job, not to believe what he saw on the surface. Why would the location of Purdue's oil rig be so far out? Unless he discovered a potent vein deeper in. The platform was enormous and it reminded him of the Eiffel Tower if it had been swallowed by the sea and lived there for two hundred years. His journalistic inquisitiveness took over and a thousand questions darted throug
h his mind as they landed with a swaying jerk on the deck. What could be so damn secretive to a bloody oil rig? Exactly what kind of secret could possibly be kept here?
Sam saw a few men move up and down the iron stairs, as the pilot led him to the control rooms where he recognized Purdue's boisterous yapping. He heard another voice too, that of a woman.
"Nina," he gasped a little too loudly, as he entered the doorway and saw the small fire breather standing against the wall. Even though she expected him, she did not think that his actual arrival would ignite her hurt so much and she bit her lip in Purdue's presence.
"Welcome to Deep Sea One, Mr. Cleave," Purdue smiled. "Tea?"
Sam nodded briefly and looked at Nina, who glared at him with a hint of abhorrence from the brim of her cup. He had no idea that she was involved. Purdue sure had a knack, or is that a perverted amusement, for uniting foes just to watch the chemical chaos it birthed. This was probably why he was not told who else was involved, but now he was here, packed, ready and well paid. His imbursement was incentive enough to bear with Nina Gould and her fury.
"Mr. Purdue," Liam peeked in, "Phone call for you."
"Excuse me, Sam. Here—finish making your tea. I shall be back shortly," he smirked and shoved a mug in Sam's hand. For a moment the journalist wanted to go with his host, not wanting to be left alone with the bully. But he had to face her. In his opinion she had overreacted anyway and she had no reason to be mad.
"So you had to wedge in on this one too, huh? Not enough fame yet? Are Matlock's coattails finally withering?" she snapped at him in a hushed tone.
"What did I do, Nina? Come on. Out with it," he replied, as he busied himself with the kettle.
"I thought you had some integrity, Sam. I thought you were like me, not easily swayed by the guile of fame and glory and money. So what do you do? You whore out on me!" she hissed, moving closer to him so that she could comfortably chew him out.
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