Leviathan egt-4

by David L. Golemon

  "What's not there?" she asked, stepping up to stand next to him.

  "The analysis on the battery casings."

  "You mean the rubber?"

  "Yes," Ellenshaw said as his gaze wandered the interior of the vault, not settling on any one spot.

  The cryptozoologist walked over to the lump of burned rubber and ran his slim fingers over its rough surface.

  "Several tons of raw rubber would have been used in the research and construction of the many, many batteries enclosed in the vessel. I'm sure of it, it's so obvious," he said as he finally looked down at his assistant. "Traceable rubber." He smiled for the first time.

  "I don't think you can trace rubber, Professor," she said.

  "Not the rubber, Miss Birdsong — the research and development, and the plantations that produced it."

  "You think you can trace the research and plantations back that far?"

  "One thing you can always count on is the fact that companies and universities the world over require data — progress reports for the expenditure of funds — and those reports have to be filed."

  "But it's been so long—"

  Ellenshaw didn't hear her words as he shot out of the vault and disappeared.

  * * *

  The meeting inside the main conference room on level seven began on time.

  "Before we get started, I just overheard several conversations about the kidnapping of our personnel. This has to stop. It may sound cold to many of you, but that train of thinking will just get in our way. It will make you try too hard, press, and believe me, you'll screw up. Now, let's get started."

  Pete nodded toward Will Mendenhall, who turned and opened the door for three women to enter the conference room. They were carrying two large plastic containers. They placed these on the conference table.

  "This is Professor Angela Vargas, of the physics and nuclear sciences department. She's heading things up in Virginia's absence," Pete explained.

  As the young physicist pulled material from the first box, Jack noticed for the first time that Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III was not present; he never made it back from the burned-out vault area. In addition, Dr. Gene Robbins was missing from the meeting. Collins hoped both men were getting somewhere with their individual assignments.

  "This is one of the protective jumpsuits the attackers were wearing, recovered from one of the bodies — the one killed by Lieutenant McIntire," Vargas said as she looked at her notes.

  Everett chanced a look over at Jack, but he sat stoically and did not react at all to Sarah's name or her killing of one of the assailants.

  "At first glance, we thought it was a standard special forces-issued garment, until we placed it under the electron microscope per Dr. Golding's orders to leave no stone unturned. Well, he was right." She handed the black jumpsuit to Jack. He didn't react to the dried blood. "Colonel, feel the material. What would your opinion be?"

  "It feels like standard issue, maybe with some Kevlar weaved in, what we would call Nomex IIIA."

  "Very good, Colonel, however you are wrong. Not Nomex, not polyester, not a Kevlar weave." She looked around the room for dramatic effect. "It's seaweed."

  The department heads mumbled as they looked at the material.

  "That's right, Callophycus serratus, very rare, very expensive. This seaweed has also been known to kill cancer cells. Therefore, if someone has such an abundance of this seaweed to make clothing, they must have a rich farm of unknown size in the ocean depths."

  "Where is this seaweed found, Professor?" Jack asked as he and many others were busy scribbling on the pads.

  "Two of the only known sites in the world are located just off of Fiji, and the largest is off Papua, New Guinea. The rest of the seaweed beds in the world wouldn't be enough to make a string bikini, much less outfit a bunch of pirates."

  "Very good, nice start, Professor. What else have you got?" Pete asked.

  "This." She brought out one of the strange-looking weapons. It was short, powerful looking, and jet-black.

  Carl Everett sat up and looked at the weapon Professor Vargas was holding so cavalierly. When she suddenly tossed the weapon at him, he caught it with both hands. Then his eyebrows rose and he stood away from the table. The entire weapon, with ammunition magazine, could not have weighed more than three pounds.

  "It's light, too light to be real," Carl said as he handed the weapon to Jack.

  "There's a reason for that, Captain. It's not made of steel. Believe me when I say no gunsmith in the world has ever seen anything like that weapon. I fired it myself at the shooting range. It's compact and extremely accurate."

  "Okay, you've amazed us, Professor. What's it made of?"

  "All we know is that it is some kind of polymer. Plastic, but unlike any plastic we have ever seen before. It will take months to break the matrix down so we can analyze it. However, a new plastic is not what's so amazing about this weapon — it's the characteristics of the material. For the first time in history, someone has invented a biodegradable plastic that will disintegrate, with only natural forces working against it, in fifteen to twenty years of being buried in soil."

  "Impossible," several men and women said at the same time.

  "Our environmental chamber experiments are documented and are available, and confirmed through Europa. It's there, read the report. We don't know who we're dealing with here, but whoever they are, they're far more than a century ahead of us in technology."

  The room grew quiet as everyone absorbed what the professor had said. Their hopes of finding and stopping this group were growing fainter.

  Carl looked over at Jack and stood.

  "I'm getting back to work. Dr. Robbins needs supervision."

  Collins nodded as Everett left the conference room.

  "Thank you, Professor. Please inform me when you have conducted tests on all material recovered from our intruders." Pete rubbed his forehead and tried to think, but he was just too tired. He removed his thick glasses and looked at all the department heads.

  "You have your assignments in front of you. Some departments will be coordinating with others that seemingly have no business being put together. We are shorthanded and have been for the past six weeks. The next few days won't be any different. We're calling in former members to assist in filling vacancies, but that will take a while. Thank you, we'll meet again when we—"

  At that moment, the doors opened and in came Ellenshaw. He held up a sheath of papers and several computer discs. He nodded at Pete, indicating he had news.

  Pete nodded to Ellenshaw, who in turn gave several discs to the audiovisual technician who dimmed the lights and turned on the main holographic machine. The hologram projector used a micromisting system in the ceiling to create the 3-D effect without the need for a screen, and the four projectors hit the water mist from four sides, producing the hologram effect.

  "Okay, what we have here is a visual of vault 298907, placed inactive for further investigation on nine October nineteen eighty-three. This is file footage of the vault before the fire. We do have detailed pictures and listings of everything documented on that submarine. Dr. Golding assigned me the task of digging through the mess inside the vault, while the engineers were busy shoring up the affected levels. I have a rather bizarre and fantastic theory I would like to advance, which I am accustomed to doing, about the submarine and its origins."

  The man with wild white hair looked around the table. His lab coat was dirty and water-stained from the flooded vault, and one of his pant legs was still rolled up past his right ankle. He smiled and raised his half-moon glasses into his crazily swirling hair.

  "As you may know, we have had many discussions in the past about this strange vessel and its origins. Being as old as it is, let us say it's made for some very far-out speculation in crypto, I'll tell you. Number one among most theories, and it's common knowledge I support said theory, is that Jules Verne may have received inspiration for his novel, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, from
this very artifact. The chances are just too farfetched not to connect the dots here. However, that is not of importance at this time. What is of paramount importance is why this modern-day crackpot wants to destroy something that is at least a hundred and fifty years of age and seemingly could cause them no harm at all?"

  Ellenshaw nodded toward the navy signalman, who changed the view on the hologram.

  "Thank you, Smitty. As you see, this is the vault as it is now, burned out and most items unrecognizable." The professor lifted his notebook, walked into the micromist, and pointed to items lying on the floor. "The batteries, burned and almost unrecognizable, reduced to large lumps of rubberized crud due to the heat produced internally by the dried acid within. Correct?" He looked around the conference room but saw no one as the mist was hiding them.

  "Professor Ellenshaw, could you speed it up?" Pete asked, a bit impatient.

  "Right, well, we combed through the debris and for nine hours we went through the files with a microscope." He hunched his shoulders and threw up his arms in exasperation. "Nothing; not a damn thing. We didn't know why destroying this thing was so important. We were at a dead end."

  Pete was eyeing him, the same impatient look on his face.

  "But we weren't." He pointed once more to the batteries. "That is what's known as a composite material, basically a rubber and graphite mix. During the time we believe the submarine was built, natural rubber was in common use; however, graphite was not. It's a simple carbon-based material we once used in pencils and is a base used in batteries today. We know there was more than a ton of this composite material used in the construction of the battery system utilized on Leviathan." He smiled. "With the assistance of Europa, I was able to trace a large sale of graphite and an even larger sale of rubber from a Malay plantation in eighteen thirty-seven, purchased through the engineering department at the University of Oslo. It took several hours, but Europa finally uncovered the name of the professor involved — Francis N. Heirthall."

  "Okay, where does that lead us?" Pete asked.

  "Our good professor was not your normal engineer; he was wealthy beyond measure and only utilized the university's laboratories for security reasons. His real engineering skills were that of a marine engineer, and he held advanced degrees in biology."

  Pete was silent as the information was absorbed. He pursed his lips and examined the hologram, confused on one point — why would anyone destroy the vault to protect a hundred-and-fifty-year-old professor?

  "Has this been verified by Europa?" Liz Patrick of the engineering department asked.

  "Absolutely. I have already turned the results of my inquiry over to Dr. Robbins for further investigation."

  "Anything else, Charlie?"

  "One other thing. We did come across something in the files that became of interest only after we discovered the destination of these large orders. The barnacles recovered from the submarine's hull back in nineteen sixty-seven were a mixed breed of organisms. However, the bulk of these originated near the southern Mariana chain of islands, Guam in particular. Cirripedia acrothoracica, a new species of barnacle discovered only recently and indigenous to that area and those islands."

  The audiovisual tech switched pictures after a nod from Ellenshaw. On the hologram, a map of the South Pacific appeared. Ellenshaw once more stepped up into the mist cloud. He pulled a laser marker from his coat pocket and placed it on Papua, New Guinea. "Now, I was given a report on the seaweed earlier, and if I was informed correctly, this seaweed used in the manufacture of our bad guys' clothing came from here, correct?"

  Jack was looking at the map intently, knowing what Ellenshaw was trying to do. Pete Golding nodded his head at Charlie's question.

  Ellenshaw then drew a laser line from New Guinea north toward Guam, then abruptly south to the southern chain of the same islands. The figure formed an elongated triangle. "I daresay it's a long shot, but that's what the crypto team is good at: placing silly bets on lost causes."

  "Wait, what is the third marker for?" Pete asked.

  Ellenshaw smiled. "The island at the southern tip of the Marianas was owned by a very wealthy family from Norway — the Heirthalls."

  "You're saying that the people we are seeking — or at the very least, their ancestor — frequented this area?" Pete asked, taking off his glasses.

  "No, what I'm saying is that this is more than likely their lair — or to be more precise, what used to be their lair. In addition, you may ask how could a vessel such as this ply the waters in the eighteen-sixties, and not be spied more frequently. It couldn't have," he answered for them, "at least not in the crowded oceans near industrialized nations. It would have to have been based in a region where there was virtually no water traffic, and what better place than the Marianas?"

  "Doc, I think you may have something. It's gut instinct, but everything you've said makes sense… in your always strange points of fact. The evidence, at least, says we may have a starting point."

  Ellenshaw looked at Colonel Collins, and with his eyes and a dip of his chin thanked him for supporting his theory.

  "Okay, good work, Charlie, we'll run with what you have. Now let's see what Batman and Robin can do with Europa and your new information."

  As the department heads left, Collins stayed behind. He looked from Ellenshaw to the tired-looking Golding.

  "Are you resting, Pete?" Jack asked, watching the man's eyes, which were a nice light blue when not covered by glasses.

  "No… but I will."

  "You know who the saboteur is, don't you, Pete?" Jack asked. Ellenshaw stopped gathering his paperwork and watched the exchange. As he did he pulled a printout from his notes and waited.

  Golding bit his lip, turned to look down at his own pile of notes and briefing materials, then slowly started to gather them up.

  "Yes, I believe I do. I wanted more evidence, because what I have is circumstantial at best."

  "Pete, all they had was circumstantial evidence on Ted Bundy, but they still knew who he was and what he did," Jack said. "Whoever it is cannot be free to roam the complex. That person is responsible for the death of our people, and the kidnapping of our friends."

  Pete meekly tossed the papers back down onto the table and turned his back on Collins and Ellenshaw.

  "Who, Doc?" Jack persisted, almost afraid to hear his answer.

  "The complex at least, I believe, is safe for right now. The person I suspect is no longer here."

  Collins closed his eyes, wanting not to see Pete's mouth move when he spoke the words.

  "It was Virginia, damn her soul, Virginia Pollock, who sabotaged the vaults and tried to kill Europa when she let those animals into our home."

  Collins was stunned. The air in the conference room almost became unbearable to breathe as each man took the information, allowing it to sink in and corrupt all good thoughts.

  Jack's mind refused to bridge the name to the act of cold-blooded murder.

  "During both failures of Europa, Virginia was the only person online. Professor Ellenshaw confirmed my suspicions when he mentioned the name Heirthall. At the same time Virginia sabotaged Europa, she was tasking the computer on several queries."

  "I still don't believe it," Jack said as he looked at the computer login times.

  "I was hesitant to bring this up, because in a court of law it would be thrown out as guilt by association," Ellenshaw said as he removed his own glasses and rubbed his eyes. "That and the fact I really like Dr. Pollock. She's a dear friend."

  "Charlie, please," Pete said looking at the cryptozoologist.

  "I ran the name through Europa's database, looking for any correlation between the name Heirthall and any person working within the complex, just to be thorough." He tossed a printout and Jack picked it up. "That is the list of the MIT graduating class of nineteen eighty-one."

  Jack looked down the list and saw the names he was looking for — Alexandria Heirthall, and far below that, Virginia Pollock.

  There was nothing
left to say.

  LEVIATHAN, 100 MILES OFF

  THE COAST OF NEWFOUNDLAND

  Niles, Sarah, Alice, Lee, Farbeaux, and Virginia were shown into the dining salon shortly after noon. They had taken an elevator and an escalator to get there, and still had not seen one quarter of the giant vessel.

  As they stepped into the captain's dining salon, they were amazed at the artwork once again. There were originals from Picasso, Rembrandt, and even Remington was represented with an unknown original — not about the Old West, but of sailing men in the 1800s.

  The long table was set with china that was embossed with the ship's logo, the now-familiar [?]L[?], and the silverware at each setting was sixteenth-century. It was Farbeaux who went directly to the heart of things. He picked up one of the four wine bottles sitting at the end of the table where he assumed the captain would normally sit, as this was the only high-backed chair at the white linen covered table. He examined the old and peeling white label on the bottle.

  "Sauternes from Chateau d'Yquem, seventeen eighty-seven," he said, almost turning white. He placed the bottle down most gently.

  "What is it, Colonel?" Sarah asked as she looked from Henri to the four bottles of wine.

  "Sarah, my young dear, these bottles of wine, well… to put it mildly, they should be in one of your Event vaults. Sauternes from Chateau d'Yquem seventeen eighty-seven — in two thousand six, a single bottle of this wine was auctioned for ninety-seven thousand of your American dollars. There was thought to be no more than two in existence, and here we are staring at four of them, to be a beverage served at lunch."

  "Never cared for wine all that much," Lee said as he used his cane to limp toward the table.

  "Dear Senator Lee, let me put this in a perspective you may be able to appreciate. The grapes in these bottles were picked the same year that George Washington became your first president."

  "Well, give it to him; don't care for wine."

  The salon door opened at the far end, and the same blond-haired man they had seen in the operation center entered and then gently closed the two large hatches. He was dressed in a navy blue jacket and tie. The first officer of Leviathan smiled and stepped up to the Event staff.