Blue Gold

  “Level out. Fast,” Austin said.

  Zavala responded instantly, and the submersible circled like a hungry shark.

  “Were we getting too close to the ledge?”

  “Not exactly. Take her out and go down another fifty feet.”

  The SeaBus moved away from the shore and spun around so they were facing a ledge.

  “Madre de Dios,” Zavala said. “Last time I knew, the Astrodome was still in Texas.”

  “I doubt you’ll find any Dallas Cowgirls inside that thing,” Austin said.

  “It’s similar to the one that went ka-pop in the Baja. Hate to admit it, but you were right as usual.”

  “Just lucky.”

  “I don’t know how lucky you are. We’ve got to get inside that thing.”

  “There’s no time like the present. I suggest we take a look at the underside.”

  With a nod of his head, Zavala cranked up the throttle and put the SeaBus into a glide that took them directly under the massive structure. The surface was made of a translucent green material that emitted a dull glow. Zavala’s hyperbole notwithstanding, the facility would have been an impressive engineering feat even on dry land. Like the Baja operation, this structure also rested on four cylindrical legs around the perimeter.

  “There are openings in the outside legs,” Austin said. “Probably like the ones in Mexico, used for intake and exhaust.”

  Zavala brought the submersible in close to a fifth support at the very center of the structure. He switched on the sub’s twin spotlights. “No duct openings. Hello. What have we here?” He nudged the SeaBus closer to an oval depression in the otherwise smooth surface of the support. “Looks like a door. Still no welcome mat, though.”

  “Maybe they forgot it,” Austin said. “What say we park the bus and pay a neighborly social call?”

  Zavala dropped the SeaBus lightly onto the ledge next to the support leg. They pulled on their air tanks and the headsets for their Divelink communicators. Austin tucked his big Bowen and some spare ammunition into a waterproof fanny pack. The pack held a 9mm Glock to replace the machine pistol Zavala lost in Alaska.

  Austin crawled into the snug airlock first, flooded the chamber, then opened the outer hatch. Minutes later, Zavala joined him outside the SeaBus. They swam to the support leg and rose up the thick cylinder, where they hung on to hand bars on either side of the door. To the right of the tight seam was a panel. Encased in clear plastic were two large buttons, one red and the other green. The green one was glowing.

  They hesitated.

  “She might be connected to an alarm,” Zavala said, echoing Austin’s own thoughts.

  “I was wondering the same thing. But why would they bother? The neighborhood around here isn’t exactly swarming with burglars.”

  “We don’t have a lot of choice,” Zavala said. “Go for it.”

  Austin pushed against the glowing button. If an alarm went off, they didn’t hear it. A section in the support leg slid silently aside to reveal an opening shaped like a mouth wide open in a yawn. Zavala gave Austin the okay sign and swam in first. Austin was right on his fins. They were in a chamber shaped like the inside of a hat box. A metal ladder hung down from the ceiling. On the wall was a duplicate of the switch that opened the door. Austin pushed the glowing green button. He accidentally nudged the pack with their weapons, and it fell through the opening in the air lock.

  “Forget it,” he said, anticipating Zavala’s question. “We don’t have time.”

  The outer door closed, and a ring of lights flicked on inside. The chamber was quickly pumped dry, and a circular hatch popped open in the ceiling. Still no sign that their presence had been noted. All was quiet except for the hum of distant machinery.

  Austin pulled himself up the ladder and poked his head through the hatch. Then he motioned for Zavala to follow and climbed the rest of the way. They were in another, larger circular room. Several dark green dry suits hung from the wall. Air tanks were stacked on shelves. A large cabinet held various specialized tools.

  Austin removed his headset, mask, and tank and picked up a long-handled brush with stiff steel bristles. “They must use this stuff to clean the intake ports out there. The openings would get clogged up with algae otherwise.”

  Zavala went over to a door in the curving wall and pointed to another red-green switch. “I’m beginning to feel like a monkey in one of those intelligence tests where the chimp presses a button for food.”

  “Not me,” Austin said. “A chimp would be too smart to be in a place like this.”

  On Austin’s signal, he hit the green button. The door opened, and they stepped into a room with four walls. The room contained shower stalls and shelves. Austin removed a plastic-wrapped packet from a shelf and opened it. Inside was a white two-piece suit made of a light synthetic material. Without further conversation they got out of their dry suits and quickly pulled the white uniforms over their thermal underwear. Austin’s distinctive silver-platinum hair made him stand out from the crowd, so he was glad to see that each packet held a tight-fitting plastic cap.

  “How do I look?” he said, aware that the suit wasn’t made to accommodate his wide shoulders.

  “Like a large and unsavory white mushroom.”

  “Exactly the image I was trying for. Let’s go.”

  They were in a cavernous chamber with a high, curving roof. Pipes and conduits of varying widths crossed the space. The hum they heard earlier was so loud it almost hurt their ears. The sound seemed to be coming from everywhere.

  “Bingo,” Austin murmured softly.

  Zavala said, “Reminds me of a scene from that movie, Alien.”

  “I wish these were aliens,” Austin said.

  A white-clad figure unexpectedly emerged from behind a fat vertical duct. They tensed and groped for their missing weapons, but the technician, who was carrying a portable gauge, hardly gave them a glance before disappearing into the maze. The huge room had two levels divided from each other by metal scaffolding and catwalks. They decided to climb above the main floor, where they would have a better view of the entire facility and have less chance of running into other technicians. They ascended the nearest stairs and made their way toward the center. The technicians below were intent on their work, and no one looked up. From their elevation the facility was even more impressive. It looked like a futuristic hive filled with drones.

  “We could spend all day searching this place,” Austin said. “Let’s see if we can find a guide.”

  They descended stairs that took them back onto the main floor and hid behind a large pipe. Standing before a large console were three technicians. The figures had their backs turned, obviously engrossed in their task.

  Two technicians moved off, leaving the third alone. With a quick glance to make sure he was unobserved, Austin swiftly closed on the unsuspecting figure and hooked his thick arm around the person’s throat.

  “Don’t make a sound, or I’ll snap your neck,” he growled, then dragged his catch back behind the pipe. “Meet our new guide,” he said.

  Zavala stared at the technician. “We’ve already met.”

  Austin spun the technician around. Francesca. The terror in her face turned to relief. “What are you doing here?”

  The pleasure at seeing Francesca overcame Austin’s surprise. “We had a date, remember?” he said with a grin. “Time and place to be announced.”

  Francesca smiled through her nervousness. Calmer now, she glanced around and said, “We can’t stay here. Follow me.”

  They wound their way through the labyrinth into a small room furnished with a plain plastic desk and chair. “I asked for this space so I could work quietly. We’ll be safe for a few minutes. If anyone comes, pretend you know what you’re doing.” She shook her head in wonder. “How in God’s name did you get in here?”

  “We took the bus,” Austin said. “Where’s Gamay?”

  “This is the desalting facility. She’s in the main compound. They have h
er in a heavily guarded cell on the first level.”

  “How do we get there?”

  “I’ll show you. There’s an elevator that takes you from the lab. It goes to a tram. The car goes through a tunnel to the main compound. Then an elevator will take you up to her level. Do you think you can rescue her?”

  “We won’t know until we try,” Zavala said with a slight smile.

  “It will be very dangerous. You may have a chance, though. The guards are preoccupied. There’s some kind of meeting planned. You must move quickly before people start coming here.”

  “What kind of meeting?” Zavala asked.

  “I don’t know, only that it’s extremely important. I have to have this facility up and working by then, or they’ll kill Gamay.”

  She glanced out of the office to see if the coast was clear. Then she led them to the elevator. Austin thought that she looked exhausted. There were black circles under her red-rimmed eyes. She wished them well and disappeared into the network of pipes.

  Wasting no time, they stepped into a strange egg-shaped elevator. The elevator rose through the water to the tram room Francesca had described. They got aboard the tram car and sped along the tunnel to its terminus. From the tram room they stepped into a passageway. The elevator door was a few paces away. The light over the door indicated that the elevator was moving down.

  “Do we go naughty or nice?” Zavala asked.

  “See if nice works.”

  The door opened, and a guard stepped out. A machine pistol was slung from his shoulder. He looked at Zavala suspiciously, then at Austin.

  “Pardon me,” Zavala said politely. “Could you tell us where to find the woman from NUMA? Can’t miss her. Tall with red hair.”

  The guard began to raise his machine pistol. The move brought Austin’s ham-sized right fist crashing into the man’s midsection. He made a sound like a deflating balloon, and his legs went limp.

  “I thought we were going to try nice,” Zavala said.

  “That was nice,” Austin replied. He grabbed the man’s arms, and with Zavala holding the feet, they dragged the guard into the elevator. Zavala brought the elevator halfway to the next floor and locked it in place. Austin kneeled and lightly patted the guard’s cheek. The man’s eyes rolled, then popped wide open when he saw Austin’s face.

  “We’re feeling generous today. You get a second chance. Where’s the woman?”

  The guard shook his head. Austin wasn’t in the mood for stalling. He brought the gun muzzle to the bridge of the guard’s nose, so close that the man looked cross-eyed at it.

  “I’m not going to waste any time,” Austin said quietly. “We know she’s on the first level. If you don’t tell us where she is, we’ll find someone who can. Understand?”

  The guard nodded.

  “Good,” Austin said. He pulled the man to a standing position by the scruff of his neck, and Zavala hit the button for the next floor. Nobody was waiting for the elevator. They pushed the guard out into the deserted hall.

  “What’s the security like ahead?”

  The guard shrugged. “Most of the guards are upstairs taking care of the big shots coming in for the meeting.”

  Austin was curious about the purpose of the meeting and who the VIPs were, but he was more concerned about Gamay. He stuck the gun in the guard’s ribs. “Fetch,” he said.

  The guard reluctantly led the way down a corridor and stopped in front of a door with a keypad lock. He hesitated, wondering if he could stall by saying he didn’t know the combination, but one look at the thunder and lightning on Austin’s brow told him he’d better not try. He punched out the code, and the door opened. The room was empty.

  “This is her room,” the guard said. He looked worried.

  They pushed him inside and looked around. The small room was evidently used as a cell because it could only be opened from the outside. Zavala went over to the bed, plucked something off the pillow, and grinned.

  “She was here.” The dark red strand he held in his fingers was unmistakably Gamay’s.

  Austin turned back to the guard. “Where did they take her?”

  “I don’t know,” the guard answered sullenly.

  “Make believe that the next thing you say may be your last words, and think very carefully about it.”

  The guard knew that Austin would shoot him without hesitation.

  “I’m not protecting those creeps,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The Kradzik brothers. They had her taken to the Great Hall.”

  “Who are these guys?”

  “Couple of killers who do the boss’s dirty work,” he said with obvious disgust.

  “Tell us how to get there.”

  The guard gave them the directions. Austin told him to expect a return visit if he sent them on a wild goose chase. They left him in the room and locked the door, then bolted down the hall to the elevator. They didn’t know who the Kradzik brothers were, and they didn’t care. One thing they could be certain of. Whatever was planned for Gamay couldn’t be good.

  38

  THE FIFTY MEN gathered around the table on the deck of the Gogstad ship were dressed in dark business suits rather than cloaks and armor, but the scene could have been taken from a thousand-year-old pagan celebration. Torchlight glinted off the sharp metal edges of the medieval armaments lining the walls and cast flickering shadows on the men’s faces. The theatrical effect was not accidental. Brynhild had designed the entire chamber as an elaborate stage set with herself as director.

  The Gogstad board of directors was made up of some of the most prominent individuals in the world. They came from many countries and every continent. Their ranks included the chief executives of multinational corporations, trade representatives whose secret negotiations gave them more power than some governments, and politicians, past and present, who owed their careers to the plutocracies that were the real ruling class in the countries they came from. The men represented every race and color, but despite the differences in their physical stature and skin complexion, they were bound together by a common denominator: their insatiable avarice. With every disdainful facial expression and gesture, they projected the same polished arrogance.

  Brynhild stood on the deck of the Viking ship at the head of the table. “Welcome, gentlemen,” she said. “Thank you for coming on short notice. I know many of you traveled a long way, but I assure you, the journey will have been worth it.” She looked from face to face, glorying in the greed she saw lurking behind the practiced smiles and the knifing eyes. “We in this room represent the heart and soul of Gogstad, an invisible government more powerful than any the world has ever seen. You are more than a corporate elite; you are priests in a secret society, like the Knights Templar.”

  “Pardon me for interrupting your stirring pep talk right at the start,” said a fish-eyed English arms dealer named Grimley. “You’re not telling us anything new. I hope I didn’t just fly six thousand miles to hear you tell us what an extraordinary group this is.”

  Brynhild smiled. The directors were the only people on earth who could talk to her as equals.

  “No, Lord Grimley, I called you together to inform you that our plans have been drastically accelerated.”

  The Englishman was still unimpressed. His long nose sniffed the air as if he smelled an unpleasant odor. “You were originally talking of years to gain the monopoly on the world’s water supply. That has been changed to months, I take it?”

  “No, Lord Grimley. I’m talking a target date of days.”

  There was a low murmur around the table.

  An unctuous smile crossed Grimley’s face. “Disregard my earlier comment,” he said. “Please go on.”

  “I’d be happy to,” Brynhild said. “As you know from my monthly reports, our plans have been moving smoothly but slowly. Every day we have acquired another water source, but it has taken time to build up our tanker fleet. The huge storage bags that would be used to transpor
t water across oceans have been a problem. Only now has the technology to construct the bags been achieved. And most recently our project has elicited interest from the National Underwater and Marine Agency.”

  An American real estate baron named Howes was the first to pounce on the significance of her last sentence. “NUMA? How did they come to know about us?”

  “It’s a complicated story. You will all be provided with reports detailing NUMA’s interest. Suffice it to say for now that their people are very persistent and lucky.”

  “This is serious,” said the American. “First the newspaper investigation, now this.”

  “The newspaper will not be running the story, nor will anyone else. All the investigative records have been destroyed. In regard to NUMA, that situation, too, has been neutralized.”

  “It’s still damned worrisome,” Howes said. “We’ve spent millions keeping our activities secret. This whole thing could unravel in no time.”

  “I agree wholeheartedly,” Brynhild replied. “We have done everything possible to preserve our privacy, but an operation of this size and duration could not go undetected forever. The façade we erected to hide our activities from public view is beginning to crack. It was only a matter of time, so I’m not surprised, but it did suggest the need for haste.”

  “Are you saying that you are rushing our plans because of NUMA?”

  “No. Only that there has been a fortunate turn of events.”

  A German banker named Heimmler was the first to catch on. “There is only one way the plan can be advanced so dramatically,” he said with the expression of a boa constrictor presented with a live rabbit. “You have perfected the Cabral desalting method.”

  Brynhild waited for the buzzing around the table to die down. “Better still,” she said triumphantly. “Dr. Cabral is perfecting the process for us.”