“That's a remarkable achievement,” Gamay said, “but human beings are a lot more complicated than mice.”
“Yes,” he said with a sigh. “We know that now.” Gamay picked up on MacLean's unspoken message. “You experimented on human beings, didn't you?” “Not my original team. It would have been years before we conducted trials involving humans. We would have done it under the most stringent of conditions.” He gulped his drink, as if it could wash away unpleasant memories. “My team presented its preliminary findings and we heard nothing for a while. Then we were informed that the team was being disbanded, the lab broken up. It was all quite civilized. A handshake and a smile. We even received bonuses. Some time later, while he was clearing off his computer files, a colleague came across a videotape detailing human experiments. They were being conducted on an island somewhere.”
Trout pointed to the ground at their feet. “Here?” “A reasonable assumption, wouldn't you say?” MacLean said. “What happened next?”
“We made a second fatal mistake in underestimating the ruthlessness of these people. We went back to the company as a group and demanded that they stop. We were told that the subjects were all volunteers, and that it was none of our business anymore. We threatened to go public with the information. They asked us to wait. Within a week, members of my former team began to have fatal 'accidents.” Hit-and-run. Fires. Electrocuted by unwise use of home appliances and tools. A few healthy men had heart attacks. Twenty-one in all."
Trout let out a low whistle. “You think they were murdered?” “I know they were murdered.” “Did the police suspect foul play?” Gamay asked. “Yes, in a few cases, but they could never prove anything. My colleagues had gone home to a number of different countries. And as I said, we were working in secret.” “Yet you survived,” she said.
“Sheer luck. I was away on an archaeological dig. Hobby of mine. When I came home, I found a message from a colleague, since murdered, warning me my life was in danger. I ran off to Greece, but my former employers tracked me down and brought me here.” “Why didn't they kill you, too?”
MacLean laughed without humor. “They wanted me to lead a reconstituted research team. Seems they were too smart for their britches. After they killed off the original team, flaws began to surface in the formula. It was inevitable with research this complex. You saw their mistakes dancing around in their cages a little while ago.”
“You're saying that this youth elixir created those snarling beasts?”
Trout said.
MacLean smiled. "We told the fools that more work was needed. The enzyme has a different effect on humans. We're complicated creatures, as you say. There was a delicate balance involved. In the wrong mix, the chemical simply killed the subject. In others it triggered progeria. With those poor brutes you saw, the substance reached back in time and brought out the aggressive traits that served
our ancestors well when they were reptiles or apes. Don't let their appearance deceive you. They still have human intelligence, as Strega learned."
“What do you mean?”
“There are two types of creatures. The Alphas were part of the original experiment, which I'm told started many years ago. The Betas were created in the most recent round of experimentation. Not long ago, a number of them managed to escape. Apparently, they were led by the Alphas. They constructed a crude raft and landed on another island, where they killed a number of people. Strega hunted them down and brought them back. He subjected some of the Alphas to the most awful tortures before killing them in view of others as a lesson.”
“If they're so much trouble, why do they keep them around?” Gamay said.
“Apparently, our employers believe they have some value. A bit like us. Disposable tools. The latest test subjects were illegal immigrants from poor countries who thought they were going to Europe or America for jobs and a better life.”
Trout's jaw hardened. “That's one of the most monstrous schemes I've ever heard of. One thing I can't figure. Why did these goons hijack the Alvin and kidnap us?”
“The enzyme has a short shelf life. They built the sub so the enzyme can be extracted as soon as it is harvested. It's separated from the microbes. Once it is stabilized, the submarine transports the finished product here for further research and development. They knew about your expedition. They must have been afraid their undersea mining project would be discovered. By chance, you were within minutes of discovering it.”
“It wasn't chance at all. We were looking for the source of Gorgonweed,” Gamay said.
“Now it's my turn to be puzzled. What is Gorgonweed?” “It's a mutated form of a common alga,” Gamay said. “It's been causing havoc around the world. The source of this mutation was traced back to the Lost City. We were trying to pinpoint its exact cause. We didn't advertise this part of the expedition because we didn't want to panic people. The situation is far worse than anyone has said in public.” “In what way?”
Gamay said, “If the weed is allowed to proliferate, the oceans would become nothing but huge soggy mats of vegetation. Ocean commerce would be impossible. Ports would be closed. Most species of fish would die, creating a huge disruption of the food chain that is bound to affect land production. The weather created by normal ocean cycles would become chaotic. Governments will fall. There will be disease and famine. Millions of people would die.” “Dear God. I was afraid something like that could happen.” “What do you mean?” Gamay said.
“The microbes were perfectly harmless in their natural habitat. There was always the possibility that they would migrate once we disturbed their habitat. They have evidently mutated the genes of higher organisms.” “Can it be reversed?”
“There is a good chance we could apply the work we're doing now to the solution.”
“Do you think Colonel Strega would be open to a suggestion that we direct our energies toward saving the world from a Gorgonweed infestation?” Trout said.
MacLean laughed. “Colonel Strega believes this camp is the world. And that he is God.”
“All the more reason to escape,” Trout said.
“These people that kidnapped us must have known that a massive search would be launched for the Alvin,” Gamay said.
MacLean looked into his empty glass, and then his eyes met hers. “According to Strega, the situation would be taken care of. He didn't go into details, but a number of the mutants were removed from the island not long ago. I think they had something to do with the plan.”
“No details?”
MacLean shook his head.
Trout forced himself to deal with the problem at hand.
“You said you were brought back here to reconstitute a scientific team,” he said.
“Yes, there are six other unfortunate souls who were lured here, like the immigrants, with promises of work. You'll meet them at dinner. Our employer took great pains to make sure they were single people with little or no family attachments.”
“How long do we have?”
“We have all known that we will be killed as soon as we extract the pure elixir. We've dragged our heels as much. as we can, while showing some progress. It's been a delicate balance. A shipment of the elixir went out while we were on the sub.”
“What does that mean for us?”
“We'll become redundant after the formula gets to its destination and our employers see if it will work.”
“Will it?”
MacLean nodded. “Oh yes. The initial results will be quite swift and dramatic. Once Strega gets the word, he will start throwing us to the animals, one by one.” He shook his head. “I'm afraid I rescued you only to bring you into a situation with no hope.”
Trout rose from his chair and gazed around the camp, thinking that the rugged beauty of the island was out of place with the horrors he had seen.
“Any ideas?” he said.
"I think it would be helpful if Mac told us everything he knows
about this place,“ Gamay said. ”Every detail, no m
atter how silly or stupid it seems."
“If you're still thinking of escape, forget it,” MacLean said bleakly. “There's no way.”
Gamay glanced at her husband. “There's always a way,” she said with a smile. “We just don't know what it is.”
SKYE HAD SLIPPED into a deep slumber by the time Austin had crawled into the warm auberge featherbed. She clung to his side throughout the night, her sleep frequently disturbed by feverish murmurings of red death and dark water. Austin's nerves were on edge as well. Several times, he pried himself loose from Skye's hot grip and went to the window. Except for the moths fluttering around the inn's lighted sign, all was still. But Austin was far from complacent. The Fauchard family had a long reach.
After a fitful night's sleep, they were awakened by bright sunlight flooding their room. They put on the terry cloth bathrobes that Skye found in a closet and they had breakfast sent up to their room. Austin had tossed their tattered costumes into the trash. They recruited the maid who brought their food and sent her to shop for clothes. Fortified with a cup of strong coffee, Skye regained her usual sparkle, but Chateau Fauchard still weighed heavily on her mind.
“Should we report the Fauchards to the authorities?” she asked. “The Fauchards are a rich and powerful family,” Austin said. “That doesn't mean they're above the law,” she said.
“I agree with you. What part of our story do you think the police would believe? The Pit and the Pendulum or The Cask of Amontillado?”
If we make a fuss, we might even be accused of stealing Emil's plane."
“I see what you mean,” she said with a frown. “Well then, what do we do?”
“Go back to Paris. Regroup. Dig out every bit of dirt we can on the Fauchards.” Austin cleared his throat. “Who's going to tell your friend Darnay that his bullet-riddled Rolls-Royce is at the bottom of a castle moat?”
“I'll inform him. Don't worry, Charles was thinking of turning it in for a Bentley. He'll simply report it stolen.” Her lips widened in her usual sunny smile. “Knowing Charles, I'd guess it was stolen to begin with.” A dark cloud cast a shadow over her smile. “Do you believe what that poor Englishman Cavendish said? That the Fauchards started World War One and had at least some responsibility for the Second World War?”
Austin chewed on the question along with a bite of croissant. “Dunno. It takes more than a few people to start a war. Hubris, stupidity and miscalculation play a big role.”
“True, but think about it, Kurt. In 1914, the Great Powers were led by some of the most inept leaders in history. The decision to start war was in the hands of a few people. None were particularly intelligent. A tsar or a kaiser didn't have to ask his people for permission to go to war. Couldn't a small, wealthy and determined group like the Fauchards and other arms manufacturers manipulate these leaders, play off their deficiencies and influence their decisions? Then provide an event like the Grand Duke's assassination that would start the shooting?”
“Certainly possible. World War Two was a different situation, but you had the same volatile mixture waiting for a spark to trigger the explosion.”
“Then you do think there is something to the charges?”
“Now that I've met the Fauchards, mere andfds, I would agree that if anyone could start a war, it would be them. The murderous way they reacted when Cavendish shot his mouth off speaks volumes.”
She shivered as she recalled the Englishman's demise. “Cavendish claimed that Jules Fauchard was trying to stop the war,” Skye said. “We know he got only as far as the Dormeur glacier. If he had made it across the Alps, he would have landed in Switzerland.”
“I see where you're going. A neutral country where he could have revealed to the world what his family was plotting.” He paused. “Let's think about it. Fauchard was rich and influential, but he would need proof to make his case. Documents or secret papers.”
“Of course!” Skye said. “The strongbox that Jules was carrying with him. The Fauchards didn't want their dirty little family secret getting out.”
“I'm still puzzled,” Austin said, after a moment's thought. “Say we managed to exhume Jules's body and salvage incriminating documents. The Fauchards could weather the bad publicity. They would hire a high-priced PR firm to put spin on the story. They could say that the documents were forgeries. Outside of a few historians, I'm not sure if anybody would care so long after the fact.”
“Then why did they resort to flooding the tunnel, killing Renaud and trying to killing us?”
“Here's another theory. Let's suppose Spear Industries is on the verge of a big deal. A merger. A new product. Maybe even a new war,” he said with a wry grin. “Headlines about the family's unsavory past could spoil their plans.”
“That would make sense,” she said.
“What doesn't make sense is why Jules had the helmet with him.”
“The Fauchards are eccentric,” she ventured.
“You're being kind,” Austin said, with a frown. "They are homicidal maniacs, but they don't act without a purpose. I think that the Fauchards were not simply worried about their family history being
exposed. They desperately want to retrieve the helmet. There is something about that old steel pot that is of great importance to them. We have to find out what it is."
“Perhaps Charles has made progress in his examination. I must go see him as soon as I can.”
A knock at the door interrupted their discussion. The maid had returned from her mission with shopping bags in hand. Austin had some cash and credit cards along with his passport in a neck wallet. He gave the maid a substantial tip, and then he and Skye tried on their new outfits. The red dress fit Skye's trim figure like a fine glove. Austin tried on his black slacks and white shirt. Conservative, but they wouldn't attract attention.
The desk clerk called a car rental for them, and while the Peugeot they rented was no Rolls, the drive back to Paris through the sunny countryside helped clear away the lingering cobwebs from the Fauchard catacombs. Austin kept a heavy foot on the gas. The more distance he put between them and the chateau, the better.
Austin almost launched into the “Marseillaise” when he saw the spike of the Eiffel Tower looming in the distance. A short while later, they were in Paris. Austin swung by Skye's apartment and she called the antiques dealer to let him know she was coming to Provence. Darnay was delighted to hear her plans, saying they had much to discuss. Skye packed an overnight bag and Austin dropped her off at the railroad station, where she kissed him on both cheeks before boarding a train south.
The hotel desk clerk smiled broadly when Austin came up for his key.
“Ah, Monsieur Austin. We're so glad to have you back. A gentleman has been waiting here for some time to see you.” He glanced toward the lobby.
A figure was stretched out in a comfortable leather chair, apparently asleep. A copy of Le Figaro covered his face. Austin went over,
lifted the paper and saw the dark-complexioned features of Joe Zavala.
Austin tapped Zavala's shoulder. “Hotel security,” he said in an Inspector Clouseau accent. “You'll have to come along with me.”
Zavala blinked his eyes open. “About time.”
“Feeling's mutual, old pal. I thought you were in the Alps improving Franco-American relations.”
Zavala sat up in the chair. “Denise wanted me to meet her parents. That's always a bad sign. Where have you been? I tried calling, but there was no answer on your cell.”
Austin flopped down in a chair. “There's a good explanation for that. My cell phone is at the bottom of a castle moat.”
“I must admit that's one excuse I've never heard before. Should I ask how it got there?”
“Long story. What was so urgent that you had to camp out in a hotel lobby?”
Zavala's face became uncharacteristically som be “Rudi called me when he couldn't reach you.” Rudi Gunn was Pitt's second-in-command. “There's been an accident at the Lost City site. Paul and Gamay dove in the Alvin
. They never came up. There was a pilot aboard, too.”
“Oh hell,” Austin said. “What happened?”
“No one seems to know. There was an attack on the research vessel at about the same time they lost contact with the submersible.”
“Doesn't make sense. Who would attack a peaceful scientific expedition?”
“You got me. I took a fast train to Paris last night, planted myself here and checked with the poor desk clerk every fifteen minutes.” “How long have they been missing?” “More than twenty-four hours without contact.” “I assume Dirk and Rudi have been alerted?” Zavala nodded. "Dirk wants us to keep him posted. He's called on
the navy for help. I talked to Rudi a half hour ago. He sent the research vessel Searcher in so we could hear something at any minute.“ ”What's the life support situation on the Alvin?“ ”About forty-eight hours of food and air left." Zavala glanced at his watch.
Austin silently cursed. While he'd been dallying over croissants with Skye, the Trouts, if they were still alive, were in desperate need of help. “We have to move fast.”
“There's a NUMA executive jet at De Gaulle airport. We can be in the Azores in a few hours and Rudi's arranged transportation for the next leg of the trip.”
Austin told Zavala to stay put while he went up to his room. He shed his new wardrobe in exchange for his standard uniform of jeans and sweater, then threw some clothes in a duffel bag and was back in the lobby within minutes. The jet was warming its engines when they arrived at the airport. After a fast trip to the Azores, they hopped onto a seaplane and headed out into the Atlantic.
The NUMA research vessel Searcher had been on its way home from Europe when Gunn's call diverted it to the Mid-Atlantic Ridge. Austin was glad to learn that the Searcher was on site. The research vessel was only a few months old and it was crammed with state-of-the-art remote sensing equipment and undersea robots.
As the seaplane began its descent, Austin looked out the window and saw that the navy had lost no time reacting to Pitt's request. The NUMA vessel and the Atlantis had been joined by a navy cruiser.