EXOSKELETON II: Tympanum (24 page)

2

Sunday, 24 May (9:12 a.m. EST – Antarctica)

McHenry watched the video monitors as the pilot feathered the
North Dakota
into the gap between the slips, and then upward, through the open bay doors. It was fortunate that the port was large enough to accommodate the
North Dakota
, as it was much larger than the German U-boats. After about 10 minutes of fine position adjustments, they ascended through the vertical tunnel and surfaced inside the structure.

Four teams of four men each had been assembled. The first team would exit and establish a perimeter. McHenry desperately wanted to go himself, but that was ill advised: protocol dictated that the captain stay on board until everything was secure. He decided he’d go after the fourth team dispatched. His first officer would stay onboard.

The crew operated in shifts, but not one man on the
North Dakota
was asleep. The first team exited the hatch, and everyone who could get close to the video monitor watched it, even though they couldn’t see anything more than scanning flashlight beams on a black background. There was much excitement, and too many people in the control room: McHenry ordered non-essential personnel to leave.

Twenty minutes later, after the perimeter had been established, the remaining three teams exited through the hatch to the platform. One team set up floodlights on the deck, and the others searched the extended area for booby-traps. A half an hour later, McHenry climbed out of the
North Dakota
and onto the steel dock.

The place seemed to be carved out of solid rock, and was much larger than it looked on the monitors. The ceiling rose to more than 100 feet, giving the space a cathedral-like feeling. The air smelled like wet cement, and it was warmer than he’d expected.

Every noise echoed, making it difficult to hear people speak. McHenry walked over to a team leader who was rigging additional spotlights. “Find anything unusual?” McHenry asked.

“It’s
all
unusual, sir,” the man replied. “Did you notice the banner on the far wall?” The man pointed towards the far side of the cavern, opposite the slip where the
North Dakota
was docked.

The floodlights caught only a part of it, so McHenry pointed his flashlight to illuminate the rest.

The wall was about 250 feet away. Hung on it was an enormous, blood-red banner with a black swastika inscribed in a white circle. Looking more closely, he realized the symbol was not a swastika – it was more complicated, like a modified tic-tac-toe board.

“What the hell is that?” he said under his breath. He turned to the man who had pointed it out. “Get an electrician and find the power source for this place,” he ordered, pointing to the lights hanging from the ceiling. “See if we can rig something from the
Dakota
.” That was something that made modern subs different: the power plant. They had nuclear reactors, and therefore virtually limitless power. The question was whether it was possible to interface the
Dakota
with the facility’s power grid.

Beneath the banner was a row of six steel doors, each at least 10 feet tall and 5 feet wide. It looked as if they were embedded in the gray-brown rock. Suspended from the ceiling were two overhead cranes, and tracks to position them anywhere in the bay. He figured they were used for loading and unloading, although they looked strong enough to repair damaged subs. About 20 feet up the far wall, near the banner, was a long, corrugated-metal walkway, behind which were a dozen large windows and a few doors.

There was almost too much to explore. He decided that half the crew should always be on the
Dakota
, along with either himself, or his first officer, Diggs. That meant there would be around 70 men in the facility at any time.

Establishing a perimeter, and dealing with other logistics, like power, were straightforward tasks. But he wasn’t sure what to do after all of that was accomplished. He called over Chief Petty Officer Gonzales who was running cables for lights. “Take your team and start searching for filing cabinets, locked rooms, or anything that might tell us more about this place.”

Gonzales nodded, handed his cables to another man, and started walking away.

“And, Gonzales,” McHenry added, making the man turn to face him again, “don’t get lost.”

Gonzales smiled and nodded, and then continued on his way.

McHenry walked around the main bay area, which was almost as large as a football field. The floor was solid stone that looked as if it had been ground smooth. He thought it was too perfect and level to be a purely natural feature. It might have been a natural cavern that the Germans had altered. Even so, the construction of the place had been an awesome undertaking. It was a mystery that he thought might rival that of the beacon.

A young crewman, an electrician, approached McHenry and informed him that they had located the power grid. They’d have to rig up a converter to interface with it, but it should be straightforward.

“What about cables?” McHenry asked.

“Everything’s here,” the man replied. “We found an electrical supplies storage room near the main power bank. We have everything we need – that is, if the insulation in the cables is still good after all this time.”

“Okay – check it out,” McHenry said. “Better be careful not to start an electrical fire with the aged wiring.”

“We’ll go circuit by circuit, sir,” the man replied and then left to carry out his task.

McHenry examined the walls and ceiling. Behind the beams and other steel support structures was bare rock. Like the floor, it looked as if there had been a lot of excavation to form the cavern. At first, he wondered where they would have put such a large volume of material, but it was obvious: they pushed it out the bottom. There was a kilometer-deep cavern beneath them.

He walked to the side of the bay that was to the right of the wall with the banner. Near its center was a set of sliding bay doors, about 20 feet tall and 30 feet wide. He tried to peak through the crack between them, but couldn’t see anything. He then forced his fingers between them and pulled, but they wouldn’t budge. He backed away. They’d have to get inside when they had power.

To the right of the sliding doors was a large freight elevator. He aimed his flashlight through its small window, revealing the elevator’s control panel, its six buttons labeled with numbers and German words.
Six floors.

He turned in response to footsteps pounding behind him. It was Critch, the man who’d led the first exploration team.

The man breathed heavily as he tried to deliver his message. “Sir, you have to see this.”

“What is it?” McHenry asked. Critch seemed spooked.

“Not sure,” he replied. “There are bones.
Human
.”

The place immediately took on a different complexion. It seemed even darker and more menacing than it had just seconds before. He glanced up at the strange emblem on the banner as he followed Critch towards one of the doors directly beneath it.
What in God’s name had the Nazis done here?

3

Sunday, 24 May (1:58 p.m. CST – Chicago)

Jonathan followed Denise into the Bridges Café in Logan Square. He spotted their contacts at a small table near a window.

As they approached, Daniel stood and stuck out his hand. “Thanks for coming,” he said, and shook each of their hands. Sylvia did the same.

“Seemed urgent,” Jonathan said, wanting to get to the point. “We met just last week.”

“Things are escalating, Mr. McDougal,” Daniel said. “You’re being watched. Red Wraith is connected to something much larger.”

“Larger than Red Wraith?” Denise asked with an astonished look.

Daniel and Sylvia remained silent.

“You expect us to trust you,” Denise continued. “But you don’t trust
us
.”

“My supervisor seems to trust you,” Daniel said. “And so do I. But the protocol required for sensitive information, something I’ve been subjected to for most of my life, is difficult to bypass.”

“Who is your supervisor?” Jonathan asked.

“The director of the CIA,” Daniel replied.

“Your direct supervisor?” Jonathan asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Sylvia affirmed. “We interact with him exclusively – we’re not supposed to know the identities of the other members of our group.”

“We know you’re wary of the CIA,” Daniel said. “It’s a complicated entity. The right hand never knows what the left is doing. And sometimes a cancer can form that isn’t discovered until it’s too late.”

“And what part of the CIA are you?” Denise asked. “Malignant or benign?”

“We’re a combination of its memory and subconscious,” Daniel said. “Ever solve a problem, or experience an epiphany, subconsciously – while dreaming maybe? We serve that function for the CIA. We’re that tiny part of its brain, if you will, that mulls over details of the past without boundaries. We digest information from every classified source and analyze geopolitical events and dissect operations. While the rest of the CIA is dealing with current events, we’re remembering and dreaming. Thinking.”

“So why are you are out in the light?” Jonathan asked. “Why did they send you?”

“Because it’s important,” Sylvia said.

“What do you want from us?” Jonathan asked.

“We need to find William Thompson,” Daniel replied.

Jonathan tried to respond with a blank stare as if he didn’t recognize the name, but he was sure his expression was coming off as awkward. He looked at Denise: her face had already reddened.

Jonathan spoke quickly to head off Denise’s response. “He’s a former CP inmate. Why do you need to find him?”

“We don’t know exactly,” Sylvia replied.

“You don’t know?” Denise repeated. “Then why – ”

“Because he’s in danger,” Daniel explained. “People are looking for him.”

“Why?” Denise asked.

“He may have acquired to ability to separate,” Daniel responded.

“He’s safe,” Denise said.

Jonathan glanced at Denise, hoping she’d take the hint and stop talking. “The fact of the matter is that we don’t know where he is exactly,” he said. It wasn’t technically a lie. They only knew the city. “We can get a message to him. But I doubt that he’ll cooperate with the CIA – that is, unless we give him more information.” Jonathan worked to contain his curiosity. “You’ll need to tell us more.”

Daniel looked to Sylvia, and then back to Jonathan. “We should leave this place. Can we meet someplace private that you’re certain isn’t bugged?”

“I know a place,” Jonathan said.

Denise smiled. “The old library.”

Jonathan gave Daniel and Sylvia directions, and they split up with plans to meet in an hour. Jonathan and Denise left the café first and got into his car. Denise seemed upset.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Worried,” she said. “Will’s somewhere in Baton Rouge, but I’m not sure I’d trust anyone with that information.”

He agreed. “We should warn him,” he suggested. “Perhaps we should hear what our visitors have to say first.”

She agreed.

Her hands trembled as she checked the messages on her phone. “Nothing new from Will,” she said.

Five minutes later he parked the car in front of the law building and headed for his office to get a notebook. As they exited the stairway and stepped onto to his floor, he spied two people standing next to a door near the end of the hall. It was the door to his office.

As he got closer, it was clear that they were males, probably mid-thirties – definitely not students – and Asian. Their attire and body language communicated that they were professionals of some kind.

Jonathan and Denise stopped 10 feet in front of the men.

“Jonathan McDougal?” the taller of the two asked.

Their accents were thick, and Jonathan could tell they were Chinese. “How can I help you?” he replied.

“I am Zhang,” the taller man said and nodded towards his shorter partner, “this is Wei. We were wondering if we could speak with you for a few minutes.”

“About what?” Jonathan asked.

“Please,” Zhang said. “Can we step into your office?”

Jonathan reluctantly agreed, and they went in and sat at the table with him and Denise on one side, and the strangers on the other.

“We have some questions regarding your investigation of the Compressed Punishment program,” Zhang said.

“Who are you?” Denise asked.

Wei answered, “We work out of the Chinese embassy. We are diplomats.”

“I can’t talk about an ongoing investigation,” McDougal said.

Zhang seemed to ignore his statement and continued. “We need to know the location of a man who was at the Detroit facility – the Red Box.”

It was clear who they meant. McDougal was surprised that his CIA visitors’ warnings were already materializing. “It seems strange that a Chinese
diplomat
would a need to talk to former American prisoner.”

“He is wanted for crimes against the people of China,” Wei said.

“That’s preposterous,” Jonathan replied. “You should make a request to the Department of Justice.”

The men squirmed in their chairs.

“We are prepared to pay handsomely for any information helping us locate him,” Zhang said, speaking more quickly now.

“I don’t recognize the man’s name,” Jonathan lied. “Perhaps you should check some of the mental health facilities in the Detroit or Long Island areas.”

Zhang’s face reddened, and his breathing became heavier, which was quite noticeable since he breathed through his nostrils. “You are lying!” he exploded.

Jonathan stood up. “Leave,” he said loudly and pointed to the door. “Now!” He was surprised at their outburst as well as his own. The men were either not professionals, or poorly trained.

“You haven’t even heard our offer,” Zhang said, trying to calm himself.

“Not interested,” Jonathan replied. “Even if I had such information, it wouldn’t be for sale.”

The two men stood slowly. Zhang spoke slowly. “We will come back later, after you have thought about it.”

“That would be fruitless,” Jonathan replied, showed them out, and walked back to the table.

Denise’s normally dark complexion had turned pale.

“Let’s go,” he said, and picked up a leather briefcase containing his laptop and notebooks.

They walked up two flights of stairs, and then down a wide hallway strewn with pallets and boxes. “Still doing renovations,” Jonathan said.

“They were supposed to be done by the spring semester,” Denise added.

They came to a pair of tall wooden doors. Jonathan pulled one of the oversized handles and the heavy door creaked – but opened easily – and they walked inside. The enormous room was dimly lit, even though the wall on the far side was composed entirely of windows. A plastic sheet the size of a tennis court hung from the ceiling, separating the library into two parts. Jonathan led the way through a slit in the partition, and they emerged in a clean, furnished room, close to the north-facing windows.

He set his bag on a circular wooden table, proceeded to the windows, and looked at his phone. “They should be here soon.” He then powered it down and took out the battery.

He looked out the window, one he thought provided the most beautiful view of the campus, and waved Denise closer. “I’m concerned,” he started.

Denise’s looked at him with worried eyes.

“We’ve entered a realm in which we have no experience,” he explained. “Those men were not diplomats, they were operatives. The fact that they would be so brazen as to expose themselves, and to attempt a bribe, means they are desperate. And desperation means danger.”

She nodded. “The way that man exploded – ”

“At first I thought that maybe he was not well trained,” Jonathan said. “But now I think he was under immense pressure.”

“By their government?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “Something big is happening, and our CIA visitors know what it is.”

“We need to find out,” she said. “Everyone is after Will, and he doesn’t even know it.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about Will,” he said, trying to calm her. “He’s been trained, and knows people are looking for him. He’s a smart guy.”

She gave him a look indicating that she knew what he was trying to do.

“We’ll warn him after we meet with these people,” he added. “Okay?”

She nodded.

The library door creaked open, then closed. Two smeared figures moved behind the plastic sheet. Now, he hoped, they would learn more.