EXOSKELETON II: Tympanum (25 page)

4

Sunday, 24 May (3:43 p.m. EST – Antarctica)

McHenry followed the young sailor through the doors and up a corrugated metal stairway. It seemed that the darkness swallowed up the light from their flashlights as they continued along a corridor deeper into the rock. After a few turns, and up another run of stairs, they turned into hallway with lights flickering in the distance. Flashlight beams tracked them as they approached.

A few men stepped aside to give McHenry access to a door on the right. He followed Critch into the room and panned around with his flashlight.

The room was long, like a hallway, with steel doors lining the walls, 20 on each side. McHenry thought it resembled prison, or a mental ward. The ceiling was at least 15 feet high, although it was hard to tell exactly with the flashlight beams. There was a door on the far end, opposite the entrance – closed, like all the others.

“Have a look in one of the cells,” Critch said, pointing to the closest one on the right.

McHenry hesitated when he saw the man’s expression – the scattered light from the multiple flashlights amplified the stress in his face.

The handle screeched and clicked as McHenry turned it, and he pulled outward. The door opened with some resistance, and the grinding coming from the rusted hinges made it seem as if they might break. He walked into the cell.

The smell hit him like a punch in the face. It reminded him of the stench wafting from the slaughterhouse he’d passed every day on his way to and from school as a kid. It was the smell of old death.

The half-dozen flashlights that beamed around in the darkness confused his eyes at first, and it took his mind a few seconds to piece together the strobe-like visual information. The cell was larger than he expected, and packed with strange equipment. On his right were a metal table and a tall bank of shelves. Hand tools were laid out on the table in an orderly fashion, some of which he recognized, such as pliers and cutters, and others he’d never seen before. On the far end were a large sink and a manifold of valves with pipes sticking out in all directions. His eyes caught something hanging from the ceiling; it was a motorized winch with a cable dangling to a point about 10 feet above the floor. Something was connected to it.

He directed the flashlight beam downward along the cable and focused on what hung from it. He first recognized a skull; a part near the left eye socket was chipped out. It was a nearly complete human skeleton contained in some sort of mechanical device. It looked like an intricate cage, tightly fitted around the bones, with parts formed to fit like an open, iron suit.

The top of the cage was connected to the cable, and the bottom was anchored to a winch fastened to the floor. Every appendage teemed with gears and electrical contacts, and there were many joints and other moving parts. On the bottom of the device was a large electric motor.

On the wall near the entrance was a control panel with buttons and levers, and three circular screens resembling those found on old oscilloscopes.

“What is that thing?” Critch asked, nodding to iron suit.

McHenry shook his head slowly, keeping his eyes on the cage. “Not sure. Same scene in the other rooms?” he asked.

“Similar.”

McHenry walked closer to the cage. The upper left arm of the human skeleton looked to be amputated, and about half of the right foot was missing – cut at an odd angle, lengthwise. His eyes were then drawn to a fixture mounted on the right forearm of the victim. That arm of the cage had been replaced by a steel track, extending outward a few feet from the shoulder region of the frame.

The victim’s right arm was fed through a steel sleeve mounted to a carriage on the track. The sleeve was composed of two, 5-inch-long half-cylinders, separated by adjustable bolts.
One size fits all
, McHenry thought. A circular blade, about 8 inches in diameter, was mounted to an arm on the carriage. The arm was designed to lower the blade flush with the end of the cylinder, where a hand had once protruded. His stomach twisted in reaction to something his mind had already figured out but wasn’t yet telling him.

A power cable led from the sleeve device to an outlet mounted on the neck section of the body cage. He followed the wires from the outlet, through loops on the outer part of the cage, to metal conduits hanging from the ceiling to a point 3 feet above the head. At that point, the wires joined a bundle of others leading from other parts of the cage, and continued upward, through the conduit, towards the ceiling. A few feet below the ceiling, the conduit took a turn at an iron support bracket, and then another turn when it reached the wall about 15 feet away. It finally terminated at the control panel on the wall near the entrance.

McHenry directed his flashlight back to the saw device on the victim’s forearm. Dried, leathery, material was still lodged in its rusted teeth. A brownish discoloration on the floor directly beneath it looked like a linear spray pattern from the blade. He then noticed numerous stains on the stone floor, crisscrossing at various angles as if they’d been created with a can of reddish-brown spray paint.

The device rode on the carriage that was mounted to the track, allowing it to be positioned anywhere along the length of the limb. Directing the flashlight to the floor, he noticed a pile of 1-inch pieces of bone directly beneath the saw. On the other side, beneath the amputated left arm, was a larger pile. He looked closer and realized that a gear drove the carriage on the track – it was
motorized
. It seemed that the sleeve-saw could be set to automatically ride along the track, amputating the limb inch by inch, like an automated meat slicer.

He felt ill as he turned his gaze to the face of the broken skull in the head cage. He imagined its open mouth was the remnant of its last scream.

“What is that thing?” Critch asked again.

“The worst torture device you could ever imagine,” McHenry answered softly.

“Who were they torturing?”

McHenry saw fear in the face of a young man who had probably seen much worse in movies. “No idea,” he answered. “You say these things are in every room?”

The man nodded.

McHenry knew that no one could survive such a torture for a sustained period of time, so he wondered what the Nazis had done with the bodies. At first he thought that there might be an incinerator, but he dismissed it immediately. They wouldn’t want smoke to give away their location. Their power source would give them enough trouble. His best guess was that they weighted down the bodies and threw them into the deep.

Before he left, he ordered the men to keep exploring the rooms, map the area, and take pictures of everything.

On his way back to the
North Dakota
he contemplated what he’d just seen. Why had the Nazis been so obsessed with such grotesque medical experiments, torture chambers, and the like? What was the purpose? He could understand the occurrence of a few psychopathic individuals – such people existed in the present day. But why had the Nazis done it on such a large scale, and with such organization?

And, he wondered as he emerged into the bay beneath the Nazi banner,
what the hell was the purpose of this place?

5

Sunday, 24 May (3:30 p.m. CST – Chicago)

At the last second Jonathan realized something and panicked as the two smeared figures approached from behind the plastic sheet. He sighed in relief when Daniel and Sylvia emerged through the slit rather than the two Chinese operatives.

“Interesting place,” Sylvia commented, apparently admiring the thick wooden beams that crossed high above their heads. She walked over to the large window. “Nice view.”

“Shall we get started?” Jonathan said and motioned to the table. “Please.”

Daniel and Sylvia sat facing the window, and Denise and Jonathan sat across from them, facing the entrance. Jonathan meant to keep an eye on the door, even though they’d hear it creak if anyone entered.

“We were just visited by two Chinese diplomats,” Jonathan said.

Daniel’s face turned white, and Jonathan saw fear in his face.

“Diplomats?” Daniel repeated.

“They were looking for Thompson,” Jonathan said. “I told them nothing, but they’ll come back. I assume you have protection.”

“We have people close by,” Daniel said.

Jonathan nodded. “Now, why are you looking for Thompson?”

Daniel looked down and took a breath. “Again, we’re not sure.”

“Well
something
had to instigate your search,” Jonathan argued.

“The short answer is that we’re looking because everyone else is looking,” Daniel said. “And by everyone, I mean intelligence services of foreign countries.”

“Like China,” Denise said.

“I think you need to give us some background,” Jonathan said.

Daniel looked to Sylvia, who nodded.

“We’re prepared to disclose some general information, which is all we have,” Daniel explained. “Red Wraith and the Compressed Punishment system, both foci of your own investigation, are a part of something much more massive. I’ll explain, but you must swear to nondisclosure – this is top secret information.”

“Understood, and agreed,” Jonathan said, nodding.

“My connection to this project started when I was assigned to research the Compressed Punishment program over a year ago,” Daniel explained. “It was different that my usual historical work, considering that the whole thing blew up in real time, figuratively and literally. My research led to the Red Wraith project, but, just as I was making significant advances, I was reassigned.”

“It’s unheard of in our work,” Sylvia added. “I was reassigned as well, and the fact that Daniel and I are now working together is also unprecedented – Omnis aren’t supposed to know each other.”

Over the next two hours, Jonathan listened as Daniel and Sylvia described a series of historical events, starting with Captain Cook’s logs, the voyage of the
Schwabenland
, and the discovery of a beacon in the Southern Seas.

“Fascinating,” Jonathan said. “So these so-called naval exercises are just a cover?”

“There’s more.” Daniel said. “Do you recall the Nazi symbol for their Red Falcon project?”

“It’s a falcon carrying an emblem in its talons,” Denise said.

“Precisely,” Daniel said. “We found a photo of the
Schwabenland
during its pre-war Antarctic expedition. A large crate on its deck had the Red Falcon emblem on it. The photo was taken in 1938.”

Jonathan was hooked. “Red Falcon started before the war.”

Daniel continued. “The Brits and Americans carried out multiple operations in Antarctica after the war. In the 1950’s, the Americans detonated nukes in both the upper atmosphere, and also deep in the southern sea.”

“Near the beacon,” Denise said.

Daniel nodded. “And now one of our subs discovered a tunnel leading deep into the Antarctic mainland. It set out to explore it, but we haven’t heard anything from it for days.”

“Were they expected to report back by now?” Jonathan asked.

“Not necessarily,” Daniel answered. “Only that they were to communicate when they were finished exploring. So, either they have discovered something, or they’re lost.”

“Or sunk,” Jonathan added.

“The Russians and the Chinese are involved, and probably others,” Daniel continued. “And they’re all looking for Thompson. Other than him showing signs of separating during his treatments in the Red Box, we don’t know why they want him. Finding him is our top priority.”

Jonathan looked to Denise, who gave him a nod to go ahead.

“We don’t know where he is exactly,” Jonathan said. “But we can contact him. It will be up to him whether or not he’ll cooperate with you.”

“That’s all we can ask,” Daniel said, and then cleared his voice. “Well, there is one more thing.”

“Yes?” Jonathan asked.

“We want you to work with us – in a more formal capacity,” Daniel said.

“I’m not sure what that means,” Jonathan said.

“We may ask you to join us in DC for a time, depending on how things play out,” Daniel explained. “Would you be amenable to that?”

Jonathan glanced at Denise and sighed after a few seconds of silence. “We’ll get back to you on that,” he finally said. He thought about his teaching duties – there was over a month left in the semester – and his work at the Foundation.

“Think about it. In the meantime, it might be a good idea for the two of you to get out of Chicago for a while,” Daniel said. He gave Jonathan a card with a handwritten phone number. “Give us a call when you’ve decided.”

Jonathan and Denise watched their visitors navigate their way out. The library door creaked as they exited.

“What do you think?” Jonathan asked, already knowing how she’d answer.

“We should do it,” Denise replied immediately. “But we have to warn Will that he’s in danger.”

“You take care of that,” Jonathan said, “and I’ll look at the information he sent on Syncorp and the CP men. We need to decide whether or not to forward it to the FBI.”

“We have to trust someone,” she said.

“At this point I trust our new CIA contacts more than the FBI.”

“Are we going to work with them?”

He nodded.