“Maps. And if we were lucky, a tapestry.”
“A tapestry?” Sloane twisted the head of the bulky suit around, blinding Martin with the bright lights.
Martin threw a hand up to block the light. “Yes, a large rug with a story—”
“I know what a tapestry is Martin.” He returned his attention to the desk, rummaging through more books. “You know, I may have been wrong about you — you’re no threat, you’ve simply lost it. You’ve been drinking the Kool-Aid too long, Martin. Look at what happened to him — chasing tapestries and superstitious legends.” Sloane tossed a bundle of papers and books back onto the frozen desk. “There’s nothing here, just some journals.”
Journals! It could be The Journal. Martin fought to act casual. “I can take those. There may be something we could use.”
Sloane straightened, made eye contact with Martin, then glanced back at the stack of skinny books. “No, I think I’ll take a look first. I’ll pass anything… scientific along.”
Dorian was sick of the suit — he had been in it for six hours: three hours in the sub and three hours in decontamination. Martin and his research egg heads were thorough. Cautious. Fans of overkill. Time wasters.
Now he sat across from Martin in the clean room, waiting for the results of the blood test — for the “all clear”. What was taking so long?
Every now and then, Martin would glance at the journals. There was something in them, something he wanted to see. Something he didn’t want Dorian to see. He pulled the stack of books closer to him.
The sub had been the biggest disappointment of Sloane’s life. He was 42 years old and since he was 7, not a day had gone by when he didn’t dream of finding that sub. But now that day had come and he had found nothing — almost nothing: 6 fried bodies and a mint condition U-boat.
“What now, Martin?” Dorian asked.
“Same thing we always do — keep digging.”
“I want specifics. I know you’re excavating under the sub, next to the structure.”
“What we think is the other vessel,” Martin added quickly.
“Agree to disagree. What have you found?”
“Bones.”
“How many?” Dorian leaned back against the wall. A pit developed in his stomach, like the anticipation you got before you went over the drop-off in a roller coaster. He dreaded the answer.
“Enough for about a dozen men so far. But we think there are more,” Martin said wearily. The time in the suit had really taken it out of him.
“There’s a bell down there, isn’t there?”
“That would be my guess. The area around the sub collapsed when two researchers approached it. One man was incinerated — similar to what we saw on the sub. The other was killed when the ice collapsed. I expect to find the rest of the crew down there.”
Dorian was too tired to argue, but the idea scared him to death. The finality of it. “What do you know about the structure?”
“Not much at this point. It’s old. At least as old as the ruins in Gibraltar. 100,000 years, maybe older.”
One thing had bothered Dorian since they had arrived: the lack of progress on the excavation. Even though Martin’s people had only found the site 10 days ago, with their resources, they should have had the iceberg carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey. The staff here was almost minimal, like the action was elsewhere. “This isn’t the main site, is it?”
“We have resources… assigned elsewhere…”
Assigned elsewhere. Dorian turned the idea over in his head. What could be bigger than this — a piece of… ‘Bigger’ than this? A piece. Dorian leaned forward. “This is just a piece, isn’t it? You’re looking for a larger structure. This part simply broke off from some primary structure.” Dorian wasn’t sure it was true, but if it was…
Martin nodded, slowly, without making eye contact with Dorian.
“My God, Martin.” Dorian stood and paced the room. “It could happen at any minute. They could be upon us in days or even hours. You’ve put us all at risk. And — you’ve known about this for 10 days now. Have you lost your mind?”
“We thought it was the primary—”
“Thought, wished, hoped — forget it. Now we have to act. When we’re clear, I’m going back to shut down the China operation and start Toba Protocol — don’t bother protesting, you know the time has come. I want you to contact me when you find the larger structure. I have several detachments of agents on their way here. They’ll help you if you have trouble operating your sat phone.”
Martin put his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor.
The door to the holding room slid open with a hiss as fresh air rushed in ahead of a 20-something woman carrying a clipboard. She wore an almost skin-tight outfit — she must have selected a suit 3 sizes too small.