The Alex Cave Series. Books 1, 2, & 3.: Box set Page 7

  When Christa entered the kitchen, Alex was returning to the living quarters. “I was wondering where you’ve been,” she told him.

  “I’ve found the other engineers. They’re all dead.”

  “Oh my God! How?”

  Alex shook his head. “I don’t know. How’s this one doing. Has he said anything?”

  “We’ve managed to get some coffee into him, but he’s still in shock and . . .”

  “Christa! Alex! Come quick!” Bull shouted from the bedroom.

  Christa and Alex ran into the room, and Bull was leaning over the engineer. “He’s coming around.”

  When Christa and Alex knelt next to Bull, they could hear the engineer mumbling. “The light!” he moaned. “Stay away from the purple light!”

  “What’s his name?” Alex asked.

  “I don’t know,” Bull told him. “These guys rotate through, and I don’t usually get to meet them.”

  “See if he’s got any ID,” Alex told him.

  Bull rolled the man onto his side and felt the back pockets of his jeans, but there was no wallet. Christa leaned over the engineer and pulled on a thin chain around the man’s neck. A small medallion slid out from the collar of his tee shirt.

  “His name’s Mike Broden,” Christa informed them as she read the inscription on the back of the medallion. “And he’s allergic to penicillin.”

  Alex leaned closer to Broden. “What happened, Mike?”

  “I can’t let them find me!” Broden muttered in fear and tried to get out of bed.

  Bull and Alex held him down. “It’s all right,” Alex assured him. “This is very important, Mike. Do you understand?”

  Broden began thrashing savagely. “I have to hide!” he shouted.

  It took both Bull and Alex to hold Broden down, as he continued to thrash like a madman for several minutes, then as if all his energy had been spent, Broden passed out.

  “Shit!” Bull mumbled.

  “I think we’d better take him out of here,” Christa told them. “He needs to get to a hospital.”

  Alex stood. “I agree. Let’s get him into the plane.”

  “We’d better tie him up,” Bull warned. “If he starts thrashing like that in the plane, we won’t be able to control him.”

  Alex remembered seeing a stretcher in the pumping room, and while Bull tried to call the office in Valdez, Alex went to get it.

  “The lines are dead,” Bull told Alex when he returned with the stretcher, “And so is the radio. We’ll have to use the one in the plane.

  After they wrapped Broden in several blankets and tied him securely into the stretcher, Alex and Bull carried him out to the entrance area and put on their snowshoes. Christa led the way over the snowdrift at the entrance and out to the airplane. She removed one of the rear seats, and then Bull and Alex slid the stretcher inside.

  “What should I do with the seat?” Christa asked.

  “Leave it,” Bull told her. “We don’t have room for it.”

  Christa tossed the seat onto the snow, and everyone turned and stared when it made a loud thud.

  “That seat should have sunk out of sight!” Bull told them.

  Alex slipped his foot out of one of his snowshoes and gently stepped onto the snow. His foot sank through the small white flakes for a couple of inches before it was stopped by a solid surface. He knelt down, brushed the surface snow away, and then looked up at the others, shaking his head in wonder. “It’s solid ice,” he told them as he stood and looked around the meadow. “Christa, you stay here with Broden. Let’s take a walk, Bull. I’d like to know how big this sheet of ice is.”

  Bull nodded. “Okay. Let’s split up so we can cover more area.”

  Alex agreed, so they stepped out of their snowshoes and set off in opposite directions. Both men took slow, careful steps, testing the snow ahead as they walked. About two-hundred-feet out, Alex’s foot suddenly dropped off the ice into deep snow. He turned to see where Bull was, and saw him kneeling in the snow, about three-hundred-yards away. When Bull stood and looked at him, Alex indicated they should follow the edge. Bull waved acknowledgement and followed the edge in one direction, Alex the other. It was a huge circle, and when they found the start of each other’s tracks, Bull waved him over and both men walked toward the area where the pipeline came out of the pumping station.

  “My God!” Bull said when they were standing at the open hole of the forty-eight-inch pipe. “What the hell happened to it?”

  Alex removed his glove and touched the outer edge of the metal pipe. It was rounded and smooth. “This was melted,” he told Bull.

  “Yeah, but what could have done it? And where’s the rest of the pipe?”

  Alex shook his head, and then noticed a small amount of clear liquid in the bottom of the pipe. He reached in and touched it, wetting his fingers, and then sniffed the liquid on his fingertips. “It smells like salt water,” he told Bull. “It must have a heavy salt content or it would have frozen by now.”

  “Now how in the hell could there be salt water way up here?”

  “I don’t know, but maybe Broden can tell us. Let’s go.”

  Bull nodded and they walked back to the airplane. “Damndest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “We’ll need to do an autopsy on the four men hidden in the storeroom,” Alex told him as they walked back to the plane.

  Bull shook his head. “There should have been five men in there. Where the hell’s the sixth man?”

  “This is too much of a coincidence. There has to be a connection with the other missing men from the tankers.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were airborne again, and Bull stared out the window, watching the snow-covered mountain range pass below them. He kept searching for the missing section of the pipeline, though he knew it was useless. The mountain range turned to foothills, then to valleys, as the sprawling city of Anchorage appeared against the deep blue water.

  Alex radioed the hospital as soon as they were within range, and an ambulance was waiting at the airport when they arrived. Christa and Bull waited at the air terminal, while Alex rode with Broden in the ambulance until they arrived at the emergency room. Alex showed his identification to the hospital’s director, explained that Broden was a government witness, and was not to leave the hospital without his approval. Alex gave him his phone number and asked to be called the moment Broden regained consciousness, and then took a cab back to the airport.

  When Alex walked into the air terminal, he saw Bull pacing the floor, a scowl distorting his features. “What’s going on?” he asked him.

  Bull stopped pacing. “I got a call from Herb while you were gone. Those assholes on the board of directors went ahead and sent two more tankers of oil down to the refinery in Washington. Now they’re missing. They pay me to run this end of the business for them, damnit, and then ignore my advice. They just don’t realize lives are at stake here. All they care about is the almighty dollar!”

  Alex nodded. “Let’s go. I’ll see what I can do about it.”

  *

  Herb Bell was waiting at the airport in Valdez when they arrived. “The two tankers left early this morning from Cook Inlet,” Herb explained as they walked toward the Suburban. “I just got word that one of the tankers was spotted by a Japanese fishing trawler. They reported it was running in a circle out in the Pacific Ocean. Nobody’s seen the second tanker. All we know is we can’t raise them on the radio.”

  “Have you sent a new crew out to the tanker the Japanese reported?” Alex asked as they drove to the office.

  “Yeah, they called and said the tanker was empty and the crew is missing. The Coast Guard said it’ll be blind luck if they find the second tanker. It’s a pretty big area to search.”

  When the group entered the office, Alex used his phone while the others shrugged out of their parkas and explained the situation to Donner. He listened for several minutes before hanging up. Christa, Bull, and Herb were staring at him when he looked up.

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sp; “Director Donner is ordering the Navy to help with the search,” Alex explained. “He’s asking for the P-3 Orion submarine hunter aircraft from the Whidbey Island Naval Air Station to help. It appears we’re not the only country losing crude oil.”

  Alex saw the stunned expressions of his colleagues. “There’s more bad news. Our witness in Texas died this morning,” he told them, his voice reflecting his disappointment. “It looks like Broden is our only hope of finding out what’s going on.”

  Alex looked at Christa. “I’m wanted in D.C. as soon as possible for a briefing. It’s crucial you talk to Broden the moment he comes around. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  *

  Christa stood on the bridge of the Scorpio, talking to one of the engineers working on the ship’s instrument panel. “Were the instruments damaged when the ship was attacked in Washington?” she asked the young technician.

  “Yes.”

  “What caused the damage?”

  The young man scratched his head and looked bewildered as he stared down at the panel. “Near as I can figure, it was an electrical short or a sudden power surge or something.” He looked over at Christa. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear somebody waved a giant magnet over the control panel. Every gauge has been magnetized.”

  “Then how did the new crew manage to drive her back here to Valdez?”

  “Oh, that wouldn’t be too hard. The compass is still working, and the speed selector has a mechanical back up. Same with the steering. All the electronic gear was added last year.”

  “I see. Thanks for the help.”

  Christa made her way back down to the main deck just as Bull was entering the inspection hatch into a section of the hold. “Mind if I come along?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” Bull told her and disappeared through the hatch.

  Christa noticed the electrical cable tied off to the deck cleat. She stepped over it and began climbing down the ladder after Bull. The interior of the hold was dark and gloomy until she was about halfway down, and suddenly the area was filled with bright light. She stopped, looked down, and saw Bull adjusting a large spotlight mounted to a tripod. She continued down the ladder and stood next to Bull as he looked around the vast hold.

  Bull shook his head in wonder. “It’s hard to believe this room was full of crude oil only a few days ago,” he told her.

  “So what are you looking for?” Christa asked.

  “Just curious, I guess. We pumped all the salt water out this morning.”

  Bull and Christa slowly walked along the port side of the hold, between the massive baffling plates, concentrating their attention on the steel deck. When they reached the far end, they walked to the starboard side and followed it back. As they walked past the last baffle, Christa happened to look up and noticed something sparkle, high up on the side of it, and stopped.

  “What’s that?” She asked and pointed.

  Bull was a few paces past her and turned to look up at where she was pointing. “I don’t see anything.”

  Christa moved beside him, but the angle of the light changed, and she couldn’t see the sparkle. She moved back a few paces until she could see it again. “Move over here.”

  Bull moved behind her and looked up. “Beats the hell out of me.”

  “Let’s get a ladder so I can take a closer look.”

  “Here. Stand on my shoulders,” Bull told her and leaned his back against the steel baffle.

  Christa stood on his knee, and then stepped into his laced fingers as Bull lifted her in the air as if she weighed nothing at all, and then she stepped onto his shoulders.

  The sparkle was just above her head, and came from an object about the size of a silver dollar. “It’s some type of crystal,” she informed Bull and reached up to touch it. Her finger barely grazed the surface when the crystal suddenly fell free. As she reached out to catch it, she lost her balance.

  Bull felt Christa’s weight shift on his shoulders. He reached up to steady her, but was too late, the motion made him lean too far out and he fell face first to the deck.

  Christa heard a loud swoosh of air as she landed on something softer then the steel deck, and heard Bull moan beneath her. “Oh God, I’m sorry!” she said and rolled off him. “Are you all right?”

  Bull grunted softly as he rolled onto his back. “Yeah,” he said between deep gulps of air. “Just knocked the wind out of me for a second.”

  Christa sat up, leaned against the baffle, and realized she was clutching something in her right hand. She opened her fist and saw the crystal. “I got it!” she exclaimed.

  Bull rolled to a sitting position and stared at the crystal in Christa’s hand. “So what do you think it is?”

  Christa placed the crystal on edge between her thumb and finger and held it toward the spotlight. It was nearly transparent, with a multitude of cracks running through it. “I’m not sure. I’ll know more when I put it under a microscope.”

  Bull stood and helped her up. “Okay. Let’s get out of here.”

  They left the ship and walked along the pier. “Thanks, Bull,” she said sincerely. “I could have broken my neck.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he said, and smiled. “I’ve been carrying this extra weight around for years. Glad it was finally useful for something.”

  Christa returned his smile, and Bull opened the door to a small building at the end of the pier and turned on the lights. Two small tables sat in the center of the single room, and laboratory equipment was set up on a long table fastened to the far wall. This was Christa’s laboratory, where she tested the oil from the pipeline for contaminates.

  Christa gently placed the crystal under the microscope. At first, she thought the light was affecting what she saw, so she moved the optic lens to a lower position and looked into the microscope again. “This is incredible!” she whispered. She looked up at Bull and saw his puzzled expression. “Take a look.”

  Bull placed his eyes over the lens and saw thousands of minuscule cracks, but they were not cracks, he realized, because they were changing shape inside the crystal. “Damn!” he mumbled. “It’s moving!” When he looked up, Christa was nodding at him. “What the hell is it?” he asked.

  Christa shook her head. “I have no idea, but I’m going to stay here until I find out.”

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  BOULDER, COLORADO:

  At two in the afternoon, FBI agent George Pickowski sat in his unmarked sedan and watched the driveway leading up a hill to Menno Simon’s private home. A tall chain link fence surrounded the five-acre parcel and kept prying eyes from viewing the mansion, but Pickowski had been following Menno’s limousine all day and knew he was there.

  The explosion of Menno’s research facility had been more intense than even Menno had expected. Plastic explosives had caused the initial explosion, but an extremely volatile explosive must have been manufactured at the facility to cause so much damage. Menno’s federal registration license stated it was a genetic research facility, and the FBI had been called in to investigate and find the person or persons responsible. Menno had denied any knowledge of the incident, but the FBI decided to keep him under surveillance anyway.

  Pickowski could barely see the ornate steel gate through the tress. When they open, he started the sedan’s engine. The limousine drove out through the gate, and Pickowski followed it for nearly three hours before it turned off the main highway onto a dirt road winding through thick evergreens. He had to drop back and lose sight of the limousine to keep from being spotted, and nearly missed the road where the driver had turned off. Only a lingering cloud of dust caught his attention, and Pickowski slammed on the brakes and backed up to follow. He was about to stomp on the accelerator to catch up when he saw a red flash of taillights through the trees just around the bend. He waited, thinking he’d been spotted, but the taillights didn’t move. He eased the door open, grabbing the small binoculars sitting on the seat next to him. As he stepped out and trai
ned the binoculars on the taillights, he heard muffled voices. The words were indistinguishable, but he could hear two separate voices. Must be a checkpoint, he thought.

  He heard laughter, then the taillights blinked out and he heard the limousine drive off. He had a gut feeling trying to get past the checkpoint would be useless, and it wouldn’t do to tip them off that Menno had been followed. He wasn’t dressed for hiking, but the underbrush didn’t appear to be too thick.

  Pickowski climbed back into the car and backed out to the main dirt road. Now the problem was where to hide the car. He decided to continue past this turn off so someone else going to the same place wouldn’t spot his car. A quarter mile farther, he found an abandoned road and backed the car into the trees. As he stepped out, he realized how quiet it was in these woods. He decided he could hear a car coming for quite a distance, and he could jog back to the turn off and duck into the trees if he heard a car approach. He grabbed the binoculars and began jogging back.

  After the quarter mile jog, Pickowski was sweating in the eighty-degree heat, his white shirt sticking uncomfortably against his back and chest, and he was slightly out of breath as he approached the turn off the limousine had taken.

  When he heard the noise of an engine growing louder, he jumped the culvert and ducked into the trees, stifling a groan of pain as a small stick poked into his left ankle just above his street shoes. When he was sure he couldn’t be spotted, he stopped and listened. The engine noise changed pitch and he could hear it change direction. He followed the sound to his right and saw several flashes of bright light through the trees caused by the sun’s reflection off the chrome on the vehicle. A few moments later, the engine noise dropped to an idle and he could hear voices at the checkpoint, one-hundred-feet to his right. He continued in the same direction, occasionally stifling a groan of pain as his ankles were subjected to more pokes, then he saw the vehicle still stopped at the checkpoint.