White Death by Clive Cussler
“Isn't that the name of a Mexican restaurant in Falls Church?” “You're asking the wrong man. I've always considered 'Mexican' and 'restaurant' uttered in the same sentence as no less an oxymoron than 'military intelligence.' El Brasero means 'brazier' in Spanish. It was the nickname given the aforementioned Martinez for his zeal in putting the torch to heretics.”
“Not the type you would invite to a barbecue.”
“No, but he proved to be Blackthorne's savior. The Englishman impressed Martinez with his resourcefulness, and his ability to speak Spanish, but more important, Blackthorne was familiar with war galleys and sailing ships.”
"That shows the lengths to which Martinez would go to catch
Aguirrez, even sparing a victim."
“Oh, yes. We know from his writings that he thought Aguirrez was especially dangerous because he had been charged with the steward- ship of the Roland relics and might use them to rally his countrymen against the Spaniards. When Aguirrez escaped arrest in his ship, Mar- tinez went after him. Blackthorne was commanding Brasero's lead galley when they caught up with Aguirrez on his caravel off the coast of France in 1515. Although he was becalmed, outnumbered and out- gunned, Aguirrez managed to sink two galleys and put Martinez to flight.”
“The more I learn about Diego, the more I like him.” Perlmutter nodded. “His strategy was brilliant. I intend to include this fight in a collection I'm preparing of classic sea battles. Unfor- tunately, Brasero had the services of an informer who knew that Aguirrez always stopped in the Faroe Islands to rest before crossing the ocean to North America.”
Austin leaned forward in his chair and murmured, “Skaalshavn.” “You know it?”
“I was in Skaalshavn a few days ago.”
“Can't say I'm familiar with the place.”
“Can't blame you, it's quite remote. A picturesque little fishing vil- lage with a natural harbor of refuge. There are some interesting caves nearby.”
“Caves?” The blue eyes danced with excitement. “Quite an extensive network. I've seen them. From the drawings on the walls, I'd say they've been occupied off and on going back to ancient times. The Basques, or others, may have been using them for hundreds, maybe thousands, of years.”
“Blackthorne mentions the caves in his narrative. In fact, they were instrumental in his story.” “In what way?”
“Aguirrez could easily have outdistanced his pursuers and fled to North America, where Brasero would never find him. The Basques were the only mariners intrepid enough to sail the Atlantic in those days. But Diego knew that Brasero would go after his family. And he knew that even if he stashed the relics in North America, when he returned to Europe, Brasero would be waiting.”
“Maybe he decided to take a stand for the most primal of reasons,” Austin said. “He wanted his revenge on the man who had ruined his life and stolen his fortune.”
“No disagreement there. Brasero was just as determined to finish the job he'd started. He had switched from his galley to a warship twice the size of Diego's caravel. He had put Blackthorne in com- mand. The ship bristled with guns that would have made short work of the Basques. But Diego knew from their previous encounter of the informant on board Brasero's ship and prudently moved the caravel away from the caves. Diego stationed a handful of his men on shore, where they could be seen by Brasero, and when Martinez launched his boats, the men ran into the caves, drawing their pursuers after them.”
“I smell a trap.” "You've got a better nose than Martinez, although in fairness, he
was probably distracted by thoughts of all the fun he was going to have burning Diego and his crew."
“Shades of Custer's Last Stand. That cave system is a labyrinth. Perfect to stage an ambush.”
“Then I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear that's what hap- pened. It was a two-pronged strategy. The caravel swept down on the warship and cowed its skeleton crew with a few cannon shots. Then they boarded the ship and took it over. Meanwhile, Diego launched his ambush. He had dragged one of his ship's cannon into the caves and used it to take the wind out of the attack.” Perlmutter raised a pudgy fist as if he were reliving the battle. “Brasero was a skilled swordsman, but Aguirrez was better. Instead of killing him, he toyed with Martinez before he doused Brasero's flame forever.”
“Where was Mr. Blackthorne in all this?”
“One of Brasero's men went to take a shot at Diego. Blackthorne killed the man. Diego had his men bring Blackthorne to him. The Englishman laid out his story. Diego needed a skilled captain to command the warship, so he made a deal. Blackthorne would take charge of the ship and get Diego's men home safely. Several weeks later, by Blackthorne's account, he sailed up the Thames with his prize.”
“What happened to the Roland relics?”
“Blackthorne never mentions them. But by his account, Diego called for a small volunteer crew to stay with him and sent the oth- ers home with Blackthorne. Diego no longer needed gunners and cannon crew, only skilled sailors. Even with Brasero dead, he knew the relics would not be safe as long as the Inquisition was alive. So he continued west, never to be heard from again. Another unsolved mystery of the sea.”
"Maybe not/' Austin said. He handed Perlmutter the news clip about the zeppelin crash.
Perlmutter read the story and looked up. “These unusual 'items' Heinz mentions could be the long-lost relics.”
“My thoughts exactly. Which means they're in the hands of Oceanus.”
“Would Oceanus give them up?”
Austin thought of his run-ins with the Oceanus thugs. “Not likely,” he said, with a rueful chuckle.
Perlmutter gazed at Austin over tented ringers. “It seems there is more to this whole saga than meets the eye.”
“A hell of a lot more, and I'll be glad to tell you all the gory details over another cup of coffee.” Austin lifted his cup. “As long as you're up, old boy, could you fetch me a refill? Get one for yourself.”
NUMA 4 - White Death
28
AUSTIN ARRIVED THREE minutes before his appointed meeting time with Aguirrez. After leaving Perlmutter's house, Austin drove down Embassy Row. The gods that look over Wash- ington drivers were smiling, and he found a parking space with no trouble. He walked along Pennsylvania Avenue until he stood in front of a square building that consisted of several dark-glass stories grafted onto some old Washington houses. Austin read the sign next to the front door and wondered if he had the wrong address. Given the troubles the Aguirrez family had had with the Spanish authori- ties through the centuries, the last place he would have expected to find Balthazar was at the embassy of Spain.
Austin gave his name to a security guard at the door and was passed on to the receptionist, who punched out a number on her in- tercom phone and spoke in Spanish to someone on the line. Then she smiled and, in a lovely accent that evoked visions of Castile, said
“Mr. Aguirrez is with the ambassador. He'll be with you in a mo- ment.”
A few minutes later, Aguirrez came strolling out of a hallway. Aguirrez had shed his blue sweat suit and black beret and was im- peccably dressed in a dark-gray suit that would have cost Austin a week's pay. But even the best of tailors couldn't hide the peasant hands and sturdy physique. He was talking to a snowy-haired man who walked beside him, hands behind his back, head lowered in thought as he listened intently to what the Basque was saying. Aguir- rez saw Austin and waved at him. The two men broke off their con- versation, parting with warm handshakes and smiles. Aguirrez
strode over to where Austin stood and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
“Mr. Austin,” he said cheerfully. “How nice to see you again. I'm sorry I didn't introduce you to the ambassador, but he was late for a meeting. Come this way.”
Aguirrez led Austin down a hallway to a door into what had been a drawing room in one of the old houses that were part of the em- bassy complex. The centerpiece was an oversized marble fireplace, and the room itself was comfortably appointed with plush rugs
As they took their seats, Aguirrez evidently noted the wondering look on Austin's face, because he said, “You look puzzled, Mr. Austin.”
Austin saw no reason to beat around the bush. “I'm surprised to find you here-a man accused of being a Basque terrorist within the walls of the Spanish Embassy.”
Aguirrez didn't seem offended. “You have obviously looked into my background, which I expected, so you know that the accusations have not been substantiated.”
“Still, I noticed that you're not wearing your black beret.” Aguirrez gave out a booming laugh. “In deference to my hosts, I have shed my chapeau, although I miss wearing it. I think that some in this building might think I had a bomb under the beret, and their nervousness would interfere with our work.”
“Which is?”
“To settle the Basque problem peacefully once and for all.”
“That's a tall order after hundreds of years of conflict.”
“I'm confident it can be accomplished.”
“What happened to your ancestral quest?”
“The past and the present are inseparable in this cause. The Basque separatists want a homeland. The Spanish government has experi- mented with autonomy, with unfortunate results. If I find the relics I am looking for, their discovery could set off an emotional wave of Basque nationalism. I know my people. It would tear Spain apart.”
“So you have suddenly become very important to the Spanish gov- ernment.”
He nodded. “I have met with high-level officials in Madrid who asked me to inform your State Department people of the situation and assure them I am not a terrorist. I have agreed, once I find the relics, to put them in safekeeping.”
“What's to prevent you from going back on your word?”
The Basque frowned, and a dangerous expression came to his dark eyes. “It is a logical question, and one the Spanish government also asked. I told them that I will honor the memory of my ancestor, who was chosen to be the guardian of the relics. In return, the Span- ish government will take graduated, meaningful steps toward Basque autonomy.”
“You're using the relics as leverage?”
He shrugged. “I prefer to call it a solution that takes into account our mutual interests.”
“Not a bad deal, considering the fact that you don't have the relics.”
“A technicality,” he said, the broad smile returning. “I have un- earthed information on the sea routes my ancestor took to the New World. The Basques were in the Faroes as early as 875. After stop- ping at the Faroes, Diego would head for Newfoundland or Labrador. There is ample precedent for this theory. My people fished for cod and whales off North America as far back as the Middle Ages.”
“I've read that Cabot found Indians using words that could have had a Basque origin.”
“No doubt about it!” he said, his face flushing with excitement. “My research indicates that there are some unexplored caves near Channel-Port aux Basques in Newfoundland. I will rejoin my yacht there as soon as I clear up my business here, and I am convinced that before long I will hold the sword and horn of Roland in my hands.”
Austin paused, wondering how he could gently break the news, then decided that it could not be done. “There may be a problem,” he said.
Aguirrez eyed Austin warily. “What do you mean?” Austin handed over an envelope containing a copy of the Black- thorne manuscript. “This material suggests that the relics may not be where you think they are.” Austin proceeded to lay out the story Perlmutter had told him. As Aguirrez listened, storm clouds seemed to move in and perch on his brow.
“I know of St. Julien Perlmutter through my own research. He is highly respected as a sea historian.” “There is none more knowledgeable.”
Aguirrez slammed a fist into his palm. “I Ifnew Diego wasn't killed by Brasero. He escaped with the relics.”
“There's more,” Austin said. He handed Aguirrez the news clip detailing the interview with the zeppelin's survivor.
“I still don't understand,” the Basque said after reading the article. “Oceanus is the owner of the zeppelin that found your ancestor's boat locked in the ice.”
Aguirrez saw the connection immediately. “You believe that Oceanus has the sacred relics in its possession?”
“It's a good bet if you follow the chain of evidence.” “And in your view, Oceanus can't be approached on this matter?” “I don't think Oceanus can be approached on anythmg Austin said, with a rueful chuckle. ”You recall my boating accident? I have a confession to make. An Oceanus security guard blew up my boat with a hand grenade."
“And I must confess that I never believed your story about engine fumes.”
“While we're in a confessing mood,” Austin said, “maybe you can tell me why your men followed me to Copenhagen.”
“A precaution. To be frank, I didn't know what to make of you. I knew from your identity card that you were with NUMA, but I didn't know why you were poking into the Oceanus operation, and assumed it must be an official mission. My curiosity was stirred, so I decided to keep an eye on you. You made no effort to hide your movements. My men happened to be nearby when you were at- tacked. How is the young lady you were with, by the way?” “She's fine, thanks to the alertness of your men.” “Then you're not angry at being followed?” “Not at all, but I wouldn't like to see you make it a habit.” “I understand.” Aguirrez paused in thought. “Am I correct to as- sume the men who attacked you were from Oceanus?”
“That seems a safe conclusion. The attackers resembled the guards I encountered at the Oceanus operation in the Faroes.”
“Oceanus tried to kill you twice. Be careful, my friend, they may try again.”
“They already have.”
Aguirrez didn't ask for details, and it was obvious he had other things on his mind. He rose from his chair and paced the room Blackthorne's manuscript clutched in his hand. “The people here must not know of this material. Without the relics, the Spanish gov- ernment will lose its incentive to move on Basque autonomy. But this goes beyond political matters,” he said in a hollow voice. “I have failed my ancestor Diego by not finding the relics.”
“There may still be a way.”
Aguirrez stopped his pacing and fixed Austin with a penetrating stare. “What are you saying?”
“We're both interested in nailing Oceanus to the wall. Let's talk about it, taking account, as you said before, of mutual interests.”
Aguirrez hiked his bushy eyebrows, but his face remained im- passive. Then he went over to a liquor cabinet and brought back two small glasses and a bottle of greenish-yellow liquor. He poured the glasses full and handed one to Austin, who recognized the distinc- tive scent ofizzara.
An hour later, Austin slid behind the wheel of his car. He wondered if he had made a deal that might come back to haunt him, but he trusted his instincts, which were all he had to go on at this point. He sensed that Aguirrez was devious but principled, and since they shared the same goals, it would be foolish not to form a loose al- liance.
He checked his cell phone and saw that there were two calls. The first was from the Trouts. He was relieved to hear from them. He knew from working with them on the Special Assignments Team that Paul and Gamay were able to take care of themselves, but at the same time, they had gone looking for Oceanus without knowing how dangerous their mission might be.
Gamay answered his call. She and Paul had returned from Canada a few hours before, and dropped their luggage off at their town house. Then they had gone to NUMA headquarters to meet with Zavala, who was going to update them.
“Did you get inside the Oceanus operation?” Austin asked. “No,” Gamay said, “but we bumped into a few of their people.” Gamay was being a little too casual. “I know from personal expe- rience that when you bump into Oceanus, it bumps back. Are you and Paul all right?”
“We're fine. A slight concussion for me and a broken wris
Austin swore under his breath, angry at himself for putting his partners in danger.
“I didn't realize what I was getting you into. I'm sorry.” Don't be. You only asked us to see what we could learn about Oceanus. It was our decision to go flying off to Canada and poke our noses in where they weren't welcome. It was worth the trip, too. We wouldn't have learned about the devilfish otherwise."
The only devilfish Austin had ever heard of was the manta ray.
Are you sure that concussion is on the mend?"
“I've never been more clearheaded, Kurt. In all my years as a ma- rine biologist, I've never encountered anything like this before. Paul calls it 'white death.5 ”
Austin experienced a quick frisson as he recalled his brush with the large, toothy creature in the Oceanus fish tank. “You can fill me in when I get there.”
He hung up and punched out Gunn's number. “Hello, Rudi,” he said, without the usual exchange of pleasantries. “I think it's time we had a meeting with Sandecker.”
NUMA 4 - White Death
29
THE GIANT VIDEO screen in the conference room glowed blue for a second, then an image appeared. There was a flash of silvery-white scales in a net, and Mike Neal was heard shouting, “Hold on, folks, we've got a live one!” There was a blurred glimpse of a fish slamming against the deck and a close-up of a toothy mouth snapping a gaff handle in two. The handheld camera showed the same fish being clouted with a baseball bat. The astonished voices of the Trouts were audible in the background.
Paul Trout clicked the remote control and froze the picture. The lights blinked back on, and a crisp, commanding voice was heard to say, “It seems Jaws has formidable competition.”