Deep Sea One (6 page)

"Oh, stop," Nina chuckled, "I'm no whore."

"No, you are not. Whores are innovative entrepreneurs, if you consider their business sense. And you are just content with waiting for a date, you catch?" Maggie urged her for an answer with a forceful countenance.

"I fear asking, but are you suggesting I hit it off with him? Because that will never happen, not for the position of pope," Nina winced.

"No!" Maggie laughed, "Jesus, perish the thought! No, I mean you should tuck away your dislike for him, just enough to win his favor, see? You know, Nina, this old fart could pave your way to professor—or even something better! You have to use what you can get, within limits of course," she smiled.

Nina gave it pause. Her eyes ran across the edge of the desk and onto the floor while her nails tapped on the desk surface. Maggie knew she had set the ball rolling and proudly she briefly touched Nina's arm before exiting and closing the door behind her. Her work was done here.

The following day Nina was not keen on calling Purdue, but Maggie's sentiments rang true in her memory. Admitting to herself that she was a bit childish for wishing
he
would call
her
instead, she dialed his number. It felt as if she was yielding, as if she was the one who needed him, by contacting him first.

"Oh, God, just grow up, Nina," she angrily shook herself out of the silliness. "Let's just come out and say it. You
are
the one needing him. He could afford anyone else for company, but, can you?" The petite history lecturer talked herself through the dial tone and the punching of his number and stopped short when he answered.

"I am not going to waste your time, Nina," Purdue said, after the obligatory pleasantries through which both of them could see, but elected to play the sanctimonious card. "I again need an expert in German history. This time there is no one else in on it, I am certain," he said. His tone of voice somewhat unsettled Nina. Purdue was not wielding his usual erratic and reckless self, but instead abandoned his desire for her to talk shop. It was very unlike him to be serious enough about something to relinquish his blatant flirtations and boasts about his genius.

"In the ice?" she asked, sincerely hoping not to have to succumb to cabin fever in Antarctica again.

"No, the North Sea. I have discovered something profound under Deep Sea One, the oil rig I own, and I think it is a sunken German submarine from the Second World War. I need someone to dive down to it with me, to tell me what I don't know about it," came his excited whisper, as if someone would hear him if he even thought about it.

"Wait. What? A missing German submarine under a North Sea oil rig? Do I have that correctly? And how do we dive that deep?" she fired out questions. Her heart jumped when he had used the word "profound." She connected the exact same word with what she needed for the ascension of her career. If it was profound, she had to be in on it. And given the controversy surrounding the subject it was a godsend for her research dissertation.

"Nina, we will dive in a submersible that I am waiting to take delivery of as we speak. In or out?" he asked.

Nina was not used to being put on the spot like this. The urgency of his request excited her, but she had minimal information. Hesitating, she stuttered, "Uh . . . uh, I don't know. I don't do well in small spaces, Dave, as you know. Going below in a submersible . . ."

"Name your price, Dr. Gould," he interrupted her. Nina's fingers were sweating. Her price would surely leave him unfazed, especially considering his zeal for getting started. She thought about it for a moment while Maggie's lecture echoed in her mind. Nina pinched her eyes shut.

"When and where?"

☼

Chapter 8

"You know that I cannot employ people who I don't know, Calisto. If you cannot give me credentials, I cannot employ you. Now, I appreciate what you did for my men and I would really like to have someone like you at my back, but if you don't want to play ball . . . " Purdue said, as he leaned in his high-back chair, playing with a stress ball in his right hand.

In front of him two LED monitors were alight with information about Nazi treasure and submarine serial numbers that he found on a discreet military-based site for the discerning smuggler or arms trader.

On the other side of the screens sat Calisto with her hands folded in her lap, as she always did, like a frightened schoolgirl in the principal's office. Her dark eyes shimmered in the brightness of the white room where he first encountered her. Calisto held her hands open wide and Purdue motioned with his head for the captain of the security team to scan her fingerprints.

"Calisto Fernandez, born in London, 1975. Police sergeant for four years in Madrid where she was dismissed for shooting a colleague?" Purdue said, sounding more amused than shocked.

"Boyfriend. Caught him cheating on me, so I shot him," she explained, not sounding sorry at all.

"Ah! Makes sense. Is he dead?" Purdue smiled, as he tossed the little ball from one hand to the other.

"I did not check. His boyfriend ran and I gave chase," she said, without any change in tone of expression. After the three security guards and Mr. Purdue took a moment to take that in, she added with a shrug, "He's dead."

Among astonished scoffing and some sniggering, Purdue continued.

"I see you took some extra courses during your police career, sergeant—studied criminal psychology and some background in basic tactical training. Good. There is not much on you otherwise, which is odd," he noted, and looked up from the monitor with a questioning frown.

"Well, I'm a Leo. I love chocolate and folk dancing. Sometimes I grind my teeth when I sleep . . ." she said in a monotonous drawl, while her eyes rested on the ceiling. The security guards did everything not to laugh, although the captain was not amused at all.

"Show some respect!" he shouted at Calisto.

She turned to him and narrowed her eyes, "Why? Do I have the sniveling puppy job now?"

Purdue cleared his throat.

"You seem to have a problem with discipline, Ms. Fernandez," he announced, "and the places I go call for a strictly obedient bodyguard. I need to know if I could trust you to tail me, protect me and . . . Listen. To. Me," Purdue emphasized the latter with accentuated words.

"With all due respect, Mr. Purdue, until you pay my salary I don't give a flying fuck who you are or who people think you are. I need incentive to be leashed, unlike these ladies here," Calisto said, in her low husky voice, displaying absolutely no emotional ripples or fear.

Purdue liked that. Not only was she as efficient and cold as the late Ziv Blomstein, but he guessed that she used her own discretion under pressure and she obviously was not easily subjugated. These things could count in his favor, he reckoned.

"Gentlemen, would you please excuse us?" Purdue finally said in his normal lighthearted way. When he was alone with Calisto he printed her contract, on which her substantial fee was posted.

"Goddamn! You want me to kill the queen or what?" she marveled at the amount he offered her.

"No, Calisto, I am buying the most expensive and ultimately the most costly service from you—trust, unchallenged loyalty. And when this contract is concluded you will have the prerogative to apply for a permanent post in this capacity. Consider this your probation period," Purdue sang in his best sales pitch.

Calisto spared no time in grabbing his pen to sign her name to join his service.

"I have two other people already recruited. This top-secret venture is among four of us only and I expect everything to be handled with utmost confidence. Do you understand?" he asked.

"Unequivocally, sir," the rigid discipline rang in Calisto's voice, as she took on her duty immediately.

"Excellent," Purdue smiled with glee.

In the late afternoon he sent a very important email to Sam Cleave. Although things were rocky between them, Purdue turned to Cleave to record the progress of the new discovery. Cleave had an established reputation now, his work was excellent and he was not the worst person to have on a trip. How he would gel with Dr. Gould after their jagged parting was none of his concern. Purdue trusted Cleave to keep a secret as long as he needed him to, a rare quality in a world-renowned investigative journalist. There were secrets in that U-boat at the bottom of the ocean and whatever they were, he needed an expert, such as Nina to decipher and interpret them.

He felt his excitement bound as he started typing the message.

Dear Mr. Cleave,

I trust you are well and handling the pressures of society swimmingly.

If you are not held up with another project, I would once more like to procure your services to document a venture I am embarking on within the next two weeks, if all goes well.

Of course, I cannot discuss the details here, so I would appreciate it if you could grace me with a visit within the next three days.

I am afraid time is of the utmost urgency for me to finalize the details of the excursion, so I need to impress on you the gravity of our meeting. You can reply to this email to confirm your interest. The rest we will discuss when you come to see me.

Appreciate your swift response, Sam. I look forward to seeing you.

Have a good week.

Regards,

Dave Purdue

PS: Do you have scuba training?

By the following week Purdue had meticulously laid out his plans, signed contracts with Sam and Nina and notified them of the rendezvous point from where they would be transported to the platform of Deep Sea One. The manufacturers from Holland had delivered his new submersible to the oil rig where it was docked and ready. Now things began to fall into place for the first phase of his discovery. Purdue could not wait to sink beneath the waves to meet her, to excavate her and see what she held hostage.

☼

Chapter 9

Nina felt queasy when she saw the small private helicopter. Not only was she claustrophobic, but the thought of seeing Sam Cleave again only exacerbated her apprehension. It was as if she was forced to deal with Frank Matlock's lackeys wherever she went lately. Because of the excitement she felt after Purdue had informed her of the exact nature of the new exploration, she had hardly been able to get more than two hours of sleep a night. Her eyes felt swollen and sandy, although she looked perfectly normal to the untrained eye. Nina felt as if she had stepped into a dream. Lack of sleep made her feel like a zombie and she dreaded the obligatory small talk she would have to engage in before she would be forced to deal with that traitor she once thought she had developed a fancy for.

"Good morning, Dr. Gould," Gary, the pilot, smiled, as the small lady's posh bop cut became disheveled by the gusts of the rotors. Her clothing whipped up from the upturn of the machine's gale but she attempted a smile, "Good morning. I'm sorry I am a bit tardy—overslept."

"No problem, ma'am. I needed a coffee break anyway," the friendly pilot winked.

His kind demeanor made her feel better. For a minute she forgot that she was unhappy about getting into the helicopter, but Gary was one of those people who could make a paranoid agoraphobic feel at ease if he had to. After loading her bag into the Robbie he helped her in.

"Everything okay? No worries, ma'am, I have been a pilot for twenty years and I have a smashing good record," he assured her, and then realized his choice of words were rather unfit for the passenger's comfort. Nina raised an eyebrow to the remark and the poor man smiled sheepishly.

"I am a bit uncomfortable in cramped spaces, that's all," she winced politely, so that he would understand any strange reactions from her.

"Ah!" he nodded as he closed the door. The sound of the rotating blades above Nina's head reminded her of a carnivorous ceiling fan that was sucking her up into it. From the inside of the helicopter the chopping thuds pulsed into her gut, an awfully peculiar sensation she had never had before. Gary got in and showed her how to strap in. He was always reluctant to buckle up women, because it was uncomfortable and dangerous. One slip and he'd be sued for sexual harassment. Nina did not usually mind flying, but now that she was again in some form of hovercraft, just like her trip to Wolfenstein, she was inadvertently thrown a slideshow of memories to the expedition from which she thought she'd never escape alive.

It was perhaps a good thing that she jumped at the sudden lift of the Robbie. It saved her from remembering the particularly heinous things about Wolfenstein that she still had nightmares about on occasion. Her tummy tingled from the positive Gs she pulled as the craft ascended higher and higher in the mild wind, which rocked it gently. Gary smiled at the lady's sudden grip on the seat as they bunted forward, snout tilted forward.