Submerged (10 page)

“And if we don’t?” Zeisler asked.

“Then you go home.” Sanders studied Zeisler.
“You come highly recommended, Dr. Zeisler, but I’ll confess to
having some concerns about your loyalty.”

“To you or to the country?”

“The country.”

Zeisler shook his head. “I’ve disagreed with
many things this country has done, Vietnam being one of them, but
my patriotism is as rock solid as yours, Sanders. I may express it
differently, but it is there.” Zeisler was the first to sign.

The meeting broke up, and Sanders offered
steak dinners to everyone. They met in the lobby thirty minutes
later. Henry was the last to arrive again.

“You do like to make an entrance,” Zeisler
quipped.

“I didn’t get enough love as a child.” Henry
stopped at the front desk. A twenty-something woman with sad eyes
and a bored expression listened while Henry whispered. She nodded
and rounded the desk and joined the group.

“I didn’t know we could bring dates,” Zeisler
said. “I guess it’s you and me, Cynthia.”

“Charming as you are, I’m engaged.”

“Ah, boyfriend back home, eh?”

Henry stepped between the two. “I thought a
group picture would be nice. This is Judy, and she agreed to take a
photo. He held up a Minolta 35 mm camera.

Sanders frowned. “I don’t think that’s such a
good idea.”

“That’s why I thought of it.” Henry moved
toward the door with Judy in tow. Outside he said, “Line up,
everyone, and put on your best I-Love-Nevada smiles.” He handed the
camera to Judy. “Do you know how to use a camera like this?” When
she shook her head, he gave her a thirty-second lesson.

Henry joined the group as they stood in front
of the lobby doors.

Judy checked for traffic and stepped into the
middle of the street. “The car is in the way.” She pointed at the
Suburban. “We should move down a little.”

“That’s all right,” Henry said. “No one is
ever going to see this anyway.”

Judy raised the camera. “Say cheese.”

Chapter9

Seattle was an hour
behind them
before anyone spoke. Perry sat in the passenger
seat of the large H1 Hummer, his thoughts still resident in a
hospital he had left what seemed like a week ago. He kept his face
turned to the passing scenery, little of which he saw. The droning
of the 6.5 liter V8 engine was the sole music in the cab. Jack was
at the wheel, pushing the big and heavily loaded vehicle just over
the speed limit.

Swollen clouds had released their burden in
sheets of rain that shimmered in the Hummer’s headlights and pelted
its metal skin. Some might think that the rain was a reflection of
Perry’s emotion, but they would be wrong. Perry loved rain; the
cascade from the sky was welcome.

Jack broke the silence. “You didn’t abandon
him, pal.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

The pointed question stung. Perry turned to
his friend. “I said I did.”

“Yeah, I know. I was here. I’m asking if you
really
know
you didn’t abandon him.”

“Intellectually, yes. Emotionally, no. My
father’s teetering on the edge of death, and I’m driving in the
wrong direction.”

“You said it yourself, Perry. Your dad spent
a great deal of his limited energy to tell you those names and
words. He had a purpose for doing that, and his purpose has become
yours.”

“What if he dies while I’m gone?”

Jack started to say something, then pulled
his words back.

Perry frowned. “Don’t hold out on me now,
Jack. Say it.”

“I don’t want to be misunderstood.”

“You? Misunderstood?” That made Perry smile.
“You’re pretty easy to understand.”

“What I mean—I don’t want my intention
misunderstood.”

“Let it fly.”

“You asked what happens if your father dies
while you’re gone. Well, I’ll tell you. He dies. He dies, and it
will hurt whether you’re at his bedside or in Nevada. You will
mourn, your mother will mourn, and you will feel bad for all the
things you wished you had done, wished you had said, and wished you
hadn’t done. Yes, your father is dying, and so are you. So am I,
and so is Gleason sitting in the backseat. Of course, he’s further
along than we are.”

“Hey, watch it,” Gleason said. “I have
unhindered access to the back of your head.”

“Perry,” Jack continued, “Everyone dies, and
no one likes it. There’s no easy way through it. Here’s the odd
thing: Guys like us have reconciled ourselves to our own death. How
many times have we wrestled with the scythe-carrying old guy?
Several times in the last couple of years. What we haven’t
reconciled ourselves to is the fact that those we love will someday
die.”

“Are we supposed to just sit back and accept
it?”

Jack eyed Perry. “We’re in a Hummer, in a
rainstorm, driving hundreds of miles overnight to do the best we
can—the only thing we can—to help. No, we don’t sit back and take
it, but we don’t fool ourselves into believing we’re the exception
to the rule. Statisticians have proven the point; 100 percent of
those born will someday die.” He paused. “You’re doing what you
can, what you’re best at.”

“Jack is right,” Gleason said. “Give yourself
a break, Perry. This is not your fault, and no father has had a
better son.”

Perry knew they were right. He had been
pummeling himself for not being there when his dad collapsed and
now for heading hundreds of miles away.

“Another thing, buddy,” Jack said. “This is a
matter of faith. We trust God in life, so why wouldn’t we trust Him
in death? Jesus put an end to spiritual death, making physical
death a promotion.”

“I guess I’m not ready to let go,” Perry
said.

“I know, pal, I know, but very few people
are. That’s the price of love. If you loathed your father, this
wouldn’t be so difficult. But you love him, and this is the price
you pay for that love.”

“Last year,” Jack continued, “when we were in
Antarctica, your father was told you were killed in a plane crash.
What did he do?”

“He searched for proof. He pulled out the
stops to prove them wrong.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to find a clue to what may have
afflicted my father.”

“You’re pulling out the stops to help. Like
father, like son.”

“Trust God and do what you can,” Perry
said.

“That’s been our motto for a great many
years. I don’t see any reason to change it now.”

“So you’re saying it’s time to get busy.”

“That’s what I’m saying. You’re the only man
alive who loves your father more than me, but I’d rather be out
here grasping at straws than sitting around doing nothing. You made
the right call in pulling this trip together.”

“I pray it won’t happen,” Gleason said, “but
even if your father dies, finding out what may have triggered this
could bring closure to your mom and to the rest of us who call him
friend.”

Perry was thankful for friends with frank
opinions. Their words cheered him some, but the acid of fear still
burned at his heart and soul.

“Gleason has some information,” Jack
said.

“Let’s hear it, Gleason.” Perry heard a
briefcase open.

Gleason reached up and turned on the overhead
light. “First, the personnel in the photos.” He handed a file
folder to Perry. Inside were documents that looked like
resumes.

“On top is Monte Grant. Civil engineer. Did
well for himself. He had a successful company with offices in
several states. He specialized in concrete structures, tilt ups,
bridges, dams, and the like. Well-credentialed. Based on what you
said about the message left on your father’s answering machine, I
did some checking. He was retired and living in Kingman, Arizona.
He died two days ago while mowing his lawn. He was up there in
years, so his death wouldn’t raise any flags. I made some calls but
didn’t get very far. So I went out on a limb and called his home.
He was listed, and finding him was easy. I spoke to his sister. She
mentioned that he had been in good health—no heart conditions that
she knew of—but the oddest thing was his eyes.”

“Cataracts?” Perry asked.

“Exactly. And his sister, Luisa
Grant-Winston, said that he had never had cataracts and certainly
didn’t have them when he went out to mow the lawn. Look at the next
page.”

Perry did. He saw the name of Cynthia Wagner.
“Bioengineer?”

“That’s the BE on the list you took from the
safe in your father’s home. Bioengineering is a growing discipline.
It’s big-time stuff now, but in the seventies, it was just getting
its sea legs.”

Perry thought of the poor woman who died
while he listened on the phone.

Gleason continued. “She died early today. Of
course you know that; you were talking to her at the time. My point
is that I had a little more trouble getting information on her
death. First I found her address, then assuming an ambulance would
take her to the nearest hospital, I began making calls. I
discovered where she had been admitted, but no one would talk to me
since I wasn’t family or a police investigator. I called the local
medical examiner’s office and got stonewalled there as well, so I .
. .” He trailed off.

“What?” Perry prompted.

“I called your father’s doctor and asked him
to make the calls. He was surprised to learn that Monte Grant had
the same problem with his eyes. I told him that Cynthia Wagner
might also, and if so, that might help him in his diagnosis. He
made the calls and must have thrown his credentials around. It’s
too soon for an autopsy, but he got an ME to take a look at the
body. The eyes were covered with cataracts.”

“That explains his desire to contact the
CDC.”

“Victor Zeisler was an electrical engineer.
He worked for Boeing, planning their construction bays, test
facilities, and the like. He did a short stint with NASA, then took
an early retirement. Here’s the kicker: He lives in Carson City,
Nevada.”

“Is that on our way?”

“It can be,” Jack said.

“There’s a problem,” Gleason admitted. “I
called and tried to set up a meeting. Real nice guy until I
mentioned Tonopah. Then he slammed the phone down.”

“And you being such a sensitive soul,” Jack
said.

“At least he’s alive. For now anyway.” Perry
looked out the window and thought about what he had heard. “Let’s
do it, guys. Let’s see if Victor Zeisler is as good at slamming
doors as he is phones.”

“Will do,” Jack said.

“There’s something else,” Gleason said. “Your
father gave you a few other terms.”

“Lloyd. Lake. Dam. Nevada.”

“The obvious conclusion is to assume your dad
meant Lake Lloyd, Nevada, so I checked some maps. No such place,
but you know me, that struck me as a challenge. I ordered some
satellite photos from a commercial site. It’s a popular area. Area
Fifty-one is out there, and Nellis Air Force Base. UFO enthusiasts
consider the place Disneyland. Anyway, these commercial sites
provide satellite photos you can download off the net for a price.
I focused on the whole state of Nevada and found many reservoirs.
Then I compared them to print maps. All the reservoirs were named
except one, and it’s in the region mentioned by your father.”

Jack chuckled. “Ain’t he special. I feel so
proud of our little Gleason. Wait until you hear this part. You’re
gonna want to give him a gold star.”

“You drive the car and leave the talking to
me,” Gleason said.

“I’m just trying to shower you with some
well-deserved praise.”

“Go on,” Perry said.

“The print maps don’t show the unnamed
reservoir. It appears on the satellite photos but not on the print
maps. So

I did something else. I could see the dam in
the photos, and dams have to be inspected. So I rattled a few cages
at the Nevada Department of Water Resources. They denied that such
a dam existed. So I kept plugging away. I found a map from the
early eighties that showed the reservoir and dam. It listed the
reservoir as Lake Lloyd. The map was privately funded.”

“Someone doesn’t want the world to know that
the lake exists?” Perry conjectured.

“That’s my take. Just so you know, we may be
going where we’re not wanted.”

“We’ve been there before,” Perry said. “So
Dad was somehow involved in the Lake Lloyd Dam project. Did you
search for other records of dam construction?”

“I did, but I didn’t find much. It’s well
hidden.”

“Maybe it’s time we shed some light in the
darkness,” Perry said.

“I brought equipment, but not knowing what
we’re going to face, I had to resort to guessing.”

“We’ll make do.” It felt good to be doing
something. Perry watched the windshield wipers struggle against the
rain. He wasn’t sure what lay ahead, but he was determined to find
out. A slim hope was better than no hope. He might have regrets
later for not staying while his father died, but if he had stayed,
he would feel guilty for not having tried.

“You guys get some sleep,” Jack said. “We’re
going to be driving all night, and I need my beauty rest. I’ve got
another few hours left in me, but I’m going to want to pass off
driving duties. I’ll let you two fight for who gets the
privilege.”

“No fighting necessary. I’ll take the next
shift.” Perry folded his arms, leaned his head back, and waited for
sleep.

A three-quarter alabaster moon hovered in the
dome of night as Carl Subick left his home. It was just two hours
past midnight, and the desert air carried a thin sweetness on its
warm breeze. Those stars that refused to be pushed from sight by
the moon blinked from their perch in space. For Carl, this was when
the desert was at its best. The daytime blanket of heat had
dissolved, and the sky was bejeweled with the Milky Way, which
shone down unhindered by city lights.