The Last Airship (30 page)

Abdulla
looked down at the hundred or more tranquilizer darts now piercing his body.

He
never spoke, but his eyes told John that Abdulla wanted to kill him.

John,
as well as everyone else in the room
,
had also been pierced by hundreds
of the same tiny tranquilizer darts, and he was also starting to feel their
paralyzing effects.

John
felt sorry for his enemy
,
who could never have guessed that all of the
three men in that room would willingly sacrifice their own lives so that he
could be captured.

John
never saw Abdulla suddenly lunge at him with a deadly knife.

It
sliced directly across his throat.

John
was surprised to feel no pain.

The
injected sedative had a calming effect, and John felt a sense of peace come
over him as he quickly bled to death, a feeling of peace which he’d not felt
for the past twenty years.

He
wanted to raise his hand to his throat to put pressure on the wound and slow
the bleeding, but the toxin had already taken effect and despite his desire to
live
,
he was unable to save himself.

Completely
paralyzed, John Wolfgang had no way to stop the rapid flow of blood from his
severed carotid artery.

Now
it’s really over, and at least my girl is safe –
were his final thoughts as he was claimed by death.

*

Sam
Reilly slid open the secret safe beneath the gondola’s carriage, which he’d
discovered on the night that he and Aliana had first found the Magdalena
,
and
he stepped into the room where all eight people lay quietly, no longer 
breathing.

The
weapon that Ryan Walker had installed on the airship had served the purpose for
which it had been designed – to disarm every single person within the room
quietly and without a fight.

He
looked at the 100 loaded antidote syringes in the suitcase in front of him.

John
Wolfgang had done his job –
the
antidotes were right where he needed them to be.

He
injected Ryan first, and then Brett.

“Quick,
John’s been hit,” he told them.

Lastly,
he went over to do the same to John, but a cursory glance told him that the man
had already lost far too much blood.

Without
hesitating, he stuck the needle into John’s deltoid muscle, and expressed the
full contents of the syringe.

The
antidote began to work within seconds.

Sam
could hear the sound of gurgling blood coming from John Wolfgang’s mouth. He’d
started to breathe again, but Sam guessed that it would not be for long.

“Help
me sit him up
,
Brett.”

It
only took a second
,
and the gurgling sound cleared for a moment as the
blood slid down John’s throat.

“I’m
sorry John… I never meant for you to get hurt,” Sam apologized.

His
pale white face stared blankly back at him.

John
was already dead.

Aliana
was going to be devastated by the news.

“I’ll
get the Magdalena ready to launch,” Sam said.

“Good,”
Ryan commented, as he then picked up the satellite phone, scrolled down to the
second number and pressed enter.

When
the call was picked up, he said, “I need you to eliminate the three targets on
the map.”

*

On
the other side of the planet, the President of the United States and several
military aides, stood in a secure room as the order was given for three
computer guided missiles to be discharged from a drone now in place 90,000 feet
above an almost deserted runway in the Middle East.

Sam
watched as all three cars exploded simultaneously.

The
shockwave produced was almost enough to destroy the Magdalena and definitely
enough to injure every single person who surrounded her on the ground.

No
more than a few seconds later, he felt the Magdalena lurch forward as Ryan and
Brett cut the anchor ropes.

He
pushed the throttles forward to full, and the airship began to pick up speed.

Behind
him, Sam heard the scattered sounds of gunfire.

“They’re
waking up!” Sam yelled.

“We’re
on it,” Brett replied, as he ran out onto the open-air gangway.

Sam
adjusted the settings so that the Magdalena was ready to fly at maximum speed.

Then
he heard the sound of the grenades exploding below.

Once
the explosions settled, the sound of gunfire ceased.

Sam
set a course, and sailed the Magdalena toward home.

Sam
knocked on the door of his father’s Boston penthouse.

It
always irritated him that he should still have to do this. The place was
guarded more heavily than the Pentagon, his father would have already known
that he was on his way up, or else Sam would never have been able to reach his
floor. It was that simple.

Standing
next to him, Aliana was wearing a flowery dress, which he thought made her
appear even more beautiful, if that was even possible. Despite receiving the
sad news of her father’s death, she was determined to see the good in the world,
and vowed to make the Wolfgang Corporation the leader in medical research using
the additional 10 billion dollars now in her father’s bank account.

Aliana,
Sam decided, would make his father happy, if nothing else.

“Enter.”
His father’s voice sounded as though he really did believe that he was right up
there with God.

Sam
walked in, holding Aliana’s hand in his.

“Afternoon,
dad.” He said, as he found his father sitting next to another, older gentleman
wearing an Armani suit. He might have been any one of his father’s many
employees, advisers, politicians, or anyone whose name appeared on the Forbes
Top Ten Rich List. “This is Aliana, the girl I told you about.”

His
father stood up and kissed her on both cheeks, “I’m James Reilly, and it’s an
absolute pleasure to meet you.”

Sam
noted that his dad didn’t bother to introduce the old man with whom, he’d been
sitting, and Sam didn’t bother to inquire. If his dad didn’t choose to make the
introduction, it was because he didn’t want to. His father might be an
arrogant, certified megalomaniac, but no one ever said that he was anything
less than exceptionally intelligent, precise and deliberate in everything he
did.

A
butler entered, and handed Sam a glass of red wine. Grange.  1994 vintage. Then
he gave Aliana a glass of white Muscato. She looked at Sam as if to say,
how
did he know exactly what I like?
“Don’t feel too excited, Aliana,” he said,
“It would have been Martin, my dad’s butler, who took it upon himself to find
out what you like to drink. My old man wouldn’t have thought about offering us
any refreshments at all.”

“That’s
not true, Sam. I don’t like to be the only one drinking, when I’m not alone.”
His father continued to completely ignore the older man, who still sat quietly
at his side, sipping his drink. “And where’s Tom?”

“He’s
back on the Maria Helena.”

“Ah,
at least that makes one of you who actually does some work for what I pay you,”
James Reilly said. “And, Aliana, what type of work do you do?”

“I’m
a microbiologist. I’m soon to complete a PhD in microbiology at MIT.”

“Excellent.
And when do you start working for me?” His father said, assuming that all
intelligent people should be under his employ.

“Thank
you, but I plan to lead the research department of my late father’s company.”
She then smiled politely at him, and said, “I’ll let you know if I’m ever in
need of a job.”

“You
do that, won’t you?” He then turned to Sam: “So. What’s your plan now? When do
you return to the Maria Helena?”

“End
of the week. First, Aliana and I are going on a holiday. A real one this time
and then we’re both returning to work. The Maria Helena is off to the Gulf of
Mexico, where a large amount of dead sea life has recently washed up ashore. My
money is on one of the big mining companies doing something they shouldn’t be
doing.”

“Mexico?
Well, they can’t pay very much, surely?” His father said, sounding disgusted.

“They
don’t pay at all,” Sam corrected.

“You’re
doing pro bono work now, son?”

“No,
technically, I’m still being paid by you,” Sam quipped and then laughed. It was
a rare day when he got the best of his father. 

“Hurry
back, and do some real work – something that at least brings money into the
company, will you?”

“You
do know that dead fish in Mexico will lead to dead fish in the U.S., don’t
you?” Sam asked.

“Ah,
that’s not my problem,” His father said, arrogantly.

The
older gentleman sitting next to James Reilly turned to look at him, and said in
his upper-class British accent, the precise class of aristocratic British
snobbery to which his father could relate, “Thanks for the drink James, but I
must be on my way home. I have a flight to catch. They won’t hold my Lear Jet
indefinitely. Glad to hear it all turned out well for you.”

“Thanks
Blake, I do appreciate your help,” Sam’s father replied, shaking the man’s
hand.

“Of
course,” the man nodded his head solemnly, “when its family.” The man then
turned to leave, but hesitated briefly. “Oh, and I almost forgot to mention,
here’s that painting that was stolen from you.”

“Ah,
much appreciated,” James said.

Then
as the others were admiring the original Monet, James Reilly tore the back off
of it and removed a small sealed vial labeled, Hitler’s Virus: Antidote.

“I
do appreciate your efforts, Blake, but this thing is virtually useless now.”

Mr.
Simmonds gave it his most basic perusal, as only a fine European antiquities
collector could, and then said, “Excluding of course, the almost priceless
value of Claude Monet’s first attempt at painting water lilies.”

“Well,
I suppose that’s of some consolation. I’ll have it put up somewhere around
here, I’m sure. If Sam’s mother was around I’m sure she’d insist it be hung in
the kitchen, or some other silly notion. Perhaps I’ll have it hung in the study,
as a reminder not to be so frivolous with my money again.”

“Yes,
I imagine that’s probably the only real value of it,” Blake agreed, before
closing the door behind himself as he left.

Sam
looked at his father.

“Well,
you do look pissed, don’t you?” James Reilly said.

“That
man tried to kill me and steal the virus whose only purpose was to destroy
humanity. I thought you said I could trust him?” Sam said, belligerently.

“Me?
No, I never said you could trust him. I merely said that he could provide you
with answers. As it was, I didn’t realize that he worked for someone who wanted
more than answers to your mystery, and who was willing to stop at nothing,
including murder, to achieve his goal.”

“What
now, then?”

“What
do you mean?” His father looked genuinely surprised at the question. “Now we
carry on with our lives. What you choose to do with yours is entirely up to
you.”

“No,
I mean, what about Blake Simmonds?

“I
still don’t know what you’re referring to
,
son. I suppose he will go on
with whatever it is that strikes his fancy, just as both you and I will do.” He
then looked at Aliana, and glanced back at Sam, adding, “Although, I think that
among the three of us, you have the better deal.”

“So,
that’s it? He tries to kill me and you write it off as nothing?”

“My
goodness, no.” His father mocked his son’s genuine concern. “He’s a rich and
powerful man, and like all rich and powerful men, he is completely devoid of
morals.” There was an inherent implication of his disapproval of Aliana’s
father in his statement. “I should think, now that the virus has been
destroyed, that he would cease to have any further dealings with you, alive or
dead.”

“So,
it doesn’t bother you that he’s made several attempts to kill me in the past
month?”

“No,
not really. Should it?” His father said, looking at him curiously.

“Yes,
of course it should!” Sam answered, adamantly.

“Why?
I thought that it was more revealing of your carelessness to involve a man like
Blake Simmonds in a treasure hunt for something that was so valuable.”

“You
gave me his details!”

“Yes,
but I had no idea at that time just how valuable your treasure was.” It was as
much contrition as he’d ever heard his father offer.

*

Blake
Simmonds rested his head into the soft leather of his Lear Jet.

He
sat alone, and had told his pilot and crew to leave him that way for the
duration of his flight, home across the Atlantic.

After
so many years, it was finally over.

He
then opened a $50,000 bottle of whiskey dated 1939.

It
had taken some serious effort to track the stuff down
,
and once he’d
acquired it
,
Blake had stored it in anticipation of this very day.  He
poured himself a glass and then added ice cold whiskey rocks.

From
inside the secret safe at the end of the room, he withdrew his father’s
military badge.

It
was a brass double rune emblem of the German Schutzstaffel, followed by the
number 3, denoting the wearer as SS party member number 3. 

In
terms of seniority, this placed his father only just below Emil Maurice, the
founder of the SS, who was member number 2, and Adolf Hitler, who was, of
course, SS member number 1.

Blake
Simmonds examined the precious historical artifact as his mind considered the
life of its original owner.

As
a senior SS officer, placed in charge of the capture of Fritz Robentrop by the
Fuhrer himself, August Frank had mistakenly allowed Fritz to escape, in the
expectation of catching his partners in crime, and consequently then having
more to show for his efforts. In retrospect, he soon came to realize that he
lost something far more valuable – the virus.

Frank
placed all of the blame for that fiasco on Walter Wolfgang. Then, when it
became apparent that no matter how ruthless the SS had become, Germany’s people
would not rise up strongly enough to beat back the Allied invaders and Hitler
was going to lose, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

By
the end of the war, Frank had reached the highest echelons of Nazi seniority.
He used his power and position to take charge of a large stockpile of German
gold, before escaping Germany as a refugee and moving to London. As an old
graduate of Eton, he had many rich friends in the British aristocracy. He
purchased a large estate and set himself up as a rich gentleman, always with
the intention of one day returning to Germany and finding the lost Magdalena
and the virus she carried. He was determined to one day rectify his mistake by
acquiring the virus, and making Germany the supreme leader of the world, just
as Hitler had tried and failed to do.

His
need to make amends to his beloved Fuhrer became an obsession, one that only he
could accomplish with the enormous wealth that he had taken with him as he
fled.

As
the years passed, and he realized that all the money in the world could not
help him. He married and had a son, who Frank raised as a British gentleman. By
the time the Berlin wall came down, Frank was an old man in his nineties, but
he nevertheless believed that his son could one day achieve his dream. He was
disappointed to discover that Walter Wolfgang was now dead, but motivated by
the knowledge that Walter's son, John Wolfgang, had become a world leader in
the field of microbiology, and desperate for the money required to set up his
pharmaceutical business.

It
was an easy deal to make. He would have to help John Wolfgang find the
Magdalena, and then figure out what to do with the virus.

The
hardest part, was to convince his only son that it was the right thing to do.

Blake
Simmonds then took a long drink of the whiskey,

“Here’s
to you dad – the man who inadvertently lost the war for Germany, but saved
mankind.”