The Secret of Excalibur (20 page)

Ruth rummages through her luggage until she finds her lotion, then kneels. “And this, sir?” I flinch in pain, as she holds my recently awoken beast.

I panic, jerking up to look.
How bad is it?
Oh, man, all black and peeling, my pubic hair mostly singed off.

“Well, mister, you're going to be out of action for a while. No way am I letting you near me with all that black skin hanging off. No way.”

Shit. What's next?
I wonder, dropping my head back on the pillow with a loud sigh.

After turning over on my stomach, Ruth begins rubbing my back, which feels great. The dead, black skin is sloughing off. After she finishes my backside, she rolls me over, and starts rubbing from my bellybutton to above my knees. And damn if I don't get hard.

She peers down at me with a wicked grin, then flicks my black-skin-hanging, one-eyed monster with her finger, hard. “Too bad, I said no. Not until the flaky, black skin is gone. Suffer, sir, and next time, think before you jump into my dinner.” She stands, heading outside. As she ducks out the tent, she says over her shoulder, “You do that part. I would rather remember you the way you used to look.”

Funny girl. Hilarious.

One-thirty second of an inch of skin isn't much and my burned flesh is coming off in strips, but mixed with lotion, all that black skin is a mess. I rub and rub, but it doesn't feel nearly as good as when Ruth did it. There's just enough left of my wilted beast to hold, and cause pain. But my dead skin is almost all off.
Good. Enough of this for now, I'm getting to the point I'll be too sore to pee.
I lie back for a moment to relax.

Ruth leans through the tent door. “The phone is ringing. Should I answer it?”

“Uh, no, I'm coming.” Ouch, I'm sore. I waddle bowlegged to the phone in the boat.

Ruth is staring with revulsion at the naked mess I am. “Yuck. What a sight you are.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” I pick up the phone.

“Hello? Dobie here, are you alright there?”

I glance down at myself. “Sure, Commander, we're fine.”

“Right. I don't know what you found on your, er, exploration trip, but my men have been deployed, and I think you two should get the hell out of there, Arthur. Don't pack, just leave, fast,” he orders in his blustering manner.

“Why, Commander, I never knew you cared so much?”

“Enough levity, Merlin. You were right. The photos show no discrepancies until a year and a half ago, then the concentration of influx increases dramatically.” There's an edge to his voice I've never heard from the cool Commander before.

“So what?”

“Man, are you deaf? You're right. Something is down there, under the cliffs. It's being masked by the iron ores, but, Merlin, it shows the signature of a nuclear reactor. Get in your damn boat, and get the hell out of there. Now.”

“Whoa, Commander. This is our show here, we aren't leaving. You said your men have been deployed?”

Faintly, “Damn you.” Then, “Yes, two teams, as we discussed earlier. Deployed about a half hour ago, to keep hidden until dark.” The edge is still in his voice.

“Okay, now do you think whoever is down there will care whether we left? No, they won't. If we leave, nothing will happen tonight. But if we're here, they'll have to come and see what we're up to. So, we stay.”

“Merlin, you're insane.” He's on the verge of yelling.

“Yes, that's what the good Doctor here tells me.” Ruth almost kicks me.

From the pause, I know Dobie's carefully thinking something over. If I were functioning normally, I would've already focused on him and retrieved whatever it is he's thinking about. Instead, I have to wait him out.

“Damn you, Merlin. Are you sure this phone isn't compromised?” He decided.

“I'm not positive, but I doubt it, at least not yet.” I silently hope.

“All right. Our computers indicate the best guess scenario is a Russian nuclear sub down there. How? We don't know. But given the amount of iron ore in the area, the signature is as close to a Russian nuclear sub as our computers can find. You have no choice but to get out of there.” he vehemently stresses.

“Calm down, Commander. Remember your blood pressure. Hold on a second.” I lean over and start the boat motor. “Dobie, you need to record our conversation in case you can't hear me over the motor, because I will not repeat. Got that?”

“Yes, go ahead, I'm recording now.”

“I agree with you. We found an underwater cavern, and it's not on any maps. The cave entrance is forty foot by thirty foot, and ten foot under the surface. It has a plastic grate over the opening, with cables so the grate can be controlled from the inside, and the grate is covered with plastic plants and nylon. I also found on shore, about two miles back up the tree line, in the rock face, a hollow rock. The rock is four foot by seven foot, and has plastic plants and flowers around it. Up on a rock ledge is a black periscope, watching. I don't think they saw me, but I can't be sure.”

Silence. Just the boat motor chugging away as Ruth starts breathing faster with everything she's hearing.

“My God, man. Get Dr. Burns and get the hell out of there.” Like a broken record.

“Relax, Cecil. Hope you don't mind me using your first name. We're staying here until we nail this down.”

“I can force you to leave, Arthur. And Dr. Burns works for me,” he threatens in a low voice.

“I'd like to see how you can force me to do anything, Cecil, and please remember your toupee.” I angrily hang up. “If the phone rings, just let it. From now on, we'll call him.”

“Okay, but … ,” Ruth begins, clutching her necklace.

“Hold it. If you're going to ask me if I'm sure, don't, because I'm not, kid. Let's eat, try to relax and later, we can take shifts watching for our friends. Unless you want to take the boat and leave right now, Ruth?”

She's definitely thinking the option over, brows knitted in frustration. With a soft sigh, she says, “No, I don't want to leave.” She shuts off the boat, and heads for the fire.

Picking up a towel and a bar of soap, I wade out into the lake to wash off. The hand lotion has done its job, and soon, from knees to bellybutton, I'm a pretty pink. Even my sore, black-skin-hanging beast is finally clean, but still looks bad. Half my pubic hair is gone. If I were functioning normally, I'd burn off the rest of the hair myself. But now, I have no idea what I might do to me, or Ruth.
Better leave it alone.
I pull on clean shorts and gingerly sit on the other chair by Ruth, who's eating a peach and potato chips.

She points to the cooler. “Dinner, sir.”

Shit.
But, it's better than not eating.

Munching on a peach, I catch a whiff of the cooked fish fillets. Looking around, I see scattered across the sand going towards the water, fish fillets and potatoes, smoking pieces of wood and a pot and pan. The strewn mess sure looks bad, but still smells delicious. My stomach rumbles in protest.

Ruth pats my hand with a lopsided grin. “I wish I could've taped that whole fiasco, Arthur. No one's going to believe me. You jumping into the fire, right on top of dinner.”

“I didn't do that on purpose, Ruth. I'm sorry I ruined your dinner. It could've happened to anyone.”

Gracefully rising, she steps over behind me. “Sure, I know. It's an old joke, jumping over the cook into hot grease, boiling water and fire, just to surprise her. Right?”

“No, okay,” I grumble with an irritated shrug, “I can't be sure where I'll land when I teleport now.”

She massages my shoulders, then tenderly pats my arm. “I know, Arthur. I even tried to warn you it could happen. Remember?”

I acknowledge her foresight with a nod, giving a contented sigh, enjoying the massage.

“Think about that, Arthur. How come I realize what's happening to you, but you don't?”

“You're right,” I grudgingly admit. “I apologize for not leveling with you. It's just that I've teleported so often, and under so many conditions, I really didn't think I'd have any problems.”

“Thank you, sir, you're too kind.” Leaning over, she kisses the top of my head. Still rubbing my shoulders, she continues, “And tell me this, why haven't you noticed since we arrived here, how you've been acting differently? You're up, Arthur, on a constant high. Your powers are the same, but you don't seem to have the control over them you did. And, you're like a man obsessed with sex. I'm not complaining, but you're not the same person I met a few days ago. You're different, but I can't pinpoint the how.”

“I can't help you, kid,” I softly answer, shaking my head. “I haven't felt these kinds of sexual feelings since puberty.”

Sitting back down, she plays with the new can of beer I just popped in. Miller's this time.
I'm getting worse, not better.

“What do we do if the men from last might come back here tonight? I mean, will you try to capture them, or what?” She glances over at me with a hint of worry and fear in her compelling eyes.

“I'm not really sure. First, we should see who 'they' are.” I take a long cold drink.

“What do you mean 'who they are'? Dobie said it was a Russian sub, didn't he?” she asks, taking a sip from her beer.

“No, not exactly. He said their computer program estimated it was. There has to be at least five nations who either have Nukes, or have access to them. Hell, it could be American, or British, on a mission so secret even old Dobie doesn't know about it.”

Time to make more beer, this time I try for a cold case of Pabst instead of two cans. Maybe that'll work better.
Aha, I did it, a cold case of PBR.
Ruth strides to the case, tears the cardboard off one end, goes “UH,” and backs up a step.

“C'mon wench. Don't be a dawdling there, give me me pint, wench.” Said with all the clarity of one of the Dewhursts. I'm pleased with myself.
Or is that meself?

The look on Ruth's face reminds me of something.
What? Oh yeah, the night I ate the dog food.

With a smirk, she says, “Yes, sir,” throwing me a can of beer.

Holy Shit. Square beer cans.
The tab opening is along a flat side, not in a corner, so when you tip the can up to drink, the beer will dribble all over your face.
Yep, she has that dog food look all right
. She has suppressed laugh lines and a green glint in her eyes. Not to be upstaged, I pop in two round, beveled glasses, pouring as if nothing unusual has happened.

“Oh, you.” Ruth snatches the glass I hold out to her. “Arthur, do you suppose there could be more than one entrance for the sub?”

I've been thinking that myself. “Yes, I suppose it's possible, maybe on the seaside somewhere.” I ponder a few seconds, sipping from my glass. “That would mean a tunnel over a mile and half long, kid, and that's too far-fetched, unless it's a natural cave your cartographers never found.”

“What if they dug the tunnel after the war?” She's staring at the lake.

“Because of the solid rock, the tunnel would need to be blasted. Dynamite would've made too much noise, especially with the Royalty and the Royal Marines running around. No, I think the tunnel is natural, and so well hidden it was never found by any divers. Or else the tunnel was found long ago, maybe by those POWs you mentioned. The location could've been either sold for military purposes, or beaten out of the prisoners by someone who's down there, and has been for a long time.”

“Do you think that's possible? I mean, to find the cave, hide it that well, and keep it a secret?” She's chewing on her bottom lip.

As Ruth is talking, it flashes across my mind; Metal. Alive. Not moving.

Gone.
Yes, Lady or whatever you are, I'm still here.

“Uh, yes I do, kid. Bigger secrets than this have been kept for years, especially if they have military policy in mind. Hell, from this lake, it's only two hundred and thirty miles to London. Easy shot for a sub.”

Ruth thinks about that with an uneasy look. “Do you really think so?”

Being honest, I reply, “I don't know, Ruth. But it's possible.”

“What do you think Dobie will do if the sub is from a foreign country?” Her forehead is creased and she's fidgeting with the ring on her finger.

“That depends on whether they surrender. It they have top secret military equipment, they may not want anyone else to discover it.”

“You mean they might set off a nuclear missile to self-destruct? My God, a nuclear explosion here?” She's turned all the way around in her chair, staring at the cliffs over the tree line.

“Whoa, relax,” I quickly say, trying to ease her fears. “The explosion may not have to be nuclear. After all, they're sitting under tons of rocks. They can self-destruct conventionally, and be buried so deep it'd take years to excavate them. By then, the top secret sub won't matter any longer.”
Whew, time to pour more beer.

“Sure, by then, whatever top secret equipment they had on board would've already been discovered or replaced by better hi-tech equipment. Right?”

“Right you are, Doctor.” That theory seems to calm her.

Standing together, with my arm around her shoulder, we watch the gulls soaring back and forth from land to water. After a while, I sit back down, with Ruth sitting on the sand by my feet. Some women like doing that, leaning against their men. I sure don't mind.

As I gently stroke her hair, she lays her head on my bony knee. “Uh, Arthur, that feels good. Why are they hiding down there? If they want to shoot a missile, they can set out to sea and not have to shoot more than one-hundred miles to hit London.”

I hash over that idea. The answer hits me ka-boom. Leaning over, I kiss the top of her head. “Doctor, Lady, kid, ma'am, you are an absolute fucking genius, do you know that? I mean it, absolutely, kid, a real genius.”

“Sure. Thank you. No. Why?” She looks up at me with a slight frown and confusion in her eyes.

Chuckling, I explain, “Think about this. If your country is fired on by missiles, your radar will track where the missiles were launched, and your targeting computers will send a retaliatory strike to that area.”

“Yeah, so?”

“What if the missiles aren't fired at London, but fired out from England, at another country? Then the submarine races back here to hide and wait while England seems to have started WWIII? And you can bet, the country sitting under there won't get the blame, because they aren't here, and any of their other submarines won't be near here either.”

Ruth's face drains of color as she gasps, “Oh my God. I never thought of that. They could cruise the lake at night, fire from way over by the Lodge, and the missiles would seem to be coming from more than sixty miles inside England.” She's chewing her bottom lip again, forgets the square can and takes a big gulp. Cold beer spills down her face and shirt. I keep quiet. Barely. She doesn't seem to notice the cold beer running down the front of her. She jumps up, chair falling to the ground, shouting, “My God, Arthur. The Sword.”

Startled, I jerk around in my chair and start searching the surface of the lake.

Grabbing my arm, she yanks me to my feet, shaking me. “No, you don't understand. All the years of sightings, even mine, they could've been a sub's periscope painted to look like the sword. Couldn't they?”

Stepping back, I glare at her, “Jeez, kid, you scared the shit out of me. I thought you saw the damn sword in the lake.”

Peering contritely at the ground, she says, “I'm sorry, but think about what I said. The sightings could've been the sub, couldn't they?”

I look down at Ruth in amazement. She's a genius, and she keeps proving me right. “Yes, I guess they might have. All the boat damages were only to the old wooden rowboats. They wouldn't have shown up on their radar. The rowboats might've run into the superstructure of the nuclear submarine. Even the two boys that disappeared, they could've gotten tangled in the railing or other structure and dragged down with her when she submerged. Sure, that would explain why the sightings happen when large groups are here. For security purposes, they would have to come out at night, using the moonlight to see by, to reconnoiter the groups. Kid, you are a fucking genius, really.” I give her a warm hug.

Pulling away, instead of elation, her face shows deflation. She falls like a brick, striking her fist repeatedly in the sand. “For all these years,” she wails. “Dr. Tober, Gordy, and me, we were convinced we'd seen the sword.” She angrily swipes at a few small tears in the corner of her eyes. “Do you have any idea how many groups have come here searching for a trace of that damn sword? All the manpower and money spent? Why, it's really laughable, isn't it?” But she isn't laughing, with her face buried in her hands. Suddenly, she lifts her head, hope shining on her face. “Arthur, what about your impression the sword was here, and real? You said it focused on you, don't you remember?”

Oh yeah, kid, I remember
, I think with a shudder, taking my seat and opening another square-canned beer.

“Yes, I remember. And it's focused on me several times since we camped here.”

“Oh yes,” she mutters softly, “the iron ores with the nuclear reactor on the sub are messing you up, aren't they? You may not have felt anything, just something you're misreading, as when you teleported into the fire.”

I didn't answer, thinking about the first time I was probed at the Lodge, before my powers were affected.

With her knees propped, arms wrapped around them, she leans back against my leg. “Something still doesn't make sense. These collisions and sightings have been going on for more than thirty years. No one had nuclear submarines back then, did they?”

Handing her a cold beer, I answer, “No, I don't think they were around back then. Dobie did say the magnetic influx didn't increase until a year and a half ago, so maybe that's when they swapped out their old submarine for a nuclear sub. However, there's a part that still bothers me, kid.”

“What bothers you?” She takes a long drink, then gives out a loud burp. Her face turns red as she covers her mouth. “Er, excuse me.”

Patting her on the head, I laugh. “You're excused. Anyway, countries with nuclear subs know every country that either has them in their fleet, or who builds them for other nations. Each country keeps close track of the nuclear subs, and can pinpoint their location in any ocean, at any time.”

“So what?”

“Well, then we have a nuclear sub here no one knows is missing, and I'm finding that difficult to believe. Nuclear subs are tracked via satellites or special airplanes, and they're identified by their unique nuclear signatures.”

“Wait a minute, I just thought of something. It happened about five years ago.” Frowning in concentration, Ruth draws circles in the sand with her finger. She looks up at me, excited. “Yes, a Russian nuclear sub, uh, the Ptomken I think, disappeared, reported lost with all hands because of a mechanical failure. It disappeared four hundred miles out to sea. It sank over the trench, and the Russians claimed the water was too deep to attempt a rescue, much less a salvage operation, so they wrote the sub off as lost. I remember the incident because Dobie wanted our two mind controllers to try to locate the sub. They couldn't.” Her brow creases again. “Arthur, do you think the story of a sunken sub was an elaborate trick, and the sub down in the cavern is the Ptomken? Could that be?”

“Dr. Burns, you're a genius. I told you, remember?”

“Sure, I know. Why?”

“I remember that incident too. The Ptomken was just launched, and on her shakedown cruise when she disappeared. She was reported to be unarmed and only carried enough nuclear fuel for her shakedown cruise. Now, what if she went down deep into the trench, burned off the rest of her nuclear fuel, or dumped it, and proceeded here under conventional power? Once the fuel was gone, her nuclear signature would disappear and she could be claimed as lost at sea. And without nuclear arms on board, no one would be able to trace her at all. If she were also equipped with a diesel engine, she might've been running around in this lake for years. Then, in the past five years, what if the Russians started to slowly refuel and rearm the sub, so her nuclear signature wouldn't show up on your satellites, which I'm sure they already knew about?”