Trusting Viktor (A Cleo Cooper Mystery) (20 page)

“Fine,” snapped Roberts. “Go ahead, Ms. Cooper. Tell us what makes you think the bright spots below our current location aren’t just water? Or salt?”

“Watch your tone,” Bud warned.

“Gentlemen,” Hightower interrupted. “I’d like to hear what Ms. Cooper has to say. She’s our objective opinion and has written extensively on this group of formations.”

“Thank you,” I said. “As you all know, the bright spots might be water, or salt. We just don’t know. But that’s the nature of a rank wildcat like Manteo One, isn’t it? It’s high risk, high reward. What I’m saying is we need to remember the geologic history here. Organic-rich lagoonal shales like the Hatteras Formation lie buried at the foot of the structure, on the seaward edge. If we just change our angle down a little more, head in that direction, and target some of the deeper bright spots along the way, we’re more likely to encounter the type of play we’re looking for.”

“What about the pressure?” Roberts said. “It ramps up very quickly in those lower formations. We’ll need to change casing size to accommodate—”

“That’ll leave us with a soda straw when it comes to production,” Hightower said, suddenly looking decisive. “No, let’s stay with our present casing and drill ahead. I choose to believe Ms. Cooper’s right. In the end, there will be more than one play here. Like Mozambique or Azerbaijan, it will be our net play that counts and it will be more than enough to pull Global out of the red.”

And that was it. Just like magic, the discussion quickly moved to how to accommodate Hightower’s wishes. I silently reaffirmed my wish to be a man when I come back to earth in another life and slipped out of the room. After chugging a Coke and a BC powder, I slipped back into the conference room just in time to hear Powell address the Houston team.

“You’ve made your decision,” he said, “and I can assure you, TransWorld will make every effort to see that it’s carried out to the best possible outcome. Braxton and I will work together and come up with an extension to our well plan based on the new coordinates.”

Roberts wearily nodded in agreement, then added. “First we’ll back up a ways, make the dogleg, then resume drilling. Our new target is at least six hundred feet farther on vertical depth—more, given the new angle to the east—but at about three hundred feet a day, it should only take us a couple of days.”

Everyone headed for the helipad but me. I took off for the head again, where I waited for a few moments before slipping back to the conference room, hoping to find it empty. I was in luck. It looked like a schoolroom at 3:31 in the afternoon. I snagged a copy of the section of the 2D seismic survey for the area surrounding the wellhead, folded it, and stuffed it into my purse. Then, knowing some of Global’s executives had made overnight arrangements on the mainland, I headed for the helipad to hitch a ride.

Bud caught up with me just as I topped the stairs and jogged ahead to the Sikorsky to offer me a hand climbing in. “Thanks,” I said, then made my way to empty seats in the rear.

He plopped down beside me. “Long day, huh?”

“Not at all. I’m just getting warmed up,” I said, determined not to sound like a person with dark circles under her eyes. “I’m thinking of catching up with some friends later for a drink.”

Bud looked at me dubiously, then his cell rang. He checked the screen and shoved it back in his pocket. “I though you’d be staying out there until they hit the new target,” he said. “You know, be there to actually watch your theory validated.”

“I’ll be back in time for that,” I said, summoning a big smile. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Thankfully the engine spooled up, ending any chance for conversation. I cinched up my seatbelt and jammed my helmet on my head, which was, in fact, still pounding from fatigue and stress.

When we landed, I woke with a start. I was leaning against Bud’s shoulder. As I prepared to leave, I started to apologize for drooling on his chest, but he himself was so deep in sleep I could barely rouse him. I shook him a little harder, and his eyes popped open. “Feel better?” I asked sweetly. “I could tell you desperately needed some rest.”

Once off the tarmac and in the parking lot, I watched Bud trot behind a service truck to his Carrera—the reason I hadn’t seen it when I parked earlier today. Then, changing course, he came back to me and said, “I haven’t had a chance to tell you how proud I was of you tonight,” he said. “You did a masterful job of bringing those guys your way without—” His cell rang yet again. He ignored it.

“Gee thanks, Dad,” I said, “but your pants are ringing.”

Twenty-One

My big challenge during
the fifteen-minute drive home was to make it back to the house before Monday became Tuesday while at the same time keeping my eyelids from closing, thus ending my day wrapped around a live oak tree. Some kindly guardian angel must have taken mercy on me, because I made it safely into my drive. The fact that Viktor’s car wasn’t there brought a deep feeling of relief. At last, I could get some rest. Maybe I
was
getting older.

Half asleep, I stumbled out and stepped to the rear to retrieve my tote from the cargo area. The dome light came on and just as I leaned over, everything went black. My head was covered by a sack as I was slammed face down on my tote. I screamed, but the sound was quickly muffled by someone’s hand snaking under the sack to cover my mouth.

Kicking, thrashing, and grunting with all my might, I fought like a puma to free myself. Adrenalin triggered by outrage and fear pumped through my veins, and an unearthly strength came over me as my attacker tried to drag me backward. Momentarily feeling the Jeep’s bumper under one boot, I pushed off, throwing me and my abductor to the concrete in a jumble. Lots of wiggling and scrambling ensued.

As I tried to crawl away, two hands grabbed my ankles while another hand jerked each of my arms out from under me in turn. Two against one, not real sportsmanlike. Then I heard the sound of ripping duct tape. The fingers over my mouth let up briefly as my head was pulled back sharply and my throat clutched so tightly no sound could escape. The other set of hands was now endeavoring to hold my jaw closed to tape my mouth shut. They succeeded, but not before I chomped down like a vise on a finger. Someone yanked the sack, which I’d managed to dislodge a bit, back down over my face again.

“Goddammit! Be still!” growled a male voice.

“Shut up! No talking, you idiot!” hissed a second one.

Continuing to wiggle and squirm as they taped my wrists together, I managed to get my feet under me. Now, I’ve got leg muscles like a kangaroo thanks to years spent tramping about in the woods, so when I say I sprang up, I really did. Where I was springing to, I couldn’t see, but it didn’t matter. I just wanted to get shed of these two. Unfortunately, I only took two steps before I was jerked backward with a snatch of the sack over my head and my feet were kicked out from under me. What little wind was left in my lungs after this smackdown was pushed out with a knee to the sternum.

“I’ll hold her—”

“—I’ll get the car.” You had to admire their cooperative spirit. Then, from what I figured to be the direction of the house, I heard a voice shouting hysterically in what sounded like Russian.

Viktor!

“Hey!” He shouted again, this time in English. “Get away from that woman!”

“Shit!”

“Leave her!” one of my attackers cried.

“No! If we mess this up—”

“Too late, Dad’s gonna kill us. Just go!”

The fingers that had an iron grip on my shoulders released me at the sound of the screen door banging. I heard footsteps running across the street.

I’m sure I looked like a fish flopping on a dock—a fish with a bag over its head—when Viktor reached me. He was still shouting. Pulling me to a sitting position, he snatched the bag off my head and jerked the tape from my mouth.

“Ow!”

“Oh! Sorry, sorry.” An instant later, he was sprinting off.

“Come back!” I shouted.

“Why? They were attempting to kidnap you!” But he circled back around.

“My hands. Undo my hands!”

Trembling with rage, he pulled the duct tape from my wrists.

“Were their faces covered?” I asked.

“No. They wore watch caps pulled low and their faces were painted black. Fucking activists.”

I sagged against him. “They weren’t activists,” I said, rubbing my wrists. “I know who they were.”

“What? Who were they?”

“Let’s go inside. We need to talk.”

Viktor insisted I needed sugar after such an ordeal and so made hot sweet tea. I took a polite sip, then got a beer from the fridge and cracked it open. We sat at the kitchen table and I outlined what I knew about
U-498
and how it came to be discovered by his old boss, Davy, who’d put the pieces together and was determined to make one of the most amazing finds of the twenty-first century.

I’d expected the incredulous stare I got from Viktor, so I continued.

“There’s more. I know it was the twins who attacked me,” I said. “I recognized their voices, the way they ping-ponged their sentences. Not to mention, at one point, they said, ‘Dad’s gonna kill us.’ It was them, I’m sure of it. Everything fits.”

“How can that be? They are on their way to take their new boat to Port Fourchon. And besides, how would they know you know any of this … incredible … tale you just told me?”

“Well, either Davy changed his mind or he misled you on purpose so they could follow you and find me. Which reminds me, how did you get in?”

Viktor grimaced. “I forgot to lock up. Sorry.”

“Where’s your car?”

“Parked up the street. I wanted to surprise you.”

“You did more than that, you saved me … again.”

“Well,” Viktor said, looking sheepish. “I could have saved you faster if I’d had my clothes on. I was upstairs, waiting to surprise you. When I looked out the window and saw what was happening, I had to pull on my pants before I could get to you.” Viktor looked down at the table. Emotion trembled in his voice. “I was so scared they’d be gone with you when I finally made it to the door.”

I reached across the table and gave his hand a pat. It was kind of sweet, really, and made me even more aware of how close I’d come to something I probably didn’t want to think about. Then I felt my chin tremble a little. Clearing my throat quickly to stop any further erosion of my dignity, I said, “As to why they think I’m on to them, Davy sent Hunter an article with a schematic of
U-498
to facilitate finding the cylinder. Hunter went to print it off and left the number of copies set at three, which is where it stays most of the time with three members to a team—only he didn’t know the printer was down at the time.”

“So Hunter was in on it, too?”

“Yes. He had to be. For Davy, this operation started the minute he found the sub while surveying for Global. Hunter worked for him then. That’s why Davy sent him to Voyager to become a pilot. TransWorld always contracts to Voyager. After a while, he sent the twins there too. That way, he could be sure to have an ROV team on board when the time came. No doubt Davy has an in at Voyager. He knows everyone.”

“But then that guy, Hunter … died.” Victor said, seemingly thinking aloud. “I wonder if his death was the reason I got a job so quick, or if his death had anything to do with this … wild tale?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I only know that I came along later, used his computer, found the article he hadn’t had time to delete. Then the printer ran out of paper after I ran a copy for myself. I didn’t realize it had been set to run three. So later, when it was reloaded with paper, it made two more copies. Ricky found them in the hopper, figured out they must have been made for the twins, and sent it to them. That’s how
they
know that
I
know the sub’s down there.”

“Stop right there,” Viktor said. “You’re basing all this on the fact that Davy made the seismic map and you found an article he sent to Hunter. I don’t mean to sound skeptical
,
but how can you be sure the sub’s even there?”

“Wait right here,” I said and ran upstairs to retrieve the physical proof that the sub existed.

“What is it?”

“It’s a wheel valve, a
German
wheel valve of the exact same type I’ve seen on other submerged U-boats. Note the name of the German shipbuilder stamped on the back.”

“So? Where’d you get it?”

“I found it caught between the rails of the ROV and its cage.”

Viktor whistled in amazement, then fell silent studying the little wheel. I got up and tossed my empty beer can in the recycling.

“This explains so much,” Viktor said.

“How so?”

“During the time I worked for Davy and lived at his house, he and the twins and I were very close. Davy even took me aside right before I left for Duke to secure housing and said I’d become just like a son to him, said he needed to talk to me about something when I got back.”

“I bet,” I said sitting back down at the table. “They’re frantic to find the cylinder before this whole thing busts wide open. It takes three people to operate the ROV. With Hunter dead, Davy desperately needs another pilot to help the twins. Your next rotation starts Monday. He’s trying to bring himself to tell you, but he’s not sure he can trust you.”

And here’s where things got really dicy for me too. Did
I
trust Viktor?

I watched Viktor as he rose from the table, went to the fridge, pulled out a beer, and offered me another. I shook my head. Still deep in concentration, he sat back down, sipped, and stared into space. I tried to imagine what was going through his head.

Stretching his long legs under the table, Viktor tapped my toe with his. “What do you think of this idea: you and I go back out to the
Magellan
and retrieve the cylinder ourselves? I
am
a pilot, you know. We have a small window of opportunity before the twins and I are supposed to rotate back on. You have a reason to be there. I could go back with you …” Viktor said, thinking out loud.

Then he stopped, looked for my reaction.

“Go on,” I said.

“I haven’t completely worked out a plan to get access without involving Ray and his team. What I’m thinking requires a bit of, well, lying on our parts. But if you help me with the distraction, which shouldn’t be hard, I’ll do all the lying. It may be, well … distasteful for you.”

Ah, the innocence of youth.

Viktor stared at me for a moment, then continued. “I’m quite sure that together we can deceive them long enough for me to find the cylinder.”

Now this was more like it! Lying. Deception. Distraction. A small list of my personal favorites, and proof enough for me as to whom Viktor’s loyalties lay with. The trouble was, I needed help. Right now I was the only person on the planet who had all the pieces to the Amber Room puzzle, but if I could come up with them and piece them together, so could Davy and the boys. It was only a matter of time.

Most of all, there had to be a connection between Hunter’s death and this enormous treasure. I just hadn’t figured out what it was yet. But the only way to do that was to move forward and in the process clear Bud and myself of any hint of involvement in a murder we had
nothing
to do with. Right? Nothing whatsoever.

In for a penny, in for a pound. “Viktor,” I said. “What if I told you the cylinder isn’t on the sub anymore?”