“It is pretty festive. The old girl makes the trip from one end of the lake to the other every day. No one gives it a second look anymore. It’s the perfect cover for a covert operation, don’t you think, Joe?”
“I’ve heard they serve a pretty good breakfast aboard,” Zavala said with a straight face.
Contos stared grimly at the approaching vessel. Then, with out warning, he wheeled about and headed for the parking lot.
“Hey, captain, where are you going?” Austin called after him.
“Back to the truck to get my banjo.”
Chapter 36
Francesca stood on the deck of the Viking ship taking in its long, sweeping lines, its graceful, upturned bow and stern, the painted square sail. Even with the thick planking and massive keel it seemed almost delicate in its construction. She looked around at the huge chamber, with its vaulted ceiling, the flaming torches, and high stone walls hung with medieval weapons, and she wondered how anything so beautiful could be in a setting so bizarre and ugly.
Standing by the tiller, Brynhild Sigurd mistook Francesca’s silence for appreciative awe.
“It’s a masterpiece, isn’t it? The Norsemen called this a skuta when they built the original nearly two thousand years ago. It was not the biggest of their boats, like the dragon ship, but it was the fastest. I have had her duplicated in every way, from the oak planking to the spun cow’s hair that was used as caulking. She is more than seventy-nine feet long and sixteen feet wide. The original is in Oslo, Norway. An earlier replica actually sailed across the Atlantic. You must be wondering why I went through the trouble to have her built and placed in the great hall.”
“Some people collect old stamps, others old cars. There’s no accounting for tastes.”
“This goes beyond a collector’s whim.” Brynhild took her hand off the tiller and came over to stand before Francesca, who shuddered at their physical proximity. Although Brynhild’s towering body was hard and muscular, the menace she projected went beyond the physical. She seemed capable of reaching up and wringing the power from a lightning bolt. “I chose this ship as the symbol of my vast holdings because it embodies the Viking spirit. It was sailed by those who seized what they wanted. I come here often for inspiration. So shall it be with you, Dr. Cabral. Come, I will show you where you will be working.”
Francesca had been escorted back to Brynhild’s aerie after the brief visit with Gamay. Brynhild had led the way through a bewildering maze of passageways that reminded Francesca of being on a cruise ship. They were unguarded at all times, but the thought of escape never crossed Francesca’s mind. Even if she were able to disable the giant woman, an unlikely prospect, she would have become lost in minutes. And she suspected the guards were not far away.
Now they got into an elevator that dropped with knee-bending swiftness. The door opened on a room where a monorail car awaited. Brynhild motioned for Francesca to get into the front, then got in the back, sitting in a space especially made for her tall form. Their weight activated the accelerator. The tram went through an opening and sped along a lighted tunnel. When it seemed the car would go rocketing out of control the computers controlling its speed decelerated it to a comfortable stop in a room very much like the one they had just left.
This room, too, had an elevator, but unlike the more conventional box on a cable, its transparent plastic walls were egg shaped. There were seats for four people of ordinary stature. The door hissed shut, and the elevator passed through blackness, then descended into a deep blue. Watching the fluid interplay of light and shadow through the transparent walls, Francesca realized they were sinking into water. The blue became darker until, all at once, it was as if they were caught in the beam of a searchlight.
The door opened, and they stepped out. Francesca could hardly believe her eyes. They were in a brightly lit, circular space hundreds of feet across. A curving roof arched overhead. The exact size of the room was difficult to estimate because it was filled with thick pipes, coils, and vats of all sizes. A dozen or so white-frocked technicians moved quietly among the conduits and tanks or were bent over computer monitors.
“Well, what do you think?” Brynhild said with obvious pride.
“It’s incredible.” The awe in her voice was real. “Where are we, at the bottom of the sea?”
The giantess smiled. “This is where you’ll do your work. Come, I’ll show you around.”
Francesca’s scientific mind quickly made order out of her chaotic first impression. Although the pipes went off at different angles, there was definitely a scientific organization to the mad ness. No matter which way the pipes went, they eventually led toward the center of the room.
“This controls the various conditions that affect the core material,” Brynhild said, pointing to the blinking lights on a control board. “This underwater facility stands on four legs. Two of the support legs double as intake pipes, and the other two as out flow. Since we are on a fresh body of water, we first infuse the liquid we pump in with salt and sea minerals from those containers. It is indistinguishable from actual seawater.”
They walked toward the center of the chamber. It was occupied by a massive cylindrical tank some twenty feet across and ten feet high.
“This must contain the anasazium,” Francesca said.
“That’s right. The water is circulated around the core, then returned to the lake through the other two supports.”
They walked back to the master control console.
“Well, how close are we to duplicating the Cabral process?”
Francesca examined the gauges. “Refrigeration, electrical cur rent, heat monitoring, all good. You were close, very close.”
“We have subjected the anasazium to heat, cold, and electrical current, but with only limited success.”
“I’m not surprised. The sonic component is missing.”
“Of course. Sound vibrations.”
“You have the right idea, but the process won’t work unless the material is subjected to a certain level of sound waves in con cert with the other forces. It’s like removing the cello from a string quartet.”
“Ingenious. How did you come up with that technique?”
“It was simply a matter of thinking in unconventional terms. As you know, there have been three main methods of desalting be fore this. In electrodialysis and reverse osmosis, electrified water passes through membranes that remove the salt. The third method is distillation, which evaporates the water the way the sun’s heat turns the ocean to vapor. All require tremendous expenditures of energy that made the cost of desalting prohibitive. My method changes molecular and atomic structure. In the process it creates energy and becomes self-sustaining. The combination of forces must be exactly right. The process won’t work if it is off by a hair.”
“Now that you’ve seen it, how long do you think it would take to modify this facility to your standards?”
She shrugged. “A week.”
“Three days,” Brynhild said flatly.
“Why the time limit?”
“The Gogstad board of directors is due to meet here. I am bringing people in from all parts of the world. I want to give them a demonstration of your process. Once they have seen it work they will go home and we can implement the greater plan.”
Francesca thought about it a moment and said, “I can have it working for you within twenty-four hours.”
“That’s quite a difference from a week.”
“I work faster with incentive. There is a price.”
“You’re in no position to bargain.”
“I realize that. But I want you to let your prisoner go. She was drugged. She has no idea where she is or how she got here. She could never identify or cause you any trouble. You keep her prisoner to make sure I make this plant work. Once the process is working you have no need of her.”
‘Agreed,” Brynhild said. “I will let her go as soon as you show me the first ounce of pure water.”
“What guarantees can you give me that you will stand by your word?”
“None. But you have no alternative.”
Francesca nodded. “I will need certain equipment and un questioning assistance.”
“Anything you want,” Brynhild said. She waved over several technicians. “Dr. Cabral is to have whatever she requests, do you understand?” She barked an order, and another technician came over carrying a battered aluminum suitcase. Brynhild took it from the man and handed it to Francesca. “I believe this belongs to you. We found it at your friends’ house. I must leave you now. Call when you are about to run a test.”
