TW05 The Nautilus Sanction NEW (16 page)

“I will do better than that, Mr. Land,” said Drakov. “Tattooing is a pleasant diversion for Shiro, but not much of a diversion for yourself. Thus far, you have only tasted of our life beneath the sea. In a short while, you will see how we recreate, as well.”

“We’re making port?” said Land.

“In a way,” said Drakov. “It is past time for my men to enjoy some liberty. The company of men is pleasurable, but somewhat limiting. I like to keep my crew happy.”

“Does that mean women?” Land said.

Andre gave him a wry look.

“It does, indeed, Mr. Land,” said Drakov. He turned to the commandos. “You may have noticed Mr. Martingale’s absence of late. He has been upon an errand for me. I am pleased to report matters are well in hand. Before too long, I shall be ready and you will know my plans in full at that time. I have decided to make good use of you.”

“With or without our consent?” said Lucas.

“Oh, you will give your consent,” said Drakov. “I feel sure of that. And you will be pleased to learn you will survive. At least, if you follow my directions.”

“And if we don’t?” said Finn.

“I think you will.”

“Why don’t you stop playing games and tell us what’s on your mind?” said Finn.

“I’m disappointed that you have not deduced it,” Drakov said. “Where is your imagination? I am in command of an underwater, mobile, virtually undetectable strategic missile base. What use might I make of it?”

“If you believe you can get away with international blackmail, Drakov, you’re madder than I thought,” said Finn. Shiro started to rise, but Drakov quickly motioned him back down.

“Please, Mr. Delaney,” he said, “Shiro is quite sensitive about the manner in which I am addressed. I would advise you not to provoke him. You would be no match for him. As for your suggestion, I thought you would give me credit for more imagination than that. In point of fact, I could easily get away with international blackmail, though I—but no. I will let you contemplate it further. It amuses me. At any rate, you will all know soon enough. For now, you may prepare to leave the
Nautilus
for a short time. We can hardly put into Barataria in a nuclear submarine. For that purpose, we require another type of ship.”

“Barataria?” said Land. “The name rings a bell. Where have I heard it before?”

“It should be well familiar to a seaman, Mr. Land,” said Drakov, “even one such as yourself, who has worked out of New England and Canada. You will have heard stories of Barataria, perhaps during your boyhood. There are several places we visit for recreation and Barataria Bay is one of them, a particular favorite with my men. In the year 1807, Barataria came into prominence as an island smuggling base. It is located at the mouth of a bay in the bayou country at the gulf near New Orleans. In many ways, Barataria was a tiny nation unto itself, a haven for pirates and smugglers where the law did not reach, at least for many years. The man who ruled this pirate island is one you will undoubtedly have heard of. He was one of the last freebooters, a legendary figure among corsairs. His name was Captain Jean Lafitte.”

Benedetto came to their cabin after transition was completed and announced they were surfacing.

“The captain requests the pleasure of your company on deck,” he said, with a mock bow.

“Have we got a choice?” said Finn.

Benedetto grinned and stood aside, holding the door open for them. They climbed up through the hatchway and stepped onto the outer deck of the
Nautilus,
into the open air for the first time since they came aboard. The warm wind was the first thing they noticed. The second thing was a sight which brought them up short. Several hundred yards away, sailing toward them, was a long, clipper-bowed schooner with tall masts and a sleek, low hull. It was a lovely ship with graceful lines, its wooden hull painted white. As it came about, its sails luffing, its crew prepared to bring her alongside.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” said Drakov. “My prize possession, the
Valkyrie.
Everything I learned in my youth as a ship’s captain in the Pribilofs, I used in building her. We shall be going aboard while the
Nautilus
submerges and awaits our return.”

“Who’s sailing her?” said Lucas.

“And where did she come from?” said Drakov, smiling. “Isn’t that what you really want to know?

For now, I will tell you only that she is a time ship, like the
Nautilus.
Mr. Martingale has arranged for her arrival at these temporal coordinates. We are now in the Gulf of Mexico, in the year 1812. As to where she came from, as you have surmised, I have a base of operations where she is berthed when I am not using her. You will forgive me if I do not tell you where or
when
it is located. You will see it for yourself before very long. Then you will be able to fully appreciate the extent of my resources. The
Valkyrie’s
crew are people I have carefully selected, from various nations and time periods. I have created my organization in the mold of the Timekeepers, only I have made it a great deal more clandestine and efficient. We are all united in one cause. Temporal corsairs or, as you would put it, time pirates.” He grinned. “Thus far, Mr. Priest, you have seen only the tip of the iceberg. I want you to see it all.”

“We’re to be your messengers, is that it?” Finn said. “That’s why you’ve been flexing your muscles for us. We’re supposed to be suitably impressed, so we can tell Forrester how formidable you are when you send us back to him with your demands, right?”

“Rather crudely phrased,” said Drakov, “but you’re quite correct. I want my father to have a clear understanding of my strength, of what I have accomplished. A father should be proud of his son.”

“You expect him to buckle under?” Finn said.

Drakov chuckled. “If the choice were his, I am certain he would not, regardless of the cost. But the choice is not his. Is it?”

The
Valkyrie
came alongside and lines were tossed to the men aboard the
Nautilus.
The crew of the submarine secured the lines to cleats built into the deck. The exchange of crews began. Several of the men sailing the
Valkyrie
remained on board. Drakov explained they would stand watch upon the ship while the crew of the submarine enjoyed their liberty among the smugglers and corsairs of Barataria. The rest of the
Valkyrie’s
crew boarded the submarine. They were a colorful group, dressed according to period in loose-fitting cotton shirts, leather vests, sea boots and striped breeches. They were Blacks and Asians, Europeans, Scandinavians, Hispanics, a melting pot of nationalities and races, all rough-looking, all in excellent physical condition. They moved quickly, with military precision.

“This is looking worse and worse,” Finn said to Lucas.

Lucas nodded. If, as Drakov boasted, they had only seen the tip of the iceberg, then it was already more than they could handle. They needed help badly, only there was no way to summon help. Even if they could, by the time it arrived, Drakov would be long gone, to another century. Drakov knew there was nothing they could do and his confidence was galling.

“You will, of course, accompany us,” said Drakov. “I would hate to be deprived of your company.

Besides, I think you’ll find Lafitte a fascinating man.”

“He was a pretty fascinating child,” Finn said.

Drakov looked at him with surprise. “You encountered Jean Lafitte as a child? How?”

“It was during an adjustment mission in Paris,” Lucas said. “He was only about twelve years old at the time.”

“How extraordinary!” said Drakov. “This could prove to be a problem if he remembers you.”

“He shouldn’t,” Finn said. “He became involved in our adjustment mission and it was necessary to condition him to forget his part in it.”

“Then there should be no problem,” Drakov said. “I will be very interested in discussing this with you later. Jean must indeed have been a fascinating young man.”

“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” Finn said. “He was scary enough as a kid. I can imagine what he must be like as an adult.”

They went aboard the
Valkyrie,
where a change in clothing was awaiting them below decks. The crew of the
Nautilus
had already changed into period costume prior to boarding, so they had the privacy of one of the cabins to themselves. Drakov took Verne to his own stateroom to share a glass of port. He seemed especially anxious to please the author, no doubt to ingratiate himself with his future biographer.

In the cabin below, they sorted through clothing to find garments which would fit them. Andre put on a blousy white cotton shirt that laced up at the neck, a black leather vest with gold trim which hung down to her hips and high black sea boots over tight-fitting white breeches. Finn found a similar shirt sized to his proportions, striped breeches and a red brocade vest. Lucas wore a white shirt, a lightweight coat in navy blue with brass buttons and black breeches. They had worn more unusual garb before, but Finn could not resist the comment that Andre would probably need her knife and cutlass to keep the men of Barataria at bay.

Lucas examined his own sword. “Arrogant of him to allow us these,” he said. “Of course, the others all had pistols, did you notice?”

Ned Land looked completely in his element in the pirate clothing. His short-sleeved shirt revealed his new tattoo, with which he was quite pleased. Shiro had adorned him with a shark upon his upper arm, to commemorate his having saved Drakov’s life.

“I’ve had a chance to speak with Drakov,” Ned said. “He’s being careful, but I think I’ve convinced him of how bad I want to join his crew.”

“Did you tell him we were planning to search his cabin?” Lucas said.

Land nodded. “He just laughed. He told me not to concern myself, but to keep him informed.”

“Well, if the disc isn’t in his cabin, it could be in any of a hundred places aboard that sub,” said Finn.

“Maybe we should try searching the reactor room, only how are we going to manage that with crewmen constantly stationed there?”

“We’d better try searching Drakov’s cabin anyway,” said Lucas, “just to give Ned’s story credibility.”

Martingale entered the cabin, surprising them. For a big man he moved so silently. “If you’re going to try searching Drakov’s cabin,” he said, “make sure Shiro doesn’t catch you at it. Grigori’s dangerous enough, but when it comes to protecting Drakov, Shiro can be difficult to control.” They stared at him. “I guess you got an earful,” Finn said in disgust.

“I guess I did,” Martingale drawled, giving them a half smile. “Drakov wants you people up on top soon as you’re changed, so he can brief you on Lafitte. Verne’s already up there with him, looking like some damn silly New Orleans dandy in a long green coat and pantaloons. Drakov wanted to make sure he looked all right, which is just as well. I’m not sure where he stands. I wasn’t too sure about the Canuck, either, until what I just heard. Here, take this.” He handed Lucas a small plastic box.

Lucas frowned. “Martingale, what’s this—”

“Open it.”

He opened the box and removed a tiny plastic envelope. “A plastiskin graft? I don’t get it. What did you mean just now when you said—”

“I’m in the Underground, soldier,” said Martingale. “Have been for about ten years now. I deserted during an arbitration conflict in 20th-century Southeast Asia. Drakov has the Underground worried, too.

I’ll explain more later, when I get the chance. Right now I want you to slap that graft on. Under the arm’s a good place.”

“Just hold on a second, Martingale,” said Finn. “You—”

“I haven’t got time to get into this right now,” said Martingale. “I need to get topside before Drakov starts wondering what’s taking me so long. There’s a particle level device molded into that graft. It’s a little like a warp disc, only different. Don’t ask me to explain, it’s too damn complicated. If you want to stop Drakov, you’ll have to trust me. Our best chance lies with the Doctor.”

“Who?”

“Later. Slap the graft on and get up on deck.”

“Wait a minute,” Finn said, but Martingale left without another word.

“What was he talking about?” said Land. “Who’s the Doctor?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Finn. He glanced at Lucas. “You think he’s on the level about being Temporal Underground?”

“I don’t know,” said Lucas. “How would a 20th-century mercenary know about the Underground?”

“Maybe he wouldn’t,” said Andre. “That doesn’t mean Drakov couldn’t have told him.”

“Let me see that,” Finn said.

Lucas handed him the envelope.

“What’s this Underground?” said Land.

“It would take too long to explain now, Ned,” said Lucas. “It’ll have to wait.”

“It looks like a perfectly ordinary graft patch from a field medical kit,” said Andre.

“With something like a warp disc in it, only on the particle level,” Finn said.

“Really? There’s no such thing as a warp disc that small. I don’t buy it.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Lucas said, reaching for the envelope.

Finn gave it to him. “You’re going to chance it? It’s not smart.” Lucas shrugged. “What do we have to lose? If Martingale’s not lying, I can’t afford not to chance it.

Things can’t get much worse.”

“The last time you said that, things got a whole lot worse,” said Finn. “What if it’s a bug?”

“I’ll risk it,” Lucas said. “We can always cut it off. What’s
a
little pain?” He ripped open the envelope and carefully removed the graft patch. Using two fingers, he spread the exceedingly thin square of plastiskin on the palm of his right hand. On contact with the skin, it began to grow warm. He put his hand inside his shirt and pressed the graft patch against the skin of his underarm.

As it started to adhere, he smoothed it out with his fingers, spreading the softened patch evenly as it became part of his skin.

“
It’s hot,”
he said. “They aren’t supposed to get that hot.” He bit his lower lip. “Jesus, it’s really starting to burn!”

Finn came over to him quickly, pulled off his coat and raised his shirt. “Lift your arm,” he said. He examined the skin there closely.”It’s taken. I can’t see it anymore. The skin’s red in that area, but that’s normal.”