Tom Lowe - The Black Bullet

Lauren said, “All the media are calling Sean’s find ‘Hilter’s last U-boat.’”

“I didn’t really find it. I hooked it on my anchor. Nick Cronus found it.”

“Where is Nick?” asked Dave. “He might be able to add something.”

“I’ll try his cell again.”

Thompson said, “Where’s Canfield? Still at Chapman’s fish place?”

“Nick’s MIA,” O’Brien said. “How’d you know Jason was at Chapman’s?”

Dave said, “I mentioned it to Paul when he called earlier. Told him that everyone, including Nick, should be back about this time.”

O’Brien’s cell rang. It was Nick. “Sean!”

“Where are you?”

“The Tiki Bar. Kim’s got the news on the TV. Some homeless dudes found Jason’s girlfriend, Nicole. She’s dead! Found her body in a fuckin’ garbage can.”

“Jesus,” O’Brien whispered. “I’ll call Jason.”

“Sean … maybe he heard everything I said on your boat about divin’ back on the U-boat and then storing that nuclear shit in Dave’s locker.”

“We’re on Gibraltar. Get over here now.” O’Brien called Jason’s cell. No answer. Two rings, a popping noise and silence.

O’Brien set his cell down on Dave’s bar. “Nicole Bradley was found murdered. Jason’s cell has been disabled. If he’s still alive, he won’t be for long.”

Yuri Volkow watched as Andrei Keltzin finished tying Jason to the metal chair. They had popped the locks on a boarded up, abandoned warehouse in another area of town. It was an old brick building of grays and browns. The for-sale sign in front was long faded. Late afternoon light, diffused by dirt on the window, illuminated the desolate room. It had been a citrus packing warehouse in the eighties. The room was scarred with broken wooden crates that read: Indian River Fruit .

Sweat ran down Jason’s face. He licked his dry lips. “I don’t know anything.”

“On the TV you said you could find the U-boat. What are the GPS numbers?”

“I don’t know. Sean hid them from Nick and me.”

“This Sean sounds like a noble captain, or a very greedy one. That cargo is worth millions to people with the money and a cause to use the uranium. How can we find it?”

“I don’t know! I swear!”

“Andrei, do you have your hammer?”

Keltzin reached inside his coat pocket and brought out a small hammer. “Here, do you want me to administer it?”

Nick paid his drink bill at the Tiki Bar and thanked bartender Kim Davis for giving him black coffee in a Styrofoam cup. He turned to walk down the dock to Dave’s boat when Susan Schulman’s face came on the TV screen above the bar.

Schulman stood in front of the local police station. “As Channel Nine reported minutes ago, twenty-year-old Nicole Bradley, a Channel Nine intern, was found dead in a dumpster behind an abandoned warehouse off Ninth Street. Police say Bradley’s boyfriend, nineteen-year-old Jason Canfield, is believed to have been abducted. His truck was found at Chapman’s Fish House. Police aren’t saying whether Bradley’s death and Canfield’s disappearance could be related to the finding of Hitler’s lost submarine and its alleged cargo of enriched uranium. More on this story as it breaks … I’m Susan Schulman.”

Kim looked away from the television. “Oh my God! Nick, it’s because of that German sub you guys found. Dear God ….”

Nick tried to hold the Styrofoam cup in his trembling hand. He sat the cup on the bar, looked at his shaking hands. “To hell with Nazi ghosts. They hurt Jason, they die twice.”

Nick told O’Brien and the others on Dave’s boat what he’d heard from the television newscast. “We gotta find Jason. Anything happen to him … I hold myself responsible. Dave’s locker is Davy Jones locker.”

“Nick,” said Dave, “they probably picked Jason up because of the soundbites taken out of context. Why they killed Nicole, I don’t know. Must have thought she knew more than she did, or could identify them if she was used as a pawn to get Jason. But you should have kept your voice down when you and Sean were talking about the canisters and where we stored them. Unfortunately, both Jason and the canisters are in jeopardy.”

Paul Thompson stepped back inside from the cockpit where he’d gone to use his cell. Dave asked, “Paul, who does your team think is behind this?”

“Most likely a sleeper cell right here in Florida. The imam ostensibly working for Syria or Iran, connected to al-Qaeda. But one of our profilers told me it also might be any of the international mafia affiliations. Russians, maybe even the Germans since we’re talking German U-boat and material they may believe they own. If it’s Russian mob, they’re here to steal and sell it. It’s worth millions.”

Lauren said, “Or they might use it. I assume NSA is all ears on possible bid wars coming in from out of the country.”

“Out of the country and in the country,” Paul said. “All known channels are being monitored by the minute. Nothing yet.”

O’Brien looked out a curtain on Gibraltar’s port side, sun shining, a light rain now running off the palm frond roof on a fish cleaning station. He half expected to see Jason’s grinning face as he hustled down the dock. “Nick, you said they found Jason’s truck, engine running, at Chapman’s. A witness saw a blue van speed out of the lot.”

“Yeah.”

“That wasn’t Jason’s only stop. He was going to three other places, all of which had larger parking lots, less chance to be seen if you were going to kidnap someone.”

Dave crossed his legs. “Sean, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking you knew where Jason was going because I told you.” O’Brien turned to Thompson. “Then you told him, and now Jason is missing.”

“And what’s your point?” Paul asked, crossing his arms.

“If Jason was being followed, the kidnappers had better opportunities and places to snatch him. Chapman’s is a crowded, small parking lot. The last place he was going before coming back, but you knew that.”

“Dave, I don’t appreciate your friend suggesting that I may have had something to do with the kid’s disappearance.”

“The name’s O’Brien. And, right now, I don’t trust anyone. Especially the CIA, where lying is an art form. Sixty-seven years ago a kid about Jason’s age, Billy Lawson, trusted the wrong people and was murdered.”

“Sean,” Lauren said, standing. “There’s no conspiracy here. Maybe Jason was going to meet Nicole.”

O’Brien started for the door. “Sean, hold on a second,” Dave said. “Look, I know how tense this is right now. We have to-”

“We have to find Jason. And we have to do it now.” O’Brien headed out, noticing the rain had stopped.

“Where are you going?” Lauren asked

“The next place these freaks will be, Dave’s locker. You’re right, Nick. Now it looks a hell of a lot like Davy Jones locker.”

“I’m goin’ with you,” Nick said.

Thompson stood. “No! You can’t go alone!”

O’Brien was already gone.

Yuri Volkow looked at the ball ping hammer and said, “Very effective little tool.”

“What are you gonna do?” Jason’s voice cracked.

“This hammer is small,” Volkow said. “However, it can do large damage. Because the steel head is small, I can tap certain vertebra on your spinal column with just enough force to cause severe pain. And, you will never heal properly. Your bones will be fused. You will never be able to bend over to tie your shoes. Your ability to make love with a woman will be greatly diminished.”

“Please ….”

“Get him out of the chair, Andrei. Rip the shirt off his back.”