David Golemon - Leviathan

Ellenshaw nodded toward the navy signalman, who changed the view on the hologram.

"Thank you, Smitty. As you see, this is the vault as it is now, burned out and most items unrecognizable." The professor lifted his notebook, walked into the micromist, and pointed to items lying on the floor. "The batteries, burned and almost unrecognizable, reduced to large lumps of rubberized crud due to the heat produced internally by the dried acid within. Correct?" He looked around the conference room but saw no one as the mist was hiding them.

"Professor Ellenshaw, could you speed it up?" Pete asked, a bit impatient.

"Right, well, we combed through the debris and for nine hours we went through the files with a microscope." He hunched his shoulders and threw up his arms in exasperation. "Nothing; not a damn thing. We didn't know why destroying this thing was so important. We were at a dead end."

Pete was eyeing him, the same impatient look on his face.

"But we weren't." He pointed once more to the batteries. "That is what's known as a composite material, basically a rubber and graphite mix. During the time we believe the submarine was built, natural rubber was in common use; however, graphite was not. It's a simple carbon-based material we once used in pencils and is a base used in batteries today. We know there was more than a ton of this composite material used in the construction of the battery system utilized on Leviathan." He smiled. "With the assistance of Europa, I was able to trace a large sale of graphite and an even larger sale of rubber from a Malay plantation in eighteen thirty-seven, purchased through the engineering department at the University of Oslo. It took several hours, but Europa finally uncovered the name of the professor involved — Francis N. Heirthall."

"Okay, where does that lead us?" Pete asked.

"Our good professor was not your normal engineer; he was wealthy beyond measure and only utilized the university's laboratories for security reasons. His real engineering skills were that of a marine engineer, and he held advanced degrees in biology."

Pete was silent as the information was absorbed. He pursed his lips and examined the hologram, confused on one point — why would anyone destroy the vault to protect a hundred-and-fifty-year-old professor?

"Has this been verified by Europa?" Liz Patrick of the engineering department asked.

"Absolutely. I have already turned the results of my inquiry over to Dr. Robbins for further investigation."

"Anything else, Charlie?"

"One other thing. We did come across something in the files that became of interest only after we discovered the destination of these large orders. The barnacles recovered from the submarine's hull back in nineteen sixty-seven were a mixed breed of organisms. However, the bulk of these originated near the southern Mariana chain of islands, Guam in particular. Cirripedia acrothoracica , a new species of barnacle discovered only recently and indigenous to that area and those islands."

The audiovisual tech switched pictures after a nod from Ellenshaw. On the hologram, a map of the South Pacific appeared. Ellenshaw once more stepped up into the mist cloud. He pulled a laser marker from his coat pocket and placed it on Papua, New Guinea. "Now, I was given a report on the seaweed earlier, and if I was informed correctly, this seaweed used in the manufacture of our bad guys' clothing came from here, correct?"

Jack was looking at the map intently, knowing what Ellenshaw was trying to do. Pete Golding nodded his head at Charlie's question.

Ellenshaw then drew a laser line from New Guinea north toward Guam, then abruptly south to the southern chain of the same islands. The figure formed an elongated triangle. "I daresay it's a long shot, but that's what the crypto team is good at: placing silly bets on lost causes."

"Wait, what is the third marker for?" Pete asked.

Ellenshaw smiled. "The island at the southern tip of the Marianas was owned by a very wealthy family from Norway — the Heirthalls."

"You're saying that the people we are seeking — or at the very least, their ancestor — frequented this area?" Pete asked, taking off his glasses.

"No, what I'm saying is that this is more than likely their lair — or to be more precise, what used to be their lair. In addition, you may ask how could a vessel such as this ply the waters in the eighteen-sixties, and not be spied more frequently. It couldn't have," he answered for them, "at least not in the crowded oceans near industrialized nations. It would have to have been based in a region where there was virtually no water traffic, and what better place than the Marianas?"

"Doc, I think you may have something. It's gut instinct, but everything you've said makes sense… in your always strange points of fact. The evidence, at least, says we may have a starting point."

Ellenshaw looked at Colonel Collins, and with his eyes and a dip of his chin thanked him for supporting his theory.

"Okay, good work, Charlie, we'll run with what you have. Now let's see what Batman and Robin can do with Europa and your new information."

As the department heads left, Collins stayed behind. He looked from Ellenshaw to the tired-looking Golding.

"Are you resting, Pete?" Jack asked, watching the man's eyes, which were a nice light blue when not covered by glasses.

"No… but I will."

"You know who the saboteur is, don't you, Pete?" Jack asked. Ellenshaw stopped gathering his paperwork and watched the exchange. As he did he pulled a printout from his notes and waited.

Golding bit his lip, turned to look down at his own pile of notes and briefing materials, then slowly started to gather them up.

"Yes, I believe I do. I wanted more evidence, because what I have is circumstantial at best."

"Pete, all they had was circumstantial evidence on Ted Bundy, but they still knew who he was and what he did," Jack said. "Whoever it is cannot be free to roam the complex. That person is responsible for the death of our people, and the kidnapping of our friends."

Pete meekly tossed the papers back down onto the table and turned his back on Collins and Ellenshaw.

"Who, Doc?" Jack persisted, almost afraid to hear his answer.

"The complex at least, I believe, is safe for right now. The person I suspect is no longer here."

Collins closed his eyes, wanting not to see Pete's mouth move when he spoke the words.

"It was Virginia, damn her soul, Virginia Pollock, who sabotaged the vaults and tried to kill Europa when she let those animals into our home."

Collins was stunned. The air in the conference room almost became unbearable to breathe as each man took the information, allowing it to sink in and corrupt all good thoughts.

Jack's mind refused to bridge the name to the act of cold-blooded murder.

"During both failures of Europa, Virginia was the only person online. Professor Ellenshaw confirmed my suspicions when he mentioned the name Heirthall. At the same time Virginia sabotaged Europa, she was tasking the computer on several queries."

"I still don't believe it," Jack said as he looked at the computer login times.

"I was hesitant to bring this up, because in a court of law it would be thrown out as guilt by association," Ellenshaw said as he removed his own glasses and rubbed his eyes. "That and the fact I really like Dr. Pollock. She's a dear friend."

"Charlie, please," Pete said looking at the cryptozoologist.

"I ran the name through Europa's database, looking for any correlation between the name Heirthall and any person working within the complex, just to be thorough." He tossed a printout and Jack picked it up. "That is the list of the MIT graduating class of nineteen eighty-one."

Jack looked down the list and saw the names he was looking for — Alexandria Heirthall, and far below that, Virginia Pollock.