Jack Du Brul - Vulcan's forge

The faint chime of the Tiffany alarm clock woke Mercer instantly. His hand snaked out from under the tangle of sheets and blankets and silenced the antique piece. He pushed aside the bed coverings and swung his legs to the floor. His deep gray eyes were already bright and clear. Mercer’s eyes reacted to light much quicker than the average person’s. He barely squinted at bright lights and adjusted to darkness with the speed of a cat. It was an ability he fully exploited in the subterranean world of hard-rock mining.

He shaved and took a quick shower before heading down the circular stairs to the rec room, passing through the library on the way. The built-in dark oak shelves were full of plain beige boxes containing his vast collection of reference books. For the thousandth time, Mercer promised himself he’d unpack the books and place them properly on the shelves. He also wanted to hang the dozens of pictures and paintings he had collected over the years, which currently lay crated in one of the brownstone’s two spare bedrooms.

Cup of coffee in hand, he went to the front door and grabbed the morning Washington Post . He was just turning to the stories beneath the fold as he made his way to the bar in the rec room.

A story on the left corner riveted him to the stool.

SURVIVOR FOUND FROM NOAA SHIP

Hawaii

Dr. Tish Talbot, a specialist on the ill-fated NOAA research vessel

Ocean Seeker

, was rescued by a Finnish freighter at 12:30 local time this morning. She is so far the only survivor of the ship which sank three days ago. The

Ocean Seeker

was investigating the mysterious deaths of twelve gray whales found beached last month on Hawaii’s north coast. Dr. Talbot is said to be in stable condition, suffering from dehydration and exposure. She is being flown to George Washington University Hospital this morning for observation. The rescue ship, SS

September Laurel

, had been assisting the coast guard and navy search for survivors since the mysterious sinking.

The article went on, but Mercer really didn’t see the rest of the words; he was stunned. The sense of loss that he felt the night before slipped away, replaced by joy and relief.

“Harry, wake up.” Mercer had to share the news.

Harry came awake slowly, groans and yawns followed by scratches and stretches. “What time is it?”

“Quarter of six,” Mercer replied, glancing at his Tag Heuer watch.

“Christ, my mouth feels as if I just French-kissed an Angora sweater.”

Mercer poured him a cup of coffee. Harry moved from the couch to the bar and slouched onto one of the stools, a cigarette already smoldering between his lips.

“Remember me telling you about Jack Talbot, the guy who saved my life in Alaska?” Mercer didn’t wait for Harry to answer. “Last night I found out that his daughter was on board that NOAA ship that sank in the Pacific.”

“Christ, Mercer, sorry to hear it,” Harry said seriously.

“I was meaning to ask you last night if you had heard about that.”

Mercer held up the front page of the paper and Harry read it through still-bleary eyes. “Well, I’ll be god-damned. How about that for luck.”

“No shit.”

“I wonder if your friend knows yet?”

“He probably didn’t even know about the accident — last I knew he was working aboard an oil rig off the coast of Indonesia.”

Harry looked at Mercer for a second, then stood up. “I better get home.” Harry was through the door before Mercer could say another word. Mercer puzzled about his friend’s abrupt exit for a moment, then went back to reading his paper.

At 8:30, Mercer strode into his office at the U.S. Geological Survey. His secretary, Jennifer Woodridge, tried to smile and say hi with a mouth full of cherry danish. Mercer marveled at her ability to eat. Her desk was nearly always covered with half-eaten junk food, mangled bags of chips, and at least three empty soft drink cans. Yet she weighed around one hundred pounds and had a figure that made him wish half the rumors in the office were true.

“Morning, Jen. I see nothing’s changed in my absence.”

She swallowed hard and took a sip of coffee. “Welcome back. I was so relieved that you were in South Africa and not aboard that NOAA ship, you have no idea.”

“Trust me, you’re not half as relieved as I am.”

Jen Woodridge had not always cared so much for her temporary boss. Two months earlier, when Mercer had started consulting at the USGS, Jen had prepared an extensive list of the things she would and wouldn’t do in the course of her job. She read through the list at a staccato pace about two seconds after their introduction.

Mercer had listened to her calmly, without comment. When she had finished all Mercer said was, “Okay.”

“What do you want me to do now?” she asked, thinking she had the upper hand with him.

“Go back and sit at your desk.”

“And?”

“And nothing. Just sit at your desk. Don’t answer the phone, don’t fill out any papers, don’t do anything.”

It took only forty fidgety minutes before Jen caved in and returned to Mercer’s office, her blue eyes glazed with boredom. “Point taken and I’m sorry. Usually the consultants around here treat the staff like slaves.”

“Since you are the first secretary, excuse me, assistant, I’ve ever had, I really don’t know how to treat you.” Mercer’s honesty had begun a great working relationship. Now he asked, “Did you read about that woman rescued last night?”

“Yes, isn’t that fantastic?”

“Strange thing is, I know her, or rather, I know her father,” Mercer said, heading for his office. “Come on and fill me in on what’s been happening while I’ve been gone.”

Mercer struggled out of his jacket and threw it carelessly over the leather sofa. He laid his briefcase on the desk and settled into his chair. Jen hung up his jacket with a maternal scowl and sat in the chair in front of the desk to help him pore through the mountain of papers.

Around noon, Jennifer went to lunch; Mercer stayed in his office, catching up on the paperwork treadmill. A security guard knocked quietly at his office door a few minutes after Jen left. “Are you Dr. Philip Mercer?” the guard asked, confirming the name from the slip of paper in his hand.

Mercer winced inwardly — he hated to be called doctor. He grinned at the security officer. “So you boys finally caught me stealing toilet paper from the men’s room.”

The guard looked at him, puzzled, then realized that Mercer wasn’t serious.

So much for a sense of humor, thought Mercer.

“Sir, Western Union delivered this telegram to the front office; it’s addressed to you.” The guard handed Mercer the envelope and left without another word.

The telegram had been sent from Jakarta. Mercer knew instinctively that it was from Jack Talbot. For some reason he felt a sense of foreboding as he unfolded the paper.

“Tish is in mortal danger. Help her. Ocean Seeker intentionally destroyed. Will try to get to D.C. soonest.”

It was signed Jack .

Mercer spent no more than ten seconds making up his mind. The Jack Talbot he knew was not prone to fantasy or hysteria. If Jack said that his daughter was in danger and that the NOAA ship had been purposely destroyed, Mercer believed him unequivocally.

Mercer stood quickly, his gray eyes hard and set, his lean body already slightly tensed for the unknown. He grabbed his jacket and strode to the elevators. Within six minutes of reading the telegram his black Jaguar XJS convertible was bulling its way through downtown traffic toward the GWU hospital.

The nurse at the hospital’s front desk informed him that Tish was in room 404, but that no visitors were allowed. The nurse also told Mercer that the room was being guarded by the FBI.