Clive Cussler - Lost City

"The microbes were perfectly harmless in their natural habitat. There was always the possibility that they would migrate once we disturbed their habitat. They have evidently mutated the genes of higher organisms." "Can it be reversed?"

"There is a good chance we could apply the work we're doing now to the solution."

"Do you think Colonel Strega would be open to a suggestion that we direct our energies toward saving the world from a Gorgonweed infestation?" Trout said.

MacLean laughed. "Colonel Strega believes this camp is the world. And that he is God."

"All the more reason to escape," Trout said.

"These people that kidnapped us must have known that a massive search would be launched for the Alvin," Gamay said.

MacLean looked into his empty glass, and then his eyes met hers. "According to Strega, the situation would be taken care of. He didn't go into details, but a number of the mutants were removed from the island not long ago. I think they had something to do with the plan."

"No details?"

MacLean shook his head.

Trout forced himself to deal with the problem at hand.

"You said you were brought back here to reconstitute a scientific team," he said.

"Yes, there are six other unfortunate souls who were lured here, like the immigrants, with promises of work. You'll meet them at dinner. Our employer took great pains to make sure they were single people with little or no family attachments."

"How long do we have?"

"We have all known that we will be killed as soon as we extract the pure elixir. We've dragged our heels as much. as we can, while showing some progress. It's been a delicate balance. A shipment of the elixir went out while we were on the sub."

"What does that mean for us?"

"We'll become redundant after the formula gets to its destination and our employers see if it will work."

"Will it?"

MacLean nodded. "Oh yes. The initial results will be quite swift and dramatic. Once Strega gets the word, he will start throwing us to the animals, one by one." He shook his head. "I'm afraid I rescued you only to bring you into a situation with no hope."

Trout rose from his chair and gazed around the camp, thinking that the rugged beauty of the island was out of place with the horrors he had seen.

"Any ideas?" he said.

"I think it would be helpful if Mac told us everything he knows

about this place," Gamay said. "Every detail, no matter how silly or stupid it seems."

"If you're still thinking of escape, forget it," MacLean said bleakly. "There's no way."

Gamay glanced at her husband. "There's always a way," she said with a smile. "We just don't know what it is."

SKYE HAD SLIPPED into a deep slumber by the time Austin had crawled into the warm auberge featherbed. She clung to his side throughout the night, her sleep frequently disturbed by feverish murmurings of red death and dark water. Austin's nerves were on edge as well. Several times, he pried himself loose from Skye's hot grip and went to the window. Except for the moths fluttering around the inn's lighted sign, all was still. But Austin was far from complacent. The Fauchard family had a long reach.

After a fitful night's sleep, they were awakened by bright sunlight flooding their room. They put on the terry cloth bathrobes that Skye found in a closet and they had breakfast sent up to their room. Austin had tossed their tattered costumes into the trash. They recruited the maid who brought their food and sent her to shop for clothes. Fortified with a cup of strong coffee, Skye regained her usual sparkle, but Chateau Fauchard still weighed heavily on her mind.

"Should we report the Fauchards to the authorities?" she asked. "The Fauchards are a rich and powerful family," Austin said. "That doesn't mean they're above the law," she said.

"I agree with you. What part of our story do you think the police would believe? The Pit and the Pendulum or The Cask of Amontillado?"

If we make a fuss, we might even be accused of stealing Emil's plane."

"I see what you mean," she said with a frown. "Well then, what do we do?"

"Go back to Paris. Regroup. Dig out every bit of dirt we can on the Fauchards." Austin cleared his throat. "Who's going to tell your friend Darnay that his bullet-riddled Rolls-Royce is at the bottom of a castle moat?"

"I'll inform him. Don't worry, Charles was thinking of turning it in for a Bentley. He'll simply report it stolen." Her lips widened in her usual sunny smile. "Knowing Charles, I'd guess it was stolen to begin with." A dark cloud cast a shadow over her smile. "Do you believe what that poor Englishman Cavendish said? That the Fauchards started World War One and had at least some responsibility for the Second World War?"

Austin chewed on the question along with a bite of croissant. "Dunno. It takes more than a few people to start a war. Hubris, stupidity and miscalculation play a big role."

"True, but think about it, Kurt. In 1914, the Great Powers were led by some of the most inept leaders in history. The decision to start war was in the hands of a few people. None were particularly intelligent. A tsar or a kaiser didn't have to ask his people for permission to go to war. Couldn't a small, wealthy and determined group like the Fauchards and other arms manufacturers manipulate these leaders, play off their deficiencies and influence their decisions? Then provide an event like the Grand Duke's assassination that would start the shooting?"

"Certainly possible. World War Two was a different situation, but you had the same volatile mixture waiting for a spark to trigger the explosion."

"Then you do think there is something to the charges?"

"Now that I've met the Fauchards, mere andfds, I would agree that if anyone could start a war, it would be them. The murderous way they reacted when Cavendish shot his mouth off speaks volumes."

She shivered as she recalled the Englishman's demise. "Cavendish claimed that Jules Fauchard was trying to stop the war," Skye said. "We know he got only as far as the Dormeur glacier. If he had made it across the Alps, he would have landed in Switzerland."

"I see where you're going. A neutral country where he could have revealed to the world what his family was plotting." He paused. "Let's think about it. Fauchard was rich and influential, but he would need proof to make his case. Documents or secret papers."

"Of course!" Skye said. "The strongbox that Jules was carrying with him. The Fauchards didn't want their dirty little family secret getting out."

"I'm still puzzled," Austin said, after a moment's thought. "Say we managed to exhume Jules's body and salvage incriminating documents. The Fauchards could weather the bad publicity. They would hire a high-priced PR firm to put spin on the story. They could say that the documents were forgeries. Outside of a few historians, I'm not sure if anybody would care so long after the fact."

"Then why did they resort to flooding the tunnel, killing Renaud and trying to killing us?"

"Here's another theory. Let's suppose Spear Industries is on the verge of a big deal. A merger. A new product. Maybe even a new war," he said with a wry grin. "Headlines about the family's unsavory past could spoil their plans."

"That would make sense," she said.

"What doesn't make sense is why Jules had the helmet with him."

"The Fauchards are eccentric," she ventured.

"You're being kind," Austin said, with a frown. "They are homicidal maniacs, but they don't act without a purpose. I think that the Fauchards were not simply worried about their family history being

exposed. They desperately want to retrieve the helmet. There is something about that old steel pot that is of great importance to them. We have to find out what it is."

"Perhaps Charles has made progress in his examination. I must go see him as soon as I can."