My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

26

“Admiral?” a bleary eyed Sharkey roused me from the sleep I’d finally managed to catch in the wee hours. “Dr. Wixom is in the lobby and requesting to see you.”

“Wixom?” I yawned, “yes, okay, have him come up...I’ll be out in a few minutes. What time is it, anyway?”

“0500.”

A half hour’s sleep wasn’t much but at least my cat nap had been something.

“Er...this Wixom guy...can you trust him? I mean, the things he called the skipper....”

“Relax, Francis,” I said and set my feet on the luxurious carpet, “he may not like Lee personally, but he wants to help a fellow American in trouble. Let's

see what he suggests. I can’t believe he’d be here this early in the morning unless he had an idea.”

After I’d made a quick visit to the head and splashed some water on my face, I emerged from my bedroom in my robe and slippers to meet our guest.

“A bit early, isn’t it?” I asked.

“I understand you’re going to search the Louvre personally.”

“How did you know that?” I asked, sitting down.

“In all the papers,” he replied, surprised I didn’t know, holding one out for me. “If you think there’s something the police missed, I’d like to join you. A second pair of eyes would be welcome, surely.”

“Indeed. Well, Wixom, we’ve come to the conclusion that there has to be an exit that the present caretakers don’t know about. Probably something so old it’s not in living memory. I may be groping at straws but...”

“No, it makes sense,” he said as he began to pace, “it’s  been rebuilt and expanded on old foundations over centuries. If such an exit exists and the captain stumbled into it, he’s probably so lost and disoriented, perhaps even hurt, that he can’t find his way back or make his presence known. Oh, by the way, I thought you might need a little breakfast. Nothing fancy, just croissants,” he added, holding  up the paper bag he’d carried in  his other hand.

“Thank you...Chief? Have room service bring up some coffee.”

“You sure about that, Nelson? It’s that espresso stuff usually. Darn strong stuff.”

“You forget, Dr., I’m a Navy man. Coffee’s only coffee if you can stand a spoon up in it."

“Point  taken.”

“I have to thank you, Dr. Wixom for your offer of help. I know you’re not a friend of either Lee or myself.”

“I’m an American. That’s all that counts right now. Besides, I’ve seen your boy on the news. Has guts, that’s for sure. Blind as a bat, yet acts as if it’s not much of a handicap. I’m not sure I could handle going blind that well.”

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get dressed. Oh, you might enjoy the view from the balcony,” I said, nodding toward the drapes.

“Thank you,” he said and pulled them open. “Ah, yes...lovely.”

Sharkey followed me into my bedroom, closed the door, and whispered, “You think we can trust this guy?”

“All he knows is what everyone else knows, that Lee’s simply ‘lost’, not that he’s a hostage. Wixom might even be of some assistance. Now, you go and keep him company...have you been up all night, too?”

“Ski snores. I had to spend most of the night on the sofa. But even that didn’t help much. Just couldn’t relax enough to fall asleep.”

“Same here. Oh well...we’ll catch up on our sleep later if...when I, when ‘we’ find the captain.”

The croissants were excellent, the coffee was dreadful for all my 'Navy' hype, but at least it gave me a badly needed caffeine boost.

I learned from Wixom as our two taxis and one police van headed to the museum, that he had joined in the general search already, knowing Paris as he did, with volunteers looking for Lee in even out of the way places not usually on any tourist map.

I wanted to tell him right then and there what we knew, but thought the better of it until Jackson could clear him with ONI.

Joe had returned to the American Embassy where a special command center had been set up, with links to the ONI,  CIA,  FBI, NATO, and every other security organization with or without initialed abbreviations. It was really irking him that Lee’s bugs were inactive. How could Ozno have the most current equipment with surveillance override?

Well, that was something all these agencies were just going to have to figure out while they (so far in vain) had  tried to reactivate the obsolete implant in Lee’s toenail. Packed with all sorts of interesting biological microchips for different jobs, including a tracker, it had been designed to disintegrate harmlessly as time went on and most of its components had probably already been absorbed into Lee’s tissues and blood stream. As for the new tracker that had gone bust, Joe was sure it had been disabled, or even forcibly removed.

“I still don’t see how he could have just vanished,” one of the curators said looking over the blueprints, after we’d been admitted to the famous museum.  “Every change is accounted for, except  some of the plumbing.

After all, it’s a relatively modern invention as far as history is concerned.”

“Plumbing?” Wixom mused.

“What is it?” I asked, my curiosity peaked.

“Well, like the museum, the city sewers have been rebuilt over the centuries. First they were ancient Roman, then a more modern sewer was laid out in 1370, the only one until the 1800’s that we know of, still, there could have been more we just don’t have documentation for.

“The sewers have already been checked out,” the gendarme with us said.

“The ones that are in working order or on the sewer tour, no doubt, ” Wixom said. “What about the closed off network of tunnels? The old ones?”

“Completely sealed. Not even our engineers would be able to broach them without explosives. Captain Nelson-Crane would not have been able to pass through to them, that is, if he fell into the newer sewers from an open manhole cover.”

“Or something else...gentlemen,” I said, “I don’t have clearance to tell you this, but time is of the essence. Lee was kidnapped. By two men we believe were working for Ozno. If they had access to the city sewers from somewhere inside here, they could have emerged anywhere in Paris....”

“Or not,” Wixom said. “If I were building a hideaway, what better place to have my lair but in plain sight, so to speak, yet hidden away from prying eyes. The French resistance hid in the sewers and used them to move from place to place during World War Two. Why not Ozno...if he had somehow discovered the sealed off tunnels, he could have broached and secured them with no one the wiser.  Now, let’s look at all the plumbing on these charts.”

I could have kissed him. It was the first decent possibility we had.

Soon we were scouring every toilet, sink and water line in the place while the curator called in the city utilities director to bring us their maps, present and historical, of all of the entire sewer network, which would include, we hoped, the location of all of the long ago decommissioned and ancient tunnels.

And then it happened. Ozno hacked into every broadcasting company in the world. He appeared to be in a modern albeit windowless office. Behind him was a wall of sophisticated computers and monitors with live images of such icons as the Eiffel Tower, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, Washington D.C.’s capital building, the White House, the Pentagon, Golden Gate Bridge, etc. In fact just about every important international monument, government agency and major military establishments in varying times of day and night.

"You can call off your search for Captain Nelson-Crane. He’s my hostage. I had every intention of blowing up all of your treasures and seats of power, but I have a proposition. Which is, if each of your governments pay a slight ransom, I will spare your beloved icons and the captain’s life too....”

“Go to hell, Ozno!” Lee’s voice hollered as an image formed on one of the madman's monitors of a stagnant, slime covered sewer, its stone vaulted roof with stalactite like cobwebs dripping with moisture. “Nobody’s going to negotiate with a terrorist!” Lee's voice echoed.

“As you can see,” Ozno said, and flipped a switch which revealed the occupant,  “the captain is completely at my mercy, just as your national icons are.” Indeed, Lee was hanging from his wrists, his feet off the floor, battered, blood dripping from lacerations on his head and body. Rats were crawling on him, sniffing and biting, tearing chunks of flesh off of him, as Lee tried not to cry out. But it was impossible. 

It was all I could do to keep from throwing up. At least that kept me from fainting. Sharkey already had.

“Do you really want to see him eaten alive, slowly, painfully?” Ozno said. “Perhaps you’d appreciate him being dispatched by a larger diner.”

One of the monitors changed to another tunnel and a huge, slime covered alligator.

“It will only take a moment for me to open the gate for the captain to be dispatched in a most horrific way. Now, listen to me, world. I could blow up everything you value and kill the inhabitants right now if was so inclined. This very minute,” he added. “Do you really want that? All you have to do is pay the ransom to avoid it. Of course, the United States will have to pay double to save their beloved captain as well.”

“He’s lying!” Lee shouted. “He’s going to destroy everything no matter what you do. Evacuate! Now!”

“One billion dollars per nation is the price I demand to spare the world it’s treasures. Two billion for the U.S.  You have an hour, starting now,” he added, clicking his remote control. “Or the captain dies when  the Statue of Liberty falls. Too bad. So sad,” he laughed and the broadcast ended.

“Ohmygod,” was all Ski managed to say as he handed me a cup of water from the water cooler, and Pat roused Sharkey.

The phone rang and the curator answered, then motioned me over, “It’s the utilities dept. They know where he is...they could tell from one of the stones in the alligator’s tunnel...they’re faxing the information to the police and  Special Operations.

“What are we waiting for, let’s go!” I managed.

“Wait,” the gendarme said, “sir, we realize how you feel, but let the experts handle it.”

“He’s right, sir,” Sharkey said.

“You think I can’t handle it, Francis?” I asked, angry, feeling betrayed.

“Sir,” Riley said. “I think you would help the skipper more right now if you were with the guys in charge, like, and, er...well..excuse me sir, but you’re kinda’...well, not as young as them. I don’t think Dr. Wixom should go either. He’s past it too and he’s a scientist, not a field agent.”

“Valid points, sir,” Jackson said. "But we can use your men."

“Very well,” I said sourly. “I’ll head to the Ambassador’s. Come along, Wixom.”

And so, here I am in the Ambassador’s command center, watching, listening to the incoming reports from the agents in the field.

Nation after nation has been arguing with each other. The US of course has a policy that it will not pay a ransom for either Lee or our national landmarks and seats of power. Evacuations and closures have been ordered for all.

Global chaos.

I feel so helpless. I didn’t even notice the Ambassador putting a small plate of cheese and fruit in my hand. The coffee’s aroma tickled my nostrils and I was grateful for the  more American style  of brew.

It’s taking a long time for the specialists to break into the sealed off tunnels. How much longer can Lee endure? How much of him have the rats eaten? How long before Ozno simply decides to free the Alligator? How long before all the buildings we’ve come to cherish are nothing but dust? Taking with them a countless number of people?

 How I wished we could bomb Ozno out of existence. But doing so would kill and hurt the innocent of Paris, Lee included.

The clock was ticking down and most nations are standing firm against him. Rather to lose a building and some people than give Ozno or other terrorists a precedent to demand more.

Not that Ozno will even honor his promise should he be paid.

And all I could do was to sit, my heart racing in fear.

“Harriman?”

“Jiggs!” I exclaimed rising to greet my old friend.

“I got here as fast as I could. Damn delays. Been catching and transferring flights ever since Lee went missing...and now...how are you holding up?”

“Not very well. I’m scared, Jiggs. Really truly scared. Did you see the rats? The alligator?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I’m scared too. The whole world is.”

Yes, the whole world is scared. For their buildings or for Lee or for both, I don’t know. All I know is I don’t give a damn even for the Statue of Liberty when Lee’s life is at risk. He’s all that matters to me anymore.