Medusa

CHAPTER 11

THOUSANDS OF MILES FROM THE WILLIAM BEEBE, LOIS Mitchell was trying to quell a riot in the mess hall, where Gordon Phelps had herded the staff at gunpoint. Someone had noticed that Dr. Logan was missing, and when Lois said that the marine biologist had been shot dead the news had prompted a chorus of anger and fear.

Lois tried to shout down the cacophony. When that didn’t work, she lined up several mugs on the counter and filled them from a coffeepot. The simple ritual had a calming effect. After the uproar had quieted down and she could be heard, Lois flashed a sweet smile.

“Sorry this isn’t a Starbucks Grande, but it will have to do for now.”

Her attempt at humor triggered an outburst from a young female lab tech whose pale face and tearful eyes indicated that she was on the verge of hysteria. Lacing into Lois in a voice choked with sobs, the tech demanded: “How can you be so calm knowing Dr. Logan was murdered?”

Stubbornly refusing the urge to break into tears herself, Lois said, “Dr. Logan is lying in the passageway outside the control room with a bullet in his heart. He tried to fight back and was killed by the man who locked us in here. If you want to avoid the same fate, I suggest you take several deep breaths and calm down.”

With a trembling hand, Lois pushed a mug across the counter. The young lab tech hesitated, then reached out for it and took a noisy slurp. Lois then gathered everyone around a large table and described her encounter with Phelps and the murder of Logan. A biologist who had been Logan’s closest friend rose from his chair and picked up a kitchen knife from the counter. He summed up his rage in a single word.

“Bastard!”

Lois remained in her seat and regarded the biologist with a calm gaze.

“You’re absolutely correct,” Lois said. “In fact, the man who shot Dr. Logan is worse than a bastard, he’s a murderer, but his moral character is not at issue here. You might get him with that knife, although I doubt it, but what then? Phelps obviously is not the only one involved. We are dealing with ruthless people who have the resources to gain entry into a heavily guarded facility three hundred feet below the ocean’s surface. I don’t know how they learned about the Locker, who they are, or how many are involved, but we are completely at their mercy.”

The knife clattered on the counter, and the biologist sat down.

“You’re right, Lois,” he said in defeat. “I just wish I knew what they wanted.”

“I’m sure they’ll let us know,” she replied. “In the meantime, let’s have something to eat. It’s important we keep our strength up. MiGod!” she said with her rollicking laugh. “I sound like an actor in one of those disaster movies telling everyone to remain calm after the ocean liner turns upside down or the plane crashes in the jungle.”

The comment produced nervous smiles. A couple of people headed for the kitchen and, in short order, returned with a tray stacked with ham, turkey, and peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. Fear must have sharpened the scientists’ hunger because they devoured the sandwiches like victims of a famine.

They were cleaning up when the mess hall reverberated with loud humming. Everyone stopped working and listened. After a few moments, the humming stopped, and the floor jolted as if jarred by an earthquake. There was a second jolt, and the room shuddered and swayed.

Those still standing fought to keep their balance, and there was an outcry of alarm, but the room went silent when the door burst open and two armed men stepped into the mess hall to clear the way for Phelps. The two strangers were wearing black diver’s suits still wet with seawater and carried short-barreled machine pistols.

Phelps grinned and said, “Looks like we arrived too late for lunch.”

“What’s happening to the lab?” Lois asked, holding on to the edge of a counter to keep from falling.

“Don’t you remember what I said about going for a little ride? The lab’s being moved to a new neighborhood.”

Lois thought she must be going mad. “That’s impossible.” “Not really, Dr. Mitchell. All we had to do was hitch the lab to a tow truck, so to speak.”

“What happened to our support ship?”

“It’s out of action,” Phelps said. He issued an order to the gunmen: “Take these folks to their quarters.”

The gunmen stepped aside to allow the scientists to pass.

“Thank you for allowing my staff to leave,” Lois said. She went to follow her colleagues through the door, but Phelps reached out and held her arm. He shut the door, pulled up a chair, and asked Lois to sit down. Then he sat in another chair and leaned on the backrest.

“I’ve been looking at your bio, Dr. Mitchell. Pretty impressive background. Bachelor’s degree in marine biology from the University of Florida, master’s from Virginia Institute of Marine Science, topped off with a Ph.D. in marine biotechnology and biomedicine from Scripps.”

“Is this a job interview?” Lois said in an icy voice.

“I guess you could call it that,” Phelps said. “You’ve been doing some work that my bosses are interested in.”

“Who are your bosses?”

“They’re kinda shy. Just think of them as the folks that sign my paycheck.”

“Did they pay you to kill Dr. Logan?”

He frowned. “That wasn’t in the plans, Dr. Mitchell. That was an accident, pure and simple.”

“An accident like hijacking the lab, I suppose.”

“Guess you could say that. Look, Dr. Mitchell, you may not like me, probably hate my guts, and I don’t blame you, but it’s best for you and your staff if we try to get along because we’re going to be working together.”

“What do you mean?”

“My bosses didn’t tell me exactly what you’re doing here in the lab, but I heard it’s got something to do with jellyfish.”

Lois saw no reason to hold back. “That’s right. We’re using a chemical found in a rare species of jellyfish to develop a vaccine for an influenza-type virus that has a lot of people worried.”

“My bosses said that you’re about ready to wrap things up here.”

So much for secrecy, Lois thought.

“That’s correct,” she said. “We’re within days of synthesizing the chemical used as the basis of the vaccine. You still haven’t answered my question about working together.”

“When we get to the new location, you’ll continue your research. You’ll have free run of the lab except for the control room. You’ll report your results to me on a regular basis. I’ll pass the reports along to my bosses. Otherwise, it’s business as usual.”

“And if we refuse to work for you?”

“We know we can’t make scientists do their jobs by beating them with truncheons. We’ll just leave you down here on your own and withhold food and oxygen until you feel like working again. The rules are simple: If you go on strike, you will die. Not my idea, but that’s the way it is.”

“Thank you for your kind advice. I’ll pass it along to my colleagues as soon as you allow me to rejoin them.”

He stood up and opened the door.

“You can go along now, if you want to.”

Lois stayed where she was.

“One question,” she said. “What happens after we complete our research? Are you going to kill us or leave us to rot on the bottom?”

Phelps was a hard man and seasoned professional. He considered his job as a mercenary a link in a proud profession that stretched back hundreds, probably thousands, of years. Older than prostitution, he often joked. He had his own peculiar sense of honor that would not allow him to harm a woman, especially one as attractive as Lois Mitchell. He pushed the dangerous thoughts aside. There was no room in his business for personal attachments, but he vowed to keep a close eye on Lois.

“They hired me to hijack this nifty little hideaway and to make sure you keep on working. My contract doesn’t say anything about killing you or your friends. They know that when the work is done, I plan to take you from the lab and drop you somewhere close to civilization. We’ll probably run into each other in a bar in Paris or Rome someday and have a big laugh over this thing.”

Lois had no desire to see Phelps ever again. More important, she had no idea whether Phelps was telling the truth or not. The strength seemed to flow out of her body. She felt as if she were being smothered even though her lungs were hyperventilating. She concentrated on her breathing, taking breaths deep into her diaphragm, and after a moment the hammering of her heart began to subside. She became aware that Phelps was watching her reaction closely.

“You okay, Dr. Mitchell?”

Lois stared into space for a moment, reordering her jumbled thoughts, then rose from her chair. “I’d like to go to my quarters now, if you don’t mind.”

He nodded. “I’ll be in the control room if you need me.”

Lois made her way to her room. The floor still swayed, and she had to walk wide-leggedly to keep from losing her footing. Somehow, she made it to her quarters. She crawled into her bunk and pulled the covers over her head, as if she could shut out the world she had found herself in, but to no effect. Thankfully, after a few minutes, she fell into a fitful slumber.