Also odd, Dane noticed, were the bars on the windows. All of them — kitchen, dining room, foyer; even those on the second floor. He supposed it had to do with the fact that months and perhaps even years at a time passed before the captain stopped by, so he needed the security to ward off opportunistic looters.
The sight of the dining table itself pulled Dane back to the purpose of their visit. Dinner. At the center of the room was a long dining table, replete with linen tablecloth, fine china and crystal wine glasses. The captain’s chair was at the head of the table, and seated was a broad-shouldered man with steel gray hair and a lined face. His naval officers flanked him on either side. Dane guessed that this was the officer's table. Another long table was also set up in the room, this one occupied by the rank and file. Behind the captain, still armed with his AK-47, Bullet man stood guard, his flinty gaze daring either of them to try anything.
But it was the centerpiece of the captain's dining setup that commanded their attention.
Nested in a basket at the center of his table sat the nuclear bomb.
Chapter 14
The cylinder stood less than two feet high, a proliferation of colored wires spewing from each end.
“Please, be seated,” the captain said, extending an arm to two open seats closest to him on either side of the table. Clearly it wasn’t an invitation but a command, as Dane felt the barrel of their escort’s weapon at the small of his back. He hadn’t meant to stall. He was simply taking in the incongruous centerpiece, twisted variations on the infamous game of Russian roulette running through his head.
He and Bones took their respective seats. Their plates were already fixed with heaping piles of steaming fish and what looked like fresh salads. A bowl of chowder completed the offering as did a robust glass of white wine.
Bones simply started eating.
The captain chuckled in his direction. “Yes, let us dispense with formalities, shall we?” He himself put his fork to his plate and then the rest of the men around the table seemed to relax and follow suit. The sound of silverware and muted conversation filled the room and soon Dane was able to ignore the nuclear device at the center of the table and eat. He found the food to be delicious and of high quality.
Finally, the captain spoke.
“I assume you have questions.”
Dane straightened. “I have several, and you can probably guess what they are: Who are you? What is this place? You know — the obvious ones.”
“And what’s your chowder recipe?” Bones asked. “I’m seriously considering licking the bowl."
Their host dabbed at his mouth with a cloth napkin before responding. “I am Captain Stanislav Ivkin. We are on my private island retreat in the Bahamas. I bought it years ago for a reasonable sum because it is far from the main islands of commerce and has no water or infrastructure of any kind other than what I myself provided. On the maps it is known as ‘Caye Desolation,’ but I call it simply, Mestom Mechty, which loosely translates in your language to Place of Dreams.”
Bones made a choking noise mid-sip in his wine.
Ivkin raised an eyebrow. “You disapprove?”
Bones made a dismissive flick with his forefinger. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s a good-looking chunk of land and I think you and Gilligan would be very happy here, but my dream island would have a few more chicks on it.”
Ivkin’s expression remained blank.
“And we are here in your dream world because…?” Dane asked. Ivkin's eyes shifted to the nuke on the table.
“I bought this isle personally, not for Russia, a few years ago so that I may have a place to rest while on long voyages to this part of the world. I do not bring the submarine here often, but I think you will agree that it's quite a bit more comfortable here than on board.”
“Captain, we noticed a large pile of rocks on the path to the house. We think we’ve seen their like before. They look like…”
“Like the rocks you saw on the Spanish shipwreck. The ones you so admirably deceived us with?” Ivkin smiled deviously. “We were tracking your submersible on sonar while you visited the wreck.”
Dane didn’t let this revelation jar him. “Yes. They reminded me of those same rocks. Are they?”
“They are. You see, I located the shipwreck a year before the American television expedition did. I was looking for the space capsule, but became fascinated by the wreck. You know, the crew members are still inside.”
Neither Dane nor Bones had a reply for this. They continued to eat until most of the plates were empty or nearly so. The galley crew appeared, clearing the dishes and refilling the wine. When they departed, Ivkin spoke to Dane and Bones.
“Gentlemen, I trust your meal was satisfying?”
Dane and Bones nodded their agreement.
“It's about the only thing that's been satisfying since we've met,” Bones said flatly.
“Very well, then. Let us talk about what you Americans would call the proverbial elephant in the room, shall we?”
All eyes went to the nuke.
“What was it doing aboard the space capsule?”
Bones shrugged. “We don’t know. We’re both a little young to have been involved in that mission.”
Ivkin’s wolflike grin caused Dane to tense.
“You mean to suggest that you planned a dive on the capsule without knowing of the bomb’s existence?” His inflection imparted an air of incredulity to the question.
Bones sipped his wine.
Dane took a moment to make sure that his words would come across not as defensive but matter-of-fact.
“Like my partner said, we weren’t even born when the capsule went to space. It’s been down there on the bottom for almost forty years. We really had no idea what to expect, and, I suspect, neither does the U.S. government. I think you give them too much credit if you think their record keeping capabilities are that good. If they did have a bomb they probably forgot all about it.”
At the other end of the table, one of the Russians who knew English translated for the other men, who erupted in laughter at Dane’s remark.
Ivkin tented his hands and looked at Dane while he spoke. “They just forgot all about a nuclear weapon aboard a spaceship, is that it?” An uncomfortable silence befell the table. At length Ivkin asked, “Would you like to hear my interpretation of what happened?” He went on without waiting for a reply.
“I believe that there was another, unpublicized objective for the flight of so-called Liberty Bell 7. Did you know that in 1961, in the midst of the Cold War, the U.S. government — your government — had a plan to explode a bomb on the moon as some sort of perverted and vulgar display of space power?”
Recalling Jimmy Letson's words, Dane feigned a look of disbelief, which Ivkin ignored.
“And I can only surmise that something went wrong on that flight. Everyone knows, of course, that the capsule sank after a hatch exploded, but I also believe that something went wrong in space that prevented them from bringing the bomb to the moon. Or, perhaps they never attempted that mission, after all. But the bomb was not there for no reason.” He stared at the nuke.
Dane tried to look surprised. “This is also only your conjecture, though. How could you possibly know what happened?”