‘Perhaps Jacob, how do you want to proceed?’
‘Well Eli, normally I would take my time to preserve as much of the site as possible, but considering that this could submerge, and will melt in about a week anyway, I am going to carefully remove this, but place everything into the bags.’
‘Okay, do you want to take your helmet off and we can see from behind you?’
‘Good idea Eli.’
Jacob liked Eli, never afraid of authority, and never an issue giving advice to someone more senior, in years or rank.
Jacob made a pile of debris, placed his helmet complete with cameras and lights onto it, illuminating the area. Without the night goggles, his only area of sight was the wall, and a few refractions of light from the water, he had put the bag on a hook in the wall.
The sap was tough and he used his ice axe to score and remove it, dropping some samples into plastic bags and sealing them up. His hands were cold, the gloves hindering his progress, so tucked into his pockets, but allowing his fingers to probe and investigate the wall.
A corner of the archer wall plate was exposed, and Jacob pushed four fingers into the slot, applying pressure to the timber, grimacing to avoid the crack as the timber gave way. However, the timber did not yield or flex, it popped out, dropping onto his foot, and bouncing off the Kolfach boot protecting it. He recovered the board, inspecting the back of it, some words etched in Chinese on the rear, but a rumble and movement of the water in the room stopped his inspection. The berg was moving, water swilling around, he braced against the wall, and within seconds the movement settled down. He shrugged at the camera and continued, turning back to the new opening in the wall. Within was a large red box, he touched the surface; it was wax, a box of wax?
He could just make out an embedded rope handle, pulled it gently. The box slid towards him, it seemed light, but he placed a hand under it as a precaution. He removed the heavy box, and placed it on his makeshift table, picking up the camera and giving Eli the grand tour.
He put his helmet back on Eli’s voice coming over the radio, ‘Hello Jacob, are there you are? I think the box is Chinese, not the signage, they sometimes used wax balls to protect messages in transit, it is possible they applied the same logic to this box and sealed it to protect it.’
‘Perhaps Eli but why seal it in a wall?’
Jacob went back to the hole, retrieved a tube also sealed in wax. He placed it in a bag, and added it to his duffle. Put a strap around the wax box, covered it with a plastic bag to protect it. Then the room turned over.
Eli was shouting in his headset, but Jacob was concerned with the room rotating, the wax box and table it was upon shifting with the water now running across the room. He was thrown twelve feet, the water cushioning his fall, and then he was buried under the pursuing debris.
He stood up, getting his bearings, the room now at a forty-five degree angle, the berg had moved substantially.
‘Jacob! Jacob!’
Eli screaming in his ear, Jacobs calm but determined manner responding, ‘Eli, relax.’
‘Jean here, Jacob, this berg has shifted again.’
‘No Shit! Really? I hadn’t noticed until the room moved!’
‘Sorry Jacob, I think you have no time, get out now.’
Jacob did not reply, no need, the helicopters engines hummed overhead, which was now to his right. As he turned he realised the hole he had entered from was now underwater, he would have to go down to come up. He grabbed the duffle bag. Without hesitation he pushed it and himself under the black water. He emerged within seconds to an illuminated area, the helicopter already on station overhead, a cable dangling enticingly before him. Jean was good.
Jacob clipped him and the duffle onto the cable and waved to the vigilant Canadian, his face hidden by the glare of the floodlight. The wind hit hard as he breached the hull, sailing a few feet and started a pendulum motion as he was winched to the relative safety of the helicopter. Jacob scrambled into the cabin reached out and pulled the duffle in, and placed it on the seat. The weight of the box had quite exhausted him. Before the door slammed Jean was heading back.
‘Bonjour Jacob, glad you could make it!’
‘No my friend glad you could!’
As Jacob glanced out the window the banking aircraft afforded him the final view as the wooden hull disappeared below the water, the berg turning again to smother its passenger, disappearing into the veil of black rain.
EIGHT
Archer had retired for the night, all sentries set and briefed, he retrieved his phone and weapons from their safes, opened his secure laptop and placed the memory card into the slot. The usual junk appeared, calendar, women’s phone numbers, Khan was such a hound-dog, and some secure files. They were password protected, which was not a problem, but Archer knew that Khan would have rigged them to scrap the files, and the whole memory card if the password was entered incorrectly twice. He sat and thought, checking his email and contact websites for old friends, and then he realised, motorbikes. Khan and Archer had a mutual interest in motorbikes. They had a website which they used for leaving messages, a dead drop.
Archer logged onto the site, and sure enough a picture of a motorbike posted the day Khan met Archer. The picture was from a display they had both seen back in the States. Archer clicked on the picture, and entered a code, no cursor on the screen no indication to anyone else who casually found the site. He pressed enter and the picture changed, revealing a short message from Khan, ‘My friend if you find this, I am dead. The word you are seeking is wrath. Goodbye and take care.’ Archer smiled, ‘A trekkie to the end.’
He entered wrath and the memory card opened up the secure files. Archer scanned through them quickly and then transmitted copies to an online email address, deleting all records of the message and the files he used. He took the memory card out, secured his kit, and was about to leave to discuss his findings with the President when the phone rang.
‘Mr Darnay, it is Chui Enzi, may I meet with you in the reception room.’
‘Mr Enzi, this is not a good time, can’t it wait?’
‘No I am afraid the issue is most urgent, please come now.’
Archer walked swiftly down to the reception room at the front of the building; the President had made it clear that Enzi was not to ever venture further than this in the palace.
Enzi was seated on an antique Queen Anne chair, arms resting on the exquisitely polished wood, his legs crossed, suit immaculate. The room was all white, recently redecorated to impress diplomats and visitors alike, the deep blue heavy curtains reached up over fifteen feet to the ceiling and intricate plasterwork encircling the room. The floor was recovered marble, from a destroyed hotel, and the delicate grey flecks tricked the eye that the floor was partially fluid. Enzi sat on this sea of stone, motionless, a moderate smile forced onto his face at Archer’s approach.
Enzi invited Archer to sit, gesturing with a finely manicured hand, the smile dissipating as he spoke.
‘Mr Darnay, which of course we both know is not your true name. Who did you meet today in town?’
‘Mr Enzi, I have no idea what you are talking about.’
‘Mr Darnay, don’t insult my superior intelligence, you met with a fellow operative in a bar, would you like to know what you ordered to drink? Or perhaps you would like to see photos?’
‘Would that be from the large gentlemen with the military tattoo on his left forearm?’
‘Touché Mr Darnay, or should I say Mr Archer Mathias?’
Archer paused, this was unexpected, his cover was sound, Protection Incorporated had seen to it. Someone had given his info to Enzi, and that was extremely hazardous.