"Well, thank God for that, then," I joked and she smiled. "I talked to my friends online this afternoon."
"Uh-oh, I know what that means. Our adventures aren't over, are they?"
"Uhm, no, not exactly," I answered. I summarized the Maximillian Bauer story and then explained our plan. "All along, through the Great Hunt, we always found just enough facts to point the way to where we should go next. As with before, there was only one choice now: to enter the caves. We will find all our answers when we enter them."
"But you don't know how to get in. The Germans blocked all the entrances."
"No, I don't think they did. There is a chance we can find a way in. We'll talk more about that in the morning, when Briar and the others connect back on," I said, refusing to explain further. It was no longer time to talk about the caves.
It was time for bed!
***
Next morning found me frustrated. We had gotten up early, showered, and eaten. Since then, I had been trying to connect with my friends. I had run through our last conversation, confirming they definitely set a contact time of 10:00 AM. It was now 10:35 AM and I could not get them to answer, no matter what I did.
Raymonde was of absolutely no help, trying to tickle me whenever I brought the topic up. There was a knock at the door. It was the maid. "There is a phone call for Mr Sirenne. The front desk said you'll have to go down to the restaurant to pick it up," she informed us.
"Fine, thank you. I'll be down presently."
"Thank you sir, I'll tell them," she said, leaving quickly. Them?
"I wonder who it could be? Are you coming down?" I asked Raymonde.
"I wouldn't miss this for the world," she answered mysteriously.
Reaching the small restaurant room and, seeing 'our' table, where a phone had been placed, I sat down and picked it up. "This is Paul Sirenne. There's a call for me?
"Just a second, Sir, I'll connect you."
A few clicks and pops later, an unmistakable voice blasted over the phone, "Sirenne, thank God it's you. It's O'Flanahan, old buddy."
"I know who you are, O'Flanahan, what's this all about? Where have you been?"
"There's no time for that, me boy. I just need you to do me a wee favour, is all," he begged, his Irish accent overwhelming the phone's tiny speaker.
"A favour? You've got to be kidding, right?"
"Please, it's such a small thing. I was wondering if you could turn your head about seventy-five degrees to the right?" he asked. That request sounded very familiar. I did as he asked and turned my head to the right.
I was looking at a table where three men were sitting. One of them was facing me, holding up a cell phone. It was O'Flanahan. The other two turned around. It was Coulter and Briar. My jaw dropped open. Raymonde was covering her face with her hand as she tried to hide her smile. Mrs Leblanc was peeking in from the restaurant entrance, laughing as well. Had they all been in on it?
I started laughing finally. They had done it well; I had to admit it. I walked over to my friends and sat down in the fourth chair, trying to look unflappable, as I said, "Coffee all around? I believe it's my round this time, gentlemen."
***
Apparently, the distance had been bothering all three. The events in Etretat were occurring with ever-increasing speed and there they were, sitting around at home, looking at their computers. A unanimous decision was reached to do what they knew had to be done. According to Coulter, it had been terribly difficult to arrange the flights on such short notice. He had found two seats on a red-eye flight for himself and O'Flanahan. Briar organized a flight on his own and they met in the Paris International Airport.
"My dear boy, sorry for springing this on you in this manner but, really, there was no way any of us could stay away from Etretat for one more second, grading of papers be damned," exclaimed Briar.
A pot of coffee sat on the table, already three quarters empty. "Yesterday, before all the excitement, I said it was time to go find the caves. If you think back on Leblanc's journal, you may remember the section when he wandered into a very big cave with a large body of brackish water. Brackish water implies an opening to the English Channel. I wondered if, at some point in the past, that opening might have been larger. The Fort of Frefosse once had such an entrance, a hidden port, giving access to the open sea for the smugglers. This ancient sea entrance would have been covered by silt and debris more than a thousand years ago. However, the Germans might have re-opened the hidden entrance, an entrance that would be more than three hundred metres out to sea and perhaps just as deep," I concluded.
"I don't know why I didn't think of that before. You must be right. But why make an opening below sea level? Unless it was designed for submarine access," theorized O'Flanahan.
"That's what I think. With a sub, Hitler could have come here unobserved. And it is going to be our way in."
"If there really was such an opening, why wouldn't it have been found yet?" Briar asked.
"It is a concern the Germans would also have had. Perhaps they found some way of dealing with that," said O'Flanahan.
"Paul, none of us are deep sea divers. How do you expect us to go down there?" worried Raymonde.
"Coulter's looking into that. Before going into the water however, we might be able to use our resources to pinpoint the area."
Coulter popped open his laptop and began typing. Within seconds, he pushed his laptop to the centre of the table, a smug look on his face."Take a look at this."
We examined a digital display of Etretat's underwater topography. The exposed seabed was a series of frozen, undulating waves radiating away from the coastline, looking like spokes on a wheel. The spokes radiated from a central point: the Aval cliff and the Needle.
"Where did you get this? This is great!" O'Flanahan exclaimed.
"This program allows you to look at any underwater area of the world, using digitized satellite imagery. It's not available for public use but I found us a special pass," replied Coulter.
"Do you guys see the same pattern that I'm seeing?" I asked, pointing at the image. "There certainly would be room for a sub in those chasms between the radiating spokes. Look at the one in the centre. It's perfectly lined up with the cliff."
Coulter pressed a few keys. "At this scale, the chasm depth would be, uhm, just a sec, about one hundred metres. I tried comparing rock density to reveal an opening but nothing stood out. If there's an entrance down there, it's well camouflaged."
"Everything points to it being in that central furrow. The others are simply too far. When we go looking, that's where were going," I affirmed.
I just hoped Coulter came up with something to get us there.
***
Raymonde approached the front door and knocked. Jacques Vallin opened, calling out loudly to his brother, who was in the old garage next to the house.
"I'm so sorry for what I said yesterday," Jacques apologised. "I don't know what came over me. I felt like my whole life had been ripped away but now that I've had a bit of time to think it over, I can see how Mr Leblanc never had any choice. He did the best he could to help those who got hurt. Our family just got caught in the middle."
Ives walked in, his face breaking into a smile.
"You two have had a rough time of it, it's true enough, but there's no need to worry about the past anymore. The present seems exciting enough, wouldn't you say? I think we've figured a way to get into the caves but we're going to need your local connections: is there a boat we could rent, something big and seaworthy?" I asked them.
"I know a fellow who's got a real wide boat on those pontoons. It's pretty big and he knows how to keep quiet too," Ives suggested.
"Are you talking about Languenoc's boat?" asked Jacques.
"You know I am, Brother."
"We can go right away and have a talk with him," Jacques said, getting up. "Don't you worry, Mr Paul, we'll get your boat."
We agreed to meet on the beach at 8:00 AM next morning, hopefully giving Coult
er enough time to get organized. His last text message had said he had found something and was working hard to get it here. Arriving back at the Villa Leblanc, Raymonde and I found Briar and O'Flanahan in the restaurant, still arguing. We decided to join them.
As I sat down, I received a second call from Coulter. The package was on its way. He still had more things to arrange, so I wished him good luck. It was a big undertaking, especially in such little time.
O'Flanahan spoke up, "Listen, I know I've been ranting a lot about publishing this thing. I'm sure you understand why. We have uncovered a whopping conspiracy and it's my business to publish that type of stuff. This is pure gold. The biggest conspiracy of them all, right here in our hands, and nobody knows a thing about it. It's unbearable!"
"I know this is an issue for you, O'Flanahan. From the beginning, the Great Hunt has been teaching us the need for caution. We have uncovered evidence of a battle fought entirely in the shadows. Can it really be just about caves? Something doesn't fit. I can't express it in words but I can tell you we have not uncovered the real story yet," I said.
"I've felt a bit of this myself. It's as if we are out of control. The events keep drawing us further and further into the unknown," Briar added.
"I've felt like that too. Every day has brought more complexity. What does it mean? Where is it leading us?" Raymonde asked.
"It's leading us to the caves. That's obvious. When those caves were last entered, the entire world was affected. Hitler and Leblanc's lives were irrevocably altered. We truly do not know what we are dealing with. It behooves us to move forward carefully, with due consideration. To answer your original question, O'Flanahan, discretion is not an option, it's a requirement. There's something in those caves. I can feel it. Until we find out what it is, we must remain absolutely quiet!"
"I concur wholeheartedly!" supported Briar.
***
The morning found us in the center of Etretat's main beach with the Vallin brothers. A fishing boat was pulled up on shore. Mrs Leblanc had declined joining us, her aging body simply not up to the rigours of the task awaiting us. O'Flanahan appeared distinctly greenish when he stepped into the boat.
I looked at Jacques Vallin. "Is this the stable boat you were talking about?"
"No, Mr Paul, it isn't. Languenoc's boat is too big to come this close to the shore. We arranged for a local fisherman to take us out."
I jumped into the boat, joining the others. Ives hopped in deftly, after giving the boat a strong, hard push. The pilot started the outboard and we headed out to sea. The boat was bobbing and weaving madly. I was holding on for dear life, unable to fathom how anyone could earn a living doing something as dangerous as this.
We talked amongst each other, huddled together in the middle of the boat.
"I've done nothing but read and re-read Leblanc's journal, this last day," Briar admitted, wiping the sea spray from his face. "There are a few passages that seem more worthy of note than others."
"Like what?" asked O'Flanahan.
"In particular, the section where he contacted Raymond Lindon to reach Lupin. Why Lindon?" Briar started.
"Yeah, that's a good one, all right, Briar. I noticed one of my own: It was near the beginning when Leblanc met Father Cochet. He mentioned a couple of names that are rather curious. In particular, Father Boudet. If these names lead us where I suspect, our little conspiracy just connected to a whole family of conspiracies we haven't even considered yet," added O'Flanahan.
"That's all well and good, O'Flanahan but my concern about Lindon may be important to us, unlike your vague allusions. Our attention has been hovering over Raymond Lindon for a while now. He became Leblanc's lieutenant, helping him through thick and thin. He was in charge of the Net, no small thing there, and now we know he was Leblanc's go-between with Lupin. So, again, why Lindon? He continued playing a role after the war, by purchasing Ambrumesy castle and hiding the stone cylinder there. There can be no question he was an integral part of Leblanc's plans and deserves more attention," Briar concluded.
"I'm much more curious about that group of numbers at the end of his journal," O'Flanahan added. "They are obviously a code. I think his whole journal is off-kilter, as if the words were concealing a deeper meaning. Perhaps those numbers are the key. But that's not all. Since O'Flanahan mentioned Maximillian Bauer, I haven't been able to keep the story out of my mind. I did some research and eventually found a single faded picture of the anonymous author of the Bauer book. I compared it to a fuzzy picture of Weissmuller from a book about Etretat and the Second World War. The two pictures are a close match. Bauer may be Weissmuller after all. I am now trying to find pictures of Hitler during the First World War. Perhaps I can find one with our elusive Weissmuller standing nearby... Hey, we're going the wrong way. The Needle is over there. I don't want to have to suffer through this torture any more than necessary."
Jacques took a moment to clarify the situation, "We're just going to meet Captain Languenoc."
"Look, there it is. I can see it," Raymonde exclaimed
As we rounded a bend, Languenoc's ship was finally revealed. It was an impressive sight. Two large pontoons anchored a massive platform. Near the rear, a series of structures were erected, with a second level featuring the bridge of the ship. I could not see any form of propulsion but it was moving along at a good clip.
"Thank God, look at how stable it is," said O'Flanahan.
The fishing boat swerved smartly, positioning itself next to the nearest pontoon, beside a mooring post and some metal steps. A large man, wearing a deep blue, woollen shirt and a captain's hat, waited while we climbed aboard. "Welcome to my ship, the 'Helen'."
"This is a fantastic vessel, Captain Languenoc? My name is Paul Sirenne."
"Glad to finally meet you, Mr Sirenne. Jacques told me all about you. Thanks for the comment about Helen. I built her myself, not another one like her," he answered, an easy smile complimenting his rugged features.
"How come it's so stable?" wondered Coulter.
"There are two more pontoons, well below the waves on the surfaces. I control how much ballast they hold. Gives us instant mass and almost complete stability. I have four massive water jets powered by that generator over there. They control the motion of the boat in any direction, giving me the ability to move at speed or to stay exactly where I want."
"We'll I'm impressed," Coulter admitted. "Did our package arrive in time?"
"A helicopter dropped it off ten minutes before we left port this morning. Good timing on your part, Mr Coulter. Follow my man. He'll show you where it is, while I tend to things here. I'll have you where you want to go in about twenty minutes."
Curious about the mysterious package, everyone followed Coulter to a large crate with the words 'Oceanographic Institute of France' stamped on the side. We made quick work of opening it, using a couple of crowbars provided by the Captain. Our host had thought of almost everything.
"Anyone want coffee? It's freshly brewed!"
No, I was wrong: he had thought of everything after all.
***
"People, let me present to you 'Calvin the Third'," stated Coulter, sounding as if he were showing us a newborn baby. The pride apparent in his voice, he continued: "Calvin is the latest development in remote controlled underwater camera technology. From this console, we can direct and watch Calvin's descent, while sitting comfortably on the surface. Additionally, the console records everything on DVD for later analysis. All we have to do is drop Calvin over the side and we can begin our exploration."
A Selection from the Weissmuller Manuscript
Fighting the Net
After six months of construction, the infrastructure of our underground complex is well established. I have driven the men hard but it has paid good dividends. The power station will soon be brought online. The main connecting tunnels have all been cleared and stabilized. We have mapped out most of the upper level caves and will be starting on the lower levels within one month.
> We have found many curious things in the caves, the most intriguing being a fast-growing fungus, unique to the caves, which has fascinating bio-luminescent properties. It was quite dark when we originally entered into the caves but as we pumped fresh air into them, the fungus emitted more and more light until there was no need to use electrical lamps.
While the refurbishing of the caves is going well, the situation above ground is another matter. When we arrived and completed our takeover, I had felt quite elated by the apparent cowardice of the French Resistance. Now, it is clear I was mistaken. A large component of the local population, commonly called 'the Net', is actively fighting against us.
They are being clever about it. It is a war of passive resistance. At first, there were apparently innocent incidents. Vehicles broke down, gas leaks, fires. After a month of such incidents, I increased security and severely punished any man linked to the problems. It soon became obvious these were not acts of carelessness but rather sabotage.
The Resistance had chosen to fight a battle of attrition. I had to admit it was an effective approach, having developed the process to an art form myself. However, sabotage was only the beginning. The attacks quickly became more aggressive. The Maquis, an extremist section of the French Resistance, made its deadly appearance, attacking vehicles all over the countryside. During these attacks, my men were killed, the vehicle stolen, leaving little evidence behind. No one ever heard or saw anything. Rarely, we found hastily-buried bodies, deep in the undergrowth. Usually, those bodies were mutilated, showing evidence of torture. Too much violence for the Maquis. I suspected the Net was involved.
Within several months, what first appeared as an irritating mosquito changed into a murderous jackal snapping at our heels. Nonetheless, I had to remain completely focused on the development of the cave complex. My Weissmuller skin came with an increasing amount of responsibility. Demands on my time were severe. I could no longer return to the shadows I yearned for. No matter the intensity of my cravings, I found fewer and fewer occasions to carry out experiments. I enjoyed the fear my men had of me and the thought of controlling others held a powerful appeal but these pleasures were not enough to drown out the call for experiments.