Crypto

Crypto Part 5

At some point Paul was roused from his sleep by a glow coming from the porthole. He rubbed his eyes and stretched, his body cramped from the small cot. He checked his watch—they had been traveling for more than six hours. He peered out into the murky dark and was surprised to see large shapes near the craft. It took him a moment to understand what he was seeing—undersea ice. He watched in fascination as the craft maneuvered among jagged canyons and great overhangs of green-blue crystal.

            He felt the vessel slow as the submarine approached a massive wall that rose up and reached down through the ocean, far out of the light's reach. An iceberg. From a distance its face looked smooth and even, but as the craft moved closer Paul saw a host of imperfections—great gouges and cracks in its face, dark crevices where the iceberg collided with pack ice and ocean water ate away at its surface, leaving it rough and careworn.

            The craft approached one of the larger rents in the face of the ice, and Paul realized with a shock that they were headed inside. For several minutes his view was nothing but seawater and blue-white ice. He felt a curious sensation in his stomach—the vessel must be rising. He watched sea water fall away from the tiny port window. Then a quiet settled through the craft as the engines cut out. He heard water lapping against the hull. Then the bolt that locked the stateroom door rang as it was slid back. Paul stood, waiting to be released, waiting for Helen to step through. But nothing happened.

            He stepped forward and pulled down on the handle. The door swung inwards. The passageway was empty. A pool of light spilled down into the passage—the topside hatch was open.

            Paul stepped out of the stateroom and walked to the ladder. He scuttled up, the metal cold to the touch, his breath clouding in front of him. He squeezed through the hatch and found himself in a cavern of ice. A high, frozen ceiling arched over him. Blue-white stalactites hung overhead, icy teeth in the mouth of a giant.

A small dock had been built inside the cavern. The submersible was moored to a metal gangway. A second craft, identical in shape, bobbed next to it.

            He slid down the side of the submersible to a slim, metal pier that floated on the surface of the water in the cavern. The pier led to a wall of ice with an archway cut into its face. He stepped through and found short, narrow corridor. An insulated electrical cord was strung overhead, tamped into the frozen ceiling. The cord connected to a dim light bulb that cast a pale light on the smooth, cold walls. Knobbed rubber mats formed a walkway through the passage. At the far end stood a steel hatch set into more ice.

            Paul walked forward carefully. He felt slightly dizzy, perhaps from the liquor he had drunk, or the strangeness of his surroundings. Overhead and around him the iceberg groaned and knocked. He thought uneasily of the immense weight above him, and the relentless salt sea squeezing and slashing at the edifice of frozen water.

            The hatch in the ice stood slightly ajar. He eased it open, stepped through, and found himself in the foyer of the Strands' home in Chicago.

            Paul blinked and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. Was he hallucinating?

            When he removed his hands, he saw there was no illusion. He stood on a Persian rug, its patterns spiraling into infinity. The foyer's walls were paneled wood, and a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling.

            The foyer opened on a hallway. At the end of the hall directly in front of him a door stood open. As Paul peered down the hall, a figure appeared in the doorway.

            "So you're here," said a voice that brought hot blood to Paul's cheeks. "Don't just stand there dripping on my rugs. Come in." The figure moved away from the door. Paul stood for a moment, breathing heavily, his fists clenched. He wanted to scream "Where is she? Where's Helen?" Instead, he mastered his roiling blood and walked, stiff-legged, down the short hallway and through the door.