Blue Gold

"That's a very appropriate analogy. Although alchemy never achieved its goal, it set the stage for the science of chemistry. Like the alchemists, I, too, was trying to transform a base metal into gold. In my case it was blue gold. Water. More precious than any mineral on earth. I needed a sorcerer's stone that would make that possible." She turned to the anasazium core. "Contained here is the catalyst that makes the process work. The salted water is brought into contact with this material which purifies the water."

"When will we get a demonstration of this miracle?" said Lord Grimley.

"If you would step this way," she said, leading the way to the console. Her hands danced over the keyboard. There was a muffled growl of pumps and the sound of rushing water. "That's the salt water coming through the main over your heads. It is flowing into the container. It takes a few minutes."

Francesca herded the group to the other side of the catalytic container. She said nothing for several moments as the suspense built. Then she checked a gauge and pointed to another main. "This is the outtake pipe that carries the fresh water. You can feel the heat produced during the transformation."

The American said, "As I understand it, that heat can be used to produce energy."

"That's correct. Right now the water is being pumped into the cold waters of the lake where the heat is dissipated, but with a few adjustments this facility could be modified so the heat comes back as power to run the plant. There would even be surplus energy that could be exported."

There was a murmur from the board. Francesca could almost feel the aura of greed that emanated from the men as they tallied the billions to be made, aside from the water, by producing cheap energy.

She went over to a vertical set of coils that hung down from the freshwater pipe. At the base of the coil was a tap and beside it a stack of paper cups. "This is a cooling unit that removes heat from the water," she explained. Turning to a technician, she said, "What has been the quality of the water produced by the process before today?"

"Brackish at the very best," the technician said.

Francesca opened the tap and filled one of the cups. She held the cup to the light like a wine co

Brynhild stepped forward, poured herself water, and drank it.

"Nectar of the gods," she said triumphantly.

The directors pushed their way to the tap like thirst-crazed steers. There were cries of amazement with each cup sampled. Before long everyone was talking at once. While the directors gathered around the tap as if it were the fountain of youth, Brynhild guided Francesca away from the babble of voices.

"Congratulations, Dr. Cabral. It seems that the process is a success."

"I knew that ten years ago," Francesca said.

Brynhild's thoughts were on the future, not the past. "You've instructed my technicians so they can make the process work?"

"Yes. I had to make only a few adjustments in the procedure. You were quite close to perfecting the process, you know."

"Then we would have developed it in time?"

Francesca thought about it a moment. "Probably not. Your process and mine were like parallel lines. No matter how close they come they never touch. Now that I have done what I said I would, it is time for you to fulfill your side of the bargain."

"Ah, yes, the bargain." Brynhild took the radio from her belt and switched it on. She smiled, her cold blue eyes boring into Francesca's, and said, "Tell the Kradzik brothers that the NUMA woman is all theirs."

"Wait!" Francesca grabbed Brynhild's muscular arm. "You promised-"

Brynhild easily shook the smaller woman off. "I also re minded you that I could not be trusted. Now that you have demonstrated your process, your friend is of no use to me." She brought the phone up to her ear again. Her smile suddenly vanished, replaced by a frown. "What do you mean?" she snapped. Storm clouds gathered on her wide brow. "How long ago?"

She tucked the radio in her belt. "I'11 deal with you later," she promised Francesca. With a military heel spin she marched for the staff elevator.

Francesca was frozen in shock. Then, as Brynhild's treachery sank in, the fiery anger that had sustained her for ten years was rekindled. If Gamay were dead, it would only make her decision easier to live with. With her jaw set in renewed determination, she headed back into the labyrinth of pipes.

Chapter 39

Gamay was almost relieved when the pair of husky guards came to take her away. She was bored to pieces, having concluded that the cell was escape-proof un less she could figure a way to blow the door off its hinges. She re solved to talk to someone at NUMA about coming up with James Bond gadgets. But that would have to wait. Her only option now was to watch for a chance to run for it once she was out of the cell.

Her heart sank as the guards ushered her through a maze of corridors. She would become lost before she went ten feet. They stopped in front of a pair of heavy bronze doors at least eight feet high. The surface of the doors was cast with mythological scenes. The theme was heavy on skulls, but for variety there were giants and dwarfs, strange monsters, fierce horses, twisted trees, runes, and lightning around a central motif, a sleek double-ended sailing ship.

One guard pressed a button on the wall, and the doors swung in noiselessly. The other guard prodded her into the room with his gun.

"This isn't our idea," he said in what sounded like an apology. The doors clicked shut, and she looked around to get her bearings. "Charming," she murmured under her breath.

She was in an enormous chamber bigger than a football field. She could trace its outline by the torches lining the walls of the cavernous space. In the center of the room, illuminated by four tall braziers, was a ship, its one square sail unfurled, that looked like the twin of the vessel carved on the doors.

Before becoming a marine biologist Gamay had been a nautical archaeologist, and she knew immediately that it was a Viking ship or a very good replica of one. She wondered if she were in a museum. No, she decided, it was more like an elaborate crypt. Maybe the ship served as a sepulchre as was the custom of the Norsemen. Partly out of curiosity, but mostly because there was no alternative, she began to walk toward the vessel.

As she made her lonely way across the great hall two pairs of red-rimmed eyes observed her progress from the shadows. The same eyes had hungrily watched her earlier on a TV monitor as she languished in her cell. The Kradzik twins had spent hours in front of the screen. They had taken in her every physical feature, from the distinctive dark red hair to the long, slim legs. There was nothing sexual in their voyeurism; that would have been too natural. Their interest was purely in inflicting pain. They were like a dog trained to balance a treat on its nose until the owner gives the okay to swallow. With Gamay enticingly within their reach, their sadistic urges surfaced. Gamay and the other woman had been promised to them. With Brynhild busy in the lab, they decided to claim their toy.

They ordered Gamay brought to the Great Hall. The guards obeyed with some reluctance. The small army that protected Gogstad and occasionally projected its reach, as in Alaska, were all ex-military men, plucked from elite services around the world. In their ranks were former French Legio