Текст книги "Leviathan"

Автор книги: David Lynn Golemon

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As Rand fell back he saw a great geyser of water knock free the four main hatch covers below the quarterdeck, as the force of the collision gutted the great vessel from below, smashing her thick keel as if it were made of nothing more than twigs. The heavy cruiser heeled to her port side as the ship's wheel was still turned in that direction. Lieutenant Rand fought his way to his feet as the great ship lost her battle for survival.

Engersoll watched in horror as the impact sent Sir Lionel to his death when the stern of Warlordwas thrown into the air. Suddenly the ship rocked as the powder stores below erupted outward, splintering the oak ribs of the vessel out in a frenzy of destruction. Engersoll was thrown into the erupting sea.

Engersoll slipped under the water, trying to avoid one of the ship's spars as it crashed into the sea. All about him men struggled to stay afloat as Warlord, her back snapped like cordwood, broke in two with a death sound horrible to the ears of seamen. She quickly slipped under, dragging another fifty men to their deaths.

Engersoll felt a hand grab his long coat and pull him up from a death to which he had already resigned himself. As he spit out the warm water that flooded his mouth, he saw it was Lieutenant Rand pulling him free of the sea's grip.

As he turned away to grab for a piece of floating debris, Engersoll saw a sight that froze him into stillness. There, not two hundred feet away, rode the great metal monster. It surfaced with a loud hiss of escaping air and violent eruptions of water that rocketed skyward, creating a magical and terrifying rainbow effect.

As the metal ship centered itself in the middle of dead men and debris, Engersoll was shocked to see the giant tower sitting on the broad expanse of metal that made up the unimaginable sight of the iron hull. The great bubble window shaped like the eye of a demon was in front of him, and as he looked skyward, he saw a man standing in the spider-webbed framed glass. Engersoll saw a man with long black hair almost as wild as his blazing eyes as the seven-hundred-foot sea monster slowly gasped a great sigh of air, and enormous bubbles rose to the surface of the sea as the man and his metal monster vanished.

As Engersoll felt the suction of the vessel drag him down into the depths of the gulf, the last vision of the earthly world he would ever see were those eyes–those terrifying, hate-filled eyes.

APRIL 25, 1865

PENOBSCOT RIVER,

MAINE

The riverboat lay at anchor with the fog hiding her entire lower quarter, the gentle lapping of the river against her low-slung hull being the only sound. The many exterior and interior lights were ablaze in the thickening fog. The captain of the Mary Lincolnlooked forward from the port bridge wing and saw nothing but the rising white veil of mist.

"Damn it all, sir, this is far too dangerous. What fool would be crazy enough to navigate the river in this kind of chowder?"

The heavyset man to his left did not respond. He knew exactly what kind of man would brave the Penobscot after dark and in heavy fog, but why say anything until he had to? After all, the captain was frightened enough.

The silent passenger pursed his lips and brushed at his gray beard. The upper lip was freshly shaven and his greatcoat recently cleaned and pressed. His top hat was placed upon his head, tilted forward so that most who spoke with him could not view his dark eyes. It was for the better, since most of the riverboat's crew did not know his identity.

The United States secretary of war, Edwin M. Stanton, watched deckhands pull taut the anchor ropes. They were in the grip of the deepest, widening section of river as it neared the sea.

As Stanton peered into the fog, he thought he heard a shout from across the way. He cringed and shook his head. Every man on this mission was under orders not to make any noise. He strained to hear left and then right, but there was no further disturbance. This damnable fog was acting like an amplifier, and that could doom them all.

"It seems we have caught a shift in current," the captain said as he ventured back inside the wheelhouse.

Stanton felt the large boat shift to the right, and his stomach fluttered as if the Mary Lincolnrose on a small wave.

"It's not a current, Captain; make no adjustment to your station. Our guest will make the appropriate course change in regard to your vessel," Stanton said as he took the situation in.

"What guest? The fog is not yet so thick I cannot see, sir. We have–"

The captain was cut short when the Mary Lincolnrose into the air along with the Penobscot River under her keel–ten, fifteen, and then twenty feet higher than just a moment before.

"My God–"

Edwin Stanton calmly reached out and took hold of the thick railing until the riverboat settled. "Calm yourself, Captain Smith; you are just feeling the displacement of water from the approach of the vessel."

"Displacement of water?" Smith inquired as he returned to the wing and looked out over the calming river. "The river is void of traffic–even in this fog I can see that! And what vessel would displace so much water as to almost capsize a boat of this tonnage?"

A small man approached from where he was standing just inside the pilothouse and cautiously made his way to the even smaller Stanton.

"Has the man arrived, Monsieur Stanton?" the small man asked in his heavily accented English.

The secretary of war turned angrily toward the Frenchman. "You are to observe only. You are not to speak; you are not to approach this man. I am acquiescing to a favor owed of your government. Otherwise, sir, I would not give you the time of day. Now stand to the far railing and disappear, and you may be lucky enough to witness one of mankind's greatest achievements."

The Frenchman placed his woolen cap on his head and backed away from the rotund secretary, knowing he was lucky just to be here on the Penobscot. However, lucky or not, he held information that would embarrass the U.S. government, and if he had not been allowed to board the Mary Lincoln, he would have taken his eyewitness accounts to the capitals of all Europe. Still, he had to play this cautiously. He wanted to know only if this amazing craft truly existed.

"Ahoy on deck, keep your eyes open. I hear movement on the river," the captain called out as he gained the bridge wing and stood next to the secretary.

Stanton nodded his head as giant water geysers shot into the air, causing the mist to eddy, swirl, and then finally part. Then as the two men watched, the great ship rose from the depths. The giant tower parted the river as if a mountain were being born right in the center of the Penobscot. The great glass eyes of the beast glowed green and red, easily piercing the fog.

"Holy Mary, mother of–"

"Such sentiments would not save you this man's wrath, Captain. He is not one of God's children, but a devil born of man."

"What is that ... that thing?"

Stanton walked closer to the edge of the bridge wing and watched as the upper bulk of the great iron beast settled on the surface of the Penobscot. As it did, it sent surface water rushing toward the Mary Lincoln, making her rise once more on the swells and allowing the river to overflow her gunnels. The water geysers ceased their roar and the river became still. It seemed to Stanton he could hear the far off ringing of bells and the voices of men giving commands. Then a bank of fog rolled in and covered the great black submarine.

"The thing is called Leviathan, Captain Smith, and no matter what happens here tonight, you are never to speak of this to anyone, not even to your wife. I don't think I have to make any unnecessary threats, do I, sir?"

Stanton ignored the shocked look that covered Smith's face. He just listened to the night and the sounds of water meeting iron. The night had become deathly still, seeming also to await answers as to what this strange object was. Stanton then turned toward a man that was standing unseen inside the pilothouse stairwell. He nodded his head, and the man slipped away unnoticed by all except the Frenchman, who was unceremoniously shoved out of the man's way.

Stanton's man gathered the five selected U.S. Navy seamen and gave them each an oilcloth, which weighed in excess of thirty pounds apiece. Then he watched as they gained the boat deck on the opposite side of the Mary Lincolnand slipped over the side.

"Ahoy the riverboat!" Six deckhands ran to the starboard side, listened, and strained to pierce the fog. Then the call from the river repeated, "Ahoy Mary Lincoln, permission to tie up and board!" The voice was deep, booming, and filled with command.

The first officer looked up at the riverboat's bridge for permission from the captain to allow the unseen to board. Smith nodded his head.

"Permission granted! What is the number of your boarding party?"

"One," was the short answer as a long rope flew through the fog and struck the wet deck as if from nowhere. The deckhands tied off the rope as they heard the heavy footsteps on the gangplank lowered earlier.

Captain Smith watched his men on deck freeze as the unseen footsteps continued up the stairs at a leisurely pace. The fog swirled around the ship's railing as the footsteps stopped. Then the blanket of moisture parted, and there stood a man. He was a giant, standing at least six feet, five inches. His dark hair was long and wild. His blue seaman's jacket was plain and devoid of rank or insignia with the exception of four gold stripes at each cuff. The knee-high boots were as shiny as a polished deck.

"Leviathanrequests permission to come aboard," the deep voice boomed.

"Permission granted. May I have your name, sir?" the Mary Lincoln'sfirst officer asked.

The man stood motionless at the top of the gangway. He was silent as his large eyes took in the riverboat's crew before him, an old and battered Bible clutched in his large hand.

"Express my greetings to Secretary Stanton, and convey to him that the man he wished to meet, Captain Octavian Heirthall, has arrived to end my relationship with the U.S. government, and to reclaim my family."

The first officer became confused as he looked from the dark form shrouded in fog at the top of the gangway to the captain and his guest looking down from the bridge. The crew heard footsteps as a lone figure made his way down to the main deck.

Edwin Stanton, using his cane, approached the ship's railing cautiously. His eyes never left the imposing figure standing over him; he felt as if he were a mouse watching an owl, and the owl was ravenous. The stranger's dark blue eyes burned through the fog and into his own. Stanton stopped ten feet in front of the man known to only a few–Captain Octavian Heirthall.

"Please, come aboard, Captain," Stanton said, looking up.

"My wife, my children–they are aboard?"

"Captain, please, join me on deck. Talking up to you, while not quite below my station, is, at the least, uncomfortable," Stanton said, acting as bravely as he could under the circumstances.

"My thoughts are, there is no station below yours, sir, save but one, and that is the hell you will be sent to upon your meaningless death. My wife, my son, and my five daughters, they must be here, or I swear to you, Mr. Secretary, you will fall so far and hard from grace that the mere mention of your name will be a loathsome experience for any soul saying it. I have already sent a dispatch to President Lincoln by ship's courier. If my family is not delivered here to me this night, the courier has instructions to deliver the letter, regardless of the consequences to my children and wife."

"Forgive me, Captain; you have been at sea, so of course you could not have heard the news. President Lincoln was murdered just eleven days ago in Washington, struck down by an assassin's bullet."

The large man seemed to deflate before Stanton's eyes. He reached for the rope railing to steady himself. He missed at the first attempt, and then grasped it with the weakened strength of a dying man.

"Horrible news, I know."

"He ... he was–he was the only man of honor I have ever known," Heirthall said as he stepped down slowly from the gangway and onto the deck. "What of the president's promise to me for the protection of the gulf and ... and its inhabitants?"

"You now know your courier will do you no good," Stanton said, ignoring the captain's question. "Your threat to me has fallen on deaf–or should I say dead–ears, my good captain."

Heirthall grasped his Bible with both hands, but he could find no solace in its touch. His blazing eyes turned to the river and his shoulders straightened. He then turned slowly to face Stanton.

"I am a prideful man, a God-fearing man. My words were harsh, so I ask you again, sir, please, my wife and my children, are they safe?–And the president's pledge to help me with–my discovery, this promise is still intact? I have done what you asked."

"May I remind you, Captain, you came to usfor the protection of the gulf waters. It was just coincidental our spies in England learned of this foul treaty between England and the rebellious states. If they had consummated that despicable document, those bases would have been the death of your amazing discovery, would they not?"

"You had no right to remove my family from my island in the Pacific–I would have fulfilled my part of the bargain without you resorting to your obvious evil nature, Mr. Secretary."

Heirthall remembered the stories told to him by a father long dead. How Napoleon had done the same to his family, destroying them to gain access to the family science: a horrible history repeating itself.

Stanton lowered his head and turned away from those pleading blue eyes. He found himself unable to look the captain in his face as he said his next words. "Your son has died. Consumption, I was told. I am truly sorry."

The wail of the large man pierced the darkened night. River men who heard the cry would forever have it in their nightmares. A sound as such should never originate from a man of Heirthall's stature. He went to his knees and placed the Bible so that it covered his face.

The small Frenchman standing above on the bridge wing watched, his heart going out to this man he did not know. Such anguish chilled his blood. Suddenly, he knew he did not want to be here, even if it meant never confirming the sight he had seen two years prior while at sea, that of a great metal monster.

"It was never my intention for this sad thing to happen. Now you must understand my position, sir, you must continue your good work upon the seas. We cannot allow you to do any different. Your country needs you now more than ever. The foulness of the British try at power in this hemisphere will be attempted time and time again, and maybe your Gulf of Mexico will no longer be a safe haven for your find."

Captain Octavian Heirthall, with his long black hair covering the Bible he held to his face, slowly looked up at Stanton. He lowered the old book and gained his feet until he towered over the secretary. He reached down and straightened his jacket, pulling upon the hem.

Stanton never hesitated upon seeing his own fate embedded in those blazing blue eyes–he snapped his fingers and twenty marines came from the opposite side of the wheelhouse. They leveled rifles at the man standing before him. He became concerned when Heirthall did not react.

"Before you do something foolish, I will tell you that your family has been split up. Your wife and four of your daughters are close, but the fifth–the very, very special one, the one closest in nature to your mother–is being held at the armory in Washington. She will be the lamb that is sacrificed, so think well, Captain, before your next words come from your mouth."

Heirthall felt his chest clench as his destiny was presented to him. He had fallen into the same trap as had his father. Instead of Napoleon, it was Stanton pulling the strings of his naivete. His mind snapped, but his features never betrayed that fact.

"Your magnificent science, sir, is all we seek, the details of which you will hand over to the department of the navy. Your vessel will be forfeit. It will be taken apart, piece by piece, analyzed and then rebuilt. Then you will offer up the knowledge of the seas, which is yours alone. Your cooperation is essential for the safety of your youngest daughter. After I am satisfied you have met my conditions, you and your family will be reunited, intact. Am I understood?"

"President Lincoln–he knew of this foul thing?"

Stanton shook his head and stepped behind the closest marines.

"Mr. Lincoln never understood anything beyond what was right in front of his face. As a country, we have entered a new world–a global society where the strong will dictate. This nation needs what you have–your friend Mr. Lincoln never understood that. He accepted your decision not to offer to us your science as a tool of war; I, sir, did not. Your mission for the president to stop the alliance of Britain and the traitors of the South was just the start. There will be many such tasks in the future, and you will perform them. If you fail in this, I will make public your discovery in the gulf, the Mediterranean, and Antarctica ... needless to say, that will end your dream along with your family."

A moment of clarity struck Heirthall, as bright as a bolt of lightning. His eyes widened and he took a menacing step toward the secretary.

"Return my daughter to her mother and sisters, or there will be such retribution taken against you that you will believe Satan has risen to devour you and yours. I have known men such as you. Men–twins of you–murdered my father for the sake of owning the great secret of the seas. I once looked fondly upon my adopted country, until madness struck these shores as it had so many others." Heirthall took a menacing step forward and used his commanding, booming, deep voice: "My wife and children–produce them or reap a bitter harvest."

Stanton swallowed but held his position behind the marines.

"As I speak, your vessel, your great Leviathan, is being mined. Argue and fight and you will lose far more than just your oldest child."

Heirthall broke. Far too much had his mind and heart absorbed the past three years. The betrayal, the long separation from his children and his wife, the killing of innocent and guilty alike upon the seas, were too much for his once great mind. He threw his black Bible toward the cordon of marines and then turned for the riverboat's railing. As his hands touched the damp wood and rope, several shots rang out. Two minie balls pierced his back. One bullet hit his liver and one his upper back. He staggered, but managed to catch himself. He pulled with all of his strength until he could fall over the railing and into the river.

"You fools, what have you done?" Stanton cried out. "You men." He pointed at the four marines that had just missed taking Heirthall before he jumped. "Into the river. Bring the captain to me. He cannot have gone far!"

The marines dropped their rifles and started to climb the railing, but they never made it. Loud popping sounded through the thick fog and a hundred bullets cut the men down. A speed of fire no man had ever heard in the long history of firearms punctured holes in the large riverboat. Wood flew as even more bullets zinged through the fog. Stanton realized as he dove behind stacked barrels that he was witnessing something akin to the Gatling gun, but this was far faster, far deadlier. The remaining marines never had a chance to reload their weapons before large-caliber rounds sliced them to pieces.

They were facing another of Octavian Heirthall's miracle weapons.

The captain's wounds were mortal. He struggled to keep his head above water as he kicked with his legs. The fog and Leviathan's automatic weapons were keeping the riverboat's marines at bay, but Heirthall knew the secretary would not have been satisfied with just the one surprise treachery.

Suddenly arms were pulling him up and out of the cold river. The captain felt the cold iron of Leviathanagainst his wet clothing as he was hauled aboard. The voices were jumbled and he sensed fear and anger in his crew. He fought to gain his feet and finally cleared his vision enough to see his first officer, Mr. Meriwether, standing at his side.

"Take her down, Thomas, we have been betrayed."

"Captain, your wounds, they are–"

"Down, take Leviathandown, set course upriver." He struggled to the giant tower where he collapsed against the thick iron hatch. He slowly but angrily stood, leaning against the frame, and then entered the vessel.

"All hands stand by to dive!" Meriwether called out as he saw the thick swath of blood that covered the deck and hatch combing. He then followed Heirthall inside.

"Two ships approaching from the far shore. Our echo-sound report says they are ironclads!" he heard as he half-stumbled down the ladder into the control center.

As the announcement came, an explosion rocked Leviathanfrom beneath the bow, and then in quick rapidity another rocked her from the stern.

"That was not shot from an ironclad, those were placed charges. Get me a damage report."

Meriwether then eased his captain into the large chair placed on a raised platform at the center of the control room. As he removed his hands, he saw they were covered in blood, thick and dark red.

"Report depth under the keel!" Meriwether called out while still looking at his hands.

"We have only thirty feet under the keel!" the helmsman called from the front of the control room.

"Come about, all ahead full!" Heirthall said in a pain-filled voice.

Meriwether turned to Heirthall. "Captain, we must make for the sea before we find our way blocked."

"My son is dead, my family hostages, and ... and the president ... is dead," Heirthall said as his eyes clenched closed in pain.

Meriwether saw his despair. His own anger could have been that of the man that he loved more than a father.

"What are your orders, sir?"

Heirthall struggled and used the chair to stand. He quickly waved Meriwether away when he lunged to assist him.

"Lieutenant Wallace–I need him."

A young man, no more than twenty, stepped from his post at the ship's ballast control.

"Diving Officer Wallace, here, sir!"

Heirthall waved him over without ever opening his eyes to see him. He reached out and felt for the young man, finally feeling him underneath his hand.

"I ... have a mission ... for you, boy," he said, trying to keep the pain out of his voice.

A solid shot rang off Leviathan'shull. The echo was almost deafening. It was the first time her crew had ever heard their vessel's hull struck solidly at point-blank range by another warship.

"Ironclads are opening fire, Captain."

Heirthall's eyes fluttered open and fixed on Wallace. The captain knew the boy had been sweet on his youngest daughter, Olivia. It was reported to him that the two spent never-ending hours together, talking and reading. Heirthall would not sacrifice this boy–instead he would use the young man's feelings for his daughter's sake.

"Mr. Wallace, when we ... make our turn, our last run for the sea, you ... will not be aboard."

"Captain?" Peter Wallace asked, looking from Heirthall to Meriwether.

"Take ... some men–my ... daughter is in Washington ... the armory. Please find my Olivia, then ... my wife and daughters.... Please, son." He grimaced again. "You're the youngest and the brightest–the best of us all. If need be, to secure my child, kill all in your path."

Wallace looked around the control room as every hand present was starting to understand the depth of their betrayal. The serious-featured young man straightened and saluted Heirthall. When he saw his captain was too weak to return his gesture of respect, he slowly lowered his hand.

"Take the deck watch, that's six armed men," Meriwether said, his eyes never leaving Heirthall's dying form. "I have more items to give you, with your permission, Captain?"

Heirthall could only nod his head once.

Meriwether disappeared and went aft of the control center. He returned two minutes later carrying a leather satchel and pouch. The pouch he handed to Wallace.

"There is enough gold inside to get you, your men, Olivia, and the rest of the family back home. Enough to buy a ship if need be."

The boy nodded, looking guiltily up and around at the rest of the control room crew. He felt he was betraying the men he had come to love by leaving them.

"Pay attention, Lieutenant." Meriwether then handed him the small satchel. As the boy held it, the first officer opened it and pulled out some old and much-worn pages. "When you have the child back home, you are to guard her with your life. You will be in command of the base, the only officer left. The men are loyal to the captain until their deaths; they will be the same for you, boy, and to the girl if her mother and sisters are not recovered."

Wallace swallowed and looked at the captain, but Meriwether slapped the boy lightly.

"This"–he grasped the yellowed pages–"is her family legacy; this is who she is, where she came from." Then he held up another book. "This is the logbook of Leviathan. It is also for her. You will have to make the last entry. The plans and specifications for Leviathanare on the island with all the captain's research. Olivia will one day know what to do with them. The last pages are of the life form–these are not to fall into the hands of our American brethren. Is this clear?"

Peter Wallace looked at the pages and then the logbook. His frown deepened when he realized his responsibility.

"You tell her the story of what happened here this night. Burn into her soul the betrayal that took place. She will eventually know what to do. Her father's and grandfather's designs are locked away. She is to learn–learn the science, and the sea is where she will discover who she really is and why the family is who they are.... Do you understand, boy?"

"I will not fail the captain, sir."

"I know you won't, lad." Meriwether looked around as explosions rocked Leviathan. "Godspeed, son, now be off. Jump over the side when we make our turn. Take care of Olivia, boy–love her as I already know you do."

Wallace turned and made for the tower hatch, stuffing the pages and logbook into the satchel as he did. The eighteen-year-old boy never looked back.

"We are at sixteen knots and three hundred yards, Mr. Meriwether," the helm called out.

"Captain, your orders, sir?"

"Take me to ... the tower, Mr. Meriwether," Heirthall ordered, and then went to his knees. Several men left their posts as they saw their captain fall.

"Attend your stations!"

All eyes went to the bald-headed Mr. Meriwether, who stood like a rock beside Heirthall.

"We have one last mission to perform for our captain. We will do it right!" he yelled in his Boston accent just as more iron shot struck their hull.

Meriwether assisted Heirthall to his feet, and they made their way slowly up the spiral staircase and into the green-tinted tower. The first officer walked his captain to the auxiliary ship's wheel, staying long enough to make sure he was steady.

"Thank you, Mr. Meriwether," Heirthall said as he leaned heavily against the mahogany wheel. "Inform the crew that any who so choose can depart Leviathan." He closed his eyes in pain.

Meriwether saw the large pool of blood as it spread across the tiled decking. He was amazed that such an amount could be lost without death coming swiftly.

"Aye, Captain," he said as he turned and made his way back down into the control room.

Heirthall came close to losing his battle with consciousness as Meriwether's voice came across the sound-powered speakers overhead. When the dizziness passed, he looked around his familiar surroundings. He gently touched the handholds on the wheel, caressing them as he once had his beautiful wife. Sweat and tears of loss poured into his eyes, and he wiped them away with a swipe of his arm. Then he looked up and straightened as best he could as Meriwether returned. He saw his first officer cringe as a solid iron shot bounced off the exposed tower of Leviathan.

"The crew has been informed, Captain. The Union ironclads are drawing near, and the fog, I'm afraid, is lifting with the dawn."

"Do we have enough men to send Leviathanon her last mission?" Heirthall asked as he held Meriwether's gaze.

"Yes, Captain, we have the entire complement–minus the seven you sent over the side."

Heirthall listened to the words, but they could not be right.

"They–"

"–are following your last orders, Captain. They are yourmen."

Heirthall stood straighter and gripped the ship's wheel.

"Order flank speed, Mr. Meriwether. By the time we are a hundred yards off Mary Lincoln, I want Leviathan's belly ... rubbing the riverbed." Heirthall lowered his head. "I never wanted this.... They have ... pushed me to it."

"The ironclads?"

"Target two of the new compressed air torpedoes on those fools," he said as a tear slowly rolled down his left cheek. "And Mr. Meriwether, will you thank the men for–"

"No sir, I will not. You do not thank those for doing their duty to a man who saved their lives repeatedly. One who gave those lives meaning."

Heirthall watched as Meriwether turned and shouted down the spiral staircase: "All ahead flank, stand by both forward-torpedo tubes, target the enemy ironclads with the new magnetic warheads!"

Belowdecks, men sprang into action just as the giant submarine lurched forward in the water. Her stern dug so low in the river that her main center propeller dug into the mud, sending a geyser of black muck a hundred feet into the air and announcing her intentions to all those on the river that fateful morning.

"My God, the madman is charging us!" the captain said from the bridge.

Stanton ran to the aft railing as the river erupted a thousand yards upstream. He held his hands to his ears as the two Union ironclads opened up a withering fire from their revolving turrets. They tried in vain to target the fast-moving submarine as it started its dive. The giant tower and triple rows of arched spikes were now the only visible sign above water that declared Leviathanwas on her way. As they approached at more than fifty knots, the large bubble windows on the side of the tower were glowing an angry bluish-green, just as if they were the eyes of Heirthall himself.