The Last Survivor (A Wilde/Chase Short Story) (2 page)

‘Maybe you’ll get another chance soon. Speaking of Natalia,’ she added as she continued into the bedroom, ‘shouldn’t you be setting off?’

‘No, I’ve still got a bit of time left, and I’ll find out if her flight’s on schedule before I go. Don’t want to be hanging around the airport for hours.’

‘I know. We’ve done more than enough of that over the years!’ She quickly changed her clothes, then came back into the lounge. ‘Okay, I’m going. So you’ll be gone by the time I get back?’

‘Probably. If you hang on a minute, I’ll check her flight.’

‘No, I need to go. I’ve already left it longer than I should have.’ She diverted to the sofa to kiss him. ‘See you when you get back.’

‘If they can tell if it’s a boy or a girl,’ he called after her as she went to the door, ‘I don’t want to know!’

Smiling, Nina left the apartment. She took the elevator to the ground floor and emerged on East 78th Street, hailing a cab.

Across the road from her building, a tall, burly blond man watched her taxi pull away, his eyes narrowing with malevolence. He had found his target … and would soon have his revenge.

Eddie finished reading the article about the airship, and was about to check the status of Natalia’s flight before deciding it would be much quicker to type in its details on a keyboard than laboriously thumb them in on a small touchscreen. He went into the study and opened the laptop, quickly carrying out the search.

‘Bollocks,’ he muttered on seeing the result. The flight from Hamburg had been delayed by bad weather. It was now over the Atlantic on its way to New York, but did not look likely to make up much lost time en route. ‘Good job I checked.’ There was no point leaving for JFK for at least another hour.

He was about to close the machine when a text document behind the browser caught his eye: Nina’s manuscript. A moment’s hesitation, then he clicked on it. ‘Well, it
is
about me …’

The Yorkshireman tried to resist the temptation to play critic – his tastes in literature generally extended little further than thrillers with covers featuring silhouetted running men and/or expensive fast-moving vehicles, sometimes on fire – but it wasn’t long before he caught himself frowning. It wasn’t so much at his wife’s prose style, which admittedly was on the dry side, as at what she was saying. Or rather, as he kept reading, what she
wasn’t
. It wasn’t inaccurate, but …
incomplete
.

‘Why’s she written it like
that
?’ He whispered as he continued through the document, his expression gradually darkening.

Nina returned from the obstetrician feeling buoyant. Her greatest concern about the pregnancy had been as much her own health as the baby’s; several months earlier, she had been infected by a highly toxic substance that seemed likely to kill her sooner rather than later. The toxin had apparently been neutralised during her discovery of the Spring of Immortality, a legendary source of healing water sought by none other than Alexander the Great over two thousand years earlier. It was something of a misnomer, since actual immortality was not one of its benefits, but it
did
slow the ageing process – and even cure certain diseases.

Proof of that had come from a deeply unpleasant source. Prior to Nina’s discovery of the spring, its only beneficiaries had been a group of escaped Nazi war criminals led by an SS commander named Erich Kroll, who had been using a small supply of its water looted from a shrine to Alexander in Greece. The Nazis, who were all in their nineties but physically appeared fifty years younger, had been plotting the rise of a new Reich from a remote enclave in the wilds of Argentina.

All were now dead, and she and those few companions who had survived the expedition had pledged to keep the spring’s location hidden to prevent further bloodshed. The water’s effect on her was no secret, however. The tumours that had begun to infect her body quickly went into remission, shrivelling to nothing. Her doctors were at a loss to explain how, and she had not been willing to share the truth. What mattered to her was that she was now apparently back to full health … and her baby appeared to be suffering no ill effects.

As she entered the apartment, she saw Eddie’s battered leather jacket hanging by the door; he hadn’t yet left for the airport. ‘I’m home!’ she called, expecting him to greet her. When there was no answer after a few seconds, she said again: ‘Hello? Eddie, you here?’

‘Yeah, in the study,’ was the reply.

He still did not appear, so she hung up her own jacket and went to find him. ‘What’s up?’ she asked as she entered the study – to find her laptop open with the manuscript on the screen.

‘I’ve been reading,’ he said.

His tone was level, but she immediately picked out a disapproving undertone that she knew from experience would soon escalate into an argument, even if she hadn’t already been about to start one. ‘Is that my book? Eddie, you know I didn’t want anyone to read it until it was finished!’

‘You didn’t want anyone to be able to say what you’d got wrong until it was already in print, you mean?’

She stiffened. ‘There’s nothing “wrong” with it. Everything I’ve written is exactly what happened – the only things I’ve left out are because of security issues.’

‘You’ve left out more than that.’ He pointed at the screen. ‘This bit here, you’re talking about how you discovered the Pyramid of Osiris.’

‘Yes, what about it?’

‘How
you
discovered the Pyramid of Osiris. What about Macy?’

Nina felt cold guilt. ‘What about her?’ she replied with a snap, trying to force the feeling away – only to realise too late that she had said exactly the wrong thing.

‘What
about
her?’ Eddie exploded, standing. ‘For fuck’s sake, Nina! You would never have found the bloody thing if it wasn’t for her – you wouldn’t even have got your job back at the IHA without Macy! She had a total case of hero-worship, you were the whole reason she got into archaeology in the first place, and she did just as much as you, maybe even more, to find the pyramid, but you hardly even mention her!’ He stabbed a finger at one particular paragraph. ‘This bit here: “With the help of American archaeology student Macy Sharif, I found the symbol within the Osireon that pointed to the site of the pyramid.” That’s
it
? That’s all you’ve got to say about her?’

‘It’s only the first draft!’ Nina protested. ‘And the book’s supposed to be about what I discovered, not how I discovered it.’

‘There – you’ve done it again. You said how
I
discovered it, not how
we
discovered it. You left Macy out again!’

She realised with a flash of shame that he was right, and she hadn’t even been aware of doing so. ‘I – I can put in more about her when I start editing it …’

His expression was now not so much angry as disappointed, which somehow hurt all the more. ‘I stuck up for you in Cairo when Ubayy Banna said you took credit for other people’s work, but … I don’t know, maybe he was right.’ He shook his head. ‘Why would you do that? Macy was our friend! Writing her out of your book, it’s … it’s disrespectful. She’s dead, but that doesn’t mean she never existed. I would
never
forget a friend. Never.’ He glanced into the living room, where photos of fallen friends and comrades proved his point.

‘I haven’t forgotten her,’ Nina insisted. ‘I …’ She was on the verge of telling him about her recurring nightmare, how much she feared sleep because she knew it would bring something she wished she
could
forget, but something stopped her.

Her hesitation allowed Eddie to continue his tirade. ‘If you haven’t forgotten her, then why are you trying to paint her out of the picture? And she’s not the only one – you didn’t mention people like Hugo or Jim Baillard in the chapter about Atlantis. It’s like …’ Now it was his turn to pause as a thought struck him. ‘Like you’re in denial. Is that it? You can’t cope, so you’re pretending it never happened?’ It was instantly clear from his expression as his mind caught up with his mouth that he knew he should have phrased the accusation more tactfully, but by then it was too late.

‘Oh, you think I can’t
cope
?’ Nina snarled. ‘I’m not some hard-assed special forces soldier, so I deal with my traumas by hiding them away as if they don’t exist? Screw you, Eddie! You of all people should know what I’ve been through, but if your idea of help is telling me I ought to just get over myself, then I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t even want to be in the same building as you!’ She whirled and stalked out of the study.

Eddie followed. ‘Nina, I’m sorry – I could have put that a bit better—’

‘No shit!’ She snatched up her jacket.

‘Where’re you going?’

‘Out!’ she yelled, opening the apartment door. ‘You were moaning about me not leaving the house for days, so you’ll get to cross one thing off your list of complaints. I’m going down to Little Italy for the festival. I’ll see you later.’

‘Nina!’

She waved a dismissive hand over her shoulder, not looking back as she exited. ‘Give Natalia my regards,’ she said, letting the door swing shut behind her with a bang.

‘Buggeration and fuckery,’ Eddie muttered. He considered catching up with his wife, but decided – drawing on experience – to give her time to cool down first. Instead, he took a cab to the airport, initially still fuming before eventually calming down. If nothing else, the argument had encouraged Nina to go out and actually
do
something rather than just sit at her computer working on the book. Neither the circumstances nor the timing was ideal – he wouldn’t have minded going to an Italian food festival himself – but it was a start. And now that the subject of Nina’s denial about Macy had been brought into the open, maybe she would think about it instead of trying to avoid it.

He arrived at the terminal and headed for the arrivals gate, seeing on the information board that Natalia’s flight had landed not long before. Even so, it still took more than half an hour for her to finally appear; it was her first visit to the United States, forcing her to go through the rigmarole of biometric scanning before being allowed to exit. ‘Natalia!’ he called, waving.

Natalia Pöltl gave him a wide smile. The young German had changed in appearance since their last meeting, finally returning home after eight years of self-imposed exile in Vietnam. Her hair was now cut short and styled, and returning to a Western diet had fleshed out her figure. Eddie could still see a weariness beyond her age in her face, though. The former aid worker had endured a nightmarish experience, kidnapped by forces from both Russia and the US seeking to obtain the genetic secrets locked in her DNA – those of a biological agent that was slowly killing her.

Nina had been infected by the same substance. But she had found a cure – and now Natalia could share it, ending the threat once and for all.

‘Eddie!’ she replied, hurrying to meet him. They embraced, and she kissed him on the cheek. ‘It is so good to see you again!’

‘You too. How’ve you been?’

‘As good as I can be,’ she replied, expression turning downcast. ‘More tumours have appeared. The illness is getting worse.’

‘Well, we’ve got something that’ll fix that, I hope. But what’s it been like finally going home? How’s your dad?’

‘My father, he is …’ She paused to find the right English word. ‘He was overjoyed when I came back to Hamburg. He had thought I was dead. When I first telephoned him, he was almost angry because he thought someone was playing a cruel joke on him. But,’ she smiled at the memory, ‘he soon became happy when he realised it really was me.’

‘And nobody’s been following you?’ Everyone involved directly with Natalia’s kidnapping – on both sides – was now dead, but there was a chance that others might be continuing their work.

‘Not that I have seen. I have done what you said, and watched for people. And I have not spoken about the eitr to anyone, not even my father – especially not on the telephone.’ The deadly toxin had been a formative part of Norse legend: eitr, a primordial poison from the depths of the earth.

‘Good. Better to be safe, eh?’ He looked down at her luggage; she had only one bag. ‘Is that everything?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘I lived in a village in Vietnam for eight years. I realised I do not need many possessions.’

‘Same here. I always travel light if I can. Learned that in the army – the less you have to lug about with you, the better. Here, I’ll take that.’ He picked up the bag. ‘Okay, we’ll get a taxi.’

Natalia shook her head. ‘No, no, that will be expensive. We can take the … it is called the subway in New York, yes?’

It was his turn to smile. ‘Yeah, it is – but we won’t be taking it.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it doesn’t come to JFK.’

She blinked in disbelief. ‘But this is the biggest airport. How can there not be a train to the city?’

‘Welcome to America!’ he said with a laugh. ‘Come on. Let’s find a cab.’

Mulberry Street in Little Italy was the home of New York’s annual Feast of San Gennaro. Nina had barely started along it before her mouth started watering. Both sides of the thoroughfare were lined with food stalls, selling anything that could even remotely be considered Italian, and quite a lot that couldn’t. She absorbed the delicious aromas as she ambled through the crowd. The cravings from the early stages of her pregnancy had died down as she entered the second trimester, but right now she had a definite urge to grab a plate and start eating.

A pang of regret as she saw chocolate gelato on a nearby stall; it was one of Eddie’s favourites. She wished that he was there with her, but at the same time she still felt a residual anger. She had attended Macy’s funeral, mourned her friend, wept for her; she
wasn’t
in denial. He was making assumptions based on her book – her
unfinished
book, at that. She wasn’t in denial.

Was she?

‘Get yer calzone!’ shouted a stallholder right beside her, jolting her back into the moment. ‘Hey, lady? You wanna calzone? Funnel cake?’

‘I’d love one, but … I probably shouldn’t. I’m pregnant,’ she told him with regret.