ZANDERTHAL'S REMOTE COMPOUND

In the backseat of the Mercedes-Benz S 600 limousine, Roland Zanderthal and his date for the night waited for the chauffeur to open the door. With the instinct of a tiger, Zanderthal's eyes beamed with determination, his jaw set so tight his teeth ground together. Everything was in place for a successful transaction. Everything Ocean Blue had striven for under his command in the last decade was coming to fruition. This was the grand finale of his life's work since Parkinson's disease struck him. And nothing was going to interfere with his plans.

The remission of his affliction was the initial goal of his research. But during the search for a cure, he stumbled upon something greater, more powerful, and thus the ultimate culmination of his ambitions.

The rear door of the limousine swung open. Zanderthal stared up at the big man who had lumbered around the rear of the armored limo. His chauffeur towered over him, the man's hand ushering the way. Zanderthal sprung from the limo with more nimbleness than a twenty-year-old, his leather shoes scraping across the pavement as he swiveled around and extended his hand back toward the car door. Long legs pivoted around and slid over the edge of the seat. A woman's silky arm reached out for him.

He took her hand and lifted her out of the seat. What he saw pleased him, a burgundy gown draping over her curvy figure in all the right ways.

The woman brushed aside a lock of caramel hair from her cheek and gave him a light kiss, careful not to smudge the lipstick on his chin. She reminded him of a movie star stepping onto the red carpet, but in reality, she was his lead research scientist. He had noted her brilliance upon her arrival in Sydney when she went to work for him seven years ago. She was twenty-two, a college graduate and a prodigy as a child. He watched her work flourish and her lovely shape mature. This was one lover he didn't regret bringing into his inner sanctum. She turned out much better than the man he had left in charge of the lab in The Bahamas. Dr. Paul Weathers was weak, but she possessed the killer instinct to take his work to the next level.

Her name was Caroline James. "Tonight's the night," she said with a quaint smile.

"Indeed. Shall we?" Zanderthal extended an elbow. She looped her arm through his and they started toward the glass doors of the arena.

As if forgotten in Caroline's presence, the chauffeur hurried ahead of them and held open one of the double doors for them to pass through. Once inside, the big man stayed back several paces until they approached another door to their right.

"I have some urgent business to address before everything begins," Zanderthal said to Caroline. "Would you excuse me for a few minutes? You know the way to our luxury box. Make yourself at home and select a wine for us, and I'll be along shortly."

"Do hurry," she said with an irritated sigh. She narrowed her eyes and frowned. "I don't wish to be kept waiting."

"Of course."

With that, she strutted down the long corridor and disappeared around a bend.
Caroline was getting a little high on herself for someone under his tutelage. But he knew how to pull her strings. With a few yanks, he could reel her in and have her eating from the palm of his hand again. If she knew he was only using her for his own benefit, she would tread more lightly. Zanderthal had considered feeding her to the sharks, but she was too valuable at the moment.

He whipped around and faced the Japanese man who stood before him like a brick wall. "In my office, now!"

Zanderthal swiped a card over a security scanner, and the door unbolted with a metallic clank. His assistant entered first and then he stepped inside, letting the passage seal and lock on its own. Similar to his office at the headquarters building, this one had a large desk over in a far corner. A lamp illuminated the room with a dim glow. Across from the workstation there was a couch and a chair facing a fireplace. Above the walnut stained mantle, a painting of his father in a black tux stared down with calculating eyes. His father had a gray, balding hairline and a stern countenance. Zanderthal despised the man. The only reason he kept the artwork was to remind himself how much he loathed failure.

The chauffeur spoke first. "Our mission abroad has been a―"

"Do you take me for a bloody fool, Takeshi?" Zanderthal's face burned red like a volcano about to explode.

He hated to admit it, but the sudden appearance of the Sea Lab employees along with their research vessel, positioned north at the moment, on his home turf, rattled him. The outburst startled Ishikawa. His eyes widened.

"Your men failed you in The Bahamas, and you failed in the states. Your neat house bombing missed Sarah Lawson. She is still alive and in Sydney right now."

Confusion clouded Ishikawa's face.

"That's right, she's still alive. Ms. Lawson and her two hero friends showed up for a meeting with me at headquarters this morning. They used fake names and flirted right under my nose. If only they knew I was onto their scheme from the very minute of their arrival."

"But I watched her go into house."

Zanderthal didn't blink. "I was tipped off to their presence because one of our ships spotted their vessel three days ago off the barrier reef. I have sunk too much of my life's blood into this project to see it destroyed by remnants from my past."

He gestured with an open hand and led Ishikawa over to the fireplace. Laid horizontally, earthen stones bordered the recess underneath the mantle. Zanderthal flipped a switch on the wall and flames rippled to life among the fake logs in the center of the hearth. Gas hissed from the burners.

He pretended to be distracted by something on his desk, then nonchalantly, he stepped back and latched onto Ishikawa's wrist. With ease, Zanderthal bent his assistant's arm behind him at an awkward angle. He clinched the upturned paw with one hand. His other hand clamped down on Ishikawa's neck for leverage.

The casual observer might think Zanderthal wouldn't stand a chance against the hulking killer, but he was no average man. With a strength that seemed to come from nowhere, he forced Ishikawa's face closer to the crackling flames.

Ishikawa resisted, but with simple grace, Zanderthal nudged the big man's cheeks closer, within a foot of the dancing blaze.

"I do not accept failure, Takeshi. I expect nothing but the best from by lead man. If you can not fulfill your duties, then I can and will replace you. Is that understood?"

Ishikawa's features boiled, raged.

"I lost everything because William Hardy wouldn't give me the time and resources I needed to find a cure. My wife left me, my children despise me." He eased Ishikawa closer, the flames brightening his dark eyebrows. "He forced me to take a buyout from Sea Lab and disappear into obscurity. I will not run from them again. Is that clear?"

"Yes," Ishikawa spat.

"I didn't hear you."

"Yes. It is clear!"

Getting the answer he desired, Zanderthal released his grip and straightened his suit.

Ishikawa massaged his hand.

"I have great respect for you," Zanderthal said, disdain lining his voice. "And I don't doubt your capabilities. But I feel I'm being gracious in warning you not to fail me again."

"I will do as I am told."

"Excellent. I want you to kill Jake Soloman and Tony Cruze. Their interference has troubled me enough. As for Ms. Lawson, I'm sure you know she is the stepdaughter, no, the adopted daughter, of Sea Lab International's executive director."

"I am." Defiance edged Ishikawa's voice. Samurai warriors didn't take defeat easily.

Zanderthal thought for a second and decided that if he could channel this rage in the right direction, great service could come of it.

"Every soldier must be under authority, Takeshi. Even the Jewish carpenter, Jesus, understood this." He searched his lead man for a reaction. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm not going religious on you. But it never hurts to study the great philosophers of world history. A Roman centurion soldier needed a miracle for his servant. He came to Jesus and begged him. The man told him that if he spoke the word, his servant would be healed. The centurion understood the power of his master's command. Even if you don't believe in the scriptures and the validity of the healing itself, surely you can grasp the concept of authority."

Zanderthal leaned forward to catch Ishikawa's eyes. "All I'm saying is that when you regroup and use the assets provided to you, then you are certain to achieve success."

Ishikawa seemed to relax.

"Now, like I was about to say concerning Ms. Lawson. I have other plans for her. Bring her to me. I'll make Hardy and Sea Lab International suffer dearly."

"What about their research ship?"

"It's in route to Sydney as we speak. I have plans for it as well."

"And my father? When will you give him the cure?"

"Parkinson's is a ravaging disease, Takeshi."

"When?"

"As soon as we strike a deal with our clients. Then, and only then."