David Lynn Golemon - Leviathan: An Event Group Thriller

ALSO BY DAVID LYNN GOLEMON

Event
Legend
Ancients

LEVIATHAN

An Event Group Thriller

DAVID LYNN GOLEMON

THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS
ST. MARTINS PRESSNEW YORK

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.

THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martins Press.

LEVIATHAN . Copyright 2009 by David L. Golemon. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.stmartins.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Golemon, David Lynn.
Leviathan / David Golemon. 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-0-312-37663-5 (alk. paper)
ISBN-10: 0-312-37663-4 (alk. paper)
1. Event Group (Imaginary organization)Fiction. 2. Imaginary wars and
battlesFiction. 3. Submarines (Ships)Fiction. I. Title.
PS3607.O4555L445 2009
813.6dc22

2009010686

First Edition: August 2009

10987654321

For Jules Verne and all of the other dreamers that followed.

For Brandon, Katie, Shaune, and Tram
the children who supply my energy.

To the United States Navythe cooperation received from some nameless individuals was invaluable.

To the kind folks at General Dynamicswithout their valuable insight into the future of submarines, this book could not have been written.

For Nicole Verdone and many, many others who keep this author grounded in reality.

The sea is everything. It covers seventenths of the terrestrial globe. Its breath is pure and healthy. It is an immense desert, where man is never lonely, for he feels life stirring on all sides.

Jules Vern, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea

Three years in darkness. Since Napoleons coup in 1799, Roderick Deveroux had been imprisoned at Chteau dIf for refusing to reveal the secrets of his magical and mysterious designs for seagoing warfare. Without a trialwithout so much as a word from his captors or his jailershe was cast into the old castles dungeons with the other supposed enemies of France. The fates of his young wife and father were as bleak to him as his own future.

Three years ago the new emperor himself had begged Deveroux for the designs, drawings, and mathematical calculations for his newest ships. The emperor had asked for them, then pleaded, and then finally threatened, but still Deveroux had refused to give the brutish little man what he desired: the design for an oil-fired ship that could drive the implacable British navythe most powerful force in the worldfrom the surface of the seas.

As Deveroux lay against the cold wall of his cell, he could hear the sea far below crashing against the rocks of the small island. Roderick Deveroux knew his prison walls were coming very close to driving him insane.

The small door at the base of his cell opened, and his daily ration of meat and bread was pushed through atop a rusty plate. The meat was good, rich, and ripe, as Napoleon would not be pleased if his great prize died of malnutrition before he received the gift that would secure his place as master of the world.

The meal delivery was the same routine as alwayshe waited for the prison guard to close the trap before he allowed himself to move. This time however, the door remained open. Deveroux allowed his eyes to move toward the door and the still shadow beyond.

Doctor, there is news from the outside. Perhaps after you hear it you will finally deliver to the emperor that which he desires.

Deveroux didnt move from the damp, moss-covered corner of the cell. He watched and waited.

Your father has been executed for his monarchist leanings. It was done publicly in Paris.

Deveroux lowered his head and tried to bring to mind the face of his father, but found his memory failed him. His throat refused to work as he tried to swallow. His eyes filled with tears and he raised a hand to his bearded face and covered his mouth, biting his lip to keep the guards from hearing his anguish. The thought came suddenly to his mind and the question was out before he could stop it.

My my wife is she He croaked the first words he had spoken in more than six months.

Your wife? You fool, she committed suicide last year because she could not face the humiliation of your treason.

Deveroux wanted to scream but would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him break. Instead, he again bit his lower lip until blood oozed from his mouth, and then he buried his face in his hands. He rememberedthey told me she was dead with my unborn child in her womb.

His decision was now an easy one. He would rather die than continue on in life without his family. As his tears dried, his eyes seemed to burn. He grunted to let the guard know he was there and listening. Then he rolled to one side, and slowly and cautiously slid the plate of beef toward him. He swatted the meat and bread from the plate and then harshly felt the edge of the thick tin in the darkness. He was afraid he wouldnt find what he was seeking, and then his trembling fingers found itthe outer lip of the plate had been worn to a sharp edge.

The new emperor seeks my knowledge still? he asked.

Seeks? He demands it, fool, the voice said from the far side of the cell door.

With shaking hands he slid his finger across the sharp edge of the plate once more, bringing the sensation he was looking forthe cutting of flesh.

Deveroux drew closer to the iron door, then he raised the plate and sliced the one area that would supply enough blood to be convincing to the captain of the guardhis head. He sliced deep and long through the ragged growth of hair, wincing as the plates edge dug a deep furrow through his scalp. Soon he felt the satisfying flow of blood coursing down his forehead, and still he dug the sharpened edge deeper. There had to be enough blood to convince the keepers that Napoleons prized prisoner was attempting to do the unthinkable.

As he lifted the plate from his head, Deveroux saw that blood was not only flowing but had begun to spurt, as he had dragged the tin plate through a small vein. He held on to the plate, moving the sharpened edge opposite his grip, and then lay down next to the food portal. He allowed his blood to splatter the iron of the door, and then he sighed and made gasping sounds. He reached up with his free hand and slapped at the growing puddle of blood, making sure it splashed into the corridor beyond.

What?

It is blood, Captain, the fool has slit his own throat.

The captain of the guard did exactly what Deveroux had hoped: He panicked at the thought of losing him to suicide. He could never explain that to the emperor. He heard the other man as he pulled keys in an attempt to get the door open. So, this was it, the moment of his death.

He never had any plans to escape, but neither did he have the courage for ending his own life, so he would force them to do it for him. A self-satisfied smile etched his wretched features.

Hurry, you bumbling fool, hell bleed to death!

Finally, Deveroux heard the key slide home into the rusty lock. Then he heard the scraping sound as it turned, and then the hasp of the lock was thrown back, and then came the sound of a man straining to get the door open. He felt and smelled the first fresh air in over two years as it hit his face and he breathed it in, preparing himself, gathering what strength he could for the next few secondsthe last seconds of his life. He let his eyes flutter open and his eyes instantly felt the jab of pain from the candlelit corridor beyond.