Lost City (NUMA Files 5)

"Are you displaying your Anglo bias or do you know for a fact that he's French?" Austin said.

Mayhew smiled and reached into his pocket, producing a thin metal tab with a chain attached. He handed the object to Austin. "This was around this gentleman's neck. It's a little timeworn, but you can read the writing." .

Austin held the tab under the light and read the words: Pierre Levant Capitaine, L'Armee de la Republique de France, b. 1885.

"Looks like our friend here stole someone's dog tag."

"I had the same thought at first, but the tag actually belongs to this chap."

Austin responded with a quizzical look. Mayhew was not smiling as he would if he meant the wild assertion as a joke.

"That would make him more than one hundred years old," Austin said.

"Close to one hundred and twenty, to be exact."

"There must be some mistake. How can you be sure this is the man whose name is on the dog tag? Millions of men were lost during World War One."

"Quite true, but the armies did a tolerably good job of keeping records despite the chaos. Men were often identified by their comrades or officers. As the fighting moved on, bodies were cleared by special units and the director of graves registration took over, aided by the unit chaplain. There were cemetery maps drawn, information filtered through a casualty clearing station, hospitals and grave registrations and so on. That information has been put on a computer. We learned that there was a Pierre Levant, that he served as an officer in the French army and that he disappeared in action." "A lot of men disappeared in action."

"Oh, you skeptical Americans," Mayhew said. He reached into his suit and pulled out a pocket watch, which he handed to Austin. "We found this in his pocket. He was quite a handsome devil at one time."

Austin examined the inscription on the back of the watch. "A Pierre, de Claudette, avecamour." Then he flipped the watch open. Set into the cover was a picture of a young man and woman.

He showed the watch to the other members of the NUMA team. "What do you think?"

Gamay examined the tag and the watch. "One of the first things I learned in marine archaeology was the importance of establishing provenance. For instance, a Roman coin found in a Connecticut cornfield could mean that a Roman had dropped it, but it's just as likely the source was a Colonial-era coin collector."

Mayhew sighed. "Perhaps Dr. Blair can convince you." "I didn't believe it either," said the white-frocked pathologist. "We did an autopsy on the gentleman. The cells in this individual are comparable to those of a man in his late twenties, but the brain sutures, the joints of the skull, indicate the gentleman is " He cleared his throat. "Ah, more than a hundred years old."

"That would mean the work on the life extension formula goes back much further than we've assumed," Austin said.

"An incredible yet reasonable assumption," Mayhew said. "There

were rumors during World War One of attempts to develop a

"berserker," a super-soldier of sorts who would charge enemy trenches in the face of fierce fire."

"You're thinking that it's related to the life extension research?" "I don't know," Mayhew said. He drew the sheet back over the creature's face.

"Poor hombre," Zavala said, glancing at the happy couple in the watch photograph. "What a waste of a hundred years."

"We may only have uncovered the tip of the iceberg," Mayhew said. "Who knows how many have died to keep this terrible secret?"

"I don't blame them for not advertising failures like the one on that table," Gamay said.

"It goes beyond that," Mayhew said. "Suppose this elixir has been perfected. What kind of a world would we have if some people could live longer than others?"

"A world that will be very much off balance," Gamay ventured.

"My feelings exactly, but I'm a lowly detective. I'll leave that for the analysts and policymakers to deal with. Do you plan to stay long in the UK?" he asked Austin.

"Probably not," Austin said. "We'll talk about our plans and let you know what we decide."

"I'd appreciate that." Mayhew produced a business card with his name and phone number and handed it to Austin. "Please call. Night or day. In the meantime, I can't overemphasize the importance of keeping this to yourselves."

"My report will go only to Dirk Pitt and Rudi Gunn. I'm sure the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution will be interested in the fate of its submersible."

"Fine. I'll let you know what our marines find on the island. Maybe we can track down the people behind this thing. Murder, kidnapping, hijacking, slave labor," he mused. "Immortality is a potent