Ocean Blue (Sea Lab Book 1)

CHAPTER 35

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.