Mark Meltzer Writings: Days 156-164

Letter to Phil Isidore, pg1

 * Mark G. Meltzer
 * P.O. Box 4668 #32890
 * New York, N.Y. 10163

Phil Isidore c/o N.U.F.O.S. Baltimore, Md.

Dear Phil:

We're back under way at long last, after the extended stop in France. Capt. Ferrence has finally re-crewed (an ugly & potentially explosive situation - more on that later.)

So it's high time for me to finally tell you what happened @ Reichen- bach. I needed time to recover first. (Still typing hunt + peck until my arm heals.)

When I arrived at the Chalet in Valais, Celeste wasn't happy to see me. (Got the door slammed in my face, in fact.) I calmed her down; promised I would protect her from every danger. Her mood changed. She's been alone & one the run for a long time. I radioed back to the S.S. Nellie Bly: the boat was stuck in deck until Capt. Ferrence figured out his many problems. So I worked with Celeste's P.I. (Dash Carmady) to lay a trail of false clues to convince Lynch that the lady had gone to Cefalu. I intended to intercept Lynch - soon enough. But for the moment, we were free.

We headed north towards Schattenhalb and toured the falls of the area. The waters pour down the rock -- violent jets fueled by recent storms. I caught her looking at me in the fading sun. I wondered what she was thinking behind those dark eyes.

We had separate rooms in Meiringen .... I woke the next day to find a note slipped under the door. All the things Celeste thought, but could not say. I went to find her; she'd headed out on the path, alone. I caught up with her on the precarious bridge over the chasm. (cont'd)

Letter to Phil Isidore, pg2

 * Pg. 2

She'd lost 20 years of her life chasing shadows. But this moment was here and now. Shouldn't we hang onto this? - Instead of clinging to the memory, the ghosts: her father, my daughter?

Then I heard that booming laugh: "Isn't THIS a picture!" It was Lynch - His jowls bright red in the chill air, his pig-eyes twinkling. I stood between Lynch and Celeste. Behind me, I could feel her breath - rasping between her teeth in nervous bursts.

Lynch gloated -- I should have known better than to leave my archives on a docked boat under the protection of a skeleton crew. Lynch had ample time to catch up on all my research. And he had an inkling regarding the key to the last layer of Orrin Lutwidge's puzzle box.

Apparently, back in '58, on his way to the 'Frozen Triangle,' Lutwidge made a stopover in Ireland and exclaimed the MS. of Lynch's latest work of outrageous deceit: 'THE SPECTRAL SEA' - A collection of ghost tales of the North Atlantic, Lynch's usual mix of fact & fiction calculated to confound the unwary. Lynch suspected there was some hint of truth buried in this trove of lies & lore - if we put our heads together, we could find it.

I refused and he grinned icily. Held up the gun I'd fool- ishly lost in Paris. He aimed at Celeste. He didn't want to hurt her, he said; he just wanted answers. I riffled through the book. The answer was already apparent. But I didn't dare reveal it to him. I knew I couldn't trust him. So I did the dumbest thing possible --
 * (CONT'D)

Letter to Phil Isidore, pg3

 * Page 3

I charged straight at Lynch - trying to use his own massive book as a shield. He fired. The bullet blasted through the pages. Blood flew - but I still had momentum. I smashed into him. Gun went skittering across the bridge. And Celeste grabbed it-

We lay there, me and Lynch. My shoulder pouring blood. Him pinioned under me, howling in fury. And her wavering - the gun pointing first at him, then at me - as if she didn't know which to shoot. She closed her eyes - pulled the trigger - an echo rang off the rocks -- Lynch shrieked -- then she dropped the gun like something poisonous... and ran. I stumbled to my feet - hurried after her. Glanced back to see Lynch, flailing - blood pooling out under his legs. I couldn't tell how badly he was hurt - didn't care. All that mattered was her.

I slipped and slid down the muddy path. Looked for any trace of her - but she was gone, long gone.

I doubled back to the bridge. There was nothing left of Lynch but a smear of blood - red bootprints washing away as the rains returned.

There was nothing left for me to do but head back -- I was able to patch myself up and slip away before the locals brought in the gendarmes. Didn't find Celeste - didn't try. So much for my promise to protect her - I put her right in the Red Pawn's path.
 * Posting this from the UK today - More later.


 * Yours,


 * Mark Meltzer


 * -Mark Meltzer-

Journal, "The Glass Pawn:London"
THE GLASS PAWN: LONDON

Arrival in port was a risky business - thanks to the incompetence our new rookie "crew". A motley young gang - mostly French, a couple of Germans and a hot-blooded Italian who acts as ring-leader. These long-hairs pass around Mao's little Red Book and something called "La Société du spectacle." They're not interested in running the ship - too busy endlessly checking, re-checking & reloading handguns liberated from the hold. (Capt. Ferrence remains a true believer, but it's clear he's having second thoughts about helping these hoodlums escape whatever justice they dodged in Europe.)

A very brief stop in London. Thanks to Lee Wilson Seward, I was able to meet another IOOP member, the "Glass Pawn". Turns out, I knew him by his works... nonsense like 'ANIMAL E.S.P'. and the just- barely helpful 'FROZEN TRIANGLE'.

Carleton Rede turned out to be surprisingly down-to-earth. Too down-to-earth in fact- he cheerfully admitted that his membership in OOL's "Pawns" was a lark,an opportunity to gather info for his (admittedly) flakey books. Peculiar attitude towards research: says he only relates the stories he's told, and he refuses to make judgement calls between truth & lies, fact & fiction.

Apparently one of his major sources of data was a fellow Pawn - one Mr. Jeremiah Lynch, the Red Pawn himself! Now I'm left wonder- ing, once again, what data I can trust. Got back on board with two prizes: advance copy of Carleton's latest book (hopefully useful?); and an American paper with an alarming headline. Is OOL on the run? What is the Red Pawn up to?

(Writings below this line will be added to a new folder when it opens up.)

Journal, "The Stoic Ivory Pawn"
THE STOIC IVORY PAWN

Brief stopover in Reykjavik - at my insistence. Capt. Ferrence is eager to complete our deal & drop me at my destination - his crew is even more eager to be rid of me. But I had to take my chance meeting the man who helped Lutwidge reach his "Wonderland."

The Ivory Pawn was a grim old sailor - face scarred with age, he regarded me with an impassive squint as he tottered down the planks. He held a sign of recognition - a chesspiece carved from whalebone. I followed him to an old fisherman's shack, barely warmed by a black iron stove. He toasted me with a beer chilled in a crab cage. Then he told me what he knew.

Lutwidge arrive in 1958 towards the end of the first conflicts in Iceland's "Cod War" with England - a battle over fishing rights. Lutwidge had latched onto the story of an English trawler that had gotten into a stand-off with an Icelandic naval vessel. Fortunately for the English fishermen, the HMS Russell rolled in to save the day while the trawler fled into international waters. Rumor had it that it lost its bearings, radioing back a story of an alarming encounter with a light- house miles from any land! The trawler got lucky again - it nearly capsized as it reversed course but it limped back home - the tale of its ghostly encounter forgotten in the shadow of its more historic role.

Apparently this story gave Lutwidge the final key to the location of Rapture.

Ivory Pawn provided me with a tape - an intercept recorded that fateful night by the Icelandic Coast Guard.

Combined with Capt. Ferrence's encyclopedic knowledge of military history - the tape also gave me the final clues to reveal the next - and last - layer of OOL's puzzle box.

But I remain more confused than ever. Five steps to Rapture??? What do they signify?