Free Thief by Greg Curtis Page A

library. From all of them of course, he had extensive views, either of his gardens leading down the gentle slope all the way to the sea, or of the hills behind. In floor plan area the deck, which completely surrounded the house and allowed him to follow the sun all around the house, was actually larger than the house itself. It should be, it had taken him long enough to build. He suspected his home might never make it onto the lifestyles of the rich and famous show, but it was more a home than any dozen mansions he’d ever seen.
     
    Surrounding it were his gardens, extensive lawns, acres of exotic tree plantations, and the beach front where his flying boat was docked. Once this property had been a farm, the owners eking out a bare existence trying to raise sheep on land built of coral. They’d brought in shiploads of soil to help, but it hadn’t been enough. Transport costs to market had left it uneconomic, the grass just wasn’t right, and they’d had to abandon the land. For years then it had lain fallow, commercially worthless, but ideal for his purposes.
     
    When he’d first seen it he’d instantly known that this must become his home. It had felt so completely right to him, a perfect haven and a home. He could have justified living here with any of a dozen reasons, but in truth it was simply the feel of the place that persuaded him.
     
    Immediately he’d moved in and had it renovated all within the space of a few short weeks. That had been the first and last time he’d ever used outside help in building. Thereafter, every change he’d made had been planned and carried out with his own hands. Again it wasn’t just the simple necessity of secrecy. There was something simply right about doing the work himself. Each change he made, each alteration, made him more truly a part of this place, making it more his home.
     
    The initial changes he’d made had been relatively minor, but then again they’d only been a beginning. There after he’d spent years and then decades adding to it, building, decks and pergolas, gardens, garages, a dock and plantations. It was a job that never finished, mainly because he never wanted it to. Each time he completed one project, another called out to him and he’d begin the design process again.
     
    Of course what he’d built on the surface, was as nothing to the construction he’d carried out underneath. A long, slow, and often exhausting job, using machinery mostly only seen in mines, and always in secret. Of course the biggest problem was always digging down into an atoll that stood only four or five feet above sea level. So what he’d really done was lift the house, build underneath it, and then fill up the surrounding land with more soil. But the results were more than worth it. There were two main workshops each with their own hidden access ways to the surface. The major part of his library was also buried there. There were chambers of stored provisions, fuel, food, and clothes. There were some modest living quarters, and advanced air re-circulation systems.
     
    Security had not been overlooked. The bunker also had its own defence systems, ground penetrating anti-radar, electronic camouflage, state of the art communications systems and even anti missile systems. If his house was a security zone, what lay underneath was an invisible fortress. If necessary he could have lived down there for months, perhaps years, with no one ever the wiser.
     
    Except for Sherial.
     
    Mikel had intended to question Sherial anew, even knowing he would likely get little or no useful response as before. He should have known better. Instead he somehow found himself answering her questions, while she studied him closely.
     
    This time at least, he didn’t feel as though he was a bug under a microscope. There was some warmth in her expression as she listened to him, a sense of compassion, and even perhaps some humanity. Maybe that was why he opened up so far with her. Then again maybe it