by Deen Ferrell
Willoughby listened, stunned. He had taken two years of French and a year of Spanish, but he didn’t feel conversant in either language. He could barely tell Antonio he liked tacos. The thought caused him to look around again. He needed to talk with Antonio—to let him know about the tall, thin man, the tattooed man, and about the conversation he overheard. He was confident his friend would know what to do.
After Sydney said goodnight and whirled into her cabin, footsteps sounded from behind them. Willoughby looked over his shoulder and spotted Antonio about 30 yards back, motioning for him to stop. He waited. James Arthur continued toward the cabin breaking into a mangled refrain of “Midnight Train to Georgia.” The hallway became quiet.
“Thank you for waiting, my friend,” Antonio whispered, slowing to a stop. “We should talk, no?”
“Yeah, about that…I didn’t quite—”
Antonio stopped him, raising a finger to his lips. He glanced around nervously. “Not here. I have my own concerns about the, shall we say, accommodations. I am not comfortable with the security on the Absconditus. I have been concerned, even before the briefing. Some of the crew do not seem to fit and have far too little to do.”
“Why didn’t you bring it up?”
“I have my reasons,” Antonio answered frankly. “I have a feeling there are facts you did not exactly volunteer at the briefing as well.”
“That’s true. Where can we talk?” Willoughby said. He couldn’t help thinking of the speck he had seen on the horizon, bobbing up and down, soon after they left Boston harbor. Antonio opened his mouth to answer, but a loud clank from a few hundred yards down the corridor stopped him cold. An oily-looking crewman had slammed a mop bucket into the wall. He swore at it profusely, then tried to steer the wheeled bucket around them using the mop handle. “Evening,’” he said gruffly when he had pulled up beside them. “Anything you gents need?”
“No,” Antonio responded, realizing that both he and Willoughby had stopped talking the moment they saw the man with the mop bucket. He turned to Willoughby. “I was just telling my friend that it has been a most excellent day! Tomorrow, we must be early to greet the sun!” His voice hit full volume. “I think, at dawn, we practice our rowing, no? Perhaps we may even take a dip in the ocean?”
James Arthur opened the door just as Antonio finished. He seemed to have been wondering what had become of Willoughby. He was stripped to his shorts and had a toothbrush dangling from his lips. “You guys going to brave the Atlantic waters? I’m in!” he sputtered bits of toothpaste across the hall as he spoke. Antonio ignored the distraction, his gaze fixed on Willoughby.
Willoughby shrugged, confused by the suggestion.
With a subtle nod, Antonio smiled. “Yes. A little fresh air will be good in the morning, I think. Until the dawn, my friends!” With a flourish, he spun to his cabin and disappeared.
Dr. J narrowed his eyes, staring after Mr. Chavez. He stepped back and closed the door.
Willoughby had already pushed past the doctor. He turned and collapsed on his bunk. Though he was tired, his mind was whirling a million miles a second. Morning rowing? What’s that all about?
Dr. J walked into the bathroom and spit in the sink. He ducked his head back around the door frame. “Good at math?” he said sarcastically. “You sort of omitted the little detail about solving the Riemann Hypothesis. That’s a little more than just ‘good.’”
Willoughby had a hard time pulling his mind away from Antonio’s puzzling behavior and the revelations of the debriefing. “Well, I did say ‘really good’ at math,” he mumbled, fighting a yawn.
Dr. J barked a laugh. “Oh yeah, I forgot. You’re the guy that’s just ‘got it,’ right? It’s all in a day’s work. So, tell me, did academia foam at the mouth when they learned the Riemann was solved by a teenage boy? They gave me grief for graduating med school five years early.”
“Well, I wasn’t officially a teenager when I solved it,” Willoughby corrected. “I was twelve.”
“Twelve what?”
“Twelve years, Dr. J,” Willoughby sighed, rolling over. “I was twelve years old when I solved the Riemann.”
James Arthur’s jaw dropped open. “So, what did you do for an encore, cold fusion?”
Willoughby cracked a smile. “Well, I didn’t try to pass myself off as Errol Flynn.”
Dr. J clicked off the bathroom light and walked over to his bed, plopping down. “Well, you don’t have the physique. Me, on the other hand—”
“A regular legend in your own mind, aren’t you?” Willoughby was grinning wildly.
“If you got it, flaunt it!” James Arthur said. He clicked the light off over his bed. “And with that, I say, ‘lights out and goodbye to the day!’” Willoughby leaned up and did the same. “Amen, brother,” he added, clicking off his own lamp.
Dr. J clicked his light back on. “Brother? Did you just call me ‘brother?’”
Willoughby looked over. “Uh, yeah.”
“Is that because you feel a family relationship?”
Willoughby groaned. “It’s just an expression—you know, Amen, brother!”
Dr. J peered at him a long moment.
Willoughby raised his eyebrows; “What? I’m not allowed to say, ‘Amen, brother?’”
Dr. J lay back down, clicking off the light. “I haven’t decided.”
“If it makes any difference, I have been officially accepted into the African-American brotherhood,” Willoughby remarked with another yawn.
“I’ve got to hear this,” Dr. J snorted. There was an edge of amusement in his voice.
Willoughby gave a shrug. “It was in the fifth grade. A girl named Shakrah wanted to go steady. Lewis let me know. He was the best athlete in the class and he liked me.”
“Shakrah was black?”
“Yes.”
Dr. J was silent for a long moment. “So, how’d it go?”
“How did what go?”
“Your romance with Shakrah.”
“Romance?” There was a note of panic in Willoughby’s voice. “I was in fifth grade! How do you think it went?”
Dr. J broke into a smile. “A bit much for you, was she?”
Willoughby grinned too. “Shakrah was more than a brick house. Just think concrete fortress with twin cannons and a full radar array.”
James Arthur burst into laughter. “In fifth grade?”
Willoughby couldn’t stop himself. “That’s how I remember it. That girl could have roasted me for dinner.”
By the time Willoughby finished, Dr. J was moaning and wiping his eyes. It was a good two or three minutes before he settled down and spoke seriously. “Okay, change of subject. What did you make of the briefing? A bit on the weird side, wouldn’t you say? You believe all this ‘Beelzebub’ stuff?”
Willoughby tried to think of how to answer the question. Did he believe the Beelzebub stuff? He thought of the face he had seen through a tear in time; of the tall, bony body and gruff voice that went with the face. He found the memory of the man both scary and somehow compelling. He felt himself being drawn in like a moth to a flame.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I’m not sure what to think. What’s your take?”
He listened for a response, but none came. A few moments later, James Arthur’s breathing became loud and steady. Willoughby looked over at his cabin-mate’s bunk and sighed. He punched his own pillow and rolled to his side. Tired as he was, he seemed a long way from falling asleep. After a while, he turned onto his back and stared up at the darkness. The ship rolled with rhythmic regularity. He thought of Antonio’s strange invitation to practice rowing and possibly go for a swim. A swim? He thought of his family at the pier, waving goodbye. Should he have hugged them tighter—been more hesitant to leave? As fatigue finally claimed him, he slipped into a fitful sleep. His dreams were clouded with lilts of s
ong, and the dark form of Sydney, eyes burning, calling again and again to her sisters of the sea.
14
Morning Swim
The voice sounded far away, but Willoughby’s mind told him it was important. He struggled to force his eyes open. Dr. J was leaning over, staring down at him. He flashed a wide grin. “There he is! Brother Romeo, the Riemann-slayer, is alive! Come on, get up! I’ve been pounding the iron for twenty minutes while you’ve been mumbling, ‘coming my Goddess,’ and ‘yes, yes, they are so beautiful, such beautiful sisters!’ I’d like a little more information on that dream if you don’t mind.”
Willoughby sat up, pushing James Arthur away. The clock on the dresser blinked 6:18. He groaned and fell back against the pillow. “It’s 6 a.m.”
“6:18,” Dr. J said between curls. He looked over with a grin. “Ah, now, look what we’ve done. We’ve gone and disturbed our playboy’s beauty sleep, haven’t we?” Dr. J plopped down the weights, stretched, and walked back to the bathroom, grabbing a towel to wipe his face. “Okay, so I’m a softy. I let you sleep in. Antonio knocked almost ten minutes ago, so you better get those swim trunks on, brother, or the man might just throw you in that cold water butt-naked. Seems that the ship has lowered sail—a few of the crew want to do some fishing. He thinks this may be our best chance to take the boat out.”
Willoughby forced himself vertical and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. After a long moment, and a lot of eye-rubbing, he leaned over his drawer and pulled out a pair of swimming trunks. “He really wants to jump in the water this early? Is he crazy?” He padded to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. James Arthur was already at the cabin door. “Hey, I go out surfing in the winter all the time. It’ll put some hair on that skinny chest!” He let out what sounded like a wail, followed by butchered song lyrics, “I feel good, just like I knew that I would, now—I feel good, like a good brother should, now…”
“Lots of brotherly love this morning,” Willoughby cringed. “You and Antonio ought to get together. You murder songs with equal intensity.”
James Arthur ignored the comment. “You know James Brown?”
“It depends,” Willoughby sighed. “What is his stance on 6:00 a.m. screeching?”
James Arthur flashed a smile as he danced down the hallway. Willoughby wiped off his face, threw on his swim trunks and followed, amazed he could stay upright.
On deck, the sun was easing over the horizon—a golden fire, poured out like molten brass. It spread across the gently cresting waves. The brisk sea air raised goose bumps on Willoughby’s arms. He rubbed his eyes yet again. Antonio was already sitting in a small boat, helping a wiry crewman lower it over the side. He motioned to James Arthur and Willoughby. “Buenos Dias!”
“Morning old A.S.E.C., old buddy, old pal!” James Arthur snapped, poking fun at Antonio’s initials. He hopped over into the boat making it sway. Antonio nodded.
“Ah! Good morning to you, Dr. James Arthur Washington, or should I call you J.A.W.s?”
Dr. J laughed. “Not bad for a broken-down old barber!”
Antonio gritted his teeth, forcing a smile, as Willoughby climbed onto the boat. They slowly sank below deck level. A second crewman meandered over and began to help crank. The boat began to lower much faster. Before it could settle onto the bobbing waves, however, Dr. J had pulled off his shirt. With a high yelp, he dove into the choppy water. He came up spitting.
“Now that’s …c-c-cold! Have to be a sh-short swim!” He set out on a brisk pace.
Antonio steadied the lifeboat as it hit the water. He disconnected the rigging and picked up the oars, expertly turning the little craft before beginning to row away from James Arthur, directly perpendicular to the ship. When they were maybe 30 yards away, he began to speak in a slow, soft voice.
“I am smiling to pretend this is a quick and pleasant morning exchange. We are being watched, my friend. Listen to what I say—I must speak quickly, and then we must jump in the water for a quick swim.”
“What’s going on?” Willoughby said through a forced grin.
Antonio held up a hand. He looked over to James Arthur, who was maybe 40 yards away and was already angling in the direction of the boat. “Are you okay, amigo?” Dr. J didn’t answer, but gave a quick wave of his hand. Antonio looked back to Willoughby.
“Take off your shirt,” he instructed, then continued to talk, fast and quietly. “What I tell you I have shared with no one. I think it would have done no good to turn back last night. I think whatever is going to happen on this mission has already begun. I have been to most of the observation platforms, amigo. I have even designed two, but H.S. has been very secretive about the purpose of the Absconditus.” He splashed water onto his face and bare chest. “Since I arrived, I have been checking out the ship. The hull has been reinforced with solid titanium. The titanium nose, in fact, is 6 to 10 feet thick. It has sophisticated laser weaponry. The sails and riggings are only for show. Hidden in the bowels of the ship is a fully operational nuclear reactor, capable of powering the ship without them. If I were to venture a guess, I would say the ship was built for Arctic exploration.”
“Arctic exploration?” Willoughby whispered.
“That’s not all,” Antonio added. He was speaking so fast that Willoughby could hardly keep up with him. He pulled the oars in and prepared to hop over the side of the boat. “Hidden below this reactor, I found two very small signs. They had the word “Tangent” spelled frontward and backward below the shape of a golden spiral. I found the 313. Though I could not find my way into the chamber, I know it is the sign of a doorway.”
Willoughby’s eyes narrowed. “Like the one at the top of the Certus Grove building?”
“No,” Antonio said; “different. The Certus Grove is a time door, built to access a natural time hole in our physical space and tethered to a specific observation platform like all of our time doors. This is on a moving ship. Think of the implications.”
“It could travel to holes—ones that may be difficult to build or hide a facility near,” Willoughby said, realization dawning on him. “Why do you think H.S. has an arctic exploration vessel? Is there something in the arctic that he wants to find?”
“I don’t know. To say the least, this ship is more unusual than I had supposed. I saw numbers appear and fluctuate onto a hidden read-out above the symbol. They seemed to flicker with the pitch and roll of the ship. At times, I thought I saw complex equations with the numbers ‘313’ in them. I think the read-out is measuring the continuum flux, as if the ship itself can sail the folds of time. I think, perhaps, it is the ship the men of the mark are after.”
Willoughby looked up with a spark in his eyes. “I, I thought I saw numbers on the ship too. But they weren’t on a read-out. They were just hovering by H.S.’s cabin door. When I turned and looked full at the door, they were gone.”
Antonio motioned and then jumped into the water. He came up blustering. Willoughby had been lost in thought. “That would make this ship quite a prize—especially if they knew why H.S. built it. What if this cult is after something up there in the polar ice as well? Maybe the break-in at St. Petersburg has nothing to do with our current assignment or Nostradamus. Maybe they want the ship so they can beat us to whatever the Arctic prize is. It must be big.” He dropped his shirt onto the bench.
“W-we are trying to s-solve a puzzle with half the pieces m-missing,” Antonio added. “H-hurry, jump in! D-don’t know h-how long...”
Willoughby dove in. He came up shrieking. “COLD! I c-can-can’t t-take this!” he panted, turning immediately back toward the boat. Antonio, too, was struggling. He glanced over and saw Dr. J begin to flounder. “W-we m-must g-g-get to J-James Arthur!” he hissed.
Willoughby had grabbed onto the side of the boat. It felt as if all the strength had been sapped out of him. He was gasped and shivered, but somehow made his way to the bow of the small v
essel and grabbed Antonio’s arm. Together, the two helped each other up out of the water.
“Ch-ch-charlie horse,” Antonio spluttered, after seating himself onto the first bench and looking directly into Willoughby’s eyes. “T-t-tell them you got a Ch-charlie horse.” Willoughby opened his mouth to speak, but Antonio held up a hand. He grabbed the oars. “We only have s-seconds before we p-pick up James Arthur. Tell me what happened at the sh-shop when t-time froze.”
“I s-saw numbers,” Willoughby said as his friend started rowing. “They f-floated, l-like the ones I saw on the sh-ship, only much c-clearer and b-brighter. Th-they were in strings. They s-seemed to glow, then they p-pooled along a seam and the s-seam ripped open. Light b-blinded me, and then, a face appeared in the b-breach and leaned out from the brightness. It looked over the symbol and the sh-shop. Then looked s-straight at me. It seemed surprised. Then, the breach closed. The face and numbers were gone and everything went back to n-n-ormal except the man photographing the symbol and us.”
“Is that all?” Antonio said quickly. They were barely a dozen feet from Dr. J.
“I was heading back to my Dad’s office, and stumbled onto a conversation. It was between the man with the camera and a tall thin m-man with the same face I had s-seen in the brightness. They talked about some plan, and how I might have s-seen something and sh-shouldn’t have been able to.”
“They mentioned you by name?”