by SJ Hailey
‘Jean I am going to need some samples from this ship.’
‘Jacob I brought you here to look for survivors and check this iceberg out. We both know that the coastguard would have found them by now.’
‘I will check it out, in person.’
‘You want me to put you on an unstable iceberg, in water that can kill you, with a storm front bearing down on us?’
‘You know when you put it like that it sounds dangerous.’
‘My friend, I promised your late wife that I would take care of you. What would your family think if I let you do this?’
Jacob paused, remembering the pictures in his wallet. ‘I only have one member of my family left. My son Archer and I have no idea where he is.’
‘Sorry to hear that Jacob but this is madness even for you.’
‘As I remember you have been a little wild in your past.’
‘Now don’t pull that…’
‘I will be quick, I promise. I just need an uplink to the institute and fifteen minutes.’
Jean checked his weather radar, ‘Twenty minutes and then I am pulling you out.’
Jacob gave Jean the thumbs up, but he knew these twenty minutes may be the last he had if something went wrong.
FIVE
Ecuador
Christophe Laurent didn’t realize that his fiancé had cut him off, and was still joking with her. An assistant pointed out the transmission had ceased. Laurent threw down the headset, muttering something unpleasant in French, before returning to his make shift desk. His tolerance of anyone ignoring him was zero, as his team knew all too well.
Three times in the past month he had flown into a rage for people not following his instructions to the specificity that he felt was required. They may only have altered the order of events minimally, and he would shout and rant within a few centimeters of their faces, spittle cascading across them. In truth nobody in camp liked Christophe Laurent, but they tolerated him to get access to this dig; a Spanish ship buried in river silt in the Ecuador jungle. According to the ground penetrating radar scans the ship was intact, and as the river had changed course many times since the initial burial, the silt had sealed it for eternity.
They had arrived two months before, following a tsunami, one that had originated near Hawaii, and hit the sparsely populated Ecuadorian coastline. Katherine had been employed by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (N.O.A.A.) based in North America, to survey damaged and possible changes in coastline following the event. During the survey she spotted a structure buried in the jungle. Upon further investigation on her own, she found a ship over three hundred feet long. She contacted N.O.A.A. to see if any ships were reported missing, none were. Then called her friend Jacob Mathias at the Elements Institute, to enquire if any ships had been lost or reported missing in that area. There was no record of any ships missing, ever, so she sent her results to Jacob and that was it for her.
The team now assembled had discovered a wooden-hulled ship, suspected to be Spanish in origin, and from the sand and silt deposits it was buried by a tsunami. The level of silt and mixture of debris within it indicated that the ship had been near the shore, and the approaching waves had pushed it inland, tearing up most of the trees and plants in the process. The ship was buried in the river bed the silt held in suspension in the water above it, settled forming a protective coating and shielding the wooden hull from deterioration. Similar to the Mary Rose in England, Henry VIII flagship, buried for three hundred years.
Laurent was the best in his field, but a maverick in every sense, willing to bend, avoid or just break rules to achieve his goals. He had once drugged a customs officer in Mexico, just to smuggle a ceremonial dagger into the United States. This was not looked upon favorably by his benefactors of the time, and they fired him. The only reason he was on this job, was his connections within the Ecuador government, allowing him the permissions to excavate in exchange for information on damage from the tsunami and of course any finds he made.
Laurent was brilliant and instinctive, but unfortunately he knew it, all too well. He exploited that fact with the head of the Elements Institute, Jacob Mathias. There was an uncertain truce, like the Korean cease fire agreement, neither side completely sure of the others intentions or motivations.
Katherine had one hundred seconds before she hit the ground. The plane was light, but without power and controls, it was just a lump of carbon fiber with a two ton sensor pack weight on its belly. She had been in worse situations, and her calm demeanor and training overrode the irrational behavior that human fear of imminent death can initiate. She shut down all the systems, rebooted the avionics and restarted the engines. While the engines warmed up the avionics began to kick in. She was at four thousand feet breaking cloud cover and the expanding immense layers of green rushing up towards her, filled the cockpit windshield.
She pulled the stick and the plane moved into a shallower dive, buying time. Now the aircraft was gliding, or falling with style as her favorite movie character would say. The engines came back online at two thousand feet and she began to gain altitude, away from the anomaly. The radio clicked, Katherine forgot her headset was still on, ‘Come in ROBBIE.’
‘Still here Debra. Just. Lost all power over that anomaly. Going back for a more careful look. Call you in ten minutes.’
‘Ok so whatever this is knocks you out of the sky and you go back?’
‘Hey Debra, been in worse spots. Remember that landing in Baghdad?’
In 2006 Katherine was working out of the former International airport in Baghdad. Then as in other conflicts, helicopters at low level were vulnerable to rocket propelled grenades. Aimed at the tail rotor, a direct hit causes loss of flight stability and usually a forced landing. The Apache was vulnerable to close quarter attack from multiple positions, so when she was on patrol, and two handheld unguided anti-tank weapons were fired at her, she could only deal with one threat. Her nose mounted chain gun linked to her helmet turned and fired at the first position, the 30mm cannon shredded the perpetrators. She turned to fire on the second position. A third shot hit the tail rotor from behind.
Alarms sounded in the cockpit, small arms fire struck the resilient armour. While Katherine’s co-pilot fired on the positions, she attempted to leave the threat area, while calling into base and her wingman.
Within thirty seconds they had made a low altitude forced landing just a mile away, the nose of the aircraft pointing up, the tail dug into the ground. The chain gun was still operating, and despite being injured, the co-pilot managed to open fire on a pair of technical attacked from the front. The M230 gun using high explosive shells annihilated the insurgent vehicles, and deterred any others from approach, until the power failed. Katherine was trying to free her co-pilot from his seat, when a smaller group on foot attempted to outflank the now inoperative chain gun.
Katherine heard them cock their weapons, took her co-pilots M9 and her own, clicked the safeties off discreetly, and used the body of the Apache for cover. She bent down, to minimise the dust from her foot falls and peered under the tail. Shadows of her assailants cast ahead of them, betrayed their positions. In order for them to get her, they would have to come around the downed aircraft, most likely avoiding the menacing chain gun.
The tail of the aircraft still smoked from the RPG round impact, and provided limited cover. She moved down the aircraft, to get the jump on the group, their numbers unknown to her. She could hear their second-hand boots crunching on the sandy gravel. Heart rate increasing, eyes squinting through the smoke.
Three rifles poked through the haze, their owners looked towards the cockpit. She shot all three at less than six feet away, moved backwards, to change position. A second wave of men came at her though the smoke, firing on her previous position, bullets ricocheted off the armour and buried themselves in the dirt. She fired again, hitting two in the chest and the third in the face, he screamed and ran at her, the next shot firing up through his mouth into his brain, th
e top of his head exploding. She could not hear the remaining force retreating, the gunfire still causing her ears to ring, and then the familiar and welcome chopping sound of another Apache. She covered her ears, just as its chain gun spread fire and death throughout the remaining insurgents.
She returned to her co-pilot who was unconscious, holstered her weapon and dragged him out of the cockpit, using all her adrenaline to pick him up and carry him towards the waiting Humvee. The Marines on board obviously impressed. As she left the area, the explosion as her Apache was destroyed by her sister ship rattled the side panels of the vehicle. The US Army left nothing behind for scavengers.
‘You okay Ma’am?’
‘Yeah fine, just another day at the office right?’
‘Where to?’
‘This was my last patrol, due to fly home tomorrow.’
‘Saw what you did there. They say marines come in two breeds, Rottweiler’s or Dobermans, big and mean, or skinny and mean. I think you would be a Doberman if you were a Marine, and not just an Army pilot.’
‘You complimenting me Marine?’
‘Yes Ma’am. That a Texas accent?’
‘Yeah, I’m from Fort Worth, you?’
‘Dallas, but haven’t seen it in months, I miss the sun and dirt without the bullets.’
‘Me too Marine. Me too.’
Katherine’s reminiscing was broken by an image coming up on her monitor as the computer interpreted the masses of data. It was only a rough first image, but Katherine clearly recognized a perfect circle, submerged underneath a lake.
SIX
Katherine did not want to inform base camp by radio of her find, the data needed to be double checked, she did not want to be humiliated again, after all, ‘You are only a pilot’ as Laurent had once commented during one of his infamous rages. Katherine would have punched him out given half a chance; instead she went back to her plane and flew. It always calmed her, above and away from the dirt. Her readings from her Geovisualization equipment and Magnetometer were conclusive. She could not wait to return and show Laurent she was more than just a pilot.
Between Katherine landing on the makeshift airstrip on the farmland near the mouth of the Cayapas River and travelling the short distance by canoe to the base camp, it had become dark. The insects hunting, always out between five and seven, mainly for her she felt, the insect repellent did not put the bugs off attempting an easy meal of her fair skin.
The camp was simple but effective, all structures raised on stilts to deal with the changing water levels, and to keep them safe, plastic bin lids attempting to reduce the snake intrusions from below. Laurent was in his hut reviewing the day’s finds, Katherine secured the canoe, climbed the ladder to the walkway. She did not call Laurent, but went over to the many research assistants drinking beer on the walkway next to the kitchen.
‘I have found something, I think, and I want you to look over it first.’
The group was unusually silent. The youngest and most precocious Evelyn spoke first, ‘Would you not want Mr. Laurent to review your find first?’
Katherine smiled, ‘And if I a mere pilot were wrong I would never hear the end of it, so could you?’
Katherine’s no nonsense approach, and good nature won over most people she met, it had served her well in the male dominated pilot environment.
The group led by Evelyn moved to a large monitor, Katherine handed over a portable hard drive. Seamlessly and with well-practiced finesse, Evelyn ran the readings and images through their software, and she began to smile after only a few minutes.
‘What Evelyn? What is it?’
‘You are right it is something, and I really want to see the look on Laurent’s face.’
‘But it is just an impact crater; I have found them before, but never with a magnetic source at the centre.’
‘Well you are right, and wrong.’
‘NO CHANGE THERE THEN!’ booming French sarcasm echoing across the camp, Laurent was coming to investigate the gathering.
‘Hi Christophe, I was just checking something I found with Evelyn‘, Katherine’s tone was almost apologetic.
‘And what ‘ave you found my sweet?’
Evelyn paused for effect, ‘She has found this,’ standing back to reveal the display on screen.
Laurent was respectfully silent, Katherine was staring at Evelyn her sapphire blue eyes trying to ask her silently what she had really found. Evelyn then stated clearly for Laurent and Katherine’s benefit, ‘She has found a man-made structure, one mile in diameter, perfectly circular, with a magnetic field at the centre. The scans show the wall of the structure is over one hundred fifty feet high, and the centre of it is full of water.’
The whole camp exploded with congratulations and celebrations, Katherine was engulfed by the moment, forgetting about Laurent, who was still staring at the screen.
‘My sweet, you did well, we came looking for a ship, and you may have found a city, I am envious, most envious.’
He hugged her, pushed her auburn hair aside and placed his face by her neck. Unseen by Katherine, he glared at the perfect stone crater staring back from the jungle.
SEVEN
Off the coast of Canada
Jacob trusted Jean; he had flown with him in the Arctic while he was on board the Polar Queen research vessel. His skills as a pilot were the best in the world. Sitting in the back of the Sea King was Tom, the reliable ex-coastguard winch man.
The unearthly blue hue of the compacted ice against the darkness of the foreboding Atlantic was staggering. Jacob was reviewing the footage received from the Sea Eagle, and comparing it to the live feed from the camera on the helicopter to see if the iceberg had changed orientation.
‘Can you get us in closer Jean?’
‘Yes but not over it, the updrafts on the sides are quite strong.’
‘What about landing on it?’
‘That depends, you staying hooked up to the chopper?’
‘No too difficult to work, just act as if I’m ice climbing.’
‘Ice axe and pitons plus luck?’
‘Yep, just that.’
‘Jacob my friend, you are madder than me, strapping yourself to an iceberg, but if you are sure, let’s do it.’
Within five minutes Jacob was ready to go, a survival suit was impractical to climb in and his boots would not fit, he just could not fall in the water.
‘Nice boots Jacob’ Tom always liked shoes, caused the crew some jokes over the years.
‘They are Koflach boots, never let me down.’
‘Koflach where from?’
‘Austria made since 1898, so I guess they know boots.’
Jean butted into their conversation, ‘Don’t be long Jacob, winds changing; it will be dark in an hour.’
‘Yes Mum.’
This was a dangerous stunt; Jacob knew it, the North Atlantic, on an iceberg, an hour before dark. The prize was his motivation. This ship should not be here, he had never heard of an intact ship in ice, even steel hulled ships were crushed by the infinite power of moving ice. He doubted that the rest of the ship was as preserved as the exposed hull, it probably only survived as it was outside the ice, and the low sea temperature stopped it deteriorating.
Jean cautiously circled the berg getting a feel for the updrafts, the size of the ice creating its own miniature wind currents and these could push the aircraft into the ice walls. Jean agreed that the hull was at the top of the berg which gave them the best clearance, Jacob had seen a missing section, and decided that would be the best place for quick access to the interior. Jacob moved to the rear compartment, clipped his harness onto the winch, and opened the door, a rush of ice cold wind hit his face, reddened his cheeks immediately. He swung out, the cable taking his weight, dangling above the ice beast one hundred feet below. The sea was caressing the sides of the berg, and the spray was clearly visible, even from this altitude. He had turned on his communications gear, and a familiar young voice came through barely audible above the r
otors only feet from Jacob’s head.
Jacob could not answer, as the downdraft would suppress anything he said to Eli on the headset.
He signalled to Tom to lower him, the cable playing out, bringing the ice behemoth closer. The hull of the ship was more damaged than he realised.
His feet hit the wood, a dull thud through his knees. He waved to Tom, detached the cable, the helicopter moved away from the berg and hovered at a safe distance, ready to retrieve Jacob.
The hull was devoid of barnacles, the ice probably scrapped them off some time ago. Jacob crouched, tried to counter the motion of the berg below him. The damaged section of hull was a few feet ahead. He tentatively grappled his way up and peered into the hole, the lights on his helmet illuminating a few feet. Eli came over the headset, ‘Pictures are coming through clear, but the wind is causing issues with the sound.’
‘Understood Eli, are you recording this?’
‘Yes sir.’
On the side of Jacob’s helmet a small but durable camera, encased in plastic, and linked to a power pack on his belt. It was transmitting back to Eli at the hangar in Canada. Jacob always liked to record everything; in case they missed something at the time.
Below him in the dark gutted belly of the ship was flotsam, debris, nothing clearly identifiable. He ventured inside, unsure of his footing, some water swilling around, about a foot deep. He picked up a piece of wood, and used it to probe the water, not wishing to discover a hidden hole which could lead right through to the heart of the berg. He cautiously edged towards a heavy set of double doors at what may have been the stern. The area he was in was about twenty feet across, nine feet high, spacious for a British or American vessel; they were notoriously confined below decks. Any identifying marks in this area were long since destroyed. The doors however had some kind of metal on them, heavily corroded. The door was shut tight and no manner of pulling or pushing could move them, he looked for any other entrance and found none.