by John Hunt
“How about you?” Isaac said, looking at the other man.
“Naw, I don’t trust Jack Gaimey as a pilot, and if he crashes, I want to be sober enough to kill him.” This man, Petur recognized, was one of the pilots who made frequent round trips between Paradise 1 and Hawaii to ferry supplies and resort guests to and fro. He and Jack Gaimey had become fast friends.
Joseph walked along the tree line at the back of the beach; Petur plopped down in the soft striped sand next to Isaac. It was warm, but the sun had just slipped behind a cloud, which would allow the sea breeze to dry the perspiration from his face. He took another large gulp of beer. He would later regret this, when he struggled up the slope back to the ridge path and on to finish the Hash. But for now, he would enjoy this beer break completely. He lay down, closed his eyes and breathed deeply the wonderful fresh salt air.
After a time, he looked over at Joseph, who seemed to be staring into the vegetation at the back of the beach. He had a puzzled expression on his face, so Petur pulled himself up and walked over to him. “What’s up?”
Joseph wrinkled his forehead and said, “Look there. That is amazing!” He was pointing into the waist-high grasses that lay between the beach and the tree line.
Petur examined the area critically. It did not seem unusual. These high grasses frequently lined beaches on Paradise. Several trees stood in the grass, with groups of fruits dangling from the branches. Two small yellow birds perched upon one of the tree’s branches, occasionally nibbling on the fruit.
“What are you getting at, Joseph?”
“That is a species of mulberries, Petur.”
“Well, that’s exciting,” the younger man said sarcastically. “So, why is that such a thrill?”
“Have you seen any other mulberries of any sort in these islands?”
Petur stared at the unusual fruits hanging from the branches. “No, although I can’t say I’ve been on the lookout for them.”
Joseph scratched his head. “Well, I have been, but I had come to the conclusion that they weren’t here.” He called to Isaac near the helicopter, “Isaac! I thought you once told me there were no mulberries in Paradise. Look here!”
Isaac rose from the soft sand and quickly sauntered over. He peered into the grass, and rubbed his eyes. “Yep! They are definitely mulberry. Most interesting!”
Petur was half bored, but half curious. Why did Joseph care about a stupid tree? The man seemed to be about ready to jump out of his underwear with excitement over silly shrubbery. Perhaps he could blame this on the professor’s erudition.
“Do you have any idea what this means, Isaac? Any idea at all?” Onbacher was giddy.
Isaac was grinning broadly. “I certainly do. It means you have a lot of work to do, my friend. A lot of work.”
Feigning patience, Petur said quietly, “Please excuse my ignorance, but why is this so important?”
Isaac and Joseph looked at each other, laughing. Then Onbacher patted Petur powerfully in the center of his back — so hard that Petur nearly lost his footing.
“Mulberry is Breadfruit, my dear man. Breadfruit!”
Onbacher nodded his head with glee.
“The Bounty was here, Petur!”
14. Rekindling the Fire
MONTHS HAD PASSED since Jeff had awoken in the Swiss hospital. And it was months since he had seen the beautiful Russian girl, Tanya.
He was on his first walk along the boardwalk since his return. It was another beautiful day in San Diego, and unlike so many times in the past — when he had taken this for granted — Jeff appreciated every moment.
He breathed deeply the clean air. He exhaled slowly through his nostrils and breathed in again. He luxuriated in the smell of the seaweed on the beach, the scent of the wave-pulverized sand, and the freshly cut grass on the narrow strip of lawn between the boardwalk and the beachfront homes. Life was precious now.
One more deep breath. But this time, Jeff was paying attention not to the scents but to the feeling of the air as he pulled it into his body. His injured chest had healed well, although the scars were extensive. His lungs were the marvel however. Over half of his right lung had been blown out or surgically removed, yet he noticed no difference in how he breathed — at least while walking. When he ran, however, he could feel it.
Jeff had hoped that his breathlessness was because he lost muscle tone while at the hospital. However, he had been exercising daily, and although his stamina was better, he knew it would never be the same. The D.E.A., likewise, knew this. He had been offered what amounted to a desk job until he healed completely. But they knew he would never heal completely.
His recent brush with death had amplified his resolve and opened an opportunity. For some time now he had been deliberating his future in the organization, and now instead of quitting, he would soon have an early out with early retirement pay. Losing half of a lung to get such pay was not a fantastic deal, but it was certainly better than being dead and broke.
The sight of the porch on the house ahead prompted Jeff to smile. This was where he first met Sophia at a party he crashed over a year ago. He slipped into a happy daydream and did not notice the footsteps rapidly approaching from behind. He only pulled himself out of his dream and became aware of his environment once when the owner of those footsteps had been alongside of him for several hundred paces. He glanced at the person now walking beside him.
“Hi, Jeff!” Sophia beamed; her blonde hair gleamed in the light that reflected off the golden sands. “About time you perked up!”
He stopped in his tracks, briefly stunned, and then grinned broadly. He slowly reached out and embraced her, just as in his daydream a few moments before. Their kiss was long and passionate.
“My, you’re a sight for sore eyes! You are even more stunning than I remember!”
Sophia responded wryly, “You wouldn’t have to remember me if you stuck around more.” She held him close and hugged him tightly; there was no evidence that she noticed his wince as his chest rebelled against the pressure.
After a moment, she relaxed and looked into his eyes.
“Can you tell me where you’ve been all this time?”
Jeff smiled. “Let’s go have some coffee.”
The two walked hand-in-hand along the boardwalk — in silence — but intermittently one would gently squeeze the other’s fingers. It was enough communication for now. After a time, they found an open shop not far from the beach and settled in a quiet back table.
The waitress, small and perky in a short white skirt, moved beside the table. With a toothy grin she bent over the table, intentionally giving Jeff a view of her well-tanned cleavage.
“What’d ya like?” she said, looking intently at Jeff’s eyes.
Jeff did his best to pretend she was not flirting with him and looked over to Sophia with his eyebrow raised, with the intention of indicating to the waitress that she should ask Sophia first. However, when he saw Sophia grin widely and gently shake her head in amusement, Jeff turned back to the waitress and said, “One coffee, one tea, and however much of you is available.”
The waitress broadened her smile even further in satisfaction with the response she had elicited. She nodded, turned, and pranced off toward the front counter.
“You sure are a natural with the ladies, Jeff. Is that where you have been? Running around being chased by scantily clad young girls?”
“If you only knew.” He winked.
“C’mon, Jeff. You have to be able to tell me something. Where have you been for the past year and a half? I know what kind of work you are in, so it’s not like you have to keep it secret from me.”
“You might not believe me.”
“I would believe anything you told me. Can you tell me more?”
Jeff sighed and slouched downward in his chair. “It might bore you.”
“I live such an exciting life in the laboratory that I am sure I will be instantly drowned by ennui if you start regaling me with tales of your internat
ional journeys into espionage, or whatever secret job you have.”
Jeff eyed her sideways. “You know full well that I am not a spy.”
“Actually I don’t really know anything, except that you do undercover work. At least that is what you used to do.”
“Well, it seems that I may be getting out of that business. You see, I had been in Russia for about six months. Then I was in Switzerland for a time too. In a hospital there. And then in a rehab hospital here in the States.”
Sophia instantly looked concerned. “My God, Jeff! What happened to you?”
Jeff shook his head slightly, then looked up and told her, “I forgot to duck.”
The waitress sidled up to the table with the coffee and tea, halting the conversation for the moment. Jeff stayed quiet while she placed the sugar and creams on the table. But he didn’t start talking again when the waitress stepped away.
After a moment or two, Sophia said with a tone of exasperation, “You forgot to duck?” And then coyly, “I’ll make it worth your while if you tell me more! Are you in need of a massage, perhaps?”
“Well, that is a deal. I knew I had a price.”
Jeff no longer needed to be completely secretive. Without too many details, he told her about his run-in with the Russian mafia and how it ended with his mysterious transit to the Zurich hospital. She was still asking him questions as they got up and left the coffee house and started the walk back toward his home.
He had downplayed the nearly mortal nature of his injuries, and so it should not have been a surprise to him, when later that day, as he took off his shirt to claim his massage, Sophia let out a gasp. Jeff caught a glimpse of his severely scarred back in the mirror, and grinned sheepishly at Sophia.
“It really wasn’t all that bad.”
“It looks like you should have died.”
“I think I almost did.” Jeff then told her, “If I had taken the time to answer your call to me at the Moscow hotel, this might not have happened. I will make a note of this: I will always answer you immediately when you leave me a message.”
Sophia smiled, “Well I think that is a wonderful notion. I will hold you to it.” Her smile then turned to a slight questioning frown. “But I didn’t leave you a message at any Moscow hotel.”
Jeff nodded. “Of course not — there is no way you could have known where I was. My bosses in Washington got your message through to me though. How did you ever find them and convince them to contact me? In fact, what happened that you needed to contact me so urgently?”
Sophia shook her head and said, “Jeff. Nothing happened. I never talked to anybody in Washington about you. God knows I wanted to see you, but I knew better than to try. I left no messages.”
Things did not add up. For now, it was time for Sophia. He would think of nothing but her for the remainder of the afternoon. But, later, he would have to think this though.
Jeff enjoyed the ministrations of Sophia’s fingers. The massage was wonderful. Sophia began gently along his spine and worked outward to the sides. She carefully avoided the large scarred area on his back and side. She rubbed his neck and then his calves. Then he rolled over and she massaged his chest. Other than the wounds, she ignored no portion of his skin. As they had anticipated, the natural consequences of such sensual activities ensued.
Afterwards, as they lay in bed together, Sophia gently stroked Jeff’s hair.
“What are you going to do now? I mean, with your injury and all?”
Jeff was wondering about that too. But he laughed and said, “Well that’s easy … I know exactly what I am going to do now, with my injury and all.”
And with that, he gently and smoothly rolled back on top of her.
15. Death on the High Seas
IT LOOKED LIKE a projection from the side of a space battle cruiser in a science fiction movie. Standing seventy meters above the water, and more than another hundred below it, the shining cylinder reflected sunlight onto the water surrounding it, reinforcing its ethereal appearance with an otherworldly halo. On the top, spreading far beyond the edge of the cylinder like the brim of a hat rested a circular control center that assuredly looked like a flying saucer. If not for its almost imperceptible motion through the water, observers would think it was a tower planted firmly in the ocean floor. Nothing like this had existed in the world before now.
Captain Jerome Hahnemann peered aft from the starboard bridge wing of his 50-meter oceangoing tug, the Mary Brewer. He put his thumb and forefinger on his chin and tugged gently on the sharp tip of his silver Van Dyke beard. It was a beautiful and calm morning. Things were finally peaceful.
Wrapping around the heavy towing winches of his tug were twin 34-centimeter-circumference wire hawsers that splayed out in a gentle arc and disappeared into the water not far astern. Then, over a kilometer behind, they rose from the sea in the same gentle curve to two points about 10 meters above the waterline on the huge cylindrical tower. Watching the point where the enormous cables entered the water, one could determine the amount of tension on the rig with great accuracy. Slowly the hawsers would slacken — the middle sections sinking deeper into the brine — as the cylinder gained slightly on the tug. Then the Mary Brewer would take up the slack as her propellers gained footing in the water, and the hawsers would lift almost completely out of the sea, before their own weight pulled the great mass of the tower forward. The crescendo-decrescendo of the tug’s engines played in perfect synchrony to the rise and fall of the hawsers. It was hypnotic.
But it was not always so. Only fourteen days earlier the seas were torn by fifty-knot winds, and the tug bucked and brayed violently on the waves. It seemed as if the seething water struggled to rupture the leash and split the tower off from its master. For several hours, Captain Hahnemann thought that the water would succeed. Without his vast experience he would not have been able to guide the machine through the storm intact. He had cursed that tower, that enormous monstrosity they called an OTEC. He had nearly released it to float away free, which would have been the first time the Mary Brewer had ever lost a tow — and a first in his career as well — but the tug had struggled onward and they had managed to come through, but they were not unscathed.
The captain now gazed down at the great winches and marveled at his chief engineer’s skill. The port winch, which had been partially pried off its immense mounting by the repeated strains during the storm, had been re-secured with a network of thick steel bands that crisscrossed the deck and held down the massive metal plate at the base of the winch. The underside of the deck was equally decorated with a somewhat different array of metalwork, stabilizing the long steel bolts that anchored the winch.
He turned to look beyond the bow. Several white cumulus clouds lay ahead. Captain Hahnemann had sailed in the Pacific for years and knew that these clouds were markers for islands that lay below. Unlike the well-known significance of the clouds, the islands themselves were a mystery to him — nowhere near routine sea routes, and according to his most recent charts uninhabited. After seven weeks of slow travel, the tug and its charge finally approached their destination and Captain Hahnemann earnestly hoped that someone would be on the islands to receive their shipment.
Turning to his left, he strode through the hatch into the bridge of the Mary Brewer. He listened to the familiar hum of the electronics, smelled the pleasant aroma of the coffee that was always available, and noted the standard pattern of green lights on the consoles that indicated that all was well. These were the feelings of home. Indeed, this was the captain’s home. No place in the world made him more comfortable.
He pressed a button on the panel in front of him and called his radio room. His radioman answered immediately.
“Freeman,” Hahnemann said, “go ahead and contact Paradise 1. See if anyone is home.”
“Aye, sir,” the radioman said immediately.
Freeman was one of several ex-Navy men whom Captain Hahnemann had recruited — first for the Merchant Marine and then for his own tug
. He was never disappointed with these sailors.
The captain looked around his bridge. Tom Stouffer looked steadily through the windshield toward the clouds above the islands ahead.
“Wonderful sight, isn’t it, Tom? We are finally going to get there.”
The tall man, second in command of the Mary Brewer, turned toward the captain. “It appears so. I wouldn’t have believed it. To be honest, I thought we would either lose the tow or lose the tug back there.”
“Yes, I had the same concerns. I almost gave the order to loose the hawsers and let that giant silver phallus drift off to hell.”
“I think that would have made a lot of people very unhappy. I hear that thing is insured for two hundred million dollars.”
The captain knew that well. Prior to this voyage, the insurance underwriter sent agents to his office to mull through his books, analyze his safety record, and interview every member of the crew. No one had ever investigated him so thoroughly.
“Eighteen more hours and we’ll be on site,” Hahnemann said, although Stouffer knew this already. “Why don’t you go get some rest? I’ll take over here.”
Stouffer nodded and stepped off the bridge. Hahnemann watched him depart and then began his routine check of the bridge. They traveled at four knots. The compass indicated that they were on the planned course and the manually plotted lines on the chart confirmed precisely the location he expected to be. They had been moving steadily west and south. The depth plotter graphically displayed that they had just passed over a deep-water cliff. They were now above an abyss with more than two thousand fathoms under the keel.
They had plotted the course using the navigation techniques that had aided sailors for centuries. He had ensured that his officers could navigate superbly by the stars, the sextant, and dead reckoning. But they had entered the twenty-first century, and now they could use new stars to confirm their position. The new stars were stationary in the sky above and did not track across the sky with the moon and other stars. They were geosynchronous satellites that had been launched by the United States military, and they were part of the Global Positioning System.