The next image to flash up was a brigantine. The ship had two masts and looked graceful with its British flag fluttering off the stern.
“Eventually, we get to the nineteenth century, and the cases begin to be documented more properly. This here is the Mary Celeste.”
Kate was taken aback. She knew the name of this ship.
“This is possibly the most famous ghost ship. Arthur Conan Doyle wrote a short story about it. On the fifth of November in 1872, she sets sail from New York with a crew of seven. Captain Briggs is accompanied by his wife and their two-year-old daughter. Seemingly, the voyage begins without a hitch. Yet, a month later, another ship called the Dei Gratia finds the Celeste in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean under full sail. The captain of the Dei Gratia becomes suspicious when, after two hours of observation, nobody appears on deck. Thus, he decides to send a crew out to investigate. They find that, despite the ship being in full working order and missing none of its original cargo, nobody is on board. The last entry made in the logbook is from a week prior, yet they find a hot meal on the table, just like on the Valkyrie.”
A wave of murmurs swirled around the table. Cherenkov was nodding and looking serious. Feldman took the opportunity to go to his next slide. It was another ship, this time a photograph.
“February 28, 1855. The James B. Chester is found adrift in the middle of the Atlantic with all of its cargo intact and fully seaworthy. Only the compass and the ship’s log are missing. The crew’s belongings are piled at the base of the masts. No life rafts are missing, and there are no signs of violence. Its crew is never heard from again.”
A new picture. This time, a steamship.
“Bahamas, 1905. A little more than thirty years before the incident of the Valkyrie. A merchant ship called Rossini is found sailing adrift with its boilers off and no one on board. Its cargo of wines, fruits, and silk is untouched. The only things alive are the cat, a handful of chickens, and a pair of starving canaries. The ship had been derelict for nearly two weeks.”
A new image flashed up of another smaller cargo ship.
“An even more striking anomaly crops up just a few years before that incident. The ship you see here on-screen is the Ellen Austin. She’s sailing near where they found the Valkyrie when she came across a three-masted schooner. Captain Weyland of the Ellen Austin sends a search crew out to investigate the schooner. They find no one alive on board, and yet the ship is unspoiled. Still, they are unable to locate the ship’s logbook, the captain’s log, or anything specifying the ship’s name or its place of origin.
“Forty-eight hours later, as they are sailing in tandem toward Gibraltar, a thick fog bank envelops both ships.” Feldman raised his eyes from his notes, and his tone became grim. “The Ellen Austin loses sight of the schooner. When they finally find her again, a day later, none of the replacement crew is on board. That anonymous ship was empty once again with no marks of violence or any trace of its occupants.”
With all eyes on him, Feldman went on.
“So Weyland decides to send out another search crew to board and operate the ship, which almost causes a mutiny aboard the Ellen Austin. The two ships continue sailing in tandem until, two hundred miles from Gibraltar, another terribly thick, cold fog envelops both ships. They lose sight of the schooner again, but this time it ends up being for good. When the fog dissipates, the ship without a name is nowhere in sight, and the crew who had been sent to sail her is never heard from again.”
The room was dead quiet. The only sounds came from the buzzing of the projector and Cherenkov’s heavy breathing.
“That can’t be,” said Carter with a touch of doubt in his voice. “I mean, that has to be fake, or a legend.”
“It’s all documented. The British Admiralty conducted an inquiry, and the insurance backed by Lloyds Bank was forced to pay substantial damages to the families of the missing sailors. There’s no doubt, Carter. It happened. What we still don’t know is why.”
Feldman turned to Cherenkov and made a gesture toward him. The Russian stood up and walked up to the podium, which the stately Feldman graciously relinquished.
“There have been more than thirty incidents in the past one hundred years,” Cherenkov rumbled. “They cannot be explained. I’m a physicist, and my field is electromagnetic radiation. I came across these incidents in 1972 when one of our Golf-class ballistic submarines, the K-94, disappeared for seventy-two hours and reappeared again with no crew on board. We managed to find it thanks to its emergency beacon, which was coming from nearly one thousand feet below the sea with its reactor at half power and all of its locks secured. Not one drop of salt water was found inside the submarine, and yet, of the eighty-three men aboard, officers and sailors, not a single one was found.”
Someone took a noisy sip of coffee. Cherenkov had the group hanging on his every word.
“The rescue operation was a true logistical marvel that, for obvious reasons, never became public.” Cherenkov sounded proud. “We were able to get back a nuclear submarine from the United States’ very own territory without anyone knowing. Not even the Americans.”
He pressed a button, and a diagram of electromagnetic waves appeared. To Kate, it might as well have been Chinese, but it still made for an arresting image. For the physicists in the room, however, the diagram proved extremely interesting. Most leaned forward and began to take notes.
“The data the submarine sent out right before its disappearance was extremely odd, but it indicated, more than anything, the existence of a strong electromagnetic disturbance. The instruments had gone wild, and it seems they lost electromechanical control of the nuclear reactor for a few moments. I spent the next twelve years studying that data, and my research led me to other similar cases like those described by Mr. Feldman. It hasn’t only happened to ships, either. It’s also occurred with planes.”
“Like the squadron of torpedo bombers that was lost in the Bermuda Triangle?” someone asked from the back of the room.
Cherenkov nodded patiently. His look of resignation indicated he had guessed the example might come up during the course of the conversation.
“Yes and no,” he answered. “This has nothing to do with the Bermuda Triangle or anything of that nature. Forget all about that. The Triangle, which isn’t even a triangle, is pseudoscientific garbage with no foundation. We’re not talking about aliens or Atlantis or any of that newfangled bullshit.”
The silence in the room at that moment was absolute.
“This is serious,” Cherenkov went on. “There are two types of movements in the water of the oceans. Surface movements, which are influenced by the wind, the temperature, and other factors related to climate. And then there are deep-water movements, largely governed by ocean currents. A difference in the movements of two currents can cause important differences in pressure and static that wind up generating powerful electromagnetic storms.”
“Like hurricanes,” said one of the meteorologists.
“Exactly, only much more intense and harsh. Whereas an atmospheric storm might last a few days—or say, a couple of weeks in the case of a hurricane—an underwater storm can last for months. Its movement is much slower, and the energy it emits is much stronger. Its electromagnetic field can be powerful enough to disturb ships sailing above.”
Cherenkov pressed another button. The odd-looking gadget Kate had noticed earlier sent out a beam of light, and as if by magic, a 3-D representation of the earth began revolving above the table. Gasps of awe came from the passengers. Kate was reminded of the image produced by the tape Princess Leia inserts into R2-D2 at the beginning of Star Wars. The technology had to be brand new. Clearly, Feldman had spared no costs.
“This is where the Valkyrie disappeared.” A bright-red dot lit up on the surface as the planet spun on its axis. “Here is where the submarine disappeared in 1972.” Another red dot appeared as soon as Cherenkov spoke. “These are the places where similar anomalies have occurred according to records from the past one hund
red years, like those cases Mr. Feldman discussed.”
Dozens of red dots began peppering the surface of the oceans as if the hologram were suffering a bad case of the chicken pox.
“Now for the most interesting point,” Cherenkov said like a magician about to perform a particularly difficult trick. “Take a look at this.”
The points on the projected image began to be joined by straight lines that crisscrossed the planet. The lines crossed and overlapped each other, covering the earth with an intricate framework, and Kate struggled to follow the logic in the chaos, like a child’s drawing. After some careful observation, though, Kate was amazed to realize there was a pattern, a game of lines repeating over and over but only crossing at the sites of the disappearances.
“That’s unbelievable,” she whispered.
Cherenkov heard her and turned to her, smiling.
“I’ve christened it the Cherenkov Singularity. Right now we are heading straight for one of those points where the Singularity exists. Soon, we’ll discover if I’m right or wrong.”
XXI
An explosion of shouting filled the complete silence that had swallowed the room in the wake of Cherenkov’s declaration. All at once, everyone was trying to say something or ask a question. The normally reserved scientists were suddenly acting like a hive of killer bees had been put in their trousers.
Feldman raised his hands and tried to bring order to the commotion. Everyone began to settle down, but the mood in the room couldn’t be contained. A current of pent-up energy buzzed throughout the group like a live wire. Everyone wanted to say something, and even the typically skeptical Carter looked excited. Each and every one of them saw scientific implications in the project that were beyond Kate’s understanding. Nevertheless, she was able to pick up on one thing for certain: the information was credible, and they thought Cherenkov might be onto something.
“We have only four days until we reach the Singularity, and we have no idea what might happen when we do. During that time, all of you will be able to study these documents,” Feldman said.
Senka began to walk around the room, placing a thick red dossier in front of each of the participants, with the exception of Kate.
“The evidence points to the fact that in every incident there have been climatological, electromagnetic, and other types of anomalies,” noted Feldman. “You will work in your assigned field and coordinate your efforts with Professor Cherenkov. He will be the lead on the scientific assessments. Miss Simovic will head up all organizational duties and will make any materials or equipment you might need available in the course of your investigations. Finally, everyone will ultimately answer to me.”
“We should have been told this beforehand,” Paxton said, shaking feverishly. “In my lab I have journals and studies that could have been helpful.”
“Do not worry about that,” replied Feldman. “It’s all been taken care of.”
Feldman turned to Senka, who switched on a bizarre-looking computer hard drive. It was a silver rectangular box the size of a briefcase and was connected to a keyboard and monitor.
“This computer is directly connected to Sonora, the data center located in Usher Manor. There are twenty people working there twenty-four hours a day. They are capable of gathering any information you might need. All of you will have access to a terminal for as long as you need in the Gneisenau Room, where we met this morning. Senka, if you don’t mind.”
Senka pushed a series of keys, and the screen lit up with a string of numbers. Then, the screen blinked and a beautiful young woman flashed on-screen. She was twenty-something with brown hair down to her shoulders, dark eyes, and a contemplative expression on her face. She was in an office crowded with computers and screens. Behind her, people were bustling about, carrying papers, books, and boxes.
“Good evening, Anne,” Feldman said. “I’d like to introduce everyone to Anne Medine, coordinator of the Documentation Division at Usher Manor. Any information you need can be requested from Anne. Any experiment you would like to perform that cannot be performed aboard the ship can be entrusted to her. Anne and her team will be our eyes and ears on the ground.”
“Good evening to all of you,” answered Anne. Her voice came in clear and without any delay despite the fact they were thousands of miles apart. She was slightly taken aback at being in front of so many people even though it was from such a distance. Obviously, she was not used to public speaking.
Anne started to explain the procedures for requesting experiments and analyses that could be sent through their own satellite network. Kate almost choked when she heard “own satellite network.” It explained the plethora of antennas that occupied the flower beds at Usher Manor. Kate suspected that Feldman was stretching his pocketbook to the limit with this project. Perhaps even enough for the Treasury Department to flag his account.
Discreetly, Feldman got up from the table. He seemed somewhat fatigued after the presentation, but Kate was not about to let him leave. He walked away, supported by Senka, revealing just how exhausted he was. A pair of dark rings framed his hawkish eyes, which looked duller than before. It occurred to Kate that Feldman was paying a higher price than anyone else by making this voyage on the Valkyrie.
But she could not let him go without some answers. She got up from the table and ran after him as he and Senka were exiting the dance hall through a door leading out to the deck.
“Feldman,” she shouted. A strong wind kicked up, and a layer of clouds lined the sky, obscuring the stars from sight.
Feldman turned around and looked at her with tired eyes, though something in them twinkled. Regret, perhaps? Senka stepped between them, but Feldman brushed her aside.
“Kate Kilroy,” he said her name slowly as if he was relishing it. “The woman who always knows the right questions to ask. I suppose there’s something you’d like to know?”
“Just the truth, Feldman,” answered Kate. “Tell me what really happened to the support ship. And at Carroll’s house. I know that was no accident.”
Feldman leaned against the railing and sighed. He motioned her over. Senka watched them warily, but Feldman signaled her to leave the two of them alone. Reluctantly, she walked away, but not without casting a dubious look at them.
Kate sat down on a wicker chair and waited for Feldman to do the same. He took a small tin from his pocket and offered up a cigarette, which she declined. Feldman shrugged and fought against the wind to light his. When he finally managed to do so, he took a few drags while he arranged his thoughts.
“I’m not the only one who’s been looking for the Valkyrie,” he began. “I didn’t know its location until a few years ago when I discovered the Royal Navy’s warehouse, where the majority of the ship’s furniture was stored. When I made my bid, I found out there was a company offering a huge sum for the whole lot. I assumed they were antique collectors or something along those lines. But when the bid surpassed market price, I realized they were looking for something more. Maybe the same thing I was.” He took a long drag and looked out at the dark ocean. “The company was a partnership with headquarters in the Cayman Islands. I had them investigated, and the trail led us to three or four more companies, all of them located in fiscal havens. Whoever they were, they had a lot of money and were dead set against anyone finding out their true identity.”
“But you managed,” guessed Kate.
Feldman nodded. “It wasn’t easy. It required a considerable effort and a great deal of money, but it paid off. The trail ended at a Swiss firm with a German name: Wolf und Klee. Does that ring any bells?”
“I heard the name in Liverpool,” she answered. “Collins said they had vied to make off with the Valkyrie. Who are they?”
“Wolf. Und. Klee.” Feldman uttered the words slowly, almost spelling out each sound. “The wolf and clover. I didn’t have the faintest notion of who they were when I heard it the first time. It took my people several months to trace them down. Have you ever heard of Werwolf?”
&n
bsp; “I don’t think so.”
“In 1944, it was quite apparent that Germany was going to lose the war and that the Allies would invade the Reich. SS Obergruppenführer Hans Prützmann was charged with organizing a clandestine group that would operate behind Allied enemy lines. Its mission would be to carry out covert acts of sabotage and assassinations. Nearly five thousand men were chosen for the task. Some of them were grizzled veterans of the SS. But most were just kids from the Hitler Youth, kids barely capable of picking up a rifle.
“Werwolf was a failure from the beginning. They were disorganized and lacked material goods. Germany was simply stretched too thin by the war to sustain a clandestine movement of that magnitude. They managed to assassinate a few Allied officials and blow up a couple of bridges, but that was about it.” Feldman wrapped his jacket around him to ward off the cold. “Nearly all of them were arrested or deserted, especially the youngest ones, by the time the war was over. Peace is much more enticing when compared to the possibility of an ugly, insignificant death in a dark alley somewhere.”
Senka poked her head out to check on them. She was carrying two cups of steaming coffee, which they accepted with a nod of appreciation. Feldman waited for Senka to return inside before he continued his story.
“One sect of Werwolf never disbanded, though,” he said after taking a long sip of coffee. “The hard-core, most fanatical members refused to give up. But they weren’t dumb. If they had been, they wouldn’t have survived. They knew the world was changing and that guerrilla action was no longer possible. So they changed their tactics. No longer did they worry about saving the Third Reich, which died at the end of the war. Instead, they focused on saving everything they could for the seeds of a future Fourth Reich. They became the guardians of the Nazi legacy.”
“So Werwolf became Wolf und Klee,” Kate deduced.
Feldman nodded. “The wolf and clover,” he whispered. “The Prützmann family crest was turned into the new organization’s logo. As the years passed, they placed their members in key positions in the German government. The de-Nazification of Germany was quite superficial, and many top officials went on with their lives. In those times, the Soviet threat had become much more pressing.”
The Last Passenger Page 13