The Sam Reilly Collection Volume 2

by Christopher Cartwright

  Tom shook her hand. She removed her sunglasses, revealing startling purple eyes. Clearly she wore contacts, but still it had taken him by surprise. “It’s nice to finally put a face to your name, Elise.”

  “Pleased to finally meet you too, Tom. Between the two of us, we seem to keep Sam alive, despite his apparent indifference to it.”

  She was much younger than Tom had imagined her. Sam had never mentioned that she was still in her early twenties.

  Sam looked at them both and said, “So that leaves Genevieve. Our three-hatted French chef. Tell her what you like and she’ll make certain you have it. Also, if you need any help with anything around the ship, she’s your general go to person.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “Do you need anything before we get started?” Sam asked.

  “I’ll have a glass of water with ice. Then I’m happy to help find you anything you want to know. About anything anywhere in the world – current or old.”

  “Great. Did you get the video clip?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah, simple.” She smiled confidently. “Child’s play. You want to watch it now?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Sam sat down at the head of the mission room table. Elise sat on the corner opposite to him and set up her laptop and connected it to the overhead projector.

  “This is the video recording from the live-streaming camera mounted on the satellite dish of the Mirabelle, giving it ample view of the deck right through to the horizon.”

  At first there was little to see. After all, the ship was a marvel of modern engineering and probably considered ghoulish to the traditional sailor. There were no intricately woven ropes, winches, or even canvas sails. Instead there were four massive masts with matching carbon fiber sails.

  Sam ignored the yacht out of instinct and studied the sea instead. It appeared mild, with a following swell. Apart from the brilliantly lit phosphorescence there was nothing spectacular about the image. A man casually walked up to the bow and stood there for a while, just watching the sea. He looked mesmerized by the beauty of the water.

  “That’s Luke Eldridge – the person who dragged us into this in the first place.”

  Tom nodded his head.

  Elise slowed the video clip. “Okay, here it comes gentlemen.”

  The green phosphorescent sea appeared to flow away from the bow of the yacht. Like a tsunami, something was drawing all that water. Luke was slow to notice, and then turned and ran back. He then opened up a secure door and closed it behind him.

  In the horizon, the wall of green water raised up, like a ghostly apparition.

  “That’s more than a hundred feet!” Sam said.

  A split second later, the wave reached the yacht. Then, microsecond by microsecond, the ship was disintegrated. The Mirabelle never even tried to ride the wave. Despite her unique blend of carbon fiber and advanced materials, her hull was simply obliterated by the wave.

  And then the video clip ceased.

  “No one could have ever survived that sort of accident,” Tom said.

  Sam was the only person who appeared unaffected by the destructive force of the wave. In a room full of people who’d made their life’s ambition and goals on the sea, and knew firsthand how dangerous a rogue wave could be, it was hard to imagine why he of all people, was so disinterested in the wave. “Elise, can you play the last bit of that again. Only, this time, can you focus in on Luke?”

  “Sure. Why?” she replied.

  “There’s something strange about his face. Almost as though he knew we would be watching this.” Sam grinned. Surprised by what he spotted. “Just have a look.”

  “No worries. You’re the boss.” Elise pressed play.

  This time the clip focused entirely on Luke’s face. Behind the protective glass bubble, his eyes were wide with terror. But there was something else too.

  “Pause it there,” Sam said.

  Luke’s face was drawn into a rigid contour. Despite his confidence as he faced certain death, there was something else. His lips were curled upwards.

  “What’s he got to look happy about?” Tom was the first to see it.

  “It’s more than happy. I’ve seen that look before. That man’s proud of something. He almost looks as though he achieved it! Whatever the hell it is.” Sam nodded at Elise, “All right, let’s continue.”

  Luke’s head stared at the wave, and in the split seconds before the Mirabelle disappeared completely, something else happened.

  “Anyone else notice our friend just got shorter?” Sam asked.

  No one said anything.

  Elise replayed the clip again. Single frame at a time. It was now obvious. The man was either shrinking or his security pod was sinking. In the final frame before the camera was destroyed, you could no longer see Luke’s head.

  Tom tapped his pen on a piece of paper in front of him. “So, you think Luke might have survived? Is it possible the security capsule was a single man submersible that shot downwards like an ejector seat in a plane?”

  Sam grinned. “I’m saying, Luke might not be the victim after all.”

  Chapter Twenty One

  The tiny submarine bobbed on the surface of the water. Its dome-shaped glass bubble was open. The sole occupant sat with his feet half inside and half out as he stared at the sight of land on the horizon. Behind his unshaven face and unkempt hair, a smile formed. He’d seen it, like a mirage, for the past forty-eight hours. Each time the tide took him almost close enough to swim, it would change and drag him back out to sea. Now he was finally getting close enough that he might just make it if he tried to swim.

  Designed as a safety device for use in a severe storm, the submarine had automatically broken away from the main ship and sunk to thirty feet, where it could stabilize itself despite the rogue wave. Luke Eldridge had then maneuvered the little submersible away from the remains of the Mirabelle in case THEY had come looking for him. His vessel was powered by a small electric motor. It was enough to adjust his depth and move several miles, but there was nowhere near enough battery life to reach the shore.

  Luke had carefully examined the currents and positioned himself to increase the likelihood of reaching the American mainland. He could have just surfaced and contacted his on-shore support using his satellite phone. But he figured that once someone has attempted to kill you, it is best to let them continue to believe you’re already dead.

  At least until he’d learned who his enemies really were and was in a position to deal with them. So, instead, he had bided his time, living off emergency rations, until the currents had taken him close enough to reach the shore.

  Afraid that the swift and powerful gulfstream was going to tear him further away from the coast of Florida, Luke had wasted the submersible’s remaining energy supply. Now he was close. Two days ago, with a strong easterly wind, he was certain he was going to reach land. Then, at the change of tide, he was sucked further out again.

  But now he was within reach of landfall.

  By midday he was close enough to swim to the shore. He picked up his waterproof duffel bag, which housed his satellite smartphone and a clean set of clothes. He manually opened the water intake valves and the sub slowly returned to its neutrally buoyant position once more. It took nearly twenty minutes before the hatch was swamped by seawater and then the entire vessel disappeared under the water and sank like a stone. He couldn’t afford the risk of someone else finding the submarine washed up on the shore. It wouldn’t take long for them to make the natural connection – he was still alive.

  Clutching his duffel bag in front of him with both hands, like a flotation device, Luke swam towards the shore. Ordinarily, it would have been an easy swim, but the days of confinement within the miniature submersible had made his otherwise strong muscles of his arms and legs atrophy. He’d misjudged the strength of the outgoing current just before the breakers.

  Luke forced himself to breathe and swim across the rip. Rips are usually formed by a deeper channel
carved in the sand by the outward flow of water returning from the beach. Most people drown trying to fight directly against it, whereas the best way to handle a rip is a relatively easy swim across the current.

  He wasn’t afraid of drowning. Luke’s concern was more that in his weakened state, he might not have the stamina to ever reach the shore.

  Holding onto his flotation device, he kicked as hard and as much as possible. Within two to three minutes he’d crossed the rip and settled on the calm side of the current. With his head just above water, the sandy beach now appeared very distant.

  Gritting his teeth, he began the long, slow, swim to shore. Timing himself, he kicked for ten minutes and then rested for one minute. By the end of the third rotation, his bag caught a breaking wave. Gripping its handle as he was dragged under, Luke rode the mesh of whitewash all the way to the beach.

  He then looked up at the sky. Wondered if THEY were watching him. Luke forced himself to walk up on to the dry sand. Where he promptly collapsed with relief.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Luke unzipped the waterproof bag.

  He removed the cash and fresh clothes stored inside. Took out a single brass sextant – sentimental antiquity more than real value. He burned his ID, credit cards and smartphone – the only three records of his survival. And then replaced the items of value in the duffle bag. He’d already disconnected his satellite phone. THEY would be watching it. If they were that powerful, they would reach his phone lines.

  Luke sighed.

  He had a long way to go. He walked to the end of the beach, and flagged down the first car he saw. It was a BMW. The driver ignored him and kept going. Twenty minutes later another car approached. A green Volkswagen Kombi Van. Luke raised his thumb and the driver pulled over to stop next to him.

  “You want a lift?” The driver asked. He looked like he’d just been for a surf. He wore board shorts and no shirt. His long blond hair hung over his shoulders. Next to him, a sporty blonde girl still wore her bikini.

  “I’d love one.” Luke smiled his most ingratiating smile.

  “Jump in.”

  Luke opened the passenger side door. The girl shuffled into the middle seat so that he had room to sit. The entire back of the van had been converted into some sort of sleeping arrangement.

  “I’m Veronika and this Kristof,” the blonde girl said in a thick German accent.

  Luke offered his hand. “My name’s Ryan. Thanks for helping me out.”

  “Where are you headed?” Kristof asked.

  “Anywhere in town would be much appreciated. I’m heading over to the West Coast tomorrow by bus.”

  Kristof admired his small waterproof duffle bag. “You travel light. Do you need to pick up anything else?”

  “No. This is it.” Luke smiled at the young German couple. He had an honest smile and a deeply formed cleft chin that gave him the appearance of a model or movie star. The sort of person people tended to trust for no apparent reason.

  “This is your lucky day. We’re about to head west. We’ve got to meet up with some friends in California in a few days’ time, so this is going to be a pretty quick trip. We’re happy to take you, if you want to come along for the ride?”

  Luke smiled again. It was his lucky day. “That would be great.”

  Chapter Twenty Three

  They drove for two days along Interstate 10. Driving hard, the three of them took it in turns to drive. Veronika played the guitar and the three of them sang old classic rock songs and smoked weed.

  By the time they reached California the three had become good friends. Albeit based primarily on illegal drug use and old rock and roll. They’d travelled some three thousand miles together in a small van. It brings people together.

  Kristof looked at him as they entered the southern tip of California. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve got business in Los Angeles,” Luke said.

  “Really, you don’t look like someone who’s traveling for business?”

  Luke stared at the young man. Despite his sixties flashback appearance, he was an intelligent man. A computer engineer from Berlin. There’s only so much you can fool an engineer. Kristof offered him another lit roll. Luke took it and breathed deep. “I made a mistake.”

  “What sort of mistake?”

  “We were offered a lot of money for something we’d created. My business partner thought it was a good deal and accepted it, while I refused. Apparently the price of refusal was death. They tried to kill me and came very close to doing just that.”

  “Wow, someone’s hunting you?” Kristof turned from the steering wheel to look at him.

  “Watch the road. No one’s looking for me. They already think I’m dead.”

  “Sweet. So what do you need in California?”

  Luke took a deep suck on the hippy’s weed to relax himself before he spoke. “I need to pick up something.”

  “Okay, cool. We’ll help you out. Where is it?”

  “It’s in a place called Death Valley.”

  Chapter Twenty Four

  They drove the small Kombi van into the entrance to Death Valley National Park. It was the hottest and driest place in North America. Luke climbed out. “Thanks for the lift,” he said politely, closing the door to the car.

  Kristof stared at him like he had a death wish. “Are you going to be all right out here? You’re a long way from anything.”

  Luke nodded his head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be back by tomorrow morning.”

  “We’ll be here.”

  “Thanks.”

  With his duffle bag thrown over his shoulders like a backpack, a big Texan hat and little else, Luke walked into the desert. He started climbing the sand dunes that looked like the never ending swell of the oceans, and continued all the way to the horizon.

  He walked for hours upon hours.

  At the top of a ridge, he took the sextant out of his duffle bag and took a reading of the sun. The sextant was broken, out by five degrees. The thing had always been that way as far as he could tell.

  It had only served to make his treasure cache more secure.

  Anyone could find “X marks the spot” using a GPS. But very few people could work it out based on the coordinates of an old sextant, especially one that was out by five degrees.

  He took the reading. Grinned. He was getting close. He would still reach it by nightfall. He climbed another dune, followed by another and then stopped. Luke took a final reading – and then commenced digging.

  Ravenously, he dug into the sand, as though he might just find water. He dug deeper and deeper, until, his shovel struck metal.

  He stopped.

  Smiling, he carefully removed the sand on top and then pried the box free from the earth. Luke struck the rusted lock with the edge of his shovel. Sparks flew for an instant, and the lock broke free. He quickly opened it.

  Inside, a cool million in cash was packaged in neat bundles of hundred dollar notes. Next to it a magnum 44 with several rounds of cartridges. Last, and most precious amongst his hoard of treasure, in a small bundle of notes was his new identity. A passport and driver’s license. Years ago, he’d paid a man who worked for the DMV to scour their records for a man who matched his facial appearance, someone who was currently single and desperate.

  Ryan Thomas had met those criteria.

  He also desperately needed money to pay medical bills for a rare type of cancer that would most likely bankrupt him before it killed him. Luke had met with the unfortunate man, and offered to pay for all his medical expenses, on the proviso that once he died, Luke could have his identity.

  Luke examined the passport photo. It was uncanny their resemblance. They could have easily been twins. He smiled. Luke Eldridge was now a dead man.

  He was now Ryan Thomas. A dead man with a secret. One that a federation of powerful people around the world, including politicians, had killed to maintain. Luke had only one name on the list of people responsible for the attack on him. But it w
asn’t hard to imagine who had the most to lose with his discovery. He had one of the brightest minds on earth, cash, and a new life. Somehow, he would find out exactly who was behind the offer.

  He grinned.

  And then THEY were going to discover that some dead men do more than talk.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  The constant hum of the Maria Helena’s powerful twin diesel engines reduced to an idle. Sam looked at the spectacular azure water surrounding the Bimini Islands. Like a jewel in the Gulf Stream, few islands held the imagination of so many for so long. Legends – the Bimini Islands manufactured them like a magic factory. All of the great ones were tied up in there somehow. The Fountain of Youth, the Ruins of Atlantis, Megalithic Stones. It was all there.

  And it had all been disproved.

  Sam stared at the sparkling waters. The fountain of youth turned out to have high levels of lithium providing people with a natural mood elevator. As for Atlantis, Sam had already been to the Temple of Poseidon, and this wasn’t it. Extensive geological studies and mineral analysis of the Megalithic Stones showed them to be natural, albeit unique, limestone formations.

  But Sam knew a strange fact about legends. Sometimes they’re based on an ounce of truth. Often a minor detail, or a hidden truth. The Antiqui Nautae were that truth. He didn’t even know why he believed it so much, but he was going to prove it.

  Sam walked down to the Maria Helena’s moon pool. He quickly attached his single dive tank to his buoyancy control device – BCD for short. Turned the regulator open and rotated it back half a click to stop the seal from catching. He picked up the dive computer and confirmed 210 BAR of air pressure. It would be a shallow dive. Less than fifteen feet. No need for twin tanks.

  Tom finished his own check. “For once you’ve taken me to a pristine place to have a recreational dive. Are you ready?”

  Sam slipped his arms through the BCD and locked the Velcro straps. “Pick us up here in around an hour, Matthew.”