“It’s your fault, Jill. I tried to get you to listen. It’s going to happen … happen soon. I want my family with me when it does. At least you, Jill. Now, sit down!”
At the last words, the kid shoved the gun in the guide’s face, and the shock sent her stumbling back a few steps until she melted into the group, which sat in stunned silence.
Terry thought about the guide’s reaction. The kid called her family, yet the guide seemed genuinely frightened, and that was a red flag. The kid had strong feelings for the guide, and yet she was afraid he would use the gun on her. Terry didn’t need his professional training to diagnose Kenny as unstable and potentially dangerous.
The group sat in silence, the only sound the collective deep breathing. Finally, the old lady spoke.
“Son,” she said, attracting his attention. “I’ve never heard of anyone hijacking a cave tour before. What is it that you want?”
“You won’t believe me! No one will believe me! My own sister won’t believe me.”
“I promise to listen to you and keep my mind open. Ask Hank, here,” the old woman said, indicating her husband. “He’ll tell you I’m a good listener. Have to be when you live with Hank for forty years.”
Hank smiled at his wife, but the kid with the gun didn’t.
“You won’t believe me, but if you want to know … I’m going to save you. At least I think I am.”
Nervous conversation spread through the crowd. The old woman ignored it and asked, “What is it that you think you’re saving us from?”
“He’s crazy,” the guide responded. “He’s hooked up with a bunch offtakes that think the sky is falling.”
Anxiety washed across the kid’s face, and he reddened. He looked away from the old woman to his sister, pain in his eyes. Then, with what could have been embarrassment, he said, “I’m saving you from the end of the world!”
4. Offshore
We were three days into the desert when the flood occurred. Great waves washed over our caravan. Three men and two camels of great value were lost. When the waters receded we were surrounded by a great number of fishes. The water was of no use because it tasted of salt.
—Abu al Assad, 1413
Off Naples, Florida
PreQuilt; Saturday, 1:35 P.M. EST
Ron was so obvious about trying to please Rosa that even Chris noticed it. “Geez, Dad,” he said finally, “why don’t you just kiss her?” Ron took the kidding but didn’t give up trying to get Rosa interested in sailing. He showed her how to mind the helm, hoist and lower the sails, told her what the different sails were called, and explained the compass and what a heading was.
He let her take the helm and talked endlessly about his experiences at sea and the time he had sailed with his uncle in the greatest of the offshore races, the Fastnet. With forty-one other entries they had set sail from Cowes on the Isle of Wight, raced to Fastnet Rock off the coast of Ireland, and then back to Plymouth, England. Thirty-two competitors finished that year, and Ron’s uncle’s boat finished seventeenth. But that seventeenth place was as good as a victory in Ron’s memory. They had raced through fog banks, fought whirligig currents, and finished in the middle of the pack. But they had finished. Ron talked about it with more passion than Rosa had ever seen in him, and as a result she listened respectfully. Even Chris, who had heard the story for years, listened attentively this time. Telling the story at sea gave it a feeling no living room could. In the afternoon Ron brought out the sextant and tried explaining navigation to Rosa and Chris. Carmen sat at the helm, a bemused look on her face.
“The key to figuring out our position is what we call the navigational triangle. We start by identifying three points on the earth’s surface. We know where the earth’s pole is, so that is one point.”
“Which pole?” Chris cut in. “There’s two, you know.”
“Yes, I know. The closest pole, in this case the North Pole. We also know the geographical position of stars and planets … that means where the star or planet is over the earth’s surface.”
“But the earth is turning,” Rosa pointed out.
“Yeah,” Chris echoed, “the earth is turning fast. Maybe a million miles an hour.”
“Yes,” Ron said with exaggerated patience, “the earth is turning, but not millions of miles an hour, more like a thou-. sand. That’s why we need a clock, a very accurate clock.”
“The one in the cabin, right?” Chris said.
“Right, Chris. We leave that one in the cabin because it’s set to Greenwich mean time and must be exactly right. Then, I set my watch by that clock.”
“I thought you used the radio to set your watch,” Rosa pointed out.
“I use the radio to see how far off our clock is from Greenwich mean time. They broadcast Greenwich mean time signals so people at sea can check their clocks.”
“And if their clocks are off they can’t navigate?” Rosa asked.
“Yeah, they get lost forever, and become ghost ships,” Chris said.
“No, they just need to correct their calculations based on how many seconds off their clock is. You were right about the earth moving, but we know where a star will be above its surface at a given time. We use the Nautical Almanac to find that out.” Ron held up the book. Chris reached for it, but Ron pulled it out of his reach. “I’m not finished yet. Okay, so we know where the pole is, and we know the point on the earth’s surface where a star or planet will be directly above at a certain time of the day. Then we use our position to complete the triangle.”
“But if you know where we are why do you have to do all this?” Rosa asked.
“Yeah,” Chris echoed his new sister. “If we know where we are why do we have to do this?”
“We don’t know exactly where we are, we estimate it based on course and speed from our last position. But an approximate position isn’t good enough. We have to know exactly where we are. This is where the sextant comes in.” Ron lifted it out of its box. Chris made a grab again, but Ron held it up high. “I use the sextant. Maybe I’ll show Rosa how to use it if she wants.”
“What about me?” Chris whined.
“Well, maybe,” Ron said doubtfully. He looked to Carmen for help, but the look on her face said she was enjoying his predicament.
“We know the three points of our triangle, and based on that we know, at a certain time, how high the star should be above the horizon. We use the sextant to read the exact height of the star above the horizon, and mark the time of the reading. Then, since we know for sure two points of the triangle, we can adjust the position of the third point based on the difference between our estimated altitude of the star and the actual altitude.”
Ron looked around at his miniaudience. Carmen was still grinning, Chris was staring blankly, and Rosa glared angrily at him. Ron couldn’t imagine why his navigation lesson would make her mad. Then Rosa blurted it out.
“This is geometry, isn’t it? This is some sort of trick to get me to do homework, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not a trick. It is geometry, but I thought you would be interested. … I mean, you have to do this to sail offshore.”
“Just what I want to do, float around the ocean doing geometry. Just how often do you have to do these calculations?”
“Seven or eight times a day. You do the first before sunrise, a couple of sun sights in the morning, a noon sight…”
Ron stopped talking. He knew he was making Rosa’s hostility worse.
“Eight times a day? You have to do the calculations eight times a day? And you get to get up early to do them? What a sweet deal”
“Well, it’s not that bad. Most of the calculations are done for you, you just use the tables, or the electronic navigator in the cabin.”
“I know if I tried to pay someone to do my geometry homework you would ground me forever. And now I’m supposed to do yours? Well, if I have to do geometry to sail, it’s another good reason to stay on land. There all you have to do is read the signs, or a map.”
“But the stars are the map out here.”
“Yeah,” Chris cut in, “the stars are a map. Kind of a connect the dots.”
Ron scowled at Chris while Rosa got up and stomped down the deck to the bow. Carmen gave Ron a look that said “You should have known better.” Ron thought about Rosa and then he thought of Bermuda, and then he got depressed, Chris was still sitting there with him, looking at the sextant. Maybe, Ron thought, if I get Chris interested Rosa will come back.
“You want to see how the sextant works, Chris?”
Chris lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Yeah, sure. Can I hold it too?”
Ron spent a few minutes with Chris, showing him how to sight the sun and the horizon and make the readings. It was clear Chris mostly wanted to look through the sextant’s telescopic sight, so Ron gave up and let him. Rosa never came back. Instead she was sunbathing on the bow. Finally, Ron set Chris up with a fishing pole and then settled in next to Carmen at the helm.
The Entrepreneur sailed southwest into the afternoon. When Ron dropped the sea anchor they ate. Carmen had cooked crab in the icebox, and they cracked and ate it with salad, and soft bread sticks. The lunch warmed Rosa’s heart enough to get her talking to Ron again. After lunch Chris talked them into playing spoons, his favorite card game. Carmen had never played, and Chris expertly explained how the cards are passed in a circle until a player gets four of a kind, and then picks up one of the three spoons on the table. Then, in a race, the other players try to grab the remaining spoons. Chris cautioned her not to get faked into grabbing one too soon but in the first round feigned a grab and tricked her. Laughing as they played, they shared a good feeling. Finally, Carmen announced it was time for swimming.
They spent the next hour jumping off the stern into the warm blue waters. Finally, exhausted, the kids stretched out on the bow to warm themselves while Ron and Carmen settled in the stern.
“You’re being too obvious, you know?” Carmen said. “About Rosa, I mean. You can’t force her to want to go to Bermuda.”
“I know. I gave up after the navigation debacle.”
“That was pretty funny. Trying to get a teenager to like sailing by teaching her geometry. Did you notice things went better after you stopped trying?”
“Well, we did have a good time after lunch. But we can play cards at home. That has nothing to do with sailing,”
“But we don’t play cards at home. The kids have their friends and TV. You and I have our jobs, and we tend to bring them home with us. When was the last time we played cards? I mean all of us, as a family?”
Carmen was right, Ron admitted. The isolation of offshore sailing had brought them together. Perhaps Rosa would never love sailing, but the experience might help meld the family. That was more important than a sail to Bermuda, Ron told himself. He tried telling himself that again, but still a part of him wanted Bermuda, and it wasn’t looking good. Ron leaned back, looking up into the clear blue sky, and silently hoped nothing else would go wrong.
5. Hostages
I was awakened this morning by the sound of pounding on my roof. I went to the window to see a most surprising sight. Dried fish were pouring from the sky onto the houses and into the street. When the shower ended the natives collected the fish into baskets. My aide estimated that 3000 to 4000 fish had fallen.
—Colonel Witherspoon, India ,1836
Ashland, Oregon
PreQuilt: Saturday, 3:40 P.M. PST
Deputy Sheriff Robin Kyle was parked with his feet stretched out on the front seat of his patrol car. He wasn’t asleep but was only about one level of consciousness away, his eyes partially open, semialert for criminal activity. Of course much criminal activity—or even traffic—would be rare on this particular dirt road. That was why Kyle had picked this patrol. He had no intention of ruining a beautiful fall day by actually catching a criminal. He wasn’t lazy, exactly, it was just that relaxation came naturally to him, and since there was very little real crime in Jackson county, he believed he was making best use of his time.
Occasional calls and assignments could be heard over his radio speaker, but he had turned the radio down low enough so it didn’t distract him. A horse clip-clopped past his cruiser, ridden by a teenage girl. Kyle alternated between watching the rider’s and horse’s rears wiggle rhythmically. He picked up his radar gun and aimed it at the retreating behinds. Too bad, he thought, they’re within the legal limit. He was still watching the behinds when he heard his unit number. He ignored it the first time but reluctantly answered it after the second call.
“Sorry to bother you while you’re so busy, Kyle,” Karon, the dispatcher said, as if she knew what he was doing. “But we got a call that only you can answer. Seems they’ve got a hostage situation in the Oregon Caves.”
Kyle pounded the side of his head like something was stuck in his ear.
“You said in the Oregon Caves? What kind of hostage situation, Karon?”
“The usual kind, Kyle! Someone with a gun is holding a dozen people hostage down in the caves. Says he won’t kill them as long as no one interferes.”
Kyle was trying to understand why someone had selected a cave to take hostages in. Certainly it would be a difficult place to assault, and guns would be almost useless. Any wayward shot would ricochet wildly, killing indiscriminately. Still it wasn’t like hijacking a jet. A jet could take you somewhere. Even a bus could do that, but not a cave. And this particular cave was in the middle of nowhere.
“That’s mighty peculiar, Karon,” Kyle cut in. “Someone selecting a cave to hold hostages in! I got a dollar says he wants free transportation to a worker’s paradise somewhere. Have there been any demands?”
“Negative, Kyle. You ready for the strange part? The guy with the gun says he’s saving the people in the cave. Says he doesn’t want to be alone after it happens.”
“After what happens?”
“After the world ends.”
“What do they want me for?”
“They’re looking for officers with cave experience. They heard about your rescue training.”
Kyle winced at the mention of that. He had taken the special training as an excuse to take two weeks off, drink beer with some friends of his, and get a little extra in the paycheck each month. In the two years since the training he had helped recover one dead body from a plane wreck, and helped pull a hiker with a broken leg up a twenty-five-foot slope. Kyle wanted to tell Karon that his training was for rescuing people who want to be rescued, not for going in after some self-destructive nut. Kyle didn’t seem to have a choice, however.
“Okay, Karon, tell them I’ll pick up some gear and head on over, but it’ll take a couple of hours.” Kyle was hoping the situation would be resolved long before he could get involved.
“They know that, Kyle, they said there was no hurry. The guy in the cave isn’t going anywhere.”
6. Kid With A Gun
Not one will get away, none will escape. Though they dig down to the depths of the grave from there my hand will take them.
—Amos, 9:12
Oregon Caves
PreQuilt: Saturday, 3:42 P.M. PST
Ellen and Terry were sitting down, using each other as backrests. Most of the others in the cave were either lying down or leaning against the cave walls. The initial panic the group experienced had died down. Nothing had happened since the kid had scared off the next tour group, pointing his gun at the members entering the cave as he told them to “get out and stay out.” The kid made no demands or political statements, but it was clear he wasn’t going to let anyone go either. Occasionally his sister would plead or try to reason with him, but each time she was rebuffed. Finally she gave up and sat in silence with the rest of the hostages.
Terry was mentally reviewing what he knew about hostage situations. If they remained captive long enough, and if the conditions were harsh, some would come to sympathize with the hostage-takers. Persistent anxiety, with no control over the situ
ation, causes one to identify with the source of the anxiety, in this case the kid with the gun. Terry remembered one case where hostages were held in a bank vault for three days. The police turned off the air-conditioning, poisoned the food, and provided minimal water while the gang holding the hostages sexually abused the women. Yet, when finally released, many of the hostages expressed concern about what would happen to their captors.
The two boys were throwing rocks in the back of the cave. Terry turned to look at them and noticed something peculiar. The military man was no longer toward the back of the group, but in the middle. The kid was sitting with his knees up to his chest, and staring straight ahead. The gun was still in his hand, although it was pointed toward the ground. Terry pulled his own head to his knees, put his arms on top, and then lay his head down sideways so he could watch the military man.
It took a long time, but Terry could see what was happening. Every once in a while the military man would stretch a leg, or an arm, or arch his back and yawn. And every time his leg came back down, or he finished stretching, he would be an inch or two closer to the front. Terry watched him move an arm and rock sideways. A few minutes later he stretched the other arm and rocked back the other way. He was now two inches closer. It was like watching a clock. It took patience, but if you stared long enough you could see the minute hand move.
The military man’s moves rekindled Terry’s sharp fears; waves of panic swept htm. What if the kid noticed? What if the military man did something? What if he did something that made the kid punish the group? On the other hand, Terry didn’t know enough about the kid’s condition to be certain that he wasn’t a danger.
Terry had once worked with a paranoid schizophrenic named Larry who was high functioning. He lived in his own apartment, held down a laborer’s job, and took good care of a white Persian cat named Katrina. If it hadn’t been for his persistent claims that a group of telepathic Masons were trying to kill him, Terry would not have been treating Larry. Then one day a salesman wearing a Mason’s pin came to Larry’s door. Larry shot the salesman in the chest, later claiming self-defense. Larry ended up in the state mental hospital and Katrina in the animal shelter. Could this kid be another Larry? Did Terry want the military man betting all of their lives that he wouldn’t be another Larry?
Footprints of Thunder Page 3