Ocean of Storms

by Christopher Mari

  “Oh Jesus, Alan. The ice hasn’t even melted in my drink yet. Where are we off to now?”

  “Africa,” said Benny. “There’s a second ship.”

  Zell almost dropped his glass. “A second ship? Does anyone else know?”

  Donovan looked to Benny for the answer.

  “They might, but as far as I know, NASA’s still spending a lot of time looking over what went wrong on our mission. But the surge wouldn’t be that hard to discover once you start looking. And once you find that, it’s pretty easy to find the logs.”

  “Then the race is on!” he said with a flourish. “I’ll call Andre and have him fuel up the jet. Oh and the lovely Dr. Soong must be a part of this as well. We leave tonight!”

  He was about to enter his bedroom to change when he grabbed a cigar and lit it in celebration. He looked over at Donovan and Benny, his eyes aglow.

  “Step lively, lads,” he said, grinning. “Now the game is truly afoot!”

  PART 3: THE CALDERA

  Chapter 18

  September 9

  Kariakoo Market

  Dar es Salaam, Tanzania

  5:15 p.m.

  In its 150 years of existence, Dar es Salaam had grown from a small settlement and prospective summer home of Sultan Seyyid Majid to one of the largest cities in Africa, with a population of more than four million. People from all over Europe and Asia poured into its streets daily, jockeying for space with local tribesmen. Dar es Salaam was a disorienting experience for the first-time visitor. Hawkers and peddlers sold their wares in the crowded streets. Muslim women scurried by, shrouded in buibuis. Indian traders enticed prospective buyers with a myriad of spices and silks from the world’s most exotic corners.

  Most disorienting was the Kariakoo Market, filled with the sound of chiming marimbas and ceaselessly clucking chickens along with the combined aromas of sizzling meats, fresh fish, and burning incense. Casual shoppers glancing around the market could find anything they needed, including herbs, potions, and concoctions for almost every ailment, usually in small bottles collected from local hospitals.

  Benny, strolling through the marketplace, found the scene almost overwhelming. Despite having been to some of the most unique places on Earth throughout his naval career, he had never gotten quite used to the way different cities assaulted his senses—so many new sights and smells and sensations. In the midst of such vibrancy, life, and heat, he struggled to believe that not so long ago he had been stranded in one of the most hostile and unforgiving environments known to man. Though Dar wasn’t his home or even remotely like it, he was glad to be immersed in so much humanity again. He never wanted to be so alone again.

  “So where’re we supposed to meet your guy and Zell and Soong?” he asked Donovan, who was walking alongside him. The group had opted—wisely, to Donovan’s way of thinking—to split up so as not to attract undue attention. Zell and Soong had arrived earlier that day at a private airfield funded by the Zell Institute and were planning on meeting up with Donovan’s contact in about an hour. To Donovan’s surprise, getting out of the States had been easier than he expected. He assumed that most officials had figured he agreed to play ball and weren’t about to question his actions. Still, he knew he and his colleagues should play it safe. After taking Zell’s private jet from DC, they had split up in England. He and Benny arrived at Dar es Salaam in a chartered plane from Amsterdam, while Zell had quietly taken a cargo plane on the institute’s payroll and Soong arrived on a jet Zell had procured for her.

  Donovan laughed to himself about their almost-paranoid secrecy. Soong had been back home in China for just a few days before Zell had her quietly spirited out of the country. Zell had promised to make a generous donation to fund the repairs to the Lei Cheng Uk Han Tomb Museum, on the condition that she accompany them to Tanzania with no questions asked. This desire to not attract attention was part of the reason Donovan had chosen Dar as their meeting place. He had been to Tanzania several times before and knew it was a good place to stay anonymous.

  “How’d you know this guy, Badru?” Benny asked.

  Donovan smiled. “How long do you have? Badru came to the institute when he was fourteen. He met Thackeray on a dig in Tanzania, and the old man was impressed with his eagerness to learn and his sharp instincts. He lived at the manor and studied at the institute for almost ten years.” Donovan paused as they pushed their way through yet another crowd of merchants trying to sell them more objects of dubious origin. “After my father died,” he continued, “I came to live at the institute as well. Badru and I became fast friends. I guess both of us felt a little out of place. When I was ready to start my fieldwork, Badru and I teamed up. He and I have found ourselves in some of the stickiest situations I can imagine, and more often than not, he was the one who saved my neck.”

  “So you trust this guy?”

  “With my life,” Donovan answered.

  “Well,” Benny said, peering around the marketplace, “let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  September 9

  Kilimanjaro Airport

  Tanzania

  6:05 p.m.

  Two men stepped off a British Airways 767 with 314 other travelers who had come from London’s Heathrow Airport. The waning sunlight drew their long shadows out before them as they stepped onto the tarmac. To anyone else on the plane, they appeared to be two men in their early thirties on a trip to Africa—perhaps backpackers in search of adventure or journalists on assignment. Their dress was casual enough: faded jeans and matching black golf shirts. A closer inspection would reveal the US Navy SEALs trident emblazoned on their forearms, but no one would get that close. For as unassuming as the two men looked, there was a hint of menace about them. The taller one’s eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, and the African sun glinted off his shaved head. The most casual inspection revealed that he spent several hours a day on the weight pile, his body a knotted mass of ropelike muscle. His partner was smaller, his lithe frame moving like an uncoiling sidewinder. He brushed his dark, shaggy hair out of his gray eyes and peered about the airport. Years of training had conditioned both of them to anticipate threats, even in the most benign situations. Everyone was a threat, and no one was above suspicion. After so many years immersed in wet work, they had come to think of themselves as the only “real” people on the planet. The bags of meat that passed them by were as faceless as their own shadows, worthy of neither recognition nor compassion. Only when a price was named did those shadows step out into the light and become something altogether different. To their minds, if you weren’t a shadow, then you were a target.

  These men had names once, changed many times for many similar jobs. Their true identities represented other people, different lives. For although they still proudly wore the emblem of the SEALs, they had not been members of that elite unit for nearly a decade. In truth, their former shipmates would most likely frown on their current profession, seeing it as a dishonorable use of their training. They could live with such judgments, though. Money had a funny way of keeping one’s conscience quiet.

  For this mission they were traveling as Miller and Sherwood, names that could be corroborated by passports, driver’s licenses—even birth certificates and Social Security cards. It was amazing what could be bought for the right price.

  Amazing, indeed.

  Miller picked up his ringing cell phone.

  “Yes,” he said. “Uncle John! How are you?”

  “Very good,” came a gruff voice on the other end. “Have you arrived safely?”

  “I sure did,” he said in a voice affected with a slight midwestern twang, the accent he often used when doing business at an airport. No one ever looked twice at another American tourist talking loudly on a smartphone.

  “Do you know who you’re meeting?”

  “Well, gee, Uncle John, I think we covered all of that back at the ranch,” Miller said, running a hand through his thick hair.

  “It seems there are other members of the
party that we didn’t know were attending, a Chinese sales rep and an English one,” the voice replied. “People who might be able to get there before you can bring the hors d’oeuvres.”

  “That would be a shame,” Miller replied. “Me and ol’ Sherwood are getting a car now and heading out to meet them.”

  “Very good,” said the voice. “Just make sure you stay until the party’s finished.”

  “You know me, Uncle John,” said Miller. “Do I ever leave a party guest feeling neglected?”

  He ended the call and jerked his head at Sherwood, signaling that they should leave the airport. Ten minutes later they were in a rental car that had been arranged for them, heading to their appointed destination.

  “What’s our directive?” asked Sherwood as he drove, his eyes hidden behind ebony glasses.

  Miller didn’t look up from the Glock he was cleaning. “The same as ever,” he said, with a certain hint of glee creeping into his voice. “Interception with terminal force.”

  “A clean hit,” said Sherwood.

  “Exactly. But it looks like we’ve gone international, buddy. It seems that Soong and Zell are here too.”

  “Any special arrangements for them?” Sherwood asked.

  “Same as the others,” Miller answered. “Just make sure nobody ever finds them.”

  September 9

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  10:40 a.m.

  General McKenna had been in a national-security meeting for the last hour and hadn’t heard a word anyone had said. He knew the meeting had been called to address the latest series of car bombings in and around Baghdad, but beyond being told to train some Skystalker satellites over the Iraqi capital, he had little idea about what was being said. His thoughts were quite literally half a world away.

  When the meeting ended, McKenna gathered up his reports and briefing papers and headed out to his car. As he glanced out the window, his thoughts drifted, as they often did, to his son Danny. He had spoken to him that morning, as he did almost every morning. They talked sports. They talked about Jim Junior’s upcoming birthday. And they talked about Danny’s physical therapy. As always, Danny tried to sound upbeat and McKenna tried to sound encouraging. But in his heart McKenna knew such conversations were as futile and as hollow as Danny’s therapy. Such thoughts stiffened his resolve as McKenna thought of the men he had sent to Africa in pursuit of Alan Donovan.

  McKenna’s smartphone chirped, and he dug into his pocket to retrieve it. He wasn’t surprised by whose voice was on the other end of the call.

  “General McKenna,” Cal Walker said calmly. “You’ve left the White House?”

  “Yes, I’m on my way home now. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m at the Lincoln Memorial. Meet me there in fifteen minutes. Come alone.”

  The line went dead. McKenna stared at the phone for a moment, then told his driver, Corporal Hayes, to head for the Lincoln Memorial. McKenna knew Hayes would take the change in plans in stride. Hayes often had to drive him to unusual locations at a moment’s notice. However, when they arrived at the memorial and McKenna asked him to remain in the car, McKenna noticed the faintest twinge of surprise on his face. McKenna rarely went anywhere in public without an armed escort.

  The Lincoln Memorial was still crowded with tourists. On such an especially beautiful September day, thousands of people tended to visit the memorial. As he climbed the steps, McKenna knew he looked somewhat out of place in his dress uniform among so many tourists, many of whom were still wearing shorts. Reaching the top of the steps, the general realized why Walker had chosen such a public meeting place. As a government official high up on the food chain, McKenna could be easily exposed for what he was doing.

  McKenna found Walker standing directly under Abraham Lincoln’s gaze in the midst of a crowd of tourists. To one side of him stood a group of Cub Scouts reading an inscription on the monument. On the other were groups of families, each posing before Lincoln for a series of snapshots. Among them Walker looked like a college professor or someone’s grandfather. Above all, he looked completely anonymous.

  Walker smiled broadly as he gripped the general’s hand firmly in his. “So good to see you.” Walker jerked his head to the side and added quietly, “Walk with me, General.”

  As they walked toward the columns at the front of the memorial, Walker continued speaking in a loud and conversational tone. “Remarkable man, Lincoln. There are many that say he overstepped his authority as president many times during the Civil War. The suspension of habeas corpus is the example most often cited. But if Lincoln hadn’t done those things, we wouldn’t have the republic we do today, now would we? Nor would many of our citizens enjoy the freedoms we hold so dear. Great men must often go beyond what is deemed morally right in their times to achieve the greater good.”

  McKenna grabbed Walker by his forearm and was surprised by its firmness. “What did you bring me here for, Walker?”

  “General,” Walker said with a slight grin, “I think you know exactly why you’re here.”

  McKenna glanced around and turned his back to the crowds. “I wasn’t going to risk my son’s future once I learned that Donovan and the others were heading to Africa.”

  “So you decided—on your own—to take care of it?” Walker asked with some disgust. “Really, General, did you think I wouldn’t find out? Did you think I would allow Donovan or any of the others to reach the dig?”

  “I didn’t know what to think,” McKenna said. “All your goddamn talk of diplomatic solutions didn’t keep them from finding out about the ship.”

  Walker took a step forward. “Understand this, General. My company’s spinal-cord drug trials begin in a month’s time. You go behind my back and carry out another of these independent operations, and you’ll find your son’s name very far down that list.”

  “You son of a bitch,” McKenna said. “You do that, and I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Walker laughed. “Expose me? Expose yourself? What will you do, General? You’ll not only doom your son to a life in that chair, you’ll be revealed as a traitor to your country and your president.”

  McKenna felt the blood pulsing behind his eyes. “The men are already in the field. There’s no way—”

  Walker shrugged. “Then we won’t recall them. But let’s hope they are as good as you think they are, General.”

  Walker strode away from McKenna and headed toward the steps. At the top step he turned around and grinned again. “You know what I like most about the Lincoln Memorial? How open it is. Great men should be seen in the light of day.” He tipped his hat. “Good day, General.”

  Donovan and Benny were seated at an out-of-the-way table in one of the many restaurants that lined the streets of Dar. Often doubling as tobacconists, the corner shops were just the place for people not wanting to be noticed. As Donovan and Benny sat, a waiter brought them a plate of the Asian dish that gave the shops their name.

  Benny stared a moment at the triangular leaves in front of him. “What is this?” he asked.

  “Paan,” said Donovan, pushing the plate toward him. “It’s a mixture of spices, nuts, syrup, and white lime, wrapped in leaves.”

  “I suppose a cheeseburger might be too much to hope for?”

  “Too much, and then some,” Donovan replied. He looked out the door at the crowds streaming past. “Benny, I haven’t really thanked you for this. Putting your whole career on the line just to chase down a wild goose—”

  “Look, Donovan, I was there with you on the Moon. I saw that ship. If we let them cover it up, if we let what Joshua warned you about happen, then our friends—all of them—have died for nothing.”

  “It’s too bad Bruce couldn’t have joined us,” Donovan said.

  “Yeah,” replied Benny. “Christ knows what we’ll find if we make it to the ship. We sure could use his brain down there. But, after everything we went through on the Moon, the Chinese government requested his presence in
Beijing. I think they’re very interested in what he saw up there.”

  “Aren’t we all?” said Donovan.

  “Enjoying the city?” said a gruff English voice behind them.

  “It sure took you long enough,” said Donovan, looking up at Elias Zell and Dr. Soong.

  “You travel here in the belly of a C-130, and we’ll see how punctual you are,” Zell retorted.

  “So,” said Soong, taking a seat, “I can only imagine the precautions you’ve taken mean that you’ve found something.”

  Donovan leaned forward. “There’s a second ship.”

  “What?” asked Soong. “Another one like the Astraeus? When did it arrive here?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” said Benny. “We think it may have come here sometime after the Astraeus’s mission failed. Possibly as a rescue mission or backup plan.”

  “Whatever brought the ship here,” said Donovan, “the crew no doubt has the same files that the Astraeus had. Maybe even more. The information they’re carrying could prove everything the government’s trying to sweep under the carpet.”

  Soong sat back a moment, deep in thought. She sprang forward suddenly.

  “The Laetoli footprints!” she said with all the excitement of a ten-year-old exclaiming her favorite flavor of ice cream.

  “I’m surprised you believe that story,” Donovan said.

  Benny leaned in. “Care to explain?”

  “In 1978, archeologists found a trail of fossilized footprints seemingly made by upright-walking hominids. The prints were dated at around three-point-six million years old,” said Soong. “It’s proof undeniable that there were humans walking upright millions of years before anyone thought they did.”

  Zell laughed. “So what’re you saying? That those footprints were made by our friends from the future?”

  “It doesn’t follow,” Donovan interjected. “This second ship arrived here, we speculate, around two and a half million years ago. A million years after the footprints were supposedly made.”