“Right.”
“And me?”
“Yes.”
Locke had to admit this all sounded weird to him. What could Noah’s Ark possibly have to do with him?
“Why didn’t this Sam Watson contact me himself?”
“He wanted to talk to me first. You see, my father was an archaeologist, too. Hasad Arvadi. Do you know him?” She looked at him expectantly.
Locke shook his head, and she sat back in disappointment.
“Turkish?” Locke said.
“Very good. I’m impressed.”
“I spent some time at Incirlik Air Base.” Incirlik was the United States’ main base in Turkey and was a staging area for many flights into Iraq. “Your first name sounds Turkish, too. Does it mean anything?”
She blushed. “It means lover.” She quickly went on. “He was one of the few Turkish Christians. He emigrated to America long ago, but he used his connections in Turkey to get access to Mt. Ararat. In the past, it was very difficult to get permission to explore the region. His life’s work was to find any remaining evidence of Noah’s Ark. Most of the archaeological community thought he was a nut, obsessed with unproven theories, but Sam said he found it.”
Locke had to stifle a laugh. “He found Noah’s Ark? The actual Noah’s Ark?”
“I know. It sounds ridiculous, but that’s what Sam said. He said to me, ‘Your father’s research started everything. You must find the Ark.’”
“If someone had found Noah’s Ark, I think I might have heard that little bit of news.”
“You wouldn’t have if the discovery was never made public. My father’s been missing for three years. Sam said someone murdered my father because of Noah’s Ark. I believe him.”
“Why?”
“Because of this.” Dilara showed him a locket that hung around her neck. She opened it to reveal a beautiful woman with dark brown hair. Except for the lighter skin and hair, it could have been a picture of Dilara. Locke nodded in appreciation.
“That’s my mother,” Dilara said. “She died when I was six. My father was from Ankara, and my mother was an Italian-American from Brooklyn. He met her when he moved to New York for a teaching position at Cornell. They were an unusual pair, but they were very much in love.”
That explained Dilara’s exotic looks. “What’s the significance of the locket?” Locke asked.
“My father never took this off. But I received it in the mail as a birthday present during the time he went missing. I think he knew he was in trouble. I think he wanted me to have it before he was killed.”
Locke shook his head. “Look, I’m sorry about your father, but I still don’t see what this has to do with me. Where is Sam now?”
“He’s dead. They killed him right in front of me.”
“They?”
“The people who are trying to kill me.”
“There are people trying to kill you,” Locke said dubiously, as if he were responding to a mental patient who’d just told him she was abducted by aliens.
“Yes, there are people trying to kill me,” Dilara said, obviously exasperated by his tone. “That’s why the helicopter crashed. That was no accident. Someone brought it down on purpose.”
NINE
With the press of a button, Sebastian Garrett turned off the bank of TVs showing every news channel’s coverage of the Rex Hayden plane crash. He stood and walked out onto the aft deck of his 250-foot luxury yacht, Mako. Fifteen miles away, the hills of Palos Verde stood out from the smog clinging to Los Angeles and Long Beach. A slight breeze ruffled his blond hair, but that was the only thing out of place on an appearance blessed with attributes that he used to charm his followers: intense green eyes, a tanned, muscular frame, and a strong jaw line that echoed his strength and determination. Garrett knew he cut the figure of a natural born leader, and these latest events forced him to assume that role yet again. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, hoping to find guidance for his next step.
“This is only a minor setback, sir.” Dan Cutter had followed him outside. Always the servant, Cutter. Always wanting to please. He was a tactical genius, but he could never see the big picture.
Garrett turned and smiled at Cutter. The Army veteran was a giant of a man with a forehead that bulged like those on the Beluga whales at SeaWorld. He had the physique of an alligator wrestler and a craggy face that betrayed years on dusty battlefields. Yet, he now had the down-trodden appearance of a mutt that had disappointed his master.
“You think I’m upset?” Garrett said. “On the contrary. I’m elated.”
“Elated, sir?”
“Of course. Look out there and tell me what you see.”
Cutter paused as if it were a trick question. “LA, sir,” he said firmly.
“Right. You see a city. But it’s a city rife with crime, misery, greed, unhappiness, debauchery, wickedness. All the sin the world holds can be found in that city. And this is one of the richest cities in one of the richest countries on earth. Now take its woes and multiply them a million-fold. That microcosm of sin is magnified beyond belief. Beyond reckoning. It staggers the mind that for all the great things that we have accomplished as a species, we have done even more to debase ourselves to such a low level. Do you know what I see?”
“No, sir.”
“When I look at that city, I see a blank slate. I see a new beginning for human kind. It’s just one of the thousands of places we will be able to reclaim for the righteous among us once the New World is upon us. And now I know my vision will be a reality. Our demonstration was a success. Our people will believe. They will see that it can be done, that I have delivered on my promise to them.”
“What about the airplane? It was supposed to crash into the ocean when it over-flew Honolulu. Now that it’s lying in the desert, they’ll have recovery teams combing through the wreckage.”
“As you said, a minor setback.”
“But the device may have survived the crash. We expected it would be lost at sea. If the device is recovered, the evidence could lead back to us.”
Garret had to admit the remains of the device could be a problem. He was the chairman and chief technology officer of Garrett Pharmaceuticals, whose revolutionary methods for vaccine production had taken the market by storm, lifting its stock and Garrett’s net worth into the stratosphere. Of course, taking a few shortcuts on FDA approvals and greasing the right palms made things go more smoothly. His combination of money and connections in the medical industry had made construction of the device possible, but some of the components had been highly specialized. There was a slim possibility they could lead the investigators back to Garrett Pharmaceuticals.
The carefully orchestrated planning for Garrett’s New World operation was three years in the making, and Friday was a critical date. There was no way to shorten the timeline, and Garrett couldn’t take the chance that they might be compromised at this critical juncture. They had to get the device back.
“Can you retrieve it?” Garrett asked.
“Yes, but it’ll take some time to infiltrate the crash site. By that time, they’ll have taken all of the luggage to a central facility for sorting and analysis. It will be easier and cleaner to find it there. That is, if the device wasn’t destroyed.”
“We can pray that it was.”
“Of course.”
“And the other matter?”
“We have a problem there as well.”
“Oh?” Garrett hadn’t heard about this. He assumed it had been settled.
When he’d been informed that Sam Watson, one of his star scientists, had discovered their plans, the first priority had been to make sure he didn’t pass on his information to anyone else. Watson had been a faithful member of the church, but he hadn’t been in Garrett’s innermost circle, the only ones who knew the entire plan. He must have grown suspicious about the true nature of his work and broke into some key files that contained details of the operation. Security discovered the leak, but Watson fled
. He didn’t escape with any hard evidence, but he knew enough to be a danger. Since his work was essentially finished, Garrett had no more use for him and ordered his termination.
Before Garrett’s security team could carry out the order, Watson phoned someone. What was said, they didn’t know, but Garrett was sure it wasn’t the police, or Watson would have been in their custody within hours. Still, he could have mentioned something critical. They couldn’t take him out until they knew who he had spoken to, so they kept him under surveillance and waited until the meeting.
Watson’s assassination went off as planned, but he managed to convey something to the woman, Dilara Kenner, who had escaped after she narrowly avoided being killed by the SUV. They lost her trail until a search of airline databases showed her reservation with Wolverine Helicopters in St. John’s, Newfoundland. At first, her trip to an oil platform in the middle of the Atlantic was puzzling. Searching the names of the people on the rig registered with the Canadian Coast Guard, they discovered who was on board that she might be meeting with. Tyler Locke, a one-time contract employee of Garrett’s who had been more trouble than his reputation had been worth.
Once Garrett knew Locke was involved, it made sense. They had to stop her before she could talk to him. Killing her outright would have raised too many questions, especially by Locke, so they’d had to make it look like an accident.
“She’s not dead?” Garrett asked.
Cutter shook his head.
“What happened?”
“The explosive on the chopper wasn’t powerful enough. My men on the yacht set it off, but it only damaged the engine. The passengers got out before it sank. The standby ship was gone, but according to radio broadcasts we intercepted, Tyler Locke used one of the freefall lifeboats to save them. No way they would have survived until a Coast Guard chopper made it out there.”
“Tyler Locke. Still can’t keep himself out of trouble. Well, now we have a much bigger problem. We have to assume she’s told him what she knows. Is the yacht still in place?”
“They’re waiting for my orders.”
“What are our options?” Cutter always had a backup plan, and he didn’t disappoint.
“We already have a plan in place. My men are prepared to take out the entire rig.”
“It has to look like an accident,” Garrett said. “Locke’s murder would open up even more questions.”
“It’ll look like negligence on the part of the oil company. With over 200 deaths, a billion dollar oil platform destroyed, and oil flowing into the north Atlantic, they’ll have their hands full. A full-scale investigation will take weeks.”
Garrett smiled and looked out at the smog that would soon be a distant memory.
“Excellent,” he said. “By the time they find out what really happened, it will be far too late to stop us.”
TEN
While they waited for their food, Locke listened intently to Dilara’s story about Sam Watson’s death and her subsequent car crash, only stopping her to clarify. She wasn’t lying, that much he was sure of. Which left him with what? That either she was the victim of a bizarre set of coincidences or that he was somehow connected to some vast conspiracy bent on killing this lone woman. Neither option seemed likely, so he withheld his opinion.
The cheeseburgers arrived still steaming hot from the mess grill. Dilara and Locke interrupted their discussion to dig into them.
“This is amazing,” Dilara said after one bite. “Am I delusional from the cold, or is this the best burger I’ve ever had?”
“Gotta keep the workers out here happy, so the ingredients are top-notch. They’re out here three weeks at a time. The company would have a riot on their hands if they served crummy food.”
Dilara chewed in silence. The food and coffee brought a brightness back to her eyes.
“You didn’t take the bait about me being delusional,” she said. “You think I am, don’t you?”
“Honestly, I don’t know what to think” Locke said. “You don’t seem delusional to me, but then again, I haven’t known you that long.”
“Are you going to help me?”
“I’m not sure what you’re asking me to do.”
“I’m not either, but I know people are trying to kill me and that the secret to this whole thing will be revealed if we can find Noah’s Ark. You’re involved somehow. Sam was sure of it.”
Locke put up his right hand. “I swear I don’t know where Noah’s Ark is. Scout’s honor.” He couldn’t help but be slightly sarcastic. Or maybe excessively sarcastic. He wasn’t a good judge of his own level of sarcasm.
“Believe me, I get that. But whoever tried to kill me doesn’t want me to talk to you. There must be a reason.”
Locke sighed. She wouldn’t give up until he gave her something. “I’ll have my guys look into Coleman Consulting, but I have a job to finish here, and then I have to be in Europe in two days for another job.”
“You have to cancel it.”
“Listen, I’d like to help you…”
“What about the helicopter? You said yourself that the crash seemed odd.”
Locke shrugged. “It could have been some kind of explosive device, but it also could have been a fractured turbine blade or some other mechanical problem. The water here is over 1000 feet deep. It’ll take weeks, if not months, to recover the helicopter.”
“We don’t have that kind of time! It’s already Saturday night. Whatever is going to kill billions will be set in motion this coming Friday.”
“Look, you’re welcome to stay on board as long as you need. I’ve already okayed it with the rig manager. But if there’s no connection with Coleman, there’s nothing else I can do. You’ll have to take it up with the police.”
For this first time, discouragement crept into Dilara’s voice. “I already tried that in LA. They said Sam died of a heart attack, and they said the SUV that slammed into me was probably just a drunk driver.”
“Maybe he was.”
It was her turn to be sarcastic. About medium level. “So I see a man die in front of me, I get into a car accident that could have killed me, and then I barely escape a helicopter crash with my life, all in the span of three days? Come on. I can see you don’t believe that.”
Locke had to admit: this woman was tenacious. “I’ve never been a fan of coincidences, but I’ve seen them before. Still, that’s a nasty run of bad luck.”
“I’m not planning to play blackjack any time soon. I just need some help.”
Locke popped the last bite of his burger into his mouth and waited to speak until he finished it.
“Okay, I’ll check it out myself, but I can’t promise anything,” he said. “I’ll talk to John Coleman myself tomorrow. Maybe he knows something about this.”
“Thank you,” Dilara said, obviously relieved to have someone else on her side. Locke was interested to hear what Coleman had to say, but he didn’t expect much. His guess was that Sam Watson had been wrong about Locke. Perhaps it was John Coleman that was involved in all of this.
Dilara finished her burger, and the fatigue finally overtook her. Locke escorted her back to her cabin and told her he’d let her know the minute he heard anything, but since it was a Saturday, he didn’t expect any information until at least the next morning. Then he retired to his own cabin. Locke wanted to get some information about Coleman before he contacted him, so he sent an email back to Aiden MacKenna at Gordian’s Seattle headquarters, which was four and a half hours behind Newfoundland Time. After it went out over the rig’s wi-fi system, Locke passed out on his bunk, exhausted from the day’s events.
At 1:15 in the morning, a chime from his laptop woke him. Feeling rested from a few hours of sleep, he turned the computer towards him and saw that he had an instant message. It was from Aiden, Gordian’s top expert in information retrieval. Locke often used his services to salvage electronic data from disaster sites, but Aiden was a renaissance computer whiz and could tackle almost anything Locke threw his way. Loc
ke wasn’t surprised to see that he was checking his email at 8:45 on a Saturday night.
Tyler, my man, I’ve got your answer. You awake? the message said.
I am now. Where are you? Locke replied.
At home, playing Halo and shooting Red Bull with some nerds from the office. I’m kicking ass, BTW. I would have answered you sooner, but I just saw your message.
What did you find out?
You haven’t heard from John Coleman in a while, have you?
Not for six months. Why?
He’s dead. Freak accident.
Dead? John Coleman was only in his fifties and seemed to be in perfect health.
What happened to him? Locke typed.
Instead of a reply, the computer window said, Connection lost. Great timing. Just when they were getting to the good part.
Locke checked his connection to Scotia One’s wi-fi network, but it was showing 100 %. He tried to pull up Google, but all he got was an error page. That meant the rig’s connection to the Internet was down.
Scotia One was equipped with a satellite antenna that served as its connection to the outside world. The workers on board could use it to surf the web and send emails when they weren’t working. It also served as a backup to the platform’s radio. There could be only two explanations for the connection to be down. Either there was some kind of internal glitch, or the antenna itself was disabled.
Locke looked out the window. The fog was still heavy, and the sea was relatively calm. The conditions made a mechanical failure unlikely. With no storm to damage the equipment, the antenna should be intact. It must have been some kind of electrical or software problem.
He picked up the phone and called the control room. It was answered by Frank Hobson. Locke remembered him as timid man with black horn-rimmed glasses who always worked the graveyard shift alone.
“Hi, Tyler,” he said in a reedy voice. “What can I do for you?”
“Frank, I’m having some trouble with the Internet. When will it be back up?”
“I didn’t even know it was down. You’re probably the only one up at this hour using it. Let me check.” Locke heard tapping on a keyboard. “Yup, it’s out here, too.”
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