Time Storm Shockwave

by Juliann Farnsworth

  “You’re going to like it here,” he said and touched her hand.

  She grinned. “I already do.”

  ***

  It was well into the afternoon when they got close enough for Mark to point out his yacht. The boat was ninety-eight-feet with the name Zephyr painted neatly on the side. From a large flagpole, hung an American flag; it whipped gently in the breeze.

  Ashlyn’s face radiated surprise. “You said you had a boat, you didn’t tell me that it was a yacht.”

  “A yacht is a boat, and—” he shrugged “—you asked if I had one, I just confirmed it.”

  Looking at the flag, she said, “I see you are patriotic.”

  “I can’t help myself; I was born on the fourth of July.” He winked at her.

  “For real?” she asked.

  He gave her a half smile. “People are born on that date every year you know. It isn’t a statistical improbable.”

  She nodded. “I guess you’re right,” she said and laughed at herself. “Why don’t you show me around?”

  “Lady’s first,” he said and bowed gallantly with a wave of his arm and she complied.

  It wasn’t his propensity to use expensive things to attract women, but he didn’t mind the fact that she was impressed. He led her onto the lower boat landing, and then they climbed the stairs that led to the aft deck. It was covered but opened to the air above the waist-high walls of the hull.

  “Ladies first,” he said, and he motioned for her to go ahead up the stairs and through the pilothouse.

  Stewart was sunning himself on a sofa that wrapped around the port side of the flybridge in the vain effort to darken his pasty skin. He hadn’t noticed their approach. Apparently, he had fallen asleep from the heat, or so Mark would say as his excuse for pouring a bit of ice water on his comatose assistant.

  ***

  Stewart jerked and mumbled some nonsense as the shock of the ice water woke him. He shook his head in surprise and eyed Mark who was feigning ignorance. Stewart would have probably tried to get revenge, but he froze suddenly when he noticed that Mark was not alone. His mouth dropped so obviously at the sight of Ashlyn that Mark reached over and pushed Stewart’s chin back into place.

  Stewart had been irritated, but it turned to humiliated anger—he tried to hide it. After regaining his composure, he spoke, “You haven’t introduced me to your friend.”

  “This is Ashlyn Wright—” Mark said casually “—she is going to join us. I thought we needed someone who could cook for a change.”

  Stewart stared at her and then finally looked away and gave Mark an incredulous look. He wouldn’t meet Stewart's eyes, and that upset him even more. Normally he was quite passive; after all, Mark was his boss, and Stewart was grateful for the internship, but he had believed that they were also friends.

  He felt strangely betrayed by Mark’s lack of consideration—I wish he had asked for my opinion first before bringing some woman on board—he tried to act nonchalant.

  He poured his eyes over Ashlyn and had to admit that she was something to look at. Having her on board might not be as bad as he thought.

  “I’m going to have her stay in the VIP stateroom,” Mark said casually.

  Stewart’s irritation returned full force—that’s my room!—he thought angrily. The other rooms were just fine. “Okay—” he tried hard to hide his tone “—I’ll move my stuff to the crew quarters.”

  The original design for the yacht had included more guest rooms, but Mark had ordered that space to be customized. That area now contained a high-tech equipment room and an elaborate office for his research.

  He seemed oblivious to Stewart’s feelings on the matter, and it wasn’t like him. Stewart studied Ashlyn suspiciously. She didn’t protest at all. Suddenly, her good looks didn’t look so good. He would have volunteered the room if he had only been given the chance. At least then, he wouldn’t have to feel resentful. He got up and went downstairs to move his belongings.

  ***

  “Would you like the grand tour?” Mark asked Ashlyn as he gallantly motioned around them.

  “I’d love it.”

  “Right now we are on the flybridge—” he cocked his head “—though I‘m sure you already knew that.” It was on the very top, in the middle of the ship.

  He pointed toward the bow—down a level. Beyond the standard deck paraphernalia, there was a lounge section with a Jacuzzi. The flybridge itself had a secondary helm to use during pleasant weather, two captain’s chairs, and the sofa that Stewart had been sleeping on. There was also a wet bar and a small table. Above and behind the helm was a tower with various antennas and radar equipment.

  Still on the top deck, he motioned down the stairs toward the stern. There was a small motor boat covered and stored there, as well as various crates and tools.

  “There isn’t much to see down there.”

  “Do you use that boat much?—” she asked curiously “—How do you get it off the ship?”

  “It has a lifting crane—” he indicated an apparatus “—I don’t use it very often. The draft of the yacht is less than six feet, and I can usually get to a dock if I’m going in for supplies.”

  He continued the tour by taking her down into the pilothouse—they had come through it on the way up. A large number of radar screens, monitors, and other equipment filled the area. The communications desk had a satellite telephone, radio, and other electronic equipment.

  “Looks like you have everything you could possibly need—” she gave him a lopsided grin “—I don’t even know what half of this stuff is.”

  “I don’t either—” he furrowed his brow and then laughed “—actually I do, but I suppose it’s a bit overdone.”

  “At least you don’t have to worry about not having something you need—” she tilted her head flirtatiously “—maybe you can teach me how to use all of it.”

  He nodded, suddenly uncomfortable by her aggressiveness, and the thought crossed his mind—I hope I made the right decision—but he motioned around the room continuing the tour.

  A plush sofa wrapped around part of the room until it ended at the downward spiral staircase. Large angled windows covered the top half of the front and sides.

  Looking at the windshield wipers, she spoke nervously, “Have you ever been caught in a storm out here?”

  “Of course—” confused he said “—I thought you lived on a boat for a while. Surely, you’ve been in a storm.”

  She blushed, “Well, of course, but this is …you know …”

  “The Bermuda Triangle?” he completed her statement.

  “Yeah,” she averted her eyes for a second.

  “That’s what I’m out here studying. I mean I’m looking for anomalous readings, electromagnetic fields, and—” he hesitated “—things like that.”

  “I guess you told me, but I really didn’t think about it,” she admitted.

  “You can still get out of this arrangement if you want,” he offered.

  “No, I’m fine—” she laughed at herself “—I didn’t think I was superstitious.”

  “I don’t think it is superstition—” he spoke seriously “—I think there is something real and explainable going on out here.”

  When she didn’t say anything, he gestured toward the staircase, “Shall we?”

  They went down to the aft deck where they had been before. Now there was more time to look around. There was another sofa, as well as a table. A large flat-screen TV covered part of the wall near the entrance to the salon. They walked through the open smoked-colored sliding-glass doors into the parlor. A plush beige carpet embossed with a subtle diamond design covered the floor. Large windows enveloped the starboard and port sides of the room about half way up. Deluxe furnishings, a sofa, easy chairs, and elegant cabinetry graced the room.

  The forward section was a dining area with a glass-topped table; elegant lighting and works of art adorned the walls. The next section contained staircases in the center leading down to a f
oyer connecting the downstairs office, lab, equipment room, engine room, and crew quarters. He pointed them out but didn’t show them to her.

  Doors on both sides exited to outside walkways leading to the bow of the ship and Jacuzzi area, with internal hallways leading to the galley. That dining room was less formal than the other one. It had all the usual cooking and kitchen appliances. As in the other rooms, it had a television built into the wall.

  “Just let me know of any supplies you want me to buy before we leave port,” he offered.

  She nodded her agreement.

  The end of the room had a staircase leading to the master and VIP staterooms—I hope Stewart’s finished moving out—Mark took her straight to her room. The bed had already been stripped, and new bedding was stacked on the bed.

  “I can have Stewart make the bed for you,” Mark said uncomfortably.

  “No—” she shook her head “—that’s all right. I can do it myself.”

  The VIP room was quite magnificent. It had its own television and entertainment center. It had a private bathroom, far too elaborates to refer to it as a head. It had everything, complete with a Jacuzzi tub.

  “Well—” he set her suitcase down “—that’s it.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. You say it as if it’s no big deal. It’s really nice—” she asked “—do you live on the boat year round?”

  “Yes—” he smiled like a school boy “—I have everything I need.” He loved his boat, but he hadn’t shown it to many people.

  They climbed the stairs to the galley. Stewart was sitting there, a stormy expression clouding his face. “So, how did you guys meet?”

  “My appointment didn’t show, and we just kind of bumped into each other and—” Mark shrugged “—we started talking.”

  “You just bumped into each other?—” Stewart’s voice oozed sarcasm “—convenient.”

  Mark furrowed his brow—what’s his problem?—he wondered, but didn’t say anything.

  “Actually—” she took his arm and smiled at him “—I kind of bumped into him.”

  ***

  Stewart turned his head so that Mark wouldn’t see him roll his eyes—I can’t believe he’s buying this …she’s after something. I know it! She probably wants his money—he thought and clinched his jaw. He would have to protect his friend.

  Mark had never acted this way as long as Stewart had known him. Ashlyn seemed to have some kind of hold over him. She was beautiful for sure, but …this was ridiculous …and so fast!

  “You know, I’m kind of hungry—” he had to do something “—why don’t we find out if she really can cook before we leave port?”

  “We just ate, so you’re on your own for this one,” Mark answered thoughtlessly.

  “Insult to injury,” Stewart mumbled under his breath as he opened the refrigerator. He shook his head, dumbfounded—it’s not as if he has trouble attracting women, why her?—he considered apprehensively.

  Ashlyn started rummaging through the galley, and then she announced, “I’m going to check if we need to buy anything before we put out to sea.”

  “I’ll be in the pilothouse,” Mark told her and left them alone.

  Stewart decided to take advantage of the moment, “So, you’ve never met Mark before today?”

  “No,” she answered without looking at him. She was taking inventory; her head buried in one of the cabinets.

  “And you never heard of him either?” he pressed.

  There was a nearly imperceptible pause, and then she answered him, “No.”

  He persisted, “Not even his name?”

  This time she didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled her head out of the cabinet and stared at him.

  “Why are you asking me this?”

  He began to feel uncomfortable. Her tone seemed somewhat menacing. She stepped toward him, and he backed up a bit.

  “I was just wondering,” he answered slowly, unnerved, and almost afraid.

  Her face went cold, and her eyes burned into his. “Stay out of it!”

  There was no question that it was a threat. He didn’t know what she was after, but he was certain that she was dangerous.

  Chapter 3

  As I gaze upon the sea all the old romantic legends, all my dreams,

  come back to me. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  ~

  Along the east side of Andros Island in the Bahamas, lays a deep oceanic trench known as the Tongue of the Ocean. It drops suddenly from an average water depth of around one hundred and fifteen feet to over six thousand feet, and it extends for nearly one hundred miles. It is easily seen from space by the variation in color from the light-blue shallow waters to the deep dark-blue of the extreme depths.

  It is along the Tongue of the Ocean that the AUTEC—Atlantic Underwater Test and Evaluation Center—Naval Bases are situated. With appropriate credentials and forewarning, one of the bases is open to the public, not much is known about the others. Via satellite images, the submarine channels cut into the ocean are clearly visible, some are marked on the map, and some are not.

  ***

  Albuquerque, New Mexico

  A man sat at a bar drinking Puerto Rican rum directly from the bottle. A tattoo of an anchor wrapped by a sea serpent was visible under the sweat beading on his left bicep. The television behind the bar droned on, unnoticed by most of the occupants. Newscaster, Jeff Landro, was reporting the disappearance of an eighty-year-old woman, who by all accounts had simply vanished in front of a crowd of onlookers.

  The man, clearly intoxicated, started shouting at the bartender when the story finally entered his muddled brain.

  “There, you see—” he slurred his words and nearly fell off his chair “—it was just like that. It’s aliens, I’m tellin’ you.”

  “Okay Jake, I think you’ve had enough,” the bartender walked around to the other side of the counter, and forcefully encouraged the man to leave.

  ***

  Mark and Stewart had been systematically following their list of reported incidents. Stewart specialized in underwater technology and the equipment on board was top of the line. They had instruments usually reserved only for the military, including a sub-aquatic wireless broadband system. Of course, they wouldn’t be surfing the Web from below, but the many wireless sensors they had placed would greatly simplify the data retrieval process.

  Mark was determined to make some kind of rational sense out of all the Bermuda Triangle stories. He would have chalked it all up to nonsense and folklore. However, one of his most respected friends from UCLA, Dr. Nathanial Growlier had told Mark a personal story that could not be ignored. Furthermore, it had ignited a fascination in him that could not be easily quenched.

  It had been nearly a week since Ashlyn’s arrival. In their rare moments alone, Stewart had tried to talk to Mark about his concerns of distrust, but Mark was clearly smitten and didn’t want to hear it. Ashlyn was beautiful, a good diver, and a terrific cook. She was even adept at computers and technology—a perfect asset to join them in their research. She seemed pleasant enough except for that first day, but he was still wary; it was all too convenient.

  They docked at Bimini Island for a few supplies. Mark took Stewart with him to help carry the provisions back while Ashlyn stayed behind on the yacht to finish a book she had been reading.

  “Her story seems a bit fishy if you ask me,” Stewart said, trying to break through Mark’s stupor.

  Mark studied Stewart’s face for a moment, wondering if that was meant as a joke. The book was about fish, literally, the undersea types that were native to the Bahamas.

  “Are you joking, trying to be punny—” Mark asked “—what is your problem with her?”

  Stewart genuinely hadn’t noticed his pun, and laughed aloud when he got the point, “I guess that was kind of funny.”

  “Listen—” Mark pressed “—you have got to get over your jealousy of Ashlyn.”

  Offended, Stewart glared at him and spoke angrily, “Seriously
, jealousy? I’m not in love with you.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way—” Mark shook his head “—she’s just good at everything. I’m not surprised that you feel intimidated.”

  “What? Honestly, you haven’t been listening to me at all—” Stewart threw up his hands in frustration “—I don’t trust her, there is a huge difference. I think she is dangerous, and I don’t know what she is after.”

  Mark stopped, and turned to face Stewart, “Okay, tell me why.”

  “I don’t know exactly—” Stewart was quiet for a moment “—it’s more of a gut feeling than anything else, I guess. I don’t have any proof, but …if you had seen her when I was alone with her that first day you would …She is dangerous. Can’t you just trust me about that?”

  “Then it’s settled—” Mark shook his head dismissively “—I like her cooking, she’s a good diver, and she thinks of things that we both miss.”

  “Okay—” Stewart let out an exasperated breath “—but this is on you my friend. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  It took far longer than planned to obtain their supplies. It was dark when they headed back to the boat. Mark stopped abruptly and handed Stewart the packages he was carrying.

  With no more explanation than, “I’ll be right back, I forgot something,” Mark walked off.

  “I hate it when he does that,” Stewart said aloud to no one.

  Unsure of how long Mark’s ‘right back’ was going to be, Stewart put the things he was carrying down on a bench outside a tavern of some sort. Movement in the shadows caught his attention. It was a bit difficult to see in the dark, but he was certain it was Ashlyn talking quietly to some man.

  Stealthily, he moved close enough to see her more clearly, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. The man handed her something, but Stewart couldn’t tell what it was—so much for her fishy fish book—he thought.

  He didn’t approach her; he would let Mark see for himself. However, by the time Mark returned, she was nowhere to be found.

  “Are you sure it was her?” Mark asked, annoyed.