by Al Turner
The
Secret
Page
A Novel by
Al Turner
The Secret Page
© 2017 by Al Turner
All Rights Reserved
ISBN: ISBN 978-0-9991820-0-0
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
~
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
~
Editing by Caroline Kaiser
www.carolinekaisereditor.com
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Book cover design by The Book Design House
www.thebookdesignhouse.com
~
Formatting by Polgarus Studio
www.polgarusstudio.com
For the Ultimate Cyn, who believed and supported me throughout this process.
Table of Contents
GULF OF MEXICO
FAST FORWARD
CHURCH MEETING
A KEY ENCOUNTER
FOLLOW THAT CAR
LUNCH TO DIE FOR
CASTING OFF
WATER HAZARD
BUMP AND GUN
FISH TALE
JUST BUSINESS
SECRETS AMONG FRIENDS
AN INCOMPLETE TRUTH
TWO ROADS
IT'S COMPLICATED
CHOICES
FOLLOWING BREADCRUMBS
THE HIDDEN ROOM
A MOMENT TOO LATE
THE JITTERS
THE POKER ROOM
THE BIG EASY WAY
TOMB RAIDERS
MISS DIRECTION
REALITY CHECK
DON'T KNOW JACK
SEVERED RELATIONS
GAME CHANGER
SQUARE ROUTE
TO ERR IS DEADLY
MORNING MOURNING
LIKE CLOCKWORK
WITCH WAY
POLYHEDRON
DOWN UNDER
UNDERGROUND REUNION
AVENGING SPIRIT
A LIGHT FROM THE SHADOWS
RETRO CHAMBER
CHANGE OF PLANS
INCOMING
NEW RECRUITS
THE LID REMOVED
THE SECRET PAGE
GULF OF MEXICO
Several hours out of New Orleans, the supply vessel emerged from a curtain of rain and proceeded southeast toward breaking skies. It was a typical Gulf storm, hardly worth writing home about, with some showers and wind. The Dream Stream pushed onward through seven- to eight-foot head seas that dissipated as she moved toward calmer waters.
Officially, she was listed as an offshore supply ship, about 230 feet from stem to stern. To the casual observer, she was a common vessel on a typical supply run—exactly what her crew and passengers preferred others to think.
The ship readjusted her course, as she was no longer required to skirt the edge of a Gulf storm, and headed south to her destination.
Her skipper, known only as Captain Albert to those aboard, stood on the bridge and surveyed both the sea and sky ahead. His ship was only a few years old, built in the mid-eighties in the US, flagged in Panama, and refitted for special duty. She had been rechristened with her new name only weeks before. Albert had only been her skipper for the past few days and wasn’t privy to her prior name.
With his weathered skin and keen eyes, he looked the part of a man at sea. In all his years, though, he had never had a haul like the one that sat in the ship’s hold. Not that he knew what it was; it was all hush-hush. There were the men in dark suits, the brass in uniforms, and the brainy ones in white coats.
Then there was this other guy, the real brains of the bunch, and just as interested in the weather as he. His hair was short and disheveled, while his wardrobe consisted of cargo pants and a Hawaiian shirt. He chewed away at his gum and blew the occasional bubble. The bubble first appeared, it seemed, as he was on the threshold of reaching a conclusion about whatever was on his mind. As it grew and popped, it signaled he was close to making some announcement. When the man spoke, everyone within earshot listened.
“So we made it through the first one. Moving forward, I’ll assume clear skies,” Dr. Albert Dasinger said.
The captain knew it was directed at him. “We’ve got another line coming up from the south, but it’s light rain that should pass to our west.”
“Let’s hope your forecast is correct,” he said curtly, his slight German accent barely noticeable. He added a thin smile as if to soften his words a bit.
“Beyond another quick shower, we should have mostly clear skies, Dr. Dasinger,” Captain Albert assured him.
While the rest of the crew and passengers were under strict orders to use only first names, ranks, or titles, this scientist refused to be called by his first name. He had earned his degree, and the suits that were aft and below didn’t seem to push the matter. The captain surmised correctly that he was the most important guest aboard.
“Good. Thank you, Albert,” said Dr. Dasinger. “My colleague is counting on everything being ready.” He blew another bubble, apparently contemplating something.
It was a mystery to the captain who the man was trying to coordinate with. At the same time, he wouldn’t bother to ask questions that would surely go unanswered. “Of course,” he replied, unsure of what he had agreed to. He was just the guy charged with getting men and supplies to what he understood to be an oil platform in the Gulf. No details given, just coordinates.
Captain Albert was glad to have work again. He had thought his career was over, but then his prayers had been answered when the call came in. Someone needed a replacement for another captain who had some sort of medical emergency. He felt they had made a mistake. He was, after all, under review, and the last thing he expected was a job offer to come his way.
The brush with a sandbar in a vessel owned by someone else had come at the worst time. It was what happened when a captain’s mind was on his personal losses and not the river he was supposed to navigate. Two losses, his wife and his captaincy, occurred in as many weeks. The pain was almost more than he could bear.
When his only son had heard the news about the job offer, he didn’t seem too surprised. Albert wondered if Cornelius had pulled some strings to make it happen. He wouldn’t confirm it, though his lack of a denial did just that. Cornelius told him that the opportunity could go a long way to ensure he captained again—that is, if he could do the job without question or comment. He often wondered what his son actually did for a living.
Dr. Dasinger stood for a moment longer. “I do like your name, Albert,” he said with a wink as he departed. He then retreated from the bridge, probably to check his equipment.
The man didn’t quite fit the mold of his vision of a scientist. Then again, he had to ask himself what an old skipper would know of such things. “Thanks, doc,” was his reply.
The ship carried on until she arrived at her destination. She pulled alongside the large platform floating in the sea. From a distance, it had at first resembled a spar oil platform. However, as they drew closer, the captain noted it was rather queer for what the oil companies typically built.
It rose higher above the sea, for one, and had more levels. At the top of the floating structure were several thin vertical masts that formed a circle around the center. Each of them rose several stories and were as black as night.
Captain Albert stayed on the bridge as the rest of the ship came alive with people and equipment being quickly unloaded. Cranes from high above hoisted equipment off his ship. Impressed by the efficiency of this medley of events, he wat
ched for a while.
A half hour after they had arrived, everyone switched from unloading to setting things up. Groups of workers hastily moved to other areas, as if anticipating what was to come. The captain made a few rounds, stopping by the galley to grab a quick snack, then returned to the bridge. Even from his vantage point, he couldn’t see what was happening on the higher levels of the platform. He was certain that was exactly the way his employers liked it, whoever they were.
His first mate, a man he had met on the voyage, paced behind him. He was a wiry, gray-bearded man called Geoffrey. The crew, however, had already nicknamed him Jitters. The captain swore he looked older than himself, although the man insisted he wasn’t yet fifty. The drugs and booze must have aged him quicker than most, he thought.
How he was assigned first mate to any ship was beyond reason. Of course, the rumor mill had it that ol’ Jitters had connections. Looking at the man, Captain Albert could only assume his former life was well behind him. Still, there must have been some value to the man.
“Shouldn’t we be leavin’ soon, Cap'n?” Jitters asked.
He nodded. “We’ll leave when we’re told.”
The man went back to pacing. It wasn’t exactly a nervous gesture—more of one that conveyed impatience. “Ya know I have plans back in N’Awlins.”
The captain cringed as he glanced at him disapprovingly. He knew what the man wanted. By the time they made port, he would be in a fetal position, suffering from withdrawal symptoms. The captain imagined Jitters, like several of his motley crew, had probably been in and out of prison.
“I’m gettin' a bad feelin’ about dis,” Jitters moaned.
There it was again. The man constantly had to rattle on about his paranoia. At the beginning of their journey, he’d seemed a different person. Of course, that was before his vice had started to wear off.
“It’ll be over soon enough,” Captain Albert said, not making the effort to hide his annoyance. “You can get back to whatever plans you have at port, with a little more money in your pocket.”
Jitters suddenly stopped his pacing and walked over to a window on the starboard side of the bridge. His stare became fixated just past the big platform they floated next to. “Wadn't da weather 'posed to clear up?”
Interested, the captain grabbed his glasses and studied the same area of sky. The low sun was obstructed from view by the platform to their starboard side, but its orange glow shimmered across the water and reflected off clouds that formed in the distance.
“There’s supposed to be another shower passing close by,” said Captain Albert.
“Looks more dan a showah,” Jitters insisted.
“Perhaps you’re right,” the captain murmured. He watched as the so-called shower grew in intensity as it approached. Plenty of energy packed into that one, he thought. More than their forecast indicated.
On the platform, people moved toward the edge and hung over the rails as they pointed in the same direction. Initially, the approaching storm aroused curiosity, but this turned to distress as it drew closer.
An even more alarming situation had begun to unfold. The storm no longer appeared to be coming from just one direction but from all around. Directly above it was mostly clear, but misty gray mountains rose and encircled them. A strange energy in the air caused the hairs on the captain’s arms to stand straight up.
Then something occurred on the platform. At first, it sounded like a low hum, but it grew louder. The sky above cast a greenish haze as lightning danced freely in all directions. The wind howled in the distance, but oddly a strange calm surrounded the platform. The sea, however, churned with anger.
“What da hell’s goin’ on?” Jitters cried. “We gotta get away from dis place.”
That very thought had occurred to the captain, but he hadn’t yet received clearance to depart. He ordered Jitters to get on the comm and confirm removing the moorings so they could get clear. The endeavor was pointless—all communication attempts returned nothing but static.
A command decision had to be made, and Captain Albert ordered the vessel under way. Even while his crew carried out the command, various individuals from the platform made their way over at the last second, apparently preferring their chances on the Dream Stream.
Once the ship was clear, the captain gave the order to put some distance between her and the rig. He intended to circle the platform and hope for the best. But as the storm grew, it was the worst he prepared for.
***
Just outside the ring of masts, at the highest platform of the rig, Dr. Dasinger desperately tried to determine what could have gone wrong so he could correct it. An unforeseen variable had been introduced, he thought as he glanced up at the sky.
Behind him, close to the edge of the upper platform, two men were engaged in intense conversation. Their voices were raised, whether out of anger or to be heard over the wind he couldn’t tell.
Unwilling to just leave what he was doing, he waved to get their attention. The naval officer, in his khaki uniform, didn’t notice. The other man, dressed in a gray sports jacket and fedora, glanced over and saw him but returned his gaze to the uniformed man. The officer pointed to something out at sea. Begrudgingly, Dr. Dasinger left his makeshift console and trotted over.
As he approached, the man in the fedora told the officer, in so many words, to go have sex with himself. He knew little of either man, except the fedora was some intelligence agent and the uniform a naval commander named McWilliams.
The object of their frustration was the departed vessel McWilliams had arrived in. The officer wanted the ship back, while the agent seemed content to let the vessel circle them. All things considered, it seemed a strange thing to argue about.
“Can I get some help?” Dr. Dasinger demanded.
Both men stopped the bickering long enough to give him their attention.
“How may I assist, sir?” Commander McWilliams asked stiffly.
“I need to get a hold of my colleague at Source.”
Immediately, the officer shook his head. “No can do, sir. Orders are that all comm goes through a single secure channel.”
“Well, then let me use that channel to indirectly contact my colleague at Source.” He felt silly using the code word for the other location, but those government types had insisted.
Again the officer simply shook his head. “All comm comes from Source to Echo, not the other way around—unless there’s an emergency.”
Dr. Dasinger suspected his bewilderment would be obvious from his expression. “Let’s just forget how stupid it would be to not realize this is an emergency. Something’s gone terribly wrong. If I don’t correct it, we’ll all die on this platform.”
The officer paused as if considering his words or, perhaps, what his own response should be. “I’m sorry. That’s not within protocol, sir.”
“Damn your protocol! I need to talk with my brother now.”
Before the officer could answer, the other man said, “You’re wasting your time, doc. He’s a brainwashed military drone who can’t take a dump without permission.”
“Up yours, Shelby,” McWilliams said and turned. “I’ve got orders, and better things to do.”
“Orders? Where are you going?” Dr. Dasinger asked, stunned that his request was being ignored.
Shelby replaced the fedora upon his thinning blond hair. It was so windy, he had to hold it in place with one hand. “Probably to go play with himself one more time before he gets everyone killed on this lightning rod.”
Dr. Dasinger was still in a state of disbelief. “Does he want to die?”
Shelby pointed to a ladder at the end of the platform. “C’mon, doc, there’s no use joining ’em. Let’s get to that ship over there. I bet we can find you a way to communicate on board. I like our chances better there than on this rig.”
“It’s a long way down to the sea. Do you plan to swim?”
“That ladder leads to life rafts,” Shelby yelled back.
&nbs
p; Dr. Dasinger felt deflated. “I must stay here and try to do whatever I can.”
“Whatever you say, doc,” Shelby called back as his attention turned to the strangest sky he had probably ever seen. Waiting around another minute wasn’t an option. He started his journey down the ladder but only got about halfway before a thunderous boom shook the rig violently. Lightning struck multiple times above him. He tried to quicken his pace but lost his footing. His grip on the wet rung lasted only a second before he fell into the churning sea below.
Above, Dr. Dasinger had trotted back over to his equipment, hoping to find at least one terminal online. Damn, he thought, noticing nothing but error messages and DOS prompts. He tried to reboot again. “Lousy government equipment,” he muttered.
The platform beneath him undulated so much, it should have been impossible to stay standing. The sky above opened and bloomed into a maelstrom of energy. The tall metallic masts became as reeds blowing in the wind as they bent and twisted to the will of the forces around them.
Within seconds, a new reality bled into his own world. He could no longer hear the screams of the others around him as he took one last look at what remained. Time seemed to cease—both the perception of it and in reality—for him and the others. He could only accept his fate.
Unseen forces drew the platform, sea, and sky together into another plane of existence. Several flashes from explosions occurred, but it was as if the void had swallowed all sound. An ethereal world expanded as it replaced the natural one.
Then the heavens sealed up.
Thousands of tons of seawater returned to the ocean, followed by what was left of the once-large rig. The distorted, smoldering wreckage slowly disappeared beneath the surface of the chaotic sea.
On the Dream Stream, the wind, energy, and waves hit hard on her starboard side. She listed dangerously to the port until she finally began to right herself. Battered, she bobbed silently as normalcy returned around her.
Captain Albert managed to get to his feet on the dark bridge and tried to assess things. He rubbed the shoulder that had absorbed most of the impact of their being tossed around. “Status,” he called out.