The Titicaca Effect

by Richard N. Tooker

  “It was Prometheus.”

  “Damn!” the general barked. “That thing is nuclear powered! Where did it come down?”

  “That’s the good news. NASA thinks that it completely burned up in the atmosphere on reentry. And if there was anything left it came down in the Atlantic a good 800 miles west of the continent. NASA has planes enroute now, to see if there’s any trace radiation. They don’t think they’re going to find any.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” Harris said. He turned to the president. “Mr. President, no one told me we had hardware like that in orbit. How many more satellites like that are up there? Who knows about this?”

  “Just those with a need to know, Ken,” the president replied, an irritated look on his face. “And you don’t need to know any more.”

  “Yes, Sir.” The science advisor looked chastised. He turned to Freitag. “You said that was the good news, Jim. You have more bad news?”

  “Not really. Every satellite crosses the equator and goes over Bolivia sooner or later. But the odds of a satellite crossing that specific point over Lake Titicaca at the exact time of an eruption are, you’ll pardon the pun, astronomical. Somewhere on the order of six million to one. Nevertheless, it has already happened, and it could happen again.

  “Is there anything we can do?” the president asked.

  “Well, satellites that can be steered into new orbits can be protected,” Freitag replied, “but watching them all will seriously tax our tracking and computational capabilities. Even the military doesn’t have that much tracking horsepower. NASA’s delaying next week’s shuttle launch to recalibrate the orbit to make damn sure it doesn’t go near the area, and they have a team of people working on projecting the orbit of the international space station out for several years. It can be reoriented, but it can’t move to another orbit unless we retrofit it with engines for that purpose. Fortunately, it looks like we have time. Like I said, it’s unlikely that it will happen again, but as any statistician can tell you, that doesn’t mean it won’t happen tomorrow.”

  “Mr. President, the Titicaca Effect just became a threat to the national security of the United States,” General Whittington said in his most official-sounding voice. “I think we should be working on a plan to take control of it.”

  “I appreciate your concern, general,” the president replied, “but I think it might be premature. The effect is on Bolivian soil—or at least in Bolivian waters—and this has nothing to do with terrorists. There isn’t any international law that allows us to just waltz in and take control of it unless we think the Bolivians are somehow creating it. I don’t think that’s the case, since they seem to know less about it than we do. Mark, is there any news from the site itself?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Roberts responded. “We have a report that two Bolivian soldiers somehow got sucked into this morning’s eruption. We don’t know why or how. And Dr. Stout is on the island.”

  “Dr. Stout?” the general inquired.

  “Thaddeus Stout. A scientist friend of Tyler Freeman’s. We’ve used him before. He’s good. If anyone can figure out what the phenomenon is, he can. I left word for Tyler to call me here this morning to bring us up to date.”

  “Good,” the president said. “We need better information, and soon.” The office intercom buzzer sounded on the president’s desk. He pressed a button. “Yes?”

  “Mr. President, you’d better turn on CNN,” a female voice responded.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Presley,” the president answered. He pressed another button and a wall panel across from the desk slid open to reveal a bank of TV sets, already warming up. The president pressed another button, and they all switched to CNN. Everyone in the room turned to face the row of receivers as the sound activated.

  “…And as you can see, the waterspout appears to go straight up. Whatever kind of pressure system is causing this unusual tornado, or typhoon, it seems to be very localized. Our cameraman was about a mile away, and there was only a light breeze. Plus, yesterday was an otherwise clear day at the lake when this video was shot.” The video that accompanied this description was obviously taken from a helicopter hovering near the Island of the Moon as the Titicaca Effect roared at maximum strength. “Once again, no word on the fate of the two men we saw running toward the waterspout, and we have no word on the condition of the man who tried to save them.” The picture switched to a studio shot of the evening news anchor.

  “Bolivian authorities so far have had no comment on the unusual weather system except to confirm that it probably had something to do with bringing down American Flight 291 nearly three weeks ago. Our repeated calls to the Federal Aviation Administration in Washington to confirm this theory have not been returned, and the chief FAA investigator in La Paz, Tyler Freeman, has been out of contact. He may be the person who attempted to rescue the other two men.” The camera switched back to the island and focused on a tent that was keeping a handful of people dry in the torrential rains as the news anchor talked. “Some weather experts are saying that it can’t possibly be a natural phenomenon because it seems to reappear every morning at the same time. But if it’s man-made, no one has a theory as to how or why it was created, or by whom. Stay tuned to CNN for more on this developing story.”

  The president punched the monitors off and the panel slid back into place, once again hiding the TV sets from view in the oval office. “Well, it’s no longer our secret to keep.”

  “I can hear scientists all over the world saying ‘Duh!’ Of course it’s not a weather system,” the science advisor said. “This is already the story on every news source on the planet. That lake is crawling with journalists. If there’s anything we have to do in secret, we’d better do it now.”

  The buzzer on the president’s desk sounded again, and again he pressed the intercom button. “Yes, Mrs. Presley?”

  “Mr. President, I have a Tyler Freeman on the line, from Bolivia. He says Mr. Roberts told him to interrupt.”

  “Put him, through, please,” the president responded. He pressed another button and nodded to Mark Roberts, signaling him to pick up the conversation.

  “Tyler?” Roberts said. “Can you hear me?”

  “I can hear you fine, Mark,” Freeman’s voice crackled through a slight static. “Are you in the oval office?”

  “He is, Mr. Freeman,” the president interrupted. “This is Bill Truesdale. We haven’t met, but I’ve heard a lot about you from Mark. Was that you that tried to rescue those two men?

  “Yes, Mr. President. I almost had one of them, but he got sucked into the effect just before I reached him.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m OK. I have two broken ribs and a mild concussion, but the doctors say I’ll heal if I take it easy for a few days.”

  “Did you know you were just on CNN?” the president asked.

  “CNN? I haven’t talked to CNN.” Freeman sounded surprised.

  “Not an interview, Tyler,” Roberts said. “They just showed video of those two men and your rescue attempt yesterday. It looked like it was taken from a helicopter.”

  “Ah,” Freeman replied. “I saw the chopper. Didn’t know it was CNN, though. What did they say about it?”

  “They think it’s some kind of weather phenomenon,” Roberts answered. “But the footage they had was excellent. Scientists all over the world are going to see that tape, and they’ll know better. The cat’s out of the bag.”

  “President Maldonado won’t be happy about that,” Freeman said. “He wants to control the flow of information from the site. How do you suppose a CNN news crew got by his people?”

  The president’s science advisor joined the conversation. “This is Ken Harris, Mr. Freeman. It’s possible they didn’t fly there from Bolivia. The borders in that part of the world are largely unguarded, especially from the air. They could easily have flown in from Peru, or even Chile.”

  “Mr. Freeman, we’ve just heard something disturbing from NASA,” the president said
. “Apparently, the Titicaca Effect has knocked down a satellite. Do you have any information that could explain how that happened?”

  “Oh, man, Thaddeus was right!” Freeman sounded stunned. “I thought for sure his explanation was too far-fetched to be true….” His voiced trailed off as if he were suddenly rendered speechless.

  “Thaddeus?” Roberts reacted. “You mean Dr. Stout’s already figured it out? What did he tell you?”

  “He says it’s antigravity,” Freeman answered, then paused for a few seconds to let that sink in. No one said anything; they were all too shocked to respond. “A reversal of the earth’s gravitational field,” he continued, “and he says he thinks he knows why it’s happening, but he needs to do some kind of drilling to verify his theory.”

  The Chief of Staff and the president’s science advisor looked at each other, the light of understanding dawning on both their faces simultaneously. “Do you know what that could mean, Jim?” Harris asked.

  “Oh, my God,” Freitag responded. “Mr. President, if Stout’s right, Bolivia may have just inherited space travel.”

  “Space travel?” The president looked confused. “What do you mean? How?”

  “Think about it, Mr. President,” Freitag said, excitedly. “If the Titicaca Effect is in fact a reverse gravity field of some kind, and if it’s powerful enough to knock down aircraft and satellites in orbit, then it’s powerful enough to launch objects into space!”

  “No, not launch, exactly,” Roberts interrupted. “If you could place a satellite or even a capsule inside that thing and keep it from being ripped apart, it would simply fall up, into space.”

  “No rockets, no fuel needed, no expensive launch facilities!” Freitag jumped back into the rapid-fire conversation. “Just let it fall, like dropping a rock off a mountain. Mr. President, if the Titicaca Effect is here to stay, it could change the economics of space travel forever! Mr. Freeman, does Dr. Stout think it’s a permanent phenomenon?”

  “He’s still working on that,” Freeman responded.

  The general interrupted them. “Mr. President, I renew my earlier suggestion. If this thing is what these men say it is, Bolivia doesn’t have the resources to protect it. We need to secure the site before someone else takes it away from them.”

  The president glared at Whittington. “General, most of the bad things that have happened throughout history started out with that kind of convoluted logic,” he snapped. “I appreciate the tactics of the situation, and I know that what you’re suggesting might make sense from a military point of view. But we’d never get away with invading another country unless there’s a direct threat of terrorism, and that’s not what this is all about.”

  “For now, I think it might be prudent to send some ships to the area,” Freitag said. “Why don’t we have the Navy stage some exercises off the coast of Chile? And start drawing up some contingency plans just in case something develops down there that we need to deal with. But until we perceive a real threat of some kind, that’s all the military should do. We have CIA operatives in the area working on the drug interdiction program. I’ll have them reassigned.”

  The president, who had been nodding in agreement with his Chief of Staff, turned his attention to the phone again. “Mr. Freeman, are you still with us?”

  “Yes, Mr. President,” Freeman answered.

  “I want you to make sure your scientist has everything he needs to get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible. If you need anything, just get in touch with Ambassador Previn and tell him what you want. I’ll tell my people to let him know he is to earn his paycheck, for once.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Freeman responded. “I’ve met the Ambassador.”

  “Tyler,” Roberts said, “I want you to keep this under your hat. I know you made a deal with Maldonado, but he doesn’t need to know any of this, at least not until we have a chance to sort out our options. Do you understand?”

  “Mark, I promised to keep him up to date,” Freeman began to argue, but Roberts cut him off angrily.

  “I know you did, Tyler, and you had no authority to make that kind of decision without consulting me. I’m telling you now, keep your damn mouth shut! Is that clear?”

  There was a long silence at the other end of the phone connection.

  “Clear!” Freeman responded curtly. Then there was a click as he hung up the phone.

  “The sonofabitch hung up on me!” Roberts almost shouted. He was red-faced.

  President Truesdale grinned. “Give it a rest, Mark. Your Mr. Freeman is a man of his word, that’s all. But he’ll do what he’s told.”

  Roberts shook his head. “I hope you’re right, Mr. President.”

  Chapter 9: Alicia

  Tyler Freeman gazed at the candlelit face of Alicia Montoya and smiled. The injuries he had suffered as a result of his unsuccessful attempt to save the two Bolivian soldiers on the Island of the Moon three days earlier were finally healing. His cracked ribs were bandaged, and the headache caused by the concussion had finally gone away. He was glad to be with her.

  Damn, he thought, I didn’t want to feel this way about anyone, especially someone who lives in another country. The question is, what the hell do I do now? He knew he was falling in love with the pretty Bolivian schoolteacher, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. It had only been a couple of years since the breakup of his marriage. Although he knew that should have been plenty of time to get over the trauma of it and get on with his life, he had not done that. Instead, he had buried himself in his work, refusing to experience the pain of the divorce, to accept it and move on. Now, with the intrusion of Alicia Montoya in his life, he was a cauldron of conflicting emotions. In order to create space for her, it seemed he had to simultaneously deal with grief over the breakup of his marriage, his guilt about not being a real father to his daughter, and his blossoming love for Alicia. It was confusing, and he desperately wanted to resolve it. The only thing he was certain of was that he didn’t want to blow this chance with Alicia.

  Since the two of them had met at the American embassy, they had been together at every available opportunity, and Alicia had used that time to acquaint him with her family, her friends and with La Paz. Freeman was struck by both the differences and the parallels to American life. Most of the people he met seemed to have the same concerns that Americans typically have. They worry about finances, they want to give their children a good start in life, they want to live comfortably, and they are like Americans in one other important way – they desperately want to believe that the future holds promise for themselves and their loved ones.

  The similarities ended there, however. To begin with, Bolivians hold onto customs that simply would not be acceptable in the United States. Friday nights, for example. On Fridays, the men get together to party without their wives and girlfriends, and the women simply aren’t allowed to ask where they’ve been, what they’ve been doing, and with whom. In practice, most of the time the men just go out and drink, but not always. Freeman thought that it had been decades since that kind of behavior was acceptable among the middle class in America, if it ever was. That custom was one of many that seemed designed to keep females in their place. For the most part, the women seemed to be treated with open admiration socially, but when it came to careers and financial matters, they were clearly second-class citizens.

  Most striking to Freeman, however, was his discovery that Bolivians are a people very proud of their past. Everyone he met knew more about their country’s history than any adult American would know about his own, and they knew that history in great detail, including names, dates, and events.

  To Freeman, La Paz seemed to be a city full of paradoxes. Cell phones, the hallmark of modern technology throughout the world, worked everywhere in the city but a far smaller percentage of the populace carried them. Everywhere he went in the commercial area of the city, he saw women wearing bright yellow vests carrying cell phones for rent for one Boliviano, about 30 cents American, per minute. Peop
le would line up to use the phones while the vendors timed their calls with a stopwatch.

  During all the time he had been in Bolivia, he had seen only one other black person, when Alicia had taken him to Mercado De Las Brujas, the “witch’s market” located right off the Prado, the central downtown street. The black woman was running one of the shops in the market. She spoke a little English and he spoke a little Spanish, so he struck up a conversation with her and managed to learn that she was a descendant of slaves originally brought to the Andes by the Spaniards when they conquered the area.

  The witch’s market was essentially a collection of small shops and street vendors selling antique artifacts, clothing, potions and most bizarre of all to Freeman, dried llama fetuses. Apparently, the grisly carcasses had some unexplained medicinal value, but their primary function was to serve as a good luck charm when a home or other building was being constructed. The fetus is placed under the cornerstone or foundation of the structure.