The Sam Reilly Collection

by Christopher Cartwright

  Not enough to create any misgivings in his mind.

  Sam wasn’t one of those sailors who felt he needed to round the Cape of Good Hope in a dingy using traditional methods of navigation and hand steering the entire way, simply in order to prove his seamanship. For him, it was all about being there, in the middle of one of nature’s most violent spectacles, sharing in its power without being overcome by it.

  Sam had no misgivings about using all the wonders provided by modern science. Second Chance certainly wasn’t a production yacht. She was built for one purpose only, chasing storms.

  She was the product of years of development by the finest shipwrights, naval architects, engineers, and actual sailors. Built with the kind of money that could hardly be spent in a single lifetime; the sort of family wealth into which Sam had been born.

  Her hull was fiberglass with carbon fiber chine and a full keel, making her exceptionally light, strong, and stable. Equipped with state-of-the-art autopilot, GPS navigation, IAS, radar, satellite phone and internet, her amenities might cause some to argue that Sam wasn’t a real sailor.

  As his eyes carefully perused the advanced instruments at his navigation table, he really didn’t give a shit what people thought he was doing out here. As far as he was concerned, this journey was for him alone.

  It was 8p.m., and although the sun had set more than an hour ago, the bright full moon gave a seductively clear view of the ocean around him.

  This was his real home.

  The swell, already reasonably large, was flowing in a consistent direction, and had none of the usual roughness to it. Tonight, he would sleep soundly.

  He climbed down the stairs and into the main cabin. Still wide awake, he flicked open his laptop. It was connected to the main information and satellite system that had cost him a fortune to have installed onboard Second Chance.

  On the top of his computer screen, there was a picture of a mailbox and to the right of it appeared the number 3. He clicked on the icon.

  At times, he was unsure whether he loved or hated having access to such communications while at sea. He found three letters in his inbox and about a dozen more in his spam filter. Two messages were from Deep Sea Expeditions. He hit skip – they were probably after him. With this storm coming in, they were going to need everyone they could get, and they were probably trying to rescind his leave. He was on holiday, so it was not his problem. This storm was for him.

  The last email was from Kevin Reed.

  Sam had studied at MIT with Kevin, but had never had any particular relationship with him. Kevin had been studying Geometric Variances, while Sam had been studying Oceanography, before moving on to get his Master’s in Microbiology. He couldn’t for the life of him come up with a reason why the man would be emailing him now. He was pretty certain he hadn’t signed up for the college alumni. Besides, he wasn’t old enough for a reunion, anyway.

  The very thought of it made him laugh.

  He opened the message and started reading.

  Dear Sam,

  My wife and I have been in Europe on a six-month climbing holiday. You will never believe what we found! This was the only one, although we continued to search the area for two weeks before we were willing to let it go.

  I was wondering if you could tell me where it could have come from, and whether or not you think we might find more like it?

  Attached was a Jpeg file showing a small gold ingot bearing at its center, the impression of a letter G and a letter O, separated by an artistically designed infinity symbol.

  Any advice you could impart would be much appreciated.

  Kind regards, Kevin and Sally.

  At the bottom of the letter, were the words: do you want to come on a treasure hunt?

  Sam laughed at that.

  Why is it that when people know that you work for an underwater salvage company in the role of Special Operations, they automatically assume you’re interested in treasure hunting?

  He studied the picture for a couple of minutes.

  Gold had never held any special interest for him. After all, what was he going to do with it? What piqued his interest was the story behind where the gold had come from.

  He forwarded the image to Blake Symonds, a merchant banker in Venice. A friend of his father’s, the man specialized in gold bullion and fine European antiquities. If anyone knew about where the ingot had come from, it would be him. With the photo attached, Sam asked the simple question, do you know whose emblem this is? He then drew a red arrow pointing to the G&O impression.

  That done, Sam climbed into his bunk and went to sleep, while Second Chance sailed on south towards hell.

  *

  Tom Bower was sitting in the dark hull of the Maria Helena, staring at his laptop. Despite the powerful air conditioning, his face glistened with beads of sweat as he examined the catastrophic low that was rapidly approaching the northeast coast of Australia.

  He had hazel brown eyes and a permanent smile, which best expressed his happy-go-lucky attitude towards life. His dark, curly hair and olive complexion suggested a Mediterranean ancestry, even though he was a third generation American. At six foot four, he was considered much too tall to be a pilot, and even less suitable to the world of cave diving. At both of which, he was an expert. At the age of twenty-eight, Tom had already achieved more than most people would achieve in a lifetime.

  His general demeanor was relaxed, and he believed he would always manage to get through whatever happened to him. His smile was kind, and his friends often found his insouciance, despite any given disaster, as one of his most endearing yet infuriating traits.

  In front of him, were a multitude of meteorology reports.

  Even after having discussed the weather with the three brightest meteorologists in the world, the best information he could gather was not much better than what had been available when he was a child.

  There was a cyclone heading towards the northeast coastline of Australia, and depending on where it hit, there would almost certainly be a lot of damage to people, buildings and the environment.

  All the science that was designed to protect them could sink right to the ocean floor, for all its usefulness today.

  Tom had spent four years in Florida as a young boy while his father was posted there with the Navy. He knew all about hurricanes, and he always hated them. As a boy, he promised himself that he was going to move as far from water as possible. When he finished secondary school, he joined the Marines as a helicopter pilot, happy to have distanced himself from the sea and the risk of hurricanes.

  Not long after his initial training, he served in Afghanistan, where he mainly performed Hot Drops with Navy SEALS and Medevacs. It was dangerous work, but at least there was no enormous body of water below him.

  Two years ago, his chopper had been shot down. Of the twenty men aboard her, he was the only one to survive. It was pure luck, nothing more. There wasn’t anything he could have done to change that outcome. He should have been killed with the rest of them. When he attended their funerals, he felt no desire to change places with any one of the good men who had sacrificed their lives so that America could protect its way of living for future generations.

  He felt no survivor guilt, but all the same, when he looked at their loved ones, their wives, children, parents, brothers and sisters, there was simply a deep well of pain inside him, which could never be repaired, even with the military might of the U.S. Marines. Tom tried to continue on with his military career, but it was pointless.

  Much to the concern of his father, Tom eventually applied for an honorable discharge from the U.S. Marines. It had taken months for his discharge to be finalized. As a highly awarded helicopter pilot, with three separate tours of duty to the Sand Pit under his belt, he could only assume that despite his father being adamant that he would not intervene, he was indeed responsible for the delay. When it eventually came through, Tom signed the paperwork, handed in the last of his uniforms, and walked home from the base.
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br />   When he arrived home, Sam Reilly was there waiting for him, with a job offer he couldn’t resist.

  Although they had been childhood neighbors, they came from very different walks of life; both struggling with their unusual vicissitudes with equal enthusiasm and tenacity. Tom’s own father was an Admiral in the Navy, and although he earned a salary well into six figures, and was even on a first name basis with a number of Senators and Congressmen, was considered relatively poor in comparison to the others living in the affluent community of La Jolla, California.

  Sam, on the other hand, had more money than he would ever get to spend in his lifetime. The two men shared a similar love for cave diving since childhood. Once they reached adulthood, much to the disappointment of his friend’s father, Sam decided to join Tom, and the two became cadet helicopter pilots.

  The two of them completed their pilot training and Sam had even served the start of one tour of duty in Afghanistan with Tom. But then, for no reason that anyone could comprehend, Sam had returned stateside and completed his studies at MIT. There had been some unsavory sentiment throughout the military that once Sam had tasted the awful realities of war, he had used his father’s influence to bring him home again.

  To this day, Tom had never discovered the real reason behind his mate’s sudden and early departure from the Marines. But he doubted very much that Sam had been incompetent, and Tom was incapable of believing his friend to be a coward. Sam had returned to MIT to complete his Master’s in Oceanography, and the two men usually met several times a year to go cave diving together. It wasn’t much, but it was all the off-time that the Marines would give Tom, and all that Sam’s studies would allow.

  He was surprised to see Sam at the door on the very day he had received his honorable discharge. It might have been sheer luck their two lives were about to collide once again, but although he believed in luck, Tom also knew that Sam was often the precursor to its development.

  It wasn’t a coincidence. Sam must have known what was going to happen.

  Tom still remembered their conversation fondly, despite his current position, and the irony of all that he’d been offered. It had occurred just over a year ago.

  “I was formally discharged from the Corps today,” Tom said.

  “So, I was told.” Sam looked cheerful and then said, “I’ll bet your dad was stoked.”

  “Mom’s already called to give me the heads up that it will take him a while to cool down after this one. Anyway, that’s about all with me. I have no reason to feel sorry for myself. The truth is, I gave the Corps six years of my life, and three tours of duty in some of the most hostile conflicts in recent history. I’m glad to be out. I never had any aspirations to reach Admiral in forty years’ time like my old man. Now, since I doubt that you’re here to cheer me up, what do you want, Sam?”

  “My dad has convinced me to return to the family business.”

  “I thought you hated what your father does?”

  “No, I’m indifferent to the whims of an overly rich hyper-intelligent man child.” Sam smiled again as he described his father. “Despite what he wants, I won’t ever become Global Shipping’s next Chief Executive Officer.”

  “So, you’ll become what… a tugboat Captain?” Tom asked.

  “No, he wants me to take over one of his smaller auxiliary companies, Deep Sea Expeditions.”

  “Salvaging big ships and tugboat driving?”

  “Not exactly, but I suppose we might be responsible for something like that. He’s offered me the position of Director of Special Operations, which is a fancy way of saying that I pick the work I want to do, which is primarily ocean research, deep sea salvage operations, and water quality studies.”

  “What did you say to the offer?” Tom asked.

  “I said it depends whether or not I can convince you to leave the Marines and join me.” Realization slowly dawned in Tom’s eyes, as Sam continued, “My old man told me not to worry about it. You were thinking of quitting anyway.”

  “I got a phone call at 08:00 today, telling me that the paperwork had finally gone through! When did you speak to your dad, Sam?”

  “We talked at 07:30!”

  “That bastard! He’s the only person who has ever gotten the best of my father, and he controls the world’s largest Navy.”

  “Yeah, not to discuss whose is bigger, but my dad controls the world’s richest one. So, what do you say? Do you want to have an adventure or do you want to find out what other bureaucracy your father intends for you to join?”

  “You know I hate the ocean!” Tom knew this wasn’t an entirely true statement. Since he’d nearly been killed by a hurricane during his boyhood, he’d subsequently had a number of nightmares regarding the sea, and so, when he met and befriended Sam, he’d spent years being dragged out into the ocean on adventures with him. Hurricanes still scared the shit out of him, but he had learned to love the ocean as much as he’d come to deeply respect its awesome power.

  “No, you don’t hate it. You’re just a little frightened of it, that’s all. That will actually help where we’re going. Besides, we mainly look after diving operations and deep sea retrievals and leave the ocean disasters to the other guys. I can put you in charge of Special Projects. Besides, we need a helicopter pilot. What do you say?”

  “It sounds like a lot more fun than moping about here,” and just like that, Tom had been hooked into a life at sea; a life in which he discovered a place and happiness he’d never before known.

  Tom laughed as he recalled the conversation, and remembered how both Reilly men had the unique power to convince others to join them, regardless of their original intentions.

  Tom’s thoughts returned to the present. Despite the heavy soundproofing in the operations room, the 40,000 hp twin diesel engines could be heard humming away in the background as they propelled the Maria Helena at full speed towards the troubled Hayward Bulk, somewhere off the coast of North Queensland, Australia.

  Tropical cyclones, he knew, were the southern hemisphere’s equivalent of his dreaded hurricanes.

  The Hayward Bulk was a 500,000-ton supertanker. It was on the Japan to South Africa run when its engine impeller broke, and the supertanker’s built-in safety system cut the power to the engines to protect it. The Mary Rose, which provided offshore support to the vessel, had refused to come to its aid because cyclone Charlotte was on its way.

  The Hayward Bulk was one of more than thirty supertankers owned by Global Shipping. Deep Sea Expeditions was its smaller arm. Its CEO and owner, shipping mogul and old man, James Reilly, had contacted the skipper of the Maria Helena and informed him that they were being diverted from their current duties in Townsville in order to deliver a team of engineers and some heavy equipment to the lame ship.

  If they reached her in time, Tom would be required to fly them over to the troubled vessel.

  For twelve months his good luck had kept him away from any such disaster at sea. As he stared at the meteorological reports on his laptop, Tom realized Cyclone Charlotte was going to be one of the worst to ever reach this part of the world.

  Fate, he realized, was inexorable.

  *

  The swell had risen above forty feet, and for the first time since leaving Sydney, Sam started to wonder if he’d gone too far this time. Where the waves had previously been spotted with whitecaps, they were now walls of water, forty feet high and covered in white, angry, frothy sea. The wind had risen to 80 knots, gusting up to 120.

  To make matters worse, the extreme low off the coast of South Australia was just about to collide with the southern tip of Cyclone Charlotte’s low. This would form the deadliest of barometric systems, known as a squeeze. Seen on a synoptic chart, the two lows could be identified by a number of gradient pressure lines, with an area of relative normal pressure in the middle about to be squeezed between them. There was no rational way to predict how the sea would respond to such a collision of natural forces.

  Sam relished this type of mete
orological event at sea.

  Below deck, barely audible above the sounds of the storm, he heard his satellite phone ringing. Only three people in the world had this number – his father, James Reilly, his meteorologist, Mark Stanton, and his best friend, Tom Bower. Even his mother didn’t have it.

  Whatever had happened, it would be important.

  He stepped down the ladder and picked up the phone.

  “Sam here.” Despite the cold air, he could feel the sweat on his hand that held the phone against his ear.

  It had to be his father.

  He’d already spoken to Mark earlier today, and the man had made it abundantly clear that there was no possible way to tell, with any reasonable certainty, what the hell was going to happen when the weather systems collided. So, that left only his father, who never called unless there was a problem. Sam decided to hope it was Mark on the phone, telling him the storm was going to be worse than he’d originally predicted.

  “Sam, its Blake Simmonds.” There was a pause after that. What the heck is Blake doing ringing me? “I got your picture,” the man continued, as though he’d anticipated Sam’s lack of response as an indicator of non-recognition.

  He’d almost completely forgotten about the gold ingot.

  “Oh, yeah. Do you know where it’s from?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah, it’s from the Oppenheimer and Goldschmidt family.” He could tell by the tone of Blake’s voice that the man assumed that everyone knew about the family.

  “Never heard of them.”

  “They were an extremely wealthy Jewish family who disappeared during the Holocaust.”

  “Don’t you mean they were murdered?” Sam corrected him.

  “No, their deaths couldn’t have been kept secret, not even during the Holocaust.”

  “Any idea where they are now?” Sam asked.

  “No.” Sam heard Blake sigh on the other end of the line. “But that’s just it. No one’s heard from them since.”