Sam grinned as he plotted a GPS marker to a point along the eastern edge of the supposedly deadly triangle. A place where all three cargo ships and one sailing vessel had been severely damaged or sunk as the result of a rogue wave. He marked the exact location of each rogue wave with the letter R. The last one being the Mirabelle, which was a sailing vessel, designed for blue water sailing. The Mirabelle had previously won the Open Forties Challenge, which was a circumnavigation of the globe, by any means, as long as they maintained latitude below 40 degrees south. By comparison, Bermuda was like sailing in a millpond. Sam then plotted the areas highlighted. They were all within a five-mile radius. An area comparable to finding four needles in the same location within a field of haystacks.
Sam grinned as he plotted the course for the GPS waypoint. “That’s where we’re headed, Matthew.”
Matthew looked at it and nodded his head. Checked the instruments and then let the autopilot take over. “That’s some coincidence isn’t it?”
“There’s no coincidence about it. There’s something there, and I’m going to prove it.”
Matthew shook his head. “You’re not really starting to buy into this rubbish about rogue waves being intentionally created?”
“No. Not for a minute. But something mortally wounded all four of these ships. And I intend to find out who was responsible, and just how they’ve done it.”
Matthew made the slight course adjustments, steering to a slight angle no more than five degrees off the waves running towards their port side, to avoid the discomfort of pounding by the oncoming waves. After a minute, confident that the Maria Helena had settled into a comfortable rhythm he said, “Just like your father. You need scientific answers where coincidence and luck seem to play the biggest part.”
Tom Bower looked up from where he was lounging at the far end of the bridge, reading a book. “That’s not true. Well, not in this case, anyway.”
“Really?” Matthew replied, looking back where Tom had already returned to his book, apparently disinterested in their discussion. “What’s he interested in then?”
Tom grinned, marking his book with a dog’s ear. “Sam thinks this is going to prove his hypothesis about the Bimini Road.”
Sam laughed out loud, but said nothing. He stood up, as though he were about to make a counterargument, and then sat back down again. Keeping his mouth firmly shut having thought better about it.
“What about the Bimini Road?” Matthew asked.
Tom smiled. “Sam here had a theory going back more than ten years ago when we were still in our twenties that an ancient tribe built the Bimini Road. Part of his theory was that the ancient tribe used it to sink invaders or at least damage their ships enough that they were easy plunder.”
Matthew looked at Sam, trying to determine if there was an ounce of truth in Tom’s words. Sam smiled sheepishly.
“Holy shit Sam! You were a believer?”
“Enjoy your laugh. Let’s see who finds the first answers.”
“Sam and I even spent a few weeks on vacation diving the place before I was convinced that it was nothing more than a natural formation of rocks.”
“Rocks that aren’t found anywhere else in the area and clearly do not match up with the surrounding sand,” Sam pointed out.
“Yes, well I didn’t say I had the answer. The point is, Sam’s been fascinated by the Bimini Road since we were kids. No wonder he jumped at this case.”
Matthew rolled his eyes. “So Sam, what the hell’s so interesting about the Bimini Road?”
Chapter Eighteen
Sam wanted to wait until he’d had time to find what he was looking for at Bimini Road before he explained his entire crazy scheme. He looked at Matthew’s hazel eyes. They told him the skipper wanted answers before he risked bringing the Maria Helena anywhere near the trouble.
Sam took a drink of lemonade. He considered how much to tell Matthew. And then he began talking about one of the first maritime mysteries he’d ever tried to solve.
Sam opened his laptop screen. Scanned through several files labeled Archives until he found the one he wanted. It was named Bimini Road. He clicked on it and several files came up. Sam opened the first one, revealing an image of an old oil painting on canvas.
It was a depiction of a trimaran made from the cut outs of massive tree trunks. The old boat was completely flat with no mast or sail. It appeared as though it was simply paddled by dozens of occupants. A closer inspection showed wooden carvings most probably used as cleats and a basket of woven leaves. The purpose of which, was entirely unknown.
“What do you see?” Sam asked.
Matthew bent down to look at the image. His expression told Sam everything – it wasn’t the first time he’d shown Matthew some obscure image or location and asked him what he made of it. The man smiled patiently – after all, Sam was still his boss.
“I’m not an art critic, but I’ll give it a try.” Matthew expanded the image and began focusing on individual aspects from the right to left. “At face value, I see an old painting of a pre-industrial trimaran. The hull looks to have been cut out from large tree trunks – possibly oak or pine, I couldn’t be sure. The vessel looks primitive but strong. I see several dark skinned people inside waving axes and showing their perfectly white teeth. I see no mast, sails or rigging. In the left hand corner there’s a basket with woven leaves.”
“Go on. What about the people?” Sam persisted.
“They’re dark skinned. Wearing nothing at all. They are short and very stocky. Perfect for stabilizing in rough seas.”
“Not just stabilizing in rough seas – raiding ships.”
Matthew smiled. “Ships already floundering?”
“Yes. Ships already struck by a rogue wave. Already in trouble – and then attacked.”
Matthew zoomed back so the entire image of the painting became visible again. “They look like happy people. You got all that from this painting?”
Sam laughed. “They’re called the Antiqui Nautae. Its Latin translation means the Ancient Seafarers.” Sam pointed at the basket of woven leaves. “It has been said that they used those intricately woven leaves as giant kites to help move their ships over large distances at great speed. One of the theories is that the Antiqui Nautae used the strange shape of the Bimini Road to change the size and shape of the swell as it flowed over the strange rock formation. In doing so, they created a large swell or even a small rogue wave, which they then used to disarm or de-mast ships during the 17th century. Providing them with the unfair advantage required to beat Britain’s Man-o-Wars, Spain’s Frigates, and pirates who all had a significant technological advantage over the primitive seafarers.”
“Are you saying they built the Bimini Road?” Matthew interjected.
“No! Well maybe. Numerous maritime archeologists have studied the strange formation of underwater stones. And despite being a strange phenomenon they all agreed the thing is entirely natural.”
Matthew stared at the admiralty charts of the area surrounding North Bimini Island. “So then how did the Antique Nautae use it?”
“I believe they learned through experience that the sea responded uniquely under certain circumstances. For example, a strong easterly wind after a king tide. I’m really not sure what the conditions were. But, in theory, a certain type of event caused the Bimini Road to produce a rogue wave.”
“Interesting theory. Do you know where they lived?”
“No idea.”
Tom put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “It’s a good theory. The only problem with the entire thing is that there’s absolutely no evidence that the Antique Nautae ever existed.”
Sam laughed. “That’s not entirely true. There were reports of more than a dozen large ships being lost in these seas during the 17th century. And then there’s this oil painting.”
“The oil painting could be of any number of early seafaring cultures, or it could have just as easily been an image from the artist’s own fantasy. As for the sh
ips going missing – hundreds of ships were lost with no traces during the 17th century along the coast of the Americas.”
Sam grinned. He was just about to prove a long standing theory of his. “Yes, well we’re going to find the truth in the next few days. A bottle of Grange says I’m right?”
Matthew stared at him. “I’m not a betting man.”
Tom intervened. “I’ll take that bet.”
“You seem confident,” Matthew said.
“Well, there’s one more thing. Even if Sam was right we’ve dived the Bimini Road many times before. And never seen signs of any shipwrecks.”
“That’s because we never knew where the rogue wave would finally form and strike its target.”
“And now we do?” Tom asked.
Sam brought up the GPS coordinates of all three of the cargo ships recently severely damaged by the rogue waves. “Now we do.”
Chapter Nineteen
Their private Sea King helicopter flew overhead and circled the Maria Helena once. At its control, Tom recognized Veyron, their chief engineer. In the passenger seat, a young woman was just visible.
“Are we expecting visitors?” he asked.
Sam smiled at the sight. “No. Veyron’s returning after picking up our latest crew member.”
“I didn’t know we were taking on new staff?” Matthew asked.
“We’re not. This is an old member, who I’ve asked to relocate on board the Maria Helena because of a hunch.”
“Elise?” Tom asked.
“Yes.” Sam confirmed that they were going to meet his highly illegal, computer genius, who often provided them with unique and often just as illegal intel.
The helicopter landed. The rotor blades settled to a stop, and then both doors opened. Veyron stepped out the right side door and immediately set about connecting the Sea King’s locking harness so that it didn’t get accidentally knocked off the Maria Helena’s deck. The second occupant got out the opposite side and walked towards them.
She looked nothing like what Tom had expected. Not that he really knew what he expected. Despite talking to her hundreds of times over the phone, he’d never met her. Had no idea where she lived or what she looked like. Sam had once told him that Elise had intentionally done so. Her parents had died before she was five and the CIA had kind of adopted her when a routine school assessment showed that she was in the finite 0.001 percent of the population capable of breaking impossible codes. She was taught code breaking and computers by the best of them at the CIA – and then one day, when she felt that her goals and the CIAs no longer aligned, she simply walked away.
Not before leaving a backdoor to the CIA’s main server, which allows her unique access to one of the world’s greatest information gathering machines. She’d created a new name, passport and life for herself. From what Sam had told him, Elise was the new name she had chosen, and no one knew what her real name was.
Even so, Tom stared at her, surprised.
She was slightly shorter than the average American woman, but not by much more than a few inches. She wore cargo shorts and a white tank top, revealing toned and muscular arms. Tom’s first thought was that she probably did a lot of yoga in her spare time. Her ancestry was probably Eurasian. She had golden skin, light brown hair and a wondrous expression. Like life was all one big game, and she was the one with the most talent.
“Welcome aboard the Maria Helena,” Sam said shaking her hand formally. “This is Matthew our skipper.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said shaking his hand.
“And this is Tom. He’s our pilot and despite his size, he’s probably the best wreck diver in the world. You’ve already met Veyron, our engineer.”
Tom shook her hand. She removed her sunglasses, revealing startling purple eyes. Clearly she wore contacts, but still it had taken him by surprise. “It’s nice to finally put a face to your name, Elise.”
“Pleased to finally meet you too, Tom. Between the two of us, we seem to keep Sam alive, despite his apparent indifference to it.”
She was much younger than Tom had imagined her. Sam had never mentioned that she was still in her early twenties.
Sam looked at them both and said, “So that leaves Genevieve. Our three-hatted French chef. Tell her what you like and she’ll make certain you have it. Also, if you need any help with anything around the ship, she’s your general go to person.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Do you need anything before we get started?” Sam asked.
“I’ll have a glass of water with ice. Then I’m happy to help find you anything you want to know. About anything anywhere in the world – current or old.”
“Great. Did you get the video clip?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, simple.” She smiled confidently. “Child’s play. You want to watch it now?”
Chapter Twenty
Sam sat down at the head of the mission room table. Elise sat on the corner opposite to him and set up her laptop and connected it to the overhead projector.
“This is the video recording from the live-streaming camera mounted on the satellite dish of the Mirabelle, giving it ample view of the deck right through to the horizon.”
At first there was little to see. After all, the ship was a marvel of modern engineering and probably considered ghoulish to the traditional sailor. There were no intricately woven ropes, winches, or even canvas sails. Instead there were four massive masts with matching carbon fiber sails.
Sam ignored the yacht out of instinct and studied the sea instead. It appeared mild, with a following swell. Apart from the brilliantly lit phosphorescence there was nothing spectacular about the image. A man casually walked up to the bow and stood there for a while, just watching the sea. He looked mesmerized by the beauty of the water.
“That’s Luke Eldridge – the person who dragged us into this in the first place.”
Tom nodded his head.
Elise slowed the video clip. “Okay, here it comes gentlemen.”
The green phosphorescent sea appeared to flow away from the bow of the yacht. Like a tsunami, something was drawing all that water. Luke was slow to notice, and then turned and ran back. He then opened up a secure door and closed it behind him.
In the horizon, the wall of green water raised up, like a ghostly apparition.
“That’s more than a hundred feet!” Sam said.
A split second later, the wave reached the yacht. Then, microsecond by microsecond, the ship was disintegrated. The Mirabelle never even tried to ride the wave. Despite her unique blend of carbon fiber and advanced materials, her hull was simply obliterated by the wave.
And then the video clip ceased.
“No one could have ever survived that sort of accident,” Tom said.
Sam was the only person who appeared unaffected by the destructive force of the wave. In a room full of people who’d made their life’s ambition and goals on the sea, and knew firsthand how dangerous a rogue wave could be, it was hard to imagine why he of all people, was so disinterested in the wave. “Elise, can you play the last bit of that again. Only, this time, can you focus in on Luke?”
“Sure. Why?” she replied.
“There’s something strange about his face. Almost as though he knew we would be watching this.” Sam grinned. Surprised by what he spotted. “Just have a look.”
“No worries. You’re the boss.” Elise pressed play.
This time the clip focused entirely on Luke’s face. Behind the protective glass bubble, his eyes were wide with terror. But there was something else too.
“Pause it there,” Sam said.
Luke’s face was drawn into a rigid contour. Despite his confidence as he faced certain death, there was something else. His lips were curled upwards.
“What’s he got to look happy about?” Tom was the first to see it.
“It’s more than happy. I’ve seen that look before. That man’s proud of something. He almost looks as though he achieved it! Whatever the hell it is.”
Sam nodded at Elise, “All right, let’s continue.”
Luke’s head stared at the wave, and in the split seconds before the Mirabelle disappeared completely, something else happened.
“Anyone else notice our friend just got shorter?” Sam asked.
No one said anything.
Elise replayed the clip again. Single frame at a time. It was now obvious. The man was either shrinking or his security pod was sinking. In the final frame before the camera was destroyed, you could no longer see Luke’s head.
Tom tapped his pen on a piece of paper in front of him. “So, you think Luke might have survived? Is it possible the security capsule was a single man submersible that shot downwards like an ejector seat in a plane?”
Sam grinned. “I’m saying, Luke might not be the victim after all.”
Chapter Twenty One
The tiny submarine bobbed on the surface of the water. Its dome-shaped glass bubble was open. The sole occupant sat with his feet half inside and half out as he stared at the sight of land on the horizon. Behind his unshaven face and unkempt hair, a smile formed. He’d seen it, like a mirage, for the past forty-eight hours. Each time the tide took him almost close enough to swim, it would change and drag him back out to sea. Now he was finally getting close enough that he might just make it if he tried to swim.
Designed as a safety device for use in a severe storm, the submarine had automatically broken away from the main ship and sunk to thirty feet, where it could stabilize itself despite the rogue wave. Luke Eldridge had then maneuvered the little submersible away from the remains of the Mirabelle in case THEY had come looking for him. His vessel was powered by a small electric motor. It was enough to adjust his depth and move several miles, but there was nowhere near enough battery life to reach the shore.
Luke had carefully examined the currents and positioned himself to increase the likelihood of reaching the American mainland. He could have just surfaced and contacted his on-shore support using his satellite phone. But he figured that once someone has attempted to kill you, it is best to let them continue to believe you’re already dead.
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