One of the suited men asked, “Could they establish the cause? What was their conclusion?”
“They weren’t sure, Tom, but they think there was something in the test strip that caused the two liquids to join together to form the agent. The agent was so short-lived that it disappeared quickly. You have better testing equipment, so you should be able to tell exactly what was going on. They isolated the liquids into vials, and included some of the test strips.”
Tom and his partner finished suiting up. They brought the double-wrapped Pelican case into the clean room, and Jeff shut the door behind them. The clean room was a state-of-the-art lab for analyzing and disposing of chemical and biological warfare agents. It featured a sealed analysis chamber referred to as the “fume hood”, which was connected to an incineration chamber, various filters, and an electrostatic scrubber guaranteed to release only pure air at the end.
Jeff and the fourth man in the lab, Tony Barlowe, turned their attention to the tanks. Both tanks had multiple gaping holes from the explosive bullets. There was a dividing wall about two thirds of the way back from what appeared to be the front. One tank had the front part blown open; in the other tank it was the rear.
“They said the third one had the front ruptured,” Jeff said, “and they wanted us to have one of each.”
Part of Tony’s expertise was aircraft systems. He looked over the two tanks carefully. “It looks like whoever designed these tanks knew what they were doing. I wouldn’t say they were necessarily experts, but the tanks are aerodynamically shaped, and the piping to drain the fuel from them looks just like the fill and drain lines in a MiG external fuel pod.” He pointed to the interior dividing wall. “It’s safe to say that fuel wasn’t the originally intended payload, otherwise it wouldn’t need this partition.”
“Tony, how many of these do you think you could get on a MiG-23 or 27?”
“The MiG-27 comes in different variations. The MiG-27K is also known as the MiG-23. NATO calls it the Flogger. Size-wise, only one of these tanks would fit under each wing. Weight-wise, I’m going to guess the plane couldn’t get off the ground with two of these plus the internal tank full of fuel, without some sort of external assistance.”
Together, Jeff and Tony examined the tanks more carefully. The top of the tank was thickened—the strongback, Tony called it—with a connector to attach it to the aircraft wing.
Internally, the tank had tubes, wires, cables, junction boxes, and clear tubes containing LED arrays. There was a faint smell of jet fuel.
Externally, there was a weld line the circumference of the tank, corresponding to the interior partition. There were numerous access plates bolted closed on the top and bottom. They unbolted one of the bottom-side access covers and discovered a cylinder containing a motor-driven impeller.
“Wow!” Tony said, as he traced the interior visually. “It looks to me like this whole setup is to mix two liquids together.” He looked closer. “It’s quite an ingenious method to ensure mixing regardless of percentage of fill. I don’t know what the LEDs would be for, though.”
“Maybe to provide illumination during maintenance?”
“Looks like if we open the top access plates, we could get one of the LED tubes out.”
This was easier said than done, but they finally got one out. Jeff found a battery charger, and they hooked it up to the array. Nothing appeared to happen other than a faint hum.
“Perhaps it was broken when the tank was blown up,” Tony said.
“I’ll have the electronics guys look it over. I wish we had an intact tank. We need to find out how much each side holds; that ratio might be important somehow. We could get a good approximation by making some basic measurements. Did you see any markings or embossings that might indicate who built these?”
“No, but I wasn’t looking for that,” Tony said. “Let’s check both tanks.”
Jeff looked at the outside of the tanks while Tony looked at the insides. At the top of the second tank, something didn’t look right. “Tony, look at this connector. It looks partly crushed and this lip is broken off.”
Tony looked. “Yes, I can see the tank broke loose from the MiG. If it had been jettisoned normally, this fitting would be intact. Look at the other tank. The fitting should be undamaged. When the 6-30 fires, the vibration could get so bad that it might do this. That vibration has been known to destroy the MiG’s landing lights and cause the canopy to fly off.”
“Really? I thought they said it was an American GAU-8 that fired the rounds. The report said the pilot recognized that the sound was not a 6-30, but something different. I listened to the recording and the pilot said he thought it was a ‘g–’. The duds they found on the island were what the GAU-8 fired.”
“I can explain that,” Tony said. “The Russians build their weapon systems so they can fire our ammo but we can’t fire theirs. It’s sneaky of them. When the gun fires, it’s the propellant burning and the projectile coming out of the barrel that makes the sound, not simply the machine gun barrel itself. Thus, the pilot associated the sound with the gun he was familiar with.”
“Would it be possible to mount the GAU-8 on a MiG?”
“No, not at all. The GAU-8 and the Air Force A-10 were built for each other. It’s not a simple matter of mounting a machine gun on one platform or another. The GAU-8 recoil is much stronger than the 6-30. The MiG couldn’t handle it.”
“Since there were three of these tanks on the island and two planes capable of carrying only two tanks each, one of the MiGs left the scene without any tank,” Jeff said. “Perhaps he didn’t make it back to where he came from. We need to contact the Marines and find out the condition of the fitting on the third tank.”
Jeff called Tom in the clean room and found out all the items were sealed under the fume hood and analysis would start in earnest shortly. Tom and his team of chemists and chemical engineers would work all afternoon and through the night, with additional crew members coming on in the evening, but couldn’t estimate how long the analysis might take.
Jeff sent Bob McGee a brief initial report summarizing his discussion with Tony and the progress of the chemists.
98
“Wow, that was refreshing!” Maggie said, as they got ready to go downstairs.
“Yes,” Matt replied, “I didn’t know which I needed more, to take a shower or brush my teeth.”
Maggie grinned. “Do you want me to tell you?”
“No! And I really do have soap this time, young lady!”
“Don’t you dare, you’ll wake the baby!” She giggled.
Matt looked over at Jenny in the baby carrier, who was waving her arms and cooing.
“That reminds me, Maggie, what do children call their grandfathers in England?”
“Mostly, Pappy. But I’ve been thinking about that too, and I’d like Jenny to call you Grampa, the American grandfather. I’d like to save Pappy for the other one, assuming he’s British.”
“Perfect!”
While waiting for John to pick them up, they discussed what might happen at the airport. They didn’t know, so they asked God for wisdom and understanding.
“Let’s not mention her foot unless someone asks,” Matt said. “If they ask, that means there’s proof, or at least knowledge, of her missing foot. If not, I’m still concerned about the safety of her medical records.”
“Okay. You know, though, her new foot is proof she died. Anyway, I’ll hold Jenny as we enter, but I hope you won’t mind holding her if she gets fidgety. You have such a calming way with her.”
“Oh, absolutely! Especially if they start asking the pretty British woman all the questions.”
At the airport, John was very much in charge, protecting them from the onslaught of the press. He explained they were exhausted from their ordeal, and limited the questions to about fifteen minutes. Matt and Maggie explained briefly about their escape from the plane and finding the myrtlewood coffins, explaining how God protected them at every turn.
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sp; Maggie related that Jenny had not escaped but drowned, and that God had brought her back to life. And yes, they would be willing to tell their complete story to as many as wanted to attend, after they had a chance to rest. John agreed to arrange a press conference for the next day at noon, with the location to be announced later.
99
At 5 p.m., the trawler arrived. They threw lines from the front and rear to the Marines, who tied them to the JLTVs a good distance from the edge of the island. There would be a Marine guarding the vehicles continually; if it looked like the vehicles would be pulled into the water, the guard would untie the lines to protect the vehicles.
LtCol Washington led Phil Henry, Penny Hasid, and the group from the trawler to the mess tent. After the introductions, he took charge of the meeting.
“We will start with a safety brief from my EOD Team Leader, Gunnery Sergeant Sims. Listen carefully. Anyone who cannot follow the instructions will be hazardous to himself and others, and will find himself or herself back on the trawler for the duration. After that, we will discuss the game plan Mr. Henry and I developed for the next few days’ activities. I expect we didn’t think of everything, so we will modify and fine-tune as necessary. As soon as that is done, we’ll take a quick tour and get right down to business. We have about four hours of daylight left today, so let’s get started. Gunnery Sergeant Sims, the floor is yours.”
After fifteen minutes, the gathering broke up into teams.
100
Four hours later, at 9 p.m. local time, no one noticed when National Intercontinental Airlines flight 102 touched down at Macapá - Alberto Alcolumbre International Airport. It parked at the terminal. A number of tourists deplaned and processed through customs. They picked up their luggage and were met by their tour guide, who led them to a bus advertising Amazon River and Rainforest Tours in Portuguese, English, and Mandarin. After a brief ride through the city, the bus pulled inside a warehouse on Pedro Lazarino Avenue.
A few minutes after they left the airport, a delivery truck pulled up to the rear of the plane. When the cargo hatch opened, a man got out of the passenger side of the truck, introduced himself to the crew inside the plane as Major Silva, and directed the transfer of several large wooden crates and smaller metal canisters to the delivery truck.
When the passengers got out of the tour bus in the warehouse, they found the delivery truck waiting for them.
101
Kevin Bhatt looked at the clock over the service counter as he came through the gate in Macapá. Ten thirty. Good, he said to no one but himself, if I can get rid of the pest, I can get something to eat, check the mail, and get to bed at a decent hour. He regretted ever saying hello; the man was a nosy chatterbox. If he never heard another monkey story that would be too soon. And why so many questions about where he lived? Wasn’t he going to start out at the Equatorial Hotel at his suggestion? Grrr!
“Good night, Kevin,” said the pest. “See you soon.”
“Good night, Manan, sleep well.”
He stopped by the office at his warehouse on his way home. It would be empty, he knew, but he would check his workers’ schedules to see whom he would be taking up the river tomorrow. He tidied up in anticipation of Manan’s visit later in the week—why did I ever invite him—and checked the mail for anything urgent. He didn’t bother trying to cover up the wood tickets; Manan had weaseled out of him all about his export business.
During the half-mile walk to his house, it occurred to Kevin to wonder why it appeared that Manan already knew he was from Macapá, when they first met.
102
It was after 9 p.m. when Matt and Maggie got back to the hotel. John and Betty had taken them to dinner with executives from both airlines, who wanted to meet them and hear their stories for themselves. The survivors had been happy to oblige, as well as answer all their questions.
Matt joined Maggie in her room as she was getting Jenny ready for bed, which turned out to be a drawer from the dresser lined with bath towels. “We can ask them to bring you a crib if you’d like,” he said.
“Right, but this is how Jenny has slept since she came home from the hospital. I don’t want her to get too used to the luxury at such a young age.”
Matt laughed. “We have some serious things to discuss before tomorrow.”
“And some not so serious things too, Matt. Do you know what was the most delightful thing that happened to me today?”
“That we made it back here in one piece?”
“No.”
“That we got all those nice things from the airlines?”
“No.”
“Then I give up. What?”
“It was when you said, ‘You can pay me back when we get to London.’ I get you for a little while longer! I was afraid we’d be parting company here.”
“Aww, that’s sweet. That’s one of the things we need to talk about. You have come so far, but I think I need to spend some more time with you to get you ready for what’s ahead when you get back to Bristol. Do you have to be there by a certain date? I’d love to bring you to Indiana to meet my group of friends.”
“I don’t need to be back before school starts at the end of August. When I get back, I’ll have bills to pay and I’ll have to replace the contents of my purse. Maybe my mum can help out.”
“We also need to come up with a name for the island. They said it was in the middle of the Sohm Abyssal Plain, so one possibility would be simply ‘Sohm Island’. I don’t like it, but it may get named that unless we have our own idea. How about ‘Petunia Island’?”
Maggie laughed. “How about ‘The Island Where The Wreck Emerged’?”
“I think the airlines will go get their plane before a lot of time passes, and there won’t be anything to see.”
“I wasn’t talking about the airplane, I was talking about me!”
“Oh, Maggie! Wow, that’s really great. It’s too long, though. I think you should turn our story into a book and call it that. It would be awesome.”
“Maybe I will, but you'll have to help. What else do we need to discuss?”
“Just what will happen in the meeting tomorrow. I don’t know what their plans are, but I do know this: if they ask us to decide anything, we need to excuse ourselves and talk in private. Paul showed me on a map where the island is. He said it could be a significant military location, and the island itself should be very valuable. Do you have any thoughts on this?”
“Do you think we should have a lawyer?” Maggie asked.
“That’s a good point. I know someone who would help us. Someone I trust. Before I go, let’s thank God for all he’s done and ask for his wisdom for tomorrow.”
“And worship him for who he is.”
103
It was evening on July 1. Jacob Strauss had almost finished packing after his week-long tour of duty on K103, in preparation for the 8 a.m. arrival of his transport back to solid ground. For the fifteenth time that day, he hunkered down in front of the computer screens monitoring the sand and dust storm which had originated in the Sahara Desert three nights earlier.
The NOAA SDS handbook was rather skimpy of information, so he had gotten a much better understanding from the Internet. He had first noticed the storm about twenty-four hours after it had started forming, and now the leading edge of the storm was heading west-north-west over the Atlantic Ocean.
Jacob had expected that the storm would have produced a pattern like a hurricane, like a frisbee moving across the land. However, the storm, which had started in western Niger, was still in western Niger, and now covered the northern part of Burkina Faso, southern Mali, and Senegal. He zoomed in for a closer look, and was able to discern individual swirling dust clouds across the whole length of the storm.
“Egads!” he said, loud enough for Jimmy Branson to hear.
Jimmy came into the lab and looked over Jacob’s shoulder at the forty-six-inch monitor. “Wow!” he said, “too bad you’re leaving tomorrow. You’re going to miss all the fun.�
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“You can have it. I’m on vacation for a week, and I’ll have all the fun I want. I might even send you some pictures.”
“When does your replacement get here?”
“No replacement. No more interns for about three more months. You’ll be gone before the next recruits start their training. I’ll take one more look tomorrow morning before I shut this down and lock it up.”
“Nah, don’t do that. I want to continue to watch this, to see where it ends up.”
“Why do you care? It will lose all its energy and just dump all the dust into the ocean somewhere.”
Jimmy showed Jacob what he was holding, two pages from an email whose header he had cut off. “This is the transcript my boss sent out earlier, of an interview from Saturday with two survivors of the plane that was shot down and ended up on Sohm Island. They’re claiming the island is going to be covered with dirt.”
Jacob read the transcript. “Look,” he said, pointing to the second page, “they said God had told them to call up the island, and part of the instruction was to have dirt cover the island.”
“When did they do that?”
“Friday night.”
“And when did the storm start?”
“Friday night!”
“That’s why I care.”
104
At six o’clock Tuesday morning, Tony Barlowe joined Jeff Peterson in the CIA lab. They looked like twins in their white lab coats. Jeff said, “I just got off the phone with Tom. He’s back in the clean room after getting a couple hours of sleep next door. They’ve analyzed the two liquids and found them to be variants of what we are already using for binary nerve agent. He said the problem is that they can’t get the two liquids to combine to form the agent.
The Wreck Emerged Page 30
