by Sahara Foley
“Oh, you.” Ruth snatches the glass I hold out to her. “Arthur, do you suppose there could be more than one entrance for the sub?”
I've been thinking that myself. “Yes, I suppose it's possible, maybe on the seaside somewhere.” I ponder a few seconds, sipping from my glass. “That would mean a tunnel over a mile and half long, kid, and that's too far-fetched, unless it's a natural cave your cartographers never found.”
“What if they dug the tunnel after the war?” She's staring at the lake.
“Because of the solid rock, the tunnel would need to be blasted. Dynamite would've made too much noise, especially with the Royalty and the Royal Marines running around. No, I think the tunnel is natural, and so well hidden it was never found by any divers. Or else the tunnel was found long ago, maybe by those POWs you mentioned. The location could've been either sold for military purposes, or beaten out of the prisoners by someone who's down there, and has been for a long time.”
“Do you think that's possible? I mean, to find the cave, hide it that well, and keep it a secret?” She's chewing on her bottom lip.
As Ruth is talking, it flashes across my mind; Metal. Alive. Not moving.
Gone. Yes, Lady or whatever you are, I'm still here.
“Uh, yes I do, kid. Bigger secrets than this have been kept for years, especially if they have military policy in mind. Hell, from this lake, it's only two hundred and thirty miles to London. Easy shot for a sub.”
Ruth thinks about that with an uneasy look. “Do you really think so?”
Being honest, I reply, “I don't know, Ruth. But it's possible.”
“What do you think Dobie will do if the sub is from a foreign country?” Her forehead is creased and she's fidgeting with the ring on her finger.
“That depends on whether they surrender. It they have top secret military equipment, they may not want anyone else to discover it.”
“You mean they might set off a nuclear missile to self-destruct? My God, a nuclear explosion here?” She's turned all the way around in her chair, staring at the cliffs over the tree line.
“Whoa, relax,” I quickly say, trying to ease her fears. “The explosion may not have to be nuclear. After all, they're sitting under tons of rocks. They can self-destruct conventionally, and be buried so deep it'd take years to excavate them. By then, the top secret sub won't matter any longer.” Whew, time to pour more beer.
“Sure, by then, whatever top secret equipment they had on board would've already been discovered or replaced by better hi-tech equipment. Right?”
“Right you are, Doctor.” That theory seems to calm her.
Standing together, with my arm around her shoulder, we watch the gulls soaring back and forth from land to water. After a while, I sit back down, with Ruth sitting on the sand by my feet. Some women like doing that, leaning against their men. I sure don't mind.
As I gently stroke her hair, she lays her head on my bony knee. “Uh, Arthur, that feels good. Why are they hiding down there? If they want to shoot a missile, they can set out to sea and not have to shoot more than one-hundred miles to hit London.”
I hash over that idea. The answer hits me ka-boom. Leaning over, I kiss the top of her head. “Doctor, Lady, kid, ma'am, you are an absolute fucking genius, do you know that? I mean it, absolutely, kid, a real genius.”
“Sure. Thank you. No. Why?” She looks up at me with a slight frown and confusion in her eyes.
Chuckling, I explain, “Think about this. If your country is fired on by missiles, your radar will track where the missiles were launched, and your targeting computers will send a retaliatory strike to that area.”
“Yeah, so?”
“What if the missiles aren't fired at London, but fired out from England, at another country? Then the submarine races back here to hide and wait while England seems to have started WWIII? And you can bet, the country sitting under there won't get the blame, because they aren't here, and any of their other submarines won't be near here either.”
Ruth's face drains of color as she gasps, “Oh my God. I never thought of that. They could cruise the lake at night, fire from way over by the Lodge, and the missiles would seem to be coming from more than sixty miles inside England.” She's chewing her bottom lip again, forgets the square can and takes a big gulp. Cold beer spills down her face and shirt. I keep quiet. Barely. She doesn't seem to notice the cold beer running down the front of her. She jumps up, chair falling to the ground, shouting, “My God, Arthur. The Sword.”
Startled, I jerk around in my chair and start searching the surface of the lake.
Grabbing my arm, she yanks me to my feet, shaking me. “No, you don't understand. All the years of sightings, even mine, they could've been a sub's periscope painted to look like the sword. Couldn't they?”
Stepping back, I glare at her, “Jeez, kid, you scared the shit out of me. I thought you saw the damn sword in the lake.”
Peering contritely at the ground, she says, “I'm sorry, but think about what I said. The sightings could've been the sub, couldn't they?”
I look down at Ruth in amazement. She's a genius, and she keeps proving me right. “Yes, I guess they might have. All the boat damages were only to the old wooden rowboats. They wouldn't have shown up on their radar. The rowboats might've run into the superstructure of the nuclear submarine. Even the two boys that disappeared, they could've gotten tangled in the railing or other structure and dragged down with her when she submerged. Sure, that would explain why the sightings happen when large groups are here. For security purposes, they would have to come out at night, using the moonlight to see by, to reconnoiter the groups. Kid, you are a fucking genius, really.” I give her a warm hug.
Pulling away, instead of elation, her face shows deflation. She falls like a brick, striking her fist repeatedly in the sand. “For all these years,” she wails. “Dr. Tober, Gordy, and me, we were convinced we'd seen the sword.” She angrily swipes at a few small tears in the corner of her eyes. “Do you have any idea how many groups have come here searching for a trace of that damn sword? All the manpower and money spent? Why, it's really laughable, isn't it?” But she isn't laughing, with her face buried in her hands. Suddenly, she lifts her head, hope shining on her face. “Arthur, what about your impression the sword was here, and real? You said it focused on you, don't you remember?”
Oh yeah, kid, I remember, I think with a shudder, taking my seat and opening another square-canned beer.
“Yes, I remember. And it's focused on me several times since we camped here.”
“Oh yes,” she mutters softly, “the iron ores with the nuclear reactor on the sub are messing you up, aren't they? You may not have felt anything, just something you're misreading, as when you teleported into the fire.”
I didn't answer, thinking about the first time I was probed at the Lodge, before my powers were affected.
With her knees propped, arms wrapped around them, she leans back against my leg. “Something still doesn't make sense. These collisions and sightings have been going on for more than thirty years. No one had nuclear submarines back then, did they?”
Handing her a cold beer, I answer, “No, I don't think they were around back then. Dobie did say the magnetic influx didn't increase until a year and a half ago, so maybe that's when they swapped out their old submarine for a nuclear sub. However, there's a part that still bothers me, kid.”
“What bothers you?” She takes a long drink, then gives out a loud burp. Her face turns red as she covers her mouth. “Er, excuse me.”
Patting her on the head, I laugh. “You're excused. Anyway, countries with nuclear subs know every country that either has them in their fleet, or who builds them for other nations. Each country keeps close track of the nuclear subs, and can pinpoint their location in any ocean, at any time.”
“So what?”
“Well, then we have a nuclear sub here no one knows is missing, and I'm finding that difficult to believe. Nuclear subs are tracked via satellites o
r special airplanes, and they're identified by their unique nuclear signatures.”
“Wait a minute, I just thought of something. It happened about five years ago.” Frowning in concentration, Ruth draws circles in the sand with her finger. She looks up at me, excited. “Yes, a Russian nuclear sub, uh, the Ptomken I think, disappeared, reported lost with all hands because of a mechanical failure. It disappeared four hundred miles out to sea. It sank over the trench, and the Russians claimed the water was too deep to attempt a rescue, much less a salvage operation, so they wrote the sub off as lost. I remember the incident because Dobie wanted our two mind controllers to try to locate the sub. They couldn't.” Her brow creases again. “Arthur, do you think the story of a sunken sub was an elaborate trick, and the sub down in the cavern is the Ptomken? Could that be?”
“Dr. Burns, you're a genius. I told you, remember?”
“Sure, I know. Why?”
“I remember that incident too. The Ptomken was just launched, and on her shakedown cruise when she disappeared. She was reported to be unarmed and only carried enough nuclear fuel for her shakedown cruise. Now, what if she went down deep into the trench, burned off the rest of her nuclear fuel, or dumped it, and proceeded here under conventional power? Once the fuel was gone, her nuclear signature would disappear and she could be claimed as lost at sea. And without nuclear arms on board, no one would be able to trace her at all. If she were also equipped with a diesel engine, she might've been running around in this lake for years. Then, in the past five years, what if the Russians started to slowly refuel and rearm the sub, so her nuclear signature wouldn't show up on your satellites, which I'm sure they already knew about?”
Ruth looks over at the cliffs. “Yes, and with the high concentration of iron ores to help mask the nuclear fuel, no one would notice the increase in the magnetic influx, unless, like you, they were specifically looking for the increase.”
“Know what, kid?” She shakes her head. “We may have solved the whole mystery of the Lady of the Lake and Excalibur, and helped prevent WWIII.”
That should've made her happy, but she isn't. “I'm frightened, Arthur. If everything we're speculating is true, we're sitting over a nuclear sub from a foreign country, hidden so they can start a war when they're ready, and England will be blamed.”
“True, Ruth. And you can bet that 'They' won't be blamed, because 'They' aren't here.”
“God, to think they could've started a war whenever they wanted over the past years, and no one suspects, but us.” Her face is pale and she's nervously toying with her necklace.
“Well, maybe Dobie has the scenario figured out by now too, so we won't be alone in this.” I silently hope, crossing my fingers.
For the next several hours, Ruth remains leaning against me, lost in her thoughts, and me, in mine. We watch a spectacular setting of the sun, and after dark we stroll up to the tent and lie down, holding each other, not talking. About one in the morning I sit in the doorway, watching the beach.
Around two-thirty, Ruth falls asleep, softly snoring. My lungs desperately crave a cigarette, but I can't smoke one. At three-thirty, I start feeling uneasy, as if a dozen eyes are watching me, so I mentally open up. I feel absolutely nothing. Hell, I'm so messed up now I can't feel the cave, or the fish. I slowly lean out of the tent to look around. Nothing. Brightly shining stars, no moon. I can barely see the boat. Around ten after four, the sky blazes into orange, then turns bright, and the sun peeks up.
I relight the fire, and boil some water. With a strong Coffee-A, I wearily recline in my chair, thinking. Nothing. I was wrong. How could they not come to check on what went on up here? Boats coming and going, all the commotion, and right near their grate too. They should've come out to see what was going on up here. Have to? Evidently not, dummy.
Taking a drag on a cigarette, I continue reflecting. Our theory is perfect, even down to the smugglers and poacher boats that after a few passes with nets, would run in and out of the lake from the sea. Restocking and rearming the sub would be easy like that. Hell, they could've brought the whole Russian army in that way. Or, they could meet the sub out on the lake, without any fear. Nuclear subs have listening devices on them that can hear a spider fart a mile off in a hailstorm.
Last night, I'd turned the camera on to run all night, and left it right next to the front of our boat. I slowly stroll over and retrieve it. The camera uses VCR tapes and has a small, built-in TV screen. I rewind the tape and play it back at fast-forward, twice I have to stop, back up and go forward on slow. It looks like water flying past the lens, or could've been bugs flying around the camera. Unfortunately, nothing else can be seen on the tape, except our tent surrounded by the darker trees, then the light of day, and finally me.
Damn. Dobie will be really angry now. Well, maybe not, because I did promise him I'd work for him whether I were proved wrong. Setting the camera aside, I stretch my legs, contemplating my predicament. Shit, I'm really messed up. I can't even mentally focus on Dobie's men, and I know where they're deployed. Hell, I'm no better than an ordinary man now. Ruth is even thinking clearer than me. But, everything I've seen and felt since we camped here can't just be my imagination; the grate is real, plus the hollow rock and the periscope. Whoever's down in that cavern has to be real. If not, I'll need more than just a checkup.
And, Ruth is right. My mind's definitely spiked with sex. Even now, I'm on the verge of being aroused. After a few more Coffee-A's, I'm still feeling tired and frustrated. Nothing is working out right around here for me anymore.
Around seven, the phone starts beeping away; probably Dobie to read me the riot act.
“Merlin? Dobie here, how are you two?” He doesn't sound his typical pompous self. I was expecting him to sound vindictive.
“Uh, fine, Cecil, we're just fine.” I cringe, waiting for him to lower the boom.
“We'll be coming out soon, Arthur, and I'll bring eggs to go with the bacon you brought home to us. Just wanted you to know we're on the way. You'll be there?”
“Uh, yes, Cecil, I imagine we'll be here.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Yeah, bye.” I stare at the handset in confusion. Now what the hell was that about? He must've assumed I read his mind.
“Morning, Arthur.”
With a soft cry and thumping heart, I jump two feet into the air.
“Oh sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”
Startle hell, kid, I think, annoyed with myself that I didn't know she was there.
“I heard the phone ring and came out. I overheard what Commander Dobie told you. Did he make sense to you?”
With a sheepish shake, I say, “I hate to admit it, but no, not a damn bit.” I kiss her good morning and try a small hug.
Ruth steps back at arm's length, giving me a penetrating look like she's reading my mind again. “You'll have to wait at least until I go to the bathroom. Meanwhile, I know what Commander Dobie meant. He's telling you you're correct and brought home the bacon, and he has egg on his face. In his own way, he's apologizing to you again. He was wrong, you were right. That's all.”
“Why didn't he just say that then?” I grumble. Damn bureaucratic bullshit.
“Oh, don't be silly, in front of his men? Never.” She heads towards the tent. Looking over her shoulder, she asks, with a flush of pink on her cheeks, “Uh, would you walk with me so I can go bathroom? I don't want to walk into the trees alone.”
I retrieve my 9mm and follow her, standing off to the side, while she takes care of her needs. Striding back, she says, “I don't know which is worse, afraid to go into the trees alone, or having you watch me.”
“Hey, I wasn't watching you, kid, honest,” I say in my defense, holding up my hands. I have some character flaws, but that isn't one them.
“Maybe not, but you can still hear me, and that's just as embarrassing.”
“Don't worry, Ruth; I'll let you watch me pee, if it will help you.”
“No, sweetheart,” she smirks at me, “I don
't want to watch. Just stay close, okay?”
“Sure, kid.” Tenderly patting her arm as we stroll back, it feels good. Damn.
While we're fixing breakfast, I hear a noise, sounds like a boat, but not Colly's fishing boat. This boat sounds loud, bigger and powerful, the low thrumming of the motors vibrating the air, echoing off the dark cliffs. In the sea river gap we see them, two sleek navy Corvettes, machine guns, cannons and men walking around on the decks. Quite a surreal sight in this calm, quiet, little cove. The boats idle in and set anchor one-hundred yards from our boat, and two-hundred feet apart. They make our boat look like a toy compared to these babies.
We see men running around performing whatever duties were assigned to them. But no one's preparing to come ashore. Not long after they show up, Ruth touches my arm, pointing. Way out in the lake we see Colly's boat, but we couldn't hear his motor over the deep rumblings coming from the Corvettes.
“Damn, kid, when Dobie called he was already halfway here.”
On Colly's deck, we see men, and some black objects. Rubber rafts. Colly drives within ten foot of shore, shutting down his engine. He's coasting in fast, must be excited to chance coming in at that speed. He grinds to a stop in the sand; immediately, six men jump off, helping Dobie, Tober, and another man down off the boat and on shore.
“Arthur, Dr. Burns, good morning. My, is that tea I smell? Sure could use a spot of that,” a friendly Dobie asks, yelling over the noise from the two Corvettes. We have to yell at each other to speak as we stride towards the fire-pit.
Ruth is pouring tea for our visitors, as Dobie says, “Arthur, I'm sure you already know this, but this is Admiral Nicholas, he's in charge of the West Coast Defense Network. And as such, Lake George is part of his territory.”
Clasping his limp hand for a handshake, I conveniently leave out the fact my scanning powers aren't working.
“Commander Dobie has relayed to me everything you've encountered and suspect,” Admiral Nichols says in a whiney, nasal voice. “We have six more boats deployed on the seaside, with divers searching for another entrance to the cavern. Whatever is down there, we have it effectively contained now, and we don't want it getting away. The Prime Minister has authorized us to capture it intact.” He daintily sips his tea with an extended pinky finger, then lightly wipes his mousey-brown, thin mustache.
