Titanic 2012 (inspector alastair ransom)

by Robert W. Walker

  Reahall’s sarcasm made Declan wonder what he could mean; he shrugged in Thomas’ direction, but Thomas only looked away, a sick look painting his features.

  “Nothing more to be done tonight, lads… ah gentlemen,” began Bellingham. “You two are way beyond curfew and bedtime. Get some rest, and we’ll sort this affair out the in light of day.”

  FOURTEEN

  David Ingles awoke, finding himself in a sitting position, upper torso lying over Declan Irvin’s detailed and stunning journal. Dry-mouthed and exhausted, he looked over his shoulder to where Kelly Irvin softly moaned in her sleep, and for a moment, he studied her features where she lay in her clothes. She looked so lovely and so normal, he thought and offered a prayer for a millisecond that it had all been a bad dream—her crazy story. It felt good to hope for this up till the moment of fully recalling Declan Irvin’s journal; it all came rushing in at him again, vividly gripping, the intern’s voice lifting off the page! So compelling, so sure, so authentic until the tale had enraptured David so completely until sleep had forced him to stop reading. Thus the final truth of the sinking of the unsinkable Titanic—whatever that truth might be—sank now into his befuddled mind.

  Most assuredly many tenacious reservations and doubts held sway. A part of his mind kept fencing with it, doing battle, disbelieving, but then the disbelief was suspended when he recalled Irvin’s details to this point, not to mention Kelly’s strange saber tooth and her certainty that the Titanic’s captain and crew had acted with intent… had actually planned to take her to the bottom of the Atlantic. With good reason… due to some disease organism on board. Men who ought to be heroes of their day had come to the conclusion that Titanic could not find any other home than on the ocean floor—to freeze this Black Plague-like organism running rampant on the ship. Could it truly be that a secret cabal aboard Titanic was set on this course? That they actually scuttled her? Logic told him i was impossible.

  The lookout in the crow’s nest, Frederick Fleet, and the officers on deck, turned her bow into that now famous iceberg and rammed the mountain of ice. Meantime, below decks, the chief engineer—acting under direct orders of Captain Smith—opened up the bulkheads built to be sealed off at the ceiling ensuring each compartment below the water line would fill in succession with the cold Atlantic. The controls were right there on the bridge, immediately at the captain’s disposal, so why didn’t he seal off these compartments? The records said it was already too late, but was it?

  These same officers and crewmen, according to pages that he had skipped ahead to, opened large bilge tubes to speed up the process of taking on water after she struck the iceberg. In fact, men were knocked down while officers above managed to veer the ship off the spur of the iceberg, the lowest deck shaking earthquake fashion.

  On the one hand, it was all too fantastic to swallow, yet on the other the detailed account rang such a convincing bell; it sounded so honest.

  For now, Ingles had to slip out of here unnoticed and hope that Bowman hadn’t missed him—likely an impossibility. Kelly moaned in her sleep, and he imagined her having vivid dreams for certain if she believed everything in her ancestor’s journal. Wildly insane dreams really if she believed that someone aboard Scorpio today was the descendant of some alien creature supposedly escaped from a prehistoric beast buried in a mine shaft. Then the supposed thing hitched a ‘ride’ as any parasite in nature does via a carrier, in this case a human host, on board the Titanic? Yeah sure, he thought. Only to survive the sinking of Titanic and leave some weird egg-sacs it’d laid—and now it was back? And finally, that it had the potential to destroy all of humanity?

  If Kelly truly believed the ‘facts’ laid out in the 1912 journal, she might well endanger Scorpio’s mission and everyone aboard. ‘Beware the man—or woman—of one book’ warned some forgotten philosopher in David’s head.

  David hesitated at the door, wondering if he should not take the journal with him, wrap it in a girly magazine and read more during the day. He glanced outside; some people moving about down the corridor. He ducked back inside, decided to take the journal, and then considered the larger question now galloping through his fevered mind: Shall I continue to read this journal or turn it over to Swigart and Forbes? Let them deal with Dr. Irvin and her crazy agenda? Is she psychotic or suffering from delusions of grandeur? Either way, they’ll put her off Scorpio… and she’d no longer be my problem.

  Then he recalled that she had worked with Forbes years before; how long had she lived with this plan to disrupt Dr. Juris Forbes’ expedition, a mission taking years to fund, organize, and get started? Her cover for being on board now appeared a sure infiltration, but how radical might she become—if she didn’t get her own way? Had her plans been ongoing for three years? Four years? For the better part of her life? Was she OCD on this subject or just insane? Maybe an insanity gene ran in her family. This seemed more logical than this next question: suppose the disease carrying parasitic monster did exist? Suppose she was the one infected? What if she were possessed of this so-called sentient, blood-sucking, parasite leech without a name? What if it had simply chosen her family to take root in through the generations? Why not?

  One thing was for certain. She needed help, but not from David Ingles. She needed the best shrink money could buy. David’s mind raced as he thought sure, her ancestor creates this HP Lovecraft-styled nightmare, a fantastical tale about what happened aboard Titanic, offering this crazy story, and she buys it hook, line, and sinker? Fine but David Ingles’ mama raised no fools.

  She rolled over onto her side, still deep in slumber. “Crazy beautiful creature,” he muttered, grabbed up the journal, and with a deep breath, he stepped out into the passageway. There he came face to face with Lena Gambio and Will Bowman who seemed in high spirits. Their conversation ceased suddenly and each stared from David to Kelly’s room and back again.

  “Looks like you’re not the only one got lucky last night, Bowman,” Lena said, punched Will in the arm with a solid blow, and rushed ahead for the galley, saying, “I need that coffee, man.”

  Bowman, a sure look of guilt on his black face, said, “Hey, man. Woke up, found you gone, took a stroll on deck, and Lena and me… we got to talking. Know how it is? It’s been a while.”

  “Yeah, I understand.” Ingles kept the book at his side.

  Bowman glanced at Kelly’s closed door, lifted his chin and smiled. “Guess you couldn’t sleep either, eh bro?”

  “No… too excited about the dive to Titanic.”

  “Listen, man, you got my back, I got yours. Deal?”

  “Deal. Say that coffee smells good.”

  “On my way, too.”

  “Let me just stow this.” David snatched open their shared compartment door. “Catch up to you in a minute.”

  “Reading the sailor’s bible, eh? Moby Dick?”

  “Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner,” he lied, “freakin’ first edition Dr. Irvin has. We ahhh talked all night about it. Seems we share a taste for classic lit.”

  “Yeah, right… talked books, got it… sure! Later then.” He gave Ingles a jumping thumbs up, obviously certain that David had done more than discuss poetry with Dr. Irvin. He finished with a fist-bump and a toothy grin before rushing off to catch up with Lena.

  David had no problem translating the salacious grin on his dive partner’s face; it’d spoken volumes as Bowman had turned to make his way toward mid-ship and the galley. David heard his mutterings and laughter, his body language clearly accepting the fact that the bosses, not even Swigart, could keep human nature in line.

  David saw Mendenhall who’d just then come out of his compartment. He’d been masked by Bowman until Will had passed the other diver. Jacob gave David that evil eye of his, a cold stare, studying him acutely and likely curious about both the book in David’s hand and why the look on David’s face. Had Jacob also seen him exiting Irvin’s cabin. No knowing smirk from Jacob and none expected, no laughter or thumbs up or any gesture whatsoever—ju
st that examining eye.

  David decided that if Jacob knew anything Lou Swigart would have him on the carpet by noon, and then people would really be talking. Was his secret rendezvous already out? If so, it would spread throughout the ship. “Damn,” he muttered to himself while watching Mendenhall’s back as the taller man followed in Bowman’s wake, heading to the galley, David assumed.

  Moments later, David slipped into his room and tucked the journal deep below his bunk. He undressed and wrapped himself in a robe. Shortly, he exited and went to the showers, waving at other crewmen, a TV news cameraman and reporter Craig Powers. They had met the day before, but David now waved him off any thought of an interview, and instead ducked into the tight space of the shower room. He imagined himself at the center of a cellblock murder, feeling claustrophobic as there was only one way in and one way out. He replayed the shower scene in Psycho, Hitchcock’s black and white thriller—which he’d read in its original as Robert Bloch’s novel—only now in his paranoid imaginings, the victim in the shower was him!

  As a result, he rushed through the shower.

  Toweling off, about to exit the showers, he turned to find Kelly, her jaw set, standing in his way. She tossed his robe at him, and he quickly covered himself. “You have no right to have taken the journal without my knowledge, Dave. What’re you thinking? To turn me in? Have me booted off the boat?”

  “It crossed my mind, yeah, but I’m reserving judgment until I can finish the… uh, narrative,” he only half lied as during his shower, he felt more and more compelled to read on.

  “Where is it, David? Where the hell’d you put it? Damn you!”

  “Hold on! Easy, Kelly, it’s in a safe place.”

  “Where? There is no safe place for an object like that.”

  “My room; I didn’t want people to get the wrong idea—snuck out early and I wanted to keep reading.”

  Her angry features softened. “You should’ve wakened me.”

  “You were sleeping soundly and—”

  “I can’t be exposed on this, David; it’s our only chance, and we have no chance if that… that killer aboard knows we are onto it.”

  “I think I’m already exposed,” he tried to make light of it, looking down at his bare chest, the robe now tied snugly about him.

  “Sorry but I feared the worst—that you’d already turned me in.”

  He raised both arms in a gesture of defeat.

  “I’m out of here. Read the rest of the journal, please, before you make the worst mistake of your life.” She rushed out.

  “Will do,” he promised, his voice trailing after her.

  But David wasn’t sure he believed it himself. He had a great deal to weigh up, and if news got out that he and Irvin had had secret rendezvous aboard, he had no doubt that Swigart would send them both packing.

  After dressing, David made his way topside; he needed air and a look at the sea—a balm that always refreshed his mind. That saber tooth kept returning to his thoughts like an evil talisman, but he knew that Kelly might’ve picked it up in the backroom of any museum of natural history in America. But for now he felt a clawing familiar claustrophobia at the back of his mind that began creeping along his skin and every pore; a feeling that everything was closing in on him including time, a feeling he’d experienced only once before—with Terry’s death deep inside that sub in the Sea of Japan.

  Topside, the sea breeze, sunshine, and ocean spray filled his senses and conspired to make what he had learned from the Irvin journal more absurd than he had earlier thought. The cool light of day could have that effect along with a cool breeze on a freshly showered sailor. In fact, it often felt nature was the best teacher, and her lessons were not lost on this sun-drenched deck in the middle of the ocean where the loveliness of this day argued for calm, steady, and perfectly sane seas. It argued for him to sit down with Swigart, Irvin’s ‘evidence’ in hand, and lay it all out for him.

  But he’d promised Kelly, and aside from barging into the men’s room—and this wild story of some alien disease aboard Titanic—she seemed sane, calm, and as sure as the sea, the sun, moon and stars. Perhaps I should just lie low, he cautioned himself. Remain in my compartment—away from her… and pray any rumors might die before they take hold. Take the coward’s way out. He now muttered, “Never said I was a hero.”

  He knew a lot depended on the other male divers, Will Bowman and Jacob Mendenhall in particular; they’d both seen him exiting Kelly’s room as had Lena, and all three had assumed that which most anyone might. He trusted Lena to keep it to herself. There seemed something positive in her passing look. Most certainly, she probably liked gossip as much as the next person, but David guessed otherwise when it came to matters of the heart. On the other hand, Bowman, and possibly Mendenhall, would be unable to keep their mouths shut.

  He decided to grab a couple of biscuits from the galley and return to his room to hibernate there and perhaps read on; to be honest with himself, and despite his doubts about the authenticity of the journal, the story did have a certain allure in and of itself—absurd as it was! Still, it somehow compelled him to find out—according to Declan Irvin—what happened next?

  After all, once Titanic left Belfast for the open sea, it was run through a series of tests before arriving at Southampton, England, and a few days interval would have elapsed. If those men of 1912 had suspected something aboard, something unnatural and horrible, then why did they wait until it was too late to quarantine the ship before thousands of men, women, and children boarded her and began the journey to America?

  Perhaps the answers rested in the pages he had yet to read and digest.

  Before he could get below to the galley, however, Kelly again found him, asking “Have you seen Dr. Alandale? Where’s Alandale?” The sound of the ship coursing over the surface of the sea softened her shouting. She shaded her eyes against the brilliant sun.

  “Alandale? I dunno. Haven’t seen him since… well since you fawned all over him when you boarded.”

  “Fawned all over him?” She gave him another angry look. “What’re you talking about, Dave?”

  “You are one damn good actress, Dr. Irvin. I thought you were a groupie about to ask him for his autograph.”

  “I do have one of his books in my bags for his signature; I wasn’t acting, Dave.”

  “Then you are a groupie?”

  “I hold a degree in Oceanography, but you know that. I’ve read every word Alandale ever put to paper. Haven’t you?”

  Something in the way she delivered her last words made him wonder. “You’ve had quite an unusual career trajectory, Kelly. Straight from being a filing clerk for Forbes to Dr. Irvin.”

  “Oceanography was required to keep on top of what was going on with Titanic exploration; I knew the French expedition, for instance, could not get to those things inside Titanic, but I learned early on about the breakthrough with Perflourocarbons, liquid air—and then I knew.”

  “Knew? Knew what?”

  “Knew that the thing my great-great grandfather tried to destroy… if it got off Titanic as I’ve surmised—and as he feared it might—that it would be watching for any chance to get at its prize! Those eggs it—that thing—left on board when Titanic went down.”

  Suddenly, Swigart’s voice broke into their conversation. “You two look like you’re on a g’damn honeymoon; I hope you’re keeping it professional, people. Already have to keep my eye on Bowman and Gambio.”

  She turned abruptly. “Talking protocol, sir. Want to make sure we work as a team,” she lied. “Keeping it professional,” she tossed his words back and added, “Making sure we have our hand signals down in case anyone loses audio.” She allowed her hands to do a bit of dance before Swigart, sending him a mock distress signal—indicating strangulation by noose, tongue lolling, all of which made Lou laugh like a kid. David again thought how adept she was at manipulating men… and at lying.

  “But you’re doing it in isolation; you have a third team member
,” quarreled Swigart, “so this doesn’t look good.”

  “My fault, sir,” David jumped in. “I… I followed Dr. Irvin here,” he now lied. “Wanted to ask her a couple of questions about her inside knowledge of our captain, sir, as Dr. Irvin has worked with him previously, sir.”

  “Is that right, Mr. Ingles?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I see… well.” Swigart looked sternly at the two of them. “Be sure to keep it professional then, and carry on.” Swigart moved on, and Kelly and David exchanged a look that said ‘close call’.

  Still, David wondered at Swigart’s choice of words—‘carry on’. Did he mean it as the normal phrase among sailors? Or was it a jibe or a warning? “Yes sir, thank you,” he called out to Swigart as the man decreased in size going away from them.

  Swigart started with a yelp that David at first thought to be a reply, but it was anything but. The older seaman had slipped on a slick of oil, and he went down on one knee, saying, “What the hell?”

  The others rushed to help Swigart to his feet; the big man was asking, “What’d I step in? There shouldn’t be any oil on deck. Where’s this leak coming from?”

  “Appears to be coming from the seals to the winch, else it’s coming from the submersible,” said David, among those helping him to his feet.

  “Damn, that’s bad either way if it’s the case.” OPFC liquid air-equipped submersible was state-of-the-art, equipped with the most highly sensitive tracking devices and global positioning system on the planet, and the thing cost more than Scorpio IV and her three previous sister ships combined. It could uncomfortably accommodate up to twelve people on a dare; eight far more reasonably. Meanwhile, thanks to new technology, MAX could remain submerged indefinitely—as with any nuclear powered sub, but while its electronics were operated from a nuclear reactor, its propulsion was, in a sense, low tech—a thing of beauty as it mimicked the method of propulsion found naturally in much of undersea life.