POINT OPTION: A Time-Travel Military Thriller

by Ian A. O'Connor

  Fleming sat silent and inscrutable; his demeanor telling her to continue.

  “An excellent example of a non-medical mass hysteria took place in Fatima, Portugal, in October 1917, when one hundred thousand Catholic pilgrims claimed to have seen a spinning sun suddenly careen down toward them, then began to zig-zag across the sky for about ten minutes while emitting brilliant rays of multi-colored light. And all this took place while the Virgin Mary appeared before three small peasant children, as she had done for several consecutive months prior. History records it as the Miracle of Fatima, and a thorough recounting of the event was carried by all the major European newspapers. Yet, no other place on earth reported a similar phenomenon occurring that day. But the overarching question still remains more than a century later: Was Fatima a mass hysteria event, or was it truly a miracle from heaven? Well, far be it from me to say.” She smiled at Fleming. “So, as with Fatima, we must strive to find the absolute proof for what you and your friends are claiming, which is: ‘Yes, we most assuredly traveled back in time, and here is our scientific evidence to back up that claim.’”

  “Then let’s get started with it, shall we?” said Fleming.

  * * * * *

  Wednesday - afternoon

  It was two-fifteen in the afternoon, and the group had returned to the conference room for a lecture. Their guest’s curriculum vitae introduced him as Alfred Champlain, Ph.D., APAA, AAMC, CAA., a man who considered himself to be the authority on the life, art, inventions, and interpreter of the seven thousand two hundred pages of notes penned by Leonardo Da Vinci over a busy lifetime of overachievement. Fleming found himself admitting that he was more than just a little impressed with Alfred Champion’s alphabet soup résumé.

  “Let me rush through the boring stuff,” Alfred Champlain began, “then we’ll delve deeper into the more pertinent details of this remarkable life. Leonardo da Vinci was born on April 15, 1452, and died on May 3, 1519, at age sixty-seven, which was considered quite old at the time. Leonardo was a bastard. His father, Pietro was a lawyer and notary, his mother, Caterina, a scullery maid. They never married. The surname name da Vinci merely tells us the town where he was born, Vinci in the district of Florence. It neither suggests, nor confers, any form of royalty or nobility. Leonardo lived with his father for the first several years of his life, attending school on and off, and oftentimes getting into mischief with a rowdy group of young friends. One interesting fact we glean from copious notes written much later in life is that he learned to speak Latin from his father while still a young child. Pietro was fluent, but that’s really not surprising: Latin was the official language of both the civil and ecclesiastical courts of the time.

  “When Leonardo was eleven, his father packed him off to the small fishing town of Livorno on the coast to live with his uncle Domenico, who was more of a disciplinarian. He remained there for almost two years, and writes later that he became a changed youth while in his uncle’s care. It was here he developed an interest in learning and began showing an aptitude as a painter.”

  Champlain droned on in the same vein, taking his audience through da Vinci’s formative years as an apprentice to Andrea del Verrocchio, the most famous artist and sculptor in Florence at the time, and then went on to cover a boring listing of his early commissioned works.

  Noticing he was losing his audience, Alfred picked up the pace. “When he was twenty, Leonardo qualified as a master in the Guild of St. Luke, a rare honor for one so young. He continued to paint until the end of his life, and among his many works are the three he’s most famous for: Virgin of the Rocks, Louvre Museum (1484); The Last Supper, The Monastery of Santa Maria delle Grazie (1485); and Mona Lisa, Louvre Museum (1506). Regarding the Mona Lisa portrait, his model was presumed to have been a real person named Lisa del Giocondo, the wife of an Italian nobleman and wealthy silk merchant.”

  Champlain shuffled through his notes, took several swallows of water, and continued. “But I think you gentlemen are naturally more interested in Leonardo da Vinci’s scientific endeavors and discoveries which are indeed legion. But before getting to that, am I correct in saying that your young guest was aboard the aircraft carrier for only twelve hours?” He was looking at Blizzard as he asked the question.

  “That is correct.”

  “Then he was a busy boy to have taken in all that he saw in such a short time. Of course, there were airplanes and helicopters, and he even got a ride in one, is that correct?”

  Blizzard nodded.

  “But he spent most of his time in the hospital, where he must have seen many anatomical charts hanging on the walls of the examination rooms?”

  “All true,” replied Blizzard.

  “Permit me to add something here,” Father Caffarone interrupted. “When I took Leonardo back to the mainland in the helicopter, I spotted a medical journal in his pocket and took it from him. He only smiled, gave me a hug, jumped off, turned back to wave once, and disappeared into the night.” Caffarone paused, then added in a subdued voice, “but I now think he had secreted other magazines and pictures under his clothes. There was just no time to search him.”

  Champlain’s eyes widened. “Like what other magazines, Commander?”

  “Well, I can’t find a particular copy of Popular Mechanics. It was the 125th Special Anniversary Edition which was dedicated to the most significant inventions and discoveries of the 20th century. Their first magazine was published back on January 11, 1902, which was more than a year before the Wright Brothers flew their first airplane in December 1903 at Kitty Hawk, and long before Igor Sikorsky flew his first helicopter in 1939. I’m an aviation buff, and it’s one of the reasons I’ve spent most of my career on carriers. Anyway, that particular Popular Mechanics issue was chock full of inventions that history tells us were also found among Leonardo’s many detailed sketches and copious notebook entries. In fact, there were a couple of pages in that anniversary edition dedicated to Leonard da Vinci and his influence on aviation-related inventions several centuries after his death. I kept it on my desktop, but I’m afraid I haven’t been able to find it anywhere since the boy left.”

  Blizzard paled. “Father Caffarone is right. I remember now that Chief Petty Officer Clarke in Engineering called me on the bridge to say we had a kid stowaway on board and that he was running around holding a medical magazine and a copy of Popular Mechanics.”

  CHAPTER 29

  WASHINGTON DC

  Wednesday Evening – June 30th

  Admiral Christensen took his seat at the head of the conference table, arranged a sheaf of typed notes, cleared his throat, and began to speak.

  “Gentlemen, it’s been an intense couple of days, and I want you all to know how much I appreciate your input and cooperation with our scientific friends. What you experienced last week in the Mediterranean was a watershed event, but now I must decide where the Navy goes from here.” He looked to each officer individually, then continued.

  “I informed the Russian ambassador this afternoon that none of you had anything more to add to what you shared with Admiral Gorshkov yesterday evening. I conveyed your deepest sympathies to the Russian Submarine Command for the loss of their brave crew and hoped that we were able to help in some small way to add a sense of closure to the tragedy. In turn, the ambassador asked me to pass along his thanks to all of you. If he thought you were withholding vital information, he kept it hidden.” Christensen chose that moment to single out Fleming. “Major, I want to thank you for your solid reasoning earlier which helped convince me that silence about time travel was our best course of action. You might well have prevented an international incident or worse. Good work.”

  “Thank you, Admiral.”

  Admiral Christensen selected a second sheet from his stack and placed it on top. “Gentlemen, here are the facts I must consider in order to reach a decision whether or not to go forward or end everything today. I intend to be the devil’s advocate for the next few minutes because that’s
my job, but yours is to convince me I’m wrong.”

  He looked around the table. “Everyone ready?”

  Five nodding heads gave him his answer.

  “First, when the LBJ returned from the 15th century, for irrefutable proof that no such time-travel took place we need look no further than to her on-board atomic clock. Everyone agrees that the clock showed a loss of signal for two minutes, something that’s readily explained. The radio signals beamed down from the multiple cesium and rubidium atomic clocks found aboard all of our GPS satellites get interrupted for many reasons, but are easily reacquired by the receiving stations. It takes about two minutes for a receiver to reset itself to show the current time and date, and life marches on. It happens thousands of times a day, all over the world, which translates to say, nothing to see here folks; move along.

  “Next, all of the data inputted into the ship’s logs via the eLogBook System during the LBJ’s time back in the 15th century were never recorded. And I’m including all of her deck logs, engineering logs, combat systems logs, as well as those logs which account for daily fuel, oil, and water consumption, which means those entries were never made; ergo, they never existed.” He held up his right hand. “I know, I know. Of course, they couldn’t have been recorded because satellites didn’t exist in the 15th century and neither did the Internet which links the eLogs to the Navy Cloud Storage System. But again, we must stick to the facts, and the facts show there was no interruption in the date-time stampings for any of the entries made by the deck officers on duty, or any of the other logs produced by the other departments on the LBJ. I mean, not for one single minute! Gentlemen, that’s not just hard to overcome, it’s impossible!”

  Blizzard interrupted. “But I made contemporaneous entries in my personal daily journal, Admiral, and I referenced all the important happenings that took place during those few days we went back in time. That is hard proof, Sir, because I’ve added several entries to my journal since last week, which is proof of the uninterrupted continuity of my writings.”

  CAG raised a hand. “I have a similar written record, Admiral.”

  Fleming, Birdwell, and Caffarone all nodded that they too had kept individual journals.

  CAG pressed ahead with his objection. “Admiral, I personally flew the recce mission up the Italian coast from Rome to Pisa and back to the LBJ. Those photos I took are pretty solid evidence that I was flying in the 15th century because that tower at Pisa was standing upright. Photos don’t lie, Sir.”

  Christensen shook his head. “You’re wrong, CAG, photos do lie, and that’s why no one trusts them anymore. Just look at what they can do in the movies. Audiences get to see cities blown apart in seconds, then rebuilt at lightning speed with the whole thing looking chillingly real. Hollywood filmmakers are today’s masters of illusions, but with the help of sophisticated gaming cards, I can create the same razzle-dazzle on my laptop in just a couple of hours. No, I’m afraid not, CAG: those photos would be used against us in a heartbeat.”

  Blizzard and Gowdy remained silent. They were not about to continue an argument with the admiral when all he was doing was showing them what an uphill battle they faced.

  Christensen continued. “Next, let’s look for a moment at the Félicité. Miles, you told me that the two owners were traveling with ladies who were not their wives. You said that if they were ever to speak out about their treatment in Livorno, you would counter with a telling to the press exactly what you found: a luxury yacht adrift and in distress in the middle of the Mediterranean with a drunken crew and several passengers all exhibiting symptoms of acute drug overdosing. But I tend to agree with you here. We’ll never hear from them again, which means no rescue of prisoners about to be burned at the stake ever took place. Félicité is another non-starter.”

  Again, Gowdy chimed in. “What about the two pilots who overflew the town and dropped napalm on several boats in the harbor? They would tell the truth about what they saw and what they did if asked, Admiral.”

  “Of course they would, CAG,” Christensen agreed, “but so what? They flew a mission where they were told to make a couple of low passes and drop napalm cannisters on some derelicts floating in the harbor. And that’s all they knew. The mission couldn’t have been too important in their eyes because they weren’t even armed with air-to-air missiles, an absolute must for every jet flying off a U.S. carrier. No, the Navy would counter that argument saying they were supporting a movie company on location with the Navy’s full blessings, and that would be the end that.”

  “Which brings us to Leonardo,” said Father Caffarone. “Too many crew members on the carrier saw him, Admiral. How do we explain him away?”

  “We don’t. The kid was aboard the Félicité when you rendered aid and took the crew and passengers onto the LBJ. He was later dropped off at the harbor. End of story.”

  “So, this whole incident never happened; will that be the finding, Admiral?” Blizzard asked.

  “Miles, we must follow the facts, and after a thorough examination of the facts, there’s no irrefutable evidence to support your claim of what happened. I’m sorry, but those are the facts.”

  Admiral Christensen now addressed the entire group. “Gentlemen, do I believe you?” he asked. “Of course I do. But a Navy Fact Finding Board of Inquiry would see things differently simply because they would refuse to believe your story from the get-go. Their verdict would be preordained. They would find that you created those diary entries out of whole cloth and that you all colluded to advance a preposterous theory of time travel in order to coverup some serious misdeed you had to keep under wraps. Major Fleming aptly pointed out that the Russians would retaliate after being served such utter nonsense that their submarine had been destroyed in a time-travel mishap. So why would you expect a United States Navy Board to see things differently? The answer is it wouldn’t. The Navy has a long history of protecting itself. For proof, you need look no further than the trumped-up charges against General Billy Mitchell in his 1925 court martial trial after accusing the Navy of gross incompetence following a string of helium-filled dirigible crashes and three seaplane losses. The Navy wanted Mitchell muzzled, and convinced the Army Brass to help them. General Mitchell was found guilty on all charges, and the Navy got its pound of flesh. I’m sure you see my point. And even though I can assure you no such intimidation would ever be tolerated under my watch as the CNO, a Navy Board would ask for you be relieved of your commands which would mean the end of your careers. So, without that irrefutable proof, this really is the end of the line, gentlemen, and I’m sorry.”

  The room was quiet while everyone mulled over the admiral’s conclusion. It was devastating to think that this was how the most incredible journey in history would end.

  Defeat was on all their faces until Fleming jumped up and rapped on the table for attention. “Admiral, we have irrefutable proof that Leonardo da Vinci was aboard the LBJ, and it will absolutely confirm that we did in fact travel back in time.”

  Everyone turned to look at this Air Force upstart who dared question a verdict from the Chief of Naval Operations. If Christensen was angered by the challenge, it did not show.

  “Major, you made a persuasive argument earlier for us to say nothing more to Admiral Gorshkov, and I chose to follow that advice because it was sound. I’m also a believer in the possibility that lightning can strike twice, so, please, tell me what’s on your mind. You have permission to speak freely.”

  “We have all of Leonardo da Vinci’s clothes,” Fleming replied in a subdued voice.

  “What’s that?” the admiral asked, looking momentarily confused. “I’m not following you.”

  Commander Caffarone jumped up. “Major Fleming is right, Admiral! We have Leonardo’s clothes. The kid left them behind.” Caffarone was now filling with excitement. “When I took him back to shore in the helicopter he was wearing hospital pajamas, a heavy sweater, and wool socks to keep his feet warm. Captain Blizzard told me there was no
time to dress him in his own clothes, which means they’re still in the ship’s laundry. Our irrefutable proof lies in a laundry bag, Sir.” He began to laugh loudly and was soon joined by the others.

  Admiral Christensen leaned far back in his chair, lost in thought. He drummed his fingertips on the table, then abruptly stopped. “You sure of this?”

  “One hundred percent, Admiral,” Caffarone replied, the grin still on his face.

  “Which means we can carbon date those clothes and prove they’re from the 15th century,” Christensen mused softly, as if speaking only to himself.

  “Yes, Admiral. And remember, those clothes won’t be old and threadbare, they’ll look and feel like new. They haven’t aged because when the boy was wearing them, he was on the LBJ, and the carrier was still in the 15th century. In fact, he never left his own century, but his clothes sure did. They were still aboard the LBJ when we returned to the present.” Caffarone was now beside himself. “This will be as momentous a discovery as the recent report on the newest carbon dating of the Shroud of Turin, which proved beyond all doubt that that holy garment was woven in the Middle East sometime between 200 B.C. and 300 A.D., and that its image is that of Christ.”

  The CNO sat upright, a renewed sense of purpose reflected in his demeanor. “Father Caffarone, I want you to return to the LBJ immediately where you will gather up the boy’s clothes and personally deliver them back here. And you won’t let them out of your sight for even a moment.”

  “Aye, Aye, Admiral.”

  Christensen turned to his senior aide who had been buzzed into the room. “Jon, I want you to cut Father Caffarone a set of orders to include priority air travel out to the LBJ and to return here with all dispatch. If you have to requisition my plane for the trip, then do so. I want you to have a carbon dating team on standby at the Naval Lab to get to work immediately when those clothes arrive. And, Jon, I need all this like yesterday.”