by David Wood
Because he was in a strange uniform, and because news of the governor’s assassination would not reach Mexico for several months, Perez was assumed to be a deserter and imprisoned. When a ship from Manila arrived, they not only brought word of the assassination but also said that they knew Gil Perez, and said that he had been missing since the night of October 23.
The story showed up, more or less word for word, on more than a dozen different web sites. One page indicated that the story had first appeared in print about a century afterward. Another site offered a skeptical examination of the details and explained why the story was nothing more than an urban myth.
“This can’t be the same guy,” Professor said. “Even if the story is true…and I’m not saying it is…there wasn’t anything in that journal about being a palace guard in the Philippines.”
“But the date,” Jade persisted. “It’s exactly the same.” She reread the account again. “In the journal, Perez said something about seeing the life he might have lived as if looking through a window. And he talked about opening the window and stepping through. What if he succeeded?”
“We found his body. I’d call that a ‘fail.’”
Jade turned to Dorion. “Paul, is there a possibility that a dark matter field could transport people between alternate dimensions?”
Dorion seemed excited by the prospect. “When it comes to quantum mechanics, almost anything is possible. It may be that Perez—our Perez, the man we found under the pyramid—tried to bridge the universes, to open a door instead of just looking through the window. In so doing, he might have created instability in space-time, causing several universes to overlap.”
“Maybe that’s what he meant by the life he might have lived; he saw the outcome of a different choice in life—the choice to be a lowly palace guard—and tried to switch places with his double. There was a hiccup and one Perez wound up dead in Teo, and the other got teleported to Mexico City.”
“A hiccup?” said Professor. “Is that the scientific term for it? Can I point out a big flaw in this idea? The Perez in the story had no clue about any of this, and the sailors who arrived from Manila confirmed that Perez had gone missing. That means that the guy we found in the cavern might be the one from another universe.”
“So?”
“So, maybe the whole business with Alvaro taking the Moon stone happened in another reality.”
Jade shook her head. “If that was true, we would have found the Moon stone in the cavern. Maybe things got mashed up, but the Moon stone was taken, and that means it’s got to be in our universe…somewhere.”
“Then, as bizarre as this story is, it doesn’t really tell us anything.”
Jade clung to the story of Gil Perez like a lifeline. “No, this has to be important somehow. We’re talking about someone teleporting! What if,” she glanced at the iPad screen again. “What if we look for other stories like this? Unexplained disappearances. Maybe we can find the Moon stone’s footprint.”
Professor’s expression was dubious. “Well, if you want mysterious disappearances, you don’t have to look very far. The route for Spanish galleons heading back to Europe went right through the Bermuda Triangle.”
Jade’s eyes went wide and Professor hastily added, “But the Bermuda Triangle is just a myth, created by a writer in the 1960s. Most of the so-called disappearances have been completely blown out of proportion and have a perfectly rational explanation.”
“Most? What about the ones that don’t? This makes perfect sense. Alvaro’s ship must have gone down. The Moon stone is sitting there at the bottom of the ocean. It’s probably the cause of those disappearances.”
Dorion weighed in. “If we accept the premise that the dark matter field can cause people to shift between different universes, then this is not implausible.”
Professor made a low grumbling noise.
Ophelia, who had been following the discussion without comment, now spoke up. “If this Moon stone is there, at the bottom of the ocean, how would we find it?”
“I’ve read all the scientific explanations for why the stories about the Bermuda Triangle are probably exaggerated,” Jade said. “But there are cases that still defy a logical explanation. Those planes that left Florida and vanished without a trace—”
“Flight 19,” supplied Professor grudgingly. “Five Avenger torpedo bombers went on a training flight in 1945. The flight leader radioed that he was off course and lost, and all attempts to talk them in or figure out where they were failed. The Navy searched for days in the area where they thought the planes had gone down, but found no trace. One of the search planes disappeared as well. The story of Flight 19 was what started people talking about the Bermuda Triangle. After that, every time a ship or plane went missing in the area, it added to the myth.
“But sometimes planes and ships just disappear, even today. Flight 370, that Malaysia Airlines Boeing 777 went off course and vanished in the Indian Ocean. Everyone wants to believe that there’s some mysterious force at work because we think our technology is foolproof, but it’s not. More than two-thirds of the planet is covered in deep ocean. It’s a great big haystack to lose a needle in. It’s just that simple. Unless you think there are other dark matter fields out there.”
Jade raised an eyebrow. “Maybe there are.”
“You’re worse than Bones,” Professor sighed.
Jade rolled her eyes at the thought of the six-foot-five Cherokee Indian, Uriah “Bones” Bonebrake, Dane Maddock’s partner-in-crime, and like Professor, a former member of the same SEAL team. She and Bones had gotten off on a bad foot, and Maddock’s new relationship with Angel didn’t help, but Jade and Bones had actually gotten along pretty well when they’d last worked together. Jade recalled Bones’ fascination with unexplained phenomena. “We could probably use him on this. Anyway, my point is that we can take those stories—the ones that are still completely unsolved—and triangulate to find the center of the effect. At the very least, it can narrow our search area.”
“The average depth of the Atlantic is nearly two miles down.”
“If you can put us in the ballpark,” Ophelia said, “I can provide a search vessel with submersibles.”
“There may be another way to narrow the search,” said Dorion. “In order to have that kind of effect at a distance, the field would have to be massive, much larger than what we observed in Teotihuacan.”
“Could the Moon stone still be collecting WIMPs?” Jade asked.
“Possibly. But that’s not what I’m getting at. There’s never been a way to detect dark matter, but if the Moon stone is exerting a significant effect on space-time—significant enough to make planes vanish from the sky—there will be measurable relativistic effects.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that time will distorted…we’re talking differences of perhaps only a few nanoseconds, but it’s a fairly simple thing to measure those differences with an atomic clock. We have one clock with us, synchronized to the FOCS-1 clock in Switzerland. As we move closer to a disruption of space-time, the clocks will desynchronize. Put simply, we can build a dark matter detector.”
“Speaking of clocks,” Ophelia said, “it’s late. We should all get some rest. I’ve got a breakfast date with my brother in a few hours. I’m not looking forward to that.”
Jade felt a twinge of apprehension. Despite his intervention on their behalf, Laertes Doerner remained a member of the very group that had repeatedly tried to kill them. “Maybe we should keep this just between us?”
“I won’t be able to hide an ocean-going expedition. But you let me worry about Laertes.”
Professor sighed in defeat. “I suppose none of you will be happy until we’ve had a look. But you do realize that, if there’s any truth to this crazy idea, the Bermuda Triangle will be a very dangerous place, and we’ll be sailing right into the heart of it.”
Jade grinned. “Never stopped us before.”
Brian Hodges closed his eyes and tried to imag
ine that he was somewhere else. With his hands and ankles zip-tied to a chair, there wasn’t much else he could do to deal with his imprisonment. He had no idea how much time had passed; hours, certainly. He knew that he had dozed off once or twice, but the uncomfortable chair to which he was bound made real sleep impossible. His captors had not fed him or even allowed him to go to the bathroom. His stomach had been grumbling for a while now and he had a splitting headache, though strangely, he didn’t feel the need to urinate. That meant he was probably dehydrated.
“Can I get a drink of water?” he croaked. “You can’t treat me like this. I have rights.”
There was no answer. He had seen no sign of anyone since being tied up and left here in this cell. Had they forgotten about him?
There was a click at the door and it swung open to reveal an irritated-looking man with pale blond hair. He recognized the visitor immediately; Laertes Doerner, the man who had betrayed them to the Greek police.
Hodges felt a surge of defiance from the depths of his misery. “What a surprise. You know they’re going to come after you.”
Doerner cocked his head sideways. “The Group? Oh, I doubt that very much. You and Andres really screwed things up. The Group will be pleased that I managed to clean this mess up with only minimal blowback.”
“Why did you turn us in?”
Doerner chuckled. “Isn’t it obvious? Andres went after my sister. I couldn’t very well just stand by and let that happen.”
“No victory without sacrifice,” Hodges muttered. “I lost my family. A lot of people lost sisters and daughters. What makes you so special?”
“You mean apart from a net worth that runs to eleven figures?”
“You’re a hypocrite. When the Group learns about this—”
Doerner waved his hand as if brushing away a bothersome fly. “Don’t presume to know what the Group thinks. You’re not in our class. In any case, the Group won’t be learning of it. Not from you, at least. You see, somebody has to pay for your little incursion on Greek soil. Those gunslingers Andres hired are already on their way to the deepest darkest prison in Greece. You’ve got reservations there as well, unless…”
Here it comes, thought Hodges. Carrot or stick? He’s going to make me beg for it. “Unless?”
“I know that your motives are ideological. Or maybe a better word would be personal. I suspect you would gladly endure imprisonment or any other fate because you think your cause is just. Whether you believe it or not, I feel the same.” He stared past Hodges, a wistful expression alighting on his arrogant face. “Though I will admit to having a weakness where my sister is concerned.”
He brought his eyes back to Hodges. “Ophelia is a crazy dreamer, chasing after fairy tales. Unfortunately, she’s just told me that she’s not going to give up the search, and there’s a very real possibility that she’ll find what she’s looking for. That presents a problem for us all. I love her, but she’s out of control, and yes, if it comes down to it, I’m willing to do what has be done. I’d prefer it not come to that, but there it is.”
“Unless?” Hodges repeated, the word grating from his throat.
“Do what you were sent to do. Make this problem go away. It’s as simple as that.”
“As simple as that?”
Doerner took something from his pants pocket. He held up his fist and with a snick, a two-inch long blade appeared.
Switchblade, thought Hodges. This guy is a real piece of work.
Doerner leaned over him and sawed apart the zip ties. “We both know Andres was to blame for what happened here. I’ll see to it that the local authorities forget your name. It goes without saying that the Group will take care of you.” He took a step back. “Do we have a deal?”
“What about your sister?”
“I would prefer that she come to no harm, but as you say, no victory without sacrifice.” Doerner’s eyes glinted like the steel of his blade. “But if it should come to that, do yourself a favor and kill yourself, because I won’t be that merciful.”
PART THREE: DOORS
TWENTY-TWO
Nassau, Bahamas
Jade felt a sudden misgiving as she stepped out onto the pier at the Nassau Harbor Marina. Directly ahead, moored at the first slip, was the bright yellow outline of the R/V Quest Explorer, a two hundred-fifty foot search and recovery ship owned and operated by Quest Maritime Incorporated. QMI billed itself as a private marine archaeological venture, but they were essentially treasure hunters on a grand scale, and not above renting their services out to paying customers; especially customers with the kind of money that Ophelia brought to the table. Yet, it was not the nearness of the search vessel that had shaken Jade’s confidence, but rather the enormous, city-sized cruise ships that were docked just beyond the Quest Explorer. There were three of them; eight hundred foot long behemoths, each capable of carrying nearly three thousand passengers and crew. These ships came and went daily, bearing tens of thousands of tourists, some arriving by sea, others flying into nearby Lynden Pindling International Airport, where Jade herself had landed only forty-five minutes earlier. Hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions of visitors, roaming what were, if sensational reports were to be believed, the most dangerous waters on earth.
Somehow, the Bermuda Triangle didn’t seem quite so mysterious when you were in it. What had seemed like an earthshaking revelation just two days earlier, now felt more like a histrionic juvenile fantasy.
Did I get this wrong?
She cast a sidelong glance at Professor, whom she knew had spent the last two days undertaking a comprehensive review of incidents attributed to the Bermuda Triangle in an effort to focus their search. He had promised to present his findings as soon as they were aboard. His faintly smug expression told Jade there was an I told you so in her future.
A slender man with prematurely silver hair, wearing a bright red polo shirt with QMI emblazoned on the left breast, awaited them at the gangplank. He stepped forward and introduced himself, conspicuously directing his comments to Ophelia as if the rest of them were just hangers-on. “Welcome to Nassau. I’m Cliff Barry, VP in charge of special projects, and the Chief Mate aboard the Explorer.” He grinned. “Don’t worry about trying to remember all that. We all wear a lot of hats. If you need anything, just ask the first person you see wearing a shirt like mine, and if they can’t help you, they’ll find someone who can. Your equipment arrived earlier this morning, so we’re ready to cast off. The sooner we get on board, the sooner we’ll find what you’re looking for.”
Barry seemed more interested in getting everyone aboard than in learning names, so Ophelia merely thanked him and motioned for him to lead the way. Two crewmen met them at the top of the ramp and took their luggage, while Barry ushered them into the superstructure to a lavishly appointed salon that looked like a cross between the lounge of a five-star hotel and a nautical museum.
“Nice place,” Jade remarked.
“We had to dress it up a bit for the cameras,” Barry said with an airy wave. “I’m afraid the rest of the ship is a bit less luxurious.”
“Cameras?”
Barry’s friendly manner seemed to grow a few degrees cooler. “For the television series.” He gave an indifferent shrug. “If you want to get settled here, I’ll let Mr. Nichols know that you’re aboard so we can get underway.”
After he left, Jade turned to Professor. “Television series?”
He laughed. “Ask a red shirt.”
“QMI also produces a cable television series about marine archaeology,” Ophelia supplied. “Don’t worry. I don’t think it’s still on the air, and in any event, I’ve been assured that there are no cameras aboard. We don’t need to be worried about showing up on the History channel.”
“I’m a little more worried about the Norfolk Group putting in a surprise appearance,” Jade said. “This is all a little high-profile.”
“My brother has assured me that we need not worry about them anymore,” Ophelia said.
&nb
sp; Jade did not feel assured, but before she could express her concerns, a faint vibration began to rise up from the deck. She felt a gentle rocking motion as the Quest Explorer began moving. Through one of the small porthole windows, which Jade suspected were more decorative than functional, the harbor and surrounding landscape moved by more quickly as the ship picked up speed.
A few minutes later, Barry returned, accompanied by two men. Both were older and had craggy weathered faces that bespoke a lifetime spent working in the elements. One man was tall and broad, with a mane of white hair, and wore a blue denim shirt that looked like working attire, but sported a conspicuous designer label. The other man was balding, and the gin blossoms flecking his nose made his already ruddy complexion look ever redder. He had the start of a paunch, which strained the lower buttons of his white uniform blouse with black epaulets.
“Ladies and gentleman,” Barry began, “This is Mr. Kit Nichols, president and founder of QMI…” The man in the denim shirt waved.
“And Spencer Lee, Master of the Ship.”
Lee’s demeanor was aloof, but Nichol’s effusive manner more than made up for it.
“Ms. Doerner. I’ve heard a great deal about you, but nobody told me how lovely you are. A pity we’re not filming. You’re about the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen on this old tub. And who else do we have with us?”
Ophelia began the introductions. “This is Dr. Chapman…”
The two men shook hands. “Call me Professor. Everyone does.”
“Love the hat. Professor of what, exactly?”
“Oh, this and that.”
Nichols laughed heartily.
“This is Dr. Dorion,” Ophelia continued. “He’ll be handling most of the technical aspects of the search.”
