Sunken Treasure Lost Worlds

by Hep Aldridge

  And that’s how Col. Duncan Fitzsimmons (U.S. Army ret.) became part of our merry band of adventurers. I had known Fitz for about thirty years and I could guarantee he was one crazy MOFO! He joined the Army, went through helicopter flight school at Ft. Rucker, finished top in his class and was shipped to Nam, flying slicks doing insertions, evacs, and Medevac. He did two tours; the second tour he flew Huey gunships. Said he liked that better because instead of just getting shot at, he could shoot back.

  Got out, but stayed in the guard and retired full bird colonel, which is amazing in and of its self. This is the guy that flew a bunch of Alabama National Guard medics in his UH 1, Huey when they were down here doing weekend warrior maneuvers, nose down attack mode through Main Street Disney, around Cinderella’s castle and back down Main Street, having to pull up to clear the monorail!

  He had declared engine problems to the ATC before dropping below the radar. He thought he had it made until he got back to Herndon Field, where the flight had originated, and a full colonel and a major were waiting for him. Said his ass was about 25 pounds lighter after they got done chewing it. Someone in the castle had gotten his aircraft numbers and called it in. Sons of bitches, no sense of humor! He was the unit’s top pilot with awards and commendations and shit, so he walked away with only a wrist slap and the ass chewing.

  Just knowing this one story, and trust me, there were many others, it was obvious he had a great resume and was going to fit right in if he agreed to join us.

  The next day and a phone call later, Dimitri, Joe, and I had an appointment with Fitz at his office in Bithlo, Florida on Thursday afternoon. We arrived at what looked like a small well-used, if not run down, airfield just outside of town. There were half a dozen rusty hangars in sight and a tower that looked like it had seen better days. What got my attention was the 12-foot chain-link fence with rolls of razor wire on top surrounding the whole place and the guarded entrance gate.

  As we pulled up to the gate, a guard came out, and I gave him my name. After checking my driver’s license, he said, “Yes, Sir, Colonel Fitzsimmons is expecting you.” When he turned towards the guard shack, I saw the sidearm in a shoulder holster under his lightweight windbreaker. The electronic gate opened as I thought, armed guards, 12-foot fences, razor wire, what the hell has Fitz been up to since we last talked? I followed the arrowed signs that said headquarters building to an old, not in the best of shape three-story building. The parking lot was nearly empty in front and a big Acme Corporation sign was affixed to the exterior.

  Another armed guard opened the door for us as we walked up to the entrance. Inside was a nicely appointed atrium with a reception desk in the middle. This was a stark difference from the building’s outside appearance. Sitting at the desk was one of the most beautiful women I had ever laid eyes on. As we approached, she greeted us with a picture-perfect smile, her red hair and crystalline green eyes sparkling. She said, “You must be Dr. Burnett.” All I could do was nod; speech eluded me. She pressed a button and said, “Colonel, Dr. Burnett has arrived.” There was a response, which we could not hear, and she answered with a, “Yes, Sir,” handed us three security badges, and told us to make sure we displayed them at all times. She smiled and said, “We wouldn’t want any of our distinguished guests getting shot, now would we?” It was then I noticed the slight bulge under her fitted suit jacket that showed she was also armed. Holy shit, I thought, she’s not kidding. This is better than in the movies. She pointed us toward an elevator and said with that beautiful smile, “Third floor.”

  As we turned toward the elevator, Dimitri leaned over and whispered, “I like this guy already, beautiful women with guns. Wow.”

  I shook my head and didn’t bother to respond. We were quietly whisked upward, and when the door opened on the third floor, it was into a modern and spacious office, at the far side of which was a large desk in front of a glass wall that gave a panoramic view of the airport’s tower and flight line. Behind the desk, in a cloud of cigar smoke, sat Col. Duncan Fitzsimmons. As he stood, kicking the chair out from under him and placing his cigar in an ashtray, he came around his desk with a huge grin and grabbed me in one of his signature bear hugs. “Colt, you old son of a bitch, good to see you again!” This was no “girly man” Bro’ hug! This was a genuine crush your chest hug! Fitz and I went way back!

  “Good to see you again, Fitz,” I managed to get out while gasping for air. As he stepped back and my lungs refilled, I introduced Dimitri and Joe. Handshakes all around, and then with a slap on my back that I’m sure loosened several vertebrae, we moved toward a large conference table. Fitz was about my height, 6’ 4” or 5” about 265 lbs., strong as a bull and solid as the Rock of Gibraltar. Not the kind of guy you would want to piss off in a bar.

  “Come on in and grab a chair.” As we sat down, he looked at me and said, "Now, what’s this about sunken treasure?"

  That’s Fitz, no bullshit, cut to the chase and get right to the point! I filled him in on our endeavor and progress to date. “Risky Business,” he said, “you and your silly ass names.”

  “Me?” I countered, “As I recall, wasn’t Acme Corporation the Company that Wiley Coyote bought all his ‘stuff’ from in the Road Runner cartoons?”

  His grin got bigger, “Touché, nice catch. So, tell me, what can I do for…Risky Business?”

  I paused and then said, “We were wondering if you would be interested in joining us?”

  His smile faded a little as he pondered the question.

  Before he could speak, Dimitri spoke up, “Or… you could just stay here in your nice cushy air-conditioned office and smoke your expensive cigars and answer your telephones, and we could send you pictures and texts filling you in on our exploits!” Feeling pleased with his sarcastic remark, he rocked back in his chair with the typical Dimitri sardonic grin on his face.

  I said, “Knock it off, wise-ass!”

  Fitz looked at him for a couple of minutes, his grin returning slightly, then looked at me. “He doesn’t know.”

  I shook my head, “No,” I replied, “they haven’t had the ‘full’ briefing yet, but he is housebroken.” Now Dimitri, red-faced, and Joe both looked at me with questioning looks. “I’ll explain later,” I said as Fitz got up, went to his desk, and retrieved his cigar. Re-lighting it, he returned to his seat, and once a nice cloud of smoke had been established, spoke.

  “I don’t know, Colt. I’m not sure I can spare the time to go off on some wild goose treasure hunt. I’ve got a serious business going on here, a large serious business. I have several contracts in the works that must be fulfilled within their specified time frames, or it will cost me a ton of money.” He paused for a minute and said, “I’ll have to think about your offer and get back to you.”

  “I understand,” I said. “That shouldn’t be a problem, but just be aware, if you accept, there may be times we need you for a few days in a row or maybe even a week or so.”

  “Got it,” he said, “we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. So, what else should I know about this treasure hunt of yours?”

  We all rocked back in our chairs; the die had been cast, and we began our conversation. I filled him in on the details to date and told him we needed to do some aerial surveying over our potential search area as soon as we could.

  He said, “I can help with that.” He would make the arrangements and get back with us in a few days once they were complete. As we wrapped things up, I said we needed to get on the road.

  Fitz said, “Sure thing, but first, let me give you a quick tour of my little enterprise.” We accepted and headed for the elevator. Fitz said, “Whoa, not so fast; this way.” We turned as he was walking toward one of the floor-to-ceiling wood panels that covered the walls of the conference table alcove. There were pictures and commendation certificates, medals and awards hung in that area, but what drew your attention was the wide-brimmed black Stetson Cavalry officer’s hat hanging on a hat rack, gold braid and all. When we got closer, we could see
the 7th Cavalry insignia on it. Behind it on the wall was a black-and-white photograph of a bunch of guys standing in front of an old UH-1, and in the middle was a young Fitz, wearing the same hat. The caption at the bottom read “7th Air Cavalry, Viet Nam 1969.” As Fitz approached the wall, a panel slid open, and the interior of another elevator presented itself.

  Dimitri leaned over and said, “This just keeps getting better and better.”

  Fitz heard him and turned and said, “Just wait; you ain’t seen nothing yet!” He punched in a code on the keypad in the elevator; the door slid shut, and we started down. Three, two, one showed up on the display, but we didn’t stop and continued down until an X appeared on the display and the door slid open to a soft electronic chime.

  We exited into a sterile looking corridor with a large impressive looking steel door at the far end. Surveillance cameras were strategically placed to cover the entire corridor. Fitz led the way down the corridor and slid a card into a slot on the wall next to the imposing door. A panel opened, and he leaned forward and placed his eye against an eyepiece that had appeared. The door unlocked with a heavy thunk, and Fitz pushed it open. It looked to be about four inches thick and, as we entered the new area, he said, “Bomb proof.” I could only gawk at the door and the space we entered. You couldn’t call it a room because it was huge, I mean freaking huge! Probably 15-foot ceilings, no side or end walls in sight. Technicians in white lab coats, electronic gear, Computers and all kinds of stuff I had no name for filled my view and created a subdued hum in the surrounding air. “Since my Company is working on several sensitive DOD projects a high level of security is necessary, hence my underground lab area” Fitz said. “We wouldn’t want prying eyes to get hold of our research.”

  As we moved further into the room and got a good look at our surroundings, I heard Joe speak for the first time since our meeting had started. With a huge grin on his face, he said, “Now this is more like it!”

  Chapter Five

  The tour lasted the better part of an hour and a half, and it was amazing. I now found out what Fitz had been doing since we last spoke. In a nutshell, he had purchased this old airfield before he finished up his time in the guard, and while he was working on his master’s degree in Aeronautical Engineering. During his time in school, he took some theoretical physics classes beyond what was required for his degree and became friends with some guys who were actual physics majors. After graduating, he started a small Aeronautical R and D company in the hangars on the airfield. He had an idea for a new rotor shape for helicopters that would increase efficiency, was lighter weight, stronger and could produce more lift. He got a patent on it and then sold it to the DOD for a shit-house full of money, well into the seven figures. The thing was, during the time of development he had come up with an even better design, solving the same problems, with even more efficiency, but kept that design to himself.

  With the money he made from the DOD, he invested into expanding his company and bringing on board some of the brightest hot shots he had met in college from both the aeronautical and physics programs. The company had grown exponentially and now was doing all kinds of R and D work for the military and the private sector. That further explained the big fence and security guards. Fitz had always been a big fan of Kelly Johnson and his Skunk Works at Lockheed Martin, of U2 and SR 71 fame, so he started his own right here in Bithlo. He called it the “Skunk Works II” and by his account had some cool projects going on. Hell, he even had his own skunk logo. That part was still off-limits to us for now. We found out that the big research facility we had gone through was built underneath two of the hangars at the field.

  In the hangars above, he kept the company helicopters, machine shop, airframe and avionics shops, and his Steerman Bi-Plane. He had restored it himself and flew as often as he had time to. We took another elevator up and came out into the second hangar above and he said, "I’ve got one more thing you need to see before you leave.” We all jumped in one of those multi-person golf carts he had parked in the hangar. Fitz grabbed a handheld radio from its charger attached to the wall and called the tower. “This is Fitzsimmons requesting permission to cross taxiway L-1 and runway 2- 9’er.”

  “Roger that Raven 1, taxiway is clear and there are no aircraft in the pattern. You are cleared to cross, Colonel.”

  “Affirmative, Raven 1 clear.”

  I looked at him and said, “Raven 1?"

  He smiled and said, “You’ll see." We crossed the taxiway and runway, pulled up to a large rundown looking hangar, and stopped at the small door going in. Fitz did his card swipe, eyeball thing again and the door unlocked. Walking into the dark hangar from the bright sunlight outside blinded us all until the big overhead lights came on. Before me sat what I thought at first was a beautifully restored black and grey Bell Huey UH-1 copter, Viet Nam era. But on closer inspection, something was wrong; no, not wrong, but different about it. For one, it had two sets of three rotors stacked, instead of the normal two or three rotor blade systems, and I swore there were two turbine engine pods on top, smaller but distinctive.

  Then I noticed the absence of a tail rotor. The new configuration was a shorter tail than the old UH-1’s, and it had a pair of stubby wings just in front of what looked to be a pusher prop attached to the rear. There were other fuselage changes. Some looked like the angled exterior panels of an F-117 Stealth Fighter. This was not your everyday Bell UH-1.

  Fitz walked over to us and said, "Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet the Raven."

  I said, "Fitz, I thought at first you had restored a bird like the one you flew in Nam."

  He chuckled, "I only wish I had had this baby there. No, she’s a one of a kind prototype built by me and the boys at the Skunk Works."

  Upon looking closer, several things jumped out at me, but I said, "Two turbines?"

  "Yep, 1,800 shaft horsepower each, thanks to some major proprietary modifications by my engine guys. Running through a special transmission designed and built by the Skunk Works boys for the counter-rotating rotors. She’s faster than an Apache or Gazelle, has a faster climb rate fully loaded, and a 27,000- foot operational ceiling."

  "No shit… how fast?” I asked disbelievingly.

  "I’ve had her to about 305 mph but didn’t have the hammer all the way down. I figure she’s good to 350 or so.” Now, I gaped. "Yeah and we're not done yet! She’s still got a few bugs to be worked out. I need to quiet her down some more. Turbine and rotor noise is still a little more than I want."

  "So, you’re building a stealth helicopter."

  "Not exactly, but I want it quieter."

  Joe piped up, "Fuselage mounted transducers, sending out a 180 degree out-of-phase return signal?"

  Fitz looked at him quizzically. "You know something about acoustics?"

  I answered for Joe, "Yeah, Joe’s kind of an acoustic savant. Did some work for the DOD in their acoustic weapons research division."

  "Really?” Fitz said. “My guys have been talking about a system like that but haven’t been able to come up with a transducer design that could handle the job."

  Joe said, "Maybe I could look at what they’ve done and offer them some suggestions."

  "I think I could arrange that, thanks," Fitz said.

  Before anyone could speak again, Fitz’s radio squawked, “Raven 1, you have an urgent call on line 3.”

  Fitz keyed his radio, “Roger that; I’ll be back in the office in 5.”

  “Affirmative Raven 1; just so you know Sir, it’s the Pentagon.”

  “Roger that.” Fitz headed for the door. "Sorry, boys, duty calls. We’ll continue the tour another time."

  Dimitri said, “You mean there’s more?"

  As the door closed and Fitz got into the golf cart, he smiled and said, "Oh, yeah… There’s more!" He dropped us off out in front of the main building, collected our badges, and with a wave said he would be in touch in a few days as he disappeared inside. We stood there dazed, from what we had just seen and what we had acco
mplished.

  As we walked to the vehicle, no one spoke. We were ten miles down the road before Dimitri said, somewhat in awe, “Who was that guy?"

  I grinned and began the story. "Fitz is a character I’ve known for over 30 years, a retired Army pilot, Ranger, now an entrepreneur. Before he retired, they assigned him to SOCOM at MacDill. He flew for the Delta boys and with the Nighthawks. After he retired he did contract flying for them and others, the dicey off the books stuff. So, trust me when I say he’s been there and done that… and they don’t make a T-shirt for it! I guarantee you can trust him with your life, and you don’t want him as an enemy!" The rest of the ride home was done in contemplative silence. We were all bursting with excitement at the prospect of our aerial search, but more than that, the potential addition to Risky Business had our minds swirling with possibilities and questions.

  When we got back, we let the rest of the guys know we had been successful and, in a few days, we could do our aerial search. The excitement level ratcheted up a notch or two, and we agreed to meet in two days at the boat. It had been an exhausting day. By the time I got home, all I wanted to do was crash, but my mind had other ideas, so I lay on my bed fully clothed and let the information in my head run its course. This was a roller coaster ride, and right now we were on the big downhill, accelerating faster and faster. Things were happening so quickly I was having trouble trying to get a handle on them all and put them in some kind of order, which I felt I desperately I needed to do. I had a boat; I had a team; we had a target; our resources had just gotten a major shot in the arm with Fitz’s aerial support, and by God, we were going treasure hunting! With that final thought, I dozed off and didn’t wake till the next morning, still fully dressed.

  The next few days were filled with mundane chores at home and on the boat in anticipation of Fitz’s call. In the meantime, Doc Greene had left for Washington D.C. to attend a meeting at the National Archives; Nils and his wife had headed up to North Carolina to deliver a load of boat props to a client, and Tony was neck deep in following up on a Cyber-attack on one of his Fortune 500 client’s computing systems. Since Dimitri was still working, more or less, that left Joe, Lawrence, and me with some free time, some of which we spent together at the Corporate Bar.