The Titicaca Effect

by Richard N. Tooker

  Stout smiled and nodded to the group, acknowledging the description.

  One of the embassy assistants knocked at the door and entered the conference room without waiting for an invitation. She handed Fontaine a note, then left. The chief of staff put on her reading glasses, read the note, and frowned.

  “There’s been a new development, and it’s not good,” she said. “President Maldonado has sent troops to the Island of the Moon.”

  “Any idea why?” Freeman asked.

  “I don’t have a clue,” she said, frowning. “but it might explain why I couldn’t reach any of my contacts when I called the presidential palace late yesterday afternoon. I thought it was odd that no one was available, even stranger that no one has called me back. Maybe this is why. They must be laying low, under orders not to speak to the embassy.”

  “Have you heard from Malloy? What does he say?” Tim Sherman interjected.

  “There’s been no communication from the island at all this morning,” Freeman answered. “His cell phone seems to be turned off. That’s not like Roger. I expected to hear from him first thing this morning, especially with the delay in getting the new equipment to the island. By now he should be bitching. We can’t raise the island, so my guess is the troops that Maldonado sent have commandeered the phones. I wonder what they think they’re doing.”

  “Excuse me, but can anyone tell me why the Bolivian military would be interested in a civilian airline crash?” Thaddeus Stout looked confused. “Was there something special on that plane?”

  “OK,” Freeman said. “The rest of you bear with me for a few minutes while I get Thad up to speed.” He looked at Stout. “The answer to your question is, they’re not interested in the plane or anything that might have been on it. They’re interested in what brought it down.”

  “The waterspout?” Stout asked.

  “The waterspout,” Freeman replied. “This is why it crashed.” From his briefcase, Freeman produced a videotape, then turned and inserted it into the VCR to his right.

  Stout reached for his glasses as a picture appeared on the monitor. The scene was the placid surface of a huge blue lake with mountains in the background. A chain of orange buoys, spaced about 12 yards apart, circumscribed a very large circle in the water. Occasionally, a gull would fly into and out of the picture, but nothing else seemed to be happening. “Lake Titicaca?” he asked.

  “Right,” Freeman answered. “This was taken from the shore of the Island of the Moon last week. Keep watching.”

  Stout shifted his position, leaning forward to get a better view of the monitor. He squinted at the screen. In a few seconds, he could see the surface of the water inside the area encompassed by the buoys begin to break up into ripples, then become agitated. He was staring so intently at the water’s surface that he almost failed to notice the stretching and bending of the mountains in the distance. “Whoa!” he exclaimed when he saw it. “What the hell is that?”

  The mountain vista in the distance began to contract at the edges of the circle and expand near the center. The effect was like looking at an image of the mountain range refracted through a vertical glass rod. But had it been a glass rod, it would have been immense. Stout quickly estimated the radius of the circle marked by the buoys at around 200 yards.

  The surface of the water was now churning visibly, and looked like it was piling up into a large dome at the center of the circle. At first, Stout thought the water dome was an optical illusion created by the lensing effect that had now become very pronounced, but the dome was getting larger by the second. The elevation of the surface at the center of the circle was at least 3 yards high, growing and obviously real, although his mind told him it couldn’t be. Almost 30 seconds had now passed, and the mind-numbing scene on the monitor had the violent look of an explosion about to happen, accompanied by a hissing sound that grew louder every second.

  Suddenly a stream of water about as big around as a man’s arm leaped from the center of the dome. It thrashed about like an out-of-control fire hose, spewing torrents of water in every direction for no longer that ten seconds, then snapped into an absolutely straight, highly confined stream that pointed straight up. The stream of water began to grow larger very rapidly, accompanied by a deafening roar. Within another six seconds it was a column of rushing water at least 80 feet across. Stout’s scientifically trained mind, racing to keep up with what it was seeing, attempted to calculate how much water was being sucked up by the gigantic waterspout. He didn’t have enough information to do so, but he knew it was many tons of water per second. A minute or so later the entire scene disappeared from view, suddenly obscured by a torrential rainfall. The video camera must have been under a tent, because sheets of water pouring off the angled roof created a visual effect that was like shooting the scene through a waterfall.

  The screen went blank, and Thaddeus Stout, realizing for the first time that he had been holding his breath, exhaled loudly. “Jesus!”

  “This is the same phenomenon taken from a different location two days later,” Freeman said as the screen came back to life.

  This time, the scene was a much wider view of the area. Stout could still see the buoys tracing a circle on the surface of the lake, but the camera must have been about a quarter of a mile distant. The steeply terraced shore of the Island of the Moon was visible to the right, and he could make out various pieces of equipment on the island. He could also see a single small boat in the water, tied to one of the buoys. The camera was obviously also in a boat because the scene was bobbing up and down slightly, as if disturbed by the swells on the lake’s surface.

  As the phenomenon appeared again, the view from this distance afforded a much better look at what was happening. The lensing effect was still very pronounced, and from the new, more distant vantage point of the camera, seemed not to have a discernible edge to it. Instead, the outer edges of the distortion seemed fuzzy, as if they were out of focus somehow. When the column of water appeared, the camera panned up, and what it revealed was absolutely astonishing. It was obviously not a waterspout. For one thing, it did not appear to rotate. Even more strangely, it went absolutely straight up with no side-to-side motion whatsoever. For all the world, it looked like water rushing through a solid, stationary, huge, yet completely invisible pipe. It appeared to have exactly the same diameter at the bottom as it did in the sky, no matter how far up the line of sight went. The rains came only after the water column had established itself, and the amount of time that passed before the downpour began made it clear that someplace beyond the ability of the camera to see, the column of water was breaking up and returning to the lake from which it had sprung. Stout quickly estimated that the altitude at which the water column was losing its cohesion had to be at least two miles, probably higher. The small boat moored to the buoy at the edge of the disturbance had been sucked into the circle and become airborne. It was weaving back and forth wildly as it strained against the rope, which held it tight. Even from this distance, the camera had picked up the noise created by the disturbance, and it was very loud.

  Freeman reduced the volume on the monitor and said, “It stays for exactly 128 minutes, then shuts down. Take a look.”

  The screen went blank again for less than a second, then the scene returned. More quickly than it had started, the phenomenon simply disappeared. The waterspout - for lack of a better definition - just went away as if a giant valve had been slammed shut, and the column of water lunged back into the surface of the lake creating a mini-tsunami about 12 feet high which quickly dissipated as it widened beyond the buoys. The rain, along with a splashing hail of solid objects of some kind that were also falling from the sky, stopped about two minutes later, and Freeman stopped the tape. “That’s it. It starts every morning at exactly 9:49:51.”

  Stout sat staring at the blank screen in stunned silence. His mind was racing through all the possible explanations he could come up with, then systematically categorizing each of them as either impossible, too
far-fetched to consider, or possible but unlikely.

  “You want me to explain that?” he asked incredulously.

  “That’s why you’re here,” Freeman responded.

  “Well, what do you think it is, Dr. Stout?” Fontaine asked. “Any ideas?”

  “Tyler’s the one with the doctorate in meteorology, but there’s one thing I can tell you for sure. It’s not weather. Beyond that, I don’t think I can even begin to guess until I have a chance to study it up close.” He shifted his attention to the two FAA investigators.

  “I take it the two of you have seen this thing firsthand?” They nodded.

  “What are those solid objects coming down with the rain?”

  “Some fish,” Norton answered. “But mostly toads. The lake is full of toads.”

  “They look too big to be toads,” Stout said.

  “They’re very big toads, Dr. Stout,” Norton added. “They’re completely aquatic, and they breathe through their skin. Since there’s so little oxygen at this altitude, the skin stretches to almost a yard square so it will have enough surface area. The species is unique to Lake Titicaca.”

  “Is there anything else associated with the phenomenon? Any rapid change in temperature, wind, vibration of the earth, anything like that?”

  “Nothing,” Sherman answered, and Norton nodded her assent. “I’ve seen it every morning for more than two weeks. It just starts and stops. There’s no warning of any kind, as far as I can tell.”

  “Well, there is one thing,” Norton interjected. “The animals know it’s coming. There are only a few birds and some small mice and guinea pigs on the island, and they seem to sense that something is about to happen. The birds act spooked and fly away from the area, and the rodents all head for their burrows.”

  Stout smiled. “Good,” he said. “That’s a start. If the animals can sense it, that means there’s a physical effect that presages the phenomenon, something we can measure.” To no one in particular, he asked, “So why is this a big secret?”

  Stephen Browning, who had been silent until this point spoke up. “Standard operating procedure, Dr. Stout. Until we know precisely what we’re dealing with, we’re keeping it under wraps.”

  Stout grinned at him. “No, you’re not. You may think you are, but I heard about it in Florida. Anything that makes that much noise and does what this thing does is going to attract a lot of attention. Titicaca is a lake. Doesn’t it have fishermen?”

  “Sure it does, but we’re keeping them away.”

  “Uh-huh!” Stout grinned even more broadly. “Don’t you think people can see that thing from the shore? According to the map I looked at this morning, Copacabana is less than five miles away, and the Island of the Sun looks to be less than a mile away. As far as I could tell from the videotape, the thing goes up for miles. It certainly goes up high enough to bring down an airliner. Tyler, how high was that American flight when they hit it?”

  “We’re not absolutely sure,” Freeman answered. “We haven’t found the flight recorder. But the tower at La Paz was tracking them at about 22,000 feet above sea level when they went off the radar. That would put them about 9,000 feet from the surface of the lake. Almost two miles. I’ve been arguing this same point with Washington for more than a week, Thad. I think we need to make some kind of announcement.”

  “We figured the people around here would just think it was some kind of freak rainstorm,” Sherman interrupted.

  “Right, a rainstorm,” Freeman responded testily, “A cloudless rainstorm that appears at precisely the same time every morning, goes straight up for miles, lasts for exactly 128 minutes, rains toads, and never moves from a single spot. Right in the middle of the dry season. Plus, you’ve got Americans shooing people away. Don’t you think the natives have figured out something strange is going on? If not, why do you suppose the president of Bolivia just happened to send troops to the island? For a picnic? He wants to know what’s going on, and I can certainly understand why. It’s his lake!”

  “Well. We all take our orders from Washington,” Fontaine interrupted, “and until someone tells us differently, the FAA and the American embassy will have no comment. What’s the status of the shipments, Tyler?”

  “The last of the equipment arrived late last night, including the second heavy-lifting helicopter and the boats. My people tell me we have everything now, and most of it will be in place before nightfall. Thad and I will catch one of the choppers to the island this afternoon.”

  “Good,” she responded. “I’ll go to the palace personally as soon as we’re finished here and try to find out what the president is up to. In the meantime, Stephen, I would suggest that you get on a secure phone to Washington and tell them about the troops. Tyler has a point. We have to bring the Bolivian government into the loop on this, or we’re headed for big trouble.”

  She looked around the room. “Anything else?” Without waiting for a reply, she stood up. “All right. Let’s get to work.” As the others filed out of the room, she approached Freeman.

  “I know you’re right about this, Tyler,” she said in a hushed voice, “and so does the ambassador. Washington wants us to keep stonewalling on this, but Maldonado is no fool. If he has people on the island, then he already knows a lot about the phenomenon. And like you said, it’s his lake.” She turned to Stout. “I hope you can help us. We need to know what that thing is.”

  “I hope so, too,” he started to respond, but the embassy chief of staff was already striding purposefully out the door, leaving Stout alone with Freeman.

  “I know you, Thad. You say you have no idea what this thing is, but you do. Don’t you even have a working hypothesis?” Freeman asked.

  “I’m working on it.”

  Freeman laughed. “Thad, every time you say ‘I’m working on it,’ that means you’ve already got it figured out. But if you’re not ready to talk yet, that’s OK. I feel better knowing that legendary brain of yours has passed another serious test.”

  “Well, you’re right. I do have a working hypothesis, and if this thing is what I think it is, it’s important. Very important. I’m really glad I’m here to see it.” He smiled at his old friend, then took a labored breath. “I just wish they had air in Bolivia. You know all these important people. Can’t you make them get some air?”

  Freeman answered him as they left the conference room, “Sure. I’ll tell them right away. No problem!”

  The two men stepped into the hallway and almost ran into Alicia Montoya, who was carrying an armload of textbooks.

  “Alicia!” Freeman smiled broadly. “I want you meet an old friend of mine from Texas. This is Thaddeus Stout. Thad, meet Alicia Montoya. She teaches Spanish to the embassy employees and their children.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Stout acknowledged.

  “Likewise, Dr. Stout. Tyler has told me a great deal about you,” she placed the textbooks on a table in the hallway, shook Stout’s hand, then looked at Freeman warmly. “Tyler, I was hoping to see you today. I’ve been invited to a dinner party tonight, and I thought you might like to join me.”

  “Oh…..sorry, Alicia, I don’t think I can. Thad and I are going to Lake Titicaca this afternoon, and we might not be back for several days.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “The dinner party is at the presidential palace. It’s just a few people, and I thought you might enjoy meeting President Maldonado.”

  “Dinner with the president?” Freeman couldn’t believe his good fortune. He desperately wanted to talk to Maldonado, and the opportunity had just fallen into his lap. “My plans just changed! I’d love to join you. What time? What should I wear? I don’t have a tux.”

  “I’ll pick you up at your hotel at 7:00, and a suit will be fine. There’s no need to wear a tuxedo.” She smiled again as she gathered the textbooks. “It was very nice meeting you, Dr. Stout. I hope you enjoy your stay in Bolivia.” She shook Stout’s hand, gave Freeman a quick kiss on the cheek, and headed down the hall toward her class
room.

  As the two men watched her disappear around the corner, Thaddeus Stout looked at his friend and raised an eyebrow. “Well, she’s nice. And pretty! What have you been up to, Tyler?”

  Freeman managed a lopsided grin as they turned and walked the other direction toward the elevators. “Nothing. I mean, yeah, she’s nice. We’ve been out a couple of times, that’s all.”

  “And dinner with the president of Bolivia, on the very day he seizes control of your investigation site.” Stout said as they entered a waiting elevator. “How convenient.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing,” Stout answered as the elevator door closed, “but you have to admit, the timing just seems a little too perfect.”

  Chapter 6: The Dinner Party

  Freeman waited impatiently on the sidewalk in front of the Radisson Hotel. Even though it was late summer it was cold in La Paz after sunset, and he had not brought an overcoat. He looked uncomfortable in the only suit he had with him. Most fieldwork was dirty, involved sloshing around in mud and dirt, and required work clothes and boots. He hated to wear a tie, and fortunately it was rarely necessary. Tonight, it was necessary.