"Enter."
The door opened and a small, plump bald man entered the cabin carrying a little black bag, a monocle in his left eye, and a rather round, protruding belly.
"And what is the situation, Mr Bones?"
"We now have a hundred and twenty officers and men aboard, Cap'n McGregor. We picked up a few from the Albatross. You decreased their number by two... ," the doctor coughed. "...And Smith, the apprentice Boatswain was swept overboard. Two men and a cabin boy died last night. I don't know why, but they had blood pouring out their ears and..."
"Spare me the details Mr Bones. You are the quack, not I. If they are dead I believe you. Frankly, I am surprised there are not more. I was amazed that anybody would survive the stress that the events of last night enacted upon us all! And the rest? Are they fit and well?"
"No, one had a broken leg, and another a broken arm. I will set them this afternoon, if you will allow a measure of grog to be issued to these men so that I can operate?"
"Certainly. Take what you need, but not a drop more. And make sure you give it to the patients and not yourself, Mr Bones! Do y'hear?"
Everyone knew that Dr Bones hated the sight of blood, and that whenever he had to treat someone where blood was involved, he would often find courage to operate in the bottom of a glass of grog: a practice which was not welcomed by the other pirates, who were the main source of all his patients.
Mr Bones coughed, as if trying to get the Captain's attention.
"Is there something else, Mr Bones?" Captain Rob asked.
"Two of the men are sick."
"How sick, Mr Bones? The men are often sick."
"Sick. Fever, headache, chills... I've separated them from the men. They can't help us anymore just now. I will be keeping an eye on them."
"You do that, Mr Bones. And keep me informed as to their condition."
Mr Bones turned and walked back out of the cabin, the others looking after him. As soon as the door closed, Silver and McGregor burst into laughter.
"I wager a piece of eight that he will be drunk within the hour!" Mr Silver said.
"Done. I've warned him about that before. And it will not bode well for him if he is!", the Captain accepted the bet.
In actual fact, Mr McGregor felt sorry for the funny little man. He had once been the ship's doctor aboard a merchant ship that McGregor and his men had taken captive off the coast of Africa en route to the Caribbean. In spite of the fact that he disliked the sight of blood, he was a good doctor. Given the choice of being set adrift near the African coast or joining his happy band of buccaneers, Mr Bones had chosen the latter, and had since quite taken to the pirate life. He now had the respect and admiration of the men, even though they were quick to make fun. Mr Bones was not his real name, but rather it was one given to him by the ship's men: it was much easier to say than Percival Snythe.
"On a more serious matter, Cap'n, we do have another problem," Mr Silver said.
"Which is?"
"Water and provisions. As you will recall, we were running low before the attack on Puerto Bello de la Cruz. You instructed Captain Wainright to gather what he could from the merchant men and other ships in the harbour, but we lost the Thistle before we were given the chance to bring our share across to the Sea Dancer. I didn't want to alarm the men, but we've only enough left for another two meals. We were dependent upon Wainright to..."
"Which means, Mr Silver, that we won't head straight home yet. We will have to stop somewhere en route to borrow some supplies. Study your maps Mr Tanner, and let me know where you suggest?"
"The men will be disappointed..."
"I will not have my men starve. We cannot eat gold."
"Aye, aye, Cap'n."
"Don't worry, Mr Silver. Your gold is not going anywhere. But we'll not distribute it until we have food in our bellies, and grog in our goblets..."
Before the Captain could finish his sentence, a tremendous deep roar filled the cabin, shaking the windows, and rattling the plates and cutlery in the Captain's ornate mahogany dresser.
Richard Tyler and James Silver jumped to their feet, and rushed to the window, following the Captain who was already staring out after the source of the sound.
"Ye Gods!" Richard Tyler exclaimed loudly, as a big, glistening metal bird flew past overhead and disappeared quickly into the distance. "Another Albatross!"
Taking the rungs two at a time, Captain McGregor rushed up the ladders to the quarterdeck, just in time to see another metal bird swoop overhead, roaring so loudly that his ears rang for several seconds afterwards.
McGregor followed the trail of the bird, watching it taking only seconds to fly from their ship to the edge of the horizon: one moment it was there, and the next it was gone, leaving no sign that it had been there.
All his life Captain Rob McGregor had heard sailors telling tales about the strange sights that they had seen out at sea: mermaids, trolls, great serpents and fantastic sea monsters large enough to swallow ships. But never had he heard any tales told about monsters in the air.
From now on, Rob McGregor would have a story to tell that would beat any other. As would any of the other hundred and twenty men on the Sea Dancer who had just seen and heard the same monster.
Captain Rob turned around, looked Mr Silver in the face and laughed.
" 'Tis your turn, Mr Silver. You tell the men whatever you want. I'll leave this explanation to you!"
And with that, the Captain left the quarterdeck, leaving Mr Silver surrounded by pirates who all had the same, single question: "What in Heaven and on earth, was that?"
Chapter 12
Room 3B18
The Pentagon
Monday
2 p.m.
The name on the door said simply "Colonel B. Patterson." Inside the room, the walls were sparsely decorated except for a single, framed photograph of a rainbow, taken at sea, and showing the complete arc in all its vivid colors.
That was the only clue as to the responsibilities held by the owner of the office.
His filing cabinet and cupboard were locked and barred, and no papers ever covered his desk.
Colonel B. Patterson always entered the office on a Monday lunchtime at 12.35 p.m. He brought with him a small black attaché case, carrying all the papers that he would need for that day. The office was empty for the rest of each week.
Before he sat down in his chair, he closed his door, took out his pen scanner and walked slowly round the room, studying the light on the top of the pen: if the light turned red, the room had been bugged, but if it stayed green, the room was clean and he could work freely without fear of eavesdropping.
After the green light came on, as it had done each Monday for the past two years since he had been given the office, he would open up the attaché case, take out his iPad, his pen, his secure mobile and his encrypter, and arrange them neatly on his desk.
Always in the same pattern. Always spaced regularly apart, in exactly the positions that he found best optimized the desk space before him.
Then he would take the lid off his Starbuck's coffee, sit down and begin to work.
The first call of the day was to the President of the United States of America. President Gains had supported the Rainbow2 project from the first day, eager to be kept up to date with every development and willing to do anything he could to support his research.
When he had initially been briefed on the project just after he came to office, he had immediately understood the significance of it, and the threat that lack of funding would pose, were the project theoretically sound and technically possible.
In short, if instantaneous inter-dimensional temporal travel - through space and time - were ever to be realised, it was essential to ensure that those who patrolled and guarded the portals of time, were Americans and not citizens of its enemies. Otherwise, one day Americans might wake up to find that America had never existed, and that they were still English, ... or Russians or belonging to whatever nation it was that carrie
d the keys to time.
In reality, most people believed the Rainbow2 project would be a complete failure. Yet, the risk was there, and success could not be left to another superpower.
Furthermore, such was the threat that any success in the project could pose to world peace, that every step forward that they took, and any success they had within the project, had to be kept strictly under wraps.
No one must ever know if the project succeeded.
It was strictly on a need-to-know basis. And most people did not need to know.
Which was why the President of the United States of America still did not know about all the successes they had had in their laboratory to date: he simply did not need to know it all.
Just enough to keep the funding flowing, and support from the White House visible, whenever questions were asked about the huge budget they spent, year after year.
There was a knock at the door.
Colonel B. Patterson apologized profusely to the President for the interruption, put down the phone on the desk, opened the door and asked Professor Derek Martin to wait outside a few minutes more.
"I am sorry, Mr President. I have a meeting in a minute with Professor Martin who originally proposed the Hunraken Vortex, and he has arrived slightly early. May I call you later, as soon as we have any more news? I'm afraid we have nothing confirmed as of yet, but I am very optimistic."
The President accepted his apologies and Colonel Patterson hit the red button on his phone, placed it in his attaché case and closed the lid.
"Come!" he shouted, rather abruptly.
The door opened, and Derek Martin walked in, leaving his armed escort behind in the corridor. Colonel Patterson stood up, and offered Derek his hand over the desk.
"Welcome to the Pentagon, Professor Martin. Is this your first visit?"
"Yes... It's very..."
"Confusing? All these offices? I agree. But once you know the room number and the code, it's all quite easy really. There are five floors in the Pentagon, with an additional Basement and Mezzanine. The first letter of each room number is either a 'B' or an 'M' or numbers '1' to '5'. On each floor there are five pentagonal concentric rings which are connected by ten spoke-like corridors. The 2nd letter in a room number indicates which 'ring' the room is on: A,B,C,D or E. The next number indicates which of the ten radial corridors the room is on. And the last one or two digits indicates which room it is. Do you see? It's very simple when you know how. This room, 3B18, for example. This room is on the third floor, in the first corridor on the B ring, in room eight. Make sense? Good!"
Derek had met Colonel Patterson several times in the past. He could never quite decide if Colonel Patterson was suffering from a severe case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or if he was just a highly structured man. He always ended up giving him the benefit of the doubt, and in return Colonel Patterson always gave him as much money as he needed.
"Please, sit. Would you like me to order you a coffee? It's rather a long walk back to the cafeteria, but I can ask your escort in the corridor to go and get it for you, if you wish?"
"No, thanks, I'm fine. So, getting straight to it, because I'm very worried and rather scared...have you been able to locate Stormchaser 3?"
"I'm sorry. The quick answer to that question is 'no'. We have not found any trace of it at all. It looks like it just vanished into thin air. The Navy was kind enough to immediately send two ships down to the area. They got there an hour ago, and they have started searching visually and electronically but so far without any success. I have also had planes flying sorties from the USS Nimitz which left port this morning and is now heading there at full steam. She'll be on site tomorrow night. In addition, we have run computerized scans of the area from our satellites. The net outcome of it all, is that we cannot see any wreckage, life-rafts or flotsam anywhere, and the plane itself does not seem to have landed anywhere close by where they may have found some form of landing strip. We did, however, locate a few ships that miraculously seem to have survived the storm, and didn't heed our warnings. Or perhaps they never heard them in the first place...Nevertheless, they may have seen something, so when our ships find them, we will try and intercept them and question them. But bearing in mind they are in international waters and may not want to talk to us..."
Colonel Patterson could see the concern written all over the Professor's face.
"I'm sorry about Kate Schwartz. I hear you were close."
The colonel saw the surprise on the professor's face.
"How did you know about that?"
"It's our job to know everything. Don't worry. We are also discrete. We will not be telling anyone about your relationship, certainly not her husband, please do not be concerned."
"Is that a threat?"
"A threat? Oh...I'm sorry...I certainly didn't mean it to sound that way. I just wanted to say, sincerely, that you should not be worried, about us knowing..."
"Enough. Okay, I will not worry about it. But please, if you have not got anything else to tell me, can you tell me why you invited me all the way down here to meet with you?"
"Certainly. But I do have something to tell you. But, before I can, I have to invite you to sign a Form WM-745E. It's our version of the Espionage Act of 1917. It's quite similar to the Canadian Security of Information Act, if you are familiar with that at all? No? Well…what I have to tell you, few people in this country know, and if I do tell you, and you then repeat what you learn to anyone else, the United States Government could press for the death penalty....But I think you will find what I want to tell you very interesting. Very interesting indeed. It's to do with your work on the Hunraken Vortex."
Professor Martin looked slightly shocked, but Colonel Patterson could tell that he was already hooked. He would sign.
"Here," the Colonel said, opening us his attaché case and pulling out a few slips of official looking printed paper. "This is Form WM-745E. Even the form itself is a secret so I can't allow you to leave the room with it. I would like to suggest that I give it to you now for you to read, and that I step outside the room for thirty minutes. I will give you a chance to study the form, think about what I said, and hopefully you will decide to sign it so that we can continue the conversation? Does that sound fair?"
Derek smiled."Yes, although, perhaps can I ask you to get that coffee for me now? I think I'm going to need it!"
Eight minutes later, the Colonel knocked on the door, handed Derek a coffee, and left. He returned, as promised, exactly twenty-two minutes later. Not a second earlier and not a second later.
Derek had been sitting watching the minutes tick by on the clock on the wall. It took him ten minutes to read the form, one minute to decide to sign it, and the rest had been spent in anticipation.
The office was empty. There were certainly no secrets here to be given away.
His eyes were repeatedly drawn back to the only picture in the room: an excellent, photograph of a full rainbow, captured above the sea, in all its glory.
The picture reminded him of an experience he had had when he was a teenager, whilst kayaking on the Chesapeake Bay in Delaware with his father. It had been raining heavily on the other side of the Bay, but he was in bright sunshine. A rainbow had appeared, its colors so bright and vivid, that they had imprinted on his brain and were still clearly visible to him today all those years later. It had been a magical moment that he had never forgotten.
The picture also reminded him of something else, but although he tried hard to figure out what it was, it remained elusively out of touch.
Drawing his eyes away from the picture of the rainbow, he watched the second hand tick out the minutes, lost in his thoughts, eventually counting down the last few seconds of the time remaining.
Five, four, three, two...
Knock. Knock.
The door opened.
Colonel Patterson stepped into the office, and Derek smiled, holding out Form WM-745E, with the signed part of the form facing the Colonel, his signature c
learly displayed in blue ink.
"Aha...excellent, Professor Martin, you have signed! Now we can talk business. There is a lot I have to tell you..."
Chapter 13
The Sea Dancer
Atlantic Ocean
Tuesday
1 a.m.
Richard Tyler couldn't sleep, even though he felt exhausted. Since he had awoken yesterday morning, he had been feeling dizzy, and slightly strange. He had spoken to the ship's doctor, the aptly named Mr Bones, but apparently everyone else was feeling the same way. The little man had recommended that he should try and get as much rest as possible, but he was finding that difficult for several reasons.
Firstly, he was starving. Apparently the ship had very little provisions left and would be looking to put ashore as soon as possible to find some more.
Secondly, the heat. It was almost unbearably hot and humid. Richard Tyler was a confessed landlubber. Being stuck in the small confines of a ship which was constantly moving was not his idea of fun. To Tyler, it was more akin to a subtle form of torture. He hated the gentle rolling of the ship backwards and forwards, and detested the more violent motions caused by the storm or rough waters. He longed to be back ashore. He was an accountant, not a pirate!
Thirdly, he was very excited. Everyone on board the ship, himself included, could not stop thinking about the booty in the hold, and how much their individual share of it would actually amount to when it was distributed.
They all knew they were going to be rich, but the question on everyone's lips was : 'How rich?'
Deciding that he needed some fresh air, he climbed the ladders and emerged out onto the deck.
At the bottom of the main mast, a small group of men had gathered, and were conversing animatedly. As Richard Tyler approached, a couple of the men stepped aside and let him join the group. They were all looking skyward, and when Tyler asked what they were doing, one of the men pointed upwards and directed him to a small object in the sky. It seemed to be very high up, and was moving across the sky quite quickly towards them, and every now and again, it seemed to flash a different color of light.
Time Ship (Book One): A Time Travel Romantic Adventure: The ideal Beach Book for reading on Holiday! Page 11
