by Jack Dey
"Because I married you, wife."
He leaned in and kissed her.
*~*~*~*
The flight from Geneva was due to leave at 5 pm. They had already been waiting in the international lounge an hour, and had another hour before boarding. Jamie and Simon headed for the men's room and left Elishia and Carissa sitting alone, around a lounge table.
"Are you alright, Carissa?" Elishia enquired gently.
Carissa flushed red and responded quietly, "Yes, Madame Elishia. I am just feeling a bit ill. Maybe it is nerves. I have never flown so far from Switzerland before."
Carissa felt ashamed not telling Elishia the whole truth, but her boss would think she was just being childish. After all, Simon didn’t make any claim on her affections and if he wanted to date two beautiful women, it was his decision.
Elishia patted Carissa's hand. "Try to relax and if there is anything you want to talk about, woman to woman, give me a call."
"Thank you, Madame Elishia."
*~*~*~*
As the United flight banked around the islands of Hawaii, Honolulu airport came into view. The famous runway, R8, the reef runway, looked like a large road that had been half constructed out over the ocean and then forgotten about. Simon could see aircraft taking off from the airstrip on the sea and marvelled at the structure. As he was watching the scene through his window, the United flight lined up to make its final approach and started to make its descent into Honolulu.
Carissa leaned over Simon, to watch the magical scene through the tiny window unfolding before her eyes. Forgetting her sulk, she chatted excitedly as the Pacific Ocean came into view; the deep blue water, the mountains, volcanic craters and green valleys of Oahu had her mesmerised. She was chattering like an excited child at Christmas, when Simon joined into her excitement and pointed out landmarks as they came in for landing.
Carissa's warm body leaned against his as she tried to find what he was pointing at, while Simon leaned back in his seat to allow her a better view through the small window. Just then, her innocent brown eyes met his and the image of the two beauties he had been so excited to see on Friday, stabbed at her heart and she turned away again.
The excitement of landing in Hawaii had immediate repercussions for the seasoned winter sojourners and more particularly, the petite Carissa. The sudden change in climate, from their home in Switzerland to Hawaii, made Carissa feel a little faint. In a matter of hours, the temperature had risen from a chilling, minus three Celsius to a humid thirty three Celsius, zapping her energy.
While Jamie and Carissa checked into the hotel, Simon and Elishia went to check out the assigned search vessel which would be their home for the next week. The Australian government had asked the United States government to help with the search and recovery of Qantas Flight, QF1156's flight data recorder, to establish what went wrong. The possibility of the aircraft sitting on the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, nearly two miles down, was a certainty and the recovery of the data recorder was imperative. Elishia had grown used to motoring in foreign countries and driving on the right hand side of the road was a piece of cake. Finding her way around Hickman Air Base, was a different story altogether.
The little hire car sounded like a spinning tin plate on a wooden table. It rattled and vibrated its way through the automatic gearbox. More than once, Simon and Elishia stared at each other in concern, as an unidentified noise groaned its way through the small vehicle's frame, hoping the tired car wouldn’t leave them stranded. Elishia stopped frequently and asked directions from passersby, eventually parking the small pile of rusting nuts and bolts in a car bay directly opposite the USS Hopper.
After a frustrating half hour, waiting in the hot sun at a guarded fence outside the old warship, Elishia and Simon finally made contact with the vessel commander. The crew weren't aboard yet and a team of caretaker personnel were carrying out last minute repairs, before sailing in the morning.
*~*~*~*
Lieutenant Ben Lewis parked his Chevy in the parking bay facing USS Hopper. Leaning on the bonnet of a small, tired looking hire car in the next bay, was an attractive looking redhead and a young, tall and wiry, blonde headed man. Ben had been contacted at home by the Executive Officer and told to show them aboard. He was a little miffed at having to come down to the ship on his shore leave, especially since there was a good baseball game on TV and he and his mates had just been settling in to watch. He put his frustrations behind him and made himself known to the civilian visitors.
"Morning, ma'am, sir. You are the party who are looking for the downed Airbus, is that correct?"
Elishia didn't trust herself to speak after so many delays and wasted time. She just nodded. Picking up on Elishia's body language, Ben extended his hand and apologised for the delays.
"My name is Ben Lewis. I am the Officer of the Deck aboard USS Hopper. If you will follow me please, I will show you to your quarters."
Elishia and Simon gathered their equipment and walked up the gangway onto the Destroyer. The seaman on guard duty stiffened to attention as Ben came into his sight and saluted.
Ben returned the salute and said, "Carry on."
The seaman relaxed his pose after the party had walked aboard and resumed his position, blocking the gangway with his body and rifle, after they had passed.
"You will have the EXO's quarters and mine. Isn't there four in your party, ma'am?"
"Yes," Elishia offered, "the other two will join us tomorrow."
Elishia scrutinized the cramped accommodation. Each one had a shower and toilet and two bed bunks, one on top of the other. She soon realised that she would have to share a room with Carissa and Jamie would have to bunk with Simon. She smiled to herself as she saw Jamie's reaction in her mind.
"Oh well, all in the name of science," she chuckled.
Ben allowed them time to stow their gear and then asked where they wanted to set up their equipment.
"I will need access to the hull," Elishia requested. "The transponder uses the hull as a magnifier and its magnetic base needs to attach directly to the metal surface."
Ben thought for a while and conceded that the forward armoury room would be the best choice. The engine room would be another choice, but the noise would make it too uncomfortable to work.
Elishia and Simon quickly went to work, once they had been shown the armoury room. They set up the magnetic based transponder against the hull, placed the two laptops and cables in a secure place and were ready to start their job. Ben watched the apparatus in amazement.
"Beg your pardon, ma'am. This vessel has some of the most sophisticated sonar and radar capabilities in the US Navy. What makes you so sure you can find something we can't?"
Elishia was expecting this macho attitude. She patiently explained to Ben, the principle her invention worked on.
"Conventional radar, as you know, is useless underwater. Passive sonar relies on picking up soundwaves generated by a vessel as it moves through the water. The echo if you will. As a downed aircraft does not generate an echo, that only leaves active sonar. Active sonar sends an ear splitting soundwave through the water and when it contacts something in the water, it bounces off it and is picked up by the sonar transponder in a rebound. The problem with this sort of search is twofold. First, any marine life in the area that relies on sonar waves to communicate, i.e. whales and dolphins, receives a massive generated soundwave that can deafen them and as they rely on sonar for their existence, they often beach themselves and die."
Ben's eyebrows raised. This little lady knew what she was talking about.
"Secondly?" Ben prodded.
"Secondly, active sonar can reach an object two miles down, but it cannot decipher between ocean floor and any objects lying on it. The Airbus, if it went down into the Pacific, will be sitting over two miles down, on the bottom," Elishia explained.
"Well, what about the black box GPS signal?" Ben added.
"Good point," Elishia replied. "Passive sonar would pick up that
signal, but as I understand, no such signal has been activated. It may have been damaged by the impact or it may be too far down."
Ben nodded in agreement. "So, how is your system different?"
"Jentec works on a totally different principle. Simply put, it reads individual photons, en-mass, through a collector beam. Our computer can strip away the photons in the beam that are not required–like water, rock and sediment–and read only the photons of metal or wood, whatever we choose."
"So, you can search for one specific group of photons?" Ben responded, enlightenment showing on his face.
"Precisely!" Elishia exclaimed.
"And this is a proven technique?" Ben asked.
"It works extremely well in shallower water, but we haven't tested it at these depths before," Elishia revealed.
"We are confident it will work at greater depths though," Simon said proudly.
Elishia patted Simon's shoulder and smiled at his interjection.
"Yes, we are," Elishia added.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 12
The turbid, humid air weighed heavily across his sweating body as he lay on the floor of the small, timber hut. Confusion gripped at his mind, as he stared down into the muddy water below, through the gaps in the floorboards.
In the distance, a low, ground shaking rumble echoed up and down the Delta, while the sound of an approaching rainstorm swept across tin roofs like a wave rolling up on the seashore. A blinding flash stabbed at his eyes, momentarily lighting up the inside of his hut and at the same, causing him to wince violently, screwing his eyes shut against the sudden assault and bracing himself for the inevitable. Directly overhead, a loud crack, proceeded instantly by an angry, rolling rumble that shook the tiny hut and chased away any illusions of sleep. The tumult, battering down on the tin roof and cascading into the river below, made it more difficult than usual to shake the confusion from his mind. At least the sound of torrential rain was familiar, giving him a starting point in his quest for understanding.
He studied the dry blood and the gash on his leg, visible through the tear in his dirty trousers, wondering what had caused such a nasty wound. He pushed himself slowly from the floor into a sitting position and gazed around, disorientated, at his primitive surroundings. Another violent flash of light, immediately followed by a cacophony, tearing open the heavens just above him, distorted his eardrums and made him duck in a vain attempt to avoid some huge, unseen predator.
Just as suddenly as the tropical storm had formed, the teeming rain stopped, while the sounds of the dying giant grumbled into the distance, as if an adversary had placed his hand over his mouth and gagged him into submission.
He lay back down on the floor of the hut, exhausted, unsure of his surroundings and sweating profusely in the intense humidity left behind by the storm. Somewhere in the darkness, he found sleep, but lurking behind his subconsciousness they were there; they were always there and the chase began again. He lifted his heavy legs in an effort to run, but they weren’t cooperating. He was cornered, trapped by the inability of his own body to move and leave his tormentors behind. All the while they came closer and closer, moving in for the kill. They were so close he could smell their odour and hear their rodent squeals, while he raised his arm in a plea to deflect the fatal blow..... N-o-o-o!
He gasped as consciousness rescued him from his nemesis again and he jolted upright. Glancing around the sunlit room, the hut appeared to be a one room square, with a water basin by an open, wooden tilt window, wedged ajar by a small piece of timber. Outside, he could hear small engines buzzing past, muffled by the sound of lapping water under the floorboards of his hut. The temperature inside was climbing rapidly, driven up by the rising, tropical sun.
He raised himself stiffly to his feet, contemplating the scene from the window. Across the dirty waters of the canal, he could see a dense rows of huts, huddled together and supported on stilts, built out over the river. Mangroves, coconut trees and palms obscured the banks in places too difficult to build huts, becoming a thick, impenetrable, vegetative wall. Long, thin, wooden boats which looked like heavy canoes and powered by strange motors on long shafts, steered by the foot of the single standing occupant, buzzed past the window.
The labyrinth of waterways, canals and islands surrounding My Tho City, in the Mekong River Delta, made it easy for a fugitive to hide in South Vietnam. The dense conglomerate of shanty style housing leaning out over the muddy water, interspersed with thick vegetation growing down to the water's edge, gave the impression of a rickety house of cards. One catastrophic wet season and the cards would tumble over, tangled in the dense jungle undergrowth and swept away by the raging Mekong River, leaving tens of thousands homeless. Somewhere in the distant, foggy corridors of his mind, this was familiar and a gnawing suspicion began to take shape.
This was home.
Just then, the wooden door to the hut swung open and an old lady with a dried up face entered, carrying a bowl of food, while a lampshade shaped hat perched upon her head like an upside down funnel, held in place by twine tied under her chin.
"Mot Lang Quen... Forgotten One. I see on your face, your name fits you well this morning. You have no recollection of me today," the old Asian woman declared matter-of-factly. "You should not tackle these people on your own. One day I will open your door and you will not be here."
Mot Lang Quen raised his hand to his face. Through his right eye, he could see scar tissue covering his nose. In the absence of a mirror, he traced the extent of the scar with his hand, up to the brow of his forehead and down the right side of his neck.
One complete side of his face was a massive scar.
"I don't have time today to go through the scar story again. I have to go to the floating markets to sell items, to get more food," the old lady explained. "I will tend to your leg first," she stated, giving him a scalding look as she stared down at a new injury.
As the old lady worked on dressing his wound, a sudden recollection entered his head, of wandering through the jungle at night.
"Where is Van?" the sudden question startled the old lady.
"Your memory is really bad this morning. Van is dead," the old lady whispered in a disappointed revelation, as if she was reading the headlines of a newspaper.
Suddenly, memories of Van floating face down in the river, flooded back into his mind. Van was a loveable villain; always in trouble, but always a loyal friend. He had been addicted to ecstasy and had taken a trip on a locally made batch and when he had come down, he’d hit bottom... hard!
Further on up into the maze of canals, some of the most endangered stands of sassafras trees and jungle, only eclipsed by the Amazon, lay victim to ruthless poachers. Seeking sassafras oil to manufacture the drug ecstasy, huge trees were clear felled, leaving a scar in the jungle, a practice outlawed by the authorities. Once direct sunlight was allowed onto the wet, humid jungle floor, the plants and animals which thrived in the lush leaf litter, died. The endangered ecosystem then fell apart, threatening the very life blood of the Mekong Delta, as well as destroying the lives of those now dependant on manmade ecstasy.
River piracy was a growing business too, alongside the illicit drug labs that had become a quick and easy form of cash in a poor, subsistent agricultural landscape.
Last night, Mot Lang Quen had left the hut under darkness. He’d motored his slender sampan through the maze of canals. With Van's young face ever before him in his mind's eye, he was hell bent on putting another forest drug lab out of business. It was risky. If he was caught, the pirates would undoubtedly torture his body, before dumping him in the Mekong River.
A physical reminder to those who might try to follow after him.
Mot Lang Quen had shut down the little motor on his sampan and glided to the bank. There had been a number of wooden boats pulled up onto the river's edge and a well defined path running back into the jungle. He’d stolen his way into the darkness, like a big cat on a hunt. Upon locating a clearing in
the forest, a dead giveaway of a lab, he’d created havoc with their equipment, effectively shutting down another killer. The noise alerted the pirate guards, catching them unprepared. Haphazard gunshots rang out in the dark, hoping to hit a target. Mot Lang Quen had tripped over a steel peg as he’d tried to find his way back to the sampan in the pitch darkness, and had gashed his leg open. By the time he’d found the boat and had made his way back to his hut, his mind had started playing tricks on him again and confusion set in. He wasn't even sure why he had been outside. Any stress turned his memory into mush and Van's death had set him back years.
*~*~*~*
The old lady pushed her sampan out from her hut and skilfully paddled her way downstream, toward the floating markets. As she disappeared around a bend in the river, two motorised sampans with three men in each, cut her off.
"You still harbour the Forgotten One, old lady? Our sources tell us he has been in places that do not concern him. He is still a hunted man and you may be well advised to keep reminding him of this."
The six men laughed at the spokesman's joke.
"One word into the right person's ear and they will know where to find him."
The old lady just looked down as the men harassed her and said nothing. She had heard it all before.
"Don't forget to tell the Forgotten One our message, old lady."
They revved up their engines and were gone.
*~*~*~*
The old woman was still shaking badly, as she pulled her sampan up to the stilts supporting her hut. She reached out for the small, wooden landing and carefully unloaded her basket of wares, her thoughts chasing each other.
Where does honour and loyalty begin and end?
She tied her sampan to its mooring post and carefully stepped ashore, reaching down and hoisting her basket onto her back, before picking her way into her hut. Shuffling around the small wooden landings, she opened Mot Lang Quen's door. She could see, by the look on his face, that he remembered her this time.
"You made another raid on the pirates' business last night. I was stopped by some men on the way to the market. They are only guessing it was you, otherwise they would have come for you by now. You must be careful in your desire to hunt down their factories, otherwise others will be caught up in your personal vendetta against them. We have far more to lose, than just shutting down a drug lab."
