George took off his bifocals. “I’ve never seen anything like it. But I’m going to get on-line and post some questions to various archaeology websites. See if I get any bites.” He picked up a legal pad with a handwritten copy of the writing. “But it would help if we had more data.” The historian glanced meaningfully at Jack.
Charlie clicked off the monitor. “I agree with the professor. We need more information.”
Jack found all eyes on him.
George spoke first. “You’ve got to go back down there.”
“I…I haven’t made a decision on that yet.” He was in no hurry to return to the deep-sea graveyard.
Lisa added her support. “We should just take the money and run. We’ve met our obligation to the Navy. We’re not required to haul pieces of the plane to the surface…and I don’t like what happened when Jack was near that pillar.”
George crinkled his brow. “What do you mean? What happened?”
Lisa turned to Jack, allowing him to explain, but he remained silent. He felt foolish discussing his vague misgivings while down there.
“The Nautilus checked out fine,” Lisa explained, filling in for him. “Instruments, computers, radios, power supply…all get clean bills of health. But during Jack’s communication blackout, when he was near that pillar, he reports sensing vibrations coming off it.”
Charlie offered a more plausible explanation. “If the sub’s batteries were malfunctioning, the thrusters might have become misaligned, tremoring the vessel.” He looked at Jack. “Or maybe you were picking up vibrations from the slight seismic readings. They occurred the same time as the blackout.”
Jack, embarrassed, felt heat rising to his cheeks. “No, it was not vibrations from the ship. It felt…I don’t know, more electric…”
“Then a short in a system somewhere?” Charlie persisted.
Lisa shook her head. “I found no evidence of any electrical problems.”
George pocketed his paper. “So what are you saying?”
By now Jack’s face was red. He could not meet the others’ gazes. “It was the pillar. I can’t explain how I know this, but it was. The crystal was giving off some type of…I don’t know…harmonics, vibrations, emanations.”
George and Charlie stared at Jack. He recognized the doubt in their eyes. Charlie spoke first. “If you’re right, it’s even more of a reason to go down and do a little private snooping.”
George nodded. “And if there’s more writing, I’d like a complete copy.”
A firm knock on the door saved Jack from having to answer. “It’s Robert,” the marine biologist called from beyond the door.
“What is it?” Jack asked, relieved at turning aside more questions from the others.
“Word has come over from the Gibraltar. They have news about the crash.”
Jack unlocked the door. He hoped some concrete answer had been discovered, something that would dismiss the need to go back down.
Robert stood outside. He waved them all out. “They’re faxing over a copy of the cockpit voice recorder.”
“Then let’s go,” Jack said.
The marine biologist, excited, continued his explanation. “Whatever they found, it has everyone in a buzz. I saw the admiral’s face when he was informed over a scrambled line. He did not look happy. He insisted that a full copy of the cockpit’s final conversation be faxed over to him.”
Jack hurried, climbing the stairs to the main deck, then up the steps to the pilothouse. As he opened the door, he found Houston’s two personal aides inside, in uniform, armed, standing stiffly. They were twin bulldogs, old Navy.
Nearby, the Fathom’s accountant leaned on the pilot seat.
“Where’s the admiral?” Jack asked.
Kendall McMillan pointed toward the closed door to the radio and satellite system. “He’s in there. He told us to wait for him.”
Jack frowned at the closed door. This was his ship. He did not like someone closing him out of his own ship’s heart—even an admiral. He moved to the door, but the two burly aides blocked him, hands on holstered pistols.
Before any confrontation could flare, the door swung open. The first one out was Jack’s dog. Elvis padded from the radio room, tail sweeping back and forth. The admiral followed him. Jack opened his mouth, about to scold the old man, but when he saw the pallor to Mark Houston’s face, he remained silent. Deep wrinkles etched the admiral’s forehead.
“What is it?” Jack asked.
Houston glanced around. The entire ship’s crew was now crammed into the small pilothouse. “Is there a place to get a drink around here?”
Jack waved the others away and turned to his old friend. “Follow me. I have a bottle of twenty-year-old scotch in my stateroom.”
“Just what the doctor ordered.” The admiral smiled, but it came out sickly.
Jack led the way down to the main deck and to his stateroom. He held the door open for the old man.
Once both were inside, Houston nodded back at the door. “Lock it.”
Jack did as ordered. He pointed toward a pair of leather chairs in front of his shelves of nautical memorabilia. Houston crossed to the shelves, touching an ancient sextant. “Is this the one I gave you?”
“After I was accepted to the shuttle mission, yep.”
Huston turned and sank into one of the chairs with a long sigh. For the first time, Jack saw the man’s age. He looked sunken, defeated. The admiral pointed back at the sextant. “So you haven’t completely tossed away your past.”
Jack moved to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. “Not the important things.”
Houston nodded. He was silent for several moments. “Jack, have you made a decision yet on helping us retrieve sections of Air Force One?”
Jack sighed. He poured a couple fingers worth of his private stash into each glass. He knew Houston liked his scotch neat. “No, sir…we’re still doing some diagnostics on the sub.”
“Hmm…” the admiral mumbled, accepting the glass. He sipped thoughtfully, clearly thinking something through. Finally, he settled the glass on a teak captain’s table. Reaching inside his flight jacket, he pulled out a folded sheaf. “Maybe this will help you decide.” He held out the papers.
Jack gripped the proffered sheets, but the admiral did not release them. “This is confidential information. But if you’re going to help us, you should be kept informed.” Houston let go of the report.