Polar Shift (23 page)

He checked his phone for messages. There was a pile of calls, but nothing that couldn't wait. He flicked the stereo on, and Oscar Peterson's frenetic piano fingering filled the room. He poured a drink for himself of his best
aniejo
tequila, opened the sliding glass door and went out onto the deck with the ice tinkling pleasantly in his glass. He listened to the soft, rippling sounds, and breathed into his lungs the misty, flower-scented river air that was so different from the briny scent of the ocean where he spent much of his working days.

After a few minutes, he went back into the house, pulled a book on ancient Greek philosophers from a shelf and opened it to Plato's "Allegory of the Cave." In Plato's parable, prisoners chained in a cave can see only the shadows cast by puppets on the wall and can hear the puppeteers moving behind their backs. On that slim evidence, the prisoners must decide what
is shadow
and what is reality. Similarly, Austin's brain was sorting the strange events of the last few days, trying to impose order on his mental chaos. He kept coming back to the one thing he could grasp.
The mysterious ship.

He went over to a rolltop desk and powered up his laptop computer. Using the Web site information from Dr. Adler, he called up the satellite picture of the giant wave area. The image showed that all was quiet. He backed up through the image archives to the date of the
Southern Belle's
sinking. The two giant waves that had startled Adler were clearly displayed on the date the ship had disappeared. The ship itself was shown as a small blip that was there one minute, gone the next.

He
zoomed
the picture out so that it showed a greater area of ocean and saw something he hadn't noticed before. Four ships were clustered around the area of the sinking. There was one at each point of the compass, equidistant from one another. He stared at the image for a moment,
then
backed up a few days. The ships were not there. He jumped ahead to shortly after the sinking. There were only
three
ships. When he went to a day after the
Belle
went down, no blips were visible.

He was like one of Plato's prisoners in the cave, trying to separate reality from appearance, but he had one advantage they didn't. He could call out for help. He picked up the thick NUMA directory next to the phone, scanned the listings and punched in a number on the phone. A man answered.

"Hello, Alan. This is Kurt Austin. I just got in from a cruise. Hope I didn't wake you."

"Not at all, Kurt.
Nice to hear from you.
What can I do for you?"

"Can you make a meeting at my place tomorrow morning around eight? It's quite important."

"Of course."
There was a pause. "You know what I do?"

Alan Hibbet was one of the dozens of innocuous NUMA scientists who toiled anonymously in the heart of the great oceanographic organization, content to do research of vital importance in exotic subjects with little fanfare. A few months earlier, Austin had heard Hibbet speak at a NUMA symposium on at-sea communication and environmental monitoring. He'd been impressed with the breadth of the man's knowledge.

"I know very well what you do. You're a specialist in applied electromagnetism, with expertise in antennae. You're responsible for designing the electronic eyes and ears NUMA uses to probe the deep and maintain communications among its far-flung operations. I read your paper on the effect of ground plane size on the radiation patterns produced by reduced surface antennae."

"You
did?
I'm flattered. I'm basically a tinkerer. I think of the Special Assignments Team as swashbucklers." Austin and his team were legends around NUMA, and Hibbet was stunned at being asked to help.

Austin laughed ruefully. His arm muscles were still sore from rescuing Paul Trout and he was dog-tired. "I think there's more buckle than swash in the team these days. We could really use your expertise."

"I'll be glad to help in any way I can," Hibbet said.

Austin gave Hibbet directions to the boathouse, and said he looked forward to seeing him in the morning. He made some notes in a yellow legal pad while the thoughts were fresh in his head. Then he prepared a full pot of Kenyan coffee, put the coffeemaker on automatic and went upstairs to his turret bedroom. He undressed, slid between the cool sheets and quickly fell asleep. It seemed only minutes before he was awakened by the bright morning sunlight streaming into his bedroom window.

He showered and shaved, got dressed comfortably in T-shirt and shorts, and whipped together an order of scrambled eggs and Virginia ham, which he ate on the deck. He had just finished clearing away the dishes when Zavala knocked on the door. The Trouts showed up a few minutes later with Professor Adler. Al Hibbet arrived at the same time. Hibbet was a tall, thin man with a shock of white hair. He was almost painfully shy, and his skin was as pale as marble, both consequences of spending most of his days in a laboratory away from human contact and sunlight.

Austin handed each person a mug of coffee and herded them to a round, teakwood table on the deck. Austin could have called the meeting at his office in the green-tinted tower in Arlington that was the center of NUMA's operations. But he wasn't ready to answer questions or share his thoughts with anyone outside his innermost circle until he had gathered more facts. He pulled up a chair and gazed longingly at the sun-sparkled river where he usually spent his morning rowing for exercise, then glanced around the table and thanked everyone for coming. He felt like Van Helsing calling together a strategy meeting to battle Dracula, and was tempted to ask if anyone brought the garlic.

Instead, he got right to the point. "Something very odd has been going on in the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans," he began. "The sea is being stirred up like eggs in a bowl. These disturbances have sunk one ship, and possibly
two, that we know of,
nearly sank another, and have scared a year's growth off some of the people seated around this table, including yours truly." He turned to Adler. "Professor, would you be kind enough to describe the phenomena we've witnessed, and hold forth with some of your theories."

"I'd be glad to," Adler said. He recounted the disappearance of the "unsinkable"
Southern Belle
and the successful search for the lost ship. He described the satellite evidence confirming the existence of giant waves in the ship's vicinity. Last, and with slightly less enthusiasm, he talked about his theory that the disturbances may not have been of natural origin. As he explained his thoughts, he looked from face to face as if he were searching for a hint of doubt. To his relief, he saw only seriousness and interest.

"Normally, we might attribute all this strange ocean activity to King Neptune kicking up his heels, but for a couple of things," he said. "Satellite imagery suggests that other areas of the oceans have been similarly disturbed, and that there is an unusual symmetry to the disturbances." Using Austin's laptop, he showed the satellite images of the killer wave concentrations.

Austin asked the Trouts to describe their descent into the maelstrom. Again, there was silence as Gamay and Paul took turns telling about being sucked into the vortex and their last-minute rescue.

"You say there was lightning at the time this whirlpool first materialized?" Hibbet said.

Gamay and Paul nodded.

Hibbet's reply was succinct. He only said, "Ah."

Zavala picked up the story thread, and told the group about boarding the resurrected ship. Hibbet was keenly interested in his description of the power plant and the damaged electrical framework on deck.

"I wish I could have been there to see it," he said.

"I can do the next best thing," Zavala said. Moments later, the digital photos he had taken of the mystery ship were displayed on the computer screen.

Austin asked Hibbet what he made of the images. The NUMA scientist stared at the screen with a furrowed brow, and asked for a second run-through of the photos.

"It's fairly obvious that a great deal of electrical power is being fed into a central point." He pointed to the cone-shaped framework. "It's hard to know what this apparatus is for in its present state."

"Joe described it as a giant spark plug," Austin said.

Hibbet scratched his head.
"Probably not.
More like a giant Tesla coil. Many of the circuits that make this thing tick are not visible. Where is the ship now?"

"It sank to the bottom of the sea again," Zavala said.

Hibbet's reaction wasn't what Austin expected. There was excitement in his gray eyes as he rubbed his palms together. "This beats fiddling around with antennae any day." He clicked through the computer pictures again,
then
he glanced around the table.
"Anyone here familiar with the work of Nikola Tesla?"

"I'm the only one who reads
Popular Science
on a regular basis," Zavala said. "Tesla invented alternating current."

Tibbet nodded. "He was a Serbian American electrical engineer. He discovered that you could rotate a magnetic field if you took two coils at right angles and juiced them with AC current out of phase."

"I wonder if you might put that in English," Adler said politely.

Hibbet laughed. "I'll put it in a historic context. Tesla moved to the United States and worked for Thomas Edison. They became rivals. Edison advocated direct current, and there was a fierce battle. Tesla got the edge when he was commissioned to design the AC generators at Niagara Falls. He sold the patents to his induction motor to George Westinghouse, whose power system was the basis for what we use today. Edison had to be content with the electric lightbulb and the phonograph."

"Tesla filed a bunch of wild patents, as I recall," Zavala said.

"That's right. He was an eccentric genius. He filed a patent for an unmanned electrically propelled aircraft that could fly at eighteen thousand miles per hour and could be used as a weapon. He came up with something called 'teleforce,' which was a death ray that could melt airplane engines at a distance of two hundred and fifty miles. He did a lot of work on wireless transmission of electricity. He was fascinated by the possibility of focusing electrical force and amplifying its effect. He even claimed to have once produced an earthquake from his lab."

"Tesla may have simply been ahead of his time, with ballistics missiles and lasers," Austin said.

"His concepts were sound. But the execution never lived up to the expectations. He's become something of a cult figure in recent years. The conspiracy-minded suspect that various governments, including our own, have been experimenting with the more destructive aspects of Tesla's work."

"What do
you
think?" Austin said.

"The conspiracy theorists are missing the boat. Tesla attracted a lot of attention because he was such a flamboyant figure. The work of Lazlo Kovacs had far more potential for destruction, in my opinion. Like Tesla, he was a brilliant electrical engineer. He was from Budapest, where Tesla worked in the late eighteen hundreds, and picked up on his work in the 1930s, concentrating on extra-low-frequency electromagnetic transmission. He became worried about the possibility of electromagnetic warfare. He said that certain transmissions could be used to disrupt the atmosphere, and produce severe weather, earthquakes and all sorts of unpleasant results. He took Tesla to the next level."

"In what way?"

"Kovacs actually developed a set of frequencies whereby electromagnetic resonance could be focused and thus amplified by the material surrounding it. They were called the Kovacs Theorems. He published his findings in a scientific journal, but he refused to make public the complete set of frequencies that would allow the device he described to be built. Other scientists were skeptical of his findings without proof."

"It's lucky no one believed him," Professor Adler said. "The world has enough trouble controlling the types of warfare we have already."

"Some
people believed him. The Nazis were very open to ideas of mysticism, the occult and pseudoscience. Those stories about Nazi archaeologists searching for the Holy Grail are true. They pounced on Kovacs and kidnapped him and his family. After the war ended, it was disclosed that they had put him to work in a secret lab on a project to develop a superweapon that would win the war."

"They lost the war," Austin said. "Tesla wasn't the only one with a credibility problem. Kovacs apparently failed too."

Hibbet shook his head. "It's more complicated than that, Kurt. Papers uncovered after the war suggested that he was on the verge of an electromagnetic warfare breakthrough. Luckily, it never happened."

"Why not?"

"The Russians overran the lab in East Prussia, where he was said to be working. But Kovacs had already disappeared. After the war, the Soviets carried out research based on the Kovacs Theorems. The United States was aware of their work, and would have loved to talk to Kovacs. The significance of electromagnetic radiation was not lost on our military. There was a big conference years ago at the Los Alamos lab to talk about applied weapons technology based on his work."

"Home of the Manhattan Project?
That was fitting," Austin said.

"In more ways than one.
The manipulation of electromagnetic rays could be more devastating in its own way than a nuclear device. The military took Kovacs very seriously. Electromagnetic pulse weapons were tested during the first Gulf War. Some people claim that those experiments and similar ones conducted by the Soviets caused earthquakes, volcanic eruptions and weather disturbances. That's why I was interested in the bright light flashes in the sky."