Thorpe's Candle

LAST WORDS

“Dick Miller told me you were as drunk as he was,” Mickey Gates said. “He didn't understand why the cops were only hassling him and not you.”

“And he's right.” Skyler took a sip of coffee. “It's all in who you know, partner.” He had flown to OceanQuest Headquarters in Key West, and from there taken a sea plane to meet up with Gates on the Pegasus.

“Anyway,” Gates continued, “Dick said the only Yankee-class boomers still around are part of the former Black Sea Fleet. After the collapse of the USSR, the Republic of Ukraine hung on to some of the subs as a bargaining chip to stay on equal footing with Russia. They eventually ran out of money so they had sort of a military surplus sale and got rid of them. Some of their customers were South Africa, North Korea, India, and a few South American countries. The Ukrainians removed all the missiles, but even those can be bought on the black market and fitted with conventional warheads.”

“How comforting,” Skyler watched the relentless Caribbean sun reflect off the ocean. They were sheltered from the heat in the Video Analysis Center of the Pegasus. The report was thorough as Skyler knew it would be. Like brothers, his trust in Gates went deep. On more than one occasion, that mutual trust had saved their lives. He turned to face his friend. “Last time I checked, none of those countries were flying the Jolly Roger. So what did you find out about Aztec Cruise Lines?”

“On the surface, it's legitimate. They're owned by an investment consortium out of Orlando called TexSys Financial.”

“Doesn't sound too sinister so far.”

“Agreed. So I dug a little deeper. Guess who their numero uno stockholder is?”

“I give up,”

“Banco de National, Colombia's biggest lender.”

“Pablo Escandoza?”

“The one and only. He's never made any attempt to hide the fact that he owns the largest bank in the country.”

Skyler rubbed his chin in thought. “So what's the connection between Escandoza and the sub?”

“No idea. I've looked at everything backwards and forwards and it still doesn't add up.”

Backwards and forwards, Skyler thought. He stared at the coordinates of the German U-boat on the white board in front of him. “Mick, get me the transcripts of the Allied documents on U-396.”

“What's up?” Gates pulled a loose-leaf binder from a shelf over the computer desk.

“You've given me an idea.” Skyler paged through the document until he found what he wanted. “Here it is. Parts of the coordinates are backwards. It's not 87 degrees west, it's 78 degrees west.”

Gates was already bending over the map table. “Or about 20 miles west of Niquero, Cuba.”

“An easy mistake. Someone reversed the numbers when they decoded the old file.”

“Must be why you get the big bucks.” He marked the spot on the map with a grease pencil. “I'll notify Peter and the crew. We can be there in 24 hours.”

Skyler walked out of the cabin and stood on the deck. He squinted from the glare from a cloudless sky. He might have solved one mystery, but an even bigger one remained. What was the connection between a mysterious pirate missile submarine and the world's most notorious drug lord?

“Here she comes,” Gates said.

“I see her.” Skyler watched the wire frame 3D-image moving slowly across the video monitor. “This part always amazes me.”

Like a phantom from the shadowy depths, the computer-enhanced outline of the submarine's conning tower rose up from the bottom of the ocean. It sat slightly tilted at a curious angle almost as if questioning the electronic intrusion into its secret hiding place.

Gates keyed a series of commands into the computer and the satellite positioning coordinates flashed on the screen. “Nailed it.”

Skyler pushed the intercom button to the bridge. “Peter, drop a sub-sonic marker.”

“Done,” Peter Jorg replied.

The image on the monitor grew more exact as the data banks in the computer compared and matched the known details of U-396 with the object resting on the ocean floor.

“Looks like she's intact,” Gates said. “No visible structural damage, no breaks in the skin.”

“She's sitting in some sort of narrow trench.” Skyler watched the V-shaped walls form around the submarine. “Must be why no one's spotted her before now.”

“I wondered that myself,” Gates said. “Depth's only 50 meters. I'll bet thousands of vessels have passed over her.”

“Yeah, but sitting at the bottom of that trench, you'd have to come at just the right angle to see her. And that's if you were looking for her in the first place.”

Gates stood and rubbed his hands together. “This calls for a celebration.” He moved to a small refrigerator near the bottom of the equipment racks and took out two bottles of beer. Twisting off the tops, he handed one to Skyler.

“We'll dive at first light,” Skyler said after taking a long drink.

Gates turned the bottle up and swallowed half its contents. Then he said, “You think there's really Nazi gold down there?”

“If there is, we'll have to fight the Cubans over salvage rights. Our German permits only cover international waters. It'd be worth it though to finally find out whatever happened to Martin Bormann.”

“You know, Sky, we should be detectives instead of salvagers.”

Skyler nodded. “I’ve always believed that we’re frustrated detectives trying to solve a murder mystery. The victim is usually a Spanish galleon and the murder suspect a nameless hurricane. The scene of the crime is the wreck and the evidence is usually scattered across the ocean floor. And the trail is always cold. The mysteries we try to solve usually happened hundreds of years ago.”

“Sky?” A voice came through the intercom.

“Yeah, Peter.”

“Something interesting. You and Mick might want to come up to the bridge.”

“Be right there.”

The two walked along the deck enjoying the cool easterly breeze. The moon was high overhead and starlight reflected off the water. Skyler detected the faint odor of vegetation. The jungles of Cuba were less than 32 kilometers away. “What's up?” he asked as they entered the bridge.

“Take a look.” Jorg pointed to the High Definition radar screen. The Pegasus was clearly visible in the center of the display. He set the range indicator to half a kilometer and a small dot appeared drifting toward them.

“Go to phased array and ten times enhancement,” Skyler said.

Jorg pressed a series of buttons and the dot grew into the shape of a small oval.

“Try a hundred times,” Gates suggested.

The circle filled the screen and they could see the image of a man lying in what appeared to be a small inflated raft.

“Could be a refugee?” Gates said.

“Maybe, but he's on the wrong side of the island.” Skyler leaned into the screen. “No movement, might be injured or sleeping.”

“There's only one way to find out.” Jorg moved to the ship's main control panel. He pushed the throttles forward and the hum of the twin diesel engines rose in pitch. The former Coast Guard cutter swung to port and cut through the black water. Skyler and Gates stood over the radar screen watching as the distance narrowed between the Pegasus and the small oval.

When the two images were almost touching, Jorg slowed the ship until it drifted on the current. Then the three went out to join the other crewmen on deck. One of the men took control of a spotlight and swung its beam across the water. They spotted the raft floating twenty meters away. Skyler watched his men work with flawless precision as they dropped a rope ladder over the side of the ship and scrambling down. When the raft came close, they grabbed it with hooks, secured it and placed the limp body in a rescue basket stretcher. Within a few moments, it was up and over the ship's rail.

“He's in bad shape,” Skyler said as he searched for any signs of life. “There's a pulse but it's weak.”

“Looks like he's been through hell,” Gates said. He searched the pockets of the man's camouflage outfit until he found an I.D. “Not quite your typical Cuban refugee either. If you can believe his this, his name is Harper and he’s a captain in the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers.”

“Let's get him to sickbay,” Skyler said. The group carried the man into the infirmary.

The only medical person on the Pegasus was Tom Bech, a former Army medic who was an acoustics specialist on loan from NASA to do underwater long-range communications experiments.

“What the hell happened to him?” Bech said when they laid the unconscious man on the examination table.

“We figure he tried to outrun a cattle stampede and lost,” Gates said.

The medic cut away the filthy bloodstained clothes. Flipping on the examination light, he went over the body carefully.

“What do you think, Tom?” Skyler asked after a few minutes.

“He's running a high fever for starters. Bunch of cracked ribs and a fracture or two. Maybe a concussion and internal injuries. No way for me to tell. Both eardrums are ruptured. Some second degree burns from a fire or explosion. Not much I can do but fill him full of antibiotics and painkillers. He needs intensive care quick. I don't think he's got much time left.”

“Peter,” Skyler said turning to Jorg. “Call Guantanamo Naval Base. Tell them we have an injured man who appears to be a U.S. Army officer and we're steaming to their location.”

“Right away, Sky.”

“Tom, do what you can for him. Guys, thanks for your help.” As the men filed out, Skyler stayed for a moment. Bech unlocked the drug cabinet and removed a vial of morphine. While he searched for a syringe, Skyler stood over the man lying on the examination table. One more mystery in a day full of unanswered questions, he thought.

Suddenly the man's eyes opened. His hand reached out and grabbed Skyler's wrist pulling him to within inches of his face. Bech's back was turned and didn't see the quick, silent motion.

The man tried to speak. Skyler moved closer until his ear touched the man's lips. Then he heard the words korium device. He turned and looked into the man's eyes. “What is a korium device?” he whispered.

The man's face contorted as he squeezed Skyler's arm harder.

Bech looked around. “You say something, Sky?”

Skyler bent low and listened to what seemed hardly more than the sound of light breathing. Each word was weaker than the last, each breath full of pain. Then just as suddenly as the man had reached out to Skyler, he let go and closed his eyes.

“Tom, quick! We're losing him.”

Bech immediately started CPR. Soon Skyler took over but it was obvious there would be no reviving the patient. A few minutes later and with no response, they stopped.

“What did he tell you?” Bech asked as he placed a sheet over the body.

Skyler didn’t hear the question. All he could think about was Harper's last words still racing through his head. Korium device and Project Candle Power.