Nexus Deep

Chapter 1

On the morning of May 1st, 1943, the battleship HMS Nelson eased away from her anchorage at Alexandria and turned her long, heavy bow out to sea. Right in her wake the formidable presence of the old battleship Warspite moved slowly into formation. Things were heating up in the Med, and Admiral Cunningham had received some alarming intelligence that the Germans were about to make a very significant move. Their Black Sea Fleet, a formidable group consisting of Frederick de Gross, Bismarck, the fast battlecruiser Kaiser Wilhelm, carriers Prinz Heinrich and the Goben, escorted by three Italian light cruisers and six German Destroyers, was finally on the move.

The enemy had been masters of the Black Sea, destroying the last remnants of the Soviet fleet there, and harassing the far coastline of Georgia as the Germans pushed into the Caucasus. It moved from Novorossiysk to Sevastopol, and on occasion to Constanta, but this time it was heading for Istanbul. From there it would be an easy move through the Bosphorus and Dardanelles into the Aegean Sea, and that meant trouble. The dark steel shadow that had once held the Allied fleets at bay in the Central Med was returning.

Cunningham set his flag aboard Nelson, proud to have it there, and at his side was a new Captain for the ship, the Honorable Guy Herbrand Edward Russell, taking over for Captain Jacomb, who was going into retirement after long service that began as a Midshipman in 1909. Russell was a good man, coming over from the Heavy Cruiser Cumberland, and a veteran of all the action in the Canary Islands Campaign, where he had been Mentioned in Dispatches for conspicuous gallantry in the face of enemy fire. He was fated to meet and sink the German battlecruiser Scharnhorst in the Battle of North Cape, but in this history that rendezvous would have to wait. Bigger things were alive on the sea that morning, and Russell, with Nelson, was going out to meet them.

“Fine day for a brawl,” he said to Cunningham. “Do you think they mean to try us, sir?”

“We have to assume that,” said Cunningham. “The Turks are skittish about allowing warships through the Bosphorus. A pity we didn’t get this news earlier. We might have tried to get bombers in there to stop them.”

“The Aegean has been the Luftwaffe’s playground for months,” said Russell, “particularly after we lost Crete. Now bombers out of Benghazi and other fields in Libya have to go right over all those lovely airfields on Crete and dance with Jerry’s fighters.”

“That’s not the real problem,” said Cunningham. “With Rommel sticking his nose into Damascus, and O’Connor a thousand miles away in Tunisia, our own air forces have been split in two. We’ve barely enough to cover both fronts, but it looks like we’ve finally stopped Rommel.”

“Could this move by Admiral Raeder have anything to do with the campaign in Palestine?”

“I doubt it. What would they do, shell the Germans on the coast near Tartus? It wouldn’t be worth the effort, or the risk.”

“Then might they have a go at the Suez Canal?”

“Oh, they’d love nothing more than to put that out of action, and that’s why we’re here. Our first job is to put up a steel wall in the Eastern Med and dare them to come for us. But I rather think they’ll have other business. I believe they’ll turn west once they get down near Crete under friendly air cover, and make for the Ionian Sea. From there, Taranto would be a save harbor, or they might even be so bold as to try the straits of Messina. A pity we lost Malta in a situation like this.”

“We could get after them, sir.”

“We could, but not until we know their course is truly west, and not south. No Captain, this is a defensive sortie, as much as I’d love to take Raeder by the lapels and give him a good shaking. He’s got a ten-knot speed advantage on us, so if he does take a westerly course, we’ll never catch him. It will have to be up to the air force. All we can do is make a brave show here and thumb our nose at him. I’m afraid Raeder won’t risk his ships in any action with us now. His real trouble is in the Central Med. Tovey’s been putting the squeeze on their supply runs into Tunis and Bizerte with Operation Retribution. That’s what I think this movement is all about.”

“Then you believe Raeder will try to break the blockade?”

“If he can. First he has to get his ships west and into the Tyrrhenian Sea, and the Air Force might get after him in the Straits of Messina. After that, if he does get through, he might lay over at Naples and operate from there with what remains of the Italian fleet.”

“We gave them a good thumping a few weeks back,” said Russell.

“That we did,” said Cunningham.

The Captain was referring to the attack made on the Italian base at La Maddalena, in the Straits of Bonifacio between Corsica and Sardinia. In April, the Americans had sent 84 B-24 Liberators to bomb the place, sinking the Heavy Cruiser Trieste, a pair of motor torpedo boats, and damaging the cruiser Gorizia so badly that she had to be towed to La Spezia. It was all part of Operation Retribution, a move to neuter the Italian Navy, choke off supplies to Tunisia, and eventually allow Allied ships through the Sicilian Narrows, opening the whole of the Med to friendly sea traffic.

That would not happen just yet, for the enemy had one more card to play in that game, and it was his Ace. Admiral Raeder’s fleet represented a powerful threat, and Nelson was out that day to stand the first watch.

“Perhaps we can keep Raeder in port,” said Cunningham. “Our bombers can reach Naples easily enough, so he might have to run off to La Spezia with the Italians, or even return to Toulon. Then we’ll have to watch him like a hawk, for one day or another, he’ll have to come out and face his last hour.”

“Well sir, we might be slow, but those nine 16-inch guns can still deliver a good punch,” said Russell. “Let’s hope Nelson will be there to join the action. That would be a grand show.”

Even as HMS Nelson turned north to take up her watch, the man that ship was named for was standing his own patrols out to sea, and from that very same base that had been bombed by the American B-24s. It’s strategic position in the Bonifacio strait allowed him to anchor his Mediterranean Fleet at the Maddalena Islands, and lie in wait for the French out of Toulon.

Vice Admiral Horatio Nelson, 1st Viscount Nelson, 1st Duke of Bronté was ailing, but determined. He had been bothered by a hacking cough of late, something he was often prey to with his endless hours at sea. With his flag aboard HMS Victory, he had been at sea since February of that year, operating from La Maddalena, and sending squadrons of two and three frigates to cruise off Toulon and spy on the French.

“Bad weather again today,” came the voice of Nelson’s Flag Captain, Sir Thomas Hardy.

The Admiral looked up, as if noting the grey skies for the first time, and nodded. “Any further dispatches from our patrols off Toulon?”

“Not yet,” said Hardy, “though Arrow is expected hourly.”

“The moment the French Fleet leaves that port, it can have as many destinations as there are countries in these waters,” said Nelson. “They have designs upon Sardinia itself, and would like nothing more than to occupy the island, which would deny my squadrons these waters as a preferred station to stand this watch. Well, let them try. We are in right fighting trim. I never saw a fleet altogether so well officered and manned. It’s the weather that bedevils me as much as the French, but if I am to watch them, I must be at sea, and if at sea, I must contend with bad weather. If our ships are not fit to stand bad weather, they are useless.”[1]

“Well sir, word is that they’ve no more than a fistful of fighting sail there at Toulon, though Admiral La Touche is undoubtedly been sent to remedy that.”

“Indeed,” said Nelson, “well I should like to take his charge, and my preferred remedy would be to see that fleet at the bottom of the sea.”

Nelson’s opposite number on the side of the French was one Vice-Admiral Louis-Rene Madalaine La Touche Treville, a man who had had been dueling with British frigates since the time of the American Revolution. He had only lately come to Toulon from Boulogne, where Napoleon ordered him to organize the massive fleet of transport ships to be used for the invasion of England, and to repel British raids led by Nelson on that port in an attempt to unhinge that plan. So the two men had little love for one another, and now La Touche was at Toulon reorganizing a part of the fleet that would soon meet Nelson at the famous Battle of Trafalgar.

With only seven ships of the line and three frigates, La Touche nonetheless kept up a regular patrol off the port to discourage British reconnaissance, which was frequent, as Nelson was eagerly waiting for the French to sortie so he could catch La Touche at sea and engage. It would never happen, at least under La Touche, who would die in just a few months of a fever. Another Admiral would take his place, Pierre-Charles Villeneuve.

At this time, Admiral Nelson had chosen the excellent anchorage off the Maddalena Islands, Sardinia, as his principle operating base to keep an eye on the French. That small island was at the eastern end of the Bonifacio Strait, the narrow waters between Corsica to the north and Sardinia to the south. Nelson would, indeed, send small groups of two or three ships to Toulon to keep an eye on the French, and on one occasion, La Touche sortied with four ships of the line and three frigates to drive off a squadron of three British ships. He then boasted in a letter that he had driven off the entire British fleet, putting Nelson to flight, which rankled the British Admiral.

“I’ll make him eat that letter if I catch him at sea,” warned Nelson. “I’ll put the damn thing right down his gullet. He dared venture out with seven ships before returning to port. If he carries on with this game, I will soon put salt on his tail, and my ships will make his look like a plum pudding!”

“Indeed, sir,” said the Captain. “On the matter of letters, the secretary has prepared the drafts from your dictation last evening. If you’d care to review them, I have them at hand.”

“There was the matter of the Cameleon, and I should look that one over,” said Nelson. “Good of Captain Raynsford on the Morgiana to clue us in on what’s been going on in the Adriatic. I sent her up with the Fish Ships some months ago, and Raynsford’s report was quite enlightening. I have therefore ordered Captain Thomas Staines and Cameleon to get up there and deal with those French Privateers.”

Nelson took the sheaf of papers from the Captain, reading that order carefully to make certain it was drafted as he wished. “Catching them by surprise is the key,” he said. “So this order was noted as most secret. I think it also wise to get a general order off to all ships in the fleet, that they are on no account to interfere with Captain Staines, or demand sight of his orders.”

“That’s been drafted as well, sir.”

“Good… Ah, this last one is a bit curious. I wonder what Lord Elgin has his hands on now?”

He read the order, with a half smile.

Much of the Admirals daily ritual was the dictation and drafting of these long-winded orders to various fleet units, a single sentence that, in this case, spanned an entire paragraph. Yet he was very thorough, always leaving no question as to what was desired and so ordered. To Alexander Ball at Malta he would also write a more succinct note, embedded in a long two-page draft. ‘I will Direct the Agent of Transports to send a Vessel to Cerigo with the first Convoy destined into the Levant for Lord Elgin’s things, if she will lay safely there, and one of our ships shall call for her upon her return.’

That brief sentence summed up his prior order nicely, but the Vice-Admiral would never know just what he had set in motion with his directive. Cerigo was the Venetian name given to the Island of Kythira, or Kythros in that day. It was the mythical haunt of Aphrodite and Eros, though the enchantments of love were the farthest things from the mind of Lord Elgin, who was a most industrious man.

His Lordship had been put on to the idea by the architect building his new home, “Broome Hall” in Scotland, a Mister Harrison. Since Greek artwork was all the rage in the Kingdom, why not obtain casts of some original Greek carvings, and then use them to decorate the new mansion? Appointed as Ambassador to Constantinople, Lord Elgin could stop off at Athens on his way there to look for suitable antiquities.

The Acropolis was a Turkish Army garrison site at that time, but Lord Elgin had been in Constantinople in 1800, just after Napoleon’s invasion of Egypt, and that service would put him in a good light with the Ottoman Turks, who controlled all of Greece and North Africa at that time. The British aid to the Turks in Egypt against Napoleon’s invasion had opened the door to Elgin obtaining permission, in a written “firman,” obtained by his Chaplain and Secretary, the Reverend John Hunt. The document was written by Hunt himself, seeking permission to view, draw, and model the art of the Parthenon frieze, make excavations and remove stones of interest.

It would lead to 10 months’ hard work, where Lord Elgin had as many as 300 workmen under his employ at considerable cost, but he would end up removing fifteen metopes, and seventeen pedimental fragments, one of which was the Selene Horse.

By a strange coincidence, the poet Byron was in that very place, staying at a hotel near the Acropolis, and one of the artists commissioned to copy the frieze met him there. The famous poet would later decry the dismembering of the Parthenon in his poem Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, but he would also write a much more scathing satirical poem titled The Curse of Minerva (never intended for publication) in which he named Elgin outright. Many, like Byron, looked on Lord Elgin’s work as plunder and vandalism, while others called it an act of historical conservation, for the Acropolis was enduring considerable damage from the Turks. Some say his Lordship vainly wanted the art to decorate his home; others insisted that he had the more noble motive of enriching an understanding of the arts in England. Neither side ever knew of the treasure hidden in those ‘stones of little value,’ as Lord Elgin would often refer to them to put off the curiosity of others.

Like many who set themselves to meddling with antiquities, angry fates stalked them soon after. Minerva’s Curse was waiting to make its mark on Lord Elgin’s life. Satisfied the work was well in hand, he resolved to return to Britain, leaving instructions on how to transport the Marbles home. Yet neither he, nor his ‘antiquities’ would get to England any time soon. His Lordship was in Paris when the Treaty of Amiens collapsed, and was put under arrest. Bonaparte was laying plans to invade England, massing ships at Brest, Boulogne, and other ports, and a plot was hatched to falsely implicate Lord Elgin in a scheme to set the French Fleet at Brest on fire. Thankfully, it never came to fruition, and Lord Elgin would eventually be released.

His wife would travel home separately, having an affair with one of her escorts along the way, which led to a bitter public divorce. Lord Elgin himself would be afflicted by an ailment that disfigured his nose, and he would soon be unemployable, at least in any further governmental capacity. All he had left were the Marbles… and the secret that they hid beneath the finely sculpted lines of the Selene Horse.

While he languished in captivity in Paris, his precious ‘antiquities’ would suffer their appointed fate off the Island of Cerigo, when his ship, the Mentor, ran aground and sunk, taking all her cargo with it. Years would pass as his Lordship and his Agents worked at further expense to find, recover and salvage the lost artwork, and it is at this time that some unexpected ‘visitors’ would come into the story, in a most arcane and mysterious way….

Chapter 2

“Well Mum,” said Mack Morgan. “Having the blessing of the Prime Minister is one thing, but actually pulling this crazy mission off is quite another. Do you realize it’s over 1500 miles from Gibraltar to this island?”

“Cerigo?”

“I thought it was Kythros. Well, whatever it’s called, how do you suppose we get there? The Argonauts have inflatables and such, but nothing we’d ever get through that crevice entrance in the cave, and certainly nothing that would be suitable for traveling that distance in the Mediterranean Sea!”

“No,” said Elena, “I realize an inflatable is out of the question. But we have sea faring men aboard. Yes?”

“Yes, but then there’s the little matter of finding a ship.”

“Well, there has to be something suitable at Gibraltar.”

“No argument there. It’s likely there will be warships, patrol craft, merchantmen in the harbor, but all going about their business. Are you saying you intend to simply commandeer a ship? Then what? We can take five men, six at the most for a mission like this. That’s not enough to crew a ship that can get us the 1500 miles to the island.”

Captain Gordon MacRae had expected this sort of inquiry from Morgan. His intelligence chief was known to be a careful and thorough man, and not one to leave any detail of a mission like this unconsidered or accounted for. He simply smiled when Morgan gave him that wide eyed look that signaled his displeasure.

“These ships come with crews,” said Elena, matter of factly.

“They do, but then we add impressment to commandeering and I’d say we’ll make a fine ship of pirates, all out for a little unscheduled jaunt to the Greek islands and back. Of course, there’s no Royal Navy in the Med to be worrying about, and no one will mind one whit if we do such things.”

Morgan was being sarcastic, of course, for there was a strong Royal Navy presence in the Med that year, commanded by Admiral Nelson himself, intent on blockading the port of Toulon. He wasted little time sharing this information with Elena, folding his arms with the sort of finality that said he had made an unassailable point to settle the argument.

“That would be a fine mess—Lord Nelson out after us with half the British Mediterranean Squadron.”

“How would he possibly know we were at sea,” Elena protested. “Come on now, Mack, it’s not like the folks at Gibraltar are going to get off a radio message to the man. There’s no way he could be contacted before we’ve done our business and returned.”

“Are you so sure of that?” Morgan wasn’t giving up his hill. “Suppose a ship is dispatched after us, and they get to Nelson with news that one of their vessels has been seized by pirates? We’ve no way of knowing that Nelson would never learn of our doings.”

“Of course, there’s always a risk, but I like my odds that we would get away Scot-free, and remain unbothered by the Royal Navy.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Morgan. “These ships might be lucky to make 12 knots, on a good day, and the wind won’t always be our friend. So let’s just say you average ten knots, day and night. That will be nearly a week to the destination, weather permitting. If we give ourselves some leeway, let’s say ten days out, a few days ashore, and ten days back. It’s only 800 nautical miles to Toulon from Gibraltar. If anyone follows us, or sends word to Nelson by ship, he could learn that we’ve pirated this ship four days after we leave!”

“Speculation,” Elena waved her hand.

“And then the good Admiral could have a squadron patrolling the Sicilian Narrows to intercept us on the way home.” Morgan persisted.

“How would they know we’d be returning to Gibraltar?”

“He wouldn’t, but he might easily calculate our farthest on, and if anyone spots our direction as heading east into the Med, he’d know our approximate whereabouts the day he receives the news, at least along that circle. In fact, that’s where we’d be—right in the Sicilian Narrows four days out of port from Gibraltar.”

“Mack, we could be anywhere within that farthest on. There’s no way he could determine our real location, and even if he did, Toulon is what, 500 miles north of the Sicilian Narrows? He could get the news, send out his ships, and we’d be two days ahead of them. They’d never find us.”

Morgan was getting more frustrated. “I don’t like it,” he said. “There was a lot going on in the Med. The bloody Americans even had a military naval squadron there, out after the very sort of thing we’d be doing—piracy! Ever hear of the Barbary Pirates? They operated off the Algerian and Libyan coast, and used Tripoli as a main harbor. Miss Fairchild, these are dangerous waters. So I hope you plan on hijacking a warship. It’s very likely that we’ll run into other ships, and some may not be friendly, even if we do give Lord Nelson the slip.”

“Point taken,” said Elena. “But we can handle ourselves.”

“Aye, that we can,” said Gordon. He had been listening, somewhat amused with Morgan’s frustration, but he knew the man had good reason for his misgivings, and now he spoke. “There’s one other consideration. It occurred to me while I was having tea on the weather deck yesterday after we concocted this plan. I looked down and saw that a curious fly was fluttering about in my tea! If we do this, I thought, then we’ll be the fly in the teacup.”

Elena looked at him, knowing he meant more with that metaphor than a simple reinforcement of Mack Morgan’s warning of danger. “You mean the history,” she said, giving him a look.

“Aye, the history. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think it will record that an intrepid group of men in strange garb, escorting a lovely lady, seized and commandeered a military vessel in Gibraltar, crew and all, and then high-tailed it out to sea. We’re going to make waves, Elena, just like that fly fluttering in the last of my tea. We’re going to change things.”

Elena was silent, the words of the Prime Minister still in her mind: “Might I advise caution while you are there. I know your Argonauts are quite effective, but a bullet in the wrong place might have some alarming repercussions. You might shoot someone’s grandfather, if you fathom what I’m getting at.”

Morgan knew enough not to say another word, for Captain MacRae had just put forward the real problem with this whole idea—contamination of the time meridian. Yes, they were going to change things. Their very presence in that year would be an anomaly, and every breath they would take would be stolen from history of 1804.

The two scouts they sent through the passage beneath St. Michael’s Cave had already caused a little trouble, raising suspicion of the local constabulary and being chased into the cave as a result. They evaded further discovery, and were lucky to take the correct passage that led them to the severed rope, leading the way home. Elena had her team throw it down through the crevasse, with a lit flashlight tied to the end, all in the hope they would find it. She got lucky with that fishing expedition, but even so, one of her men came back with Yellow Fever. So there were more things to worry about than Lord Nelson, the Royal Navy, and the Barbary Pirates of the Med. They might have an encounter—do something—that ended up creating a transformation in the history, and the Captain had finally hit a nerve.

“Now,” said Gordon. “The less we shove, the better. What’s all this talk about commandeering a ship? We could be gentlemanly, and see if we might buy passage east out of Gibraltar instead of trying to take a ship there by force. To my mind, the less force used, the better. Gold has a way of opening doors and gaining cooperation, doesn’t it? I’ll warrant there will be more than a few hungry sea captains there who might like to undertake a charter for wealthy patrons. Going that route eliminates all this talk of Lord Nelson, though we’d still have those Barbary Pirates to consider.”

“Good point, Gordon,” said Elena, and Morgan gave him those eyes again, for he had just solved one problem, but still threw a log on her fire.

“We’ll take along a good sum of gold….” Elena was thinking. “I didn’t think we could find coin that would be legal tender for that time period, but Mister Churchill put in a call to the Bank of England, and was able to get me a good sum in old King George III Spade Guineas issued between 1787 and 1799. They were worth a Pound back then, but in our time, they sell for as much as £1,000, so it was a very generous offer. I have some ingots in the safe here as well, just in case we need more buying power. Once we get there, we might use them to obtain more currency.”

“Gold glitters better than anything,” said MacRae.

“So we’ll be trotting about with ingots of gold in our haversacks?” Morgan was still objecting.

“It won’t take many,” said Elena. “The coinage we have should suffice. In fact, because of the threat of invasion by Napoleon, the Banks were somewhat skittish, and hoarding their coin. They issued one and two pound notes, though they were not in wide circulation. There’s no chance we could find those, so the coins the Prime Minister provided will have to do. I’ve a hundred Spade Guineas, and another twenty pounds in Shillings for our walking around money. That should do. Most people of that day might never even see a Guinea come their way. They earned five to ten shillings per week, if they were lucky, with an average annual income of no more than 20 pounds. So even a few small gold ingots would go a very long way if we need them, and for that matter, we could also take diamonds.”

“Diamonds? And where do we come by those?”

Elena smiled. “That would be telling,” she said. “One never inquires where a lady gets her diamonds, but I assure you, this lady is not without resources.”

“Alright, alright,” said Morgan. “Supposing we can book passage, or even charter an entire ship, that act alone would be ahistorical. It might seem like an innocent cruise out to the Greek islands and back, but we’ve no way to know that. Anything could happen, and the chance that we would introduce some contamination is very high. In fact, I’d say it was inevitable. It will be 1804, the farther back you go, the greater the damage each footfall we make on that ground could do. We’ll change lives. The ship we charter was never supposed to go there, and every soul aboard will be on an altered life meridian from the moment we tip our hats at the gunwales of their ship. I find it hard to imagine that we could pull this off without introducing changes.”

“But they might only be small changes,” said Elena, “like a scratch on the skin that Time might easily heal.”

“Here we sit with an ex-Daring class destroyer riding roughshod all through this history,” said Morgan. “We’ve fought battles here, influenced the Atlantic convoy campaign, made that raid on Saint Nazaire, not to mention the fact that Prime Movers in this era know all about us—Churchill, Wavell, Tovey, Cunningham. God only knows what history will arise from this altered time line. Weren’t you preaching it yourself a while back? What was all that talk about some kind of Grand Finality. If that wasn’t doom and gloom, then what is? Now we’re talking about going back another 139 years! Anything we do back there could influence this time—1943—and profoundly.”

“So we’ll have to be very careful.”

“Aye, careful indeed. Here it’s loose lips, sink ships. Back there it will be one errant whisper and the whole damn world could spin off in a new direction.”

Mack Morgan was exaggerating to make his point, but then again, he wasn’t too far from the truth. One errant whisper in the ear of Sergei Kirov in 1908 had done much to change this entire world, and Morgan was also correct in wondering what the future might arise from this version of the war.

“Bottom line,” said Morgan, making his close. “This is dangerous—damn dangerous. We’ll have to ask ourselves if that key is worth the trouble. Why do we even need it? Forgive me, Mum, but aren’t we just trying to satisfy our own curiosity as to what these keys are all about. Well, curiosity killed the cat.”

“And satisfaction?” Elena gave him a wink. “Look Mack, I’m not sure I buy the image of that fly in a teacup. I’ll admit that commandeering a ship is out of the question. We’ll want to be as inconspicuous as possible. If we’re careful, nice and polite, I’m thinking our presence there will be more like one more fish in the sea. It’s a very big world out there. We might not change anything at all if we’re discrete.”

“Then again,” said Morgan, still the Devil’s advocate. “Suppose this ship we charter does run into trouble. It might be weather, it might be pirates—god only knows. We’re out to investigate the salvage operation for the wreck of the Mentor. Get that? The wreck! I’m sure Lord Elgin wanted to be very discrete himself, and spirit off his ill-gotten marbles as inconspicuously as possible. But then life is what happens to you after you make your plans, isn’t it? His ship got caught in weather, ran aground, foundered on the rocks and went down with all his cargo. Alright… Suppose fate deals us a safe hand, and we play this out to get to Kythros without incident. Then what? How do we get at this Selene Horse without having to get ‘pushy’?”

“I haven’t thought about that yet,” said Elena. “I suppose we’d still have the gold and diamonds.”

“The people running this salvage operation may not be interested in selling anything, not for any amount. After all, this is all supposed to be the property of Lord Elgin. Even if they would take your offer seriously at all, they would certainly have to obtain the good Earl’s permission. That would take time, and more than we have to spend there. Besides, he would certainly refuse. He wouldn’t sell his precious cargo, not for any price, at least not at this time.”

“Probably not. But I won’t be offering to purchase. I’d merely be asking to see the wonders the good lord Elgin has secured. I could make up a story—anything. I could tell the crew I’m affiliated with the British Museum, and that after hearing of the Earl’s ‘acquisition’ of the Marbles, I came all this way to see them first hand.”

“Wasn’t he touchy about his find? He kept referring to the Marbles as ‘stones of no value to anyone other than Lord Elgin.’ Try that line and you’ll be presenting yourself as someone who knows that’s a load of bullshit. The keepers of that salvage might get just a wee bit curious, and touchy. You say it was guarded night and day on that damn beach.”

“True, but we only are interested in one piece—the Selene Horse. Perhaps it’s in one of the eleven boxes they’ve already recovered. Believe me, I can be very persuasive. I’m certain I could persuade the site supervisor to let me have one little look.”

“With a hammer and chisel?” Morgan objected immediately. “Wasn’t this key supposed to be embedded in the base? How do you suppose to get at it without doing deliberate damage to the statue?”

“Actually,” said Elena. “I was rather hoping the piece was in one of the missing boxes, still at the bottom of the sea. That’s where my Argonauts come in handy. We’re bringing along some diving equipment, very compact, but very effective. I could offer the expertise of my team, and speed along their recovery of the other boxes. They would probably be very glad about that.”

“Possibly, but the supervisor might just be a curmudgeon. He might not want us anywhere near his precious charge.”

“We’d change his mind rather quickly,” said Elena. “I’ll just send the men down to have a look. We’ll use the hand-held radar, and believe me, the first box we bring up will change their attitude considerably.”

“OK, then we’re back where we were just a moment ago. They won’t want you mucking about with a hammer and chisel.”

“They won’t even know about it.” Now Elena folded her arms. “We’ll have the men do that while they are still underwater—assuming we get lucky. We have a six in seventeen chance the Selene Horse is still submerged. If not. I’ll come up with a plan B.”

“You have to give it to her, Mack,” said Gordon. “She’s thought of everything.”

“Everything but the unexpected. No offense, Mum.”

“Don’t worry, Mack. You’re doing exactly what you should to wrangle this out with me. We’ll need to really be on our game this time. I’ll want the best men we have, expert seamen, diving experience, and good at hand-to-hand combat. No assault rifles, gentlemen. Pistols would be acceptable, but kept well hidden, and to be used only in a pinch. The last thing we would want to do is shoot anybody.”

Chapter 3

“Most of our Argonauts will fill that bill,” said MacRae. “A pity we just can’t take the whole ship back. Then we’d have the X3 Helos to fly about and make a real grand spectacle as well. Talk about a fly in the teacup then!”

“More like an alligator,” said Elena. “No, the ship stays here—not that we have any choice in that. We go by St. Michael’s Cave. Gordon, see to the details. The two of you are most welcome to join the team. Then we’ll need three of the best we have, and I’ll want to leave as soon as possible.”

“Very well,” said MacRae. “As to the men…. I don’t suppose you’ll want them walking about in TALOS suits.”

“Of course not. Remember, we need to be inconspicuous, or at least look like we belong where we are. Strange garb would be a dead giveaway, and arouse interest and possibly suspicion. I’ve thought about that one too. Mister Churchill mentioned it when I first proposed this idea, and he was kind enough to lend a hand. I have a trunk full of men’s clothing, authentic to the period, and all compliments of the Prime Minister. As for me, I did some shopping in London before I returned from that meeting, and found something suitable—an old Empire style dress—plain white, high waist, with a shawl and an outer hooded cape for travel. We’re about on business, and must look like upper-class merchants. But this is a minor detail. Our man came back with Yellow Fever, and Churchill told me there was a nasty epidemic there that year.”

“Yellow Fever?” said MacRae. “Nasty is half a word for that—chills, sweats, headache, jaundice, muscle spasms, bloodshot eyes and other hemorrhages, and near the end, black vomit, cold sweats and welcome death after all that suffering. You know, the place was called the filthiest post in the empire. Housing was scarce and people lived in crowded dwellings. Many thought the filth and squalor was what led to the disease, and that it was passed from person to person in the hovels. Others thought it was the result of infectious airs. The sad fact is that they were both wrong, and they never knew it was the mosquitoes. It would be another 70 years before they learned that.”

“Well, let’s make certain everyone in our team is vaccinated. Immunity after that is about 99%, and holds for life. I’ve checked my own medical records, and I’m covered. You should both do the same.”

“I’m vaccinated, and I’ve already checked over the roster to make sure all the men are as well. Mack, how about you?”

“Been in the tropics too long,” said Morgan. “I’m covered.”

“Good, because it can take a month or more after vaccination before immunity sets in.” He turned to Elena. “How long will we be there?” He had finally come to feel at home in the 1940s. Now here they were thinking to go all the way back to 1804!

“I’m thinking we’ll need at least two months.”

“That long? Well, I suppose Mister Dean can handle things on the ship for that time.”

“Oh, don’t assume we’d be gone two months’ time here. We could spend months there, and return here to find only three days have passed.”

“But our men were in there for just a few hours as they reported it, and days passed here,” said Gordon. “If that is any guide, then we could disappear for years here. The whole bloody war could be over by the time we get back to the ship—assuming we do get back.”

“That’s one of the wildcards in the deck,” said Elena. “We’ve no way of knowing how much time will pass here, but we’ll just have to risk it. Gentlemen, this is going to be a bit of an adventure!”

“Or a nightmare,” said Morgan.

They would make the descent into St. Michael’s Cave, and the climb up through the rock crevice on the very next day. It would be a team of six, Miss Fairchild, MacRae and Morgan, with three Argonauts, Sergeant Kane, and two privates, Moran and Foley. The clothing Elena brought was modified to conceal things. Special pockets were sewn in to hold necessities, and also hide them from the eyes of the people they might encounter. They wanted to take along certain military equipment, and yet keep it well hidden. Each man would also be wearing special lightweight body armor under their clothing, and sport a small holstered sidearm that would be hidden under their overcoats, and beneath a flap of material added to their waistcoat. Elena declined this, counting on her status as a dignified woman to offer her some protection.

The other side of the rock that hid the inner cavern was now lit up with rigged lighting, and they had a rope ladder fixed to the top of the stone with a few sturdy steel pegs. Elena had not yet donned her costume clothing, wanting to get through the difficult climbing and interior passages before she did that. Then she could simply put the garb on over her traveling clothes. They would be guided by the scout they had sent in earlier, who pointed out the passage they had taken in the labyrinthine cavern.

“Both the left and right passages are dead ends. It’s the center opening there that we took. You won’t be but a hundred yards before it begins bearing up to a chimney that’s been documented for some time. It’s just wide enough to climb up, about three meters. Then you’ll be in a known passage of the cave.”

“Strange,” said Elena. “I wonder why no one ever got down here then, if it opens onto a known passage.”

“They probably did,” said Morgan. “But then never found that crevice above the rock we just climbed over.”

“But we must move through the time fissure in here somewhere—in that central passage if our scout is correct.”

“Aye,” said Morgan. “They may have as well, but seeing o way to proceed, they would have just back-tracked. The rock would seem a dead end to them, so they may have been moving in time, yet never knew about it.”

“Very strange,” said Elena. “The fissure was just hidden in plain sight. Come from our side of that rock, and it leads you back in time. Come the other way and you go forward. This is going to be interesting.”

They moved through the narrow passage, the shadows retreating from their flashlights, then gathering again behind them. Their scout had not been entirely accurate. The passages to either side of the one they took were not dead ends, though they would have seemed so to anyone not trying them with real determination. On one occasion. A British Sergeant had followed a Barbary Ape into one, and caught a glimpse of him slipping away into the rightmost passage. Pursuing, but not finding the beast anywhere, he had good reason to be persistent in his search of that tunnel, knowing that if that Ape got through, then there must be a hidden way, which he eventually found. It took him somewhere else, to a place where that printed candy bar label Elena’s team had found had originated, but none of them knew that just yet. It would not occur to Elena for some days….

It was mostly an upward hike, inclined at an angle, which then reversed its direction before they came to the brief climb up that chimney that made Elena feel something had happened to them. Once at the top, MacRae offered her a hand, pulling her up.

“My,” she said, “I’m feeling very light headed.”

“Aye, we all felt that coming up through that chimney. There’s your time fissure. It’s right there—a three-meter climb that spans more than a century. Gives me the shivers just to think of it.”

Elena now thought it best to get in to her period clothing, feeling very cold, a physical chill to accompany the emotional frost the Captain was describing. The team was all up, and gathered into a tight group. The way forward now was known, and it would take them towards the entrance to St. Michael’s Cave, a walk of about a hundred yards. Along the way there were a few side passages, and they made mental notes of them.

“I count three,” said Morgan. “This is the Cathedral Cave.” He looked back over his shoulder. “We’ll want to bear that way on the way home. Then take the third passage on the right to the Chimney. Anyone finding it here would just think it was all a dead end. Now we know better.”

“Let’s get on with it then,” said Elena.

They moved out, with Sergeant Kane in the lead with his two Argonauts, the others following. It wasn’t long before they saw a figure ahead, and the noise of their coming roused his attention.

“Who goes there?” came a hard voice. “Come on, show yourself, unless you want a musket ball in your gut.” The man was a British soldier, a private from the lack of stripes on his sleeves.

“No need for that,” said MacRae, striding up past the Argonauts and out of the shadows. “Thank God, we’ve found the way out at last. Been in that dank cave for hours.”

“Wot’s that? Been mucking about in the cave? Folks aren’t supposed to be in there, and for just that reason. Too damn easy to get lost, or trip and fall.”

“That’s a fact,” said MacRae. Now Elena came forward, and the man seemed very surprised to see her.

“Wot? I can see your lot diggin’ about, but with a lady?”

“Forgive me, sir,” said Elena. “I pressed this adventure upon these gentlemen, and they were kind enough to escort me. It’s all my doing.”

The soldier nodded, giving her a half smile. “You must be off a ship,” he said. “Come to have a look about the Rock, are you? Well it’s not the time for it, what with the plague an all.”

“Plague?” Elena covered her mouth, looking frightened.

“You haven’t heard? Lots of folks are down with it, and better that dank cave in there than town center. If I were you, I’d get right back aboard the ship that brought you here, and stay there. Otherwise you’re likely to catch your death here.”

“Aye,” said MacRae. “We were warned, but the lady wanted to see the caves, and so…” he nodded, giving the man a wink.

“Look here,” said the soldier. “On your way now, but don’t say nothin’ to my officer if he comes upon you. He’ll berate me for an hour if he thinks I was slack in me watch.”

“Don’t worry,” said Elena. “You are too kind. Our touring being done, we’ve business with the Naval Officer and Storekeeper. Where might we find him?”

“Offices in town,” said the man. “But remember what I said. It’s no place for a lady there with all that suffering. There be bodies in the streets, Mum. You’d be better off back aboard ship.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Elena. “I’ll send these gentlemen in my place.” Seeing his advice well heeded, the soldier nodded, giving her a friendly smile.

They were on their way, and later learned that the man they wanted to see was in the Garrison Library that morning, off Gunner’s Parade, and down a lane past the Boyd Building. That place had been named for Lieutenant General Sir Robert Boyd, the late Governor of Gibraltar, who had died in 1794, his remains embedded in the concrete and stone beneath the King’s Bastion on the western shore near the harbor.

“A mister Edward Pownall?” MacRae inquired when they finally reached the library, past scenes of distress and squalor that they had been warned about by the soldier.

“Mister Pownall? Yes, he’s here, retrieving some records. Might I help you gentlemen?”

“Gordon MacRae,” said the Captain. “We’re looking to book passage to Malta.”

“James Cutworth,” said the man. “I’m an Agent Victualler with business there on occasion. Why on earth are you headed there?”

“Her Ladyship will be touring the Greek Islands, and we thought to find passage from there once we arrive.”

The man eyed Elena, who smiled. “May I have the pleasure,” he said, extending his hand with a bow, which Elena took briefly, smiling. “James Cutworth.”

“Miss Elena Fairchild, house of Fairchild out of England. Mister Cutworth, do say you can be of assistance. Might I find passage to Malta for myself and these gentlemen at a convenient time?”

“Passage to Malta… Well now.” Cutworth seemed to be thinking, his head inclined. “What have we at hand that might fill the bill. A number of transports are in port this morning, Thetis, Latona, Nestor, Lady Shaw Stewart. Those last two will be bound for Malta later today, as soon as the Sophie returns from Lisbon, with some hemp and rope they must convey along with other stores for the Navy. I suppose you might get passage on one or the other. Then there’s the Portuguese merchantman, the Lassa. That came in with HMS Medusa this morning as well. You’ll want to see Mister Wilkie down at the Harbor. Those transports I mentioned have goods under his charge.”

“Why, thank you, sir,” said Elena. “You are most gracious. Then I expect we shan’t need the services of Mister Pownall after all. Do you think Mister Wilkie can accommodate my party? It’s rather dreadful here at the moment, and the sooner I get out to sea, the better.”

“I understand, M’lady. Yes, dreadful business here with the fever on so many folks and all. That would be wise. Were you off a ship this morning?”

“We came from landward, after touring Spain,” said MacRae. They had determined that would be a safer story, as most ships would have records of travelers booked, and there was no need to leave questions in their wake.

“Well Mister Wilkie can be most accommodating,” said Cutworth.

And he was.

Elena knew that one of the transports Cutworth had mentioned, The Lady Shaw Stewart, was the ship they wanted. That had been the transport Lord Nelson sent to the very island they needed to reach, to pick up the Marbles for Lord Elgin and bring them first back to Malta before arranging further passage to England.

As they made their way to the harbor to find Mister Wilkie, Elena began to think they were very late. She had asked Mister Cutworth what day it was. “My, I’ve simply lost track of the time with all the sightseeing. But Gibraltar was not at all what I expected,” she said. “Pray tell… What day is this?”

“The 28th of August, M’lady. And thank God, the fever seems to be abating here now, but we’ve had a fearful loss. Over 800 died, and that was just in the Army garrison. The civilians took far worse. Nearly a third of the 15,000 or so have perished. You certainly won’t want to linger on here. A pity you had to see this.”

“All the more reason for us to be on our way.”

They were very late. Elena knew from her research on these events that the divers contracted to recover the lost cases of marbles had returned in April of 1804 to begin looking for those that were still unrecovered. On June 9th, they would locate and retrieve the 16th case, and then continue searching for the “marble chair” that was the Throne of Prytanis. Lady Shaw Stewart would be sent to the island, but the marbles would not be loaded until the 16th of February 1805.

Elena had also dug up the dispatches of Lord Nelson, scouring them to determine when he might have given orders for that ship to proceed to the island. She found the very letter that Nelson had dictated to Captain Charles Marsh Schomberg, HMS Madras, instructing him to see that a transport was sent to the island for Lord Elgin. That letter would be written in just a few days, on the 2nd of September 1804. That transport would be #99, Lady Shaw Stewart, which would sail with the schooner Renard to complete the task of retrieving the Marbles of Lord Elgin.

What would take place in that interval, between September of 1804 and February of 1805 when the Marbles were finally loaded on the Lady Shaw Stewart ? It was one of those grey zones that make up so very much of the history, for 99.9% of everything that really happened remained unrecorded.

That was where they were headed, on the very ship that they needed to board, the Lady Shaw Stewart. It would sail off that very day, and with six new passengers aboard bound for Malta—off into the grey mist that no eyes in modern times had ever penetrated. No one really knew what had happened with the ship in that five-month interval, but they were about to find out.