Pi Day Doomsday

SKYHOOK

The calendar flew across the room, hit a wall and crashed to the floor, pages splayed, MARCH facing up. She had grown to dread the month, and changing the calendar, placing March in front, was too much for her. Such a frivolous reminder of the imminent Armageddon. Pieces of paper were not worthy of that deed. She pitched the calendar into the trash can and, taking a thick black marker from her desk, wrote MARCH across her office wall in four-inch letters. Under that, she gridded fourteen squares ending on the fourteenth. An X in the first square started her day. She had thirteen more Xs to save her homeland, but at the tenth X she planned to lock her office, grab Pupski and start driving east until she could drive no more.

Working up the day’s schedule, she drew a blank. There were homicides, burglaries, rapes and other felonies working through the system, awaiting investigation, but she was fixated on Adam. And rightfully so. The other crimes would vaporize within microseconds in a radioactive cloud of searing heat, if she failed.

Finally, tasks congealing in her mind, she wrote the first item on her list: ‘E.F. Lab — Kick their butt.’ She had pushed, threatened and pleaded with them for results. But she had walked in on them several times during the past few days and found them playing video games. They had said they were simulating crime scenarios, but she knew otherwise. The Xbox and nearby “Call of Duty” cartridge gave them away.

Next she wrote: ‘ Search Ocean Drive.’ Her information on the residence had all come by proxy; she had never visited the hall of horror, herself. Even though it had burned down and still held memories of Keller, she felt there might possibly be some clue as the Adam’s drop site. She would put on a Smurf suit and explore for herself.

Squinting, realizing where all the tasks were leading, she moved her pen to the top of the list and wrote in big letters: NARROW SEARCH MAP!

‘Check Refuse Search Progress’ took the third line. Search crews were still out sifting through landfills looking for the radioactive bag of papers torn from Fogner’s wall. It was a background task, done when nothing else was happening. She needed to raise its priority.

She was thinking on the fourth line when her office phone buzzed. The buzz indicated it was an in-house call.

“Poole,” she answered, casually.

“Lieutenant, this is Jones in the E.F. Lab. We have your coordinates. Sorry it took so long, but we finally got a hit once we set the time hack to be mid-February, they just popped up in a Skyhook loop.”

“A what?” she asked, looking at item one. She marked through ‘Kick their butt’ and wrote, ‘Thank them.’

“Skyhook loop. A digital anchor function used to hold a boat in place when the depth below it is greater than the boat’s anchor line. It’s used in the Hydro Thunder game. Then we found a similar loop in the GPS data. It just connected.”

“That’s excellent, guys. What are the coordinates? I need to get them to the search ship, ASAP.” Above ‘Thank them’ she scribbled ‘Video games okay.’

“I’m bringing them down to you right now. Be at your door in seconds.”

As she hung up, she heard footsteps approach, a knock on her door, then Jones stood in the open doorway, a phone in one hand, a folded sheet of paper in the other. Across the front SENSITIVE INFORMATION warned prying eyes away.

Unfolding the page, she read two lines of numbers, meaning nothing to her, but a red dot on the small nautical map printed below them, showed Adam’s location. She saw a vector, pointing from Avalon, ending in the Gulf of Santa Catalina. Another vector, pointing from the dot toward Dana Point, had “8 miles” out beside it.

“It looks like he left his boathouse, motored toward Catalina Island, and paused eight miles out. That’s when he activated the Skyhook. From there he returned to the boathouse. That’s got to be the place, unless it’s a great fishing hole. That’s a possibility, too. But he was only anchored for a few minutes. Not enough time to fish. I think that’s our spot.”

Refolding the paper, she looked up at him. “Thank you Agent Jones. You will be commended for this work. Now I have to notify Captain Broward.”

“Gloria, get me the Ship’s Captain aboard the Trident Tine. He called in yesterday on a secure line. Trace it back and get him on the line. Hurry please.” Frustrated with the ship’s communications blackout, she felt it did nothing more than hinder progress, preventing rapid updates and crucial on-the-fly interactions.

“One moment, Lieutenant.”

Clicks, buzzes and whirrs, then more clicks.

“Broward.”

“Captain, I have your coordinates,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Well, thank God! A miracle.” Then she heard him yell, echoing, “Call in the robots. Winch them up.” A clatter of activity followed his command.

“Go ahead. I’ve got a pen.”

Reading the lat/long numbers, she felt a lump in her throat. The case was once again moving forward. Filled with emotion, she continued, describing the small map. For the first time in weeks, she knew that Adam existed. She was describing his location; it brought the reality of her fears to life. Slamming her in the face, like a sledgehammer.

“Okay Lieutenant, thank you. That’s what I needed. Anything more?”

“Oh, yes. At the bottom of the map is a note. Says estimated floor depth at a little over three-hundred meters, according to sea floor maps of the area.”

“I can look that up, too, but thank you. It’s a doable depth.”

“That’s all, Captain. I’ll be out of my office today, searching for more evidence. Should be back by mid-afternoon.”

“That location you gave me is four miles northwest of us. We’ll be pulling anchor and moving closer today, parking over it for better, quicker access. I’ll be unreachable while we’re underway. Goodbye Lieutenant and thanks; you may have just saved us all.”

She clicked off, sighed, and stared at the phone. Knowing she had unceremoniously sent the data everyone needed and requested, putting the search back on course, comforted her, but she would have no way of receiving feedback from its use. She would have to wait, blindly, wondering if the coordinates were correct or even close. Wanting more involvement, she snatched her satchel off her desk, rushed to the equipment cage, checked out a CBRN Smurf suit with a Geiger counter, and headed to her car.

From the driveway off Ocean Drive, the ocean was beautiful with the exception of a few blackened timbers, jutting upward, obstructing the panoramic view. Two charred, but undamaged, white brick chimneys still stood at the rear and right of the debris-covered field, bearing witness to the endurance of masonry.

Slowly she climbed onto the foundation, the Geiger counter alarming in her hand. There was little to see: charcoaled boards and beams, broken shards of soot-covered stained glass and random pieces of metal, melted into grotesque shapes. Nothing recognizable. Walking through the rubble, she imagined the opulence the home once held, envisioning rooms with crystal chandeliers, ornate wainscoting, and magnificent fireplace mantels.

She loved the elaborate mantel detailing from that era. The one at the rear, with gargoylian faces surrounding the hearth in nightmarish fashion, called her.

Running her hand over the masonry, she marveled at its detail. A glimmer from below the mantel, lying on the hearth’s floor, caught her eye. Picking it up, she saw a small gold disk, no larger than three inches across, covered in soot. A sweep of her hand across its obverse, clearing it, brought an engraved profile into view. It was Alfred Nobel. She was holding a cherished Nobel Prize Medal.

Slipping it into a foil-lined bag, she intended to return it to Fogner to accompany him at his burial, thinking his family might appreciate it. Although he was the most evil entity she had ever encountered, she had empathy for him, respect for his achievement. He was once human, living life to the fullest, aiding humanity with his scientific achievements. She blamed his illnesses, not him, for his unthinkable deeds.

Taking a last glimpse at the bare circle where the disk had laid in the ashes, another object attracted her attention. A color amidst the blackened ruins. From deep in the hearth, against the bricks, she pulled out a charred brittle brown paper bag filled with crumpled newspaper clippings. The bag! The pincushion wall bag! He intended to burn it and forgot.

The Geiger counter squawked insistently as she passed it over the bag. A clipping from the bag, stretched between her hands, touted, “Fogner’s Weather Model Fogs the Data.” She had found the evidence dozens of deputies had searched days for in landfills. It was there all the time, protected from the fire by the massive heat-resistant masonry surrounding it.

Back at her car, she carefully placed the bag into her trunk and locked it. Driving off toward the lab, she looked back; a sadness consumed her, remembering Keller.

Wearing the CBRN suit through the lobby, up to the third floor lab, raised a few eyebrows, brought a few snickers, but by now, everyone knew her case. They knew if she failed they would die at the hands of the madman she was trying to outsmart. The bag she carried in her suited hand was radioactive but time was running out. Precautions were dropping from her priorities as pi day approached.

Her lab was busy with staff intent on solving more pedestrian crimes. They were running centrifuges, examining slides under microscopes, writing results in large notebooks. They didn’t notice her enter. At an empty bench, by the lead safe holding Fogner’s Adam-threat, she dumped the paper wads from the bag and began to straighten them one by one, placing them into a neat stack. The fifth one flattened had a small yellow post-it note stuck to its back. Unnoticed, it fluttered to the floor, drifting under the workbench into a narrow space, as she stacked the clipping. Reading each one, she opened the safe and added it to the evidence. Twelve down, the bag was empty. She crumpled it and threw it into the safe.

Once showered, the CBRN suit and counter returned, she went back to her office, tore up her daily list and stared at her new wall calendar. She had done all she could do. Now she waited.