Sea Devil

Chapter Six

The Pentagon was built as the world’s largest office building. Situated on the banks of the Potomac River across from Washington, D.C.” the colossal structure housed over 30,000 employees. It was not one building, but about fifty, all interconnected, that formed five complete pentagons placed one inside the other in a series of concentric five-sided rings over two blocks wide.

The outermost and largest ring was known as the Ering.

Offices here were the only ones with an outside view and were for the most part reserved for such distinguished personages as the Secretary of Defense, the Secretaries of the various services, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the other chiefs. Admiral Alien Long was genuinely flattered when he was offered an office in this coveted part of the building.

From his current vantage point, as he peered out the window behind his desk, he could just make out the rounded dome of the Capitol in the distance. It was mid-morning, and the quick moving storm front that had made his early commute such a nightmare had since passed, leaving a brilliant blue sky in its place.

On the banks of the Potomac the trees were green with freshly budded leaves, while tulips and daffodils colored the grassy slopes with spring color.

Alien Long would have much rather preferred to play golf on a glorious morning such as this, but his current workload wouldn’t allow it. Lately he had even resorted to taking work home, and the light in his study often burned late into the night.

His wife Nancy argued that the pressures of his job were too much for a man his age. But Alien Long would hear of no such nonsense. He had spent over four decades of his life in the U.S. Navy, and he wasn’t going to retire until they tied and bound him, as they had to his old friend Hyman Rickover.

As with Rickover, Alien Long’s specialty was submarine development. He had been one of the original project managers of the Trident program and was currently involved with R&D on a new class of nuclear-powered attack submarines that would hopefully go into production soon. Because of his many years of experience with such matters, the navy was using him to act as their main liaison with Congress. This was a thankless, often frustrating position. Most of the time he felt more like an accountant than a naval officer as he worked on a seemingly endless collection of appropriations requests.

In an era of monetary constraint and budget deficits, Alien Long was responsible for explaining to the various congressional committees the necessity of each new request for funds. Since much of the technology involved was highly classified, he had to walk a thin line between those with a legitimate need to know and those without. Often it was his decision alone that allowed a senator or congressman detailed information on a project that only a handful of Americans were aware of.

Admiral Long took his difficult job most seriously, and often spent many a sleepless night worrying about the consequences of a poor decision.

In addition to his work with Congress, he also oversaw several pet projects with the office of Naval Research and the Naval Ocean Systems Command. His area of special interest was mainly in the field of ROVs, or remotely operated vehicles. Most of these were unmanned submersibles that could reach depths much greater than any manned vessel could. Usually controlled from a mother ship by means of a fiberoptic cable, such ROVs showed great promise, especially in the fields of ASW, oceanographic research, and marine salvage.

It was hoped that the new class of attack sub the navy desired would be able to operate such vehicles.

Since this ability would be unique to this class of vessel, the technology involved was expensive. It was up to Alien Long to present a case to Congress detailing the necessity of such equipment.

He would be meeting with the chairman of the Senate Committee on Armed Services in the morning, and was preparing a detailed report on ROVs to present to him. As it turned out, such technology was about to play an important part in a tragedy that had recently befallen the United States off the coast of Ireland. This disaster came to pass when a B-52 Stratofortress collided with a KC-135 tanker during a routine refueling operation. The B-52 had been carrying four nuclear weapons in its bomb bay. All of these devices were believed to have fallen into the sea. The navy was already moving in a variety of ROVs to facilitate the search for these, and he was certain they would soon enough show their worth. Admiral Long was going to make it a point to divulge this information during tomorrow morning’s meeting in the Senate office building.

To ensure that he got a detailed, accurate report on the effectiveness of the ROVs as they were deployed in the Irish Sea, the admiral decided to call in one of his experts. Commander Brad Mackenzie, or Mac, as he preferred to be called, was one of the brightest, most loyal junior officers he had ever worked with. Mac’s current billet was as a troubleshooter with Nose, and the admiral had little difficulty convincing the Naval Ocean Systems Command to reassign him temporarily.

As Admiral Long’s eyes and ears at the crash site, Mac would provide him with almost instantaneous updates on the recovery effort. He would then be able to utilize this information to further convince Congress that the ROV program was well worth the money that would be needed to continue its growth and development.

Mac was still unaware of the reassignment. As Admiral Long checked his watch, he saw that the plane carrying Mac was supposed to have landed at Andrews Air Force base over a half hour ago. He would thus be arriving at the Pentagon any moment now, at which time his new duties would be explained to him.

In a way, the Admiral wasn’t looking forward to breaking this news. Mac had been intricately involved with another project for almost a year now. Recently this assignment had taken him to several locations throughout the Pacific basin on the trail of a mysterious submersible that was believed to be Soviet in origin.

This elusive vessel supposedly operated on Caterpillar-like treads that guided it over the seafloor.

These tracks had been found in such diverse locations as the waters off Karlskrona, Sweden, Sicily, San Francisco, the Marshall Islands, and southern California. In each of these instances, they were located near sensitive military installations.

When a Trident II warhead launched from Vandenberg was lost beneath the waters of Kwajalein Atoll and a DSRV searching for it came across a puzzling set of tracks. Admiral Long recommended that Mac be sent out to identify them positively. At the same time, a hydrophone anchored beneath the seas of the Navy’s San Clemente test range picked up the unusual signature of a mini-sub that appeared to be propelled by some sort of tracked drive system. Suspecting that this could be the culprit responsible for the theft of the Trident II warhead, the admiral had Mac sent to southern California.

A combination of bad luck and a mysterious mine field kept Mac from participating in the capture of this vessel. Seven American sailors died in that incident, and Mac swore to apply all his efforts in finding the ones responsible. Unfortunately his trail was leading him nowhere, and rather than watch him be eaten up by frustration, the admiral decided to reassign him. Besides which, Mac was the best man available for the all-important job at hand in the Irish Sea.

Alien Long came to the conclusion that a radical change of assignment was just what Brad Mackenzie needed. Though he hated to have to pull him away from his family in Hawaii, Mac was a career officer who had long ago learned either to adjust to such absences or to find a new line of work.

Surely Mac would understand the utter priority of this new assignment. The suspected Soviet mini sub would probably be around long after the missing bombs were recovered. Mac would have a chance to help his country by assisting in the recovery of these weapons.

Then he’d be able to go back to work tracking down his nemesis, this time with a clear and open mind to guide him. Certain Mac would see it his way, the admiral found his thoughts interrupted by the shrill ring of his intercom.

“Yes, bowman,” he barked into the transmitter.

“Sir,” his secretary reported, “it’s Admiral Connors returning your call from Holy Loch, Scotland.”

“Excellent,” returned Long as he picked up the red telephone handset and activated the secure line.

“Bart, Al Long here. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. Listen,

I understand how crazed you are over there right now with the recovery operation and all, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to send someone over the pond to give you a hand. He’s a marine salvage expert, Commander Brad Mackenzie, who helped write the book on ROV’s… yeah, the same one … I thought you could use him… sure, I’ll put him on the next flight…. You too, Bart. Stay healthy, and good luck with your mission.”

Alien Long hung up and turned his gaze back to the Potomac. He had set the wheels in motion. Now he only needed Mac to arrive so that he could explain to him his new destiny.

The lights of Dundalk harbor were getting increasingly brighter, and Liam Lafferty knew that his long, arduous voyage was finally about to come to an end. For two long days and a night he had been drifting helplessly, the victim of a malfunctioning engine carburetor.

Since he had no radio to call for help with, the grizzled fisherman was forced to do the mechanical work himself. Thankful for his time spent at his cousin’s garage when he was a lad, Liam had to practically tear down the greasy carburetor and rebuild it, to get the device operating. By the grace of God, his persistent efforts paid off, and with the ancient engine puttering away like its old self, he gratefully turned the wheel toward home.

One stroke of luck was the excellent weather that continued to prevail. His greatest fear was that a gale would strike while the boat was dead in the water. These seas were notorious for such storms, and rarely did two solid days of fair weather pass in a row.

If a storm arrived, he planned to rig a sea anchor and attempt to ride it out. He would also have had to empty out the hold, to make the boat as light as possible.

This would have meant returning to the sea the massive elongated cannister he had recently plucked from the waters. Since Liam worked for nearly six hours dragging this weighty object on board, he didn’t look favorably upon the idea of having to abandon it so quickly. Besides, he wanted to carry it back to Dundalk and have it properly identified. And then who knew what would follow? For if his suspicions were correct, he’d soon be collecting a fat reward for hauling the charred cannister back to land.

It had apparently floated down from the heavens on a parachute soon after the night sky had lit up like day and the resonant explosion had sounded. Though Liam never saw the cannister hit the water, he arrived in time to find it bobbing on the surface, barely supported by a ring of compressed air floats. Its parachute was still wrapped around it, and it would surely have sunk if Liam hadn’t been there to intervene.

With the same block and tackle that he’d used to lift his largest fish-filled nets, Liam brought it on board with the assistance of a straining winch. To keep it from rolling around, he secured it inside the hold. This left him with little room for any additional fish. But the mysterious object would certainly gain him a reward of some sort, and his profit was all but assured.

Liam’s initial guess was that it was a piece of a satellite that had exploded in the earth’s atmosphere. Most likely it belonged to either the United States of America or the Soviet Union. It didn’t matter much to Liam though. Both countries were rich, and would pay him well for returning their property.

With visions of large stacks of cash dancing before his eyes, Liam finished securing his newfound treasure and went to start up the engines for the trip home.

They sputtered alive, but only operated for a few fleeting seconds before unceremoniously shutting down on their own. Liam sensed trouble, and sure enough found the engine impossible to restart. After a series of angry curses, he rolled up his sleeves and crawled down into the engine room.

For the better part of two days he worked in this greasy, cramped compartment. He broke only for an occasional meal of salted fish or the briefest of naps.

There were several occasions, though, when he rushed topside upon hearing the sound of what he thought was an approaching vessel. But in each instance, the clatter proved to be coming from a grouping of helicopters that must have been in the midst of maneuvers in the area. Since they never got close enough for him to flag them down, Liam could only crawl back to the engine room to get on with his toils.

It was during dusk of the second day that his tireless efforts paid off. The engine coughed alive, and after a brief cry of joy, Liam turned the bow toward the flickering lights of Dunany Point.

Though he wore no watch, he knew it was long after midnight. It had been his father who had taught him how to read the time by checking the location of the stars in the ever-shifting evening sky. Doubting that there’d be anyone down at the main docks in Dundalk to greet him at this hour, Liam decided to tie up at the leisure pier in Dunany. This would put him within walking distance of home. Then after a bath, a nap, and one of his wife’s delicious meals, he’d move the boat back into Dundalk and get on with the process of collecting his reward. With this plan settled, he anxiously set a course for the bright white beacon that shone from the Dunany lighthouse.

Liam reached his goal without incident, and after securing the hold with a padlock, climbed off his boat and began the walk homeward. Solid land felt good beneath his feet. His hike took him up a sloping earthen path. Several times he had to momentarily halt to catch his breath. Only a few years ago he could make this climb without stopping to break his stride, and he was well aware of one of the handicaps of his advanced age. Yet he wisely paced himself, and after a period of hiking would halt, wipe his brow, allow his heaving lungs to settle, and only then continue.

He felt a sense of accomplishment upon attaining the summit. Confident that he still had some life left in his old bones after all, the fisherman scanned the darkened bluff. He could just make out the twisted trunks of the grouping of ancient oaks that gripped the rocky soil here, and the outline of several ramshackle cottages that were interspersed among these trees. Strangely enough, the lights nearest to the bluffs edge were still illuminated.

“I wonder what in heaven is keeping Annie up at such an ungodly hour?” he mumbled to the gentle wind.

Guessing that she had either gotten carried away with her knitting or fallen asleep reading, Liam headed for the cottage to find out.

The first inkling he had that something was seriously wrong was when he spotted the blood-soaked doorknob.

His pulse quickened in alarm as he noted that there were also drops of blood on the mat.

“Annie!” he screamed as he pushed open the door.

He immediately spotted his wife kneeling beside the couch. Laid out before her with his shirt off was the unconscious body of their son, Scan.

“My heavens, Annie! What in God’s name has happened here?”

His wife answered while staunching the flow of blood from Sean’s right shoulder.

“He stumbled in here about a half hour ago. It appears he’s been shot.”

“Shot, you say?”

“That’s what this wound indicates.”

“But who in the world would shoot Sean? I always thought he didn’t have an enemy in the world.”

Almost in answer to his father’s question, Sean began mumbling incoherently.

“Patrick… Patrick … the Crown of Scotland … for the glory of the Brotherhood!”

With this, he lapsed back into unconsciousness.

While his mother wiped his sweat-stained forehead, Liam pondered out loud.

“Who in the hell is this Patrick? And what does the Crown of Scotland have to do with anything? Surely the lad’s delirious.”

“He said the same thing earlier,” retorted Anne Lafferty.

“It’s his mention of the Brotherhood that scares me, Liam. Could he be involved with the IRB?”

Liam looked at his wife as if she was crazy.

“Our Sean, involved with the likes of the Irish Republican Brotherhood? Surely you’re daft, woman. He’s much too sensible to be in league with that group of bloodthirsty Marxist terrorists.”

“I hope you’re right. Because there’s no telling what kind of trash he came in contact with in Dublin. And if he has gone and gotten himself involved with the IRB, that could account for this gunshot wound.”

Liam didn’t want to consider this possibility and turned back toward the front door.

“All I’m certain of is that our son has lost a lot of blood. And since Sean’s going to need some expert tending to if he’s going to pull through, I’d better go and fetch Doc Blackwater.

Can you handle him until we get back?”

Anne Lafferty nodded. Her husband got on with his urgent mission of mercy. Since neither he nor any of his neighbors had telephone service, he once more proceeded on foot. He didn’t even wait for his night vision to return to travel at full stride. This time his route was down a narrow paved roadway that eventually led to Dundalk’s central square. The physician lived on the outskirts of the tiny village of Annagassan, approximately two kilometers from the Lafferty residence.

Liam covered this distance quickly. He barely felt the alien tightness in his legs as he climbed up onto the wide wooden porch and anxiously pressed the bell.

The house was dark, and Liam wondered if the doctor had been called away. If this was the case, Liam would be forced to travel into Dundalk to find the next readily available medical assistance. Again he hit the doorbell, this time with panicky impatience. He was all set to bang his fist against the door when a light popped on. This was followed by a hoarse, muffled voice.

“All right out there, hold your horses. I’m coming!”

The door finally opened, revealing a tall, thin, silver haired man dressed in a robe and slippers. Dr. Tyronne Blackwater was in the process of putting on his wire rim spectacles. Only when these glasses were in place could he identify the individual who had called him from his warm bed.

“Liam Lafferty, what in the world are you doing on my doorstep at this hour? Is Annie all right?”

“Thanks be to God, she is, Doc. It’s my son Sean who’s ailing. It appears he’s been shot in the shoulder.”

“I’ll get my bag! Meet me on my driveway beside the garage.”

Liam turned to follow the physician’s directions and arrived at the garage just as the doctor came out the back door. Somehow in this brief time he had managed to throw on some trousers, shoes, and a jacket, and with his black leather bag in hand, he crossed over to open the garage door. Inside was a dark green Land Rover.

“Get in!” commanded its owner.

Liam complied, and no sooner did he settle himself into the comfortable leather seat than they roared down the driveway.

“Is he at your place?” asked the physician.

“That he is. Annie’s attending to him.”

They drove away from the village. Liam had to grip the hand rest tightly to keep from tumbling over as the doctor sped down the winding roadway as if he was in the midst of a race.

“How much blood has he lost?” the physician asked.

He downshifted to guide them around a tight left-hand turn.

Liam felt his right shoulder press up against the side of the passenger door.

“I can’t say for certain. Doc.

The living room is covered with the stuff, though Annie seemed to have the bleeding under control when I left her.”

“Good. If it was indeed a gunshot, and no vital organs were punctured, then blood loss and shock will be our next concern.”

A cat suddenly darted out in front of the car, and the alert physician instinctively yanked the steering wheel hard to the right. He hit the brakes, and the Range Rover skidded around the frightened feline.

Quick to regain control, Doctor Blackwater shifted into fourth gear and floored the accelerator. Liam’s heart was racing as he was thrown back into his seat. The engine was growling away with a deafening roar, and Liam was in the process of making the sign of the cross before him when they rounded another corner and he spotted the lights of his cottage twinkling on the nearby hillside. Liam pointed in this direction, and the physician nodded and turned them onto a pockmarked dirt trail. With the assistance of the vehicle’s four-wheel drive capability, they bounded up this pitted pathway and seconds later braked to a halt before the cottage’s front door.

Liam didn’t know what to think as he climbed out of the Rover and watched as the front door to his house opened and out came Annie.

“My, you two made it here in a jiffy,” she calmly observed.

“He seems to be sleeping a bit more comfortably now, and the blood has all but stopped flowing from his wound.”

“That’s just the news I wanted to hear,” replied the physician as he quickly made his way to her side.

“Annie, my dear, I always said you’d have made me the perfect nurse. Now let’s have a closer look at your patient to see precisely what the damages are.”

Liam followed them inside and watched as the doctor kneeled down beside the couch and began attending to his son.

“He’s a lucky one, all right,” observed the physician.

“There don’t seem to be any arteries severed, and the wound appears confined to muscle tissue. Annie, I’m going to need some boiling water and plenty of clean linen.”

“It’s on the way,” she replied.

While his wife went off to fulfill this request, Liam guardedly peeked over the physician’s shoulder. Doctor Blackwater had just given Sean a shot and was in the process of gently probing into the wound with a thin steel instrument.

“Will you be sewing it up. Doc?” asked the fisherman.

“Eventually, Liam. But first I’ve got to remove the bullet responsible for this mess. In fact, if you look right here behind this mass of flesh, you can just see the devil.”

Liam had already seen enough, and fighting back the urge to retch, he politely excused himself.

“If you won’t be needing me, Doc, would you mind if I wait this out on the back porch? I think I could use some fresh air.”

“Not at all, Liam. Hopefully, I’ll be able to join you shortly.”

The fisherman left the room just as his wife arrived with a pot of scalding water and an armful of towels.

Liam gratefully ducked outdoors. As he filled his lungs with the cool night air, his queasiness gradually left him. He realized that it was one thing to peer into the insides of a fish that he had just gutted, and another altogether to view the inner workings of his own son.

He wearily seated himself on the edge of the porch and stared out into the blackness. The stars twinkled in the heavens, while below he could just make out the ever-surging ink-black sea. His body felt heavy and fatigued, yet he couldn’t surrender to the call of sleep until he was absolutely certain Sean was out of danger.

Confident that Doctor Blackwater could do the job, Liam focused his thoughts on a different concern. For just who could have been responsible for shooting his son in the first place?

Sean’s last visit home had been during Christmas. At that time he appeared happy, the picture of a successful city dweller. His job as a construction foreman with Guinness was supposedly going splendidly. He enjoyed living in Dublin, where he had a flat of his own and was saving up for a new car. Surely it sounded as if his future financial security was all but assured. That’s why he seriously doubted that Sean would have had anything to do with a Marxist-oriented terrorist group like the IRB.

From what he understood, the Irish Republican Brotherhood recruited its members from the ranks of the economically downtrodden. They were lazy havenots who were too lazy to work for a living. So they took up arms, and disguising themselves as freedom fighters, stole, maimed, and murdered, all in the name of a united Ireland.

Liam remembered hearing about their latest offensive on the television news only last month. At this time a series of violent incidents wracked the six counties that made up Northern Ireland. Exploding bombs destroyed a number of automobiles, and when one blast went off inside a crowded public bus, over a dozen innocent citizens of Armagh were tragically killed.

Attacks on members of the RUC, Northern Ireland’s police force, were also at an all-time high during this so-called early spring offensive. Several cops were taken down by sniper fire, and during one brash attack, the main Belfast police station was hit by a mortar, resulting in horrific casualties.

The British troops subsequently sent in to quell this senseless violence fared no better. They too came under almost constant attack. Liam remembered hearing about one incident that was particularly heinous. Three off-duty British soldiers were invited by a trio of teenaged girls to join them in the outskirts of Londonderry for a party. The soldiers were not much more than teens themselves, and when they arrived, they found themselves accosted by a large group of masked gunmen.

The next morning all three of the young Brits were found in a dumpster, each sent to meet his maker by a pistol shot to the back of the head.

It was the IRB who proudly claimed responsibility for this atrocity, and other acts of violence as well.

Formed as an alternative to the more moderate IRA, the Brotherhood, as they preferred to be called, publicly declared their desired goal of driving the British out of Northern Ireland, by utilizing whatever force they deemed necessary. And once the English were gone, they would refocus their revolution to the south. The Republic of Ireland would be politically reorganized into a socialist state, and the religious hatred that had ravaged the land for centuries past would be tempered by the establishment of Marxist-inspired agnosticism.

And in such a way the “troubles” between the Protestants and the Catholics would be no more.

Liam was all for the cessation of the idiotic violence between the two religious groups. But he certainly didn’t want to have to become a godless communist to attain this goal. Freedom of choice was one of the basic rights his forefathers had fought for, and the fisherman was surely not about to surrender this privilege to a bunch of bloodthirsty terrorists who would shoot their own mothers if it would better their cause.

With his gaze locked on the twinkling heavens, Liam prayed that his son hadn’t gone and gotten himself mixed up with such a dangerous group. As it turned out, this petition was delivered just as a shooting star soared through the night sky. Liam marveled at this sight, and his thoughts went back in time to the fated night that the entire heavens seemed on fire.

With all the excitement that his homecoming had precipitated, he had completely forgotten about the mysterious object that he had pulled from the seas and stored in the hold of his boat. His son’s struggle with death had altered his priorities. Right now, life was the greatest treasure of all, and Liam would easily exchange the reward that would surely be coming to him for the life of his only child.

Liam made the sign of the cross and was in the midst of a reverent Hail Mary when the bass voice of the doctor boomed out behind him.

“Your boy’s going to be just fine, Liam. The bullet was intact when I pulled it out. I closed the wound, and since Annie shares his blood type, was even able to do a transfusion.”

“Thanks be to God!” said Liam passionately.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to give him all the credit,” countered the physician, who sat down beside Liam.

“Without Annie’s help, he would surely have bled to death. And if it wasn’t for you running over to fetch me as you did, there’s no telling what sort of complications would have set in. How about joining me in a wee sip to properly celebrate?”

The physician pulled a compact pewter flask from the pocket of his jacket and added, “What we’re about to partake of is some of Martin Kelly’s famous sipping whiskey. He gave me a jar when I set his heifer’s leg last week. Here’s to you and your family, Liam Lafferty.”

He swallowed a sip of the powerful potion, winced, and handed the flask to the fisherman.

“And here’s to the best doctor in all of County Louth!” toasted Liam as he took a sip of the home brew himself.

They passed the flask between them two more times before the physician looked up into the sky and commented, “It’s a glorious Irish night, Liam. Can you believe we’ve had a whole three days without a drop of rain?”

“It’s a welcomed miracle, all right. Doc. Especially after that wet spell. Why, I thought that those gales would never stop blowing.”

The physician nodded.

“The next front’s most likely bearing down on us while we speak. But in the meantime, we’ve got to make the most of this respite.” After swallowing down another sip of whiskey, he added, “If it’s okay with you, Liam, I’d like to transfer Sean up to my place in Cootehill as soon as he’s a bit stronger. I’ll be going up there shortly, and would like to be able to monitor him for infection.”

Liam accepted the flask.

“Why, that’s very nice of you. Doc. But you really don’t have to go out of your way like that. You’ve done enough already.”

“Nonsense,” returned the physician.

“The lad’s not out of the woods just yet, and I don’t want him to take any chances. Besides, Sean can keep me company while I work the place.”

“You’re a saint, Doctor Tyronne Blackwater, a blessed, kind-hearted saint.”

The physician laughed.

“Hey, I wouldn’t exactly go that far, Liam. Let’s just say since I’m the one who originally brought him into this world twenty-five years ago, I’d like to protect my investment.”

“I’ll tell you what. Doc… I’ll accept your gracious offer to take in Sean only if you’ll agree to take a load of cod that I just brought in from the sea.”

“It’s a deal,” said the physician.

“So your trip was a successful one?”

“More than you would ever dream. Doc. But I’d be telling you a lie if I led you to believe that it was only fish that my hold is filled with.”

“What do you mean by that, Liam?”

The fisherman turned and looked the physician straight in the eye.

“A wondrous thing happened to me while I was out at sea three nights ago. It was a clear, star-lit evening like this one, and as I was preparing to pull in my lines, the entire heavens exploded in a dazzling fireball of light. I tell you Doc, it was as if the sun had suddenly arisen at midnight. A rumbling blast accompanied this phenomenon, and as the light began to fade, I actually saw something floating down from the heavens above. It took a bit of doing, but I reached this object soon after it hit the sea’s surface. What I found was a massive elongated cannister tangled in the shrouds of a parachute. The cannister had a collar of floats around it to keep it from sinking. But they weren’t adequate for its great weight, and instead of allowing the sea to eventually swallow it, I decided to take the object on board myself. My guess was that it came from a satellite. And if this is indeed the case, I’d imagine that its owners would probably be willing to pay a pretty substantial amount for its return.”

The physician seemed enthralled by this story.

“Where’s this object now, Liam?”

“Why, locked in the hold of my boat, down at the Dunany leisure pier,” answered Liam.

“Would you mind showing it to me?”

“Why of course not, Doc. But you don’t mean right now, do you?”

The physician nodded.

“I don’t see why not. I don’t know about you, but I seriously doubt if I’d be able to get back to sleep now even if I tried.”

Liam shrugged.

“Then I guess we’ll go down there and take a look at it, Doc. But is it okay to go and leave Sean?”

“I guarantee you the lad will be out soundly for the next ten hours. And besides, Annie will be close by and knows what to do if any complications should arise.”

The fisherman stood and found his legs a little wobbly.

Tyronne Blackwater noticed this.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll do the driving, Liam. It looks like you’re showing the effects of the most potent batch of home brew this county’s seen in over a decade!”

The drive to the pier took less than ten minutes.

Liam had to be awakened when they arrived, and he rather groggily exited the Range Rover and led the way down to the water’s edge. Dr. Blackwater was all eyes as the fisherman escorted him to the transom of the battered boat, pulled a key from his pocket, and inserted it into a rusty iron padlock. After a bit of effort, this lock was triggered, and Liam lifted up the wooden door.

The physician had to keep from gasping as he viewed the fire-charred metallic cannister.

“Why, this is incredible, Liam. Are you certain this was the object that you saw floating down from the skies?”

Fully awake now, the fisherman answered.

“Why of course I am, Doc. I would have hauled in the parachute also, but it sank.”

Hesitant to get too close to the cannister, the doctor cleared his throat and rather forcefully expressed himself.

“It appears that you’ve indeed managed to pull in a piece of a satellite. It must have broken apart while entering the earth’s atmosphere, and you just happened to be at the right place at the right time.”

“Then it’s worth something?”

“You’d better believe it. This kind of equipment costs a fortune to produce, and its owners will be anxious to show their appreciation when it’s returned. So to ensure that they pay you top dollar, here’s what I suggest: since it’s much too dangerous to leave here unprotected, I’ll have several of the lads who do odd jobs for me get down here to transfer it to a safer location. I’d like to do this tonight, before any of the other boat owners arrive. Secrecy is of paramount importance, if I’m to have any success in the negotiation process.”

Liam seemed puzzled.

“Let me get this straight, Doe — you want me to let you take the cannister, store it away, and then handle all the negotiations with its proper owners?”

“You do want the maximum reward possible, don’t you, Liam?”

As the fisherman nodded. Dr. Blackwater continued.

“I thought that was the case. So lock it back up, and give me the key. And I’ll take care of everything from here on. All you have to do is worry about how you’re going to spend that reward money.”

Liam hesitated a moment before relocking the hold and handing over the key.

“Good,” replied the physician as he pocketed it.

“And one more thing, Liam. You’ve got to swear to me that you’ll keep this whole thing an absolute secret. You’re not even to tell Annie about it. Negotiations of this type demand secrecy, and you could spoil everything if word gets out to the wrong person.”

Thankful to have the services of the worldly physician, Liam decided to trust his old friend. After all, what did he know about negotiating with the superpowers?

He was but a humble fisherman whom the hand of providence just happened to pay a visit to on a night he’d long remember.