Sam looked over to see the Secretary of Defense. She was on her phone — most likely giving the President her account of the events. She hung up and walked toward them.
“I suppose a thank you is in order.” It was as close as the Secretary of Defense had ever come to thanking him for his services. “You must know that the events of the past five weeks must be buried as deep as Atlantis. As for our involvement in it, we will deny everything. And Russia will continue to stay out of it. Any public appreciation would be out of the question.”
“Of course.” He smiled at her. Sam wondered how much her appearance of disliking him was a pretense. She smiled back. It was almost seductive in its array of meanings. Somehow, while he’d let his guard down on the pretense of flirtation, she had sensed his reticence.
She smiled pervasively at him. The way a beautiful woman knew to seduce any information out of a man. He couldn’t stand the woman, but there was no denying she was insatiably beautiful. Her coy, flirtatious smile ended abruptly, as though she’d seen straight through him. Back to her normal, arrogant self, she said, “You learned something, didn’t you?”
“About Atlantis?” He smiled. “No, only more questions. But seeing as your organization is in the business of plausible denial, I won’t try and interrogate you for their answers.”
“Not about Atlantis. You made an unexpected discovery about the Master Builders, didn’t you?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not.”
Sam had been introduced to one of the greatest theories about the Master Builders since he’d first heard of their existence. It would change everything about the future, but he would be damned if he was going to tell her what he’d learned before he found some proof. Even he thought Billie’s explanation was fanciful, at best.
Chapter Eighty-Six
Sam sat down on the balcony of his father’s Fifth Avenue Penthouse overlooking one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Tom poured the glass of champagne for everyone. Billie took a glass and so did Matthew, Sam’s skipper of the Maria Helena, who had flown in that night to celebrate.
Holding his own glass up high, Sam said, “A toast, to the human race. May we learn from our mistakes, so that we gain the right to survive.”
They each drank quickly.
“So, what are you going to do now?” Sam asked, staring at Billie.
“You and I both know where I have to go,” she replied.
“Where?” Tom asked.
“If the ancient Master Builders really were immortal, it would finally explain some of the research that my grandfather did. I have to return to one of the earliest archeological sites I ever visited — to a place my grandfather took me when I was just a little girl. And then I have to complete what he started.”
“So you’re leaving us again?” Matthew said.
“I’m afraid so. But don’t worry. When I have the answers that I’m looking for, I’ll call your boss for some help. Sam, I’ve saved your ass enough times over the past decade. One of these days, I’m going to call in that favor, and you and Tom are going to help me complete this thing.”
Sam poured another glass, drank it, and then replied, “I’m looking forward to the day that we both have answers on that account.”
The night carried on, and the four of them consumed far more alcohol than any of them intended. Finally, Sam looked at Matthew and said, “Tell me Matthew, what’s happened?”
Matthew shook his head. “What do you mean?”
“I know you. There’s little that would make you leave your beloved ship, the Maria Helena, alone for more than a few hours, let alone an entire twenty-four of them. I appreciate you’ve come here to celebrate, but in all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never once sat down and had a glass of anything with me until tonight. So, now I ask again, what’s happened?”
Matthew’s face flushed. “There’s been another rogue wave.”
“Any casualties?”
“Yes, another ship — the Global Star.”
“That makes three of my father’s liners this month? He must be ropable. I’m surprised he hasn’t called to tell me to fix it.” Sam stopped and looked at Matthew’s expression. “Christ, he sent you to retrieve me, didn’t he?”
“Yes. He’s lost three of his ships.”
“But the weather’s been good.”
“That’s just it, Sam… rogue waves occur out of complete randomness. There’s no way to predict when one will strike. On average, every 4th wave is one and a half times the median height of the waves in an area, whereas every 16th is double. However, only one out of every 800,000 is a rogue wave, described as more than ten times the median wave height.”
Sam nodded his head. He was mildly inebriated and he’d heard the science of rogue waves previously. “So what? Rogue waves occur randomly in nature.”
“And yet three have occurred within the Bermuda Triangle in the past month. The shipping captains have started to complain its bad luck; the insurance companies are crying fraud; and I’m afraid something much more sinister is happening.”
Sam thought about it for a moment before replying. “You have any idea what the hell might be causing that, Tom?”
“Not a clue. If it was hurricane season, or something, maybe. But there’s currently no severe weather warnings on the forecast.”
“Okay, I’m away for a few days. I promised Aliana we’d go somewhere far from the ocean. Then I suggest we take the Maria Helena for a cruise into Bermuda in hunt of whatever’s creating these artificial rogue waves, and put a stop to it…”