“Probably next, we’ll be pulling in fish with two heads on them. Though speaking of the devil, did I ever tell you gents about the time I came across a cod that had no dorsal fin on it? Why, it was unbelievable. I had just anchored off Carlingford Lough when I…”
Barely paying this story any notice, Liam pondered the content of the flier that his coworkers had just mentioned. Per his promise to Dr.
Blackwater, he had yet to tell anyone about the mysterious object that he had fished from the seas and the fantastic light in the heavens that had accompanied it.
Surely this same incident was what the flier was referring to. To see it with his own eyes, he hurriedly finished off his stout and excused himself.
By the muted light of dusk, Liam hurried down to the main pier. Sure enough, tacked to the bulletin board there was an official-looking flier. With the sea gulls crying in the distance, he read the poster and was somewhat surprised to find it signed by the United States Navy. So they were the owners of the elongated capsule that had floated down from the heavens, thought Liam, whose next step was quite obvious..
he would have to inform Dr. Blackwater of this at once!
He needed to get change from a stranger in order to use one of the dockside telephones. Yet much to his frustration, all that he got when he dialed the physician’s number was one of those infernal answering machines.
Supposing that he was still up at his clinic in Cootehill with Sean, Liam decided to return home, where Dr. Blackwater had left his County Caven telephone number on the back of one of his business cards.
Liam splurged on a taxi. This got him back to his cottage in a little under fifteen minutes. It was almost pitch dark outside as he paid off the driver and began the long hike up his walk. A brisk wind howled in from the northwest. The stars had long since been blotted out by a low mantle of fast-moving clouds, and Liam was expecting the rain to begin falling any minute. He was grateful as he climbed up the last step and breathlessly made his way onto the porch. It was at that moment that he first heard the male voices inside and realized that his wife wasn’t alone.
He entered anxiously and found Annie seated on the couch, with five burly young men surrounding her.
Though they were all dressed in civilian garb, there was no doubt in the fisherman’s mind that they were military, as a sandy-haired, square-jawed individual stood and flashed Liam an official looking ID card.
“Mr. Lafferty, we’re with the authorities, and we wish to know …”
Before the stranger could continue, Liam interrupted him.
“I know what you’re here for, young man. And I’m sorry to say that it’s no longer in my possession.”
Confused by this response, Major Colin Stewart looked vainly to Mrs. Lafferty, and was prepared to question anew, when Liam spoke again.
“I feel truly horrible about it. I really do. I should have reported fishing it from the sea the minute I got back. I still don’t know why I ever listened to the doc like I did.”
Though the Highlander still didn’t know what Liam was going on about, he couldn’t help but express his curiosity.
“Just what exactly are you referring to, sir?”
“Why, the piece of satellite, of course,” retorted Liam.
“What else would I have fished from the sea on that fated night when the heavens caught fire?”
Fearful that her husband had either had too much to drink or had gone completely insane, Annie Lafferty interceded.
“Liam, these men are here inquiring about Sean. They say that his life could be in danger, and they want to speak to him at once.”
The confused fisherman scratched his stub bled chin.
“Then you’re not with the United States Navy?”
Colin Stewart shook his head.
“Most definitely not, Mr. Lafferty. We’re here solely concerning your son. So if you value his life at all, you’ll tell us where we can find him.”
“Of course I value his life. And though I don’t know what all this fuss is about, you can find him at Dr. Blackwater’s clinic at Cootehill House,” returned Liam matter-of-factly. Suddenly realizing how close he had come to breaking his promise to the physician, Liam added, “In fact, I was just about to call up there and talk to the doc. Shall I tell him that you’re going up there?”
“Most definitely not,” returned Colin Stewart emphatically.
“Come on, lads, we’ve got some traveling to do.”
The five strangers stood up and hurriedly exited.
This left the confused fisherman alone in the living room with his wife. His thoughts dulled by the alcohol he had consumed earlier and by his mind-boggling discovery down at the docks, Liam scratched his chin.
“Well, don’t just sit there with that worried look on your face, Annie. Sean will be just fine. He’s in Doc’s care now, and these lads who just paid us a visit will soon see that for themselves. So since that’s settled, what’s for supper?”
“How can you even think about food at a time like this, Liam Lafferty? I think those men were holding something back. I bet it concerns how Sean got that gunshot wound. Who knows, maybe they’re the ones who did it to him.”
With the realization that he wasn’t going to be getting any peace of mind this evening until he got to the bottom of this mystery, he decided to get on with his call to Cootehill. Then he’d tell Dr. Blackwater about the flier he had seen down at the pier, and the visit of the five brawny strangers, with or without their blessings.
One thing that he could be sure of was that the doc would know what to make of these intruders.
Chapter Twelve
Mac found himself spending most of his time aboard the submarine with the Bowfin’s navigator. Together they charted the rapidly expanding debris field that was being conveyed to them via underwater telephone from the hydrographic ship. They also constantly updated the positions of the search fleet topside. This conglomeration of sonar platforms was recently augmented by the arrival of the two minesweepers. Their high-density sensors swept every inch of the sea bottom with a probing sonic beacon, and they had already located a large part of the B-52’s fuselage that had previously eluded them. Currently searching adjoining sectors were the Sea Stallion helicopters with their towed sonar sleds, and the powerful sensors of the sub rescue ship USS Pigeon. A welcome addition were two frigates that took up positions at the edge of the debris field to keep out unwanted trespassers, such as the Russian intelligence trawler that briefly brushed by them earlier.
It was the Bowfin’s navigator who had the idea of trying to figure out the basic trajectories of the survivors of the crash in order to pin down the likely path of the missing bombs. Mac was impressed with the bespectacled lieutenant, who had recently graduated from the University of Michigan with a degree in advanced mathematics. After receiving the exact coordinates where the crew were plucked from the seas and making an adjustment for drift due to the current, Tim Murray constructed an intricate formula of drag coefficients and wind speeds.
Since the two bombs that had already been located were found miles apart, it was determined that they were ripped out of the plane’s fuselage one by one, not pulled out together, as was originally supposed.
This could make their difficult job even harder, since there was no telling if the parachutes of the missing devices even deployed correctly.
Mac realized that their job could take weeks. That’s why it was so important to organize the initial search efficiently. Otherwise they’d end up wasting valuable hours backtracking over quadrants that had already been scanned. Consigned to just such a time-consuming operation, Mac was pleasantly surprised when word was passed down to them that one of the minesweepers had made a promising discovery in the debris field’s southernmost sector.