It was Mac’s current mission to determine the nationality of this vehicle, and to figure out a way to stop future incursions before America’s very security was compromised.
“If you ask me, it looks like someone’s been driving a Caterpillar tractor down here. Who knows, maybe the guys who were driving it are the same ones who made off with our warhead,” offered the pilot.
Such an idea caused goosebumps to form on Mac’s forearms, and as he was about to respond, the DSRV’s underwater telephone activated. The pilot put the receiver to his ear, and after a brief conversation he handed it to Mac.
“Commander Mackenzie, this is Lieutenant Commander Jenkins on the Bill fish. I’m afraid we’re going to have to get you topside on the double. We just received a priority flash from COMSUBPAC requesting your immediate presence in San Diego. Air transport will be awaiting you on Kwajalein.”
His eyes still glued to the monitor, Mac wondered what had occurred to necessitate his immediate presence in far-off California. The only thing he could be certain of was that it was most likely somehow related to the mysterious set of tracks that were still displayed on the screen before him. Not looking forward to yet another long commute, he wearily instructed the Avalon’s pilot to break off the scan and rejoin the mother ship.
Chapter Two
The sun set over the Irish Sea with a deceptive swiftness.
From the transom of his battered fishing trawler, Liam Lafferty watched the twilight. The western horizon was aglow in breathtaking color. Rich bands of orange and golden yellow merged with the gathering violet of night to produce a unique, ever-changing canvas. Absorbing every detail, the grizzled fisherman prayed it was an omen of good fortune.
For an entire two-week stretch, they had had nothing but one angry gale after another sweep in from the North Atlantic. During this time, only the most desperate fishermen left Dundalk Bay to ply their trade. Most of these individuals returned home with nothing but smashed equipment and a severe case of seasickness to show for their efforts.
Even though his family was already down to half-portions of cod, Liam wasn’t one of those fools who challenged the windswept tempests. Better to go hungry than lose one’s life to the elements. This was a lesson that the old-timer learned the hard way, for he had lost his father and his only brother to just such a storm.
Less than three hours ago, the red pennant was lowered from the harbormaster’s flagpole. Shortly thereafter, the dark canopy of lowlying clouds that had been with them for the past fourteen days began to clear.
Liam was working on his lines in the shed behind his cottage when a neighbor excitedly conveyed the good news. Without wasting a second, Liam gathered his line and hooks, and rushed from his cottage to get his seabag.
He was able to get his trawler to sea just as the tide began to change.
He had been out for a good two hours now and already had several fat fish in the hold. Soon it would be time to once more pull in the lines to add to this catch.
But before he did so, he decided to have a smoke. He packed his trusty briar pipe with tobacco and lit the bowl with a wooden match. The aromatic scent of rum and vanilla wafted upward as Liam exhaled a long ribbon of smoke.
With his gaze still locked on the western horizon, he watched the vibrant colors of twilight begin to fade. The night was swiftly taking over, and a sharp crescent moon crowned this inevitable triumph. Almost directly beneath this celestial orb, Liam spotted the distant, flickering directional beacon at Dunany Point. Since he had no navigational equipment of his own to speak of, he preferred to keep this light in sight at all times. As long as he knew in what direction it lay, not even the arrival of a sudden gale or fog bank could disorientate him.
His son Sean was forever pestering him to buy one of the newfangled Loran directional finders. Such a device would allow him to find his way home even without the assistance of the Dunany Point beacon. In this way, argued Sean, he could vastly increase his fishing territory and assure his future safety as well.
Liam wanted no part of such expensive, wasteful contraptions.
He was a traditionalist who much preferred to work with as few mechanical devices as possible. Fancy equipment was always breaking down. Besides costing a fortune to repair, it only made life that much more complicated.
Though the territory he could cover was limited without such gear, he could still get the job done just as his forefathers had for seven generations before him.
If Sean was so anxious to help him increase his catch, the very least he could do was give his father a hand once in a while. Sean was his only son, and Liam had hoped he would take an interest in his father’s craft. As a child, Sean seemed to love the sea and accompanied Liam on many a fishing trip. The boy was bright and inquisitive, and was a great help when it came to baiting the hooks and hauling in the catch.
It was when Sean dropped out of upper school that he seemed to lose all interest in both his family and fishing. Bored of life in provincial Dundalk, he moved to Dublin, where he got a job at the Guinness brewery.
Though Liam hated to lose him, at least the boy had gotten himself a decent job and was taking care of himself.
Content to let him do his thing, Liam made the best of the situation. Even though he was pushing sixty five he was in decent health and could still manage his affairs quite capably.
His wife Anne wanted him to hire an apprentice.
Liam would have no part of such a ridiculous thing.
Even in bountiful times, fishing was a poor man’s occupation.
Liam’s profits were meager, and bringing in an outsider would only dilute them that much further. Besides, he honestly enjoyed working by himself. At least during his time at sea, he could be guaranteed genuine peace and quiet. Clever small talk and gossip were not for him. Like his father and grandfather before him, Liam was a loner. Bringing an apprentice from outside the family would make serene evenings such as this one impossible, and as far as he was concerned, it just wasn’t worth the bother.
Taking a contented pull on his pipe’s worn stem, Liam redirected his gaze upward. The rapidly darkening sky was unusually clear, and the evening star could be seen close beside the new moon. Further up in the heavens, a myriad of twinkling stars greeted him.
With his gaze still locked skyward, the old-timer muttered a prayer to the gently blowing wind.
“Heavenly Father, I realize that I’m not one of your most devout subjects, but I really do try to live within your gospel even if I don’t make it to church every Sunday. So with that in mind, could you please see to it that this good weather holds, and that I’ll return home with a full hold before my Annie’s forced to eat the last of the cod.
That woman’s an angel if I ever met one, and it’s for her sake alone that I issue this prayer. For yours is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever.
Amen.”
Hurriedly crossing himself, Liam took one last look at the twinkling expanse of stars that covered the black heavens before sticking the stem of his pipe back in his mouth and turning to get back to his fishing.