Alexis stared at him. Her eyes vacant with fear. “You’re crazy!”
Cassidy ignored her words and continued. “The one to the right is the largest nuclear bomb ever constructed. This will cause the Van Allen belt to vibrate in the right frequency using sound waves to destabilize all electricity around the world. Of course, the downside is the fall out of nuclear radiation will most likely kill most living human beings. There will be survivors and I’m willing to take that risk, if you leave me no choice. Like I said, I would let you choose to help me, and I think you’ll make the right choice. So, what would you like to do?”
Alexis swallowed hard. “I’ll build your stupid thirty-six Higgs Bosons model.”
Chapter Seventy-Seven
On the bridge of the USS Texas Elise had been working hard following her program which compared dark rain clouds picked up on satellite imaging with real-time meteorological observations, such as water temperature, wave height, wind speed and direction. The theory was simple. If Robert Cassidy was triggering the satellites to imagine a cloud was there that didn’t exist in order to conceal the Island, it would become obvious when compared with other weather patterns that could be verified. Ergo any anomaly would most likely be the Island. There was just one problem with her program — it had found eleven such weather and satellite anomalies.
Elise blinked hard. She had been analyzing her computer readouts for thirty-six consecutive hours without a break. When she opened her eyes a message was flashing in the bottom right hand corner of her laptop screen. She clicked open and read the contents of the message. She swiped the laptop screen to the left until she reached a radio App. She opened it and listened to the current radio message.
Elise grinned. “Margaret!” Elise was the only person who felt comfortable calling her by her first name and not by her title as Secretary of Defense. Margaret had somehow been involved in her life since she was a baby. “You need to listen to this.”
“What is it?” The Secretary of Defense asked.
Elise pressed play. “Just listen.”
The depressing sound of Gloomy Sunday played. Margaret frowned. “You know why Robert chose that song, don’t you?”
“No. Why?”
“When Rezső Seress wrote it in 1933 some say he was challenging the Great Depression and increasing fascist influence in his native Hungary. The basis of Seress's lyrics is a reproach to the injustices of man, with a prayer to God to have mercy on the modern world and the people who perpetrate evil. Cassidy is telling us our greed has failed and he is going to make us repent.”
“Really?” Elise wasn’t convinced the Secretary of Defense wasn’t reading too much into it.
“Why did you want me to listen to it anyway?”
“Forget the song. Can you hear the static interruptions?”
“Yeah. What about them?”
“They’re a series of on and offs making the signals found in Morse code.”
“What do they say?”
“They don’t say anything. They simply repeat the coordinates for a certain location.”
“Do you think it’s a trick?” Margaret asked.
“No. I think it’s Sam.” Elise brought up the digital map and marked the coordinates. “And I think we’d better reach this point here as soon as possible if we want any chance of sinking the Island before Robert Cassidy launches his weapon.”
Chapter Seventy-Eight
The yellow de-Havilland Tiger Moth circled the submerged island. Sam placed the military grade rebreather mask over his face. It recycled oxygen and scraped carbon dioxide from his exhaled air. It was the first time he’d ever piloted an aircraft and SCUBA dived simultaneously. Tom tapped him on the shoulder to say he was ready.
Sam gave the all-okay Q symbol with his right hand and then pointed downwards with his thumb. He reduced power and placed the aircraft into a glide. He banked left onto the downwind leg and reduced altitude to 1000 feet, before turning left onto a short base run before banking into the wind for the final approach.
Sam pushed the stick forward and gradually lowered the nose of the aircraft. He increased flaps to full and the sea slowly loomed closer. The stall speed on the Tiger Moth was twenty-five miles an hour, but even at that speed if he landed poorly he or Tom could still end up breaking their necks. He took in a deep breath ten feet off the ground. Then slowly exhaled as he pulled the stick towards his chest, lifting the nose up until it flared and stalled as the front landing wheels struck the sea.
Seawater flew across the windshield and in an instant the aircraft dipped gently below the water as though it had been carefully dropped. Sam’s head jolted forward in the process, striking the instrument panel. He wasn’t injured, but a slight crack formed on his full-faced dive mask. He turned to see Tom grinning and making the okay symbol with his right hand. A moment later the Tiger Moth began its journey to the seabed below.
Sam and Tom rode the sinking Tiger Moth to the seabed forty feet below. Bubbles of air from the cockpit and engine manifold rippled across their faces. Both men remained still as possible, mindful someone from the Island could be watching for survivors.
The old aircraft landed gracefully on the icy seafloor on a solid block of ice. Less than fifty feet away Sam could clearly see a submerged manmade runway — proving they had reached the Island. Sam grabbed the Heckler & Koch MP5, a preferred weapon by frogmen around the world for its ability to fire just as well after submersion. He then pulled on his fins and freed himself from the cockpit.
Tom swam up to him, pointed at the runway and wrote on his dive tablet: BAD LANDING. NOT EVEN CLOSE TO RUNWAY!
Sam laughed, wiped the chalk note off and then wrote: SORRY. YOU OKAY?
Tom nodded and then wrote below: FINE. WATER’S FREEZING. LET’S GO.
Sam brought up the digital version of the schematics for the Island which the Secretary of Defense had given him. She’d explained that Robert Cassidy had probably made some changes, but the main tunnels were unlikely to change and would provide the best chance of gaining access to the interior of the Island. He drew a line across his digital tablet and marked the main entrance, where the nuclear submarine most likely docked.
It had been a while since the two had relied on hand gestures and written notes when they dived. Their “push-to-talk” diving radio was blocked by the same depressing song the rest of Antarctica had to bear currently. Even so, he could understand what Tom was thinking — it’s time to get out of the cold and to do that, they needed to gain access below.
Sam took the lead and swam to the end of the flat surface of the Island. He descended sixty feet, opening his jaw several times in the process to allow his ears to equalize. At the bottom he entered a large cave that extended halfway across the Island and moved in an upwards direction.
He followed the opening inside. A large air pocket existed above and he was able to surface. The cavern opened up to a dry area roughly the size of a football field. The place was well lit with high powered, UV emitting lights — designed to make the place feel like a beach. A subterranean sandy beach rested sixty feet away. It looked like the real thing, right down to palm trees, beach chairs, and a volley ball net. A long jetty ran out to where a black Benjamin Franklin class nuclear submarine was moored.