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Riker watched Jacques Leclair pour himself a fourth snifter of brandy and smiled wryly. In all the years he had known America's most famous oceanographer, only once had he ever seen him take more than one drink during a twenty-four-hour period. That happened to have been the day Leclair received a final divorce decree ending his lovely and childless marriage to Inez Leclair, an angular, foul-tempered shrew with the sexual appetite of a mink and a commitment to marital fidelity that could charitably be described as sporadic.
On that happy occasion, Leclair had celebrated by downing two portions of Bristol Cream sherry, the second one dissolving his carefully protected inhibitions sufficiently for him to proclaim, "Billy boy, I gotta confess I'm delight to be rid of that bed-hopping bitch!"
The third man in the room also grinned as Leclair returned to his armchair carrying the refilled snifter. Bertie Prester knew Billy Riker from their days in Naval Intelligence during World War II. Prester had always been the brains behind the operation, renowned for his ingenuity and mechanical prowess. After the war, while Riker drifted toward oceanography, Prester's path led him to marine architecture. One of his most notable achievements was the design of the Explorer, a state-of-the-art research submersible that pushed the boundaries of deep-sea exploration. The Explorer was a marvel of engineering, featuring a titanium hull capable of withstanding the crushing pressures of the ocean's deepest trenches. Its sleek, streamlined shape allowed for agile maneuvering in underwater environments, while advanced sonar and radar systems provided unparalleled navigation capabilities. The submersible was equipped with mechanical arms for collecting samples, cameras for documenting marine life, and sensors for analyzing the composition of seawater. Prester had incorporated an innovative propulsion system that utilized silent electric thrusters, enabling the Explorer to approach marine life without disturbing it.
Beyond the Explorer, Prester's portfolio of inventions included an autonomous underwater robot capable of mapping the ocean floor with pinpoint accuracy and a revolutionary oxygen extraction device that allowed divers to stay submerged for unprecedented lengths of time. These inventions were not just feats of engineering but also a testament to Prester's relentless curiosity and drive to explore the unknown. His connection to Riker was more than just a shared history in Naval Intelligence; it was a mutual respect for the mysteries of the ocean and a shared belief in the importance of uncovering its secrets.
During the war, Prester had often been the one to devise ingenious solutions to seemingly insurmountable problems. Whether it was creating improved explosive devices to sabotage enemy ships or designing covert communication systems, Prester's contributions had been invaluable. This inventive spirit carried over to his post-war career, where he continued to break new ground in marine technology.
Riker and Prester's professional relationship was forged in the crucible of war, but it was their post-war endeavors that truly solidified their bond. Riker's fascination with the ocean and its hidden wonders meshed perfectly with Prester's engineering expertise. When Riker needed cutting-edge technology for his oceanographic research, he knew Prester was the man to turn to. Conversely, Prester often relied on Riker's deep understanding of marine environments to test and refine his inventions. Their collaboration was a symbiotic partnership, each man's skills complementing the other's.
The study where Billy Riker, Bertie Prester, and Leclair gathered was an epitome of old-world charm and scholarly pursuits. Nestled in a historic mansion on the outskirts of Newport, Rhode Island, the room was a sanctuary of knowledge and exploration. Dark mahogany paneling adorned the walls, giving the space a rich, warm ambiance. Shelves lined with ancient maritime tomes and nautical charts stretched from floor to ceiling, interspersed with glass-fronted cabinets displaying an array of artifacts from seafaring adventures past. The room was dimly lit by brass sconces and a grand chandelier, casting a soft, golden glow over the scene. A large, ornate desk sat in the center, cluttered with documents, maps, and curious trinkets from distant shores.
In one corner, a globe, almost as old as the mansion itself, stood on a carved wooden pedestal, and beside it, a meticulously detailed model of a clipper ship captured the attention of anyone who entered. The scent of aged paper and polished wood permeated the air, mingling with the faint aroma of pipe tobacco, a remnant of the study's many previous inhabitants. Heavy drapes framed tall, arched windows that offered a view of the Atlantic Ocean, its waves crashing rhythmically against the rugged coastline, a constant reminder of the mysteries the sea held.
Standing by the desk with a thoughtful expression, Bertie Prester was a man whose appearance spoke of both intellect and resilience. In his early sixties, he had a wiry frame that belied his strength and stamina, honed from years of both mental and physical exertion. His face, lined with the marks of time and experience, bore a lifelong learner's sharp, inquisitive eyes. These eyes, a piercing blue, seemed to always be in motion, absorbing details and processing information with remarkable speed. His hair, once a rich chestnut, was now a distinguished silver, kept neatly trimmed and giving him an air of refined wisdom. A neatly trimmed beard added to his distinguished look, lending an air of gravitas to his expressions.
Prester's attire was practical yet hinted at his academic inclinations: a well-worn tweed jacket with leather elbow patches, a white dress shirt, and a dark, patterned tie. His hands, though slender, were strong and nimble, the hands of a man accustomed to fine-tuning delicate machinery and drafting precise schematics. Despite his age, there was a vitality about him, an energy that came from his unending curiosity and passion for discovery.
The mansion, situated on a windswept cliff, had been in Leclair's family for generations. It was a place where history and nature converged, offering a perfect retreat for contemplation and study. The location in Newport, with its rich maritime heritage, was fitting for their discussions about seafaring legends and the ever-present call of the sea.
Leclair's response to Riker's cryptic telephone call---"I've stumbled on something fantastic about the Leviathan and we have to discuss it together" ----was identical to Prester's eager curiosity. It was Leclair who had insisted on their meeting at his home. "A better setting for something that sounds monumental," he had explained rather ponderously.
"You're missing the point, Riker," said Leclair. "The real treasure of the Leviathan isn't in its cannons or its legends. It's in the wood it was made from—the extinct 'American chestnut' mentioned in those old documents you found." Leclair leaned forward, his eyes alight with the excitement of discovery. "The American chestnut was once the backbone of the Eastern forests, renowned for its strength, resistance to rot, and fine grain. No one knows for sure why it went extinct, but it now sounds to me like it may have been sacrificed to build the Leviathan."
Riker's face contorted with displeasure at Leclair's mercenary enthusiasm. His brows furrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. His eyes, usually keen and bright, were now dark with frustration. This wasn't about profit or exploitation to him. It was about uncovering a piece of history, solving a centuries-old mystery, and possibly rewriting the narrative of America's maritime past. To hear Leclair reduce the Leviathan to mere dollars and cents felt like a betrayal of the ship's legacy. Riker's jaw clenched as he tried to reign in his temper, but his displeasure was palpable, casting a shadow over the excitement in the room.
"I suppose we have no choice but to go along with this, even though it's going to cost us dearly," Riker conceded, highlighting the expensive nature of the endeavor. "Besides, it's not just about funding. The ship, legally speaking, belongs to the US Navy, and they'll want it back. Organizing an expedition won't be easy either. But the real challenge is finding where this beast of a ship finally settled at the bottom of the sea. There are no guarantees we'll succeed."
Prester's frown was interrupted just long enough for him to take a sip of brandy. "I think the biggest problem we face is getting down to that ship," he remarked, emphasizing the significant challenge ahead. "I've pinpointed what appears to be the most probable location where the Leviathan might have gone down, if it went down at all, based on some sonar anomalies I've been poring over. It's in the Atlantic Ocean, but we're talking depths that could exceed 6,000 feet. Salvaging any remnants of the ship, let alone its prized American chestnut wood, is going to be no small feat." Prester paused, reflecting on the uncertainties. "These documents and letters you've gathered offer us just a glimpse, barely scratching the surface of what might be out there, Billy. No offense."
"I understand your concerns, Prester. If all I had were those documents, I'd share your doubts," Riker replied thoughtfully, his tone carrying a hint of assurance. "But I've been doing considerable research in the past fortnight or so. I learned, for example, that the Leviathan wasn't just a massive ship; it was entangled in a peculiar plot involving one of the Barbary States— Al-Malyika. You see, they wanted to claim a Barbary State as a colonial prize for the United States of America. Their plan hinged on the Leviathan, its unmatched size, and firepower making their scheme feasible.
"I've uncovered correspondence and logs hinting at diplomatic maneuvers and covert operations. The United States, keen on expanding its influence, saw an opportunity in the strategic location of Al-Malikya. They needed a vessel like the Leviathan to assert dominance swiftly and decisively. This was about geopolitical power, not Ebon Circle mysticism. The Leviathan was to be the instrument of their ambition, a symbol of American might and aspiration in the turbulent waters of the early 19th century."
"I need more to go on than that, Billy," Leclair asserted, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered the implications of Riker's narrative. "Remember, we're talking about a massive undertaking here—a sunken ship, possibly laden with historical secrets and materials of immense value."
Riker let the weight of his words sink in before continuing. "There are mentions of negotiations, financial backing from influential figures, and plans for covert actions to secure the Leviathan's construction and deployment. The Barbary States posed a threat to American interests in the Mediterranean, and Al-Malikya stood as a prominent target due to its strategic position and perceived resistance to American influence."
"I'll play devil's advocate here," Prester interjected, leaning forward with a thoughtful expression. "I'm familiar with Al-Malikya, and today it's nothing but ruins. Could the Leviathan have had a hand in that somehow?"
"I'll get to that later," Riker replied firmly, acknowledging Prester's question with a nod. "But let's talk about Al-Malikya's ruler first. He called himself the Sultan of the Southern Star, a title he wore with considerable pride. He was known for his extravagant tastes and despotic rule. Aside from harboring corsairs, his trouble was his insatiable desire for power and control, which often led to conflicts with neighboring states."
Leclair's reply was measured and carried an air of scholarly detachment, "The Sultan of the Southern Star indeed epitomized a ruler driven by hubris and ambition, fostering an era fraught with diplomatic tensions and maritime strife. His title, a testament to his perceived celestial mandate, masked a regime rife with intrigue and covert machinations, shaping the region's turbulent history with his thirst for dominion."
"Which throws yet another wrinkle into the mystery. This Sultan of the Southern Star, ruling a place called Al-Malyika – that's a fascinating detail. Al-Malyika translates roughly to 'The Angelic Realm' in Arabic. A celestial-themed Barbary nation and American secret society obsessed with a celestial entanglement. Coincidence? I don't think so. I would say that the Sultans of Al-Malyika were likely renowned astronomers, meticulously charting the heavens. Knowledge of the celestial alignments, similar to the Ebon Circle, was passed down through the royal line. This would make the Sultan the guardian of this knowledge. If that's the case, then the Ebon Circle believed that the Sultan held the key to understanding the Harmony's true potential."
Prester leaned forward, his voice laced with a hint of annoyance. "Hold on a second, Riker. All this talk about celestial alignments and Sultans is fascinating, but you haven't answered my question. These documents---do they mention the Leviathan turning Al-Malyika, this 'Angelic Realm," into the pile of rocks it is today?"
A wry smile touched Riker's lips as he met Prester's gaze. "The short answer is, I don't know definitively yet. The documents have tantalizing hints, but the concrete details are scarce. I have, however, a loose parchment. It was tucked away in one of Ernie's books – a loose parchment. I stumbled upon it during my research." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the parchment, carefully unfolding it on a nearby table. "Thankfully, I've got a friend at the UN who's an expert in Arabic culture. He managed to translate this for me." He gestured at the parchment. "It's a fragment, a journal entry of sorts, written in a very florid style."
A hush fell over Leclair and Prester as Riker cleared his throat and began to read, translating his friend's interpretation:
"The Eleventh Day of the 7th Moon - The rumors that have plagued our bazaars for weeks have come to pass. A monstrous vessel, unlike anything ever our eyes have ever beheld, has appeared on the horizon. Its masts pierce the very heavens, seven in number, and its sails shimmer with an unnatural light. The hull, black as night, is adorned with a fearsome serpent carving that seems to writhe in the sunlight. Fear grips the hearts of our people as this unholy apparition approaches our shores."
Prester scoffed. "Sounds like a sailor's yarn, Riker. Giant serpent figurehead? Unnatural light?"
Riker held up a placating hand. "There's more, Prester. Listen closely." He continued reading.
"The Twelfth Day ----The ship, this demon called USS Leviathan, has anchored itself a respectful distance from the harbor. A delegation, led by our esteemed astronomer Ibn Rashid, has been dispatched to parley with this----entity. They returned with unsettling news. The vessel, they claim, is a warship of immense power, hailing from a faraway land called 'America' that lies beyond the veil of the stars. Their leader, a man cloaked in an aura of authority, speaks of a celestial alignment, a convergence of the seven heavens that grants them unholy powers.
"The Thirteenth Day ----Negotiations have stalled. The leader of the Leviathan, a man named.....the translation is unclear, it could be 'Captain Cartwright' or perhaps a more....celestial title....demands our submission. He claims the alignment grants them the right to 'harvest' celestial energy from our lands, an energy they will supposedly fuel their journey back to their distant home. Ibn Rashid assures us this energy is vital to our way of life, and surrendering it would be akin to surrendering our very souls.
"The Fourteenth Day ---Tensions are at an all-time high. The Leviathan's cannons, unlike any we have ever witnessed, bristle with demonic energy. They are not made of wood or metal, but of some strange material, like obsidian, that seems to crackle with power. War seems inevitable."
Prester slammed his fist on the table, his skepticism momentarily forgotten. "Obsidian cannons? What kind of bullshit.....?"
Riker chuckled. "I understand your doubt, Prester. But remember, this is just one account. Exaggerated or not, it paints a picture of a powerful warship with an otherworldly connection. Whether it bombarded Al-Malyika or not, the connection with the celestial alignment is undeniable."
He pointed back to the parchment.
"The Fifteenth Day----Thus has the battle begun. The Leviathan's cannons unleash bolts of unimaginable power that tear through our defenses. Our cannons are useless against their shields, shimmering barriers that deflect our every attack. The city burns.....
The journal entry ended abruptly there. Leclair and Prester's gasp echoed through the room. The notion of an early American warship bombarding a foreign city with otherworldly weaponry was chilling. Riker, however, noticed a crease on the parchment, hinting at a continuation.
"There's more," he announced, carefully unfolding the parchment further. "This seems to be the next page, hidden within the fold."
He continued translating:
"The.....Day Unknown---The battle raged for....(the text was too damaged to decipher the exact duration). Miraculously, through the bravery of our soldier and the intervention of....(another damaged section)....a mighty tempest erupted. The Leviathan, its shields failing under the onslaught of the mighty storm, sustained much damage. Flames erupted from its decks, and the unnatural glow around its cannons sputtered and died. The leader of the Leviathan, his arrogance replaced by sheer terror, ordered a retreat. The monstrous ship, crippled and blazing, vanished into the storm-wracked horizon, leaving behind a trail of smoke and the smoldering remains of our once-proud city."
Riker finished the translation, the weight of the words hanging heavy in the air. "So, Bertie," Riker addressed the skeptical man, "does this sound like a 'sailor's yarn' now?"
"No, I guess not," Prester said, with a side glance in the oceanographer's direction.
Leclair sighed. "Look, you two, stop daydreaming about supernatural phenomena and be reasonable. Water pressure increases by forty-four-point-four pounds per square inch for every additional one hundred feet of depth. The pressure wherever it is we find the Leviathan will likely be at least six thousand pounds per square inch. Let me ask you something, Bertie. What is the minimum depth your so-called Explorer submarine can handle?"
"Aboud six hundred feet," Prester replied. "But when I was in the Navy back in the war, I heard stories of an American boat that survived a depth-charge attack at seven hundred feet."
Leclair snorted derisively. "Seven hundred feet? That's a miracle, and you'll probably have to go more than eleven thousand feet deeper to get to the Leviathan. My God, Bertie, it would be the equivalent of an elephant flattening a tin can with its foot."
Prester leaned forward, addressing Leclair with a confident tone. "We can modify the Explorer to withstand a dive of at least fourteen thousand feet. I've been working closely with Dr. Jean Moreau at the Naval Engineering Institute. Together, we've devised a plan to reinforce the superstructure with a titanium-alloy composite that can endure the immense pressure at those depths. It'll take some time and considerable resources, but it's certainly within our capabilities."
Leclair narrowed his eyes, skepticism evident in his voice. "That all sounds impressive, but have you done any previous experimenting with these modifications? Have you tested this titanium alloy composite in real conditions? The depths we're talking about are no joke, and we can't afford any miscalculations."
Prester's smile was that of a politician whose opponent has led with his chin by asking the wrong question.
"Yes, I did test the alloy in real conditions. Last year, I took a prototype down to the Mariana Trench, about ten thousand feet deeper than what we’re dealing with here. The structure held perfectly. I’ve also run simulations and stress tests in the lab, and all results point to the alloy withstanding the pressure at fourteen thousand feet. There wasn't a leak to be found, much less any hull deformation.
Riker whistled. "Fourteen thousand feet! Deeper than the Leviathan probably is."
"Very impressive," Leclair conceded. "But all you proved was the structural integrity of the hull. What about your human environmental factors? Your life support capabilities?"
Prester's voice dropped an octave to add dramatic effect. "We’ve made significant improvements to the life support systems to support a human crew at fourteen thousand feet. I’ve integrated a cutting-edge rebreather system that recycles and purifies the air, ensuring a constant supply of oxygen. The pressure-resistant compartments are equipped with advanced thermal regulation to maintain a stable, comfortable environment despite the extreme conditions outside. Additionally, we’ve implemented an enhanced CO2 scrubber to remove carbon dioxide efficiently, and the entire system is backed up by multiple redundancies to guarantee safety. These upgrades mean we can stay down there for extended periods without compromising crew health or safety. And if you need further evidence that we have ourselves a first-class deep-sea-exploration vehicle, said evidence is sitting in this room."
"You dove it yourself?" Riker blurted.
"That I did. As you can see, I'm in fine shape. I never had any issues with pressure and the Explorer suffered no mechanical failures. I might add that I dove in the North Atlantic, right in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle." He looked at Leclair with a mischievous grin. "What convinced me that the wreck of the Leviathan isn't far from there was the sonar readings I picked up. There were anomalies on the seabed, massive structures that didn't match any known shipwrecks. The dimensions and layout were unlike anything I'd ever seen."
Leclair leaned forward, skepticism etched on his face. "I feel some questions are warranted here."
"Like what?"
"How can you be so sure those anomalies you picked up are the Leviathan? The Bermuda Triangle is notorious for strange readings and unexplained phenomena. And diving solo—did you have any independent verification of those readings? But I'll concede it's a possibility, albeit a dim one. So now we're over the wreck site, presumable with a salvage vessel that has hauled your submarine to the scene. I shudder to contemplate the cost of mounting an expedition to the Bermuda Triangle just to find the Leviathan, let alone recovering the supposed miracle wood she was allegedly made of. Although I must say, Billy, you've provided us with some pretty impressive evidence."
Prester looked at Leclair, a glint of determination in his eyes. "The documents Riker showed me contain detailed schematics of a ship unlike any other of its time, along with logs that describe encounters with the Barbary Pirates. More compelling, though, are the mentions of advanced weaponry and construction techniques that predate what we thought possible. There are records of high-profile financiers and architects, all tied to Thomas Jefferson and even Napoleon. The sheer number of corroborating details convinces me that the Leviathan is down there, waiting to be found. This isn’t just a wild goose chase, Leclair. This is our chance to rewrite naval history."
"All well and good," Leclair said, "but you still haven't told us how you propose to pay for this. I can't imagine anyone foolish enough to back you merely on the promise that if you can salvage the wreck, you'll be recouped."
Riker nodded gravely. "I only wish we could find someone to finance an expedition just to find the Leviathan, let alone recover that wood. I agree with you, Jacques; the cost would be staggering. We'd need far more than Prester's splendid little craft for a successful venture. I suspect we'd need at least a half-million dollars worth of financial backing, and that might be an underestimate. Hell, we'd probably have trouble raising a quarter-million dollars, even if we had the U.S. government backing us up."
Prester said quickly, "But also consider the stakes. What if we can recover that wood from the Leviathan's hull, Billy?"
"Well, I guess its rarity alone could fetch fortunes in the antique and collector markets.
"How so?" Leclair asked.
"If the Leviathan was truly made of this wood, it'd be worth a fortune not just as a relic but for the timber itself. Its unique properties—strength, durability, and resistance to rot—would make it a prized treasure for craftsmen, builders, and historians alike."
"I see what you mean," Prester replied, his expression shifting to one of contemplation tinged with a hint of excitement. "Collectors, restorers, and scientists would undoubtedly be willing to pay extraordinary sums for the planks and masts of the Leviathan. The allure of American chestnut wood, presumed extinct, represents a link to our maritime heritage. Collectors would vie for these artifacts as prized relics. Restorers would view them as invaluable materials for historical preservation. Scientists, too, would eagerly study the wood, seeking to unlock its secrets and potential applications. The demand could easily drive prices into the millions!"
Leclaire's tone carried a hint of skepticism as he responded, his brows furrowing slightly. "Million-dollar mark for the price of the wood? I find that hard to believe. While the American chestnut wood of the Leviathan is undoubtedly a rare find and holds immense historical value, assigning it such a lofty price tag seems speculative at best."
Riker leaned forward, curiosity etched on his face as he posed the question to Leclair. "What did you mean by saying the real treasure of the Leviathan is the wood its hull was made of, if you weren't talking about money?"
Leclair's expression softened as he clarified his earlier statement, "What I meant is that beyond its potential monetary value, the real treasure of the Leviathan lies in the untold stories and mysteries hidden within its construction. The American chestnut wood used for its hull is not just a material rarity; it represents a piece of history that can illuminate the secrets of its builders and the times it sailed through. It could reveal technological advancements of the era, environmental conditions of the past, and perhaps even clues to the enigmatic voyages and rumored activities of the Ebon Circle."
Prester leaned back, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "I think I just might have our 'angel'."
Riker furrowed his brow slightly. "I'm not familiar with that term."
Prester chuckled softly. "It's just a fancy word for a financial backer—a benefactor who believes in our endeavor and is willing to invest in it."
Leclair leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Who do you have in mind, Prester?"
Prester leaned forward with a hint of anticipation. "His name is Lancaster. Sterling Lancaster. Ever heard of him?"
Leclair nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Yes, I've heard of Sterling Lancaster. He's a millionaire, no doubt about that. But he's also known to be slightly... eccentric, shall we say."
"Billionaire," Prester corrected. "And just crazy and wealthy enough to underwrite this sea hunt of ours."
Leclair still looked puzzled. "I don't get it, Bertie. He might be rich as the Rockefellers, but what makes you think he'd be willing to spend a small fortune backing this....this wild goose chase?"
"Because he's already spent a very large fortune backing similar wild-goose chases. I know the guy, Jacques. Worked for him once. On one of those chases."
Riker exclaimed, "Now I remember—five years ago! Brazil! You were trying to find the Mapinguari!"
"That's right. Only we didn't find the Mapinguari. But we had a hell of a lot of fun looking. That's how Sterling Lancaster likes to spend his money, trying to prove the reality of myths and legends. "I'd be a rich man if I had what it cost him to wander around Iceland for three months looking for the Huldufólk. He once financed an expedition into the heart of Mongolia on the strength of an ancient tribal legend that a dragon-like creature big enough to swallow a yak whole still existed in the area."
"That man is clearly off his rocker!" Riker laughed. "A dragon in the 20th century; this Lancaster chases rainbows!"
"Not off his rocker. Just eaten alive with curiosity." This came from Leclair, and both Prester and Riker stared at the oceanographer.
Leclair chuckled. "Don't look so surprised. I envy a guy who can turn scientific curiosity into an expensive hobby. I'm acquainted with that Mongolian dragon legend. Fascinating. The story's been floating around since the late eighteen hundreds: two tribes living on opposite sides of the Gobi Desert, never coming into contact with each other, yet telling identical tales of a beast that killed animals as big as yaks. They called it the Mongolian Death Worm. Not only did their descriptions of the monster match, but the descriptions themselves were of a serpentine creature closely resembling a giant anaconda. One expedition—not Lancaster, Bertie—anyway, this one expedition never saw the beast but obtained some of its alleged droppings. They were analyzed in a laboratory and found to contain the remains of big mammals and reptiles. The droppings were huge, of a size associated with that of rhinos or elephants—except that neither of these herbivorous animals eat mammals or reptiles."
"Weird stuff for an oceanographer to get interested in," Riker smiled.
"Not really. Mind you, I don't buy into all of it, but there's compelling evidence that undiscovered species still exist in the oceans' depths."
Prester nodded. "That's what I believe the Mongolian Death Worm has—an equivalent that lives beneath the sea, surviving for millions of years after its supposed extinction."
"Poppycock!" Riker chortled.
Leclair raised an eyebrow. "Riker, how can you dismiss the notion of unknown species yet believe in the legend of an improbably huge, powerful sailing ship?"
Riker sighed. "It's not that simple, Leclair. I was helping out a friend when I stumbled upon these discoveries. I forgot to mention other incidents I came across regarding alleged sightings of the Leviathan." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "There were stories of the ship being spotted off the coast of England in 1850, then again near the Canary Islands in 1895. Some divers claimed to have seen its silhouette at the bottom of the Bermuda Triangle. In 1912, there were reports from a whaling crew off the coast of Greenland who saw a massive vessel cutting through the ice fields. During World War I, a German U-boat commander mentioned a ghostly ship appearing and disappearing in the fog of the North Atlantic. Even in the Pacific, a fishing crew near the Philippines in 1947 claimed to have seen a giant warship emerge from the depths, only to vanish moments later. More bizarre still were accounts from sailors during the War of 1812, who swore they saw a colossal warship cutting through the fog off the Atlantic coast. And just a decade ago, an oil rig crew in the Gulf of Mexico reported seeing a large, old-fashioned ship sailing through a storm, only to disappear without a trace. These sightings and stories, many dating back to the early 19th century, might not all be tall tales after all."
Leclair and Prester exchanged puzzled glances. They knew Riker well, but they were now seeing an unexpected side of him emerge as if compensating for his lack of physical impressiveness. The earnestness in his voice and the intensity in his eyes were captivating. This was a man who was determined to uncover the truth, no matter how fantastical it seemed.
They treated Riker's interest in the legendary warship as incongruous. Leclair and Prester, both seasoned in their respective fields, found it difficult to reconcile Riker's usually grounded nature with his sudden passion for a seemingly mythical vessel.
Leclair leaned forward, a spark of curiosity lighting up his eyes. "Well, if the wreck does exist, exploring it has several potential benefits. The historical significance, of course, and we could also study the sea creatures and plant life that have grown around the wreck. Imagine discovering new species of deep-sea fauna or coral formations that have adapted uniquely to the ship's structure. If the hull hasn't even gathered coral, that would be a phenomenon in itself, suggesting some unique property of the materials used."
Prester looked at Leclair, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "So, if I understand correctly, you're planning to come along with us on this expedition, Jacques? Because I can tell you right now, we need the world's foremost oceanographer there for this mission to have any chance of success. An oceanographer of your caliber brings a lot to the table. Your knowledge of ocean currents and geological formations can help pinpoint the exact location where the Leviathan might have settled on the ocean floor."
Leclair leaned forward, meeting Prester’s gaze squarely. “Yes, I’m coming with you. This is too significant an opportunity to pass up.” He paused, then added, “But there is one thing that bothers me. If the Leviathan does exist, what about its supposed captain, Phineas E. Cartwright?” He glanced at Riker, then continued, “The stories about him paint a pretty grim picture. According to Secretary of War Henry Knox, the only man to meet Cartwright, he wasn't a nice person. Knox once described him as ‘a man whose ambition knows no bounds, driven by an insatiable lust for power and a ruthless disregard for human life.’ Cartwright was said to be as fearsome as the ship he commanded.” A concerned look crossed his face. "Isn't plundering the wreck tantamount to risking the wrath of a man who might still be on Earth somehow? Is that what you want to do, Billy? We need to consider the potential consequences of disturbing something that has remained hidden for so long.”
Riker felt the weight of Leclair's question pressing down on him, but he refused to answer honestly. Deep down, he knew that embarking on this expedition could be an invitation to trouble, potentially unleashing forces they barely understood. The tales of Captain Cartwright's malevolence and the strange, foreboding power of the Leviathan haunted him. Yet, the allure of solving a centuries-old mystery and the promise of unparalleled discovery were too great to ignore. Admitting his doubts would undermine his resolve and possibly deter his companions. Instead, he masked his apprehensions with a steely determination, knowing that the truth about his fears could wait. For now, the quest for the legendary warship took precedence over any misgivings he harbored about the dangers that lay ahead.
It wasn't until now that Riker truly grasped the gravity of the conversation. He had been so consumed by the thrill of discovery and the academic intrigue of unearthing a legendary vessel that he had overlooked the more profound implications of their quest. Leclair's concerns were rooted in the tangible dangers and ethical dilemmas of disturbing a potentially cursed relic and the wrath of its infamous captain. While Riker's motivations were driven by a desire for knowledge and adventure, Leclair was thinking about the real-world consequences and moral responsibility of their actions. This disparity between their feelings illuminated the underlying tension: Riker's excitement blinded him to the potential peril, while Leclair's caution was a reminder of the stakes involved. It was a sobering realization that added a new layer of complexity to their impending journey.
This was to be expected, given their backgrounds and perspectives. Riker, with his Naval Intelligence experience and lifelong fascination with maritime mysteries, was naturally inclined to pursue the adventure and unravel the secrets of the Leviathan, regardless of the risks. Leclair, as a renowned oceanographer, was grounded in scientific inquiry and ethical considerations, weighing the potential harm against the pursuit of knowledge. Their differing viewpoints were a reflection of their priorities and experiences, creating an inevitable tension that now surfaced as they prepared for the expedition.
Riker couldn’t help but think about how unlikely their trio was. He, a former Naval Intelligence officer with a penchant for maritime enigmas, found himself teamed up with Bertie Prester, a brilliant yet eccentric marine architect with a history of wild expeditions, and Dr. Jacque Leclair, the world’s foremost oceanographer, whose scientific rigor often clashed with Riker's adventurous spirit. The combination of their skills and backgrounds seemed almost too perfect for the task at hand, yet their differing motivations and perspectives created a dynamic tension. Riker wondered if this blend of talents and temperaments would be their greatest strength or their Achilles' heel as they delved into the depths of the Leviathan’s mystery.
Leclair turned to Riker with a subtle raise of his brow. "Do you have anything else to add, Billy?"
Riker sighed, weighing his words carefully. "The expedition will be very expensive. While I insist we approach Lancaster, I'm hesitant because he's known to demand more than just financial investment—he could ask for control, influence, or worse, access to artifacts. As for Congress or the President, seeking governmental funding would mean entangling ourselves in bureaucratic red tape, and they may impose stringent conditions that could compromise our autonomy." Turning to Prester, Riker posed the question with conviction. "I firmly believe nothing will truly happen if we disturb the wreck. Am I right, Bertie?"
Prester considered Riker's question thoughtfully before replying. "Theoretically, nothing should happen if the wreck is disturbed, provided we proceed with caution and respect the structural integrity of the ship. However, we must avoid areas that could destabilize the wreck further or trigger any concealed traps or mechanisms. In an ancient ship the size of a football field, our safest bet would be to focus on the outer decks and cargo holds initially, steering clear of the more central, enclosed compartments until we've assessed the stability and any potential risks."'
Leclair leaned forward, his curiosity evident. "You think you can get some of that treasured wood to the surface without completely dismantling the Leviathan?"
Prester sighed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "If the whole ship was constructed from American chestnut, we might have no choice but to dismantle significant portions of it. Extracting the wood without compromising the integrity of the entire wreck would be incredibly challenging, if not impossible. We could try to salvage smaller sections initially, but for a thorough recovery, extensive dismantling might be unavoidable."
The soft voice was edged with emotion. "Might? Hell! It will be unavoidable!"
Prester's eyes narrowed with determination as he responded. "I swear I'll avoid it if I can, but I can't make any promises or guarantees."
"Then how do you propose to do it?"
"Naturally, I haven't had time to work out details. Billy just sprung this on us. But I've got a tentative plan. I have the Explorer operationally ready. She has a very narrow beam. I figure there must have been some structural damage when the Leviathan sunk, enough to form some gaps in her hull. We'd use the sub to explore her externally first, see if there are any areas for entry, maybe take some pictures for scientific purposes"---that last was directed at Leclair and was accompanied by one of Prester's intriguing grins---" and we can send out divers to explore the interior. My boat, by the way, is equipped with remote-controlled robot arms or pincers....for lifting any planks or boards. They're also handy for clearing away pieces of debris. And the sub's got a powerful floodlight for illumination."
Riker stated, "Given the Leviathan's size—around 300 feet—it might take years to bring all the wood to the surface."
Leclair interjected, "If science is wrong about the American chestnut's resistance to rot, it might be gone now."
Riker countered, "The Ebon Circle thought of that; they used alchemical treatments to preserve the wood."
Leclair shot back, "Folklore and superstition are no good against the power of corrosive salt water."
Prester tossed him the kind of patient look a teacher would use on a naughty student. "Our approach will begin with the Explorer utilizing its sonar to meticulously map the wreck of the Leviathan. Following this initial survey, we will deploy our miracle submersible for close-up inspections and targeted salvage operations. In addition to the Explorer, the miracle sub, the outfit that built it has also designed and constructed a big steel platform that can be lowered to the ocean floor via four steel cables attached at each end. Once secured, any samples and artifacts we find will be carefully hauled aboard using the ship's robust winches and specialized cranes, ensuring that each retrieval is executed with the utmost care to preserve both the integrity of the wreck and the valuable historical material within."
It was Riker who asked the key question, beating Leclair to the punch. "Bertie, your plans are predicated on any sub, however small, being able to probe the Leviathan's interior. We've gotta face the likelihood of this being an impossibility. The wreckage debris might very well prove impassable. Frankly, I share Jacques's concern that we'll have to destroy the ship to get the wood. And I'd hate to see that happen."
"Thank you, Billy," Leclair muttered.
Bertie Prester rose from his chair and began pacing in front of his two friends. It was, they knew, a sign that he was on the cusp of open anger; the pacing seemed to keep his temper under control like a man calming down by counting to ten. They let him pace with the fluid strides of a caged panther until he finally stopped and faced them. His eyes, Riker noticed, were a chilling blue.
"I've had enough of this sentimental bullshit," Prester said in a tone of lethal calm. "What difference does it make if the legend of the Leviathan is true or not? What's so special about her anyway? Does her size truly matter in the grand scheme of things? I'll tell you what she's not; she's no sacred shrine to the sadistic bastard who commanded her or the so-called sailors who manned her and went down with her!"
Leclair cautioned, "It's incredibly dangerous to tamper with the unknown."
"I don't give a damn about the unknown," Prester snapped. "I told you if there's any way to get what we want from her without bringing down the house, so to speak, we'll do it."
"What if you can't?" Leclair asked softly.
"I have a backup plan ready: attaching dynamite charges to the hull to blast the Leviathan into manageable sections. And wipe that horrified look off your face, Jacque. You're an oceanographer, for Christ's sake! You, of all people, should understand the significance of this discovery. I mean, sure, the Leviathan was an exceptional ship for her time, but she's just a pile of scrap wood. You can't afford to pass up a chance to discover new kinds of marine life no man's ever seen before or knew existed out of irrational fear of ghosts and demons. And for all we know, maybe we don't have to go into the ship. If she broke apart going down, that wood could be scattered all over the ocean floor."
Riker breathed slowly. "God forbid. It's going to be tough enough finding the ship without having to go groping over miles of ocean bottom for wooden planks."
Prester smiled laconically. "It'd be easier than trying to get inside the Leviathan. But whether we're inside or outside the ship, no dive will be allowed to exceed five hours, and even then that's cutting too close."
"Five hours?" Riker asked. "Why's that?"
"Dive duration is limited to the storage batteries that power everything on the Explorer, from propulsion to the life-support system. The batteries have to be recharged after every six hours of use. When I say five hours, I'm allotting an hour and a half for the descent, two hours maximum on the bottom, and another hour and a half for the ascent."
"Still a considerable risk," Leclair mused, "although I must say I'm intrigued by the project in general." He smiled shyly at Prester. "You're a most persuasive guy, Bertie."
Riker was frowning, and Prester said, "Your enthusiasm seems to have waned, buddy. If something's bothering you, spill it."
"I was just wondering where I might fit in......with the actual expedition, I mean."
Prester laughed. "You gotta be kidding. Your knowledge of the Leviathan is priceless, and I want you to participate to the fullest extent. Why, you must've learned about every nail in that ship, the full details of her interior, including the magazine, the possible structural damage we might encounter.....good God, Billy, I wouldn't dream of going without you. I insist on you making at least one dive with me. When we explore her, I need to know exactly what I'm looking at, and you'd make an excellent tour guide."
The frown had left his friend's face, replaced by a look of doubt.
Prester saw it. "All right, now what?"
Riker said slowly. "Well, I've kinda fallen in love with the Leviathan, studied every document on her that I discovered till I learned them verbatim. Bertie, you're offering me a chance to see if the legends are true, but I've got misgivings."
"About the wood?"
"Good Lord, no. The prospect of becoming wealthy intrigues me almost as much as the glory of finding the Leviathan herself." He hesitated. "I'm just wondering if I'll have the courage to make such a dive. You're both experienced, but I haven't gone much deeper than the water in a bathtub; I don't even fancy swimming underwater. The very thought of descending two and a half miles in a little cigar of a craft absolutely petrifies me."
Prester said sympathetically, "That's normal, Billy. Let me assure you, however, you won't be going down in any cigar. My sub is enormously strong. Look, safety itself is just the art of reducing risk to the least possible chance of occurrence. Let me give you an example that may allay your fears. What if we're exploring the Leviathan and we start having trouble with our life support system? Well, we've----he gave a modest little laugh...." actually, I did most of the work, but anyway, we've developed an emergency ascent system on Explorer. Her motors are equipped with auxiliary superchargers capable of cutting ascent time to less than thirty minutes. A most welcome safeguard, I promise you."
Leclair asked, "Why not use these superchargers on the descent, as well? You'd have more time to spend on the bottom."
"Too much drain on the batteries," Prester explained. "As I said, they're reserved for a real emergency. I'd much prefer a slower descent and less time at the wreck and have the wherewithal to get us back in a jiffy if need be."
"One more point," Leclair said. "I wouldn't be surprised if Uncle Sam laid claim to the ship if you recovered it. After all, the Leviathan was a United States warship.
"A point well taken, but already anticipated," Riker said. "I consulted with a lawyer friend I know, an expert on sea law." He took a sheet of paper from an inside coat pocket. "I didn't mention the Leviathan, of course; I merely questioned him on what property rights would be involved in, say, the discovery of a US warship that sank in international waters. He quoted me something called the 'law of finds.' Let me read you what it says:
" 'The law of finds is operative in admiralty as an adjunct to the law of salvage, with the same jurisdictional basis. The assumption of the law of finds is that title to the property has been lost; this normally requires strong proof, such as the owner's express declaration of abandoning title. The primary concern of the law of finds is the title to the property. The finder can acquire title against all the world (except an owner who shows nonabandonment) by demonstrating the intent to acquire the property and possession, or a high degree of control."
Riker returned the paper to his pocket and regarded his companions triumphantly. "Does that cure your doubts?"
Leclair shook his head. "No, it doesn't. The language of lawyers is the most convoluted and tortured known to modern man. What the hell does all that mean?"
Riker paced the room, the weight of the question settling heavily on him. "Well, if the Jefferson administration went to any lengths to bury the truth about the Leviathan, then chances are they never launched a real search for the vessel after its supposed 'launch' in 1804. Since there's no record of a search or an official declaration of the ship as lost, the question of who has salvage rights becomes… complicated. International maritime law gets messy when dealing with lost vessels, especially one potentially cloaked in secrecy by a nation that no longer exists. So whoever finds the Leviathan first could have a very strong claim. To the victor belongs the spoils, if I may put it that way."
"Any more questions?" Prester asked.
"None for now," Leclair asked.
"Billy, you with us?"
Riker merely nodded. He felt oddly drained without being tired, a vague uneasiness that somehow washed away the excitement of his discovery and the unrestrained enthusiasm and confidence of Bertie Prester. He found himself wishing that his wife, Annie, were still alive. Annie, that slim, lovely patrician lady to whom he could always confide his misgivings, his frustrations, his dreams. Annie, whose cool, unruffled judgment was the perfect antidote to his occasional impulsiveness. Annie was a woman of great inner strength and beauty---marvelous attributes for a mate, but pitifully inadequate defenses against the cancer that had taken her.
He was not q quite sure why misgivings were coming over him now. The sixth sense of an ex-Naval Intelligence officer told him something was wrong, but he couldn't put a finger on it. He knew he had set events with unknown consequences in motion, like dislodging a small rock that could turn into an avalanche. Was it the potential danger that bugged him? No, he decided, personal fear couldn't be the reason for his qualms, because his eagerness to see the Leviathan was uppermost.
Leclair's voice shattered Riker's self-introspection. "What's next on the agenda?"
"I'm going back to Plymouth and call Lancaster," Prester announced. "If he'll see me, I'll dash over to New York, and put the plan to him." His eyes, back to a softer, darker blue, almost danced. "I daresay that in a few months, our only worry will be how to spend our ill-gotten money."
"Terrible choice of words," Leclair muttered, but with no apparent malice. "Billy, I guess you can get back and relax for a while."
Prester said quickly, "Nobody relaxes. I have a hunch about a specific location within the Bermuda Triangle. The coordinates are 28° N 79° W. Jacques, I need you to dig into the oceanographic data for that region – current patterns, bottom topography, and sound propagation curves. Anything that might give us a clue about the Leviathan's final resting place. You, Billy, need to hit the history books – and fast. We need any scraps of information we can find on the Leviathan's internal layout. Diagrams, cutaways, blueprints, deck plans – anything that sheds light on its inner workings. The more we know about that monstrous ship, the better equipped we'll be to handle whatever surprises it might hold."
Riker sighed unhappily. "Dead end," he announced, his voice heavy. "I already scoured every archive, every library, even some private collectors with a penchant for naval oddities. No blueprints, no detailed diagrams. All I could find was a personal journal of a Jefferson-era naval officer that mentioned rumors of a separate set of blueprints, supposedly kept under tight wraps by the President himself. But according to another source, those very blueprints…" Riker trailed off.
"Destroyed," Leclair finished the sentence, a knowing look in her eyes. "During the War of 1812, most likely. The British burned down a significant portion of Washington D.C., including the Department of the Navy building."
Riker nodded grimly. "Exactly. And it's highly unlikely any copies were made. The secrecy surrounding the project was absolute. Remember, the existence of the Leviathan itself was classified information."
Prester said worriedly, "Then what the hell can we work with? We can't go blundering about the ocean floor with no idea what we're looking for."
"Oh, there was this one issue of Popular Mechanics, a back issue I found at a flea market. I've got it readily handy. Not exactly an official blueprint but.....a cutaway diagram of a 'theoretical' super warship, supposedly based on rumors and whispers surrounding a classified American project from the early 1800s. Not exactly the most reliable source, but in this case, it might be all we have
"Thank God," Prester sighed. "For a moment I thought we were in real trouble. So let's get cracking."
On mutual impulse, they all shook hands. It was a perfectly natural gesture that pleased Riker. The earlier angry exchange between his two friends had bothered him, but there were no signs of further animosity. Leclair even smiled when Prester, with his usual irreverence, said jokingly, I promise you, we won't be plunderers, Jacques. We'll be… archaeologists of a sort, uncovering the secrets of the Leviathan with the utmost care."
"The Leviathan, for all its destructive potential, was a human endeavor," Riker pointed out. "Men toiled over its construction, imbued it with their hopes and dreams, however misguided they might have been."
Prester laughed. "Ever the pragmatist, aren't you, old buddy?"
"There's been enough garbage written about the Leviathan legend without you, of all people, forgetting that it was a leap forward in naval technology that defied everything we thought possible," Riker said, so seriously that Prester laughed again. "It's not funny, Bertie. Even the greatest maritime civilizations of the past – the Romans, the Greeks, even the ancient Chinese – none of them ever attempted to build a sailing ship even remotely resembling the Leviathan. They were masters of the seas, these nations, yet their vessels pale in comparison to this American marvel....."
The lively discussion that followed, on prophets and psychics, historical figures who supposedly had visions of the Leviathan, put Riker in a better mood. Leclair found the subject intriguing but was quick to point out that visions were hardly concrete evidence. "These visions often clustered around historical events," Riker lectured. "Look at Atlantis – countless psychics over the centuries have claimed to have seen its submerged glory. Same with Troy – visions of a great city swallowed by the earth. And then there's King Tut's tomb – Howard Carter supposedly had a dream about its location...."133Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMXdVz2x9OI
But later, as Prester drove him to Moreton---the nearest train station to Syracuse----Riker's gloom returned. It was as shapeless as ectoplasm, shimmering in his mind without ever assuming a distinct form. He finally admitted to himself what might be wrong.
He had shoved that tiny rock down the side of a boulder-strewn mountain.133Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWG3PCmRcO8
