Robert Walker - Titanic 2012

He started off. She grabbed him, spun him around and pinned him against a bulkhead, kissing him. When she pulled away, she said in a whisper, “I’m going to need your help, David. I have to trust someone—and you’re it.”

Surprised at her sudden kiss, he swallowed hard. “Help? What kind of help, Kelly? What’s really going on inside that pretty head of yours?”

“Smith rammed his ship into that berg, David, and it was borne of a horrible fear.”

“You do realize you sound insane, right?”

“It gets worse.”

“Worse how? How worse?”

“I need you to come to my quarters, but tell no one.”

“We could be kicked off the dive team for what we’ve already done here, Kelly.”

“You’ve got to come. Give it fifteen, twenty minutes; I’m alone. They gave us girls our own space. Promise me you’ll come—number seven.”

She rushed off like a person fearful of being thrown into a cell should anyone see her. He recalled the crewman who’d whisked by, showing little interest but one word to another crew member and speculation would go viral. David felt dazed and not just over Kelly’s kiss, but over her strange words as well. He felt in a terribly awkward position and she’d placed him here—intentionally.

Now Dr. Irvin wanted him in her private quarters, but it meant going against Swigart, against the rules; it could land them both a seat on a chopper for Woods Hole come morning. What was all that crazy talk about Captain Edward Smith—a man who, from his photos, looked the unassailable, quintessential captain—spiffy in his dress whites, a bearing and a beard on the order of the knighted James Bond actor Sean Connery.

Declan Irvin slapped his best friend and colleague, Thomas Coogan on the shoulder where they stood amid the bustle and excitement of the Red Lion Pub in a back alleyway deep inside Belfast’s most notorious district. Declan pointed to a table in the back of the crowded ale house.

It’d been twenty hours since Coogan’s uncle, Anton Fiore, had been seen or heard from. At home, Anton’s wife, Thomas’ favorite aunt who’d kept the two young interns from starving these many months, sat weeping and terrified something awful had happened to Anton. She’d expected him home as usual when young Thomas and Declan had slipped past curfew at the teaching hospital where they were in residence doing their work for Queens University, to make their way to the Holland and Wolff shipyards to meet Anton.

For two years now while enrolled at Queens, the boys had watched in fascination as the largest seagoing vessel on the planet was being built; they’d seen the hull fashioned from Belfast iron ore laid and tested. Between classes and studying anatomy and physiology and an array of mathematical and scientific curricula, the young men had seen the ship go from a skeletal marvel to the most wondrous and largest man-made object in the world. It marked their time as residents here in the city and helped make that time fantastically exciting.

The sprawling shipyards were situated relatively close to the Mater Infirmorum Hospital grounds where they were in residence, and only the night before, Uncle Anton as Thomas called the shipyard watchman who had early on learned of his nephew’s fascination with all things Titanic , had boasted, “You do know I can get you lads aboard to see the interiors—that is if you should like.”

“Should like?” Declan had echoed. “Absolutely we should like, right, Tom?”

“If you’re sure you won’t get into no trouble, Uncle.”

“Bah! I’ll see to it you good fellas have as grand a tour as that Mr. Ismay and Mr. Andrews.” Anton winked and flashed his signature Cheshire cat grin.

“Ahhh, yes, the owner and the architect!” declared Declan, taking Anton’s surprise away. “Sorry, sir… I have studied the Titanic and Britannic from their inception, sir.”

“Well—those muckety-mucks’ve had their tour!” Anton laughed and it sounded like bells ringing.

Declan Irvin felt he had been adopted by Thomas’ aunt and uncle. They were wonderful people and wonderful with one another, as well and good to be around. But now the old gentleman had disappeared without a trace, and Aunt Fiore was destitute without him. Much to Declan’s chagrin, they had lost any chance of seeing the inside of Titanic , making the loss that much more painful still, but Declan dared not say so aloud.

There would be no other chance; the all but finished ship was to be launched the following day or so. Thereafter, the only way to see her was by ticket or signing on as a maid, purser, crewman, or stoker. Last chance to see her interior ballroom and state rooms, the rumored pools, spas, and the gymnasiums for first, second, and third class as well as reading and smoking rooms, cafes, lounges, saloons and bandstands, and multiple promenades. Last chance to walk her topmost deck, to look down from such a height from her bridge. How he wished to see all her shining brass fittings and teakwood floors.

Declan knew he couldn’t afford even a third-class ticket. Nor could he afford the time away from medical school to get a job waiting tables or stacking deck chairs aboard Titanic .

At first Declan had been angry at the turn of events—frustrated and annoyed. After all, Thomas had assured Declan that it was all set. Then just before midnight when they’d slipped curfew at the dormitory and arrived at Anton’s office, they found the small shack empty and Anton very much absent. For Declan, it resulted in a dashing of excitement, and for Thomas a gnawing fear beyond any disappointment that’d seeped into Declan’s heart. Where Declan was a devoted fan of all things Titanic , Thomas was devoted to his uncle.

Meanwhile, Thomas, who by now had lost all interest in the ship, was going on about his missing uncle. At the time, Declan assumed the old fellow had just been talking, or that he’d gotten his nights mixed up and had ambled home, but Thomas found his uncle’s watch still on his desk, and it was a time piece he’d never leave behind.

It was the first they’d begun to truly worry, and the worry only grew with the ticking of Anton’s pocket watch when Thomas confided that his Uncle Anton had promised the watch to him upon his death.

And so with each tick-tick-tick of the second hand, it played on their nerves like a constant drip. They’d waited for him, imagining him on his rounds even without his watch! But he did not return.

About then, Declan’s disappointment had gotten the better of him. “Your uncle set the time and his job is one of schedules, so where is he?”

“I don’t know!” Thomas replied.

Eventually, they had gone toward the ship and its gaping cargo hold, calling out Fiore’s name as they went. Thomas made a mantra of it, calling, “Uncle… Uncle Anton! Uncle, where’n Hades are you?”

“Where the deuce could he be?” Declan added again. “He’ll be sacked for this if they find us here.”

“You there!” shouted a man from the topmost deck of Titanic , so high up he might be God. The boys had to crane their necks to look up at a lone figure in dark shadow waving a lantern in what seemed an angry arc. “Disembark, the two of ye; out from here now! Go along… that’s good lads.”

Unable to see the man’s face, Thomas shouted back, “Is that you, Uncle?”

“It’s not Anton’s voice,” Declan assured Thomas.

Thomas realized this too and added, “Who’re you? Where’s my uncle, the watchman at the yards?”

“Tuttle!” shouted the man far overhead. “Pinkerton Agent, and I’m armed along with five other able men! Now shove off.”

“Bluffing,” Declan muttered to Thomas; Declan then shouted up to Tuttle. “Where’s the shipyard watchman—Mr. Fiore?”