Robert Walker - Titanic 2012

“You were sleeping soundly and—”

“I can’t be exposed on this, David; it’s our only chance, and we have no chance if that… that killer aboard knows we are onto it.”

“I think I’m already exposed,” he tried to make light of it, looking down at his bare chest, the robe now tied snugly about him.

“Sorry but I feared the worst—that you’d already turned me in.”

He raised both arms in a gesture of defeat.

“I’m out of here. Read the rest of the journal, please, before you make the worst mistake of your life.” She rushed out.

“Will do,” he promised, his voice trailing after her.

But David wasn’t sure he believed it himself. He had a great deal to weigh up, and if news got out that he and Irvin had had secret rendezvous aboard, he had no doubt that Swigart would send them both packing.

After dressing, David made his way topside; he needed air and a look at the sea—a balm that always refreshed his mind. That saber tooth kept returning to his thoughts like an evil talisman, but he knew that Kelly might’ve picked it up in the backroom of any museum of natural history in America. But for now he felt a clawing familiar claustrophobia at the back of his mind that began creeping along his skin and every pore; a feeling that everything was closing in on him including time, a feeling he’d experienced only once before—with Terry’s death deep inside that sub in the Sea of Japan.

Topside, the sea breeze, sunshine, and ocean spray filled his senses and conspired to make what he had learned from the Irvin journal more absurd than he had earlier thought. The cool light of day could have that effect along with a cool breeze on a freshly showered sailor. In fact, it often felt nature was the best teacher, and her lessons were not lost on this sun-drenched deck in the middle of the ocean where the loveliness of this day argued for calm, steady, and perfectly sane seas. It argued for him to sit down with Swigart, Irvin’s ‘evidence’ in hand, and lay it all out for him.

But he’d promised Kelly, and aside from barging into the men’s room—and this wild story of some alien disease aboard Titanic —she seemed sane, calm, and as sure as the sea, the sun, moon and stars. Perhaps I should just lie low, he cautioned himself. Remain in my compartment—away from her… and pray any rumors might die before they take hold. Take the coward’s way out. He now muttered, “Never said I was a hero.”

He knew a lot depended on the other male divers, Will Bowman and Jacob Mendenhall in particular; they’d both seen him exiting Kelly’s room as had Lena, and all three had assumed that which most anyone might. He trusted Lena to keep it to herself. There seemed something positive in her passing look. Most certainly, she probably liked gossip as much as the next person, but David guessed otherwise when it came to matters of the heart. On the other hand, Bowman, and possibly Mendenhall, would be unable to keep their mouths shut.

He decided to grab a couple of biscuits from the galley and return to his room to hibernate there and perhaps read on; to be honest with himself, and despite his doubts about the authenticity of the journal, the story did have a certain allure in and of itself—absurd as it was! Still, it somehow compelled him to find out—according to Declan Irvin—what happened next?

After all, once Titanic left Belfast for the open sea, it was run through a series of tests before arriving at Southampton, England, and a few days interval would have elapsed. If those men of 1912 had suspected something aboard, something unnatural and horrible, then why did they wait until it was too late to quarantine the ship before thousands of men, women, and children boarded her and began the journey to America?

Perhaps the answers rested in the pages he had yet to read and digest.

Before he could get below to the galley, however, Kelly again found him, asking “Have you seen Dr. Alandale? Where’s Alandale?” The sound of the ship coursing over the surface of the sea softened her shouting. She shaded her eyes against the brilliant sun.

“Alandale? I dunno. Haven’t seen him since… well since you fawned all over him when you boarded.”

“Fawned all over him?” She gave him another angry look. “What’re you talking about, Dave?”

“You are one damn good actress, Dr. Irvin. I thought you were a groupie about to ask him for his autograph.”

“I do have one of his books in my bags for his signature; I wasn’t acting, Dave.”

“Then you are a groupie?”

“I hold a degree in Oceanography, but you know that. I’ve read every word Alandale ever put to paper. Haven’t you?”

Something in the way she delivered her last words made him wonder. “You’ve had quite an unusual career trajectory, Kelly. Straight from being a filing clerk for Forbes to Dr. Irvin.”

“Oceanography was required to keep on top of what was going on with Titanic exploration; I knew the French expedition, for instance, could not get to those things inside Titanic , but I learned early on about the breakthrough with Perflourocarbons, liquid air—and then I knew.”

“Knew? Knew what?”

“Knew that the thing my great-great grandfather tried to destroy… if it got off Titanic as I’ve surmised—and as he feared it might—that it would be watching for any chance to get at its prize! Those eggs it—that thing—left on board when Titanic went down.”

Suddenly, Swigart’s voice broke into their conversation. “You two look like you’re on a g’damn honeymoon; I hope you’re keeping it professional, people. Already have to keep my eye on Bowman and Gambio.”

She turned abruptly. “Talking protocol, sir. Want to make sure we work as a team,” she lied. “Keeping it professional,” she tossed his words back and added, “Making sure we have our hand signals down in case anyone loses audio.” She allowed her hands to do a bit of dance before Swigart, sending him a mock distress signal—indicating strangulation by noose, tongue lolling, all of which made Lou laugh like a kid. David again thought how adept she was at manipulating men… and at lying.

“But you’re doing it in isolation; you have a third team member,” quarreled Swigart, “so this doesn’t look good.”

“My fault, sir,” David jumped in. “I… I followed Dr. Irvin here,” he now lied. “Wanted to ask her a couple of questions about her inside knowledge of our captain, sir, as Dr. Irvin has worked with him previously, sir.”

“Is that right, Mr. Ingles?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I see… well.” Swigart looked sternly at the two of them. “Be sure to keep it professional then, and carry on.” Swigart moved on, and Kelly and David exchanged a look that said ‘close call’.

Still, David wondered at Swigart’s choice of words—‘carry on’. Did he mean it as the normal phrase among sailors? Or was it a jibe or a warning? “Yes sir, thank you,” he called out to Swigart as the man decreased in size going away from them.

Swigart started with a yelp that David at first thought to be a reply, but it was anything but. The older seaman had slipped on a slick of oil, and he went down on one knee, saying, “What the hell?”

The others rushed to help Swigart to his feet; the big man was asking, “What’d I step in? There shouldn’t be any oil on deck. Where’s this leak coming from?”

“Appears to be coming from the seals to the winch, else it’s coming from the submersible,” said David, among those helping him to his feet.

“Damn, that’s bad either way if it’s the case.” OPFC liquid air-equipped submersible was state-of-the-art, equipped with the most highly sensitive tracking devices and global positioning system on the planet, and the thing cost more than Scorpio IV and her three previous sister ships combined. It could uncomfortably accommodate up to twelve people on a dare; eight far more reasonably. Meanwhile, thanks to new technology, MAX could remain submerged indefinitely—as with any nuclear powered sub, but while its electronics were operated from a nuclear reactor, its propulsion was, in a sense, low tech—a thing of beauty as it mimicked the method of propulsion found naturally in much of undersea life.