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The chief closed the call and dedicated a murderous look to Connor because he had made him worry for nothing.
"Houston," the radio croaked right after.
"We are here, what's going on?"
"Boss, what's the weather like?"
"Excellent, why ?"
"Because last time we heard, the weather was a fairy tale here too, but within ten minutes it has changed and now is rapidly darkening. It seems as if a storm was brewing, moreover all the instruments on board have started acting up," explained Major Salas. Rupert's collaborators exchanged odd looks because the last conversation between the Atlantis and the control room had taken place no more than fifteen seconds before and not ten minutes as the commander of the shuttle had just said.
"What is this, another one of your jokes?" Lee growled into the microphone and began to warm up. "We haven't seen such a clean sky for years," he resumed, "and then ..."
"Chief, look at the monitors," Connor interrupted softly.
"What's up?"
"The sky is very clear, but the image of the shuttle is continuing to lose consistency. If you look at it well, now it seems to be wrapped in a green mist ... actually, it would seem that it has been enveloped by some invisible tentacles."
"Connor, do you want to finish saying these bullshit?"
"Chief, here is Atlantis," Major Salas called nervously, "we need help. Here it started to rain badly and the instruments do not ... ggzz ... ffffrrrr we've ... lost ... ggzz ... tion. Oh God! Wha ... ... hell? ... Help !!!" shouted the Major as the image on the monitors became more and more evanescent.
"Enough with jokes! Atlantis, do you understand me? I've said enough with jokes, I've had enough! Salas, answer me! ... Salas! ..." shouted Rupert one last time into the microphone with all the breath he had, then he took off his headphones and threw them away pissed off. He let himself fall back on the chair and stared at the screen in complete disbelief. His Shuttle, an entire Shuttle, had literally vanished before his eyes and he couldn't believe it. A cold silence had fallen in the Control Room, and everyone was wondering what the external relations Officer would have told the crew members' relatives. Rupert roused himself almost instantly, his quick reflexes were one of the aspects of his character that made him a good leader.
"Nick, contact immediately the Crisis Unit and make sure the research starts immediately, within ten minutes I want at least six planes to patrol the area! If the Atlantis has impacted the water the wreckage and the oil and fuel spots will be seen miles away, if the crew has catapulted out and there are survivors we can still save them. David, contact the Navy and ask for the nearest ship to be sent immediately," he ordered. "They can't have disappeared like that, and above all, they can't have gone far. We have their path and their last coordinates, we have to find them at any cost, even if this means moving the entire US army!" He concluded, banging a gritty fist on his desk.
Relatives and journalists, authorities and onlookers, who had managed to crash somehow, had witnessed speechlessness at the slow disappearance of the shuttle from the giant screen that dominated the stage. But above all, thanks to the idea of making the public take part in unclassified conversations between the shuttle and the control tower, they had listened to the last, shocking, desperate request for help from Major Salas. Now they were all looking in the direction of the sector reserved for the authorities, waiting for some explanation. The General, in turn, looked at the External Relations Manager so that he could somehow decide to intervene, because he didn't know what to say. He answered with a vacant look, because he had not the faintest idea what could have happened, immediately after he took the phone to contact Houston. The big screen continued to transmit images of the blue sky for a few moments until someone finally decided to turn it off. Emergency personnel got on the vehicles that left quickly towards the management buildings. A man and a woman, in their seventies, were crying softly, hugging each other. After years of vain promises to their son, that time they had finally overcome the fear of flying and had put up with twelve hundred miles in an airplane to see him getting off the shuttle at least on that last occasion. "Mom, what happened? Mom, why did they turn off the screen?
Why can't we hear dad's voice anymore?" Asked a child. His mom opened her mouth trying to say something but she couldn't, she got up to take her child out of there, but before she could realize what had happened she was taken ill and ruined down from the gallery.
James rushed into the Police Station clutching a paper bag containing two milkshakes and two sandwiches, glanced at the clock above the front door and walked straight to the meeting room.
"Good morning, Mr. Robinson, did you rest well?" Agent Benelli taunted him, seeing him out of breath, as usual, he was in the mood for irony.
"Back off! It's not a good day," James replied seriously, taking a seat; he put the bag on the counter and rubbed his eyes.
"If you had called me I would have brought you breakfast at bed," the other insisted. Without saying a word, James jumped to his feet to face him, because that morning he wasn't exactly in the mood to put up with trouble.
"Hey, don't warm up! I was just joking," said Benelli, getting up in his turn to avoid being caught unprepared.
"Enough now" thundered Helen from behind the desk, "we are full of problems and you two should be ashamed of your childishness!" The two sat down with their heads down and she spoke again. "We have to get busy fast because what happened will leak out from one moment to the next and then the newspapers and TVs will hit us. The tasks remain those assigned yesterday and tonight try to present in this room concrete results in hand or it will be better if you don't show up at all! Now go."
"Do I have to inspect the woods again?" Benelli asked doubtfully, he had absolutely no desire to go again to examine and photograph the absolute nothing. Helen told herself that after what happened the night before, it was better that for the moment no one set foot there.
"No, it would only be wasted time. Today you will join Claretta and you will be looking for someone who can give us some information," she replied. Benelli twisted his mouth, because he thought she was as clumsy as Cindy and would rather work alone.
"Come on, are you all still here?" Helen said to the agents still sitting at their desks. They hurried to leave the room. James was the only one who didn't have a specific task yet and was waiting for an order.
"You come with me!" Said Helen, not at all friendly, he took the bag containing the breakfasts and followed her into her office. Helen closed the door and lowered the curtains, sat on the edge of the desk and turned off the intercom. James placed a glass and a sandwich next to her, then he chose a chair and began to unwrap his sandwich. She pushed the breakfast away and began to peer at him with her arms folded. James noticed her gesture but preferred to pretend nothing happened and sent down a couple of bites because he was hungry.
After a minute, feeling uneasy because she continued to stare at him severely without opening her mouth, he placed the sandwich on the table and looked at her, pursing his lips.
"About last night ..." he began to say, but then he found that the speech he had prepared was too childish. Not knowing how to proceed, he broke the sentence there, embarrassed as a teenager on the first date. She took a long sigh and began to remove the cellophane from her sandwich.
"So many things have happened that I don't know where to start! First of all, I'd really like to know who last night tried to burn us," Helen began, then snapped into the sandwich and James felt refreshed. Contrary to what he had feared, she was not going to face the "kiss" topic.
"I don't know, and what I understand even less is why! Was it possible that they were looking for Harry's fishing rod and for that kind of monster that was attached to the hook? "
"I don't know what they were looking for, but if they were willing to kill us and burn the whole forest to get it then they were definitely looking for something extremely important. Maybe it was something that would put us on the right track and instead we are still at the same point as yesterday. And when we succeed in tracing the relatives of the victims, if they are not the ones to trace us first, what will we tell them? That their boys died of an unknown death and that they turned into mummies before our eyes? Who could believe it? As soon as the news will be public, newspapers and TVs will stick to us like vultures, they will tear us to pieces" Helen considered disheartened, then took a long drink at the milkshake and let out a smile because James still remembered her favorite taste. James found the dimples that formed on her cheeks adorable, Helen saw that he was staring at her like a perfect idiot, and she got serious again.
"We absolutely need to find a foothold and we need to find it quickly because otherwise, we'll have no hope of solving this case," said James.
"I fully agree. And as if that's not enough, in a few days Lobster's Festival will start down at the bay and we will be busy there. And since we are few, someone will also get a double shift."
"Look, I don't have much experience in such matters, but I do know one thing for sure because they forced it into my head during the course at the Police School. If a case is not resolved within the first forty-eight hours, doing it later becomes almost impossible, and given the means and the evidence we have available, we would need a real miracle."
"That's right," Helen agreed. They finished their breakfast in silence, crumpled napkins and wipes and challenged each other with their eyes, after which they competed, as they were used to do since they were boys, to throw it in the garbage can. As always, the result was a draw and they exchanged a carefree smile, and then they started to reflect each on their own.
"As for what happened last night, it must never happen again," she muttered seriously after a few minutes without looking him in the eye.
"I agree with you, no one has to try to kill us in the middle of the night," James tried to defuse, but she didn't smile and he blushed again. "... What if we contact someone more experienced than us?" He then proposed to get out of that mess. That idea was buzzing in his head from the first moment he had put his feet out of his bed, but he had not yet dared to propose it to avoid hurting her pride. Like any honorable sheriff, Helen was jealous of her city and her cases. James feared that in front of that suggestion she would be unwell.
"Who do you think we should call?" She asked instead, surprising him.
"I honestly don't know, I just know that in America we have special units and detective agencies of all kinds ..."
"I promise you I'll think about it," Helen murmured, and he looked at her in awe because he didn't expect to find her so pliant.
"Now go, I have to get to work," Helen added.
"Yes, but what am I supposed to do?"
"Stay in the office and squeeze your brains out, as soon as they tell us something new you will check on the spot," she said.
"As ordered," James replied, standing up, and in that precise moment, Cindy knocked on the office door.
"Come in," said Helen. Cindy looked out timidly at the door. "I am sorry, but the intercom was off ..."
"Oh, how distracted I am! What's going on?"
"The guy from the workshop called ..."
"Damn, I completely forgot about him. Tell him that James will be there as soon as possible."
"He said to go ahead calmly because now he doesn't have the car anymore," Cindy informed her.
"What does it mean?"
"What I just told you. Bob told me that when he went into the workshop this morning he didn't find the car, "the receptionist explained with a shrug.
"It's not possible!" Helen said, banging her fist on the table. At that precise moment, she realized she was in front of an enemy too shrewd and powerful and she had the clear impression that the strange chain of negative events would not stop before having overwhelmed them. "You hear that? And to think that you were afraid of getting bored ..." she said discouraged to James.
Episode III
In the Dead Sea
Abdul had an olive complexion, and on his wrinkled face there were a sharp nose and two small dark eyes, and under the bulky woolen robe that protected him from the heat, he must have been incredibly thin. Abdul was a bedouin and lived as a guide for tourists in search of strong emotions; he got paid so handsomely that soon he could buy camels and become a breeder, in that way he would climb to the top of the social ladder of his clan. But meanwhile, he was seated on an inflatable mattress under the shade of the cross-legged tent, intent on scrutinizing the water vapor rising from the immense surface of the Dead Sea. Apparently he was dozing, in reality, his trained senses were ready to perceive and process tiny signals in an infinitesimal time. With the wind blowing in the right direction, he would have been able to distinguish the smell of a camel almost a hundred yards away, and that was the secret to survive in such an inhospitable place, where you have to fight hunger and thirst, to watch out for the heat of the day as for the cold of the night, for friends as for enemies, for snakes and for scorpions.
Although he was extremely attached to that kind of life, with his customs and traditions, he appreciated so much modernity and technology that he never left any assignment without his inseparable sat phone and a set of spare batteries. The phone vibrated in the folds of his robe and he quickly ran his eyes along the gravelly bank of the great salt lake to make sure that Bryan had not yet emerged, then began to rummage calmly in the meanders of that wool labyrinth.
"Yes," he replied in Arabic, "like every day. I gave the animals a drink, I took up the gun and I started looking at the water ... no, he didn't want to tell me what he was looking for, he talked about a treasure ... of course, he is crazy as most of the crazy people are Westerners. He travels unarmed and has not taken the slightest precaution ... Yes, you are right, usually, those like him are too stupid or too clever, but he seems really naive to me. However, he has already scoured more than half of the lake and now it should be a matter of a few days unless the scuba tanks run out and we have to go back to As Samik once more time to let them recharge. In that case going, coming back and finishing the job, it would be a matter of staying here for about two more weeks and I wouldn't mind that much because he pays well and above all pays in advance. It is true that it is a boring job, but before now nobody had ever paid me to stay almost all day sitting without doing anything. At least, if he finds nothing and we can't steal his treasure, I will still have made good money. You know how much it costs to keep all those wives ... women are no longer as they used to be, now they watch television and want to be modern, so much for the Qur'an.
And they now realize that many hands make light work... just listen to me, my friend, we have to watch out for women!" At that moment an alarm bell sonde in his head, an unspecified sensation of danger quickly made its way. "Now I have to turn it off, I'm busy. Get ready, because depending on what comes out of that lake we will make a good joke about it!" He concluded, then he hid the phone in his robe and left the tent holding up his Kalashnikov. He made a little reconnaissance to understand what had been to make him worry; at first, he had thought he smell the exhaust of a car, but he judged impossible that someone had been so unconscious to venture up there with a motor vehicle. He climbed the highest dune and looked around, smelling in the air and listening to the wind. After a few minutes, he decided to return to the camp to prepare dinner thinking it was just a false alarm. He had just lit a fire to bake shrak bread and warm up the Mansaf when Bryan splashed out of the water with the sprint of a flying fish, spit out his snorkel and began to call him insistently. He took off his fins and threw them on the ground, then started running along the gravelly shore and immediately after to hop, because due to excitement he had even forgotten to put on his shoes and the temperature of the ground at that hour was almost fifty degrees. He went back and slipped his sneakers he had left on the shore like a slipper, then started running again towards the tent. Abdel intercepted him halfway.
"Maybe I found it," Bryan informed him enthusiastically, hopping from foot to foot in an attempt to avoid the burning ground, but he knew that surely that evening he would still have some nice blisters under his feet.
"Sahib, are you sure of it?" Abdel asked him, smoothing his thick dark beard.
"Almost sure. Prepare the ropes for the harness and bring a couple of camels to the shore, I want to finish the job before it gets dark ... soon the prayer time will start for you, isn't it?"
"Certainly Sahib, Allah doesn't care about money and treasures."
"Well, then let's get a move," Bryan urged him as he ran back to the boiling pebble beach. Although he had installed a lightning buoy he feared that if he waited too long he would risk losing the exact spot. He put on mask and fins, put the respirator in his mouth and dived. The Bedouin took the opportunity to recall his accomplices. "Get ready to intervene and don't forget to bring a few pitchers of Arak, we'll need them to celebrate!" He whispered at the phone.
Entering the workshop James stepped on an oil stain and slipped and nearly broke his head against the vertical support of the workshop's movable bridge.
"Clean and tidy as always, eh?" He shouted to the mechanic, but he didn't hear it because he had plunged into the engine compartment of a flaming red Ford Mustang. To reach him, James made a slalom of tools, cables, car parts and machinery scattered on the ground.
"Good morning!" Said the mechanic, looking at him sideways from under the hood lid.
"Hi Bob, sorry I'm late ... how are you?"
"Honestly, it could be better," he answered as he carefully lowered the rod and closed the engine compartment. Then he spat a bit of chewing tobacco on the ground, and without even wiping his dirty hands, he caught more from a golden box and put it in his mouth.
"When are you going to finish it, this train? Since I met you a long time ago, you are working on it!" James teased him, caressing the Mustang's hood.
"You know, the shoemaker always wears the worst shoes ... how about you, instead, you keep going around with the usual grinder?" He replied, and James nodded with a smile. Bob was in his sixties, he was portly and had a beard so white and thick that if it hadn't always been dirty with grease it could have been the envy of "Santa Claus". And above all, he had two huge hands, so big that even then James wondered how a man with such stubby fingers could work as a mechanic.
"So what happened last night?" Straight to the point. Bob's lips tightened in anger because he was still a long way from having bitten the bullet. "How the hell did you get your car fooled?" James insisted, rubbing salt into his wound.
"Don't make me think about it," Bob said, slamming a wrench on a workbench; he did it with such violence that a big cylinder just bored jumped and fell to the ground, and he swore because now it would be his turn to polish it again. "Among alarms and chains, pitfalls and padlocks, the only one who in theory could have managed to set foot here tonight without causing hell were me! And instead they screwed me a whole car, can you believe it? A car that didn't even get in motion, what the hell did they do to take it away? But now I'll get organized, even if this means sleeping here for the rest of my life! If only they try again, I get all the tools up their ass, from the smallest to the largest. One by one! »He concluded, banging the wrench on the counter again.
At that moment a boy with a pale and sleepy appearance shuffled in, he was so tall and thin that he looked curved and had long straight bleached hair.
" Morning Bob," he mumbled in a faint voice.
"You were late last night too, eh?" Bob scolded him. "You have to stick in your thick head that rock and roll won't give you food! Arrive late one more time and I'll send you home forever, understood?"
"Sorry boss, you're right ..."
"And don't call me "boss"," I've told you a thousand times. Come on, get to work. The overhaul of that Chevrolet has to be finished, in half an hour they'll come to pick it up and now I am busy with James, "said Bob, entering his little office. He turned on the machine to heat the coffee and James stared at it, admiring the office walls. They were plastered with calendars depicting half-naked girls posing in sexy poses and he thought with some regret that he probably would never find anything like this hidden in his son's books of Egyptology.
"How much sugar?"
"... What?"
"Come back to us, I asked you how much sugar you want."
"Two teaspoons, thanks," said James as he sat down.
The mechanic spilled the sugar in the cafes using a dispenser, then mixed his own with a screwdriver and then handed it to James.
"I'm sorry, but I used the last spoon to do a job on a Freelander," he justified himself, then wiped his mouth full of tobacco with his fingers.
"Don't worry, it's fine ... I hope that at least now the car works," James said with a shrug.
"Damn if it works ..." the mechanic replied, then took a sip of coffee.
"We'll talk about the theft later, now I want you to tell me about the Cadillac. What was so special about the car that made you call us last night so we could see it?"
Bob came to the door to check that the boy was quite distant and busy that he couldn't hear. He saw him sitting in front of the computer analyzing the smoke discharge and found him strangely still. The Chevrolet had been on for some time and was booming, the workshop was filling up with smoke and he had to run to activate the vacuum cleaner.
"Fred, you wretch!" He yelled with all his breath. The boy jumped on the chair and looked around alienated, then hurriedly turned off the car.
"It's unbelievable, he fell asleep another time! If it were not that he is the son of a dear friend of mine ... "Bob explained to James, showing him a clenched fist, then leaned over the table to get as close as possible and looked him straight in his eyes. "That car didn't belong to ordinary people, I think those two deaths were secret agents or something," he whispered.
"What makes you think so?"
"I had set to work to find the fault, I had sworn I would have found it at the cost of removing bolt after bolt. I started with the engine, it was perfect but it showed no signs of life. I put it on the bridge and started looking at it from beneath, looking for an idea, and finally, I realized what was wrong with it. That car had two mufflers but instead, that production model has only one.
I took them apart and discovered, as I had suspected, that one of the two was fake ... it was a hidden storage compartment."
"Are you serious?"
Bob nodded.
"And what did it contain?"
"What did it contain?" Bob echoed emphatically. "When I opened it, I found everything in it: fake licenses and documents headed to those two who have died, license plates, bundles of banknotes for a few thousand dollars, some very strange devices, three Glocks and even a laser rifle."
"... a rifle what?"
"A laser rifle."
"Have you ever seen a laser rifle before?"
"Of course not, where do you want me to have seen it?"
