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Authors: Manel Loureiro

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XIX

The inspection of the ship took longer than Kate expected. Mrs. Miller, hair in a bun, came to her room after some time. She was accompanied by a server pushing a meal cart. Kate tried to exchange pleasantries with Mrs. Miller, but all she got in return was a warm smile and the promise that “this little fuss” would be over shortly. Kate didn’t believe a single word of it, especially since the waiter pushing the cart had a holstered gun hidden beneath his white uniform. He looked tenser than a taut bowstring.

Kate still felt edgy and disoriented after the earlier events. She had searched the room top to bottom—even after Senka’s little inspection—but found nothing that could explain what she’d seen.

What had happened?

Kate was certain it hadn’t been a dream. The jar of bath salts, her wet footprints on the rug—it had all been real. But she was still trying to work out which parts were fantasy and which were not. No answers came to her.

Night had arrived. In the circle of light surrounding the ship, she could still make out the whitecaps that frothed up all around the
Valkyrie
. Beyond that, darkness.

Someone knocked on her door. A uniformed crew member handed her an envelope. Kate watched him knock on other doors along the corridor. Several passengers lingered in the hallway with a look of boredom or fatigue while others were half-asleep. All of them, however, had one of the envelopes in hand.

Kate opened hers. It was a formal invitation to attend dinner that night. The card included the KDF logo in the corner, minus the swastika, of course, and a beautiful sketch of the
Valkyrie
. In the middle, written in elegant German, was the menu. As Kate read through it, she deduced that the menu had to be the same as the one offered the first night of the
Valkyrie
’s inaugural voyage. Feldman was attentive to detail.

She glanced around at the other guests in the hallway. She immediately wondered if one of them might have also had a similar experience to hers. If someone had, would the passenger be willing to say anything? She studied each person. Most acted relieved to see an end to the confinement, but a few just looked groggy. None of them had the appearance of having seen anything unusual during the last few hours.

She would talk to Carter. The talkative physicist would be able to help her, of that she was sure.

She checked the time and cursed. Dinner was in half an hour. She would have to hurry to get ready. She used only a minimal amount of makeup but made an effort to style her hair. She wanted to look attractive without looking like she was dressed up for a cocktail party. Truth be told, she had no idea what was on the agenda that evening. As she was doing her hair, she began thinking, somewhat cynically, about all the gala society dinners she used to cover just a few weeks ago. How different things were now.

Ten minutes later she found herself strutting down the hall accompanied by two middle-aged chemists who were thrilled to escort a beautiful young woman to dinner. Trying to impress her, they battled each other in a game of witticisms. But all Kate wanted was to be alone.

Each new hallway they passed through elicited renewed gasps of awe. Luxury and good taste were on full display everywhere on the
Valkyrie
. Its original designers had conceived the ship, or at least first class, as a great neoclassical mansion in which passengers would be able to mingle and dine in a refined atmosphere. The gaming floor equipped with roulette and card tables, the cigar lounge, the library and all its books—every space was incredible. Kate stopped to peruse the shelves in the library and found that they had replaced the original books with newer ones. There were tons of bestsellers and a selection of magazines and newspapers from that very day.

She was unsurprised to find a couple of copies of the
London New Herald
among the many newspapers in half a dozen languages. Still, as much as she looked, she could not find a single copy of
Mein Kampf
or any of the other books that had first occupied the shelves. Apparently, Feldman’s rigorous adherence to historical accuracy had its limits.

Finally, they entered the dining room by crossing the great hall and ascending its beautiful balustrade staircase. To Kate, it was thrilling. She knew she was entering the same hall Carroll and his shipmates had entered several decades before. They had crossed those same floors in the dark, only to find a vast, empty ship and a baby abandoned in the middle of the dance floor.

Kate and her two companions were the last to arrive. The rest of the guests were already seated around cocktail tables in the back of the hall, near the bandstand, sipping drinks. In another corner Kate could see a table already set for some twenty diners; the cutlery and china sparkled underneath the lights. The delicious aroma of roasted fish wafted around the room, and Kate’s stomach growled with hunger.

Feldman greeted her amiably, but he was engrossed in conversation with Cherenkov. The Russian gesticulated wildly as he spoke and, on occasion, sent little pearls of spit flying at Feldman’s jacket. Enthralled by what Cherenkov was saying, Feldman paid no attention.

“Kate!”

She turned around to see Carter signaling her from his table. He was sitting with Paxton, the geologist with the epic mustache. She excused herself from her two escorts and walked toward their table.

“Please allow me to say that you are the loveliest lady on board,” Paxton said with a slight bow.

Kate loved his deliberately antiquated style. She smiled and pointed to Senka, who was standing in a corner alone, her blue-green eyes narrowed as she watched everyone like a wolf near a chicken coop.

“I think she’s much prettier than me,” Kate said. “She could be a model.”

Paxton shook his head, aggrieved. “She is also lovely, no doubt, but I do not believe she wants much to do with me. We do not play on the same team, unfortunately.”

“What do you mean?” Kate asked, confused.

“I believe Mr. Paxton is referring to the fact that Senka is a lesbian, Kate,” Carter chimed in, laughing. “I figured you already knew.”

“Oh!” Kate stuttered and blushed. At times she lacked the social skills necessary to avoid embarrassing moments like this. “Well, either way, that is a very kind thing of you to say, Mr. Paxton.”

“Either way, he’s just telling it like it is,” added Carter, enjoying Kate’s discomfort more than anyone.

“How was the afternoon for you two?” Kate asked. “Have you noticed anything strange in your cabins?”

Carter and Paxton exchanged glances and shrugged.

“No,” they responded nearly in unison.

“Actually, I slept the afternoon away,” Paxton said.

“I was on my laptop going over one of my students’ thermodynamics projects,” Carter said. “Actually, I can’t remember if I finished or not. I must have fallen asleep as well. A room with no TV or radio can become somewhat tiresome.”

Kate was about to share her experiences with them when dinner was announced.

Fuck, Kate. Get your act together. You’ve got to tell someone what you saw, or you’ll go crazy. That is, if you’re not already crazy.

There were no assigned seats, so everyone began sitting down in the groups they’d already formed during cocktails. Kate was about to take a seat next to Carter and Paxton when Feldman motioned for her to sit by him. She gave her companions, who looked quite disappointed, an amused look before walking over to join the expedition leader.

“How’s the
Valkyrie
treating you, Kate?” Feldman asked as she sat down.

“I haven’t had much time to see it. But I must say it’s a spectacular ship. There’s nothing like it in the world.”

“Indeed. Of that, I am certain.” Feldman took a sip of his wine and looked thoroughly satisfied.

“You still owe me an explanation, Feldman. About the bombs. And Carroll. You know who’s behind it all, don’t you?”

Feldman nodded thoughtfully before taking an enthusiastic bite of the tuna appetizer. “I will tell everyone when the time is right, after dinner.”

Famished, Kate resigned herself to eating. She saw that nearly a third of the diners, including Carter, were vegetarians and had received special meals.

As they ate, the conversation around the table was light and entertaining, but in that superficial, nervous way typical of an elevator. Everyone was anxious to finish what they had started earlier that day. Everyone wanted answers.

When Feldman proposed an after-dinner coffee in the dance hall, everyone agreed, relieved. The diners rose from their seats nearly in unison and left behind half-finished desserts.

As Kate walked in, it was clear to her that Feldman had considered the moment very carefully. Apart from a round table surrounded by comfortable chairs for everyone, someone had placed a podium beside a big screen. A projector was humming. On the table, a gadget that reminded Kate of a cross was set between a satellite telephone and a computer.

They all took their seats and waited as Feldman went to the podium. Giving a half smile and exuding energetic confidence, he began his speech.

“Good evening. I hadn’t planned to have us meet so late. But considering what happened earlier, I think you’ll understand.”

A murmur of assent swept around the room.
Feldman’s animal magnetism in action again,
thought Kate, intrigued to see what he had in store for them.

“First, a brief explanation of what happened this morning. Everything was an unfortunate accident. After sending out a team of technicians, we have confirmation from Hamburg that the explosion in the
Mauna Loa
’s engine room was accidental. A worn-out pressure valve burst and caused the short circuit that sparked the fire. The engine on that ship was more than thirty years old. It would seem that quality control wasn’t everything it could have been back then. I’ve been told corrosion of the steel in the engines is to blame.” He looked down at some papers before continuing. “This is a problem not uncommon of old Soviet ships.”

Kate listened to him in amazement, unable to believe what she was hearing. Feldman was blatantly lying. She had seen the fire from the explosion. She was no expert on the matter, but she was certain the fire had not been caused by a steam valve bursting. She furtively glanced around to see the majority of the scientists breathing a sigh of relief upon hearing there was no terrorist in their midst. Only Carter looked as dubious as Kate did.

“Our inspection of the
Valkyrie
has confirmed that we run no risk aboard this ship.” Feldman was cut off by a wave of applause.

Cherenkov stood up. “I believe I speak for all of us when I say thank you for your efforts in keeping us safe. Now we can begin work on our project as soon as possible.”

“Certainly, Professor,” answered Feldman, “we shall not waste another second. Lights, please.”

The lights in the room dimmed. The projector turned on, and a black-and-white image of the
Valkyrie
popped up on-screen.

XX

“On the twenty-eighth of August in 1939, at 4:57 a.m., this ship, the
Valkyrie
, was found adrift in the middle of the ocean at approximately 53 degrees, 94 minutes and 17 seconds latitude north, 18 degrees, 47 minutes and 15 seconds longitude west. We don’t know the exact position because the crew that found the ship logged the position a few hours after the fact. I’m guessing they were too busy trying not to keel over in awe.”

A surge of laughter swelled throughout the room, and Feldman went on.

“I know I’m not saying anything new when I say there were no passengers on board except me. Everyone knows that. But although it may seem quite strange, the
Valkyrie
is not an isolated instance. It’s not even a first. Such an event has happened before. Many times, in fact.”

The projector clicked and a map of the world appeared, showing dozens of red dots throughout the oceans of the world.

“Since the dawn of recorded history, tons of ships have been documented as disappearing and reappearing without the crew aboard. Herodotus, the ancient Greek historian, recorded three different cases in his writings. He calls them the ‘ships without a soul.’ Strabo, Pliny, Agricola, Manetho—dozens of writers and historians of antiquity reference the obscure histories of ships found adrift. Often, they are missing no cargo, there are no signs of violence or damage, and the crew has vanished. If we look at sources from China, India, or Japan, we find the same phenomena. The history of ‘ships without a soul’ is found throughout ancient texts from the Old World.”

“I suppose each and every one of those cases has an explanation.” Carter’s voice sounded from the darkness.

“Many of them do, no doubt. Pirate attacks, epidemics, ships overturned during storms, human error. The possible causes are numerous. But there’s something important that distinguishes the case of the
Valkyrie
.”

Feldman pressed a button. On-screen, old manuscripts in several languages flashed by in between images of old ships. Galleys, galleons, liburnas, and xebecs cast their glow across Feldman’s face. Kate was reminded uncomfortably of a dark wizard conjuring up shadows that should be left alone. Shadows capable of destroying a room and leaving it new again.

“The problem with ancient sources is that they are often incomplete and imprecise. Historians tend to adorn cases like these, anomalies as they like to call them, with epic or death-defying backstories. Finding the real story behind something cloaked in so much folklore and legend has proven exhausting. Fortunately, we’ve found a team willing to work on the case for the past three years.”

Feldman took a sip of water and continued.

“Throughout the centuries, these cases have occurred again and again. It’s even been partially documented how, in 1660, five galleons from the Spanish treasure fleet suddenly vanished, only to be found adrift a week later with the cargo untouched but no signs of the crew. Only the cats and dogs remained on board.”

“That’s fascinating,” Kate interrupted. “I grew up in Spain, and I don’t remember ever hearing that story, not even in school. That story’s strange enough to be known.”

“Two English vessels were the ones to discover the ships,” Feldman said. “At that time, England and Spain had just finished thirty years of war, and the British throne had no interest in letting the rest of the world know that they had captured five ships laden with gold that didn’t really belong to them. So they covered it up. Only later do we learn anything about this event from inquiries made by the British Admiralty.”

Carter mumbled something unintelligible. Kate was only able to make out the word
fantasies
and couldn’t help but smile in spite of his bad mood.

The next image to flash up was a brigantine. The ship had two masts and looked graceful with its British flag fluttering off the stern.

“Eventually, we get to the nineteenth century, and the cases begin to be documented more properly. This here is the
Mary Celeste
.”

Kate was taken aback. She knew the name of this ship.

“This is possibly the most famous ghost ship. Arthur Conan Doyle wrote a short story about it. On the fifth of November in 1872, she sets sail from New York with a crew of seven. Captain Briggs is accompanied by his wife and their two-year-old daughter. Seemingly, the voyage begins without a hitch. Yet, a month later, another ship called the
Dei Gratia
finds the
Celeste
in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean under full sail. The captain of the
Dei Gratia
becomes suspicious when, after two hours of observation, nobody appears on deck. Thus, he decides to send a crew out to investigate. They find that, despite the ship being in full working order and missing none of its original cargo, nobody is on board. The last entry made in the logbook is from a week prior, yet they find a hot meal on the table, just like on the
Valkyrie
.”

A wave of murmurs swirled around the table. Cherenkov was nodding and looking serious. Feldman took the opportunity to go to his next slide. It was another ship, this time a photograph.

“February 28, 1855. The
James B. Chester
is found adrift in the middle of the Atlantic with all of its cargo intact and fully seaworthy. Only the compass and the ship’s log are missing. The crew’s belongings are piled at the base of the masts. No life rafts are missing, and there are no signs of violence. Its crew is never heard from again.”

A new picture. This time, a steamship.

“Bahamas, 1905. A little more than thirty years before the incident of the
Valkyrie
. A merchant ship called
Rossini
is found sailing adrift with its boilers off and no one on board. Its cargo of wines, fruits, and silk is untouched. The only things alive are the cat, a handful of chickens, and a pair of starving canaries. The ship had been derelict for nearly two weeks.”

A new image flashed up of another smaller cargo ship.

“An even more striking anomaly crops up just a few years before that incident. The ship you see here on-screen is the
Ellen Austin
. She’s sailing near where they found the
Valkyrie
when she came across a three-masted schooner. Captain Weyland of the
Ellen Austin
sends a search crew out to investigate the schooner. They find no one alive on board, and yet the ship is unspoiled. Still, they are unable to locate the ship’s logbook, the captain’s log, or anything specifying the ship’s name or its place of origin.

“Forty-eight hours later, as they are sailing in tandem toward Gibraltar, a thick fog bank envelops both ships.” Feldman raised his eyes from his notes, and his tone became grim. “The
Ellen Austin
loses sight of the schooner. When they finally find her again, a day later, none of the replacement crew is on board. That anonymous ship was empty once again with no marks of violence or any trace of its occupants.”

With all eyes on him, Feldman went on.

“So Weyland decides to send out another search crew to board and operate the ship, which almost causes a mutiny aboard the
Ellen Austin
. The two ships continue sailing in tandem until, two hundred miles from Gibraltar, another terribly thick, cold fog envelops both ships. They lose sight of the schooner again, but this time it ends up being for good. When the fog dissipates, the ship without a name is nowhere in sight, and the crew who had been sent to sail her is never heard from again.”

The room was dead quiet. The only sounds came from the buzzing of the projector and Cherenkov’s heavy breathing.

“That can’t be,” said Carter with a touch of doubt in his voice. “I mean, that has to be fake, or a legend.”

“It’s all documented. The British Admiralty conducted an inquiry, and the insurance backed by Lloyds Bank was forced to pay substantial damages to the families of the missing sailors. There’s no doubt, Carter. It happened. What we still don’t know is why.”

Feldman turned to Cherenkov and made a gesture toward him. The Russian stood up and walked up to the podium, which the stately Feldman graciously relinquished.

“There have been more than thirty incidents in the past one hundred years,” Cherenkov rumbled. “They cannot be explained. I’m a physicist, and my field is electromagnetic radiation. I came across these incidents in 1972 when one of our Golf-class ballistic submarines, the
K-94
, disappeared for seventy-two hours and reappeared again with no crew on board. We managed to find it thanks to its emergency beacon, which was coming from nearly one thousand feet below the sea with its reactor at half power and all of its locks secured. Not one drop of salt water was found inside the submarine, and yet, of the eighty-three men aboard, officers and sailors, not a single one was found.”

Someone took a noisy sip of coffee. Cherenkov had the group hanging on his every word.

“The rescue operation was a true logistical marvel that, for obvious reasons, never became public.” Cherenkov sounded proud. “We were able to get back a nuclear submarine from the United States’ very own territory without anyone knowing. Not even the Americans.”

He pressed a button, and a diagram of electromagnetic waves appeared. To Kate, it might as well have been Chinese, but it still made for an arresting image. For the physicists in the room, however, the diagram proved extremely interesting. Most leaned forward and began to take notes.

“The data the submarine sent out right before its disappearance was extremely odd, but it indicated, more than anything, the existence of a strong electromagnetic disturbance. The instruments had gone wild, and it seems they lost electromechanical control of the nuclear reactor for a few moments. I spent the next twelve years studying that data, and my research led me to other similar cases like those described by Mr. Feldman. It hasn’t only happened to ships, either. It’s also occurred with planes.”

“Like the squadron of torpedo bombers that was lost in the Bermuda Triangle?” someone asked from the back of the room.

Cherenkov nodded patiently. His look of resignation indicated he had guessed the example might come up during the course of the conversation.

“Yes and no,” he answered. “This has nothing to do with the Bermuda Triangle or anything of that nature. Forget all about that. The Triangle, which isn’t even a triangle, is pseudoscientific garbage with no foundation. We’re not talking about aliens or Atlantis or any of that newfangled bullshit.”

The silence in the room at that moment was absolute.

“This is serious,” Cherenkov went on. “There are two types of movements in the water of the oceans. Surface movements, which are influenced by the wind, the temperature, and other factors related to climate. And then there are deep-water movements, largely governed by ocean currents. A difference in the movements of two currents can cause important differences in pressure and static that wind up generating powerful electromagnetic storms.”

“Like hurricanes,” said one of the meteorologists.

“Exactly, only much more intense and harsh. Whereas an atmospheric storm might last a few days—or say, a couple of weeks in the case of a hurricane—an underwater storm can last for months. Its movement is much slower, and the energy it emits is much stronger. Its electromagnetic field can be powerful enough to disturb ships sailing above.”

Cherenkov pressed another button. The odd-looking gadget Kate had noticed earlier sent out a beam of light, and as if by magic, a 3-D representation of the earth began revolving above the table. Gasps of awe came from the passengers. Kate was reminded of the image produced by the tape Princess Leia inserts into R2-D2 at the beginning of
Star Wars
. The technology had to be brand new. Clearly, Feldman had spared no costs.

“This is where the
Valkyrie
disappeared.” A bright-red dot lit up on the surface as the planet spun on its axis. “Here is where the submarine disappeared in 1972.” Another red dot appeared as soon as Cherenkov spoke. “These are the places where similar anomalies have occurred according to records from the past one hundred years, like those cases Mr. Feldman discussed.”

Dozens of red dots began peppering the surface of the oceans as if the hologram were suffering a bad case of the chicken pox.

“Now for the most interesting point,” Cherenkov said like a magician about to perform a particularly difficult trick. “Take a look at this.”

The points on the projected image began to be joined by straight lines that crisscrossed the planet. The lines crossed and overlapped each other, covering the earth with an intricate framework, and Kate struggled to follow the logic in the chaos, like a child’s drawing. After some careful observation, though, Kate was amazed to realize there was a pattern, a game of lines repeating over and over but only crossing at the sites of the disappearances.

“That’s unbelievable,” she whispered.

Cherenkov heard her and turned to her, smiling.

“I’ve christened it the Cherenkov Singularity. Right now we are heading straight for one of those points where the Singularity exists. Soon, we’ll discover if I’m right or wrong.”

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