be honest.”
Hayden smiled sweetly. “It’s a time displacement device. And it’s time we went to see it.”
*****
Through the bowels of the great ship they were led. Silent marines with loaded and cocked weapons escorted them front and behind. In Ben’s whispered words it almost felt as if they were captives here. The massive cruiser rocked slightly from side to side, its joints and welds groaning like a host of condemned souls.
At last they reached a nondescript door and were ushered inside. True to form, the soldiers lined up outside.
Harrison was already there, pacing faster than some English footballers cheat on their wives. Watching him with wry amusement was one of the ship’s officers. A third man was further away, bending slightly to study an object placed on a steel table.
“At last. At last,” Harrison beckoned them in, looking sweaty and nervous. “This way. Device is over here.”
Drake frowned hard at the aid. “You got somewhere else to be, Justin?”
The aid blinked. “Umm, no. Why?”
Drake waved him on. Kennedy whispered: “Take it easy. Guy’s weird, but harmless.”
“It’s probably me,” Drake admitted with a glint in his eye. “I just don’t like guys with very small penises.”
Hayden blinked in interest, Ben shook his head, and Kennedy bit. “How’d you know . . . ?”
“Break the name down,” Drake smirked as he strode ahead. “Just. In.”
“Dinosaur,” Ben called after him. “That joke’s older than York Minster.”
Drake approached the metal table. The man next to it straightened and gave him an appraising stare. Soldier, Drake thought. Commander. Probably in charge of the military forces around here.
“Name’s Drake,” he said holding his hand out. “Matt Drake.”
“As in Bond?” the man let slip a little smile that didn’t grace his eyes. “Jo Bradey. SOG.”
Drake was rocked, despite himself. The SOG were a small elite force within Delta force. A highly secretive group, not too dissimilar from the command he used to be a part of - the English SRT . He hid his surprise by glancing towards the table.
“So that’s the thing that’s got everyone’s knickers in a twist, eh?”
His friends gathered around him. Before them, given pride of place on an otherwise bare table, sat what at first glance appeared to be a rusty metal box. When Drake bent a little closer, unconsciously imitating the SOG commanders’ pose of a minute ago, he was able to distinguish several tiny marks decorating its rough-looking surface.
What at first appeared to be a shabby old hunk of metal was on closer inspection a clever work of art. Indistinct, sweeping whorls covered the entire exterior, each one designed to blend with the next - infinite arches perhaps, or graceful waves of power.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Harrison was still trying to push things along. “This is the device that was hauled up from the bottom of the ocean, from Blackbeard’s own cabin, we think. You can see now why it might be traded back and forth during the pirate days.”
“And you think this thing has been the cause of random occurrences in the Bermuda Triangle?” Kennedy asked sceptically. “A phenomenon which, as you know, has always been denied and disproven. Until now.”
“As it will continue to be,” Bradey said. “Half the aeroplanes landing in Orlando travel through the heart of the Triangle. We wouldn’t wanna panic folk bound for Mickeyland now would we?”
“They do?” Ben asked. “How many of them know that?”
“Surprisingly few,” said Bradey chuckling.
Ben set his jaw. “Look,” he said, “there’s something you people aren’t telling us. How do you know that thing . . . ” he waved at the box, “ . . . is responsible for causing the Bermuda Triangle? How can you? The phenomenon has never been attributed to anything, ever, so how is it possible now to say - ‘oh yeah, this box is the cause.’”
There was a moment’s silence that
Hayden smiled sweetly. “It’s a time displacement device. And it’s time we went to see it.”
*****
Through the bowels of the great ship they were led. Silent marines with loaded and cocked weapons escorted them front and behind. In Ben’s whispered words it almost felt as if they were captives here. The massive cruiser rocked slightly from side to side, its joints and welds groaning like a host of condemned souls.
At last they reached a nondescript door and were ushered inside. True to form, the soldiers lined up outside.
Harrison was already there, pacing faster than some English footballers cheat on their wives. Watching him with wry amusement was one of the ship’s officers. A third man was further away, bending slightly to study an object placed on a steel table.
“At last. At last,” Harrison beckoned them in, looking sweaty and nervous. “This way. Device is over here.”
Drake frowned hard at the aid. “You got somewhere else to be, Justin?”
The aid blinked. “Umm, no. Why?”
Drake waved him on. Kennedy whispered: “Take it easy. Guy’s weird, but harmless.”
“It’s probably me,” Drake admitted with a glint in his eye. “I just don’t like guys with very small penises.”
Hayden blinked in interest, Ben shook his head, and Kennedy bit. “How’d you know . . . ?”
“Break the name down,” Drake smirked as he strode ahead. “Just. In.”
“Dinosaur,” Ben called after him. “That joke’s older than York Minster.”
Drake approached the metal table. The man next to it straightened and gave him an appraising stare. Soldier, Drake thought. Commander. Probably in charge of the military forces around here.
“Name’s Drake,” he said holding his hand out. “Matt Drake.”
“As in Bond?” the man let slip a little smile that didn’t grace his eyes. “Jo Bradey. SOG.”
Drake was rocked, despite himself. The SOG were a small elite force within Delta force. A highly secretive group, not too dissimilar from the command he used to be a part of - the English SRT . He hid his surprise by glancing towards the table.
“So that’s the thing that’s got everyone’s knickers in a twist, eh?”
His friends gathered around him. Before them, given pride of place on an otherwise bare table, sat what at first glance appeared to be a rusty metal box. When Drake bent a little closer, unconsciously imitating the SOG commanders’ pose of a minute ago, he was able to distinguish several tiny marks decorating its rough-looking surface.
What at first appeared to be a shabby old hunk of metal was on closer inspection a clever work of art. Indistinct, sweeping whorls covered the entire exterior, each one designed to blend with the next - infinite arches perhaps, or graceful waves of power.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Harrison was still trying to push things along. “This is the device that was hauled up from the bottom of the ocean, from Blackbeard’s own cabin, we think. You can see now why it might be traded back and forth during the pirate days.”
“And you think this thing has been the cause of random occurrences in the Bermuda Triangle?” Kennedy asked sceptically. “A phenomenon which, as you know, has always been denied and disproven. Until now.”
“As it will continue to be,” Bradey said. “Half the aeroplanes landing in Orlando travel through the heart of the Triangle. We wouldn’t wanna panic folk bound for Mickeyland now would we?”
“They do?” Ben asked. “How many of them know that?”
“Surprisingly few,” said Bradey chuckling.
Ben set his jaw. “Look,” he said, “there’s something you people aren’t telling us. How do you know that thing . . . ” he waved at the box, “ . . . is responsible for causing the Bermuda Triangle? How can you? The phenomenon has never been attributed to anything, ever, so how is it possible now to say - ‘oh yeah, this box is the cause.’”
There was a moment’s silence that
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