Rest and relaxation in Hamilton.
Max noticed how quickly James and Amy had recovered from their terrifying experience when the sea had almost swallowed them up. However they were still harping on about their lost luggage, so Max offered to buy replacements for all their missing items.
There was no doubt though, they were looking forward to unravelling the mystery of the lost ships and aircraft, and were particularly excited about going aboard the US1. They had been bitten by the same adventure bug as Max.
After dinner that evening, they were enthralled when Max and Carla replayed the saga surrounding the submarine hijacking, during its final sea trials. They described how the huge vessel had been sucked into the undersea passage running beneath Mexico, and the terrors they faced when trapped there.
For the first time in his life, Max saw his son for the individual he was; he had made a good life for himself, and with Amy by his side life could only get better.
Although Amy and Carla were twins and were physically identical, nurture had made a significant difference to their personalities. Amy was a totally normal person, a typical young girl, but not an airhead. She worked in partnership with James managing his software company, based on Project Oracle, a system Carla stole from her biological father Philippe, before he could sell it to The Organization.
Project Oracle was unique, so unusual that it could not be categorized. To many it was a sophisticated database, others claimed it was artificial intelligence, in fact it was neither, but both.
Carla had passed the original software to James to find out its true function, and from the moment it was connected to the internet, the system had developed of its own accord.
James soon discovered how to specify his requirement to the system, so it would produce the solution. It did not matter whether he specified that custom software be coded, or predictions on political outcomes; just set up the question correctly and it would come up with the appropriate answer. It was like having teams of experts working on the problem.
Project Oracle had invisibly permeated every computer connected to the internet, extracting information to answer questions, and James quickly realized the devastating effect this system would have on the world.
It had the potential to replace experts and designers in every industry, destroying lives and creating economic havoc. It had became necessary to prevent outsiders accessing the system. Now, only James and Amy had the necessary access, and they focused their business on the development of complex bespoke software.
***
That night as they cuddled up together in their bed, James and Amy talked about the adventure so far, with Max and Carla.
“I didn’t realize my father led such an exciting life. I have always seen him as the focused business man, bogged down with life’s humdrum demands. Yet here he is now, relaxed, full of fun and rather cool.”
“I would say that is mostly down to my scary sister. Her boredom threshold is lower than a snakes belly in a wheel rut. Do you remember me telling you about those horrid villains who thought I was Carla?”
“Oh! Yes, you were in the Maldives, weren’t you? You never did say what you were doing there. Who were you with?”
Amy realized she had just opened up a chapter of her life that she had kept from James, and planned to keep it that way.
“I was on my own, just a holiday. Anyway, your father is so dotty about Carla that he single handedly tracked down a crashed helicopter in the African jungle, and recovered that beautiful statuette Carla has in the entrance of her hideaway. He did all that, just to show how much he loved her.
“Then that vile man and his gang tried to grab me, and he demanded I return it. That man turned out to be our biological father, Philippe! To get him to leave me alone, Carla and Max agreed to give him the statuette, and we went to Cairo to hand it over.
“Philippe captured me and imprisoned me in an old building as insurance they would give him the stupid thing. In the end, he must have taken money instead because, as you know, she still has it. Anyway, I have never been bothered by Philippe again.
“I was very lucky because Max found me and released me, but there was no sign of Philippe.
“Actually, I rather wondered if Max or Carla might have, y’know, done away with him. I would not put it past Carla, but Max is such a softy though, I doubt he would harm a fly.
“I can quite see where you get your caring side.
“But Carla is still a mystery to me. I could never imagine her loving anyone, least of all your father, they are so different. Still, she definitely adores him and hates to be separated from him, even for a minute.”
“Well Amy, I am so glad Dad and Carla got together, otherwise I would never have met you.
“You know I have told you this a million times, but I so love you and I can’t bear being apart from you either, so I totally understand Carla in that regard.”
“A girl never gets tired of being told she is loved. However, this one is the sort of girl that believes actions speak louder than words. So, come here big boy, I have something you might like---
***
Over the next few days, the four of them dived on shipwrecks, partied hard and explored Bermuda. On this occasion, they had decided to wander along the harbor side at Hamilton, ogling the magnificent displays of immense wealth, floating peacefully in the mid-afternoon sun.
Whenever the opportunity arose, Max evaluated the facts concerning the loss of ships and planes, their narrow escape from sinking, the cause of the gas bubbles, and the possibility of the gas harvesting being the source of the problem.
In his mind, the possibilities were these.
The loss of the liner and cargo ship could be fraud; it was the most likely reason because motive, means and opportunity were all present. On the other hand perhaps a release of methane from the gas-harvesting site, either accidental or deliberate, like the flare off on an oilrig had taken place.
This was highly unlikely because the gas cloud would have to be enormous, millions of cubic feet in volume and although initially, the cold gas would float at sea level, the warmth of the sun would quickly make it expand and rise out of harm’s way. None the less, there would be a small window of opportunity for explosion, if there were sufficient breeze to mix the gas with the air, a ratio of one part gas to fifteen of air, whilst still at sea level. A spark or exhaust gases from the funnel could ignite the mixture. A fuel/air bomb explosion of stupendous proportions, all over in a few moments.
He then considered the later incident with the gas tanker. Again, the simplest answer would be that the tanker blew up, taking the other ship and jet with it. There are many factors against this theory. The gas is a frozen liquid in the massively strong container. The pressure vessel would have to be breached by an external explosion like a missile or terrorist attack, or even sabotage, but why bother. It was not a high profile opportunity, and unlikely to be insurance fraud with such a modern ship or any other motive he could imagine.
His best guess was, the same cause as the first incident, whatever that was, although the events were so far apart in time and distance.
The incident with the seaplane and Ocean Raider was different again. There was no real explosion, just the minor one with the plane; the actual cause was gas bubbles and loss of buoyancy. There was gas present, most likely carbon dioxide and sulphur, judging by the difficulty in breathing and the terrible smell, certainly not a cloud of methane, which would be odorless.
This all pointed to a natural undersea event. It could easily be explained by the fault lines and other small undersea features. He could think of no similarities between the first two events, and that was what was so frustrating about the problem.
***
Max suddenly became aware he had wandered off from the others and tried to figure out where he was. He was near the harbor and walking past some office buildings, generally in the direction of the tender back to the Ocean Raider. He was about to phone the others to let them know where he was and not to be concerned, when he noticed the Gas Harvesting Associates sign. It was amongst others in a list, renting office space and he went in to inquire about the business.
The receptionist, who incidentally owned the building, told Max Gas Harvesting Associates were no longer there, they only hired the floor for a week to hold a conference, and the temporary sign had not yet been removed. Just at that moment, Jason Sterling came in from the street; the receptionist called him to one side, so Max could not hear the conversation.
She said to Sterling, “The man at my desk wanted to speak to someone in your Company, but I told him you were no longer renting; do you want me to introduce you?”
Sterling looked at Max and, seized by curiosity he agreed to speak with him.
“Hello, my name is Jason Sterling, I represent the interests of the business, how may I help you?”
Max introduced himself as a small private investor with an interest in the future of energy production; a recent interest to ease the boredom of relaxation and indulgence, due to his early retirement.
Jason could tell from the quality of Max’s clothing and shoes that here was a man who had more money than he needed to scrape by on. The Rolex did not impress Jason, it only showed him Max had enough money to buy one. It was probably just a bit of bling.
In spite of the fact that Max owned $17 million in cut and uncut diamonds, his share from the Zenobia treasure, Max hated jewelry of any kind. He only wore the watch because it had been a gift from Carla, soon after they first met.
Jason thought Max was worth a few minutes of his time, more investment money was always welcome, so he said, “I have to collect something from my office so come on up, we can have a conversation in private.”
They both went up to the conference room, and Jason offered Max a seat opposite him at the desk. Jason started his laptop computer, and left it to boot-up.
***
Just then Max’s phone chimed, he pulled it from his pocket; Sam was calling him. Max apologized to Jason, saying he had to take the call.
Before he could get up and walk away, Jason told him to remain seated; he had something to attend on the other side of the office so Max could speak privately where he was. Jason then walked away, across the large room, leaving Max to speak confidentially.
Sam had located a professor Stan Kendrick near Basel in Switzerland, “he is a specialist in all the “ologies” relating to geology, volcanology, fault lines, tectonic plate movement, deep ocean drilling, fracking and many more. He understands the interplay of the systems better than anyone does, because of his overlap on the subjects. He lives in seclusion, you will have to go to Basel and track him down.
“Bear in mind, he has a large chip on his shoulder because the press misquoted him, saying he made a firm prediction about the recent tsunami that hit Japan that was proved wrong by actual events, whereas he claims he made no such statement. Anyway, he vanished under a cloud of threats and public anger. He will not be expecting you, so make sure Carla flutters her eyelashes and turns on her charm, he has a penchant for young girls.
“The Lear will be with you tomorrow evening to take you to Switzerland; I am not sure which airport, but hire a car to get you to his home. In addition, before you ask, yes, you can take James and Amy; The Organization will pay for their stay. It’s the least we can do to make up for the scare on the Ocean Raider, you were on a mission for us, after all.”
Max thanked Sam and pocketed his phone.
***
Jason returned to his desk to resume the conversation.
“Well then Max, what can I do for you?”
Max replied, “Several days ago, I was chugging about the ocean, and I spotted a huge floating terminus with dozens of gas tankers moored to it, is that something you are connected with?”
“Yes, it is, we do have a terminus there, we harvest gas from the ocean.” Jason replied economically, and fiddled with his computer for a few moments, then looked up with a friendly smile.
“Wretched things, computers, seem to take over everyone’s lives. What were you sailing? It is a very long way out from anywhere.” Jason continued.
How Max wished Carla were here; she would have read the man by now and been able to extract proper answers. Now Jason was fencing with him, thrust, a question, parry with an unhelpful answer.
“The Ocean Raider, you can just see it outside the harbor.” Max turned slightly and pointed out through the full height panoramic window, to the gleaming white super yacht in the distance.
“Are you a guest?” queried Jason.
Max saw this as a polite way of Jason assessing Max’s worth. Max was more likely a guest than the owner and it would be a comedown to admit he was not the owner.
“No” Max replied with a self-conscious and embarrassed smile, “I am definitely not a guest or crew, it goes where I say it goes,” and left Jason to figure out a meaning.
Jason tried to read Max. This man appears to have some money, is refreshingly modest, and either charters or shares ownership of the vessel, but is not the outright owner. Chartering a ship of that class was also unlikely and if chartered, it would be frightfully expensive, as would being a part owner.
“So why did you visit the terminus?” Jason probed.
“I didn’t, it just happened to be in my way. Still, it stimulated an interest, and I thought I would follow through, so here I am. How do you obtain the gas, Jason?”
A more personal approach now, he is using my name to relax me and draw me out, thought Jason.
“Are you asking from an investment position?” parried Jason.
“Yes, as I told you downstairs, I need to find something interesting to ease the boredom of retirement. As I see it, energy use is top of everyone’s agenda these days; it is not going out of fashion like most things, certainly not in my lifetime.” That should move things along, thought Max.
“Yes, you are absolutely right, and in our humble way, we offer the only viable option for sustainable fuel supply for thousands of years to come, cheaper and safer than nuclear and independent of solar,” replied Jason, realizing that it was pointless toying with Max.
“Are there investment opportunities with your business, it looks small scale compared with oil, coal and nuclear conglomerates” stabbed Max. If that does not hurt his pride and elicit an indignant response, I will be surprised.
Jason felt the flush rise on his face, the adrenalin pulsating into his blood stream as an inner rage fought to get out.
It was his own fault for keeping a low profile in the business; he wanted to be the invisible man, not the figurehead.
The downside was that no one was aware of his awesome achievement, probably the most important milestone for humankind any person had ever made, and single-handedly at that.
He controlled the impulse to put Max straight on the matter and answered, “Yes, the operation is laboratory scale at the moment; I have spent $3 billion so far, and I am in full production after just six months. The investment will be fully repaid in a year’s time, but I do need further investment on top of the $1.4 billion top up I have just negotiated with private investors, to develop more sites. If you want to write a check now, I can take it and sign you up as a shareholder. You can conservatively expect your money to be repaid in a year; every year after that will be pure profit, less any taxes you might be liable for.” Now, put up or shut up thought Jason.
“I could gamble $10 million, so tell me more about how the system works,” countered Max. The bait was out there now, would this be enough to get the information he wanted.
Jason realized his best way forward was to explain the basics, and gave the same presentation he had used with the drug lords. A well thought out presentation; it was fresh in Jason’s mind and, based on previous reaction, very successful.
Max was extremely impressed and thought The Organization might be interested as an investment, but then he checked himself; he was here on a search for information, not to get caught up in some sort of investment scheme. After all, he had more money than he could ever hope to spend, why did he need more?
“What about accidental gas discharge? Methane is a far greater global warming agent than carbon dioxide; I am wondering about the environmental impact?” questioned Max, thrusting to the nub of his search for answers.
“First, methane is bubbling up from the ocean floor all over the planet. With the increase in global temperature, it is also escaping the permafrost on land as well. If we do not harvest it, it will increase global warming naturally, anyway. The methane we harvest will be burnt and the resulting carbon dioxide will still add to the warming, but it will be many magnitudes less harmful than the unburnt methane. A win-win situation so far.
“The design of the seabed pontoons is such that if methane cannot be harvested, perhaps due to storms or a mass breakdown of shipping, or some other unimagined catastrophe, the upper chambers of the pontoons can store fourteen times more gas than in the lower chambers, which provides several weeks of buffering. Should the pontoons become so full they float, then a large volume of gas would be discharged, and the warmed seabed will emit gas for up to a month. Although this is a massive gas discharge, it would have ended up in the atmosphere in any case, by the natural processes I explained earlier” assured Jason.
Max could see there was a possible risk of a gas cloud close to the site, but there was no possibility of a cloud from this site, reaching the disaster spots so far away. A floating pontoon would be quickly retrieved and placed back in position, it could never float far without being discovered; it was as large as a large housing estate, for goodness sake! No, this was not the answer, better move on and put it down to more mysteries of the Bermuda Triangle.
“Perhaps you could give me your card, so I can contact you again when I have researched the subject, and satisfied myself that it will be a sound investment?” asked Max.
Jason immediately detected the switch-off of interest. Any real investor would have raised many pertinent questions, and then gone away to think it over. No, this was a fishing exercise, this guy was poking his nose into the business, and Jason was not ready to be exposed so soon.
“May I show you something, before you go, Max?”
***
Jason skillfully rattled away at the keyboard of the laptop and turned it around to face Max. Max leaned forward on the desk to view the screen.
It showed the terminal from the air, the five long fingers of pontoons radiating out from the large hub of buildings and machinery, distributing the gas to the ships. There were so many ships, they looked like small fish nibbling at the fingers.
The long black, sinister looking cylinders of gas from the seabed, looked like tens of submarines moored ready for action. Truly, an impressive enterprise; Max was suitably awed.
Another slide showed an artist’s impression of the undersea element of the operation. It was so large, even if it were not for the inky black water 5000metres down, it would be impossible to take in its enormity. The next slide, a movie actually, showed a small segment taken at a corner of the site on the seabed. Interlinking pipes ran in neat bundles over the pontoons. The floodlit expanse of concrete was like a football stadium on a wet, foggy night.
The curiously shaped docking points for the cylinders reminded Max of a photo he had seen of a negro woman’s lips, puckered and slightly open, about to clamp around a man’s penis.
Other slides showed the enormous and totally functional robots that maintained the site. The term ‘robots’ conjured in Max’s mind, the image of huge humanoid metal machines. These things were like double decker buses on their side, fitted with many telescopic or folding arms, pipes and connectors, and trailing long black umbilical cables. The machines hovered over, glided across or landed on the pontoons at precise spots, to turn valves, connect or disconnect pipes and equipment.
Again, Max was extremely impressed by what he had seen; it was not just the sheer scale, but the exquisite complexity of the engineering. At this tremendous depth and colossal water pressure, if anything went wrong, there was no way a human could intervene and put things right.
Many things could be remote controlled from the surface, but that was not happening here. The system was autonomous; anything outside operational parameters was allocated by computer, to a specific robot. The task was totally automated with simple and foolproof couplings, pipes, valves and connections. It made robotic equipment meandering about on Mars look like a toy for a ten year old.
The two men said their goodbyes and Max left the building, deep in thought. One thought struck him like an electric shock, underwater robots, self-maintenance, immense water pressure, special oil, Anita, The Organization, was this the client Sam had mentioned?
He now crossed the road and was gazing across the water of the harbor, when his next thought stopped him dead in his tracks; Jason was watching him through the huge window of the conference room, and noticed his sudden pause.
Max remembered a green light was glowing at the top of the laptop screen, right next to the small built-in webcam. Max whirled round and caught a glimpse of Jason hurriedly backing away from the window. The game was up, both parties realized this, but what was the game?