Bermuda Triangle (3 page)

"You don't
believe me?"

Hanlon shook his
head, a mute denial rather than an outright lie.

The doctor
entered the room, remaining on the other side of the plastic barrier. He put on
one glove. "Sorry to interrupt, sir. This came in for you." His hand
came through.

"Excuse me,"
Hanlon said. Turning his back to the sick man, he read in the doctor's exacting
cursive script,
Need any help?

With a grateful expression,
Hanlon scribbled a reply:
Send a transmission. Get me everything there is on
a seaman third class from Scorpion named Jacob Swann.

He folded the
note and handed it back to the doctor. "Make that urgent," he said. The
doctor nodded, stripped off his protective glove, and put it in the yellow bin.
He washed his hands and left the room, closing the door behind him.

"You were
saying?"

With a bold
stare the man said, "I was talking about angels."

Captain Hanlon
didn't even blink. "Right."

Swann took a
deep breath. "You see, the angels, they can fly. Once I got out of that
hole I could fly too. It's something to do with gravity there. Everything was
as light as a feather. It was hell coming back -- back here to Earth, I'm so
Goddamned heavy." He glared at Hanlon. "You can understand that, can't
you? I used to have muscles. You think I was always this puny?"

Hanlon shook his
head. Impossible as it seemed, Swann's story made sense. There was no medical
explanation for his debilitated state. Even a few weeks of low gravity would account
for muscle atrophy and loss of bone density.

"I was scared
at first. Me, Jake Swann, afraid! Afraid of
angels
. Makes you laugh, don't
it?" His laughter held a definite hysterical note. For a moment Hanlon thought
Swann might break into tears again.

"The people
were naked -- you don't need clothes. And they all had white wings -- wings with
real feathers, growing right out of their shoulders. They don't speak. They could
talk inside my head -- I don't know how, but I talked to them that way, too-- pretty
weird at first, but you get used to it."

Hanlon frowned.
Jake Swann took deep audible breaths every few words. He couldn't seem to get
enough air.   

"There was a
black hole inside the cave," Swann wheezed. "It was an incredible
thing, a big dark nothing. It pulled at me -- shit, it was bitter cold! I felt
the chill from where I stood, a good ten feet away. The angels said if I fell
in I'd go to Hell. They didn't use that word -- they communicate mind to mind --
it's hard to explain -- but I knew what they were talking about. I could
believe it, too."

Swann's words shot
like rapid fire, his breath ragged as he struggled for air. "The leader --
a skinny guy with -- a white beard, argued with one of the women -- I shouldn't
have come -- he kept saying I -- should be thrown down the hole -- back to Hell
where I belonged -- one woman, Lana, disagreed -- said if I was here -- God had
sent me for a reason -- White Beard said -- I hadn't been sent by God -- I'd
been sent by the Devil -- said they would be sorry -- if they didn't drop me
down the hole to Hell."

All this talk of
hell was a trigger, Hanlon realized. Swann was over excited, eyes bright, skin
flushed. He looked terrible. "Maybe we should take a break," Captain
Hanlon said with a soothing voice that disguised his concern. With an easy grin
in his eyes he quipped, "You look like you're ready for your afternoon
nap."

Swann began to
cough and Captain Hanlon became overly solicitous. He took his time, offering tissues
and water, encouraging him to drink. He contrived as long an interlude as
possible, curbing Swann's fevered narration. A corpsman came in, and gave Swann
medication via a nebulizer. He checked his vital signs, making careful
notations in his chart. By the time the corpsman left Jake Swann was breathing
easier.

"I want to
get this off my chest," Swann said, resting back against the pillows. "They
decided I could stay. Lana led me out of the cave and into the light. The
angels have no sun and they have no night -- it's always day time where they
live. There are plenty of fruits and berries in the trees and bushes. I thought
I'd miss meat, but that stuff is good and it fills you up. The place was
paradise. Lana made me some wings so I could fly, too." A little smile
came to his lips, his expression distant. Hanlon was relieved to find Swan much
more composed. He made a mental note to avoid the subject of Hell.

Swan continued, "Course,
you don't need wings to fly. In Heaven you float, because you're virtually weightless.
The wings just kind of direct you. The trees were huge, and their branches
spread out every which way. It's the light, see? It's all around. I don't know
how or why, it just is! I tell you, time has no meaning in that place. If you
want to sleep, then you sleep!" He paused and swallowed. He still had a
wheeze. "Most people sleep in caves or holes that they've dug -- it's
darker that way and you don't go floating away. They catch the water that comes
from underground rivers; eating and drinking is never a problem. And the sex!
Holy shit, you have sex floating right up in the air. If that ain't living, I don't
know what is!"

Jake Swann's eyes
glittered. With his red face and wild eyes, Hanlon thought he looked a little
crazy, like someone who needed sedation. Or a padded room.

Swann picked at his
blanket, his fingers moving restlessly. "The women there are all fit, healthy
and beautiful. Every one of them loves sex. It's like eating to them. Wait, no
-- it's more like breathing. Something you do all the time, without thinking, you
know?" He frowned and shook his head. "You don't know, do you? How
could you? You can't even imagine. It's every man's dream. They all wanted to
try me out. Me being a stranger -- something different. And no one gave a damn!
No one is jealous. How can anyone be jealous? Nobody misses out on anything."

Hanlon knew he
should leave it. The guy wasn't playing with a full deck and he needed rest. Still,
he was compelled to ask, "But what about children? Or wild animals? They must
have enemies."

Swann whispered,
"No kids, no animals. Just lots of different kinds of birds and they're friendly."

Hanlon realized
the man was at the end of his strength. "Rest now, Jake," he ordered.
"You're tired. We can talk later."

Swann nodded and
sighed. "It was Heaven."

Exhausted, Jake
Swann shut his eyes and his features relaxed. Quiescent, he slept.

For a few minutes,
Captain Hanlon watched Jake Swann breathe in calm repose.

Who was this guy?
He would write him off as a madman except for the weird circumstances that heralded
his arrival. The mystery was like a chipped tooth. His mind -- like a tongue --
continually returned to that irritating spot. Hanlon forced the puzzle of Swann
out of his thoughts. He might know more when he had a response to his
transmission.

Instead he
thought of his boat -- always a pleasant pastime. He moved through the plastic
barrier, and began stripping off his mask and gown. Within the infirmary
Maryland
was soundless except for a
steady vibration that was barely audible
--more
felt
than heard.
The SSN-774
Virginia
-class
boomers had pump-jets which created a stream of water for propulsion. These
significantly
reduced
cavitation, that noisy formation of millions of bubbles caused by conventional
propellers.
It
resulted in quieter and faster operation.

Hanlon felt five
degrees cooler as he stuffed his disposable protective gear in the yellow bag.
He stripped his gloves with intense relief and threw them in last. When submerged
Maryland
could move in virtual silence at
twenty-five
nautical miles per hour, which was to say knots. Hanlon knew
most people had no idea what a knot was, but the concept was easy to understand.
Sea and air navigators, working with charts, found the use of knots convenient
because knots measured
distance
, not speed.

While
washing his hands, Hanlon automatically did the math. Twenty-five knots x 1.15
= 28.75 miles. In layman's terms,
Maryland
was capable of moving about thirty
miles per hour underwater. When she really hauled, she was faster than that,
but that knowledge was classified. Still, even thirty miles per hour was good
going for a vessel that had a three inch steel hull, was
longer
than a football field,
and was as tall as a three-story
building. He was proud of his boat. She
was an enormous, silent, fast
moving building with no windows.

He wiped his
hands on a disposable towel, looked into the mirror above the sink and smiled.
And
to her enemies, Maryland is deadly.
Hanlon's smile had nothing to do with
humor. Anyone who saw that smile would have instinctively recoiled.

A soft tap at
the door interrupted his reflections and Doc Slater came in, a corpsman
following behind. He saw Swann was asleep and said nothing, just handed the captain
a note. Hanlon nodded his thanks and read.

Able-bodied Seaman
Third Class Jacob Swann, torpedo/ damage control/ firefighting on
 Scorpion
.
Unmarried. No known children. Born in England, immigrated to America with his
parents age twelve. Joined the Navy at 18, served until his death at
thirty-five. Above average intelligence, but not expected to reach officer
status. Spent extensive time in the brig for brawling. Caucasian, six foot; black
hair, brown eyes. Distinguishing marks: broken nose and tattoo of a woman on
the right arm with one word, "Navy." On board
Scorpion
when
she sunk with all hands. Body never recovered.

Hanlon felt numb
as ice cold tendrils of possibility curled and grew inside. Muscle wastage, diminished
bone density, lack of aging -- Swann's claim to have been in a timeless
paradise and not on Earth.

Impossible!

Yet he didn't
doubt. As absurd as it was, it seemed that the man they pulled from the sea was
Jake Swann from
Scorpion
.

He woke from a
very deep sleep, eying his surroundings with not-as-yet-conscious confusion. For
a moment Jacob Swann tensed as he thought he was back on
Scorpion.
His
last memories of
Scorpion
cut into him, re-opening unhealed wounds. His
crewmates. Him on station. The malfunction and his handling of it. The high
pitched noise. Awakening in the cave. Heaven. Lana. Returning. Waking again, but
this time on
Maryland.

Jake shut his
eyes, unwilling to face reality. What was real, anyway? Maybe he had lost his
mind. He wondered if he would feel better if he had. Perhaps then, in his
imagination he could stay in Heaven with Lana.

Thoughts of Lana
caused fresh pain. There was no one like her. Going to Heaven had been a
mistake. He never deserved anyone as good as Lana.

His eyes stung. What
were the odds of a sub surfacing at that exact time and place in order to pick
him up out of the middle of the ocean? Probably more than a billion to one. It
was some sort of twisted, spiteful fate. He thought he was going to die. He
hadn't fought the sacrifice. It seemed fitting. God knows, after what happened --
after what he'd done -- he deserved to die.

But he was alive.
Jake sighed. Over forty years had passed. He had no friends and no family. He
would face interrogation, re-hash the events on
Scorpion
and, in time
find some sort of job in this new world. He doubted the Navy would have him. Still,
he would go back to his life. But how could he go on without her? His breath stopped
as he felt a familiar piercing loss. But then he remembered her smile, her soft
smooth skin and how happy they were together. Recalling Lana, with a sigh of
relief he went back to that time….

As he left the
cave the first thing he was aware of was the light. It glowed, yet there was no
sun, no obvious light-source. Where was all that light coming from? A soft
bluish grass was under him, waving in a soft breeze. There was the smell of
flowers, and warmth, and some sort of spice. The world was soothing, and
welcoming.

The stone
surrounding the cave was carved in intricate detail. It looked like marble in
whites, yellows and light green sculpted in an abounding array of strange
shapes and figures. Jake made out statues, faces, planes and ships.            

He continued
moving but his feet left the ground and he began to float. He had no control,
he was just going up. Lana held his arm, moving them both with her wings. She used
her wings like a ballerina used her legs on stage, with smooth, artistic grace.
Jake was too amazed to be frightened. They floated past a tree; there was a
forest of trees before him. He called them trees, but they were not like any trees
he had ever seen before. They flourished in an environment with almost no gravity,
or definite light source. They grew in even amount, in all directions. He heard
the faint sound of music. Lana took a yellow fruit from one tree and gave it to
him.

Jake examined
the fruit. It smelled like a mango, but was hard like an apple. Lana thought,
"Eat."
She sent him a picture of biting into the skin. He took a bite and rivulets of
juice ran down his face. It was delicious. He ate another one, and all thirst
and hunger was quenched.

One woman was carving
a face on a tree. It was extraordinary.

"That is
Sang"
Lana thought.
"She makes beautiful expressions."

 "Expressions?"
he
thought.

Lana explained
how art was the most vital part of their world, the purpose of life was to
create beauty, called "expressions" such as singing, music, painting
or sculpture. A variety of vibrant flora and foliage below them had been
planted in a mosaic of life. Different smells and textures, they made living,
moving paintings when viewed from above. Jake christened the world he had come
to, Heaven. For if this wasn't Heaven, what was?

He saw a man and
woman having sex then. The man was free floating in the sky, and the woman was
above him, facing her partner. Jake watched, astonished. Riveted.

Lana thought,
"You
like this?"

He nodded, struck
dumb, even in his thoughts. A waterfall of emotions cascaded over him,
confusion, awe and embarrassment. He was just coming to terms with the fact
that no one wore clothes -- but this!

"I like it
too!"
she said. She laughed and drew him to her, eliminating any discomfort or
awkwardness.

It was then that
he found that sex was also an "expression," a vital form of art in
Heaven. Everyone he met took the time to show him what they could express, by
making love. Man or woman; even multiples of men and women – nothing was off
limits. In Heaven the sexual act was varied, unique and amazing. In the past Jake
had felt a variety of things through sex: lust, jealousy, shame, pleasure, and
guilt. But in Heaven he learned true joy. Lana taught him to see the act of sex
with different eyes. It was a gift. As time went on he learned something else.
He knew love. He and Lana spent every moment together.

The world was
populated with birds and it was from their feathers that Lana made him wings. Jake
had difficulty learning to fly. He lost his temper and raged -- he felt clumsy and
stupid. As he felt the familiar lifelong frustration well up in him he threw
down his wings in a childish display and yelled both out loud and in his mind,
"I
feel like an idiot!"

"You do not
feel…the same."
She said.

It was a
statement. Lana knew him. Had she read his mind? As a child, Jake emigrated from
Britain to America. For years he was tormented by the other kids for speaking
with an accent. That, combined with a violent, out of work father and an
indifferent alcoholic mother had made him a loner. He had joined up at
eighteen. The Navy had been his family.

Lana reached out
and touched his face, her expression as somber as he had ever seen it. Jake
knew she had never experienced rejection or the feeling of not belonging. She
had never known herself to be unimportant, or unloved. Yet she understood him,
as if she could see into his soul.

"You are
different."
She touched his shoulders where his
wings should be.
"I have never known anyone like you, yet I would change
nothing. It is the "you" that you are that makes my heart sing."