Trojan Odyssey (35 page)

“Odysseus' first landfall after being swept out to sea was what he described as the Land of the Lotus Eaters. According to Wilkens, this was probably the West Coast of Africa at Senegal. Lotus here is a genus of the pea family and readily consumed by the natives for thousands of years, since it has a narcotic effect. From there, the winds took him west to the Cape Verde Islands, which is the logical choice for the island of the Cyclops, because Odysseus' description matches them almost perfectly.”

“That land of one-eyed people,” Sandecker said with a tight smile.

“Nowhere does Homer suggest all of the people had one eye,” Yaeger explained. “They had two, only Polyphemus had one, and it wasn't in the middle of his forehead.”

“If I recall my
Odyssey,
” said Gunn, “after escaping the Cyclops, Odysseus was then blown west across the sea to the Aeolian Isle.”

Yaeger merely nodded. “By computing the prevailing winds and currents, I put Odysseus' next landfall somewhere on one of the many islands south of Martinique and north of Trinidad. From there, he and his fleet were driven by a storm to the Land of the Laestrygonians. Here, one of the small islands called Branwyn, off Guadeloupe, fits the bill. The high cliffs on each side of the narrow channel he described his ship entering matches the island geography to a T.”

“This is where the Laestrygonians destroyed Odysseus' fleet,” added Perlmutter.

“If that were true,” said Yaeger, “the ships loaded with treasure would still lie in the silt of the harbor.”

“What is the name of the island?”

“Branwyn,” responded Yaeger, “was a Celtic goddess and one of the three matriarchs of Britain.”

“What country owns the island?” asked Dirk.

“It's privately owned.”

“Do you know by whom?” asked Summer. “A rock star, an actor, maybe some wealthy businessmen?”

“No, Branwyn is owned by a wealthy woman.” He paused to check his notes. “Her name is Epona Eliade.”

“Epona is the name of the Celtic goddess,” said Summer. “Now there's a coincidence.”

“Maybe more than mere serendipity,” said Yaeger. “I'll check it out.”

“Where was Odysseus' next port?” asked Sandecker.

“Now with only one ship out of twelve,” Yaeger continued, “he sailed to the island of Circe, called Aeaea, which computes as Navidad Bank, a spot Homer placed on the edge of the world.”

“Circe!” Summer gasped. “Circe was the woman who lived and died in the structure we found?”

Yaeger shrugged. “What can I say? This is all conjecture, which is next to impossible to prove.”

“But what brought her across the ocean so many centuries ago?” Gunn wondered aloud.

Perlmutter placed his folded hands on his ample stomach. “There was more travel back and forth between the continents than anyone has envisioned.”

“I'd be interested in learning where you place Hades,” said Sandecker to Yaeger.

“The best guess is the Santo Tomás caverns on Cuba.”

Perlmutter daintily blew his nose, then asked, “After he left Hades, where did he meet with the Sirens, Scylla the monster and Charybdis the whirlpool?”

Yaeger threw up his hands. “I have to write those events off to Homer's wild imagination. No geographical location works for any of them this side of the Atlantic.” He paused a moment before picking up Odysseus' journey on the chart again. “Next, Odysseus sails eastward until he reaches Calypso's island of Ogygia, which Wilkens and I agree is St. Miguel in the Azores.”

“Calypso was the beautiful sister goddess of Circe,” said Summer. “They were women of the very highest rank. Didn't Odysseus and Calypso spend a romantic interlude together in a virtual garden paradise after his affair with Circe on her island?”

“He did,” Yaeger replied. “After Odysseus leaves a tearful Calypso on the shore, his final stop is a detour by adverse winds to the palace of King Alcinous, which works out to be Lanzarote Island in the Canaries. After relating his adventures to the king and his family, he is given a ship and finally makes his way home to Ithaca.”

“Where do you put Ithaca?” inquired Gunn.

“As Cailleux said, the port of Cadiz in southwestern Spain.”

There came a few moments of silence around the table as everyone assimilated the classic tale and the multitude of theories. How much was remotely close to the truth? Only Homer knew, and he hadn't spoken for three thousand years.

Dirk smiled at Summer. “You have to give Odysseus credit for masculine charisma, having affairs with the two most beautiful and influential women of his time. Before he came along and seduced them, both ladies were chaste and inaccessible.”

“If the truth be known,” said Chisholm, “neither lady was a goddess nor pure as the driven snow. They were both described as incredibly beautiful women with magical personalities. Circe was a sorceress, Calypso an enchantress. As a mere mortal, Odysseus could have never satisfied either one. Chances are they were Druidesses who took part in all manner of wild and perverse rituals. And as such, they intimately conducted human sacrifice, which they considered necessary for eternal life.”

Summer shook her head. “It's still hard to believe.”

“But true,” replied Chisholm. “Druidesses were known to have drawn men into sacrificial rites and orgies. And as leaders of their feminine cult, they had the power to control their worshipers into waging whatever acts they desired.”

Yaeger nodded. “Lucky for us, Druidism died out a thousand years ago.”

“There lies the catch,” said Chisholm. “Druidism is still very much with us in the present. There are cults throughout Europe that follow the ancient rituals.”

“Except for the human sacrifice,” Yaeger said with a grim smile.

“No,” Boyd said seriously. “Despite it being a crime of murder, human sacrifice among the underground Druid cults still takes place.”

 

A
FTER THE OTHERS
had left, Sandecker called Dirk and Summer into his office. As soon as they were all seated, he came quickly to the point.

“I'd like you two to conduct an archaeology project.”

Summer and Dirk swapped confused looks. They had no idea where the admiral was leading them.

“You want us to go back to Navidad Bank?” asked Dirk.

“No, I want you to fly down to Guadeloupe and survey the harbor on the island of Branwyn.”

“Since it's privately owned, won't we need permission?” asked Summer.

“As long as you don't step ashore, you won't be trespassing.”

Dirk looked at Sandecker skeptically. “You want us to search for the treasure lost in the land of the Laestrygonians by Odysseus' fleet?”

“No, I want you to find the ships and their artifacts. If successful, they would be by far the oldest shipwrecks found in the Western Hemisphere and alter recorded ancient history. If it can be done, I want it done by NUMA.”

Summer folded her hands on the table nervously. “You must realize, Admiral, the odds of making such an incredible find are a million to one.”

“The one chance is worth the effort. Better to have tried than sit on our hands and never know.”

“Do you have a timetable?”

“Rudi Gunn will arrange a NUMA plane. You'll leave tomorrow morning. After your plane lands at the airport near the town of Pointe-a-Pitre in Guadeloupe, you'll be met by a NUMA representative by the name of Charles Moreau. He has charted a boat for you to sail to Branwyn Island, which lies to the south. You'll have to carry your own dive equipment. Rudi will arrange to airfreight a subbottom profiler to read any anomalies you might find under the silt and sand.”

“Why the rush?” demanded Dirk.

“If word gets out about this, and it will, every treasure hunter in the world will swarm over the island. I want NUMA to get in quick, survey the seabed and get out. If you're successful, we can work with the French who own Guadeloupe to secure the area. Any questions?”

Dirk took Summer's hand. “What do you think?”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Somehow I knew you'd say that,” Dirk said wearily. “What time do you want us at the NUMA terminal, Admiral?”

“Better you get an early start. Your plane will take off at six.”

“In the morning?” asked Summer, losing some of her enthusiasm.

Sandecker grinned jovially. “With luck, you might even hear a rooster crowing on the way to the airport.”

A
FTER THE MEETING,
Yaeger took the elevator down to his domain on the tenth floor. Never one for power lunches in Washington's established restaurants, he carried an old-fashioned lunch pail that contained fruit and vegetables and a thermos filled with carrot juice.

He was a slow starter in the morning and didn't have the momentum to jump into work with both feet. Yaeger sat and slowly sipped from a cup of herbal tea he brewed in a cabinet beside his desk, before leaning back and reading the
Wall Street Journal
to check on the status of his investments. Finally, he laid the paper aside and read the transcribed report from Sandecker's office regarding Pitt and Giordino's discovery of huge underground tunnels crossing Nicaragua. Then he ran a program that copied the typed report onto a computer disc. One more sip of his tea and he punched up Max.

She slowly materialized wearing a brief blue silk robe with a yellow sash, blue stars and an emblem across the back that read
WONDER WOMAN
. “How do you like my threads?” she asked in a syrupy voice.

“Where did you find that?” Yaeger demanded. “In a Goodwill reject box?”

“I surf Internet catalogs in my spare time. I charged it to your wife's Neiman Marcus account.”

“You wish.” Yaeger smiled. Max was a hologram. There was no way she could order, wear or pay for material objects. He shook his head in amazement at Max's nebulous yet vivacious temperament. There were times when he thought that programming Max with his wife's appearance and personality might have been a mistake. “If you're through showing off, Wonder Woman, I have a little job for you.”

“I'm ready, master,” she replied, mimicking Barbara Eden in the old
I Dream of Jeannie
TV show.

Yaeger programmed the disc contents into Max's memory. “Take your time and see what you make of this.”

Max stood unblinking for a few moments and then asked, “What do you wish to know?”

“The question is, what possible motive do Odyssey and the Red Chinese have for digging four massive tunnels across Nicaragua from the Atlantic to the Pacific?”

“That's easy. The conundrum doesn't even warm my circuits.”

Yaeger looked at her apparition. “How can you have an answer? You haven't analyzed the problem yet.”

Max patted her mouth in a yawn. “This is so elementary. I'm constantly astounded that humans can't think beyond their noses.”

Yaeger was certain he had made a mistake in the program. Her response was far too quick. “All right, I'm eager to hear your solution.”

“The tunnels were built to transfer a vast amount of water.”

“I don't count that as a dazzling revelation.” He began to feel she had gotten off track. “A series of tunnels leading into the oceans, and mounting huge pumps, makes that an obvious conclusion.”

“Ah,” Max said, holding up one hand with the index finger raised. “But do you know why they want to pump massive amounts of water through the tunnels?”

“For a huge desalinization program, an irrigation project? Hell, I don't know.”

“How can humans be so dense?” Max said in frustration. “Are you ready, master?”

“If you would be so kind.”

“The tunnels were created to divert the South Equatorial Current that flows from Africa into the Caribbean Sea.”

Yaeger was confused. “What kind of environmental threat would that provoke?”

“Don't you see it?”

“There's more than enough water in the Atlantic Ocean to make up for the loss of a few million gallons.”

“Not funny.”

“What, then?”

Max threw up her hands. “By diverting the South Equatorial Current, the temperature of the Gulf Stream would drop almost eight degrees by the time its flow reached Europe.”

“And?” Yaeger probed.

“An eight-degree drop in the water that warms Europe would send the continent into a weather pattern equal to northern Siberia's.”

Yaeger could not immediately grasp the enormity of Max's words, nor the unthinkable consequences. “Are you sure about this?”

“Have I ever been wrong?” Max pouted.

“Eight degrees seems like an excessive decrease,” Yaeger persisted, doubtfully.

“We're only talking maybe a three-degree drop in the water temperature as the Gulf Stream cuts past Florida. But when the icy Labrador Current moves down from the Arctic and meets it after the Stream arcs past the Canadian Maritime Provinces, the temperature drop is magnified. This in turn greatly influences a further temperature decrease across Europe, altering the weather patterns and causing a disruption in the atmosphere from Scandinavia to the Mediterranean.”

The horrendous scheme suddenly became crystal clear to Yaeger. Very slowly, he picked up the phone and dialed Sandecker's office. The admiral's secretary put Yaeger right through.

“Did Max come up with any answers?” asked Sandecker.

“She did.”

“And?”

“Admiral,” Yaeger began in a hoarse voice, “I'm afraid we have a catastrophe in the making.”