EARTH PLAN (28 page)

CHAPTER 46

The passengers on the freighter weren't asleep for long before being disturbed by the noise of men talking loudly and even laughter.

“What the hell?” Charles got out of bed and looked through the porthole to get a glimpse, but all he could see was moonlight reflecting off the sea. He threw on some clothes and stood opposite the door, waiting. He was sure they were under attack, being boarded. He listened.

But instead of gunshots ringing out, he could make out the captain talking in the kitchen, and also the voices of other men that seemed familiar.

He crept out into the hallway, where he was met by Lang.

“What's going on?” Charles whispered to him.

“I'm not sure. Sounds like a party.”

They walked to the kitchen and found the captain around a table with The Four and a few of the sailors. The captain looked up as they entered, “Lang! Charles! Joining the party?” He waved a bottle of vodka. Shot glasses had been filled around the table.

“I guess,” Lang said and smiled. “You took us by surprise.”

“Yeah. Scared me out of bed!” Charles said.

“Sorry. I didn't want to wake you all up, but it happened anyway!”

The chef entered with his apron and chef's hat on. “Some eggs with your vodka? Who wants breakfast?”

Those around the table answered affirmatively, with gusto.

After breakfast, The Four poured over a map with Lang and the captain in the office.

“We think the best port is going to be Algeciras,” said the leader of The Four. “It's a little farther on, but there is the added benefit of better roads out of there.”

“Why not just fly them off the ship by helicopter? I mean, you could just take off when we're in range, no?” the captain asked.

“That's an option we've considered, but it's the least safe and the most susceptible to tracking. Also, there's the need to file a flight plan with the authorities, which will leave a paper trail. The biggest issue is fuel, as we'd never make to a Euro port from here. In a few days, sure. But for now, we're along for the ride. Once we get in range, we'll do it if it's the last resort.”

“Good work.” Lang said. “I do think we should keep a low profile as much as we can. There's no need to fly out of here at this point; if it comes to it, then fine. But our work is proceeding on schedule, and we have good communications with Prague. So, it's alright for us to stay on the ship for now. Plus, we've got the protection of being in international waters, in case they try to throw some legal stuff at us.”

“Well, there's that,” the captain said. He studied the map closer. “Looks like a good route. You've thought it out. Well, duty calls, I need to go check the bridge.” The captain left them and went topside.

On deck, he was almost swept aside by the strong wind and blowing rain. “When did this start?” he gasped, getting the door of the bridge closed behind him.

“Just a few minutes ago, sir,” one of the sailors said who was manning the controls of the ship.

“It's like it came out of nowhere. This wasn't predicted.” The captain looked out the windows at the rolling sea and the dark sky.

“No, it wasn't.”

“Hmm, slow her down a quarter. This is getting rough.”

“Aye, sir.”

The captain braced himself as the ship started to pitch. The sea suddenly became a lot rougher. The decrease in the ship's speed helped some, but it was a losing battle. They couldn't decrease their speed all the way to avoid the waves, as the waves would just keep coming, plus they'd be a sitting duck in the water, tossed around by the storm. But, if the swells were too rough they'd have to turn back.

I've never seen anything like this, the captain thought. “Carry on. Call me if it changes much. I'll be below,” the Captain said.

“Aye, captain.”

The captain hurried back below deck. He burst into the office, dripping water. He stood in the doorway so as not to get the office wet. “The weather's really taken a turn for the worst, out of nowhere.”

“Yes, we can feel it down here. Not as bad as on the deck, I imagine?” Lang said.

“No, it's very windy up there and raining, too. It just picked up, wasn't on the forecast at all.”

“Strange. We didn't see it either,” one of The Four said.

The leader got up and looked out the porthole. “This was definitely not in the forecast” He turned and looked at Lang and the captain.

“Do you know what this means?” the captain asked them.

“It was manufactured,” the leader said.

“Good God!” Lang said. “Think they did it for us?”

“I'm certain of it,” the leader said.

“Wouldn't put it past them.” The captain smiled wryly.

“An engineered storm?” Charles said. “Can they do such a thing?” He looked at the prof.

“I've heard about such technology,” the prof said, “but can't say I've seen any hard proof of it. Until now.” He looked at those around the room.

“You're seeing it now, that's for sure,” the leader said, glancing out the window.

“Would they really go to these lengths? Could they? I mean, wouldn't it just be easier to take us out with a missile or something?” Charles asked.

“Easier yes, but anything like that would leave a trail. There would be lots of questions. Only a few people possess weather control technology, so there's less people to keep quiet. They take us out this way, it looks like an accident. They shoot us with a missile or a disintegrator ray, then it doesn't look so innocent,” the leader said.

The ship pitched hard, causing them to grab the glasses and the bottle to keep them from falling—they missed some glasses, and they smashed on the floor into pieces. Hands went to the sides of tables and to the backs of chairs and walls to steady themselves.

“Poor ship! This is getting bad!” The captain struggled to his feet and went out the door as the ship continued to move in unexpected ways. He made his way out of the below decks and went to the bridge. By the time he got there he was soaked.

Back in the office, Charles still had questions. “You mentioned a 'disintegrator ray.' Were you being serious?” He looked at the leader of The Four.

“He's quite serious,” Lang said.

“How does it work?” Charles asked.

“I don't know all the fine details, but it basically pulls apart the molecules of whatever it's aimed upon. The correct term is directed energy weapon,” the leader said.

“My God, does anyone have that sort of power on Earth right now?” Charles's mouth fell open; he desperately hoped it was not true.

“They've had it for a while now. Used it on the Twin Towers,” Lang said.

“That's right,” the leader confirmed.

“Did you know about this?” Charles turned to the prof.

“I'd heard rumours, but nothing duplicated. I did hear the theory, yes,” the prof said.

“No theory. It's well proven,” the leader said.

“Anyway, we're under attack,” Lang said.

“Got that right,” one of the other men said.

“So, how does it work, this ray? Where does it get its power from? It must need a massive power bank?” Charles asked.

“There was a hurricane off the coast of New York City during 9-11. Somehow, the weapon drew its energy from that, or so it's said. Like I told you, I don't know all the fine details, but I do know such a thing is real and has been used before, at least once. How many other times, I don't know. That's what Dr. Judy Wood says, and I believe her.” The leader took another look out the window.

“Is the 'copter going to be OK? Should we lash it down?” one of The Four asked.

“I think that's a good idea. We might need it in one piece. Get your rain gear on, boys,” the leader said.

“What rain gear?”

“Figure of speech. Let's do it.” The leader left the office with his three men in tow.

Charles sat down heavily in a seat and looked at the professor and Lang. “The world is becoming a stranger place all the time.”

“They don't teach these things in physics class, hmm?” Lang said.

“No, they don't. And if they did...I don't know what I'd do.” Charles shook his head.

The prof looked at him. “The more I get into this work, the more I see that it doesn't fit into my old paradigm. I've had to reevaluate my opinion of the world several times already, and acid was just the start of it!” He laughed. “One thing I've learned is to not think you're got it all figured out, because something will happen to show you that you don't, at all. My advice is don't try to understand it all in one go. Give the mind time to breathe!” He pulled out a joint. “Anyone want some?” He showed it to Lang and Charles.

“Are you nuts?” Lang said.

The prof shrugged. “I can think of worse ways to go…”

“Sure,” Charles said.

“Oh, why not? If we're going to sink and drown, why not do it high.” Lang said.

“It's how Huxley died,” the prof said, lighting up.

“Huxley?” Charles asked.

“Aldus Huxley, author of Brave New World, amoung others.” The prof took a hit and passed the joint to Charles.

“Oh, right. I think we read him in high school.” Charles took a hit and passed it to Lang.

“Worth another look at him now, with the added perspective of some more life experience under your belt,” the prof said.

“Did he really die high?” Charles asked.

“Yep. On LSD. His wife gave it to him,” the prof said.

“Nice wife,” Charles said.

“Very interesting woman in her own right,” Lang said. “She'd have to be to live with someone like Huxley, I'd say. I'm sure he wrote most of his books high, or at least was inspired by his trips to write them. Then, of course, there are the many scientific and technological breakthroughs made by heads.” Lang finished taking a deep huff and passed the diminished joint back to the prof.

“It's amazing, eh? Well, it just goes to show that my own wild trip on acid where I saw the DNA tampering in early man was not without its precedent!” Charles said.

The prof passed the smaller joint over to Charles, “Nope. Fascinating stuff. I wish it would happen to me.”

“Well,” Charles said, puffing and then passing the joint to Lang for one last toke, “when we get out of all this, we'll take some more trips together and see if we can get it to happen.”

“Sounds good,” the prof said and chuckled.

Lang finished the joint and stabbed out the end in a coffee cup. “Look at the weather,” he said, getting up and looking out the porthole.

“It's making you nervous?” Charles asked.

“Yeah, it is.” Lang peered out at the swelling sea.

“Well, not much we can do about it, except ride it out.” Charles stretched out on a chair, kicking out his feet and putting his hands behind his head.

“Hope Wendy's alright...maybe I should go check on her,” the prof said.

“Maybe there is something we can do. Do you two know about the power of focused thought?” Lang asked.

“You mean like prayer?” the prof asked.

“That's what I mean, in a way. Except, this type of thought involves thinking and feeling for the outcome you want, not petitioning something for assistance, though you can certainly pray to a deity too, if you like. One of the things we've been studying is the effect of our thoughts. They can affect matter, that's been proven; even the elements, too. Though, in this case, I don't think this is a natural storm, either. Still, we should be able to make a change. Want to try?” He looked at them.

“Sure,” the prof said.

“What do we do?” Charles asked.

“Alright. It might help to close your eyes,” Lang said. He sat down and closed his eyes, laying his hands in his lap. “Take three deep breaths to calm your mind and body. Then, imagine the storm growing less intense and moving away from us at the same time. Feel how it will feel when the storm has lessened and moved away, the sense of comfort and relaxation you will feel.”

The three of them sat with their eyes closed doing this meditation as the rain battered against the windows and the side of the boat, making a harsh rhythm.

“Now what?” Charles asked.

“Are you imagining the storm gone?” Lang said.

“Yes.”

“Alright,” Lang continued, “keep doing it for a while longer.”

Charles went back to his imagining.

A couple of minutes later, the pounding of the rain on the window started to lessen as the wind let up. Charles opened his eyes and saw that the storm was beginning to lift, and the sun was starting to break though. “It's working!” Charles said.

“Good. I knew it would,” Lang said.

The prof opened his eyes and saw the sunlight starting to beam in through the window. “Holy shit!” he said. “Mr. Lang, I'm really impressed. This stuff works!”

“The power of prayer, or more accurately the power of the creative imagination,” Lang said.

“Whatever it is, and whatever the cause, I'm just glad this storm is lifting. I better go check on my wife, she'd bound to be--”