Читать книгу Leviathan - Joaquin De Torres - Страница 4

“Guam. Population: 210,000. A territory of the United States since 1898 when the Spanish surrendered the island at the end of the Spanish-American War.

“A tiny speck of rock in the Pacific Ocean some 3,800 miles west of Hawaii; 1,600 miles southeast of Japan; and 1,500 miles east of the Philippines. And did I mention it’s just a speck? Thirty miles long by 12 miles wide at its widest point, it is the largest gem in a necklace of tropical, mountainous and volcanic islands known as the Mariana Islands Chain.

“The world calls the local people Guamanians, but they call themselves Chamorros. A rich, historical ethnic blend of multi-raced islanders consisting of the Guamanians, Filipinos, Palauans, and numerous blends of Polynesian and Asian ancestry. Basically, if you look like you could be an extra in a Bruce Lee movie, you’re probably from Guam.

“The weather is sunny and balmy all year round; the water within the surrounding reef is as warm as bathwater, shimmering blue-green and crystal clear. At least, that’s what the tourist website photos show. In fact, other than the business generated by its U.S. military bases, tourism is the island’s number one export. But unless your country touches the Pacific, you’re in the military or watch Discovery Channel, you probably have no idea that this island even exists.

“No one really famous or significant has ever come out of this tiny island. Well, I take that back. If memory and Wikipedia serves, one Kim Santos was crowned Miss World in 1980. A couple of years later, one Joe DeTorres became the first island-borne Chamorro ever elected to a Stateside public office as mayor of Pittsburg, California; a rustic, blue collar town some 50 miles east of San Francisco.

“Hmmm. What else? Oh wait! Did I mention SPAM? Of all the island’s exotic delicacies, SPAM is the local’s favorite meat source; that is, if you can call SPAM meat! In Guam, it’s called “Chamorro steak” and, apparently, any dish made with beef, chicken or pork can be substituted with SPAM, and it will supposedly taste even better. What-EVER!

“Anyway, so why the hell is the Navy sending me all the way from Virginia to this God-forsaken rock in the first place?”

The young woman looked away as if annoyed by the thought of it. The flight from Virginia to Guam was 16 and a half hours. She checked her watch: Less than an hour to go. Knowing that the journey was almost at an end, she proceed to give her report.

“Because I have to find someone,” she huffed. “Someone important. I have to find a man—one man—whom the Navy desperately needs. Kind of ironic really because this man has been the bane of Navy public relations for the past six years.

“From his scientific journals, to his international interviews and video documentaries, this man and the Navy have been at war on several fronts. Mortal enemies—the classic story of the little guy against the government establishment; the hourly-wage worker versus the multimillion-dollar corporation; the Monk seal versus the Great White.

“Well, apparently this seal has some serious teeth of his own because when the dilemma arose, the tragedy that I’m not to speak about until I meet him, this guy was the first person everyone said they needed. His very enemies, the commanding officers of the Pacific Fleet and the Pacific Submarine Fleet; the Chief of Naval Operations and the Secretary of the Navy—all requested him by name. All these men despise the very man they so desperately need. In fact, there was no one else they wanted.” She smiled to herself. It’s funny how things work out.

“After that call, they contacted my CO, Admiral Kyoko Kaneshiro at WEPs, and that’s why I’m involved.

“The Navy needs this guy to help investigate either the scene of an accident, or the scene of a crime. Either way, the scary thing about it all is that this “scene” is more than six miles beneath the surface of the ocean; in a stretch of area that, I thought, made Guam famous in the first place: the Marianas Trench.”

She pressed the button of her handheld voice recorder, let out a long breath and began rummaging through her carry-on bag. She found the dossier folder that held all the information on the man in question, sandwiched between some of those magazine journals and four books he’d written. There was a crackle on the loudspeaker.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain speaking. We are on final approach to Antonio Won Pat Memorial airport and will be landing in 20 minutes. Local time is 4:43 P.M. Weather on the ground is 83 degrees with light winds. A beautiful day. We hope that you’ve enjoyed your flight these last 16 hours. I know it’s been a long journey, but I hope we’ve made you comfortable.

“Please make sure your seatbelts are fastened, and that your tray and seat are in their upright and locked position. If you have any loose articles, please stow them in the overhead compartments or under your seat. And please keep all electronic equipment and cell phones off until we touchdown.

“On behalf of my cabin crew, I’d like to thank you for flying Delta Airlines. Flight attendants, please prepare for landing.”

The captain was right, it had been a long flight; her longest. But she got plenty of sleep and she was not fatigued at all. The evening was young. With the man’s work address in hand, she decided that once she got her rental car and checked in at the officer’s quarters on base, she would go and try to find him. It was Friday, and a guy like this was probably married to his job, so he’d still be at the office.

She settled back in her seat for the landing. Like she had a couple of times during the flight, she pondered why the Navy would send her--a weapons research officer--to an assignment that seemed clearly a case for a naval investigator, or at least a subsurface officer. And even more puzzling, why did WEPS give her no more than a five-minute, sanitized spiel about the situation then push her onto the plane? Standard operating procedures called for a full-blown, detailed situation report with defined goals and parameters.

“You’ll get all that when you get there, honey,” Admiral Kyoko Kaneshiro had said with a sympathetic smile. “Just make contact. Get his help. But you’ll have to earn his respect to do that.”

“Earn his respect, ma’am?”

“He will test you, toy with you and try to anger you,” the admiral stated as if she knew him personally. “He’s good at that. You might even have to pass some kind of character examination before he lets you in the door. Remember, he doesn’t trust anyone who wears this uniform.”

“So, what chance do I have?”

Kaneshiro flashed her warm confident smile at the young woman.”

“If you stand strong, don’t back down and earn his trust, you may get him to open up just enough.”

“I have some questions about the purported incident, Admiral.”

“There’s no time for that right now, honey. Your flight leaves in three hours and you need to pack.”

“Okay, ma’am, but about this person I’m supposed to find—”

“Read his books and articles on the plane. It’s not hard to know where he stands on issues, especially those against us. If you can just get him to help us, you will have done more than we could have ever imagined. The duty van is outside and will take you to your apartment, and then to Dulles. Go now, honey.”

The vision of her conversation evaporated as the engines whined loudly. She sighed heavily and ran her fingers through her blond hair just as the 747’s wheels touched the ground roughly and the engines roared in reverse. The entire plane rattled for a few moments then stilled itself as it rolled towards the terminal. After the aircraft halted, passengers immediately began standing and retrieving their belongings from the overhead compartments. She remained seated. She twisted her lips in a defiant scowl as she looked outside at the palm and coconut trees outlining the perimeter of the airport.

She let out a resigned sigh.

“What the fuck am I doing on Guam?”