Beyond the Sea

PROLOGUE COLD SEAS

The large man with the brown fedora sitting at its usual jaunty angle on his head sipped his coffee and watched the passersby on Flores Street. He sat beneath a green awning with the gold-scripted name of the business emblazoned across its front—Trans American Fruit and Grain. The lanky, broad-shouldered man removed the fedora and used the brim to fan his tanned face. He decided to forgo the hot coffee on this warm September morning and simply slid the cup and saucer away from him. His sunglasses hid the dark pupils that never wavered from the onlookers whose wandering eyes strayed his way as they passed by on the sidewalk fronting the shop. His white shirt was already starting to be saturated by his sweat even at this early hour. As much as he hated the climate, he was ever grateful not to be posted to Iceland or even, God forbid, Alaska. The man was here as a punishment for disagreeing with one of the more powerful men in government service. So, the sweat he would have to suffer with silently along with his banishment. His letter of resignation was written out and sitting upon his desk, ready for the military attaché’s signature and forwarding to Washington, D.C. The man was thinking that it may be past time to serve the war in a more direct way.

A morning cloud eased its way past the city and gave a moment’s respite from the early morning sun, allowing the American to look up into the otherwise empty sky. He felt, or rather sensed, the man pull up a chair next to him.

“Good morning, Colonel. You’re here early,” the younger man said as Colonel Garrison Lee, former senator from Maine, lowered his head and fixed the man with a curious look. He remained silent, content not to comment on such an obvious deduction.

He was amazed at the youthful team he had been given for the job they had to do in South America. He had been lucky thus far in not losing one of these kids of his to enemy activity but knew with their “just out of college” arrogant, can-do attitudes, that blessing would not last long. His dark brows rose over the heavy sunglasses.

“Sir, we finished that job last night.”

Finally, Garrison Lee removed the sunglasses from his face and fixed the younger man with his deep and very disturbing blue eyes. He waited without saying a word. He could see the boy was nervous about something. It was usually best for these kids if they broached the subject of their nervousness on their own without being pushed to do so by him.

“We planted the recorder on the professor’s phone with no problem and even fixed his car with a tracking broadcaster.”

Lee had to shake his head in dismay at the term tracking broadcaster. That meant they had been successful at placing a ten-pound electrical tracker that was equivalent in size to a Motorola home radio.

“Well, I see that old Wild Bill picked the right tenth-grade class to join the team down here.”

The young officer flinched at the comment. He had graduated top of his class at the United States Naval Academy last year and had been one of the few handpicked by William “Wild Bill” Donovan, the head of the American OSS, the Office of Strategic Services, the country’s foremost intelligence gathering apparatus in wartime service. While not up to British intelligence in capability, the OSS was well on its way to becoming pretty good at their jobs, if he could keep these college campus all-stars alive long enough.

“From the look on your face, Mr. Hamilton, I think I sense a but coming. A word of advice, young sir: with that terrible poker face of yours, stay out of gambling halls and never, ever try to bluff that new bride of yours with that hidden talent of giving away your poker hand. What’s the girl’s name again?”

“Alice, sir.” The young naval ensign on duty in Argentina on detached assignment to the OSS swallowed and tried to look away from Lee’s eyes as they bored into him. “As I said, sir, we placed all listening devices and thought we were away clean, but—”

“Hamilton, are you going to tell me before or after the damn Nazis finish their work in Europe?”

“I guess we didn’t get away as cleanly as I thought, sir.”

“Look, Hamilton—”

Lee stopped in midsentence when he saw the small gray-bearded man with wire-rimmed glasses holding a leather satchel to his chest like it was armor plate. Garrison recognized the man immediately, and his eyes shot to young Hamilton, who found he couldn’t hold the colonel’s accusing gaze. The small man was thirty feet away and was looking toward the street nervously before his eyes again settled on the two men beneath the awning. Every time a passing vehicle moved by their location, the man would ease back into shadow. The experienced colonel caught all of this with one glance.

“I guess you’ll have an excellent reason why one of the foremost Nazi climatologists is standing right over there and not currently being tracked by your tracking devices.” He held up a strong and brutal-looking hand before Hamilton could speak. “Don’t tell me. He bugged you and your men at the same time you were tagging him, right? I’m beginning to think that possibly old J. Edgar Hoover trained you himself.”

“We were followed, Colonel. I take full responsibility for blowing our cover.”

Lee tilted his hat back on his head and unfolded his long legs from beneath the table and stood. His six-foot-five-inch frame was intimidating to all, including the young field agent. He simply patted young Hamilton on the shoulder and faced the Nazi climatologist the OSS had tagged as worth keeping an eye on. The small scientist was the last on their list of three hundred suspected or proven German nationals in Buenos Aires to be “tagged,” or bugged to keep track of their whereabouts.

“Anything else I should know, son?” he asked as he rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up as he continued looking at the man from Dortmund, Germany, his hometown according to his OSS dossier.

“He came in just a few minutes ago and asked to speak with the station chief.”

This time Lee did look down at Hamilton. “In those words?”

“Exact words, Colonel.”

Lee smiled and then approached the smallish man, slightly overdressed in a tweed jacket. He noticed the good professor’s raggedy shoes and the moth-eaten material of his coat. The Nazis must not place too high a priority on what they pay their scientists these days, Lee thought.

“Sir,” he said as he approached the man. “I’m—”

“Don’t bother with an alias, Colonel Lee. We really do not have time for it,” the man said as his eyes flicked to the street beyond, as if he suspected the devil would drive up at any minute. The man’s beady eyes behind his glasses moved around, examining the faces of the people passing by. He still held his leather valise protectively in front of him.

Garrison Lee tried to hide his astonishment at the smaller man’s abruptness and his general knowledge of just who it was he was speaking to. It was obvious that the front of Trans American Fruit and Grain wasn’t playing well to German intelligence. The Gestapo was getting ever better at these things.

“I suspect we can converse someplace more private?” the professor asked.

Lee kept his curiosity quiet for the moment. This man already had too much information going in; no need to give him any more. He gestured to the door of the offices and the quieter and much cooler spaces beyond.

“Mr. Hamilton, will you join us, please? Right this way,” Lee said as he held the door open.

As they walked in, several women typing at their desks looked up as their machines went silent. Colonel Lee knew that every one of them had a free hand soothing the handle of a Colt .45 in a holder just below the level of their desks. The two men standing by a watercooler looked shocked as one of them even allowed the water in his conical paper cup to spill from his hands. Lee knew these two men were also on the highly secret detail to bug the scientist’s car and phone. Lee looked at them until the better part of valor made them shy away. The large American escorted his guest into his office and was followed by young Hamilton, who rolled his eyes at the secretaries, who weren’t secretaries at all, and the two men he had been assigned with the night before. He knew they were all probably going to end up in the Pacific Ocean after the colonel was finished with them. The old man took a seat, and Lee noticed the satchel was still pinned to his chest.

“Coffee, or something a little stronger, Mr.…?”

“Colonel—you know very well who I am. After all”—he looked up at Hamilton, who saw himself and his ineptitude reflect off the man’s glasses—“your men here practically informed me of your interest. By the way, young man, always check the door for tape across the door’s jamb, a simple trick for sure, but one that informs very well that your private property has been entered… how do you Americans put it? Oh yes, ‘on the sly.’”

“All right, I’ll bite. Yes, we do know who you are, sir. You were being watched as an enemy agent of not only the United States but of the people of Argentina. You are Professor Arnold Wentz, climatologist and oceanographer. You’re sixty-one years old, from Dortmund, Germany. Fell out of favor with certain elements within the Reich and was sent into what amounts to permanent exile in South America. In the United States’ economic parlance, you make forty-seven dollars and fifty-two cents a week in salary. Not very appreciative of a man with so many letters following his name.”

The Nazi remained silent. His guess as to who these Americans were was now confirmed. He also knew that since this Colonel Lee exposed everything to him, he would either be able to convince him of his sincerity or he would be found floating facedown in the River Platte. German agents within these borders had confirmed beyond doubt the large man knew his business.

“Now, we seem to know each other, Professor. What can I help you with?” Garrison asked as he placed his size 15 shoes up on the desk and waited.

Finally, the old man lowered his satchel and took a deep breath. Treason was not a thing to be taken lightly, especially against the Gestapo and the death dealers of the Third Reich. He opened the case and removed an item, and then, with untrusting eyes at both Lee and Hamilton, he opened a map and spread it out.

“Six years ago, in the spring of 1937, I was employed by the Reich’s Marine.” He looked back at the tall and thin Hamilton. “That’s the German Navy.”

Hamilton rolled his eyes and was about to say something when Lee’s raised left eyebrow stopped his retort.

“The project was called”—Wentz smiled embarrassingly—“of all things, Operation Necromancer. This was a joint effort by the Luftwaffe, the Wehrmacht, and the navy to find a feasible way to cloak machines of war from enemy radar, which was mostly theory at the time and not a practical application. Most of us thought it was pure speculative theory at the time. Now all the world powers have embraced radar as a tried-and-true science. Operation Necromancer was an attempt at a new science called the unified field theory. It combines the sciences of electromagnetic radiation and gravity. To put it more simply”—again, the look back at an already irritated Hamilton—“uniting the fields of electromagnetism and gravity into a single sustainable blanket field.”

Lee removed his fedora and tossed it on his desk. He placed his hands behind his head and fixed the Nazi weatherman with a glare as if the man were wasting his time. “Invisibility.” Lee had read an article from the London Times about the theory, and the article was distributed to all station chiefs across the world. Lee thought the theory had far too many holes in it to make it work. But then again, he was a former politician with no mind toward the sciences. The ceiling-high bookcases filled with science periodicals in his office attested to the fact that Lee was trying to change his ineptitude in that regard.

“Correct, Colonel. I can see you have heard of this theory before.”

Lee didn’t respond; he just waited.

Wentz cleared his throat, unable to gauge the temperament of the giant American before him. The younger agent was easy; he was an eager beaver as the Americans called it. But this man was one of experience and something perhaps a little darker than any man he had ever met.

“Our first attempt at this science was using field generators the size of which were unheard of before this. The test would take place on board the obsolete battle cruiser Schoenfeld. A vessel chosen for its size and space. Of course, these generators were the most powerful German science could obtain and implement at sea. The final product of this attempt would be that these field generators would make it possible to bend light around an object via refraction so that the object became completely invisible to the naked eye. It also could achieve the desired effect of rendering the ship in question completely invulnerable to radar systems. This was gained through the use of capacitors arranged around the steel hull of said ship. In essence, gentlemen, it allowed the radar waves to pass harmlessly around the object.”

“Comic book stuff,” Hamilton mumbled, drawing a look and raised brow from Lee.

“Young man, I believe I explained the process is attained through built-in transducers disbursed throughout the ship’s exterior hull, designed so that it wasn’t noticeable to the casual observer. Basic science.”

Hamilton again rolled his eyes, and Lee caught it but said nothing, simply because he was also inwardly doing the same thing as the kid: not believing a word the professor was saying. Maybe an obvious ploy to get American sympathy and a free pass to the States for his own personal protection. But, of course, the young Hamilton couldn’t hold his tongue.

“Buck Rogers crap if ever I heard.”

Professor Wentz turned and once more looked at Hamilton. “Buck Rogers, yes, exactly. Your disbelief was and is to our main advantage in developing this science. So fantastic that no intelligence agency or military in the world would ever commit resources to stopping it.”

“Okay, so you were working on a cloaking device that would, if it were successful, make ships invisible to visual detection and defeats radar. What happened, Professor?” Lee asked.

“The project was stopped in its tracks by the party and Adolf Hitler personally.”

“This is going to take one hell of a long time, Professor, if you don’t stop with your dramatic pauses.”

“The ship, the battle cruiser Schoenfeld, was lost with all hands. Five hundred and thirty-seven men just vanished, never to be seen again, or so we thought.” The professor looked down at his worn shoes and then removed his glasses, which Lee noted were cracked in the left-side lens.

“Continue.”

“The experiment not only rendered the Schoenfeld invisible to our primitive radar systems of the time. It physically vanished from the view of over a thousand eyewitnesses. Just vanished.” Wentz reached down and brought six black-and-white photographs out of his satchel. Each was stamped in German in big red letters that Lee was educated in — TOP SECRET. “The reason I accepted this so-called banishment to this hot and miserable country was the fact that this experiment has to be stopped at all costs. One of the flaws in our system was in sustaining the energy needed from the power generators. They just weren’t powerful enough — that is, until a very distinguished man came up with the novel application in using what we now know as industrial-grade blue diamonds, found only here and in South Africa. Very rare and very valuable. I was sent here not because I fell out of favor but because I am tasked with finding these very elusive diamonds.”

“Now those little gems I have heard of. The University of Chicago has placed feelers out to all diamond and mineral companies around the globe.” He looked at Hamilton. “Now we know why — power generation applications.”

The professor spread the six photos out on the desk, and after a second of hesitation, Lee sat up and looked.

“The Schoenfeld abruptly returned two years later in the fall of 1939 just outside of Le Havre. She was found and towed in by the German navy. This is the Schoenfeld as she looks today.”

Lee, with a curious Hamilton, looked at the black-and-white photos. The Schoenfeld was clearly shown. She had been dry-docked somewhere in Germany. As Lee looked closer, he reached for a magnifying glass on his desk and then reexamined the first photo. His mouth fell partially open — emotion the experienced intelligence man never allowed to show openly.

“My God,” Hamilton said, disappointing Lee in the fact that he expressed surprise in front of the German scientist. He had been told to always act as if you are never surprised. But this time even Garrison Lee was at the very least uncomfortable looking at the photo.

Men, sailors — at least three hundred of them — were burned and buried in the battle cruiser’s superstructure. Contorted in agony and frozen into many misshapen forms and all burned beyond recognition, everywhere. Parts of the ship were melted, others pristine. Men were melted into her decking as if nothing more than long-dead candles. The teak deck had been burned away in most areas, leaving charred steel plating, but held firm in other parts of the ship. The stern of the large vessel was scorched and actually bent ten degrees lower than the rest of her hull. Lee ran his fingers through his hair and then looked up at Wentz.

“That is not all of it, Colonel,” the German said as he pushed a second picture into Lee’s view.

Vegetation of some sort permeated the ship. Small trees, vines, flowers, unimaginable vegetation of varying variety.

“The plant life on board, as you can see, is not burned as the rest of the ship. The material is very much alive.”

“How?” Hamilton asked as he looked at the amazing photo.

“That’s not the question here, young man. The right question is why. Why is this material not burned like the rest? And why did the ship that vanished in front of a thousand eyewitnesses return at all? And how, since there was no one left alive to initiate that return?”

“Well?” Lee asked.

“Even those points are not the real story, Colonel.”

Lee was becoming frustrated and showed it with his glare.

“Many renowned botanists in Germany have come to the same conclusion — none of this plant life is found anywhere on this planet.”

Lee continued to stare at the man who had clearly seen better days in the sanity department. “You mean to tell me that while attempting to electromagnetically hide a vessel with rather dubious science, you made that ship vanish into another world?”

“That is precisely what I am saying. Perhaps another world is not the proper term that should be applied here, Colonel Lee. Maybe another plane of existence is a better theory.”

Lee examined the other photos. “This one?” he asked as he turned the photo around for Wentz’s viewing.

“Wherever the Schoenfeld disappeared to, it happened in no more than three minutes. To us, it was two years; to the ship, only three minutes. That is a picture of the captain’s cabin. You can see the date on the calendar as circled by her captain as the exact date of the experiment, and this is a close-up of one of the disfigured and burned crewmen. Not very appealing, I admit, but crucial. See the time on his wristwatch? That and the date on the calendar coupled with the time specified on the sailor’s watch proves that the Schoenfeld was only gone for three minutes.”

The other German intelligence photos were close-ups of the damage done to the bodies of the sailors. Broken, bent, and charred, mouths open in agony. Lee pushed the photos away.

“I can get these photos to my superiors, Professor. But before I do, I want to ask how a climatologist is privy to this type of top-secret information outside of the fact they sent you to corner the market on hard-to-find blue diamonds.”

“Ah, the gist.” Wentz removed the photos and handed them to Hamilton. He again indicated the map he had previously placed on the desktop. “My duties were to study the seas surrounding the vessel during the experiment. Water temperatures, impact of electromagnetism on seagoing animal life, things such as that. During the run-up to zero hour, we conducted generator testing on the electromagnetic field. We started noticing certain disturbances when the generators were turned on. Small, hurricane-like formations started to pop up in the vicinity of the test site. Hurricanes, as you know, just don’t suddenly appear. They build up, usually around Africa, and then move west and north. We counted no less than six of these small, deadly storms appear every time the field generators ramped up. Never before or since did these storms arise in that area. It is suspected that because of power fluctuations without the steadiness of flow the blue diamonds could deliver, our current system brings together pressure variants from two differing planes of existence.”

“Your point, Professor?” Lee asked, beginning to lose what patience he had but mostly because the German was speaking in scientific terms so far beyond him it became frustrating trying to keep up.

“Here,” he said, pointing to a map of the North American eastern seaboard. This made Lee somewhat nervous. “The same storms have appeared here off Norfolk, Virginia.” His finger moved to another circled location. “And here, off Newport News, and here, just outside New York. Three different hurricanes of a weak nature and very brief in duration, and also two of which occurred during the off-season for storms such as this. They appeared in minutes and vanished just as fast.”

“Your people are testing this device in American waters?” Lee asked as he straightened with a look of apprehension on his tanned face.

“No, Colonel Lee. The German government has curtailed all experiments in the area of bending light for stealth purposes.”

“Are you saying American theorists are possibly following the same science?” Hamilton asked incredulously.

“That is exactly what it is I am saying, young man. This experiment must be stopped. We also have information that the Russians may also be experimenting with the same technology in the Black Sea. As a matter of fact, my government has recently discovered they may have already achieved success to a certain degree. If this is true, and if you Americans are trying the same thing, we could see a major catastrophe in the next year. We could lose everything, or anything that is close to the experimental platform — that includes entire cities.”

Lee sat back into his chair.

“Our intelligence says that the probable location for the testing of the unified field theory is happening somewhere in and around your Philadelphia Naval Shipyard. Colonel, you must warn your superiors that this cannot happen. We have agents in the Soviet Union attempting to explain this in a roundabout way to the Russians through diplomatic channels, but as you may know, the Russians don’t particularly like Germans that much. This must stop. Even our fair-minded Herr Hitler has seen the dangers this scientific path may lead us down.”

The professor pushed the last photo over so Lee could see it clearly.

“Another German ship?” he asked.

“No, this is the Simbirsk. This is the vessel believed used in the Russian experiment. Our agents now report she cannot be located anywhere in the world.”

Without warning, Hamilton, with just an acknowledgment through the dip of Garrison Lee’s head, reached over and pulled the map and the photos from the desktop.

“I believe, at least, that you believe this is a viable threat. So I hope you have your bags packed, Professor. I’ll get you to Washington, and once there, you can explain your theory to my boss. If you’re lying to us in any way, you’ll soon learn that we backward Americans aren’t as backward as you might think. Now if you’ll—”

The bullets smashed through the closed window and sprayed the far wall. Lee immediately dove over his desk and knocked Wentz from his chair. Hamilton slammed his body against the far wall and allowed the map depicting the sudden storm positions and the black-and-white photos of the two warships to fall to the floor. He pulled a Colt .45 from the back of his trousers and went into a prone position.

In the main office area, an explosion sounded as a grenade detonated. The interior windows exploded outward and into Lee’s private office, showering them with tinted glass. He heard the reports of several .45s explode as the team inside the office laid down a covering fire. Lee had his full weight on the professor as he kicked out to get Hamilton’s attention.

“It’s time to move operations; I think our secret is out!” Just as the words came out of his mouth, another potato-masher-style hand grenade burst through the already shattered window. Lee ducked his head as the grenade went off, the concussive force sending his body off the professor to slam into the far wall. Then another detonation went off, and then all went silent.

Thirty minutes later, Lee’s eyes fluttered open, and he realized he was in a cool place. He automatically reached for his hat but found his head bare as he sat up. The cot was hard and far too short for his body. He rubbed his head and felt the bandage that partially covered his left ear. But all he knew or cared about at that moment was the fact that he was missing his hat. He looked around the bare room and saw young Hamilton getting treated by a man in a filthy white lab coat.

“What in the hell happened?”

Hamilton looked over as the doctor applied the last piece of tape to the gauze that was wrapped around his left forearm.

“Well, Colonel, let’s just say we got evicted in no uncertain terms. We’re at the safe house in Santiago.”

“You all right?” Lee asked as he placed his bare feet on the cool floor. Again, he reached for his fedora before he remembered he didn’t have it.

“The hat didn’t survive. Neither did the good Professor Wentz. That second grenade landed right on top of him. What’s left was on the shirt you were wearing.”

“Who’d we lose?”

“Three. Nancy Chalmers, Peggy Grace, and Will Nelson. The new kid from Rhode Island.” Hamilton lowered his eyes as Lee stood on shaky feet.

“Potato mashers. Goddamn Germans. Should have seen it coming.”

Hamilton nodded that the doctor should leave. When they were alone, young Hamilton tossed Lee a new, clean shirt after securing the door. “Potato mashers, yes; Germans, no. The professor covered his tracks pretty well. No one knew his intentions. I went through his valise and found maps and communication supplements. He had dates and times of where we were. He had been planning on approaching us for quite some time, Colonel.”

“Then who?” Lee asked as he buttoned up his new shirt. His countenance was troublesome to Hamilton as he turned and opened the thick door.

“Bring the bastard in, Jerry,” Hamilton said as he stepped aside as Lee tucked in his shirt.

The man was small, gruff, and hadn’t shaved in weeks. The heavy flannel shirt he wore was stained in blood, and the dark-haired man looked as if his treatment by Lee’s team hadn’t been too gentle. This man had only met the soft side of the OSS. Lee’s eyes fixed threateningly on the man who was being held upright by Jerry Lester, a second lieutenant from the army also on detached service. Lee sat and slipped on socks and shoes as the small man struggled arrogantly against the larger man holding him. Hamilton tossed a folder onto the bunk where Lee sat tying his shoes.

“We have more on this guy than Photoplay has on Rita Hayworth. This is Ivan Nevalov, Stalin’s number-two man in Argentina, also number one on our elimination list.”

The small, filthy-looking man looked up at the mention of his name and then spit blood onto the floor, which elicited a nice slap on the side of his head from the angry agent holding him. “He and his hit team tried to make it look like German agents by using their equipment. Even the bullets and weapons were German made.”

Lee didn’t have to look at the folder containing the intelligence on Nevalov. The KGB operative was quite well known in these parts and had been suspected in the disappearances of at least three Americans operating in South America. Allies or not, Lee hated the Russians.

“Why eliminate the good professor, Ivan?” Lee asked as he tied off the last shoestring.

The man smiled through bloody teeth but said nothing.

“We know you’re concerned about the spread of certain technology about this theory on the bending of light. Do you want to discuss it?” Lee finished and then stood. He walked over to a chair and removed a Colt .45 from a holster and charged it. He turned and he wasn’t smiling.

“I think we can make a deal here, I mean being allied nations such as we are,” Nevalov said in very good English, and then the man spit blood once more from his mouth.

“Actually, Ivan, I just wanted to know if that was the reason for your assault on my place of business. Unlike my superiors, I don’t deal well with cold-blooded murderers. And I am sure as hell not sitting down to talk with a man who killed three of my people. Step away, Lester.”

“You Americans and your bluffing. This is not your Wild West and the RKO Corral. This is not a poker game; this is not—”

The .45-caliber bullet caught Nevalov in the top of his forehead, and his brains went all over the wall. Jerry Lester and young Hamilton only stared at the body of the Russian agent as his limp frame finally slid to the floor. Lee tossed the still-smoking weapon on the bunk and then fastened his belt buckle. He looked up and saw his two men staring at him in shock.

“We didn’t have time to deal with this guy. We already know what he knows.” Lee grimaced as he stepped toward his two men. “And I am sure as hell not into the habit of sitting down and exchanging pleasantries with a man who just killed three of my people.” Garrison tore off the bandage covering his right ear. “Write it up in your reports if you see fault in my actions. Now gather up what work we have from Wentz.”

“What are we going to do, Colonel?” Hamilton asked as he watched Lee nonchalantly step over Nevalov’s unmoving body.

“You, Mr. Hamilton, are going to establish another cover inside Buenos Aires and set up a new shop. As for me, I’m flying out to go have a talk with our boss and the Department of the Navy.”

Hamilton and Lester watched as Lee left. They exchanged looks of unease.

“Jesus, have you ever seen anything like that?” Lester asked.

“The man really does not like Nazis or Commies, does he?”

Lee sat and fumed inside the office of William “Wild Bill” Donovan, the head of the Office of Strategic Services. The large and burly former attorney slammed his phone back down into the cradle. He cursed as he fixed Lee with a stern look.

“The goddamn Department of the Navy insists that we don’t know what we are talking about. Three weeks and all we get is the runaround, even with President Roosevelt screaming bloody murder about what his navy is doing behind his back.”

“Did we get verification from the National Weather Service on any freak storms in the Atlantic?”

“They tracked two of them just three days ago. One minute, a full-blown hurricane; the next, calm seas. The damn phenomenon was witnessed by half of the damn eastern seaboard. We brought that evidence from that Nazzy bastard Wentz to the navy brass, and all they did was stare at us like we were insane. My boys in weather say another is now forming around Atlantic City, New Jersey, and spreading to Philadelphia.”

“Look, Bill, I lost three good people on this. I would like an answer as to why. Let me go to the navy and ask questions my way. It sounds like they are going to attempt this crazy experiment. They may not have this information from naval intelligence.”

“Or they have just chosen to ignore it.” Donovan looked at Lee and shook his head. “The people you lost were my people, Lee, not yours. And as much as I would like to set you loose on the damn navy brass, I have another way of doing things. You need to curb that famous temper of yours.”

The phone rang. Donovan held eye contact with Garrison and then snatched the phone up. “Donovan,” he answered harshly. Lee saw Wild Bill straighten just a little as he listened to the voice on the other end.

“Are you kidding me?” he screamed into the phone. Garrison saw Donovan’s shoulders sag momentarily. “Yes, I am sorry, Mr. President. It’s just a little frustrating not knowing what it is your other damn hand is doing. When is this supposed to happen?” The room went quiet as Donovan listened. “Can you order it stopped?”

Lee stood and paced. From Wild Bill’s tone, they may have been too late. Or delayed enough that the testing had already commenced.

“Can you get me and Colonel Lee inside?” Again, he listened. “Can we expect full cooperation from the navy and Chicago University?” Another frown. “Thank you, Mr. President,” he answered and then placed the phone down. William H. Donovan stood and grabbed his coat. “Come on, Lee. We have some people to meet.”

It had taken Donovan and Lee an hour and fifty-five minutes by small plane to get from Washington to the shipyard in Philadelphia. The official naval car that met them had ensconced in the backseat no less than the former chief of naval operations, Harold R. Stark, a man Wild Bill Donovan had no love for. It was the portly Harold Stark who had been in charge the night of December 6, 1941. He could have changed history, if, as in Donovan’s biased opinion, “he had been up to the task.” The former naval chief was dressed in a black suit and was not at all happy to see Lee or Donovan.

“I should have known, Harold. This was your project, wasn’t it?” Donovan said as he took the seat next to Stark while Garrison Lee folded his long frame into the front seat with the driver.

“I am not here to answer your questions, Donovan. You are here to observe the experiment firsthand. You are not to report on what it is you witness nor comment on the same.” Stark smiled at Donovan, and it was meant as an insult to the man. “You understand the penalties involved. Both you and your watchdog up there.”

Donovan smirked and then saw the back of Lee’s shoulders tense.

The rest of the ride went in silence. They passed through no less than six more security checkpoints. With each stop, Garrison noticed the weaponry of the attending shore patrolmen became far more serious. The last checkpoint was manned by a fire team that included one .30-caliber machine gun with a crew of six.

The Chevrolet pulled up to a small sandbagged bunker fronting an area of dock that was ringed with large tarps spreading around the dock area like the sides of a great circus tent. The bunker was placed dead center and all blocked the view of the small bay in front of them.

A naval lieutenant commander stepped forward and pulled Stark’s door open with a salute, and the same was done for Donovan and Lee without the military greeting that they both had earned.

One more time, Lee and Wild Bill Donovan had to show their identification, which was matched against a set of orders just received from Washington. Each man was allowed to pass into the darkness of the bunker.

Lee was quicker than Donovan to examine the inside of the bunker and its many occupants. Each naval technician sat at a console with scopes and electronic instruments that failed to be familiar to Garrison. Armed shore patrolmen were stationed along the far wall and watched all personnel with a wary eye. Lee shook his head and then stepped to the front. Leaning close to a radar tech, he saw outside, through a thick pane of glass, the bay. All shipping had been moved, and all viewing access to the water had been blocked by large cranes hoisting tent-sized tarps into the sky. In the middle of all of this was a brand-new destroyer escort. It was one Lee recognized immediately, as it was just featured in one of last year’s Look magazine articles. The USS Eldridge, a new breed of fast destroyer, sat majestically in the closed and calm waters of the navy yard. Lee stiffened when he noticed the crew of the Eldridge was placed along the railings of her deck. Her proud five-inch gun turrets looked as if they were manned and ready. Lee turned to Donovan.

“She’s fully crewed,” he said as if in astonishment.

Donovan turned to Harold Stark, who had sat down in a large chair toward the back of the bunker with two of his assistants.

“Didn’t you read the report we sent you in regard to the suspected German casualties?”

Stark gestured to a man in a white lab coat. “Professor Williston says what you described in your report was not feasible. Impossible is the word I believed he used. Isn’t that right, Professor?”

The short man turned and removed his glasses. He gestured toward Lee and Donovan. “These are the men?”

Stark smiled and nodded. The professor placed his hands on his hips and glared at the two civilian-dressed security men.

“I’ll have you know I had to answer questions for a solid three days after your report was sent to us. You made many people around here nervous with your propaganda.”

“Propaganda? Why, you little—” Lee reached out and took Donovan by the arm to calm him. The burly man relaxed and then shot Stark a look.

“It was my report, boss,” Garrison said as he calmly looked at the much smaller professor, who saw that maybe he shouldn’t be too accusatory.

“Needless to say, your fears are groundless, gentlemen. Our preliminary tests have shown us nothing but promise.”

“Why the full crew? Why not just the staff you need to make the attempt?” Lee asked.

“Because we have other readings we have to assess. Can the crew be hidden as well as the vessel? What are the initial effects of light bending on the human body? They are all volunteers, Colonel Lee. Not one man is on board that ship that does not wish to be.”

Lee and Donovan remained silent.

“Thirty seconds to generator start-up, Professor.”

The man turned with excitement and went to the machinist mate who had just informed him it was now time to commence what the world would come to know as the Philadelphia Experiment.

The USS Eldridge sat silently as her crew heard the warning siren sound. Men went to railings, and others vanished belowdecks to witness one of the great scientific achievements in world history.

Again, the blare of the siren sounded. Once, twice, and finally a third time. Four men had gathered at the fantail and watched as the men and scientists lining the quay disappeared into other bunkers for protection. The men felt the generators far below in the engine spaces start up. The hair on their arms rose straight up. The hair under the caps also pushed against the resistance of being held in place. The current of air smelled of thick ozone. Electricity sparked against steel bulkheads and railings.

Above the Eldridge, the skies darkened as suddenly as if a curtain had been pulled down upon a stage. Rain started to fall, and the wind increased by thirty miles per hour.

“We have a very serious formation of rain clouds slamming the coastal areas. The center of the storm is calculated to be right there!” The technician was pointing out of the thick glass at the now bobbing USS Eldridge.

“You still think this is a natural phenomenon, Dr. Frankenstein?” Lee asked as he, too, pointed at the weather developing outside.

“Commence power pulse!”

An acknowledgment came back from the destroyer. Before anyone could protect themselves, a loud, eardrum-piercing scream sounded, which brought those standing to their knees in pain.

“Damn!” Donovan shouted, and even Admiral Stark yelped and covered his ears.

A pressure wave of air expanded outward from the now heavily rocking Eldridge. Rain started to slant as the wind speed increased to eighty-five miles per hour. Men were shouting out readings, trying desperately to be heard above the din. Bolts of lightning shot from the forward superstructure of the Eldridge. Men were tossed about as if the ship were in a heavy sea.

“Start the generators!” the professor yelled into the radio. Try as they might, they could not hear the response from the ship.

A bright, electric-blue circle of light surrounded the Eldridge and then went outward like the spokes of a wheel. The light slammed into the dock area so hard that sandbags were dislodged. Dust and dirt fell from the plywood ceiling, and men ducked as the light and pressure wave struck the thickened reinforced glass of the bunker. Lee tackled Donovan as the world went bright with white light as the glass exploded inward.

It was a man screaming words Lee couldn’t understand that made him move. Garrison helped Donovan to his feet as the scene quickly faded down to a dull light.

“My God, she’s gone!” a voice called out as rain soon found its way into the damaged bunker.

Men scrambled to their feet as technicians who had been terrified only a moment before were now pointing and shouting with glee. Lee looked at Harold Stark as he was assisted to the now empty window frame.

“You did it, Professor. She’s actually vanished!” Stark exclaimed.

Lee and Wild Bill watched as the harbor waters settled. There was a wide circle of white foam that filled the area where the Eldridge had lain at anchor. She was gone. Lee looked at Donovan and both men were speechless.

“Radar?”

“No contact!” came the reply filled with glee.

“Sonar?”

“All clear. Just the usual harbor floor clutter.”

The professor finally allowed Stark to turn him, and the two men shook hands. Other technicians joined in as the revelry was a charging tool for the men who had been frightened beyond measure only a minute before.

Lee slapped a console in front of him. The loud bang stopped the revelry as all eyes turned to the large man.

“Congratulations. Now do you have a way to get them back?”

The professor looked at Lee as if he were addressing a child of limited learning abilities.

“The generators will automatically shut down after a one-minute duration.”

Before anyone could comment, the weather once more turned ugly, and this time, it hit with a vengeance. More sandbags lining the bunker caved in, and these took several of the shore patrolmen down.

The electrical pulse shorted everything out. Lights, radar systems, sonar, all went down. Rain was horizontal as all was inundated with water from the hurricane-force winds that lashed the navy yard.

A tremendous pop sounded and made the men and women inside the bunker bend over. Most were nauseated beyond endurance, and most gave up their breakfasts.

Garrison Lee was first to raise his head up and see the outside world as the winds lashed the harbor. Waves washed over the empty dock areas, and many men were pulled back into the sea. Then he saw the impossible. The USS Eldridge reappeared.

The world had now opened a door that might not be able to be closed again.

“Recorder!” the professor yelled as the storm outside began to diminish in strength.

“Recorders are nonfunctional!”

“Then write this down,” the professor called out angrily as Harold Stark was looking beyond him at the most amazing sight he had ever seen in his life. “On this date, October 28, 1943, the United States destroyer escort USS Eldridge, DE-173, was successfully hidden from radar and visual detection. Mission, success!”

Everyone inside started clapping and cheering as they all proudly looked on. The Eldridge was steaming hot in the cold waters of the harbor. She was blanketed in a thickening fog that almost completely hid her from sight. Again, it was Garrison Lee who saw the first signs of trouble.

“What have you done?” he asked no one as his thick fingers grasped the broken window seal as the full image of the Eldridge came into clear view.

“My God. I guess this answers the question of Can we go too far?, doesn’t it, Slim?” Donovan said as he joined Garrison at the window. He turned and his eyes fixed on Admiral Stark.

Garrison examined the smoking, steaming hulk of the Eldridge and found he couldn’t breathe.

“Is this what you imagined your phase shift would look like, you maniacs?” Donovan asked angrily as he turned to the visibly shaken professor.

“Yes, sir. The bending of light by electromagnetic fields, rendering massive interference to any radar in the world, essentially blinding them, is now a fact, even if… if…” The words trailed off. His statement was like he was rendering it by rote without his usual enthusiasm.

“But something has obviously gone very wrong,” Lee said as if to finish the professor’s weak statement.

“No, no, no,” Stark said as he tried not to look at the smoldering Eldridge. “It went right, better than anyone could ever have imagined. It did vanish from every radar within three miles of the shipyard. You saw it yourself, Donovan. It just disappeared. Went away. It came back seventy-five seconds later. From my viewpoint, it was a rousing success that just may win this war for us.”

Donovan stepped forward but was stopped by two naval shore patrolmen before he could throttle the admiral.

“Look at that! You call that a success?”

Below, men were seen half in, half out of steel bulkheads. Sailors had died in agony as they had been exposed to the phase shift’s power, the exact same outcome Donovan and Lee had warned the navy of. Now it was there for all to see. All sailors abovedecks had been fried to death by men of their own nation.

As they watched, men were rushing aboard without regard to their own safety. Security, shipmates who had been left ashore for the testing, and other naval personnel crowded the decks as they rushed to help those men hideously killed by the power of the experiment.

Stark couldn’t help it any longer, his argument about the success of the experiment no longer viable as he bent at the waist and vomited.

Lee swallowed hard as he watched men below trying to remove several bodies from the Eldridge’s superstructure. Sailors were buried half in, half out of her decks and her bulkheads, and all were burned to a crisp. This last observation was causing several of the men attempting at cutting the bodies free to lean over and vomit. This was happening the entire 306 feet of the brand-new destroyer.

Colonel Lee pushed several security personnel away from the collapsed opening. Many were assisting Admiral Stark as he also tried to get out. Lee felt Wild Bill Donovan grabbing his suit jacket as the two men made it out into the hazy light of day. The weather had magically cleared, and with just the exception of the heavy ozone smell of electricity, all was seemingly normal.

Lee grabbed one of the shore patrolmen by the arm as he ran by and directed him to assist several sailors who had been washed over the pier railing by the tremendous backwash of seawater as the Eldridge returned from its maiden voyage to somewhere. His eyes fell on the destroyer sitting three hundred yards away. Steam was still rising from her superstructure, and even as he watched, the strong anchor chain on her bow crashed down into the sea. The large ship swayed both to the starboard and then port as she settled into her watery placement. Boats of all sizes were rushing to her now settling hulk. Lee saw one of these whaleboats as they cast off with a slew of medical personnel aboard.

“Don’t go out there!” Donovan ordered as he adjusted his eyesight to the scene before him. Wild Bill had taken Lee’s arm in his to try to stay him from boarding the whaleboat.

Garrison removed Donovan’s hand and then ran toward the accelerating boat. He jumped the six feet from the pier to the now moving boat. He crashed down inside and was helped to a sitting position by two navy medics. Lee’s eyes settled on the fast approaching Eldridge. The ship was hissing steam jets. The capacitors lining the sides of her hull were so hot that the gray paint covering her hull plates sizzled and then burst into small flames, and then as the capacitors burned out, they went dead of power. This was happening the entire length of the destroyer.

“What in the hell happened?” one of the naval medics said. The closer they got to the Eldridge, the more of the horrors became visible.

“The price of being gods,” Lee mumbled, confusing those aboard who heard the obscure comment.

Garrison saw many of the rescuers who had already boarded were in the process of throwing up. Many were on their knees. Some even wept as they came across their fellow seamen scorched and charred. The whaleboat slowed, and then Lee, not waiting, jumped to the boarding ramp that fronted her starboard side.

Gaining the deck, Lee couldn’t help it. He also bent over as his stomach threatened to disgorge the breakfast he had eaten three hours earlier. He allowed his stomach to settle. The smell of scorched flesh kept that little maneuver in check until he gradually became used to the smell. The man’s eyes were wide as he was being spoken to by a kid no older than nineteen. The sailor was holding the man’s hand and talking calmly to him.

“We need men over here!” came a shout not far away. Garrison looked up and saw medics running toward the stairs that led to the bridge wing of the destroyer. “Cutting torches! We need cutting torches over here!”

Lee scrambled and turned the corner on the charred decking. He came to a screeching halt when he saw one of the Eldridge’s crewmen. The man was buried up to his chest in burned teakwood. The deck sectioned the man completely in two — one part below and one above the deck. Lee had to get closer to learn all he could about what had gone wrong. He knelt as close as he could without interfering with the rescue attempt. Lee swallowed when he saw the blood soaking into the burned wood of the decking. It spread in a wide arc around the sailor who was obviously in shock. The boy’s lips moved, and Lee thought he heard him say, “What took them so long?”

“The duration of the event was only one minute,” came a shocked voice from behind them. Lee straightened and saw Stark and the professor as they watched with wide eyes the attempt at freeing the man buried in the deck. Lee knew that the situation was helpless, and he knew the men who had caused this guessed the same. He angrily tried to hear what the boy was saying.

“I didn’t get that, son. What did he just say?” he asked.

The medic, who was talking softly to the sailor, answered without turning away from those frightened eyes. “He’s in shock; I wouldn’t take anything he has to say seriously.”

Lee got closer. “What did you see, son?” he asked, drawing a severe look backward by the medic.

“We… were… boarded. They took the ship… in less than five… minutes,” came the slow, pain-filled words.

As the men around him prepared to start cutting the deck away from around the boy, the hairless and scarred head slowly sank forward as the boy died from being severed in two. Lee stood and faced the professor and Admiral Stark. He then silently turned to Wild Bill Donovan, who had just joined them.

“We need to get a marine detail up here,” he said as he turned and ran to the gangway, where a security force of four boatloads of marines started to board. Garrison confronted the lieutenant leading the four separate teams.

“We may have an intruder force aboard this ship,” he said as the young marine officer was staring wide-eyed at the carnage around him. Lee reached out and took the marine by the shoulders and shook him. “Get a fire team together, son.”

Donovan joined them and then, with his terrifying and booming voice, got the marines to react. They shook off their initial terror.

“Belay that order! We have men to help here!” Admiral Stark shouted as he saw what Lee was attempting to do. Both Lee and Donovan knew that Stark felt the control he wielded over the project starting to slip away.

“Marine, we may have men trapped inside that ship, do you understand? Do your duty,” Lee said as he tried to get the officer to ignore Stark and his concerns for controlling the situation.

“Right. I want one squad forward of section three, another to the aft hatches. The other, come with me.”

Lee, without thinking, reached out and quickly unsnapped the marine’s shoulder holster and pulled out the lieutenant’s Colt .45. The boy looked but said nothing. He noted the size of the man directing him and decided not to reference any provenance toward command. He nodded and then bounded up the steel stairs toward the bridge section high above them.

The thirteen men plus Lee passed several bodies that had succumbed to their injuries. Garrison knew then that any personnel caught abovedecks were already dead. He knew this from the German reports on their failure five years before. Lee swallowed and followed the marines to the open bridge wing. The first of the squad to reach the hatch was a gruff sergeant. He gestured for two men to open the large hatchway. One turned and shook his head.

“Hatch has been dogged,” the sergeant said as he stood and went in another direction. They traveled around the bridge wing to the opposite side. They met the second fire team as they started to breach the hatchway on the opposite side. The marine sergeant saw the explosive being placed just to the left of the dogged hinges of the steel barrier. Lee bent low as the word was given and the explosive charge was detonated. The boat rocked the men as the hatchway blew inward. Several of the marines took up station to the front, and with their combined strength, they pulled the thick steel outward where one of the strong hinges had held. They finally freed the hatch, and the first two men vanished inside the darkened bridge.

Lee waited until the far younger and better-armed marines entered, and then he cautiously followed with the .45 at the ready. The bridge was empty. It was also a wreck. Papers flew around, and the bridge windows had been smashed, and by the way of the glass patterns on the steel deck, Lee knew they had been broken from the outside. Someone entered the bridge uninvited.

“This is not how I envisioned my day going, Lee,” came the voice from behind him.

Donovan was there and had somehow gotten ahold of a Thompson submachine gun. Lee’s eyes went from the tommy gun to the frightened face of his boss.

“Have you ever shot one of those before?” Lee asked with concern.

“Of course, Lee,” Donovan said.

Garrison knew the man was lying, but whether it was to him or himself, he wasn’t sure. He did know he was just as frightened about what they would find as the head of the OSS was.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said as he allowed Donovan to step up beside him. “I’ll trade you. How about that?”

Donovan looked insulted at first but saw Lee’s sense of it and exchanged weaponry.

“These things are rather touchy,” Lee said as he once more started moving forward as the marines advanced into the interior of the Eldridge.

Suddenly, the line of marines stopped as they entered the main companionway from the bridge section to the command area that was filled with the radio room and the officers’ quarters. All flashlights were turned to the far end of the companionway. Lee’s eyes widened when he saw what was waiting for them.

“What in the hell…” Donovan’s words trailed off just as the same statement started to come from the lips of every man in the marine fire team.

At the far end of the corridor, barely visible in the lights of no less than four powerful flashlights, were what had boarded the Eldridge.

“Can someone explain to me just what in the hell those things are?” a young corporal asked as he raised his M14 to his shoulder.

“Hold fire,” Lee said as he stepped to the front of the stalled squad. Donovan tried to stop Lee from taking the lead but failed, and he cursed Garrison’s take-charge persona.

The bipedal creatures were standing over two of the downed crewmen of the Eldridge. The crewmen were dead. The eyes of the creatures took in the new element. Garrison charged the Thompson as he took these strange beings in.

The creatures were wearing some form of breeches that only traveled the length of their legs to the knee. Their shoes looked as if they were made of some form of seagoing life. The same for their partial pants. They were bare-chested. They weren’t frightened or shocked; they just stared as if they had been interrupted and it hadn’t been appreciated. It was the tentacles that curled around their necks and moved as if of their own free will, up and down, circling their thick necks. Lee saw the scales of the creatures as they gleamed inside the lights being cast by the flashlights. Lee saw the dark, fishlike eyes as they took in the marine intruders. The heads were scarce of hair, and their hands looked to be webbed. They wore brightly colored ribbons, and they all had extremely lethal-looking swords on their hips. These were slowly withdrawn as the intruders aboard the Eldridge took offense at the newcomers. As the men watched, one of the strange creatures stepped forward of the other two. Its feet hit several expended rounds that had been fired during the boarding of the destroyer. Lee knew then that the crew of Eldridge had at least fought for their ship before losing it.

As the creature stepped to the forefront, Lee did the same.

“We must take them alive,” said a voice from the rear of the group.

Lee knew it was Admiral Stark.

“Harold, I think you are done giving orders here. In case you didn’t know it, you have just killed an entire crew of men over this madness,” Donovan said as he also pushed forward of the marines.

Stark huffed up his chest but said nothing as the young marines looked at him with wonder in their eyes over his callousness.

The thing hissed loudly as it took in the large human standing defiantly before it. Lee watched as the back eyes settled upon him.

Before Lee knew what was happening, the sound of gunfire erupted throughout the large ship. Distant shots were heard, first sporadic, and then they increased in volume until they could feel the vibration of the gunfire through the steel of the deck.

The thing before them screamed something, and then its rather large sword was raised above its head, and the large animal charged Garrison. Lee stood his ground, and then he opened fire with the Thompson just as the other two creatures charged with swords in hand. Every marine was glad to open fire. Bullets struck the marine animals and tore into their scaly bodies, sending shards of bright fluorescent scales into the air and the lighting. The small battle was soon over as Lee stepped forward. The lead creature moved, but it was Wild Bill who placed a round into the creature’s head. The body went still as did the others.

“We have reports of fighting throughout the ship, same opposition. Thus far, there are no signs of the crew.”

Lee turned to face the lieutenant. “Drag these bastards out into the light.”

Garrison watched as Stark was shoved unceremoniously out of the way as the marine detail dragged the creature that Lee had just dispatched into the bridge area, where they could get a good look at it.

“What have you done, Harold?” Donovan asked as he nervously looked behind into the long and dark companionway.

“We have much to learn from this experiment.”

“Yes, we have learned that we discovered another way to kill ourselves,” Lee said as he knelt down to examine the species of beast before him.

He could see that there was intelligence behind those dead and open eyes. Garrison reached out and touched the large sword that was still clutched in the creature’s web-fingered hand. The teeth, which were stained in the reddish blood, were clear and sharp. The rags it wore had been hand sewn and stitched. The weapon itself was wood. The blade was fashioned out of some mineral Lee couldn’t place. It was a see-through bluish color and had an edge like no other weapon he had ever seen before. He reached out and touched it and then pulled his bleeding finger back, as the blade that had barely touched his skin cut deeply into his flesh. He winced as he looked at the scabbard, which held a knife. This Lee pulled free, and he examined it. It was also made of wood but was fashioned with a clear edge of some form of diamond-like material. Then Lee saw the pouch wrapped around the creature’s waist. He reached for it.

“Everything here is navy property, Lee. We want it all.” Stark was still being held at bay by his own fright, and the order was basically ignored by the OSS officer.

Garrison felt Donovan kneel beside him as he opened the leatherlike pouch and pulled something out. It was folded. The paper itself looked aged and waterlogged. Garrison unfolded the paper and looked at it. Donovan was confused as he also took it in.

“What is that?” he asked as several of the young marines also joined the two men as they studied what it was this creature had carried into battle.

The page was wide, as if from a magazine or book. It was a painted picture of pirates and of wooden ships. It seemed familiar to Lee, but he just couldn’t place it. The writing was what he did recognize. It was written in Cyrillic. Russian.

“This is strange,” Donovan said.

“No, sir. It’s a page from Treasure Island.”

Both Lee and Donovan looked up into the baby-faced marine who was looking at the full-page picture and words.

“How do you know that?” Lee asked.

“I have the same book on a shelf back at the barracks, sir. Only it isn’t written in no Russian.”

Lee looked back at the colorful and exciting picture of who had to have been Long John Silver with a broadsword waving above his head. “The kid’s right. This is a Russian-language version of that book.”

Lee compared the picture to the clothing the creature wore. If he didn’t feel as if he were losing his mind, he would have sworn there was a resemblance to the clothing worn by the pirates depicted in the page from the book — the swords, the strange breeches the beasts wore, even down to the tentacles that had been wrapped in brightly colored ribbons. Garrison quickly folded the paper and placed it in his pocket. He eyed Donovan, and the look said, Let’s get the hell out of here.

Hours after the event, Lee was ordered back to South America and to his station. Donovan met with the president of the United States three days later and, through his report, which did not jibe well at all with Admiral Stark’s version, talked the president into not funding any more experiments in the phase shift field — ever again.

Garrison Lee had kept the page from Treasure Island. The depiction of Long John Silver remained with him for the rest of his life. His dreams were always filled with the same memory of that day during the war years. While men of other areas of endeavor were consumed by actions against their fellow men at a time of war, Lee’s were centered around a little-known incident that occurred in home waters during that same conflict.

Yes, he remembered the creature that had scale-covered arms and legs, and what was most disturbing were the tentacles, his memory recalled. The skin had been clear in his mind — like that of a jellyfish, with dull, colored highlights of green, blue, and clear white. The face had been that of a human, with the exception of the clear, large, and very pointed teeth and even larger black, lidless eyes. The braided hair was almost seaweed-like in appearance. Lee remembered the Eldridge’s superstructure and the men who had lost their lives upon it. He swore he would never allow technology like that to ever exist again.

Years later, Garrison Lee would go to his grave without ever fully understanding just what it was that happened in the world’s oceans in the 1930s and ’40s and to tell the truth, he was quite content to go to his final resting place willingly without that information.

On that day in October of 1943, Garrison Lee, future director of Department 5656, secretly known as the Event Group, became a witness to the results of a little-known scientific incident officially labeled as Fleet Action 129871.

Legend would later label it the Philadelphia Experiment.