The Mermaid and the Flier

The Mermaid and the Flier

by

Emma Jean Hoffman

Smashwords Edition

copyrighted 2012 by Emma Jean Hoffman

all rights reserved

Edited by Laura Kingsley

Table of contents:

about the author:

Chapters:

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

Disclaimer (the usual spiel we have to give.): This e-book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead is merely coincidental. We own all the important rights. This is for your enjoyment only. If you try to copy or share this e-book, you will be plucked from your residence by a hairy Pterodactyl and dropped into a volcano.

chapter 1

Bobby...

With the sun at my back, I was drawn to the view through the windshield of our plane, where the sky met the ocean in the horizon, so tantalizing close but so far away at the same time. It made the world look so large, so limitless in its unending possibilities. I wanted to explore as far as I could, to find the dividing line of the horizon, the timeless place of magic known as Shangri-La, the mythical destination every explorer wanted to discover.

Don't you ever sit back and just enjoy the view? I asked Hermando who was frowning at me.

I would enjoy it more if you paid more attention to the gauges. Remember, Bobby Miller, eighteen year old son of shipping mogul Jack Miller, if you ever wish to have a chance of earning your pilot's license, you have to pay attention to the gauges. They tell you the truth, while—

My eyes can deceive me, I know, I know, I bristled. Had I not been through all this over and over again? It wasn't like I was doing barrel rolls, for god's sake. Hermando worried too much, even as I acquiesced to his every command. I wanted my license before I graduated college, in fact if I could manage it, I wanted it by the time I was twenty. I checked the vital gauges to appease my high-priced instructor and then looked back to that beautiful horizon where the ocean met the sky. I knew it never really met but a guy could fantasize, couldn't he? Finding where it met and then flying through to the mythical other-side. Finding Shangri-La.

Get your left wing up. Keep it steady. What is your altitude? Hermando demanded.

I checked my gauges. I am at twenty-one hundred feet. We are perfectly fine.

Its a quick drop to the ocean for a stupid pilot, and you're not a stupid pilot, you're just stupid.

Hermando! For what my father pays you, don't you think you should be a little politer? I am not stupid, I just graduated High School with with a perfect 4.0 GPA.

You're young. You think you're invincible and nothing can hurt you. That makes you very stupid. Remember, when you are piloting a plane, things can go very wrong in a quick second. One stupid error on your part, and we are smashed into the ocean to become fish food, Hermando grumbled, looking over the gauges, his hands firmly on the other stick, ready to take control from me in a second's notice.

Even though I would never tell him because it would create this weirdness between us, I loved old Hermando like a second father. Or an uncle, since it would be cool to call him that. My safety was his primary concern, and it wasn't just the money my father paid him to train me. Hermando took pride in training new pilots, and he feared more for my safety than his. His constant, but sometimes annoying, demands to pay attention every detail and belittle me at the same time were aimed at making me a better pilot. To snuff out the foolish boy and create a cautious man who respected the complicated machine I was trying to master. It wasn't his reputation he was worrying about, it was my life. If I died in some horrible crash, it would haunt his conscience.

Beware! A sudden low pressure has developed thirty miles off the coast of Florida, directly east of Miami. The meteorologists predict severe thunderstorms with strong winds. The Coast Guard has issued a small craft warning, the radio crackled.

Turn around and head straight to the landing strip, Hermando commanded.

But there are only a few a clouds in the sky! I protested. I did not want to this day to end, it had taken forever to reach this point. Flying over the ocean was the risky, though I didn't completely understand why. Water was a lot softer to crash in then the hard ground of land.

You have lived in Miami most of your life. You know how fast storms appear from nowhere, Hermando reprimanded me, and I knew there was no use in arguing.

I turned the wheel to the left, sighing with the Cessna as it protested, left wing dropping, turning us back to the mainland. While Hermando was correct, I felt like we were running from phantom rumors. I mean, really... Meteorologist were wrong almost eighty percent of the time. In this case, they were probably wrong, but Hermando refused to take even the slightest chance.

After I checked the instruments, I took a last look out the side window of the mesmerizing horizon that encapsulated my fantasy of finding parts of the world human eyes had never seen. I'll be back to explore you, I swear...

Once I finished turning the plane into the one eighty back to the mainland, the sun assaulted my eyes hard, and I pulled my sunglasses down to shield them. I checked the instruments again. We're a hundred miles out, I told Hermando who just responded with a grunt.

And then, the bright blue sky changed in an instant. Very dark, gray clouds just boiled down from the heavens, and the plane bounced, signaling we had hit a pocket of cold air. The steady whine of the engines changed in pitch, and for just a moment, become rough and uneven, vibrating through the plane. Before my mind could register the shock of it, the plane bounced back up. A quick look at the altitude meter showed I was back to twenty-one hundred feet. With my heart pounding in worry, I looked over to Hermando for reassurance. I had read everything, I knew what to expect, but this was the first time I had experienced it.

You are fine. Hermando looked worried, his eyes flashing between the sky and the gauges. Take her up five hundred feet. That bounce dropped us two hundred feet in a fraction of a second. I'd feel better—

The plane bounced again, and my eyes went to the altimeter. This wasn't a mere bounce, it was a dive and in a second we lost five hundred feet in altitude. Then, the wind came from nowhere, buffeting us down another two hundred feet. The sky turned the nastiest shade of gray I had ever seen, and the rain poured down, buffeting our plane like machine gun bullets.

Hermando! I yanked the yoke up in panic, desperately clawing for attitude, but the wind kept me down.

I have the stick, Hermando said nervously, his eyes growing wide as he took over control from me.

His frightened countenance scared me badly because he was an accomplished pilot—use to the violently changing tropic weather. His eyes swept the gauges again as he pulled hard on the yoke. We needed to gain altitude. If Hermando could fight his way up, we could fly out of the top of this storm, but—

The plane slewed in the violent, roiling air and then in amazed horror, I looked down at the gauges—they began to spin wildly as if struck by lightning. I watched in horrified amazement as they spun crazily, and then as if someone snapped their fingers, they all stopped, dropping to zero and remained dead.

Hector? I asked in extreme alarm, hoping he could somehow magically fix them as the more pragmatic part of my mind whispered we were in some serious trouble here.

Ignoring me, Hermando grabbed the radio mike and thumbed the transmitter. Mayday, Mayday. My name is Hermando Escubaonda. I am piloting a single engined Cessna, TR-1345. An unexpected storm has caught us. We have just lost all our instruments and are flying blind. We may need assistance—

The winds slammed into us, driving the nose of the plane down, and I estimated we were just a hundred feet from the surface. Hermando look!

This is Hermando Escubaonda. I am piloting a single engined Cessna, TR-1345. I have total failure of all electronic instruments and am flying blind in this sudden storm. Oh my god! The sea beneath us is all white, It is roiling like I have never seen. It looks like boiling water in a pot on the oven—

The engine quit: the high pitched whining fading to a dead sigh.

Brace for impact, I think we are going down, Hermando almost screamed, trying to even out the plane as another blow of wind struck us. Brace yourself, Bobby! We are going down!

As my heart almost stopped with his words, my mind overruled it, commanding me to grab the stick and help him desperately claw for attitude. Knowing it was useless, with our engine dead, my left hand checked my seatbelt to make sure it was firmly secured.

Hermando pulled the yoke hard again. We are going to hit, but if I can belly-flop this bitch, we might just survive. His eyes grew as big as saucers, looking at the frothing surface of the ocean.

Then he pointed out to the horizon. What the hell is that?

My eyes followed his finger and for a moment, I wondered if we were both hallucinating. There was a island with palm trees straight ahead, but there were no such islands off the Florida coast, at least not in our flight path. What the—

This is Cessna, TR-1345, we are going down...

Then the plane slammed into the ocean and everything went black...

chapter 2

One year later...U.S. Naval Airbase, Pensacola, Florida.

Helen McRoy. Do you have a minute, Don Searles called from his office. The Homeland security act had created many strange marriages, including the US Navy having a permanent FBI agent stationed in its office.

Dressed in the no-wrinkle, no-nonsense uniform of dress navy, Helen sighed and walked the ten feet to FBI agent Don's office. As special Judge advocate for the base, only one of two such distinguished members of the Navy, Helen was immediately leery. She did not how Don had managed to become an FBI agent, but from what little she knew of him, she thought more stringent screening procedures had to be employed to keep weirdo's like Don out of that branch of government. He was a certified moron in her professional opinion, and a man she'd been lucky to avoid until today. Still, there was no avoiding his request, and she walked into his office, trying hard not to look worried. After all, mad-dogs didn't bite if they didn't sense fear, and she did have a gun.

Close the door and then take a seat, Commander—

That's Lieutenant McRoy, not Commander, Helen reminded him, knowing the difference was lost on Don. Civilians didn't understand the different ranks in the military or the respect that went with them.

Sorry, Lieutenant, I meant no disrespect, Don apologized barely, his body expression showing a slight irritation and a complete disregard for the offense.

It rankled Helen hard. She had fought to earn her rank and the respect that went with it.

I know who you are. The first woman ever to go through Navy Seal training and finish it while earning her lawyer degree. You are a very dangerous woman and one who wields tremendous power. Don held up a hand, trying to curb her protests. While all that is impressive, I still have a question burning up my mind.

And what would that be? Helen guessed Don had very little mind to spare for such burning intrigue.

I know it's the whole image thing here, but how in the world do you get your hair wrapped so tightly in that bun? How do you stand it being that tight? It makes my head hurt just looking at it.

His leering grin only topped off that asinine comment. If he was serving in the military with her, she could have him brought up on sexual harassment charges and executed by a firing squad. Unfortunately, Don was FBI, outside her providence. What a damn asshole she thought, wondering briefly if anyone would actually complain if she shot him. I am dressed to meet Military regulations.

Hell, you're dressed and groomed to exceed them. Shit, lady, you have to let your hair down sometimes. Don shook his head.

Is this why you called me in here, to the rat's nest—you call an office?

Lady, this was a shithole when I got here. I just made it more comfortable. Don, gestured around to the trash in the office. No, I actually need your help for once. If you're up to it, that is.

How so? Helen asked stiffly. Per orders, I am to assist you anyway I can. Her nose wrinkled involuntary with a distaste she tried to hide. It was the automatic bias of her chosen career. She was hard core military, believing that the regimental structure of the military superseded the shoddy, haphazard structure of civilian government. While the FBI had a professional reputation she should admire, Don Searles had her reconsidering it.

Here, let me share this transcript with you I just received. Don shoved a single piece of paper at her,

Helen quickly read it and then looked up at Don. So? This is old news. Bobby Miller, the only son of Jack Miller, the shipping mongol billionaire, disappeared a year ago. It was in the news at the time. On a training flight, he apparently crashed into the ocean. No bodies were ever recovered. This is old news—so why am I here?

Do you see that black line that separates the transcript?

Yes?

Most of it was recorded from a Coast Guard interception one year ago. But the last two lines... 'What the hell is that?' And... 'This is Cessna, TR-1345, we are going down,' just came in yesterday," Don told her, his eyes going hard in such seriousness, Helen had to sit back and think.

What you are telling me...how is that possible? Helen thought hard, wondering if this was some kind of trick to make her look foolish. But while Don had a history of playing pranks, she was well trained to spot someone up to mischievous notions. He wasn't playing her, she decided reluctantly. You have me at a disadvantage, I do not understand.

You have a reputation for being as smart as a whip, so lets test it. A plane disappears one year ago after a distress call. It vanishes, never returning. The father, Jack Miller, calls in all his political markers. The Coast Guard searches for several days but finds nothing. Bobby Miller and his pilot trainer, Hermando Escubaonda, are eventually declared dead. But now, we have a final distress call recorded last night from them. If you read the transcript, you will notice they say they are close to an island, an island that does not exist off the coast of Florida, close to Miami, where they flew from and were supposedly close to returning to. One year later, we receive the rest of their distress call. How is that possible? It was a year ago. So why are we just now getting the last part of it?

It bounced off a satellite? Even as she said it, Helen knew how wrong that answer was. For the signal to hit a satellite, or any any other recording device, it would only take minutes to receive, not a year.

You know better and that is the mystery I am asking you to help me solve. We have not informed Jack Miller, of course. For now, we want to investigate quietly. No sense in sharing something that is probably just false hope. This will probably turn out to be an anomaly.

But you don't believe that. Helen could read his face too clearly on that one.

I don't know what to think, just that it needs investigated.

There isn't there any such island off Florida's coast in their supposed location, unless... Helen looked down on the chart spread over the mess of Don's desk. As she thought, there was no island anywhere close to their supposed flight plan, even if they had been blown off course. Despite her no-nonsense attitude, Helen was intrigued. I will help investigate, if you want me to. It was better than the average run of the mill stuff she involved herself in. In truth, Helen hated her job. Prosecuting stupid sailors, like those who accidentally bought Oregano instead of Marijuana, was boring to her. Don was offering a mystery she could sink her teeth into. It almost triumphed her inherent distrust of him. I am intrigued. What do you propose? And more importantly, what are you thinking?

Ever herd of the Bermuda Triangle?

Who hasn't? But it is just a myth. I have read everything about it. While it is true this plane was at the corner of it, that means nothing. It does not existence. Besides, in truth, no more ships and planes have disappeared in this supposed triangle then the rest of the ocean.

You have read what the government has persuaded the world to believe. The Bermuda Triangle is real, we just don't know how it works. And now, you and I have the opportunity to explore it.

chapter 3

Bobby...