A Ripple In Time [A Historical Novel of Survival] Read online

  A RIPPLE IN TIME

  A Historical Novel of Survival

  By

  VICTOR ZUGG

  A Ripple In Time

  © 2019 by Victor Zugg

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Many thanks to Brandi Doane McCann (www.ebook-coverdesigns.com) for the cover design. Her creations belong in a gallery. And equal thanks to Sarah Gralnick. She’s always the first to read my work. I very much appreciate her suggestions. And I’d like to express my appreciation to R. Alan Stello, Jr., Executive Director of Programming, National Society of The Colonial Dames of America in the State of South Carolina, Charleston. His knowledge of history was most helpful. They all made this book infinitely better.

  CHAPTER 1

  The PA system blared. “Final call for flight seventy-three with service to Charlotte, boarding at Gate Five. This is your final call. Gate Five, flight seventy-three.”

  Steve Mason quickened his pace along the corridor as he dodged the throngs of travelers. His hand clutched a small, black rucksack.

  A lone female flight attendant with very short, dark hair was just about to pull the gangway door closed when Mason approached and got her attention with a lopsided smile. “Sorry, last-minute assignment,” he said. He pulled a black wallet-sized case from his sports coat inner pocket and opened it for the attendant. A gold badge stood prominent against the black leather. Words on the badge read United States Federal Air Marshal.

  The attendant smiled. “We were beginning to think you wouldn’t make it.”

  “Traffic,” he said, as he closed the case and returned the badge to its pocket. “Miami is lousy this time of day.”

  The attendant nodded as Mason stepped past her into the empty gangway. She closed the door, and they walked side-by-side.

  “First class or back of the plane?” Mason asked.

  “We have a couple of empty seats in first class.”

  “Excellent,” Mason said.

  “Where’s Ted Wilson?” the attendant asked. “We don’t see a FAM on this route very often, but when we do, it’s usually Ted.”

  “Sick,” Mason said. He stuck out his hand as they walked. “I’m Steve Mason.”

  She took his hand. “Karen James. I have first class for this flight, so I’ll be seeing you. Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Will do,” Mason said.

  He ducked, even though his height didn’t require it, as he stepped through the hatch and boarded the plane.

  A younger female flight attendant, attractive, wearing her hair in a moderate stretched afro, greeted him with a smile. Her navy-blue skirt, coat, and flashy kerchief matched Karen’s outfit.

  He smiled at the attendant, turned right, and dipped his chin at the first empty seat, seat 3E.

  An attractive younger woman with long legs and highlighted, blond hair occupied the window seat. She wore tight, designer blue jeans with a white, long-sleeve, v-neck pullover. Brown boots covered her feet.

  “This one okay?”

  Karen leaned toward the other attendant. “He’s our FAM for this flight.”

  The second attendant smiled, “I’m Angie Knowles and yes, that seat will be fine.”

  Mason stowed his rucksack in the overhead bin and plopped into the aisle seat. “Sorry,” he said to the woman next to him, as he buckled his seatbelt.

  “Not a problem,” she said, without looking up from the magazine lying open over her crossed legs.

  Mason noted the flat tone and lack of a smile. Oh well, he thought. He glanced over his shoulder down the aisle at the full complement of passengers and the attendants preparing the cabin for departure. He faced front, rested his head against the seat back, and tried to relax as he ran through what his supervisor had told him over the phone.

  Ted was sick and Mason was one of the few FAMs available to fill in. Normally a FAM would not be assigned to such a short domestic flight, but the threat level had been raised the day before for south Florida. Mike Reeves, his supervisor, didn’t know exactly why. It was probably based on some piece of intel from one of the agencies. It couldn’t be that big of a deal since Mason had heard nothing unusual on Fox or CNN. Cable news was usually the first to know. It didn’t really matter. Mason, like all FAMs, was trained to handle pretty much any situation. The bad part was being rousted on his day off. But such was the life of a Federal Air Marshal. Show up and keep an eye on the passengers and the cockpit door.

  The plane rocked as the last of the luggage was loaded below and the cargo doors were shut. The air pressure changed when Karen closed and secured the cabin door. Soon he felt the plane’s movement as it was being pushed from the terminal and turned. The engines revved, and the plane began rolling under its own power.

  The plane’s PA system crackled. “Good afternoon. I’m Captain Anderson and on behalf of the flight crew I’d like to welcome you aboard. We anticipate a smooth, two-hour flight through mostly clear air. We’ll be skirting the east coast. Sit back and enjoy the flight.”

  Mason glanced over at the woman still locked on the pages of her magazine. She was in her late thirties and athletic. He glanced at the large diamond on her ring finger, twisted his lips, and faced forward.

  The plane stopped at the main runway. After a few minutes the plane turned, the engines whined, and the plane accelerated until it finally lifted.

  Mason heard the rumble from below as the wheels retracted. His body pressed back into the seat as the plane continued to accelerate into a steep climb. His ears popped. Soon the plane leveled, and the engines cut back into a moderate whine. He saw Karen get up from her fold-down seat and step into the galley. She quickly reappeared and began taking drink orders. Mason’s row was her first stop.

  “Something to drink?” she asked, as she peered at his traveling companion.

  The woman glanced up. “Thank you, no. I’m fine.”

  Karen nodded and smiled at Mason.

  “Maybe some club soda.”

  Karen penned a note on a napkin and turned to the adjacent seats.

  As was his routine, Mason did a mental evaluation of each of the passengers, especially when they got up to use the lavatory. Profiling, despite the negative connotation, was a necessary evil. He was always in search of the more subtle tells such as anxiety, nervousness, and anything on the edgy side of a person’s demeanor. None of these passengers checked any of the boxes; they were just normal people going about their various routines as far as he could tell. There was the young woman, middle twenties, darker complexion and black hair, wearing glasses, gray pants, blue top, and leather flats. She carried maybe a couple of pounds too many, but she had a very pretty face. She wore a jade and silver bracelet. The studious type. Intelligent. And there was the extremely tall, lanky, young man. A professional basketball player maybe. Mason didn’t have time to follow basketball or any kind of sports, so he had no idea if the guy was famous. The others were generally older, various ethnicities. Just people.

  Karen dropped off his club soda.

  Mason took a sip and returned the plastic glass to the seatback table. He closed his eyes and rested his head back. When he opene
d his eyes, he saw that most of the ice had melted in his glass. He took another sip and watched Karen as she passed his seat on her way forward. He glanced at the woman to his right again.

  She was peering out the window. Her magazine lay closed on her lap. She seemed deep in thought.

  “Business or pleasure?” Mason asked.

  The woman glanced at Mason and then resumed her gaze out the window. After a few moments she shifted her body. “Neither really. Just visiting my parents.”

  “Charlotte?”

  “Asheville.”

  “So you live in Miami?” Mason asked.

  The woman stared at the diamond ring on her finger. “I do. My husband runs a large real estate business.” She looked at Mason. Her eyes swept his entire length hovering for a millisecond each on his closely cropped black hair, short beard, broad shoulders, gray sports coat, ringless fingers, black jeans, and finally his dark-brown, leather, lace-up service boots. “What do you do?”

  “Security.”

  The woman nodded. “You look military.”

  “I was, years ago.” He extended his hand. “Steve Mason.”

  She hesitated but finally shook his hand. “Lisa Willis.”

  “You told me what your husband does, what do you do?”

  “That’s a good question,” she said. “Not much apparently.” Her chin dipped but then quickly recovered. She turned her head toward Mason.

  Mason nodded, not wanting to press the issue. A repressed housewife he guessed. Her job was to look pretty for the clients and support the husband’s career. Ignored mostly. He could be wrong. He hoped so.

  “What kind of security?” she asked.

  Anonymity was the policy for the Air Marshal Service. So his answer to that question was always the same. “I work for a government agency.”

  “Anything you can talk about?”

  “There are many more interesting subjects,” he said.

  “You must travel a lot.”

  “It goes with the territory.” He glanced at the magazine on her lap. “You have an interest in architecture?”

  She picked up the magazine and thumbed the pages. “Not really. My husband would like it if I did, but I just look at the pictures.” She placed the magazine in the seat pouch at her knees. “How does your wife feel about your traveling?” she asked, as she toyed absently with her diamond ring.

  “My ex-wife no longer minds at all,” he said. “Only lasted a year. She’s back in California now.”

  “Children?”

  “No. I guess I wasn’t home enough.”

  Suddenly the cabin dimmed; they both turned their heads toward the window.

  Dark storm clouds surrounded the plane.

  Mason checked his watch. They had been flying about an hour.

  “What’s with the dark clouds?” Lisa asked. “I thought it was supposed to be clear skies.”

  The PA system crackled just as the plane took a dip and then immediately recovered. “Sorry ladies and gentlemen, we seemed to have run into an unexpected cell of dense air,” Captain Anderson said. “We should be through this in a few minutes.”

  “That’s really dark,” Lisa said, as she continued to peer out the window. She pointed. “What’s that blue haze?”

  Mason leaned over.

  Sure enough, the almost pitch black clouds had a blue haze, a kind of aura.

  The plane pitched again. A long streak of lightning appeared in the distance.

  “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

  “I haven’t,” Mason said. He stretched closer to the window to increase his field of view and saw that the sky was dark in all directions. He turned his head to the port windows. Same thing. Dark clouds; blue haze. It had everyone’s attention. Some took pictures and videos with their cell phones.

  The planed dipped again.

  Mason heard the pitch of the engines rise a few octaves. The pilot was apparently trying to climb out of the storm.

  Lightning flashed followed by another as the cabin filled with a blue glow.

  Lisa grabbed Mason’s arm and squeezed as she peered out the window. Her body trembled; her grip on his arm tightened.

  He reached over and covered her hand with his own. “I’m sure we’ll be through this in a few minutes.”

  At that moment the plane passed out of the dark mass and reentered turbulence free air. The light in the cabin returned to normal. The pitch of the engines returned to normal, and the plane resumed smooth flight.

  Lisa released her grasp of Mason’s arm and pulled her hand from under his. She exhaled. “Sorry.”

  “Not a problem,” Mason said. “It was a scary moment.”

  Karen stopped next to Mason’s seat and bent down as she peered out the window.

  “That was really something,” Mason said. “Ever seen anything like that?”

  Karen shook her head. “Never. And neither has the captain.” She stood up. “Do you need anything?”

  Mason glanced at Lisa and then back to Karen. “I think we’re okay here.” He handed her his mostly empty club soda glass.

  Karen nodded and moved off.

  “Whatever it was, it’s behind us,” Mason said.

  Lisa shifted in her seat and turned her head to Mason. “I’m really sorry about the arm. I don’t care that much for flying to begin with. And that storm from hell.”

  “Understand completely,” Mason said. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll be on the ground soon.” They continued to chat. Mason went into great detail about a catamaran sailboat he had his eye on. He explained all the research he had done about cruising the oceans. He talked about having obtained his pilot’s license, and how he was working on his instrument rating.

  Lisa began to relax as she listened intently. She even interjected a question now and then.

  After a half hour or so the conversation began to wilt. “Excuse me a moment,” he said, as he waived at Karen headed down the aisle.

  She stopped at his seat.

  “Are we on time?” he asked, as he glanced at his watch.

  Karen cocked her head as though she didn’t know the answer. She motioned with her chin for Mason to follow.

  “Be right back,” he said to Lisa, as he got up and followed Karen.

  She led him to the galley.

  That’s when he saw the lines of concern etched across her face. “What is it?”

  “The pilot said we’ve lost most of our nav instruments.”

  “How is that even possible with all the redundancy?”

  “I don’t know, but they seem a little worried.”

  “Think Captain Anderson would mind a word?”

  Karen held up a finger as she picked up the phone from the cradle on the galley wall. After a few moments she spoke. “The FAM would like a moment of your time.” She nodded to Mason. “He’s just outside the door.” She hung up the phone and led Mason to the cockpit door.

  The door clicked, and Mason nodded at Karen as he stepped into the cockpit and closed the door behind him.

  The captain and first officer were busy turning knobs and flipping switches. A thick manual lay open on the first officer’s lap.

  Mason tapped the captain on the shoulder. “I’m Steve Mason, the FAM on this flight. Is there a problem?”

  “It would appear there is,” the first officer said. “Richard Worth.” He stuck out his hand.

  They shook.

  Captain Anderson glanced back at Mason. “We lost VOR and GPS as soon as we came out of that storm. No signals for the last thirty minutes. It’s like all the radio way points and satellites went down at the same time.”

  “And the plane is okay?” Mason asked.

  “The plane is fine,” Anderson said. “Actually the instruments are fine; they’re just not receiving any signals.”

  “And I can’t raise anyone on the radio,” Worth said. “It’s working, there’s just no one out there receiving.”

  “I take it you couldn’t avoid that storm?” Mason
asked.

  “Came out of nowhere,” Worth said.

  “IRS is still operating and indicates we’re on course,” Captain Anderson said. “But it’s an internal system that doesn’t rely on external signals.” He glanced at the overheard IRS panel, then the flight management system screen, and finally the nav display. “We should be passing over Savannah right about now.”

  Worth peered out through his window. “Clear skies. I see the coast.” He shook his head. “Are you sure we’re on course?”

  Captain Anderson checked the IRS screen again. “Yep, Savannah is directly below.”

  The first officer raised his head and locked his eyes on the captain. “There’s no Savannah down there.”

  Captain Anderson turned to look out his window.

  Mason leaned over and took a peak. The coast was clearly visible, but there was nothing resembling a large city.

  “We must be off course,” Captain Anderson said.

  Worth had his forehead against the window glass. “We’ve flown this route a million times. I can see Hilton Head, Caliborgue Sound, and the inlets for the Savannah, Wilmington, and the Little Ogeechee. The landmarks are there. Only the city is missing.” Worth slowly raised his head and turned to look at Captain Anderson.

  The captain met his gaze. “That’s impossible.”

  CHAPTER 2

  “Should we press on or turn back?” Worth asked.

  “We don’t have the fuel to turn back,” Anderson said. He rubbed his face with his free hand. Finally he shook his head. “And besides, who’s to say Miami is still where it’s supposed to be. We press on.”

  “Are you going to advise the passengers?” Mason asked.

  Anderson glanced back at Mason. “Of what? The city of Savannah is missing and we don’t know where to find it. We’d cause a riot back there. Keep this to the three of us for now.”

  Mason nodded.

  Worth kept an eye out of his starboard side window. “I’m seeing nothing down there, except a lot of green. No roads, towns, nothing.”