Time is time, isn’t it? So, is it time to look at a few other story elements. Of course it is.

Music matters, too, as you well know by now. The new Pat Metheny album Moon Dial has released and it’s worth a long listen. One of the readers here, CS from Munich has added that Beyoncé’s latest, Cowboy Carter, is worth a listen and I have to agree. In fact, this album is like a guided tour through 200 years of American music, so listen closely, see if you can pick up the threads. Also, CS recommended Tony Bennett and Lady Gaga’s Cheek to Cheek, which provides a simply lovely take on some classic American tunes.

Now it’s time to put on the kettle and start your tea, then get in that favorite chair.

5.4

Jenny Valdez struggled to contain her fear, to restrain herself from rushing out onto the foredeck – to search for MacKenzie. She loved him, of course, but more in the way a daughter loves a kindly, benevolent father, and to see him simply vanish before her eyes was almost too much for her to take. She took a deep breath and tried to think what Spudz would do if he was on the bridge right now…

“…Okay,” she said aloud. “Engines, all stop. Hit the Man Overboard marker on the chartplotter. Sound the yacht’s MOB alarm, then call Chief Turner on the intercom.” She looked down and saw the new mark on the chartplotter, and she remembered to get the boat moving so the autopilot could steer and turn back to the mark, and then she heard Turner running up the stairs towards the bridge – and a moment later he was there beside her…

“What happened?” he barked. “Where’s the admiral?”

“We were tracking an object on sonar and he asked me to turn up the power to the transducer and whatever it was reacted to that. Then this blue thing surfaced up ahead and the admiral went forward to get a better look at it, and Chief, it looked like it came to him and swallowed him up then he just disappeared…”

“He…what?”

“He disappeared, Chief…inside that sphere…”

“Disappeared? Did you see what direction they went? Anything…?”

“No,” she said as she snapped her fingers, “they were gone just like that. The sphere just vanished, like…bang…and then they were gone…!”

Sara and Eve arrived next, and after Valdez repeated her version of the event Sara looked at Eve, then at Jim Turner. “Describe this blue thing,” Sara said.

“It was shiny blue, but it looked almost like it was transparent…”

“Any markings on it?” Eve asked.

“No, not that I saw, no.”

“Anyone inside it?” Eve added.

Valdez shook her head. “No. Nothing.”

“And you’re sure it was blue? Not green. Not pink?” Sara asked.

“No, it was blue,” Valdez said, “almost like that,” she added, pointing at the chartplotter’s representation of shallow water, “but the surface was super smooth, and it…that’s funny…” she continued, her voice trailing off.

“What’s funny?” Chief Turner growled.

“There should have been water on it, right? Like water falling off of the surface, ya know?” Valdez said. “But there wasn’t, Chief. It was super smooth…in a way…so smooth that water couldn’t stick to it…and it’s weird, but it felt like it was alive…”

“Alive?” Turner barked. “How big around was it, Valdez?”

“It showed five feet on the sonar, but it looked bigger than that when we saw it up here. Maybe ten feet, I don’t know, but when it was next to the admiral it was a whole lot bigger than he was. And I think he was talking to it, Chief. It looked like he was talking to it…!”

Turner grumbled and then turned his attention to the chartplotter. “Okay Jenny, get out on the deck and have a look around…”

“He won’t be in the water,” Ralph Richardson said, huffing and puffing as he struggled up the stairs. Eve and Sara jumped to lend a hand, and they soon had him seated at the small table behind the bridge.

“How do you know?” Turner growled.

“He’s safe, Chief,” a clearly winded Richardson said, still trying to catch his breath. “Sara? Would you be so kind as to go and fetch Inspector Callahan?”

“Of course,” Sara said, taking off down the stairway with surreal agility, taking the steps three at a time.

“Eve? I believe there’s a piano in the admiral’s cabin?” Richardson added, and by then Eve was dialed into his thoughts – and she already knew what he wanted. 

“Jenny,” Eve said, turning to the still stunned woman, “could you lend me a hand?”

And when the bridge was clear, Richardson told Chief Turner exactly where MacKenzie was, and when he would, more than likely, be returned to Amaranth.

“You expect me to believe that?” Turner said when Richardson finally wrapped up speaking. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Sumner Bacon said as he finished coming up the stairway. 

“Again, Chief,” Richardson added, “he’s safe. And now I suggest we get underway, same heading as before.”

Turner shook his head. “We’re going to be down one for keeping watch. Either of you know anything about that?”

“I do,” Harry Callahan said as he and Sara came up the stairs.

“Oh? What experience do you have?”

“I’ve helped sail a fairly large ketch from San Francisco to Hawaii.”

“Right,” Turner said. “Okay. You’ll do.”

“And I know enough to help him out,” Sara added.

“No doubt,” Turner sighed, trying to stifle his gaping sarcasm.

“Harry?” Richardson said, turning to the old cop and trying to break the ice a little.

“Yup.”

“We need you to do something for us. And you aren’t going to like it.”

“Swell,” Harry muttered under his breath – as he looked at the people gathering around him on the bridge.

+++++

It was a little Yamaha Clavinova, a tiny little thing when compared to his newest Bösendorfer, and it produced sound not from keys moving hammers striking strings over a soundboard, but by an electronic approximation of the sounds various types of pianos produced from static recordings. He placed his right hand on top of the unit and played a chord with his left – and he felt almost no vibration at all. The sound heard by the ear was real enough, but Callahan had been convinced for years that it was the peculiar vibration of the chord that opened this door.

“Sorry,” he said, “but I don’t think this is gonna work.”

“What do you normally do to make it work?” Richardson asked.

“It’s the progression of chords, the vibration set in motion by the progression that makes it all work. At least that’s what I think does it.”

“Can we try?”

Callahan took a deep breath and held it in for a moment, then shrugged. “Guess there’s no harm in trying,” he sighed. “What are we…do you hope to see?”

“I want to see what the admiral saw out there on the deck, and I want to know what he experienced,” Richardson said. “Is that possible?”

“And I want to know if he’s okay,” Turner added.

“I can try,” Harry said as he sat before the instrument. He flipped through the keyboard’s various approximations of piano sounds, from upright to Honky-tonk to, finally, a concert grand, and he selected that one, then started warming up. “Okay,” he said a few minutes later, “here’s how it works. Mr Turner? Stand behind me and put your hand on my shoulder. You’ll be our guide, okay? You’re going to try and visualize exactly what you want to see, but more importantly – when. Anyone who wants to participate just put your hand on Turner’s  shoulder…”

“Shouldn’t Valdez be here?” Turner said. “She’s the one who saw this happen…”

“Well,” Richardson said, “somebody’s got to drive the boat, don’t they?”

“Okay, we’ll try it with you first, Mr Turner,” Callahan sighed. “Everyone ready?”

“Let’s do this,” Turner said anxiously.

Harry nodded – then dove into the final section of Schwarzwald’s Fourth, driving deeper and deeper into the lower registers until the speakers inside the little Yamaha were on the verge of distorting the lowest passages, then Harry closed his eyes, felt the sudden, nauseating shift underfoot…

Then he felt crisp air flowing over Amaranth’s bow, saw the world through what had to be the admiral’s eyes…

His outstretched hand. The blue sphere coming closer, then closer still…

“What do you want?” they heard MacKenzie say to the sphere. Then: “Can you understand me?” Then they felt the question forming in MacKenzie’s mind, then his own fear welling up. “You want…me to go with you?” he asked whatever was inside the shimmering blue orb…

“Yes.”

And a moment later MacKenzie was in a red corridor. Walls, floors, ceiling – all deepest red. But…the steel floor seemed to extend hundreds of feet – and in both directions. There was a window a few feet away and Callahan could see MacKenzie walking towards it, then looking out…at what had to be a moon. ‘Earth’s moon?’ MacKenzie thought. ‘No, we’re way too close…unless…this is some sort of ship – in orbit around the moon.’ He turned and looked in both directions again and he tried to guess the length of the ship, but his mind gave up. ‘Whatever the hell kind of ship this is, it has to be at least a thousand feet long.’

A pneumatic door hissed open and two Navy officers approached, two U.S. Navy officers, in 1940s era wartime khaki uniforms.

“Admiral?” one of them said. “The President will see you now.”

“Excuse me?” MacKenzie snarled. “And just who the Hell are you?”

“Commander Faraday, sir. Annapolis, ’36.”

“Thirty six?” MacKenzie growled.

“1936, Admiral. Now, sir, if you’d come with me?”

Callahan felt MacKenzie acquiesce and follow the men down the corridor to a large doorway – which hissed open as they approached, and this surprised MacKenzie. ‘That’s odd,’ he thought. ‘Automatic doors would make damage control more difficult, wouldn’t they?’

MacKenzie followed the pair onto what had to be a very large hanger deck – but there were no airplanes here. There was a large shuttle, and dozens of smaller ships. ‘No wings,’ he thought as his mind struggled to take it all in. “Just what the devil is this place?’

Men were working on battle damaged ships and there was the distinct air of war about their actions. Several men were working in an office of some sort as he followed his escort across the huge hanger deck, and when he walked in two men turned around and came to MacKenzie.

And then Callahan felt MacKenzie’s heart hammering in his chest.

‘Wait a fucking minute,’ MacKenzie’s inner voice said, ‘that’s Chester Nimitz. And Ray Spruance…And they’re coming for me?’

“MacKenzie?” Nimitz growled, just like he was dressing down any other midshipman.

“Yessir,” Spudz said, cowed.

“Why the Hell aren’t you in uniform?”

“Well sir, for one…I’m retired…”

“Your retirement is now officially over,” Nimitz growled, only louder this time. Spruance grinned, then turned away so Nimitz wouldn’t see the gesture.

MacKenzie was confused now, and Callahan could feel it. “Sir? If you’ll excuse me, but where the Hell am I?”

Another officer approached. His uniform was decidedly different looking, yet he could tell it was Navy through and through. “This is the Hyperion, Admiral, and I’m her captain. Denton Ripley, sir, and welcome aboard…”

“Who’s that?” MacKenzie asked, pointing at the old man sitting at a large gray metal desk across the room.

Nimitz stepped forward then, and took Spudz by the shoulder. “Come with me, MacKenzie,” the old admiral grumbled.

As they walked along Spudz thought this looked like some kind of CIC, or Combat Information Center, as there were large several screens showing fleet dispositions, and others showing logistics trains and dry dock status updates. This Captain Ripley was following him and Nimitz across the room – and it now seemed obvious to him that this ship truly was operating under wartime protocols.

They came up to the desk and the old man in gray slacks and a navy blue sport coat turned around – and Spudz gasped. It was Franklin Roosevelt, but younger – and this Roosevelt wasn’t in a wheelchair. And he walked with no arm braces. And no crutches.

“Ah, you must be MacKenzie,” FDR said. “Glad you’re here. Have a seat, we’ve got a lot to go over, and not a helluva lot of time to get you up to speed…”

And then another door hissed open, and as MacKenzie watched something tall and pure white walked into the room – and then he felt the room spinning…

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