Time Storm Shockwave Read Free Page B

shelves.
    After a moment, he lifted a cup of steaming coffee toward his mouth, then instantly sp at the overly hot liquid back into the cup, spraying some of it onto himself. He cursed under his breath. An almost feral growl exposed yellow, cigarette-stained teeth and one gold canine.
    He put the coffee down and wiped at the spot on his neatly pressed Navy Admiral’s uniform in disgust. He would have to change before his meeting. His red face seemed a stark contrast to the white of his clothing.
     
    ***
    Bradley Sandstrom was furious about the situation, and even angrier that he was only a pawn taking orders .
    He had known it would come to this , and he clinched his jaw bitterly. He kept his voice flat as he pushed the button to buzz his secretary, “Send her in.”
    As the woman entered, he couldn’t help but think that it was a waste for someone so attractive to be an assassin. As his eyes flickered down her body, his mood improved a little.

Chapter 2
     
    Mysteries are due to secrecy. — Francis Bacon
    ~
     
    Five miles south of Bimini Island in the Bahamas, a diver emerged from the intensely blue, translucent water of the Caribbean. Another man carefully lifted sensitive sonar, seismic, and electromagnetic equipment from the diver’s hands. Even though it was October, the weather was pleasant. The sky was mostly overcast and showed signs of a coming storm, and the small yacht bobbed gently up and down.
    The diver hauled his tanned, six-foot frame out of the water and up the ladder, onto the lower landing of the aft deck. He removed the full-cover facemask, and grabbed a towel to dry himself. Water trickled from his dark hair, and he subconsciously wiped it away from his vivid blue eyes, which almost perfectly reflected the color of the water from which he had just emerged. The sun and wind had done an excellent job of giving him a slightly rugged look. His thirty-five years of life had only delicately lined his face and a faint five o’clock shadow covered his sculptured jaw.
    He placed the rest of his gear on the landing. It wasn’t the standard open-circuit scuba gear; rather a high-tech closed-circuit underwater breathing apparatus, or CCUBA—sometimes called a rebreather. The system was self-contained and recycled his expended breathing gas, scrubbing it of excess carbon dioxide and other toxic substances while adding small amounts of essential oxygen before returning it to him for use. An electro-galvanic fuel cell powered the microchip regulated breathing-gas mixture. The system was lightweight and allowed for a longer dive time.
    “Mark, it looks like a storm is coming —” the diver’s assistant spoke nervously as he watched birds migrating swiftly away “—I think we should head back.”
    Th e two had spent several days anchored at that spot doing research; there was nothing more to be done there. However, the term going back held little relevance since they lived on the boat. Stewart was an oceanography graduate student with an odd fear of the ocean. In contrast to Mark’s physique, Stewart had an almost skinny body that would not tan, no matter how much sun it saw. His sandy brown hair was short and slightly spiked on the top.
    Mark had both a PhD in oceanographic seismology from UCLA, and one in physics from Yale. He was doing research on the electromagnetic anomalies in the Bermuda Triangle. Fascinated by mysteries, he was convinced that there was a logical explanation for at least some of the strange reports. Many highly reputable people had been eyewitnesses, and he was determined to record some definitive scientific data for analysis. He had been working for a year all over the Triangle, weather permitting, focusing on those places with the highest incidence of unusual occurrences. Following up on the work of another physicist, Mark had actually been having some success in finding anomalous readings.
    “Yeah —” Mark looked up and studied the gathering clouds “—you know we might