I remember the three of us staring at the ancient marker from our boat on that fateful day in December. As the setting sun at our backs turned crimson, the Trident’s crystal-like soil began sparkling in the diminishing light, giving the outline of the icon an almost luminescent red glow. This effect seemed to energize Maria, who quickly surmised that the Candelabra must surely have been left as an ancient signpost, directing our civilization to the Nazca desert.

The thought made me think of the arch in St. Louis, the symbolic gateway to America’s heartland. I was about to say as much when my beloved suddenly doubled over in excruciating pain and let out a mournful wail. Then, as Michael and I watched in horror, she collapsed onto the deck, unconscious.

—Excerpt from the Journal of Professor Julius Gabriel,

Ref. Catalogue 1985-90 pages 31-824.

Photo Journal Floppy Disk 8 & 9: File name: NAZCA, Photos 34 & 56.

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

DECEMBER 13, 2012
ABOARD THE USS BOONE,
GULF OF MEXICO

4:46 A.M.

Captain Edwin Loos greets Vice President Ennis Chaney and Marvin Teperman as they stagger off the Sikorsky SH-60B Seahawk and step onto the deck of the USS Boone.

The CO smiles. “Are you all right, Mr.Vice President? You look a little queasy.”

“We ran into some weather. Are the UAVs in position?”

“Two Predators hovering above the target area, just as you requested, sir.”

Marvin removes his life vest, handing it to the chopper pilot. “Captain, what makes your people think we’ll see another one of those whirlpools tonight?”

“Sensors indicate subterranean electromagnetic fluctuations are rising, just like they did the last time the maelstrom appeared.” Loos leads them through the superstructure, escorting them to the ship’s Combat Information Center.

The darkened high-tech chamber is buzzing with activity. Commander Curtis Broad glances up from a sonar station. “You’re just in time, skipper. Sensors indicate a rise in electromagnetic activity. It looks like another maelstrom may be forming.”

Circling above the emerald glow in staggered altitudes are two of the USS Boone’s unmanned aerial reconnaissance vehicles, known as Predator. As the waters of the Gulf begin pulling in a counterclockwise motion, the Predators’ infrared and television cameras beam real-time images back to the warship.

Chaney, Teperman, Captain Loos, and two dozen technicians and scientists stare at the video monitors, their pulses racing as the whirlpool takes shape before their eyes.

The vice president shakes his head in disbelief. “What on God’s good earth could possess the power to create something like that?”

Marvin whispers, “Maybe the same thing that’s been detonating karst formations across the Western Pacific.”

The maelstrom rotates faster, its monstrous centrifugal force opening a swirling funnel, which drops clear down to the fractured seafloor. As the waters part, the eye of the vortex unleashes a brilliant emerald beacon into the night, radiating skyward like a celestial searchlight.

“There,” Marvin points to the screen. “Rising out from the center—”

“I see them,” Chaney whispers, dumbfounded.