Rick Chesler
Ark Found
Prologue
Chronopoulos Dimitrios wondered why the band was still playing. Clearly, despite all the hoopla proclaiming it “unsinkable,” the great liner Titanic was sinking. They’d struck an iceberg, he’d heard. From his position above the port side Boat Deck, he watched the seven musicians play as though it was any other late night performance. But the angle of the deck now had a pronounced list to it. Chronopoulos found himself having to reach out with an arm to grab a railing to keep from slipping.
He felt a hand grip him on the shoulder and turned around to see his brother, Apostolos, who’d gone to see if he could get more information from the crew about was going on. His next words unsettled him deeply.
“They’re launching the lifeboats.”
Chronopoulos made steady eye contact with his brother while he tried to make sense of the uncertainty plaguing his thoughts. A breeze, light but weighted with chill, ruffled his hair.
“Well come on!” his brother pleaded. “We should get in the queue.”
Chronopoulos glanced down at the port rail, where he heard a splash over the strains of a waltz. A chorus of shouts erupted as the first boat landed lopsided in the water, nearly tipping over, but then landing upright.
“Third class will be the last to board, anyway,” Chronopoulos said, turning back to his brother. Even in steerage class, the trip had been an expensive one for them, but the prospect of a visit to New York City held its own potential monetary reward. “Tell you what: you go down there and get in line. I’ve got to get my parcel out of the safe.”
His brother’s eyes widened in fear. “Are you crazy? That part of the ship could be flooded by now!”
“I’ve got to take a look. It’s the whole reason for my trip. I’ll be quick about it.” Chronopoulos spun on a heel and looked away from the band toward the stairs that led into the ship’s common areas.
“Don’t be stupid!” Apostolos’ voice nagged after him. “It’s not worth it. You’re risking your life for what, that old scroll?”
At this, Chronopoulos wheeled around. “That old scroll as you call it might happen to be the most valuable thing I own. Think about it… the location of Noah’s Ark! Invaluable. And there are no copies of it.”
Apostolos rolled his eyes. “I respect your career in archaeology, brother, I really do. But honestly, you have no idea if that old paper is genuine or not.”
“You know what happened. The papyrus it’s printed on was evaluated by a London expert and found to be of proper age, and he recommended I bring it to the collector in New York, who has a network of—” Chronopoulos was interrupted by the sound of a fight breaking out down below on deck. Both siblings turned to look as fisticuffs erupted between two male passengers vying for position in a new line that was forming for a second lifeboat that had not yet been lowered to the water.
“Go then, if it makes you feel better,” Apostolos relented. “By the looks of things, we could use Noah’s ark right about now, couldn’t we?”
Chronopoulos smiled warmly at his brother and gave a slight nod as he turned and ran off toward the entrance to the ship’s interior. More people streamed out onto the decks now — both passengers and crew alike — and the young Greek found himself feeling like a salmon swimming upstream as he entered the ship’s common area against the flow. He was bumped into more than a few times as he made his way deeper into the ship. Although there was no public address system, no ship-wide announcement that the mighty Titanic was going down, people were beginning to suspect that was exactly what was happening. The uncertainty served only to make things worse.
Chronopoulos reached the hallway that led to his quarters and turned left. He didn’t need to go to his quarters — he and his brothers had already retrieved all of their belongings, including the key to the safe — but he didn’t know how to get to the Purser’s Room where the safe was unless he first visited his own room. The ship was that big, and he didn’t have time to squander getting lost. Only a few people occupied the space, most of them walking in the opposite direction to get outside. He passed a husband and wife standing in front of an open quarters door arguing fiercely over where their child was last seen.
Strange groaning and creaking noises emanated from places unknown as Chronopoulos forged his way down the hallway. He passed his quarters and peered quickly inside without stopping. The berth’s bunk beds, which had housed eight people including Chronopoulos and his brother, were now empty. He noticed the water running in the single communal sink. A shame, he thought, picking up his pace now as he continued down the hall. He really had been having a good time on the voyage. Although he was a third class passenger, he had heard other, more travelled passengers state that the third class accommodations aboard Titanic were equivalent to second class room and aboard on most other ocean liners.
He passed the open door to the third class smoking lounge and was surprised to see an old woman inside, seated at a table by herself and smoking a cigarette with a long filter as though she had not a care in the world. She made eye contact with him but said nothing nor changed her expression. Chronopoulos kept moving, by now unconsciously adjusting his gait for the increasingly unsteady movement of the ship. He reached a stairwell and took it up two flights before it opened into another hallway, this one shorter than the last. Near the end of it, he saw a gaggle of three or four people outside the door to the Purser’s Room.
They were arguing. Chronopoulos could see and hear that much even before he could make out the details of their faces or hear the individual words being spoken. He wasn’t sure about what, but then when he got near enough they all stopped talking and watched him approach. The rowdy group of men, third class passengers by the looks of it, though Chronopoulos realized that he himself might fool some people by the way he dressed up a bit, blocked the doorway. Chronopoulos paused at the double-door entrance and looked past them into the Purser’s Room. It appeared no one was inside.
“Excuse me.” The archaeologist waited for at least one of them to step aside, but instead they all stopped arguing with each other and stared at him. He could smell alcohol on their breath. One of the men looked as though he was about to object, but one of his companions shot him a look that said, let him pass.
Chronopoulos hurried into the room before they could change their mind. The last thing he needed right now was to be involved in some kind of drunken altercation. He fumbled in his pockets for the key to his safe as he walked across the room. By the time he got to the bank of small safes, read the numbers on them, and assured himself he found the correct one, he realized that the passengers outside the room had followed him inside.
The tallest and drunkest of the three, an Irishman of about forty years of age, nodded to the key in Chronopoulos ‘ hand. “Well go on, open it!”
Chronopoulos hesitated.
“Open it I said!” the drunk man said, taking a step closer. Chronopoulos could smell the cheap whiskey on his breath.
The young archeologist still hesitated, unsure of how to behave in this situation. He had gotten into one fistfight in his life, in Greece, five years ago with a childhood friend. And he had lost, limping home with his tail between his legs and a bloody nose. But now, as he thought about the treasure that lay inside the box — at least he was convinced that’s what it was — he was not about to even put himself in a position to truly lose. On the other hand, he thought, it was likely that these drunks would have no interest in an old piece of paper. No doubt they sought jewelry, cash, obvious valuables. He decided that was the route he should take, and made fear-defying eye contact with the lead drunk.