Sojuro Ishiyama’s face was set with the hard resolve of a man who knew he’d gambled and lost. His life was over. There was no way to avoid a direct collision with one of the largest tsunamis to ever reach Minamisōma Harbor. “That is your tsunami.”
The muscles around Patrick’s jaw went taut. “It doesn’t look that dangerous.”
“None of them do until they reach shallow water. That’s where they start to rise.”
Patrick turned to port into the outer harbor. He pulled the twin throttles back to idle. There was no question of being able to round the outer break wall before the tsunami struck. Staring at the incoming wave, he waited, trying to judge the moment it would collide with the outer break wall.
That was their only chance.
He needed to hit the wave just as its force had been weakened by the thirty-foot high wall of concrete designed to protect the harbor.
The wave approached slowly.
So slowly, that for a moment, he thought it might not be powerful enough to penetrate the outer break wall.
The receding water finally stopped.
For a moment all was still. It was the calm before the storm. A slack tide. Where the water had reached its equilibrium.
But that was all about to change.
Small ripples approached through the narrow entrance to the harbor. They were now more than six feet tall and far from threatening to the ninety-foot fishing trawler.
Then the wave hit the rising seabed, sending its crest upward like a giant monster rising from the sea. It was a monster all right. And so powerful that it would easily engulf the entire harbor city.
Next to him, Sojuro Ishiyama shouted, “Go! Go!”
Patrick pushed the twin throttles all the way forward and turned the wheel so that the Hoshi Maru raced to meet the oncoming wave head on.
The wave struck the outer break wall, rising over the top of the concrete barrier in a torrent of white, turbid water.
Patrick cursed, and held his left hand hard on the twin throttles, praying that they would carry his momentum forward.
A couple seconds later, the bow struck the first wave.
The Hoshi Maru jolted as it slammed into it. For a moment, Patrick thought the force alone was going to rip the hull apart.
But the trawler proudly kept her position.
Whitewash flowed across the deck until the pilothouse was temporarily submerged. It only lasted for a split second, before bursting out the other side, riding proudly in the discombobulated water between the outer break wall and the first wave.
Patrick looked up to see that the second wave was approaching fast.
He pushed the throttle forward, but nothing happened.
The first wave must have fully submerged the engine room, flooding the Akasaka diesel engines. There was nothing they could do about it. They were now sitting ducks, at the mercy of whatever waves the tsunami would throw at them.
Patrick turned to watch the wave approach.
Above the thirty-foot outer break wall, white, turbid, and angry water flowed over as though the wall had never existed.
The sight was so unbelievable that it took Patrick a moment to realize what it was.
In that instant, he knew that this was no ordinary tsunami. This was the worst tsunami in Japan’s living history.
He didn’t bother to hold on.
There was nothing that he could do. He accepted that his life was over.
The wave struck the Hoshi Maru on its starboard side and his world turned to darkness — forever…
Dr. Patterson stared out at the water.
The Hoshi Maru took the first wave head on. The turbid water had washed over her, swamping her diesels, and leaving her dead in the water.
By the time the second wave struck they were listing nearly perpendicular to the approaching thirty-foot wave.
Without propulsion, there was nothing they could do.
The wave struck their starboard side, causing them to broach instantly.
The Hoshi Maru went under the turbid froth of buildings, water, and rubble — and never came back up again.
Dexter turned to him and breathed out. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s finally over.” Dr. Patterson closed his eyes as though considering the possibility. “Nothing could have survived that hit.”
“You’re certain?”
“After two years of hunting for Excalibur, we finally tracked him down to the far ends of the Earth, cornered him, and then God himself, angered by his very creation, sent this horrible wave in his wrath to destroy him.”
Dexter glanced at the turmoil below. Many people would die that day. He grimaced, unsure that even an angry God could do so much harm out of vengeance.
Dr. Patterson said, “Excalibur’s finally been destroyed.”
Chapter One
The yellow 1956 Ford Thunderbird cruised north along US Route 101.
Sam Reilly glanced at the temperature gauge. It had started to shift all the way to the right into the danger zone. He’d been nursing the old car all the way up from San Francisco along US Route 101. It was an old car and he’d been taking his time. But now it looked like he was going to have to stop and do something about it.
At the Devil's Lake Fork, he turned right, following a sign for the nearest garage along the Wilson River inside the Tillamook State Forest. The car was a collector’s item, once owned by his grandfather and maintained with love. But over the last few years, Sam Reilly’s schedule meant that it was a distant love. And the car was starting to feel it.
It was a yellow convertible, with the hard-top removed. After complaints with the 1955 Ford Thunderbird’s cockpit floor area being too hot, the 1956 version added vents in front of the doors to help improve interior air flow and thereby reduce the interior heat. Despite this, the entire floor panel felt hot to the touch.
Sam leaned back in the T-bird’s bench seat and shifted the three-speed Ford-O-Matic floor shifter down a gear, as he took another turn-off heading down deeper into the Tillamook State Park. He crossed the Wilson River along a rickety wooden bridge, and took off along the winding roadway that hugged the river.
He eased his foot down on the accelerator and the T-bird’s dual four-barrel carbureted 312 cubic inch V8 roared proudly, as though it might one day be in a position to produce its full advertised 260 horsepower.
Up ahead he spotted the small gas station and garage. It was a combination of a gas station with a single bowser for gas and diesel, an old pit-styled mechanic’s workshop, and a general store — which looked like it doubled up as the owner’s home.
Sam pulled in beside the workshop, switched off the engine, and pulled up the handbrake.
An older man in overalls greeted him with an oily rag and a kind smile. “Hello. Do you want fuel?”
“No thank you, sir,” Sam replied as he stepped out of the car. His eyes met the man’s and he said, “I was hoping to find a mechanic.”
“I’m the only mechanic around here. What do you need?”
“The engine keeps overheating. At first, I thought it was a fault with the gauge, which is prone to getting stuck, but now that it’s moving again, it shows the car’s overheating. The radiator’s got coolant, but I’m guessing there’s a blockage somewhere.”
The mechanic’s face crunched up in an apologetic grimace. “I’ll have a look at her for you, but it’s unlikely she will be fixed today.”
“That’s a bummer. I was keen to reach Portland by tonight.”
“It’s the parts, you see. If it’s something simple, I might be able to tinker a replacement, but if something’s broken, I’ll need to send away for it, and that might take the better part of a week.”