“You’re not going to believe this…”
“Try me…”
“I dated the mask using a type of uranium-thorium dating method. Unlike other commonly used radiometric dating techniques such as rubidium — strontium or uranium — lead dating, the uranium-thorium technique does not measure accumulation of a stable end-member decay product. Instead, it calculates an age from…”
Sam interrupted her, “I trust your methods, Sandi. What did you find?”
“I’m glad you have a high opinion of me. But all the same, I didn’t trust their results. That’s why I ran it by three leading physicists — experts in the field of uranium-thorium dating.”
“And… what did they find?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Reilly… but the evidence is undisputed.”
“Sandi… what did you find?”
“The mask we brought out of the Colorado mine shaft… it was forged one hundred and four thousand years ago.”
“Say that again…”
“The mask was forged one hundred and four thousand years ago,” Sandi said. “You know what makes that date so significant?”
Sam crunched the muscles in his face together. “I suppose that makes it by far the oldest known intricate relic made by man?”
“Sure… probably. But that’s not what makes the date so significant.”
“What is it, then?”
“It also coincides with the last time Homo sapiens shared the Earth with six other subspecies of the genus, Homo — including Homo erectus, Homo floresiensis, Homo habilis, Homo heidelbergensis, Homo naledi, and Homo neanderthalensis.”
Sam took a deep breath. “Sandi, what are you telling me?”
Sandi sighed heavily into the phone, leaving him in silence for a moment. “I don’t have a clue what you’re involved in. But whatever it is, it’s been going on a long time. Much longer than the loss of Phoenix Flight 318.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
The three Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawks took off from the deck of the UK Aircraft Carrier, the HMS Ocean as part of an international strike force that included US Navy SEALs, UK SAS, and an Italian Special Forces team from the 9th Parachute Assault Regiment.
In the back of the lead helicopter, Sam Reilly sat, trying to put together what had really happened on the island. After bringing the information to the US Secretary of Defense, who emphatically denied that America owned any small ghost island near Grenada on which to conduct illegal interrogations he suggested that maybe a multinational team including those nations most represented in the loss of the Phoenix, should storm the island. To his surprise, she agreed, putting the full force of the US Department of Defense behind the proposal.
The question remained, if the US government wasn’t involved in the strange capture of the Phoenix, and the digital concealment of the island from satellite surveillance — who was?
The stealth helicopter, with its specialized materials and use of harsh angles and flat surfaces used to deflect radar, came in low across the surface of the stilled sea, banking as it reached the island, and flying over a clearing that ran half the length of the island in a north-south direction.
Flying in formation, the helicopters landed one by one in the middle of the clearing.
Sam stepped out, his boots sinking into the thick sandy ground below. He led the multinational strike force team to the accommodation buildings next to the tennis courts.
The smell of ammonia wafted through his nostrils.
It hadn’t been there before. His mind considered what it might have been used for, and none of them were good.
The three separate teams of specialist forces infiltrated the forest, securing each place, section by section, until they reached the middle of the island.
Sam stared at the empty, sandy surface, where the tennis courts had been and swore — because all signs of the lost passengers and crew of Phoenix Flight 318 had disappeared.
The place was empty.
Everything had been destroyed.
The entire place reeked of ammonia.
Whatever had been going on there, someone went to great lengths to bury it.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sam boarded the helicopter back to the HMS Ocean.
His satellite phone rang.
He answered it on the second ring.
It was Elise. Without preamble she said, “How did the operation go?”
“Badly. They cleared the island. There’s nothing left but the overpowering smell of ammonia. The commander in charge of our operation blames Tom and me for the bad intel. I’m pretty certain the Phoenix was there, but it left without much of a trace.”
“Really?”
Sam stared vacantly out the Sikorsky’s window at the myriad of bright stars that filled the sky. “Yeah, it turns out they had covered the runway with sand to obscure it from someone taking high altitude aerial photographs. It wouldn’t have been that hard to do. After all, they had about five hundred prisoners to help.”
“I thought the reconnaissance photos showed the clearing to be too short for an A380 to ever land, let alone takeoff again?”
“They did.”
“Yet, you’re still certain you had the right place?”
“Yeah. It turned out that about half the trees were fake.”
“Fake?” Her voice rose an audible octave. “This just gets better and better. Who goes to the trouble of moving what must have been tons upon tons of sand and migrating a set of artificial trees to produce a shroud of jungle?”
Sam made a half-shrug to himself. “I don’t know. I suppose the same people who went to the trouble of sinking a steel and cardboard cutout of the aircraft to confuse investigators about the disappearance of the Phoenix.”
“Touché.”
“So, we’re back to square one. Unless you happened to find a connection with the passenger… the one who made the mayday call, which local air traffic control authorities dismissed… what was his name?”
“Goddard. Andrew Goddard,” Elise replied. “And, it just so happens, we might be in luck.”
Sam said, “Go on.”
“I have no idea how he ended up in the cockpit of that flight, or how he ended up losing his original battle for control of the aircraft, but I think I have an idea of why they wanted the Phoenix with him on board, to disappear.”
“Why?”
“I’ve done some searching. Goddard was sixty-one years and forty-five days old when the Phoenix disappeared. He was born wealthy. An only child, he inherited his family’s great fortune and a German title of baron. Despite this, he was a hard worker throughout his life, studying philosophy at the University of Heidelberg, before going on to do a PhD in fine arts and antiquities.”
Sam asked, “What vocation did he end up following?”
“He became a rare antiquities dealer, specializing in ancient masks from around the world.
“And you want to know the kicker…”
“What?”
“He was on his way to Venice to look at the acquisition of an ancient stone mask — depicting what appears to be an early sculpture of Homo floresiensis.”
Sam listened to the quiet whip of the stealth helicopter’s rotor blades spinning above. His lips curled into a mask of wry incredulity. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He knew the story of Homo floresiensis well. First discovered in the cave of Liang Bua on the tiny Indonesian island of Flores in 2003, archeologists still debated whether or not they were technically a previous subspecies of the genus Homo, or merely a mutation of Homo erectus, which had shrunk through the process of long-term isolation on the island and insular dwarfing. The island was known to have the remains of the extinct pygmy elephant Stegodon, which was also believed to have been caused by insular dwarfism.