Free Bermuda Triangle by Susan Cartwright Page B

reached for Maryland's solid hull as he swayed
with shock. Printed on the side of the lifejacket in faded letters were the
words: "Property of US Navy -- USS Scorpion."

2. Heaven
    Ten hours later
the rescued man opened his eyes. Having left orders to be notified, Captain
Hanlon arrived within minutes. Outside the isolated infirmary he donned
protective covering. This extensive ordeal included pulling on a long sleeved
hospital gown that tied at the back, blue medical gloves, shoe covers and a
surgical mask that had clear protective eyewear. On a contained
vessel they couldn’t risk the possibility of communicable disease. Hanlon
looked in the mirror above the sink. His eyes held a mocking glint.
    Perfect. I look
as stupid as I feel.
    A corpsman came through
the thin plastic barrier that isolated the ill man, removing his own protective
clothing and placing it in a yellow plastic bag labeled "Infectious."
He spoke to Hanlon in a quiet voice; there was nothing new to report. The corpsman
washed his hands and left. Captain Hanlon passed through the clear plastic
barrier and sat down beside the man they had pulled from the sea. Nearby was Maryland's doctor.
    "My name is
Hanlon," he said. "I'm captain of this vessel. Can you tell me what
happened?"
    The man looked
up, but didn't speak. He stared without apparent understanding toward his
rescuers.
    Captain Hanlon
studied the stranger and didn't like what he saw. The man was ill and not just
from exposure. His roughly six-foot frame seemed to hold no real substance. "Can
you tell us how you came to be adrift at sea?" Hanlon asked, his voice subdued
by his mask. When the visitor didn't respond, he spoke louder, "Can you
tell me your name?"
    A flicker of
understanding flashed in the stranger's expression. He opened his mouth, but no
words came.
    Captain Hanlon's
gray eyes narrowed. The man didn't seem unwilling to talk and he was too unwell
to be playing some sort of practical joke -- as was suggested by the powers
that be in Naval Intelligence. The guy could have memory loss from concussion,
shock, or trauma. Perhaps -- as feasible as anything else -- he didn't speak English.
    "It may be
days," the doctor said, "before we can find out anything about him."
    Captain Hanlon's
brows drew down. The back of his head itched. He curbed an impulse to scratch
it. Not a good plan with protective gear on. His mind filled with unanswered questions.
    That Scorpion
lifejacket! A shiver of dread poured through him. He had seen
some pretty strange things in his life, but this topped his SNAFU meter by
miles. How had this guy gotten hold of that lifejacket? How had he come to be naked
and alone in the middle of the ocean? At the exact co-ordinates Scorpion went down over forty years ago?
    Captain Hanlon
said, "I wonder where he came from?"
    The doctor
added, "Or where he's been…"
    "I…"
the ill man choked, his voice a broken whisper. "I...."
    They both stared
at the stranger they had pulled from the sea and waited for his words. Neck
straining with effort, the fellow raised his head and said, "I've been to Heaven."

3. The Plan
    Captain Hanlon,
fortified by coffee and brownies, sat at the wardroom table with his XO and Maryland's physician.
    Lieutenant
Commander Ron Slater, Maryland's doctor, was a tall, slim man, with
gold-rimmed glasses and thinning sandy hair. He said, "My patient is in an
advanced stage of pulmonary tuberculosis." He took a sip of black coffee.
"It is a contagious and lethal disease."
    Hanlon said, "Just
as well we instituted precautions."
    "Oh
yes," Doctor Slater agreed. "TB is airborne, it
spreads when an infected person coughs or sneezes." He hesitated for a
long moment and then added, "An individual could be
asymptomatic for months. Judging by scar tissue, my patient has been infected
for perhaps a year."
    "Yes?"
Captain Hanlon encouraged. He knew there was no way to speed up his friend's
dissertation. The doc was a careful man. He always spoke in a slow, measured