'Where was it cast?'
'In Gaul by ancient Celts, specifically in a region known as Egypt.'
'Egypt,' Yaeger echoed skeptically.
'Three thousand years ago the land of the pharaohs was not called Egypt, but rather L-Khem or Kemi. Not until Alexander the Great marched through the country did he name it Egypt, after the description in the
'I didn't know the Celts went back that far,' said Yaeger.
'The Celts were a loose collection of tribes who were involved with trade and art as far back as two thousand b.c.'
'But you say the amphor originated in Gaul. Where do the Celts come into the picture?'
'Invading Romans gave Celtic lands the name Gaul,' explained Max. 'My analysis showed the copper came from mines near Hallstatt, Austria, while the tin was mined in Cornwall, England, but the style of artwork is suggestive of a tribe of Celts in southwestern France. The figures cast on the outer diameter of the amphor are almost an exact match to those found on a cauldron dug up by a French farmer in the region in nineteen seventy- two.'
'I suppose you can tell me the name of the sculptor who cast it.'
Max gave Yaeger an icy stare. 'You didn't ask me to probe genealogical records.'
Yaeger thoughtfully soaked in the data Max reported. 'Any ideas how a Bronze Age relic from Gaul came to be in a coral cavern on the Navidad Bank off the Dominican Republic?'
'I was not programmed to deal in generalities,' answered Max haughtily. 'I haven't the foggiest notion how it got there.'
'Speculate, Max,' asked Yaeger nicely. 'Did it fall off a ship or perhaps become scattered cargo from a shipwreck?'
'The latter is a possibility, since ships had no reason to sail over the Navidad Bank unless they had a death wish. It might have been part of a cargo of ancient artifacts going to a rich merchant or a museum in Latin America.'
'That's probably as good a guess as any.'
'Not even close, actually,' Max said indifferently. 'According to my analysis the encrustation around the exterior is too old for any shipwreck since Columbus sailed the ocean blue. I dated the organic composition in excess of twenty-eight hundred years.'
'That's not possible. There were no shipwrecks in the Western Hemisphere before fifteen hundred.'
Max threw up her hands. 'Have you no faith in me?'
'You have to admit that your time scale borders on the ridiculous.'
'Take or leave it. I stand by my findings.'
Yaeger leaned back in his chair, wondering where to take the project and Max's conclusions. 'Print up ten copies of your findings, Max. I'll take it from here.'
'Before you send me back to Never-Never Land,' said Max, 'there is one more thing.'
Yaeger looked at her guardedly. 'Which is?'
'When the glop is cleaned out from the interior of the amphor, you'll find a gold figurine in the shape of a goat.'
'A what?'
'Bye-bye, Hiram.'
Yaeger sat there, totally lost, as Max vanished back into her circuits. His mind ran toward the abstract. He tried to picture an ancient crewman on a three-thousand-year-old ship throwing a bronze pot overboard four thousand miles from Europe but the image would not unfold.
He reached over and picked up the amphor and peered inside, turning away at the awful stench of decaying sea life. He put it back in its box and sat there for a long time, unable to accept what Max had discovered.
He decided to run a check of Max's systems first thing in the morning before sharing the report with Sandecker. He wasn't about to take a chance on Max somehow becoming misguided.
4
The average hurricane takes an average of six days to mature to its full magnitude. Hurricane Lizzie did it in four.
Her winds spiraled at greater and greater speeds. She quickly passed the stage of 'Tropical Depression' with wind speeds of thirty-nine miles per hour. Soon as they sustained seventy-four miles an hour, she became a full-fledged, certified, Category 1 hurricane on the Saffir-Simpson scale. Not content to simply become a lower-end tempest, Lizzie soon increased her winds to one hundred and thirty miles an hour, quickly passing Category 2 and charging into a Category 3 system.
In NUMA's Hurricane Center, Heidi Lisherness studied the latest images transmitted down from the geostationary satellites orbiting the earth twenty-two thousand miles above the equator. The data was transmitted into a computer, using one of several numerical models to forecast speed, path and the growing strength of Lizzie. Satellite pictures were not the most accurate. She would have preferred to study more detailed photos, but it was too early to send out a storm-tracking Air Force plane that far into the ocean. She would have to wait before obtaining more detailed images.
Early reports were far from encouraging.
This storm had all the characteristics of crossing the threshold of Category 5, with winds in excess of one hundred and sixty miles an hour. Heidi could only hope and pray that Lizzie would not touch the populated coast of the United States. Only two Category 5 hurricanes held that appalling distinction: the Great Labor Day Hurricane of 1935 that had charged across the Florida Keys and Hurricane Camille that struck Alabama and Mississippi in 1969, taking down entire twenty-story condominiums.
Heidi took a few minutes to type a fax to her husband, Harley, at the National Weather Service to alert him to the hurricane's latest numbers.
She turned back to the images coming in from the satellites. Looking down on an enlarged image of the hurricane, Heidi never ceased to be impressed with the evil beauty of the thick, spiraling white clouds called the central dense overcast, the cirrus cloud shield that evolves from the thunderstorms in the surrounding walls of the eye. There was nothing up nature's sleeve that could match the horrendous energy of a full-blown hurricane. The eye had formed early, looking like a crater on a white planet. Hurricane eyes could range in size from five miles to over a hundred miles in diameter. Lizzie's eye was fifty miles across.
What gripped Heidi's concentration was the atmospheric pressure as measured in millibars. The lower the reading, the worse the storm. Hurricane Hugo in 1989 and Andrew in 1992 registered 934 and 922, respectively. Lizzie was already at 945 and rapidly dropping, forming a vacuum in her center that was intensifying by the hour. Bit by bit, millibar by foreboding millibar, the atmospheric pressure fell down the barometric scale.
Lizzie was also moving at a record pace westward across the ocean.
Hurricanes move slowly, usually no more than twelve miles an hour, about the average speed of someone riding a bicycle. But Lizzie was not following the rules laid down by those storms that went before her. She was hurtling across the sea at a very respectable twenty miles an hour. And contrary to earlier hurricanes that zigged and zagged their way toward the Western Hemisphere, Lizzie was traveling in a straight line as if her mind was on a specific target.
Quite often, storms spin around and head in a totally different direction. Again, Lizzie wasn't going by the book. If ever a hurricane had a one-track mind, thought Heidi, it was this one.
Heidi never knew who on what island coined the term
