The Navigator

wheeling seabirds. “Damn shame about that fish.”

Gamay pecked him on the cheek. “I saw him. It was a monster. I think it’s my turn to buy the beer.”

THE PACKAGE from Austin was leaning against the front door of the two-hundred-year-old Cape Cod cottage that overlooked a circular kettle pond. Trout had grown up in the broad-roofed house within walking distance of the Oceanographic Institution, whose scientists had encouraged his boyhood curiosity about the ocean.

He and Gamay sat at the harvest table in the kitchen, munching on the ham-and-cheese roll-ups they had prepared for their picnic lunch as they went over the Jefferson file. At one point, Gamay looked up from her reading and blew a strand of dark red hair out of her eyes.

“This is unbelievable!”

Trout took a swig from a can of Buzzards Bay ale. “I’m trying to figure out what we can do. My experience with computer modeling is mostly deep-sea geology. You made the switch from nautical archaeology to marine biology. We could pull something together, but it wouldn’t be pretty. We’ll need help.”

Gamay smiled, showing the slight space between her front teeth, a dental anomaly that somehow looked attractive on her. “Didn’t we hear some gossip last night?”

Trout recalled the gentle ribbing he had received from the local barflies who had heard about his fishing contest with Gamay. Then he remembered someone mentioning a familiar name. He snapped his fingers. “Charlie Summers is in town.”

Gamay handed Trout the phone and he called the research-vessel dock. He got through to Summers, who was working on a retrofit for the Atlantis, and laid out the problem.

“That’s a lot more interesting than what I’m doing,” Summers said. “Can you come over now?”

Minutes later, the Trouts were walking out onto the research-vessel dock. A stocky man with a square jaw and thinning straw-hued hair greeted them with effusive hugs.

Summers was a well-known naval architect who specialized in the design of research and educational vessels. He often consulted in the design of luxury yachts, and was an expert in the stability of large sailing vessels.

He gave Gamay a big wink. “Thought you two would be out fishing today.”

“News of our competition got around fast,” Trout said with a smirk.

“It’s the talk of the town. You know how gossipy fishermen and scientists are.”

“Paul almost beat me today,” Gamay offered.

Summers roared with laughter. “Please don’t tell me it was the one that got away.” He wiped the tears from his eyes. “Now, what’s all this about Phoenicians?”

Trout jumped at the chance to change the subject. “We got a call from NUMA this morning. Someone is doing research on pre-Columbian contact and needed help replicating a voyage. We get a lot of odd requests.”

“Not odd at all. I’ve read reams of material on Phoenician shipbuilding. There’s no doubt from a naval architect’s point of view that they had the capacity to go almost anywhere they wanted.”

“Then you can help us plot a course?” Gamay said.

Summers shook his head. “That’s a tough one,” he said. “The Phoenicians left no maps or charts. They guarded their sea knowledge with their lives.” Noting the disappointment in Gamay’s face, he added: “But we can take a stab at it. Let’s go build us a ship.”

Summers led the way into a brick building where he had his temporary office. He sat behind a computer and clicked off the schematic diagram of the Atlantis that had been displayed on the screen.

“I see we’re going to build a virtual ship,” Trout said.

“That’s the very best kind,” Summers said with a grin. “They never sink, and you don’t have to worry about mutinies.” He called up a computer file and a drawing of a square-sailed vessel appeared on the monitor.

“Is that a Phoenician ship?” Gamay said.

“This is one type, based on pictures from vases, sculptures, models, and coins. It’s an early design. It’s got a keel, rounded hull, oars, and a high seat for the steersman.”

“We’re looking for something capable of deep-ocean travel,” Trout said.

Summers leaned back in his chair. “Their ship designs were modified by need. The Phoenicians graduated from shore coasting and stops at night to long, uninterrupted voyages. I’m going to use a software program developed for some architects doing research in Portugal and at Texas A&M. They created a methodology to test and evaluate the sailing characteristics of ships where no plans were available. The goal was to come up with a comprehensive image. They used Portuguese naus, the trade ships that sailed from Europe around Africa to India and back. Watch.”

Summers bent forward and clicked the mouse. A computer-generated image of a three-masted ship appeared on the screen.

“Looks like a ghost ship,” Gamay observed.

“This is only the foundation. They fed the info from a wreck survey into a computer. Using the software, they developed plans for the ship’s rigging, sails, and spars. The picture is one of those images. By coming up with a hypothetical reconstruction of the ship’s hull, they figured out how the ship performed at sea and in adverse weather. Once they had that mathematical model, they could test it in a wind tunnel.”

“And you can do the same for a Phoenician ship?” Trout said.

“No problem. We’ll use three known Phoenician wrecks that were found in the western Mediterranean and off the coast of Israel. The ships were upright and perfectly preserved in cold water. We used the Jason, the same remote-operated vehicle that photographed Titanic, to come up with a photomosaic. I programmed the specs into my computer.”

A set of drawings that looked like blueprints for a shipbuilder filled the screen. The drawings showed the ship as seen from above, the side, and head-on.

“The plans indicate the ship is only fifty-five feet long,” Trout pointed out.

“This is a composite of the Israel ships. I’ll add some length. I tweaked the program so that it will automatically add in design features that would have evolved with the increase in the ship’s size.”

A skeletal, three-dimensional image appeared, outlining the ship’s timbers and other structural elements. The spaces between the timbers began to fill in. Decks, oars, rigging, and sail materialized, along with a ramming beak on the prow. The last feature was a carved horse head on the bow.

“Voila! A ship of Tarshish.”

“It’s magnificent,” Gamay said. “The lines are functional yet graceful.”

“She would be around two hundred feet long, as I reckon,” Summers said. “That ship could go anywhere in the world.”

“Which brings us back to our original problem,” Trout said. “How do we figure out that vessel’s transatlantic routes?”

Pursing his lips, Summers said, “It’s possible to back into a solution like those guys did with the nau. You’d need wind, current, and weather patterns, work in the ship’s probable speed, figure out the pilot’s choices according to ship design, and then factor in historical accounts.”

Gamay let out a heavy sigh. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Summers glanced at his wristwatch. “Me too. They want the Atlantis ready to sail in three days.”

THE TROUTS thanked Summers and walked back along the main street of Woods Hole. “Where do you think we should go from here?” Gamay said.

“Tough to say. Kurt only gave us a few crumbs of information. He’s not going to be happy, but I don’t think we have enough to pull this thing together. We may need another approach.”

Like many married couples, Paul and Gamay had a way of anticipating each other’s thoughts. Their work for the NUMA Special Assignments Team, where unspoken communication could mean the difference between life and death, had honed their skills to a sharp edge.

“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” Gamay said. “Every sea voyage starts on land. Let’s go through the Jefferson file again. There may be something we missed.”

Back at the house, they sat at the kitchen table, read half the file, and then exchanged the sections. They both finished reading at about the same time.