Balance of Power Shifted Read online

  Balance of Power Shifted

  By Victor Karl

  © 2012 "Copyright by" Victor A. Karl.

  "All rights reserved."

  ISBN 978-1-4675-3948-7

  This is a fictional book. Use of names, places and characters are not based on real people. Any similarity to real individuals or events is purely coincidental.

  Book Cover Image by: Stephen Nowakowski

  Dedicated to my Dad

  Victor A. Karl Sr. (1932-2012)

  Because of him, when I came to a fork in the road I took it…

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter 1: The Discovery

  Chapter 2: Life Changing Events

  Chapter 3: Friends

  Chapter 4: Closing a Chapter

  Chapter 5: Two Years Later

  Chapter 6: A Shocking Discovery

  Chapter 7: In or Out

  Chapter 8: What Do We Have

  Chapter 9: Design Progress

  Chapter 10: Solving the Riddle

  Chapter 11: Leap of Faith

  Chapter 12: Prototyping

  Chapter 13: Recruitment

  Chapter 14: Building a Company

  Chapter 15: Cat Is Out Of the Bag

  Chapter 16: Showcasing Electricus

  Chapter 17: It Gets Serious

  Chapter 18: The Wedding

  Chapter 19: Careful What You Wish For

  Chapter 20: Earth Shaking

  Chapter 21: Money Tests Resolve

  Chapter 22: A Ray of Light

  Chapter 23: Operating At the Speed of Light

  Chapter 24: Poor Professor

  Chapter 25: Logistics

  Chapter 26: The Foundation

  Chapter 27: Payback

  Chapter 28: Desparate Actions

  Chapter 29: The Ultimatum

  Chapter 30: The Noose Tightens

  Chapter 31: Taking Out the Trash

  Chapter 32: Full Circle

  Epilogue:

  PROLOGUE

  Sometimes you wonder how you got to where you are today and ponder the millions of little events and decisions that shape our destiny. Any change to those life-shaping events can have altered my very birth and existence. If my mother and father had never met, would I still be born to another couple? Well my immediate ponderings did not go that deep but it did come into mind as three large individuals tried to grab me as I entered my office and lab building. I was sure I knew the exact moment in time certain events had happened leading me to be running in the dark, across the maze that was my shop floor, and out the rear door…

  January 15, 2012 2:00 PM Local Time

  Lieutenant Matt Ronabe was enjoying the milk run flight from the Philippines to Guam. Flying at 18,000 feet, the sky was clear and virtually no wind. The C2 was moderately loaded with supplies and new computer gear for delivery to their base in Guam. Suddenly, every alarm in the cockpit started to flash or blare as the plane simultaneously lost power in all engines. Yelling shit and damn as he grabbed the cockpit controls he leveled the plane off into a powerless glide. Yelling over to his co-pilot, Lieutenant Junior Grade Glenn, he instructed him to try to restart the engines. He then intently concentrated on maintaining control of the plane while keeping as much altitude as possible. Glancing over the controls, it did not appear good at all. Even though it was not supposed to happen, it looked like all primary, secondary and tertiary systems were completely down.

  Glenn was feverishly pressing buttons and flipping switches trying to get some idea of the cause, but with no luck. In his mind, Matt briefly acknowledged how controlled and methodical Glenn was being this at a time when most people would have been shittin in their pants and calling for their momma. Good old Navy training was kickin in and that is when you gave all those asswipe Navy instructors their due. The incessant repetition and grinding on each little detail had allowed the training to takeover and not mindless panic, as would not have been the case otherwise. Grabbing the radio, and thanking God that at least the radio still worked, Lieutenant Matt informed the Guam base of their predicament as well as their last known coordinates. While keeping an open channel to the base, he notified the two other crew members of the situation and told them to get ready to bail out. After only 3-minutes, which seemed like forever, Matt made the determination the plane’s engines were not restorable, and informed Guam that he and the crew were going to bail out.

  After yelling at Glenn to go to the rear and coordinate opening the hatch, he realized there was no need to yell. Except for the whispering of the wind over the plane’s surface there was no sound whatsoever. Even the alarms had stopped sounding. Matt remained at the controls until Glenn told him that the two aviators had parachuted out and he was just about to bail. Matt said a quick Hail Mary, grabbed the picture of his young wife Danielle, then exited the pilot seat and rushed to the rear of the plane. Once leaving the controls, there was no automated pilot to stabilize the plane, so it started to nose slightly over.

  Matt had to grab cargo netting to maintain his feet as he scampered to the rear. Just as he reached the hatch, the plane made a sharp roll and Matt was unceremoniously ejected from the plane. After stabilizing himself as he spiraled in the clear sky, he quickly checked himself making sure all the pieces were there. He began to get his bearings and a feel for the altitude. He thought he was just about at 10,000 feet and verified the actual number using his chute altimeter, which showed 9650 feet. With a tug of the cord, the chute flawlessly deployed and Matt uttered a quick thank you Lord. Immediately, Matt tried to see if he could pick up the chutes of his crew. Looking backwards from the path of the plane, he looked to no avail for sign of the other parachutes. Turning back to the flight path, he was just in time to see his 'home away from home,’ splash into the sea and break up into a few large pieces, which were all out of site in less than 30 seconds.

  A couple of minutes later, Matt braced himself for impact with the ocean and prepared to disengage his harness. In an effort to avoid entanglement in the chute lines, or wrapped up in the parachute material, Matt released the harness about 20 feet from the surface. Taking a huge breath of air, Matt’s boots made first impact with the water and the rest of him disappeared beneath the shiny surface. After what seemed like minute to Matt, but was only about 10 seconds, his head and arms burst to the surface with a relieved gasp for air. Settling down, he inflated his vest and settled down for the rescue team to show up.

  Using the flyer’s radio beacons to hone in on, the rescue choppers out of Guam ended up picking up Lieutenant Ronabe first. He was only in the water for about two and half hours, which in his mind was pretty darn good. Within the next half hour, they picked up Lieutenant Junior Grade Glenn and continued to follow the fight path right to the final two aviators who were found hooked together.

  Chapter 1: The Discovery

  There were a dozen or so people crowded around the big winch staring at the blue emerald Pacific water in patient excitement. Suddenly, the water erupted as bright yellow lift balloons thrust out of the water and settled on the surface. One of the excited onlookers yelled out that he could see the outline of it. The ‘it’ was a large section of the fuselage of a US Navy Grumman C-2 Greyhound cargo plane that had gone down 2-months prior in route to Guam from an unknown catastrophic mechanical failure. After the pilot and the crew recapped the events that transpired, the Navy had no reasonable explanation for the broad based failure and wanted to recover the plane to try to determine the cause. Normally the Navy would not waste their time if there were a plausible reason; however, the nature of the failure and the Navy’s reliance on this particular model of plane provided enough of an impetus to get the plane salvaged from the watery deep.

  A few feet below the surface, the huge pi
ece of the aircraft floated and swayed as the waves played with the lift balloons on the surface. A couple of divers jumped into the water to coordinate the securing of lift straps around the debris so that the massive crane could gently lift it out of the water and place it on the large deck of the ship. As the others on the ship watched, the ship’s submersible 2-man sub surfaced just behind the divers. The 2-man crew patiently sat and waited for the crane to deposit the object on the boat deck before coming alongside for their ride on the ship’s crane. They were looking forward to the spaciousness of the ship after spending 4 hours cramped in their sub, while 1245 feet below the surface.

  The ship’s loudspeaker system started blaring, woot woot woot, and amber warning lights started flashing. Shortly after, the deck master’s voice came over the speakers and started to repeat, “All hands clear the loading deck; all hands clear the loading deck.” With a scurry to higher-level decks, all crew and visitors quickly exited the recovery deck. With an all clear from the divers, the winch operator slowly lifted the object out of the water. Initially barely perceptible under the water, the plane’s remains became more visible and then parts broke the surface. At this point, the crane operator let it sit until the divers gave it a second all clear.

  Slowly, inch-by-inch, the piece of plane junk that was once part of a sleek aerodynamic wonder, came out of the water shedding multiple shimmering waterfalls as it emerged in the late afternoon sun. Swinging 15 feet over the emerald water, and swaying in a slight breeze, it began to swing closer to the ship until it was over the center of the deck. A few deckhands, grabbed the ends of the tethering ropes, attached by the divers, to straighten out the wreckage as the crane operator gently placed it on the deck.

  For the next hour, the crew secured the object against rolling on the deck in the event of a sudden storm or squall. After securing the object, the captain gave permission for general access to the recovery deck. Just about everyone, including a college student named William (Bill) Bates, came to walk around the first recovered remains of the plane. There was nothing particularly fascinating about it. It was a 15-foot section of the fuselage with no real interior characteristics except for electrical wires and cargo webbing hanging in all directions, which probably explained why the crowd dissipated quickly except for one person.

  Bill was intently staring at a large moss like plant that was clinging to a jagged edge of the plane just out of his reach. The strip of plant was about 8 inches wide, 2 and one half feet long, with a very faint tint of green and the composition looked similar to an interwoven mesh mat. The young college student then placed his right foot into one of the cargo straps at the edge of the plane and used it to elevate himself enough to reach the plant. Using his left hand, he lifted it up, removed it from the plane, and while stepping back down onto the ship’s deck, grunted in surprise and dropped the ocean plant to the deck. Bill grabbed his left hand and started to massage his fingers while contemplating the wet object lying on the deck.

  With an inquisitive look still prominent on his face, Bill hastened off the deck and down into the bowels of the ship where the crew sleeping quarters were located and made a beeline to the last row of bunks and climbed up to the top bunk. Rummaging around, he grabbed a beat up backpack with an Institute of Marine and Coastal Sciences sticker emblazoned across the front, along with the large scarlet R, which was Rutgers University’s symbol. Backpack in hand, Bill reversed his previous trek and was shortly on the deck looking down at the piece of organic material.

  Taking a rubberized set of gloves from the backpack and a clear 30-gallon trash bag, he gently lifted the plant from the deck and placed it in the bag. Using a deck hose, he added about a gallon of the Pacific’s best seawater to keep it moist. William Bates was part of the latest Rutgers graduating class and was spending the last part of his studies aboard the salvage ship Darkhorse, in pursuit of an advanced degree. Darkhorse, owned and operated by a large salvaging and shipping firm called Modern Marine Management, regularly took on college students from a number of universities as part of a work-study program. The Darkhorse was an 8-year old vessel at about 680 tons and was 80 meters long, with modern attributes. The ship primarily operated from a Southern California base and performed contract jobs including some from the US Navy in the South Pacific.

  Bill returned to his bunk area, deposited the specimen in the bottom of his locker, and headed off to the ships galley. As part of the work-study program, Bill basically performed whatever tasks the first mate wanted him to, and since coming on board about 2-months ago, he had standing responsibility to help Sal the cook during the daily meals. Tonight, Bill was to peel potatoes and provide plates and utensils for the crew and guests to eat from and then wash the and clean up the galley area. When not performing odd tasks, Bill collected marine data for his classwork, which included notation of GPS coordinates in relation to wind speed and water temperature and water depth readings. All of which he uploaded daily using the ships satellite communications system to the school’s collection server for his professor’s review

  A week later, after performing his evening readings and water samples, Bill decided to take a look at his find and see how it was holding up to being stored in his locker. Upon opening the door, his sense of smell reacted strongly the putrid odor. His first thought was that the specimen was rotting, and then he quickly realized that his clothes were in dire need of a wash. Pulling out a week and a half worth of dirty laundry and stacking them for cleaning, he grabbed hold of the plastic bag and placed in on the floor next to him. Opening the bag slowly, he was surprised to find that no fishy or rotten smells assailed his senses. Reviewing the specimen, he felt that it appeared to be lighter in color than it was when first retrieved from the ocean.

  There was a brackish color of the water, which was greenish brown. It appeared to Bill that the coloring from the specimen may have leached into the water. Similar to anyone who wanted to see if something had a live electrical charge, Bill tentatively put his hand into the bag, only to nervously remove it before touching it. He did three times before taking a deep breath and actually grabbing the plant. With some surprise, he did not feel any electrical shock, perhaps a slight, imperceptible tingle. Bringing the plant to a stainless steel sink, which had decent lighting around it, he laid out the specimen. Using his iPhone camera, he took about 10 pictures from every angle and a few close ups. For the next couple of days he tried to identify the specimen using Rutgers online resources as well as numerous web sources without any luck. Giving up, he sent the pictures and details on where and how the specimen was discovered to Professor Greyson, who was the head of Marine studies at the university.

  Two days later, Bill received an email from the professor telling him that the specimen was something that they could not identify and that he believed it was a new species. He babbled in the email about how exciting this was and wanted Bill to package it and ship it back to New Jersey as soon as he got into port. Looking at his iPhone calendar, he realized that his next port of call was in 5 days, which also corresponded to wrapping up his shipboard duties and studies. While still on his mind, he went to the ship’s communication room to send an important message to his long time best friend Rico, also known as Rico Sauvé or better known as Michael Carter. Thanks to Mike’s mother, Rico is what most friends and family called him, except for the nuns back in the early days of grammar school, who would only use his given name.

  Chapter 2: Life Changing Events

  Life can be cruel at times. I was 12 years old and sitting in 7th grade math class at Ronald Reagan Middle School working my way through a 20 question snap quiz. Math and science were my two favorite subjects and I generally aced them. Interrupting my concentration was the sudden sound of the classroom door opening. Looking back to the door, I saw the principle standing in the doorway, and framed in the same door were my grandparents.

  Man they did not look happy at all, which made my radar go up. I assumed I did something wrong, but my mind quickly zi
pped through the possibilities and concluded that I hadn’t done anything that I probably should not have. My teacher, Mr. Smoltz, was a nice guy, but a hundred pounds overweight, who kind of half waddled, half skipped towards the principle.

  Taking a quick glance backwards, I saw the adults whispering and periodically looking in my direction. Crap, this did not look good, what did I do? Maybe, someone discovered my hacking into the school computer systems. That would suck, since I couldn’t access any sensitive areas, such as the grades, and had given up.

  Glancing back again, the principle caught my eye and motioned for me to come to the back of the room. Slipping out of my chair, I slowly walked to the door. My eyes were drawn to my grandmother who was wiping tears from her own eyes. All of a sudden, I had a bad premonition…why weren’t my parents here? When I got to the door, my grandmother hugged me while at the same time the principle was guided us into a vacant classroom next door. Once inside with the door closed, my grandfather gently grabbed me by the shoulders, bent down from his 6-foot three height, and looked me in the eyes. While staring into his blue eyes, I heard him say, “Rico, there has been an accident. Your mom and dad were flying from Teterboro airport to Atlantic City airport in your dad’s Cessna. Their plane lost power and crashed. Rico…Rico” he stuttered, “your mom and dad were killed.” As he said the words, grandpa broke down and started to cry himself. My mom, his daughter Celia, was their only child and his main devotion in life. I took a long stuttering intake of breath and wanted to ask a question or say something, but the next thing I remember was waking up in my grandparent’s guest room with my Nana sitting in the easy chair perched right next to the bed. I immediately jumped out of bed, buried my face in Nana’s neck, and proceeded to cry for the next hour.