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"It sounds like slang."
"Infarction is a cluster of dead cells in organs or tissue that results from an obstruction, such as an air bubble, that cuts off circulating blood."
"Just where in the bodies did this thing take place?" inquired Sandecker.
"There was swelling of the cerebellum with compression of the brain stem. I also found that the vestibular labyrinth--
"Come again?"
"Besides relating to other bodily cavities, 'vestibular' also pertains to the central cavity of the bony labyrinth of the ear."
"Please go on."
"The vestibular labyrinth appeared to be damaged by violent displacement. Somewhat as in a fall into deep water, where the hydraulic compression of air perforates the tympanic membrane as water is forced into the external ear canal."
"How did you arrive at this conclusion?"
"By applying a standard protocol to my investigation, I used magnetic resonance imaging and computer tomography, a diagnostic technique using X-ray photographs that eliminate the shadows of structures m front of and behind the section under scrutiny. Evaluation also included hematologic and serologic studies and lumbar puncture."
"What were the symptoms at the onset of the disorder?"
"I can't speak for the porpoises or seals," explained Hunt. "But the pattern among the humans was consistent. The sudden and intense vertigo, a dramatic loss of equilibrium, vomiting, extreme paroxysmal cranial pain and a sudden convulsion that lasted less than five minutes, all resulting in unconsciousness and then death. You might compare it to a stroke of monster proportions."
"Can you tell me what caused this trauma?"
Hunt hesitated. "Not with any degree of accuracy."
Sandecker was not to be put off. "Take a wild guess."
"Since you've put my back to the wall, I'd venture to say your fishermen, the porpoises and seals expired from extreme exposure to high-intensity sound."
January 22, 2000
Near Howland Island, South Pacific
To the crew lining the rails of Mentawai, an Indonesian freighter bound from Honolulu to her next port of call, Jayapura in New Guinea, the sight of an awkward-looking craft in the middle of the ocean was highly unusual if not downright remarkable. Yet the Ningpo-design Chinese junk sailed serenely through the one-meter-high swells that rolled against her bow from the east. She looked magnificent, her brightly colored sails filled with a southwesterly breeze, her varnished wood sparkling under a golden-orange rising sun. Two large eyes that I crossed when sighted head-on were painted on her bows, born from the traditional faith that they would see her through fog and stormy seas.
The Tz'u-hsi, named after the last Chinese dowager empress, was the second home of Hollywood actor Garret Converse, never a nominee for an Academy Award but the biggest box-office action hero on the silver screen. The junk was twenty-four meters in length with a beam of six meters, built from top to bottom of cedarand teakwood. Converse had installed every amenity for the crew's accommodations and the latest in navigational technology. No expense was spared. Few yachts were as luxuriously embellished. A master adventurer in the mode of Errol Flynn, Converse had sailed Tz'u-hsi from Newport Beach on a round-the-world cruise and was now running on the final leg across the Pacific, passing within fifty kilometers of Howland Island, Amelia Earhart's destination when she disappeared in 1937.
As the two ships plodded past each other on opposite courses, Converse hailed the freighter over the radio.
"Greetings from the junk Tz'u-hsi. What ship are your"
The freighter's radio operator replied, "The freighter Mentawai out of Honolulu. Where are you bound?"
"Christmas Island, and then to California."
"I wish you clear sailing."
"The same to you," Converse answered.
The captain of Mentawai watched the junk slip astern and then nodded toward his first officer. "I never thought I'd see a junk this deep in the Pacific
."
The first officer, a man of Chinese descent, nodded disapprovingly. "I crewed on a junk when I was a young boy. They're taking a great risk sailing through the breeding grounds of typhoons. Junks are not built for heavy weather. They ride too high and have a tendency to roll crazily. Their huge rudders are easily broken off by a rough sea."
"They're either very brave or very mad to tempt the fates," said the captain, turning his back on the junk as it grew smaller in the distance. "As for me, I feel more comfortable with a steel hull and the solid beat of engines under my decks."
