Mystery of the ghost-ship S.S. Ourang Medan

17 Feb

Ourang Medan

Depending on which report is accurate, a curious radio message was received by numerous ships traveling along the Straits of Malacca, situated around Sumatra and Malaysia in either June 1947 or as late as February 1948. At the time, the origins of this message – an SOS – were not known. The message itself was divided into two parts, separated by Morse code that could not be deciphered. Those that received this message insisted that the transcript went:

All Officers, including the Captain, are dead. Lying in chartroom and bridge. Possibly whole crew dead. … I die.

Nothing else was transmitted after this chilling conclusion. Two ships, both American, picked up the messages and felt compelled to investigate. With the help of British and Dutch listening posts, the coordinates of the vessel thought to be transmitting were triangulated.  It was the Dutch freighter S.S. Ourang Medan – above extract courtesy of Historic Mysteries.

Having come across the above story, i thought it was the perfect mystery to kick off my latest Spire action thriller with. Crypto, Spire 5 will be out sometime in May this year, but to whet your appetites, you can read the prologue below…

 

SPIRE 5

Crypto

 By

Si Rosser

Schmall World Publishing

First published in Great Britain as an e-book by Schmall World Publishing

Copyright © Simon Rosser 2019

The right of Simon Rosser to be identified as the author of the work has been asserted herein in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.

 

 

 

 

CRYPTO – SPIRE 5

PROLOGUE

Pacific Ocean – 400 nautical miles south-east of the Marshall Islands. 10.06.1948

 

THE DUTCH REGISTERED freighter ship, the SS Ourang Medan listed to port as she was hit broadside by a large wave, which sent foaming, freezing Pacific Ocean seawater cascading over her forward deck.

The ship had left the Chinese port of Xiamen two weeks earlier and was on route to Costa Rica. Stored beneath the decks in her hold was a cargo of coffee, raw sugar cane, twenty-five gold bars and a single large steel container, which had been encased in a wooden crate, and which had taken ten men the best part of three hours to haul on board.

On the bridge, Captain Jacobus raised his forearm and wiped the sweat from his brow as he stood at the helm, his other oil-covered hand gripping the large wooden wheel as he wrestled to keep the ship on course. He reached down and yanked the wheel lock up from the pedestal, left the helm and opened the bridge door which headed out onto the deck to get some fresh air. A strong, wet, wind hit him full on in the face. He looked up at the night sky which was beautifully clear; billions of stars, pin pricks of light, winking in the heavens. A good sign at least, the ocean should calm down soon, he thought.

He realised he was still sweating profusely, the salty sweat was trickling into his eyes, and he wiped his brow once again. He’d been feeling unwell for the last two days, and now he was developing a sore throat and stomach cramps, which had worsened in the last few hours. He put it down to the sleepless nights he’d had since they’d left port, but was now wondering if it had anything to do with the hooker he’d spent his last night with at the port two weeks earlier. He hoped he’d not caught anything from her, and cursed under his breath at the thought.

The ship listed again, the hull creaking ominously as the vessel’s steel panels and rivets responded to the relentless pounding of the ocean. He took one last look at the heavens and headed back inside, unlocked the wheel and adjusting it slightly to bring the ship back on course.

“Anders, can you take over for a while. I’m going back to my cabin to lie down for half an hour,” he shouted.

Anders, who was operating the vessel’s bilge pumps, stood up and grabbed the wheel. “Yes sir,” he said, nodding at the captain in response.

Captain Jacobus left the bridge, grabbing the stair rails to steady himself as he descended towards his quarters. He made his way along the corridor on the lower deck, feeling increasingly sick as he went. He reached his cabin and hurried in, closing and locking the door behind him. He staggered to the bathroom, and projectile vomited into the basin as he entered.

“Jesus!” Jacobus groaned, as he ran the tap to wash away the vomit. He splashed cold water onto his face, dabbing it dry with a towel, before closing the bathroom door and falling onto his bed. He shook his head to try and expel the feeling of nausea and fog now engulfing him. Was it something I’ve eaten? Surely it couldn’t have been the hooker? No sexually transmitted disease could cause such rapid illness, he reasoned.

He thought back to when they left port, the cargo that had been loaded on board. He grabbed the ship’s freight itinerary log from his bedside table to remind himself exactly what was in the hold.

Jacobus flipped through the pages looking for the 08 June entry. He hadn’t forgotten the gold bars of course, but there was something else, in bulkhead five; the large steel container. It had taken ten men to haul it on board, the stamp on the lid had read, ‘Fragile – Restricted.’ The object, he knew had arrived at the Chinese port from McMurdo, in Antarctica, some weeks earlier.

He pushed the logbook back into his bedside draw and stood up with the intention of going down to the hold to check the container out, but immediately collapsed onto the floor, vomiting again before he could reach the bathroom.

Jacobus felt his body convulse, go into spasm, like something was crawling inside his veins and invading his body. He felt excruciating pain, and then his eyes rolled back until the wooden slatted ceiling of his cabin came into view momentarily, before blurring quickly and then fading to black as he lost consciousness.

 

 

Up on the bridge Anders was starting to feel as sick as a dog. He wiped his brow, now soaked in sweat, and checked the control panel in front of him; course and speed all looked okay. Where the hell had the captain gone?

The ship lurched to starboard as another wave hit, and Anders clung onto the wheel in response. He wasn’t feeling right. He had tremors in his hands and his legs were suddenly growing weak as if his body was now too heavy for them, and he felt his knees starting to buckle. The tremors in his hands started extended along to his arms and then he collapsed onto the bridge, losing consciousness momentarily, a terrible pain gripping his body.

 

In the ship’s Communications Room, Second Officer Frans Erik, the vessel’s telegraphist could hear the men in the dining area shouting at each other. Erik left his desk and staggered along the corridor towards the Mess Hall to find out what was going on.

He opened the Mess Hall door. What the hell? he wondered, as he entered, seeing the state of the men inside. A fight had broken out between at least three of the crew. One man, who Anders recognised as Eddie McNamara, a tough-looking Scottish chap from Troon, near Glasgow, was being restrained by two other seamen. McNamara was foaming at the mouth, blood trickling down his temple from an open wound. At least fifteen other seamen were gathered around, watching as McNamara frantically struggled to break free from the men restraining him, his eyes bloodshot, and darting around the room like a wild animal.

“What the hell is going on here?” Second Officer Erik shouted.

One of the seamen turned around, a short stocky sailor by the name of Smith. “The Scot has gone crazy sir. He went down to check the hold about two hours ago and then suddenly went fucking nuts. He’s bitten poor Eddie Daniels in the neck. He’s in a bad way at the back of the mess,” Smith said, tilting his head towards the end of the Mess Hall.

Erik moved towards the Scot and the men restraining him. “What the hell is going on here?” he shouted, attempting to make sense of the situation.

McNamara was staring at him through bloodshot, crazed eyes. Erik studied him, realising something was seriously wrong. He’d never seen a man looking so frenzied and intent on hurting him.

Before Erik could ask another question, McNamara appeared to suddenly take on superhuman strength and broke free from the men restraining him. He lunged at Erik, immediately sinking his teeth into his left shoulder, before thrashing his neck back and fore like a crazed rabid dog.

Second Officer Erik felt his flesh tear, and lightning bolts of pain radiated from his shoulder area, as all eighteen stone of the powerful Scot, with his stinking breath, pinned him to the floor.

“Get him off! Get him off,” Erik shrieked.

It took five crew men to wrench McNamara free. As soon as the man was pulled off, Erik staggered to his feet, blood pumping from the wound on his shoulder. He placed his left hand on the torn flesh, turned and fled the mess, leaving the crew to deal with the Scot as they saw fit. He didn’t care, he just wanted to escape the carnage and craziness of what had just happened.

He felt his way back along the corridor and back into the Communications Room, the wound on his shoulder throbbing with pain and pumping blood. Was he going to bleed to death? Get an infection? He reached for the bottle of rum he had in the small cabinet by the desk, pulled the cork out with his teeth and poured the amber liquid onto his bare shoulder, gritting his teeth in pain as the liquor penetrated the wound.

He quickly started feeling dizzy, and his head started to fog up and spin. What the hell was going on? He sat at the desk and reached for the key of the telegraph machine and started frantically tapping out a message.

 

Dash…dash…dash…dot…dash…dot…dot – We need help. This is the SS Ourang Medan, location, approximately 400 nautical miles south-east of the Marshal Islands. The crew are going crazy…fighting has broken out in the Mess…Captain is sick and crew members are dying…I die.

 

Second Officer Erik felt his arms shaking and with his last ounce of strength he reached for some paper and scrawled a note, a last message. He grabbed the empty rum bottle, shoved the note inside and replaced and sealed the cork, turned and tossed it through the open porthole into the ocean.

With all his strength gone, he fell off his chair and collapsed onto the floor, the pain from his shoulder wound radiating into his head and upper body. His eyes then rolled up to the ceiling, his face contorting in pain as he felt an inky blackness envelop him.

Whilst you’re waiting for Spire 5, why not try one of the other gripping Spire adventures by clicking on the links below…. happy reading.

Also by the same author;

Tipping Point – Robert Spire 1

Impact Point – Robert Spire 2

Melt Zone – Robert Spire 3

Cataclysm of the Ancients – Robert Spire 4

 

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Cataclysm of the Ancients: Fast Paced Science Fiction Thriller

4 Feb

CATACLYSM of the ANCIENTS

Prologue

Rhodes, Greece – 226 BC

 

THE FLOTILLA OF fishing vessels cut through the crystal-clear blue Aegean Sea, their sails billowing in the wind, the sand-coloured fortified stone walls of the town shimmering in the afternoon sun just two nautical miles ahead. The three vessels had been on the open sea for three days and nights, and were now returning home with their specially adapted hulls full of sardines and tuna, at least two weeks’ supply of fish for the stalls, markets and taverns of the town.

Admentos bit into his orange as he watched a dolphin race alongside the hull, leaping out of the ocean as it reached the bow. “Welcome my friend, but be careful,” he said, “one day, fishermen not as friendly as I might try and catch you too.”

The dolphin was joined by another, both now playing together, tracking the vessel back towards the port.

“I can see our friends have joined us again,” Theoros laughed, as he joined his friend at the bow.

“Same two dolphins, I’m sure. The dorsal fin, the triangular section of flesh, is missing,” Admentos said, pointing.

“You know why they follow us home?” Theoros shouted.

“Tell me your theory, my friend.”

“Odysseus; he always throws them half a medimnos of fish, when we get close to port. The large fish aren’t so stupid; they know they have a meal waiting.”

“If I see him do that, I’ll personally throw him into the water with them,” Admentos said, finishing his orange. He wiped his mouth, ran his hands through his thick black wavy hair and glanced to the port side. The two other vessels which had been out fishing with them were two boat-lengths away, playing catch-up with his boat, which he’d proudly named Alcaeus, after his father, an accountant from Athens. The name meant strength, and his father had proven to be a strong man and had educated Admentos well.

Theoros nodded his head towards the town and the fortified port walls that surrounded it, now coming into view. He shook his head in wonder; the awe-inspiring sight of the Titan Helios loomed up from the breakwater, towering over the port in all its glory. The sun’s golden rays lit up the huge bronze statue like a glowing furnace. “There he is, welcoming us home as ever, from our short voyage.”

“Helios has kept us safe for the last fifty-four years. The Cypriots and the sons of Demetrius have not dared attack us again since,” Admentos said proudly, shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare reflecting off the giant bronze Titan. The statue’s right arm was raised towards the ocean, as if in triumph. The sunlight reflecting off the clenched fist as if it were a burning flame.

“May he do the same for another thousand years,” Theoros added, just as the young Odysseus emerged from the vessel’s wooden cabin carrying a large urn. Odysseus looked up, his eyes widening as he saw the two of them.

“And what do you carry in that urn, Odysseus?” Admentos asked, “I hope you are not stealing our fish to give to the dolphins?”

Odysseus stopped and placed the urn down on the deck, shook his head and ruffled his curly blonde hair. “No, I have water to clean the deck.”

“Show me,” Admentos demanded.

Odysseus gingerly picked up the urn and slowly walked towards the bow, where the fishermen were leaning against the bulkhead. As he approached them, he sidestepped and briskly emptied the contents of the urn into the ocean. He then dropped the urn onto the deck and ran to the rear of the boat.

“Odysseus, there seems to be fish in your water!” Admentos shouted, as he ran after the ten-year old, the son of his brother Theras.

Odysseus was already leaning over the stern bulkhead watching the dolphins jump out of the ocean, playing with the half-dead fish, before gulping them down.

“No…no, please, my father will kill you if you touch me,” he screamed, as Admentos grabbed the boy around his chest and turned him upside down.

“You know what we do to people who steal our fish?” Admentos shouted, as Odysseus playfully tried to escape from his grip. “We throw them into the ocean!” Admentos then lifted Odysseus onto the wide, flat, horizontal surface of the bulkhead, grabbed his ankles and proceeded to dangle him over the edge of the vessel.

Odysseus screamed, then laughed, and then screamed again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Pull me back in, I won’t do it again.”

Theoros stood behind his friend, laughing as he pulled Odysseus back up and lowered him to the deck. “Next time; I’ll drop you in and you can swim back to port with your friends. Your father will thank me for it,” Admentos said, a smile spreading across his tanned face.

The other two fishing vessels had now caught up with them, as they closed in on the harbour. The statue of Helios towered over the small boats, its massive bronze feet rising up from the huge marble plinth it stood on; in itself, a magnificent sight to behold at this distance.

Admentos craned his neck and looked up towards the top of the statue. Gulls drifting on the warm air currents above began to swoop down; chasing the boats towards the port, daily routine telling them that food would soon be available.

Admentos shouted to Odysseus. “You can make up for your theft by getting the ropes ready.”

Odysseus nodded and ran to the cabin.

Fishermen sitting on the fortified walls on the approach to the port, waved as they pulled up their lobster baskets from the sea bed.

As the flotilla passed the breakwater and the huge marble plinth upon which Helios stood, a strange vibrating hum, like no sound they had ever heard before, emanated from somewhere above them, seemingly from the Titan itself.

“Can you hear that, Admentos?”  Theoros shouted.

“What in the name of Zeus is that?! Admentos yelled back, shielding his ears.

The fishermen lining the port walls started to run, some stumbling, as they looked up towards the humming statue of Helios towering above.

As Admentos and Theoros gazed up at Helios, a blinding pure white flash, like a powerful lightning bolt, shot out from both sides of the statue’s torso, one point hitting the port wall and the other arcing over the port, into the mountains behind the town. A violent explosion caused rock from the fortified wall and harbour to erupt around the small flotilla of boats, the calm port waters suddenly became a maelstrom, tossing the fishing vessels like they had been transported into the middle of a violent storm.

Odysseus appeared from the cabin, his eyes wide with fear.

“Get back in the cabin, Odysseus,” Admentos screamed.

Admentos’ and the other men’s cries were drowned out by a series of thunderous cracks, quickly followed by a dark shadow that enveloped the port blocking, the bright sunlight.

“Helios! The Titan is falling!” Theoros screamed in terror.

The Titan snapped at its knees, and fell in three large sections, bronze screeching and bending, as the statue collapsed towards the land just beyond the port.

The three fishing boats tried to turn away, but it was too late. Admentos looked up at the collapsing statue of Helios as the Titan’s outstretched arm broke off from the shoulder and struck his vessel, crushing the wooden boat as if it were made from matchwood.

 

The Colossus of Rhodes lay where it fell, until 880 years later, when the ruins were sold by Arab invaders to a Jewish merchant from Emesa, Syria, who painstakingly removed the broken statue and bronze scrap, transporting it away on 900 camels.

 

 

CHAPTER 1

CIA Headquarters,

Virginia, USA.

Present Day

 

 

 

 

DR VINCENT KRAMER swiped his identity card through the security scanner. The pad illuminated with a green light, and he walked through the steel security door into corridor B12, which ran along the west side of the building. He casually wiped away a bead of sweat that had formed on his temple, as he continued along the corridor to the Vault – the CIA’s secret records hall. The security cameras above would be monitoring his every move, but he had the necessary clearance to be in this section of the building, so it wasn’t a problem.

He reached the vault door and swiped his card through a second scanner. A light on the pad turned green, before a pencil-thin red laser shot out from a slot in a featureless black panel on the wall in front of him, and began scanning his iris. Kramer stood still for the few moments required, until the laser completed its task.

Two loud clunks resonated up, from somewhere inside the door, as two large steel bolts retracted into the wall. With a hiss of high-pressured air, the two-foot thick reinforced steel door slowly opened.

Kramer walked into the Vault, a rectangular room the size of a football field, and inhaled the room’s air, which had a hint of musty cardboard and old paper to it. This was despite the air within the Vault being recycled on a weekly basis, to ensure the old paper and documents kept there were preserved as well as possible. He figured that the air must have been almost a week old and hadn’t yet been replaced.

The soft strip lighting in the ceiling above the first third of the room, clicked on as he stepped on to the small landing area beyond the security door. The steel lump of the door slowly closed behind him, sealing him in the room, which always unnerved him. What if the unlock mechanism failed, how the hell would I get out?

Spread out before him were 1970s-style light grey filing cabinets, and racking, which extended up from the black and white tiled floor to a height of eight feet or so. There were eight rows of cabinets with aisles in-between, each one wide enough to drive a small forklift truck along. Each row was marked alphabetically A, through to H, and beyond that block was another similar block, marked I-P. A third, identical block, was positioned at the far end of the room, labelled Q-W. At the very back of the room was the final six-cabinet block, identified with the letters X, Y and Z.

Kramer headed down the steel steps, to the tiled floor ten feet below and walked along the aisle directly in front of him towards the third block of cabinets, which housed Row S. As he passed along the hundreds of individual drawers and racks he was effectively walking further back in time, as far as the documents and materials kept in the secure drawers were concerned.

Commencing in the year 2011, the most recent entry in Row D, he walked to the end of the section, back to the year 1722. He’d never looked at the documents in this section, but made a mental note to view them one day, when he had more time. He knew there were even older documents kept in the vault, dating back to the year 1508.

He continued to the middle block of cabinets, the lighting in the ceiling above him automatically clicking on, just as the lights in the first section blinked out, thanks to the eco-sensor picking up his movement within the space. All it did was scare the hell out of him. The Vault gave him the creeps as it was, made worse by the fact that two thirds of the vast room was always in darkness. He looked back. All he could see was a series of red LED lights glowing on the exit pad, on the wall next to the security door which was now shrouded in darkness.

He wiped his forehead again, cursing under his breath for having to be in here in the first place and for the position he found himself in. He prayed he was doing the right thing; the right thing for his wife and daughter, who were being held captive at this very moment, in their own home, and had been for the preceding forty-eight hours. On Saturday night, four men had forced entry into his home, just outside of Fairfax. They had somehow evaded the sophisticated security system he’d installed, before rounding them all up at gun point. The men were dressed, from head to toe, in black. They’d looked like an elite special ops unit; the kind of force he imagined had captured, and killed, Osama Bin Laden, except these bastards were in his own home, in the middle of a suburban street in Virginia.

Of course, he’d promised the kidnappers he’d do whatever was asked of him, to spare his family’s life, and had naturally assumed they wanted some high-level security information about America’s interests abroad. Computer programmes, or operating systems for the US’s drones perhaps, or even the future schedule/timetable of the President himself. The information his captors had demanded, however, had left him slightly flummoxed and, in an odd way, even more concerned. The best he could hope for was to be able to find and obtain the information for them, extricate his family from danger and then alert the secret service of the circumstances. The bastards needed to be caught. He’d insist he and his family be given new identities, before being relocated. The entire situation was a nightmare.

Kramer reached Row S, in the third block of cabinets. The Vault behind him was now in darkness, the red glow from the LED lights on the exit pad the only light visible. He looked up and checked the wall-mounted camera, close to where the wall met the ceiling above. The camera could clearly see him; however, by pulling out two of the drawers above the one he needed to get into, he could create a large enough obstruction to block the camera’s view. He reached up and pulled on the drawers, which squeaked on their runners as they extended out. Kramer then pulled out the drawer marked ‘Sp’ and started rummaging through the dividers, until he reached the folder he was searching for – Sphinx Remote Viewing Studies 1974.

He carefully pulled the manila A4 folder from its place and opened the flap, a slight tremor now evident in his hands. Thankfully, the documents were inside. He thumbed through the paperwork within the folder; just three A4 sheets appeared to be relevant. He pulled them out, rolled them into a tube and shoved them behind his belt, in the front of his trousers. He then quickly replaced the folder and closed the drawer labelled ‘Sp’ followed by both drawers above it. The tapes would show him looking in the cabinets in Row S but, hopefully, they wouldn’t record him actually stealing the documents.

Kramer walked hastily back through the vault, the energy saving lighting, tracking him back to the front of the room, blinking on as he passed into each section. He dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief as he ascended the steel steps to the Vault door. He reached the top landing, glanced back to the cabinets he’d just come from, now shrouded in darkness, and swiped his card across the door exit pad. The red lights blinked green and, as the large steel door clunked slowly open, he slipped out to the main corridor beyond.

Kramer headed back along the lengthy corridor, opened the security door he’d gone through earlier, and walked down another black and white tiled corridor; towards the cafeteria in the building’s older section. The time was 3.30 p.m.; he only had fifteen minutes before the arranged meet.

He ordered a latte to go and exited through the café’s rear glass door, onto a small paved terrace area. He casually strolled passed the Kryptos sculpture; towards the main car park. The mid afternoon sun was already bathing CIA Headquarters with its fading rays of light. A few miles to the east, lights were already blinking on in the suburbs of Washington D.C.

A black SUV with blacked-out windows was waiting for him, as instructed, at the rear of the vast car park, close to the perimeter fence, which bordered a large wooded area. Kramer nervously sipped his coffee, his stomach churning as he approached the vehicle.

The driver’s window slid down a few centimetres and a man, with a Middle-Eastern accent, directed him to walk around to the passenger side.

Kramer nodded and walked around the rear of the SUV and stopped at the front passenger door. He pulled the rolled up documents out from the top of his trousers.

The window slid down a fraction. “Are those the papers?”

“Yes,” Kramer replied.

“Show me.”

Kramer unrolled the documents and held them against the window. “I want to speak to my wife and child…”

The man, in the vehicle, cut him off. “Give me the papers – pass them through the gap.”

Kramer raised a shaking hand and pushed the rolled up documents through the gap in the window. “Now, let me speak to…”

The passenger window slid down six inches or so.

Kramer stepped back.

“You have my word that your wife and daughter will be fine. You have performed your task admirably, but I’m afraid this is where your journey ends,” the slim-faced Middle-Eastern man said, as he opened the window further and looked Kramer in the eyes, his right hand gripping the handle of a gun fitted with a long suppressor.

Kramer dropped his coffee, which hit the tarmac with a wet thud, just as two bright flashes flared out from the long black tube pointed at his chest. Kramer collapsed to the ground, the searing pain eating into him.

The black SUV screeched off as Kramer lay on the tarmac, gasping for air. His last vision was of his own blood slowly mixing with the light brown coffee he’d been drinking moments earlier.

Cataclysm (138x220) (138x220)

 

 

 

 

Bob Lazar, Area 51, flying saucers and UFO’s – the incredible story that won’t go away…

17 Dec

I was 21 back in 1989 when Bob Lazar’s incredible news story broke. I would have been in university in London coming towards the end of my law degree at the time. I really can’t remember much about being 21 to be honest, or what i did for my birthday, but i have never forgotten hearing Lazar’s revelations over the radio, about working at the previously unheard of and unknown location of Area 51 and specifically S-4, a location near Groom Lake where the U.S. military supposedly has a secret base, consisting of 9 hanger doors build into the side of the mountain, which contain a treasure trove of advanced craft, and according to Bob Lazar, alien disks, flying saucers which the U.S. Government have somehow acquired.

Bob Lazar speaks in great detail about how he was engaged, under Majestic clearance (A super top secret clearance derived from the 12 original members of President Truman’s team, created to study and keep hidden the fact that UFO’s exist, have crashed and are taking an active interest in Planet Earth following the Roswell crash) directive, to work on and back-engineer alien space craft being kept at S-4.

There are numerous videos available which show Lazar discussing the propulsion systems on board one particular disk – nick-named the Sport Model, from its sleek design – which use some kind of electrogravitic propulsion mechanism, anti-gravity technology and element 115 to power the systems. The craft operates by using the gravity drives to create their own gravity fields and warp and bend space time. Instead of traditional propulsion, as in a jet engine propelling the craft forward, the gravity drives are pointed in the direction of travel and pull the craft to its destination, thus enabling it to traverse vast distances in the blink of an eye. This all kind of makes sense, and might explain how aliens are able to travel the vast distances required to reach us.

Lazar was able to show reporters and friends the test flights of these craft – back in 1989 – from an observation point on a highway near Groom lake. The craft would be tested on a Wednesday night – statistically the quietest period for highway traffic in the area at the time. Videos exist showing the glowing lights in the sky making erratic maneuvers.

The craft are even said to come from a binary start system – Zeta Reticuli.

So – incredible story if true. But is it?

Well, a new documentary has been made, and Bob Lazar has come out of the woodwork after 35 years to re-tell the same story and the effects of spilling the news in the first place has had on his life. I haven’t seen the documentary yet, but for sure i will do!

Since Lazar’s revelations in 1989, element 115 has been created by Russian and American scientists – well a few atoms of it. It is a genuine element, but not found on Earth. I also understand from the new documentary that a colleague has finally come forward to confirm that Lazar did in fact work at The Los Alamos nuclear lab, a fact he has had a hard time proving since the powers that be erased all of Lazar’s records in order to discredit him, following the leak.

I have been interested in this subject for decades, but like most people got used to thinking, same old news, grainy photographs and no real developments or disclosure…. but my interest has recently been invigorated by the sheer amount of information now available on You Tube (some clearly complete rubbish) and the numerous videos about Lazar, Area 51 and indeed now Dr Steven Grear, an ex US surgeon who has devoted the last 30 odd years of his life to running the disclosure project and has produced a recent documentary – Unacknowledged: An expose of the Word’s Greatest Secret, which is excellent viewing  Greer has amassed some 35 hours of testimony from pilots, military personnel and the like, who all say virtually the same thing as Lazar – UFOs are real, as is the anti gravity technology used to propel them and that Aliens have been visiting Earth for a long long time… scary thought? Maybe.

There just does now seem to be too much evidence to keep this issue suppressed for much longer, but the powers that be will try – and they have managed to do so since 1947 since the Roswell Crash – The reasons? The incredibly powerful technology – antigravity devices etc, if they were to fall into the wrong hands could spell disaster. The knowledge that aliens are here and have been visiting, or even had a hand in our creation by the manipulation of our DNA – would shatter world faiths.

The shameful thing is that, as Grear says, such devices could be what the world needs right now to avert disastrous climate change. Could the US Government, or secret parts of it, really be hiding technology that could save planet Earth from climate disaster? It seems illogical, but the military might just do that to ensure they have the ultimate weapon systems. As for the aliens? They must despair at us, and let’s face it, they can’t be hostile as if they wanted to, they could destroy us and our planet in a heartbeat.

Until we have disclosure, which might come sooner than we all think, here’s a fun and fast paced thriller on the subject – click on the link below…

our Campers Experience the Unimaginable…
A Signal From Deep Space is Detected…
NASA and SETI Scramble for Answers…
But What They Discover is…Terrifying.

Salient

 

 

 

Has Earth reached its TIPPING POINT

17 Dec

Will the Polish climate change deal change anything? Will global temperatures be prevented from increasing above a cataclysmic 2 degrees Celsius. We all hope so, but let’s face it, the few people in power who can do something about the situation, don’t seem to have the will or the genuine appetite to do so. Perhaps they should think more about their children and children’s children who will inherit one hell of a hot, erratic messed up planet than trying to apply cheap fixes and useless band aids  on the issues…

Anyway enough of a rant – why not settle down to Robert Spire’s first adventure… a climate fiction thriller with some real science and real science fiction… and there’s plenty more Spire adventures to go on after this one…. enjoy and have a happy Christmas people of the good Planet Earth.

Two Dead Climatologists…

An International Conspiracy…

A Looming Global Cataclysm… 

When eminent climatologist Dr Dale Stanton – in the process of studying the Atlantic Ocean’s Thermohaline Circulation – is found dead in his London apartment, environmental lawyer, Robert Spire, is given the task to administer a large legacy left by Dr Stanton to global warming organisations. The job should have been straightforward, until a second climatologist, Dr Jack Bannister drops dead on the other side of the Atlantic…

When the dead scientist’s mother engages Spire to look further into her son’s death, it soon becomes apparent that not all is as it seems. Spire soon finds he is out of his depth, as he is stalked by a sinister female Russian spy intent on tracking his every move, and to seemingly assassinate leading climatologists involved in investigating global warming and the melting Arctic sea ice. Spire is soon thrust into an international conspiracy involving a terrorist plot to push the Arctic to its tipping point, and the world to disaster…

TIPPING POINT is a fast-paced, unputdownable climate-change thriller, with terrorism elements that will keep you turning the pages until the very end. If you like James Rollins, Brett Battles, Clive Cussler, and the action and adventure of a James Bond movie then you will love the entire Robert Spire Action Thriller series.

Pick up your copy and start reading Tipping Point today!

“Simon Rosser’s scientific and psychological thriller “Tipping Point” is one of the best I have read in the past decade. He has a gift for fluent narrative, realistic characterization and for creating settings that come vividly to life for the reader. He blends tension and suspense very successfully against the contemporary background of global warming and its sinister implications.

–Author, TV presenter and Priest Lionel Fanthorpe –

Simonrosser_1 (1)

Bon Voyager

10 Dec

The Voyager space probes, launched from Earth in 1977 to study and photograph the planets Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune – a task they completed in 1989 have both now left our Solar System. Voyager 1 left in 2012 and Voyager 2 has just done so.

The probe’s present location is some 18 billion km (11 billion miles) from Earth and is moving at roughly 54,000km/h (34,000mph). Voyager 1 is even further away and travelling faster still, at 22 billion km and 61,000km/h.

Both spacecraft will continue transmitting signals and data until their plutonium power packs run out – perhaps in another 10 years time. After that, they will continue on their voyage through interstellar space until finally reaching the next closest star, in about 40,000 years!

According to Space.com website, here are some of the Voyager program’s probes achievements;

  • Examined Jupiter’s atmosphere, including its hurricanes.
  • Found active volcanoes on Io, a moon of Jupiter, as well as a “torus” (a ring of sulfur and oxygen that Io is shedding).
  • Saw evidence of an ocean beneath Europa, an icy moon of Jupiter.
  • Looked in detail at Saturn’s rings; observed waves, structure and “shepherd moons” that influence the shape of its F-ring.
  • Saw evidence of an atmosphere around Titan, a moon of Saturn, which scientists correctly identified as being composed largely of methane.
  • Discovered a Great Dark Spot on Neptune, which is a large storm.
  • Saw active geysers on Triton, an icy moon of Neptune

Both Voyager spacecraft carry recorded messages from Earth on golden phonograph records — 12-inch, gold-plated copper disks. A committee chaired by the late astronomer Carl Sagan selected the contents of the records for NASA. The “Golden Records,” as these records are called, are cultural time capsules that the Voyagers bear with them to other star systems. They contain images and natural sounds, spoken greetings in 55 languages and musical selections from different cultures and eras.

So, as we say bye bye to these little space probes, we must hail this amazing human technological achievement and NASA’s 40 year space mission, which is heading for a half century space mission, provided signals are still being beamed back in 9 years time…

This brings me on to another signal. Will the probes, or any Earth-based detection system pick up any alien signals from outer space? Perhaps we already have picked up a signal and just didn’t know it. If you’d like to know how things might unfold, then check out my recent Science Fiction thriller – SALIENT, by clicking the link below or visit my website for more information.

 

Salient

 

 

How to get started with Cryptocurrency trading…

1 May

CRYPTOCURRENCY TRADING

How to profit in the

Digital Currency Gold Rush

 

By

Si Rosser

 

Schmall World Publishing

First published in Great Britain as an e-book by Schmall World Publishing

Copyright © Simon Rosser 2018

 

The right of Simon Rosser to be identified as the author of the work has been asserted herein in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

 

 

Disclaimer: The author is not a financial advisor or in any way giving financial advice within the pages of this book. Any cryptocurrency investments/purchases made after reading this book are done at the buyers own risk

 

 

Also by the same author;

The A-Z of Global Warming

Tipping Point – Robert Spire 1

Impact Point – Robert Spire 2

Melt Zone – Robert Spire 3

Cataclysm of the Ancients – Robert Spire 4

Red Mist – Espionage Thriller

Salient – SciFi Thrller

CHAPTER HEADINGS

Introduction

Chapter 1

Cryptocurrencies – What Are They?

Chapter 2

Bitcoin, Ethereum, Litecoin, Ripple and Bitcoin Cash

Chapter 3

What is a Blockchain?

Chapter 4

Altcoins – A Coin for Everyone and Everything

Chapter 5

Altcoin Search – Where Do You Start?

Chapter 6

Cryptocurrency Exchanges – Buying Ether and Bitcoin, Keeping it Simple!

Chapter 7

Strategies to Deploy

Chapter 8

Secret to Success – Eruption and Trigger Points

Chapter 9

ICO’s – Initial Coin Offerings Explained

Chapter 10

Wallets – Keeping Your Cryptos Safe

Conclusion

Recap, HODL and be Patient!

RISK and DISCLAIMER:

 

The information contained in this book is for educational purposes only. Any examples used are for educational and illustrative purposes. I am not recommending any particular Cryptocurrencies, ICOs or Blockchain technology. The names of any firms of Crypto Exchanges, financial institutions, wallets, financial websites or otherwise mentioned are for illustrative purposes only. The decision on which company to use if any, is at the total discretion of you, the reader. It is recommended that you seek your own professional financial advice before proceeding to invest in cryptocurrencies.

 

The world of Cryptocurrencies and ICOs is HIGHLY speculative and VOLOTILE and whilst large sums of money can be made, you can equally lose all your investments. Please read and understand the above and be aware of the risks of this kind of trading and investing.

 

By continuing to read this book you agree to the above and accept the extremely high risk nature of cryptocurrencies.

 

With those cautionary words over, let’s dive into the world of crypto!

 

INTRODUCTION

 

OKAY, SO YOU might be thinking what gives me the authority to write a book about cryptocurrency? And I wouldn’t blame you. I am a lawyer by profession and a part time author of 8 action-adventure thriller novels, and one reference book on global warming.

I’m also a self-taught cryptocurrency investor. Someone who knew nothing about Bitcoin or cryptocurrency in general until I started researching and immersing myself into the world of cryptocurrency after a good friend of mine in 2017 confirmed that his brother was heavily into it and making a lot of money. At the time I thought that I’d missed the boat. One Bitcoin back then was trading for about $3000 a coin. I thought no thanks, that’s clearly well over priced and apart from that I didn’t even understand what a Bitcoin was! Well, my big mistake was not looking into things further at the time. Shortly after I heard that another friend of mine in London had bought something called Ripple. With no idea what that was, in the latter half of 2017 I decided to start researching the entire world of cryptocurrency. I paid for cryptocurrency investment information, watched countless videos and read numerous articles and carried out hours of research. This book is the culmination of all of that. I only wish I’d taken more interest back in 2016 when my friend had first told me about his brother investing in Bitcoin, and some other exotic Altcoins that I’d never heard of. If I had, I’d probably be writing this book from my condo in Hawaii! But seriously, I use the term ‘investing’ loosely, as the cryptocurrency market is so volatile, and the landscape changing so rapidly, that anyone who knows anything about cryptocurrencies will tell you that you should only invest what you can afford to lose, and I can only reiterate that advice.

My aim in writing this book is to de-mystify the subject and hopefully provide you with the knowledge, confidence and tools to get started in investing in your first cryptocurrency coins. All you’ll need is a little patience and time to spend a few hours opening the necessary free trading accounts that are needed to buy and sell your coins, and you’ll be ready to jump into buying your first cryptos before you know it. I have to reiterate that I am in no way giving any investment advice or recommendations within this book as I am not a financial advisor or licenced by any kind of financial authority to do so, and you should always only invest what you can afford to lose (and I’m talking from starting with as little as a $50 stake like I did) but hopefully, with a bit of luck and judgement, you’ll have some fun and also make money along the way!

I aim to cut through the mysticism and incredibly complex – at first glance – cutting edge world of cryptocurrency investing, in order to make things as simple as possible. In writing this book I have a similar desire to when I wrote my guide on global warming, which was to try and make a topic which seems extremely complicated, much easier to understand. In all honesty, trying to clarify what is going on with global warming was a lot more complex, and took a great deal longer to research and simplify than writing this guide on cryptocurrencies.

 

So, before I get started on the nitty gritty of how to find your first coins, which coins to look out for, and how to buy them, I’ll set out a very brief introduction on the basic facts you might want to know about how this entire craze started. To do that, we need to look at the granddaddy of all cryptocurrency, Bitcoin.

 

Investing in cryptocurrencies has been said to be a generational wealth creator. That means, no other investment is likely to come along in the next 50 years or so that could potentially make you so wealthy, and so quickly as investing in cryptocurrency. And the great thing is, you only need to invest very small amounts, just $20 will do!

 

Cryptocurrencies and the blockchain will change the way we see the world. It cuts out the middlemen, cuts costs and is fast.

 

Fortunes will be made by corporations and individuals who are brave enough to get involved in this almost pioneering type of investing which is literally akin to panning for gold in the wild frontiers of the American Midwest.

 

I’m sure you are wondering; how much money have I made? Well, I can confirm at the time of publishing this book, my cryptocurrency portfolio of 15 different coins has increased by a massive 160%, in 7 weeks or so. Some of the best performing coins are listed below;

 

  • Tron – TRX purchased at 0.036, now 0.098 – up 169%
  • Zillika – ZIL purchased at 0506, now 0.1066 – up 110%
  • Refereum – RFR purchased at 0.007, now 0.012 – up 72%
  • BANCA – purchased at 0.002, now 0.003 – up 54%

 

The rises have been volatile, but at present, they are all heading up!

This book was written with the novice in mind, and also for those already knowledgeable about cryptocurrency.

If all this peaks your interest, then read on!

Purchase on Amazon.com

Purchase on Amazon.co.uk

Cryptocurrency Trading and Investing

30 Apr

 

cypto cover

Fact: Since 2016, Bitcoin, Ethereum and Litecoin have exploded in value…
Fact: Many other cryptocurrencies are now doing the same – some gaining over 100,000%…
Fact: Anyone can get involved in cryptocurrency trading starting with a small stake of just $50…

To illustrate just how explosive the cryptocurrency market has been, if you’d have had the foresight or good fortune to have purchased just $10 worth of Bitcoin at the time the first Bitcoin exchange opened in March 2010, when one Bitcoin was valued at $0.003, your $10 would have purchased 3,333 bitcoins. If you’d have held on to those coins, today they’d be worth an incredible 23 million dollars!

If you are interested in getting involved in cryptocurrency trading and investing, then this book is for you. Written with the cryptocurrency novice in mind, this concise guide will provide you with all the information and resources you’ll need to help you invest in your first penny cryptocurrencies, giving you a chance of potentially turning a small amount of capital into exponential gains. The book is written in a simple and easy to grasp but concise way and contains hyperlinks to all the resources you’ll need to get you started in your first cryptocurrency investments

There are literally hundreds of penny cryptocurrencies or Altcoins (alternative coins) on the market, some with the potential to produce the same explosive gains as Bitcoin.

This could be the best $2.99 investment you’ll ever make!

Some of the hot topics and cryptocurrency secrets you’ll discover inside;

* What exactly is Bitcoin and the blockchain
* What are Cryptocurrencies and Altcoins
* Altcoins and how to buy them
* Techniques to help you find cryptocurrencies that might explode in value
* The secret to finding a cryptocurrency’s potential trigger and eruption points
* ICO’s and how to invest in them
* Keeping track of your coins and keeping them safe
* Essential resources and websites to make investing in cryptocurrency simple, fun and potentially very profitable

Think you might be too late to get involved? Well think again. At the present time, investing in cryptocurrencies is still in its early stages of the investment cycle. Whilst the innovators, i.e the early investors in Bitcoin have made their millions, it is still very early on in the cryptocurrency investment curve and new developments and coins are coming out almost on a daily basis. We are just at the start. There will be cryptocurrencies and Altcoins which haven’t even been invented yet, ready to potentially explode in value just as Bitcoin, Ethereum and Litecoin have done. But, don’t leave it too long!

Purchase your first digital currency by opening a COINBASE account today…

 

Editorial reviews from the author’s previous published reference book

“The chapters I have seen amount to a useful simplification in an unusual format of some very complex issues.” —-Sir Crispin Tickell GCMG, KCVO

“Helps to make a complex body of factual material accessible… useful to the climate change novice and seasoned eco-crusader alike.” —-Law Society Gazette- November 2008

3 Apr

MELT ZONE…coming 7th April to Amazon… get ready for adventure…

SimonRosserAuthor Blog

MELT ZONE COVER 9

In 1938 the German New Swabia Expedition left Hamburg for Antarctica aboard the MS Schwabenland. The secret expedition arrived at the Princess Martha Coast, in an area which had been claimed by Norway as Dronning Maud Land, and began charting the region. Nazi German flags were placed on the sea ice along the coast…75 years later, something very odd is discovered…

RAPID ANTARCTIC ICE MELT…

Just before Europe’s Envisat satellite malfunctions, it photographs a mysterious melt zone during a fly-over of Eastern Antarctica. Following analysis of the photographs, the UKs GLENCOM – Global Environmental Command – Unit, sends three of its climatologists to investigate, but as they analyse the site, a vast crevasse opens in the ice, swallowing them up. They survive the fall, but make a startling and lethal discovery.

A HUNT ACROSS EUROPE…

GLENCOM agent and environmental lawyer, Robert Spire, has his Austrian skiing holiday interrupted following…

View original post 5,617 more words

Statistics for December and 2012 – is the UK getting wetter?

4 Jan

Official blog of the Met Office news team

Provisional statistics from the Met Office show 2012 was the second wettest year in the UK national record dating back to 1910, and just a few millimetres short of the record set in 2000.

The exceptionally wet year was characterised by a dry start which quickly gave way to very wet weather, with April and June both being the wettest on record.

Unsettled weather continued through to the end of the year, with December being the 8th wettest on record for the UK.

Throughout the year, accurate forecasts and warnings from the Met Office have helped everyone across the UK plan and prepare for the worst impacts of the extremely wet weather we have seen.

The persistent wet weather resulted in total 2012 rainfall for the UK of 1330.7 mm, which is just 6.6 mm short of the record set in 2000.

Looking at individual countries, 2012 was the wettest…

View original post 390 more words

MELT ZONE – Join Robert Spire in his third action-adventure thriller – April 21st 2013…

30 Dec

MELT ZONE COVER 9

In 1938 the German New Swabia Expedition left Hamburg for Antarctica aboard the MS Schwabenland. The secret expedition arrived at the Princess Martha Coast, in an area which had been claimed by Norway as Dronning Maud Land, and began charting the region. Nazi German flags were placed on the sea ice along the coast…75 years later, something very odd is discovered…

RAPID ANTARCTIC ICE MELT…

Just before Europe’s Envisat satellite malfunctions, it photographs a mysterious melt zone during a fly-over of Eastern Antarctica. Following analysis of the photographs, the UKs GLENCOM – Global Environmental Command – Unit, sends three of its climatologists to investigate, but as they analyse the site, a vast crevasse opens in the ice, swallowing them up. They survive the fall, but make a startling and lethal discovery.

A HUNT ACROSS EUROPE…

GLENCOM agent and environmental lawyer, Robert Spire, has his Austrian skiing holiday interrupted following the discovery and is tasked to investigate a Cologne-based company that appears to be linked to the events unfolding in Antarctica. Things soon take a sinister turn, as clues lead him to the discovery of a 70 year-old Nazi document. For Spire, the knowledge he now possesses can only lead to one thing – certain death, as he is pursued relentlessly across Eastern Europe.

A DECADES-OLD NAZI MYTH…

With Spire missing, and a second search and rescue operation to the melt zone going disastrously wrong, GLENCOM organise a third expedition to the region, this time with the assistance of cryoscientist and glaciologist Irina Loptinova. If Spire makes it back to England alive, he will face his most daunting challenge yet, an expedition to the melt zone to discover what lies buried beneath the ice.

RAPID ANTARCTIC ICE MELT…

A HUNT ACROSS EUROPE…

A DECADES-OLD NAZI MYTH…

MELT ZONE

PROLOGUE

BERLIN

4th August 1944

CAPTAIN OTTO BAUER hurried along the tree-lined bank of the Landwehrkanal toward the Bendlerblock, tightly clutching in his right hand, the dossier that had just been handed to him. The sun was low in the sky, leaving long shadows on the surface of the slow moving waterway and on the imposing stone building standing a short distance away on the opposite side of the canal, former headquarters to the Imperial German Navy.

Bauer stopped by a tree to catch his breath and mopped his forehead. He was certain someone had been following him, but there was no sign of anyone on the narrow path that ran alongside the canal. His heart was beating faster than it should be. He was only forty-five years old, and fit, but the contents of the dossier and the secrecy surrounding its delivery had scared the hell out of him. He was nervous and concerned for his safety, both factors no doubt causing his pulse to race.

He took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself, before continuing toward the bridge thirty metres further along the canal bank. He reached it safely and ran across and checked behind him. There was nobody there. He emerged from the trees on the other side of the bank and onto the main street, just as two armed guards marched past, MP44 assault rifles strapped to their shoulders.

Bauer checked the route was clear. One of the army’s latest tanks, a King Tiger was stationed some distance down the street, a visible show of security following last month’s failed attempt on Hitler’s life.

He approached the ministry building, which up until five weeks ago was occupied by the Wehrmacht officers who had plotted against the Fuhrer. Yellow light spilled out into the darkening evening from the building’s large square windows.

The ministry was under the control of the SS and housed the temporary office of SS Officer Erich Voss.

As he looked up at the imposing building, he wished the assassination attempt on Hitler had been successful. He secretly despised the man who was leading his great nation to destruction.

Otto Bauer raised his arm to the guard as he walked through the high rectangular door to the main entrance where a second armed guard greeted him and checked his papers. “Heil Hitler!” The guard said, allowing him through.

Bauer reluctantly returned the salute.

He walked briskly along the marble-floored corridor and up to the first floor where Voss’s office was situated. As he reached the landing he stopped to catch his breath again and ran his hand through his hair to tidy it. He glanced down at the manila folder in his hand. The words Streng Geheim; Top Secret – Deutsche Antarktis Basis, were emblazoned in red ink across the front.

He greeted another armed guard standing outside the door, knocked and walked into the room. “Heil Hitler!” He saluted Voss, who was sitting behind a large oak desk.

Heil Hitler!” Voss repeated calmly, looking up from some paperwork he was studying.

Bauer lowered his arm and handed the folder to his superior. “The information you requested Herr Voss. It doesn’t appear good, disaster has struck.”

Erich Voss raised his hand to silence him, remaining seated as he slowly scrutinised the documents that had been in the folder. “Has anyone else seen this information?” Voss asked, looking up.

Bauer shook his head. “Only my contact I assume Mein Herr.”

“Very well,” Voss said, inserting the documents back into the folder. “Your task is complete. I will inform Herr Himmler in the morning. The necessary orders will be given to resolve this matter.”

Bauer nodded. “Heil Hitler!” he said raising his arm.

Heil!” Voss replied, from behind his desk. “Guten abend Herr Bauer, I trust you will enjoy the rest of your evening. My guard will escort you out.”

Bauer nodded apprehensively and turned to leave the room. As he stepped into the corridor, the last thing he heard was a single gunshot, followed by the thud from his own body, as he hit the cold polished marble floor.

CHAPTER 1

Antarctica

Queen Maud Land

Present day

THE JANUARY SUMMER sun glared off the Antarctic ice sheet, making it difficult for the two-man, one woman team to see properly as they cautiously made their way across the expanse of white to the location locked into their hand-held GPS equipment.

Dr Adam Hancock raised the global positioning device nearer to his face and studied it through his tinted snow goggles to check their current position. “According to this, the area should be just eighty metres further on, over that elevated ridge,” he said, pointing.

Dr Adam Hancock and Dr Greg Neilson stopped to rest and studied the low ridge of ice and snow ahead.

Professor Amy Martin, the youngest member of the group trudged on, pulling her equipment-laden sled. “Come on you two. I told you I wouldn’t be hanging around for you. That’s why I asked for younger and fitter team mates!” she shouted, only half joking.

The two men shrugged at each other, picked up the ropes attached to their sleds and continued on toward the ridge.

The team of climatologists had been assembled at short notice by the UK’s Met Office and GLENCOM – Global Environmental Command Unit – to go and visually inspect and take ice-core samples and measurements from a large melt zone that had appeared over a vast area of glacier in Queen Maud Land, some three-hundred kilometres inland from Antarctica’s Southern Ocean coast. Photographs taken by ESA’s Envisat Satellite just before communication had been mysteriously lost, had shown the area of rapidly melting ice to be in the region of 100 square kilometres, and inexplicable in terms of global warming in the region.

Professor Amy Martin ascended the gentle ridge, elevated some three metres above the surrounding glacier. The Antarctic sky was an incredible deep blue, the temperature fifteen below zero according to her wrist monitor. She felt privileged to be part of the UK’s new environmental unit, GLENCOM, established to monitor the globe’s environmental health and to deal with any threats against it and its inhabitants. Field trips like this, she thought, made all the hard training worthwhile.

She reached the top of the ridge, sucked in the sub-zero air and looked out over a vast shallow depression, the glacier clearly melting as if from some mysterious, invisible heat source. She shook her head as she stared out across the glacial plain. High above in the azure sky a loan contrail was just about visible, the airliner creating it, a tiny silver spec as it crossed the South Pole.

The glacial plain extended, it seemed, forever in all directions, but Amy knew it ended abruptly approximately three-hundred kilometres north of their position in thirty metre-high sheer ice cliffs, lapped by the Southern Ocean. What the hell could be causing this? she wondered.

She raised her binoculars and surveyed the vast sea of white through her goggles. Some five kilometres away, off to the right, she spotted a mountain ridge, the jagged peaks protruding through the ice must be part of the Wohlthat Mountains, she assumed.

“See anything interesting?” Hancock asked, as he and Greg Neilson reached the top of the ridge.

“Yes, a vast area of glacier which appears to be melting, just like the satellite data suggested.”

Hancock checked his GPS equipment. “Coordinates check. This is definitely the right location.”

“You don’t need the GPS to tell us that,” Neilson said, wiping his brow. He bent down and pulled a piton from the bag on his sled, hammered it into the ice and looped the end of the rope of their sleds around it, preventing the sleds and equipment from sliding back down the slope. “Let’s have a look then,” he said, raising his binoculars.

Hancock did likewise, standing in silence on the vast ice plateau, looking for any clues as to what might be causing the surface of the glacier to melt.

The team had been flown in by helicopter from the Halley Research Station after a flight from the UK via Buenos Aires four days previously. The satellite photographs had been delivered to GLENCOM’s London base, after a routine pass of the area by ESA’s Envisat Satellite. It transpired that a keen intern working at the European Space Agency had compared recent photographs with a set taken three months earlier and had noticed the difference in topography, which had in turn led to the group’s speedy dispatch to Antarctica as soon as weather had permitted. The fact that ESA had now lost their massive Earth-observing satellite after only a decade in orbit was very unfortunate, as no further images from the satellite were possible.

Hancock checked the time, it was approaching four p.m. “The light’s beginning to fade and the temperature will start dropping significantly in a few hours. I suggest we get some ice-cores from various locations, insert the temperature monitoring pods and return tomorrow to get the rest done. What do you say?”

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Amy said.

“Let’s get on with it, I’m getting hungry,” Neilson added.

Hancock nodded and the two of them started unpacking the ice-core extraction equipment from the sleds.

“I’ll go and plant the temp sensor pods along the perimeter of the melt zone,” Amy said, making her way down the gently sloping ridge to the edge of the vast plateau of melting ice. She reached the level ground and started pulling the temperature sensor pods from her backpack. Each cylindrical device was about the size of a dumbbell, without the weights, and had a half-metre long ‘spike’ fitted with sensors that extended to secure it into the ice. Further sensors were fitted to the cylinder which rested above the level of the ice. The devices were designed to precisely measure the smallest variation in temperature above and below the surface of the glacier.

She made her way along the flat surface for three metres or so, following the edge of the ice bank that rose on her left and bent down and inserted the first sensor into the ice. The long stainless steel spike slid easily into the surface of the glacier, the ice making a dull squeak as its molecules were compressed as the spike was driven in.

She glanced up at the other two, still assembling the ice-core boring equipment at the top of the bank some ten metres away. She continued with her task and bent down to insert the second of the fifteen pods. As she forced the second sensor in, she heard a low distant rumble. She stopped what she was doing and listened, glancing up at the guys on the ridge. There was no reaction from them, they clearly hadn’t heard anything. Then she heard it again, but it couldn’t possibly be. The sound was coming from beneath the ice!

She knelt down and put the side of her head to the surface. The low rumble became louder, like a freight-train passing deep underneath. All of a sudden, a crack appeared, travelling out thirty metres from her position, accompanied by a sound like snapping tree branches. “What the hell?” she screamed, as the ice around her fractured into half-metre wide cracks, exposing the light blue compacted ice below.

“Guys, I’m in trouble,” she shouted, just as a twenty metre-wide chasm opened up beneath her.

Hancock and Neilson heard her screams. Neilson was the first to turn around to see what was going on. “What the hell? Amy… Amy!” he shouted.

A huge crevasse had opened in the ice where Amy had been placing the temp pods. From his position on the ridge, the crevasse looked like a bottomless hole, snow-white at the top, with blue, green and finally cobalt-steel ice visible lower down in the glacier.

Hancock dropped the ice core extractor, raised his binoculars and studied the scene, just as another huge split in the ice travelled at breakneck speed up the ridge towards their position.

“Get the hell outa here,” Neilson shouted, as the crack opened wider and engulfed the both of them before they could react. They fell some three metres down to a ledge that formed a two-metre wide spiral ramp which appeared to drop into the depths of the glacier.

Hancock reached for his ice pick and rammed it into the ice.

Neilson who was positioned slightly lower than him held onto his waist.

Hancock had his arm extended forward, his hand clenching the handle of his ice pick. “OK, don’t move a muscle,” he said, quietly.

“Jesus Christ, its far worse than I thought,” Neilson said, his voice trembling.

“Amy, are you OK?” Hancock shouted.

A faint voice echoed up from somewhere beneath them. “I…I think my legs are broken.”

“Thank God, she’s still alive,” Hancock said. “Greg, have you got the GPS homing beacon on you?”

Neilson carefully reached down to his belt. “Yes, I think so,” he said, after a few moments.

“Good, turn it on, be careful.”

As he spoke, the ice ramp they were resting on let out a squeak, quickly followed by a resonating crack, before finally giving way. The two of them slid uncontrollably down into the crevasse, landing awkwardly with a dull thud in an ice cavern some thirty-metres below the surface. Chunks of ice and snow landed all around them.

“Ah shit,” Neilson said, “I’ve sliced my hand on something.” He pulled it from the loose pile of snow and ice piled around them. His hand was dripping in blood; his little finger had been severed from his palm, attached only by a sliver of ripped flesh. He strapped it up with a handkerchief, feeling no pain from the wound.

Using his good hand, he carefully reached into the mound of snow, found the object that had caused the damage and yanked it to the surface. “What on Earth?”

His hand was clasped around the top half of a rusty metal dart, approximately one metre in length. The sharp end had separated from the main body. He had sliced his hand on one of three sharp steel fins at the stabilizing end. Embossed into each fin was a German swastika.

“Jesus, you guys took your time!” Amy shouted, from behind a vertical column of ice.

Hancock had landed on his side. He moved his legs and then pushed himself up with his left arm and yelped in pain. “Shit, I think my arm’s bust,” he said, looking at Neilson.

Neilson shuffled over and helped Hancock to his feet. “I appear to be alright. Apart from this,” he said, raising his injured hand into the air.

They found Amy a few metres away, behind a thick column of ice, lying on the floor alongside the sheer vertical side of the crevasse, her right leg twisted at an unnatural angle beneath her.

“Shit, are you in pain?” Hancock asked her.

“Only when I try and move,” Amy replied, gritting her teeth in obvious discomfort.

Neilson looked up the vertical wall of blue ice to the surface. The ice was a stunning powder blue where the sunlight struck the sides of the crevasse above, becoming almost cobalt blue, even turquoise lower down. The large crack they had fallen through couldn’t be seen, although light was still penetrating from the opening way above them. “We must be at least thirty metres down here.”

“Have you turned the GPS transponder on?” Amy asked.

“I was just about to when the ledge collapsed,” Neilson said. “I’ll do it now.” He trudged back to the location of their fall and his backpack. He removed the transponder from his bag and picked up the large metal dart that had sheered through his hand to show his two colleagues. He walked back to where they were both lying and held it up. “What do you suppose this is?”

“Where did you find it?” Amy asked.

“It must have been in the ice. Cut clean through my hand when I landed on it. There’s a Nazi swastika on the fin here.”

A what?

A loud rumble resonated up through the ice, shaking the surface beneath them. Snow and chunks of ice rained down from above, narrowly missing the three of them.

“What the hell was that?” Neilson shouted.

Then, the vertical ice face in front of them started to crack. A large split travelled up some ten metres from the base of the cave, then moved horizontally the same distance and back down again, forming a large square in the solid ice.

What on Earth?” Amy said, as the other two dragged her away from the vertical wall.

Without warning the large square section of ice fell away, shattering on the cavern floor like a sheet of glass.

The stunned climatologists looked up in silence. Behind the wall of ice was a solid surface, steel-grey in colour and apparently man-made. A seam could clearly be made out running centrally up the middle of the structure, similar to the closed doors on an elevator.

The three of them looked at each other, momentarily lost for words. “OK guys, this is freaking me out. Please tell me what we’re looking at,” Amy said, taking out her TerreStar satellite phone.

“I got no God damn idea,” Hancock said, shaking his head. He slowly moved over to the solid steel wall, the only sound was a squeaking coming from the snow and ice as it compacted under his boots. “Look over here, there are markings, some kind of inscription,” he said.

Neilson moved forward to take a closer look.

Amy handed him the phone. “Get a photo of it.”

He took a photograph of the faint lettering, positioned at shoulder height on the far right hand side of the steel structure.

He handed the phone back to Amy. “Quick, send the image back to GLENCOM.”

Amy did as requested, her fingers trembling from the cold, and now fear. As she pressed the send button, the ground beneath them started to shake again, followed by a hydraulic groan which emanated from behind the steel structure. Then, the seam in the centre started to separate. Blocks of ice started falling down again, missing them by inches.

My God, it’s opening up!” Neilson shouted, moving back from the structure.

The massive steel door slowly parted, like elevator doors in slow motion. As it opened, they could see the door was made from at least thirty-centimetre thick steel, possibly coated in stainless steel, as no rust or corrosion was evident. The hydraulic whine got louder.

“This is incredible,” Hancock said, looking at each of his colleagues in turn.

The doors continued opening, retracting, it appeared into the ice, but obviously into the solid structure now visible within the glacier.

They all stared into the dark void, which seemingly stretching into the depths of the glacier. A rectangular tunnel, ten metres square, constructed from virtually seamless steel panels disappeared into the darkness. At the base of it, a deep central groove, like an inverted monorail track was visible.

In the darkness a pin-prick of light blinked on, glowing deep red and gradually getting larger.

The three climatologists shielded their faces as a blast of hot air rushed out of the tunnel. Before they could comprehend what was happening, the ball of light grew to fill the shaft, glowing brighter, becoming hotter.

A resonating and low frequency hum filled the ice cave. The heat from the red glowing object became unbearable. Then, a red orb emerged from the tunnel, engulfing Hancock and Neilson in flames.

Amy closed her eyes, her hair now charged with static and standing on end, the searing heat burning into her for an instant. The pain was excruciating, the intense red light visible through her eyelids like a furnace and then…darkness again.

The flight attendant on the Qantas A380 Airbus en route to Los Angeles lent over the sleeping passenger seated in the aisle seat of the rear upper Premium Economy cabin. “There you go sir, enjoy,” she said, in a soft Australian accent, handing the passenger his vodka and tonic.

“Thank you,” Anthony John said, straightening his seat. He stirred his drink and glanced out of the window at the glistening glacial ice eleven thousand metres below.

John relaxed back into his seat, thinking about the meeting he’d had the day before in Sidney, negotiations to expand his LA based architectural practise into one of Sidney’s up and coming suburbs. His thoughts drifted from building design to the design and engineering of the aircraft he was on. The last time he’d flown to Australia was on a 747, but this plane was incredible, he could barely hear any sound from the four massive Rolls Royce Trent 900 engines.

Most of the passengers in the quiet cabin appeared to be dozing. He sipped his drink and looked out of the window at the coastline of Antarctica below. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something, a pin-prick of red light against the white. It appeared to be the afterburner from a fighter jet.

He sat up in his seat and pressed his face to the window. The red glow was getting brighter, larger. What the hell was it? John glanced around the cabin; no one else appeared to have noticed. The woman beside him was still sleeping.

He estimated the object to be some five-thousand feet below the plane, perhaps two miles behind. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before. Stories of UFO sightings he’d read about flashed through his mind. He couldn’t think what he could be looking at. The red glow became brighter. He looked for the flight attendant, but she was way down the opposite end of the aisle. He looked back out of the window. The object was now almost level with the aircraft, still some distance behind, off the starboard side. Had the pilots seen it?

The cabin’s LED lights faded, blinked out and flickered on again. John stared aghast as the truck-sized glowing orb flew level with the aircraft, like a ball of plasma, which appeared to be under intelligent control. His drink slipped through his hand, spilling over his neighbour, waking her with a start. John was oblivious to her protestations as he watched the object accelerate toward the front of the aircraft.

Captain James Hunter tapped the Primary Flight liquid crystal display screen in front of him. “That’s never happened before,” he said, glancing at First Officer Roger Stapleton. “Have you noticed that happening on any other flight?”

“Never,” Stapleton said, frowning at the flickering display.

Suddenly the aircraft’s flight management system registered an overload in the electrical power supply to the electro-hydrostatic actuators controlling the ailerons. Red lights blinked on the console in front of them. The interconnecting wing ailerons tilted, one up, one down sending the aircraft into a roll. The FMS instructed the four Trent engines to reduce power in response.

“Christ, disengaged the autopilot,” Captain Hunter shouted as the A380 started to stall.

As Hunter and Stapleton yanked the four engine thrust levers back they were blinded as the cockpit was bathed in a powerful red light.

“What the hell is that?” Captain Hunter shouted, wrestling with the Airbus’s controls as the A380 went into a steep rolling dive; dropping through the air like a stone toward the vast white continent of Antarctica below.

A light on the console confirmed the cabin’s oxygen equipment had been deployed; the two pilots had already donned theirs. The digits on the altimeter were going crazy – they had already dropped thirteen thousand feet.

Through the flight-deck windows the pilots watched the glowing orb track the aircraft as they descended. Then, in an instant the red glow blinked out as quickly as it had appeared. Three seconds later engine thrust returned to normal and the electrical fault with the ailerons appeared to correct itself.

Captain Hunter shook his head and wiped his brow as the A380 levelled off at 5,875 feet.

“Mayday, mayday,” the first officer shouted into his headset. This is Qantas flight F-WWSK AIB–SK on route to Los Angeles, requesting an emergency landing.”

There was a pause in the static, and a clear voice said; “This is Mount Pleasant ATC, Falkland Islands, please confirm current status and reason for request?”

“Electrical fault. We just dropped twenty-five thousand feet. Problem appears to have rectified itself for now. Repeat request for emergency landing, over.”

There was a further pause. “Permission granted. You are cleared to land at Mount Pleasant Airport, over.”

Captain Hunter exhaled a sigh of relief. “I’d better reassure the passengers. I don’t know what the hell that thing was, but I’m not going to hold anything back in the debriefing.”

Stapleton nodded. “I need the toilet,” he said, unbuckling himself.

CHAPTER 2

Cologne, Germany

January 30th

BAREND HUBER SPLASHED cold water onto his face and looked at his tired reflection in the bathroom mirror. He grabbed a handful of paper towels to dry himself. He felt like he’d done a full cycle in a washing machine. He was exhausted from sleepless nights, anxiety and fear. Fear from what he’d discovered last Sunday afternoon when he’d been working overtime, trying to finish a report before his planned two weeks leave which was due to commence tomorrow.

He picked up his glasses from the white melamine counter and put them back on, a slight tremor evident in his right hand. He checked the time; 3.30 p.m., only another thirty minutes and he could leave.

He was still planning on taking a two week holiday, but the discovery he’d made last Sunday now changed things. The information he possessed meant he couldn’t return to work, certainly not after the involvement of the press and the cash offer he’d received for the information from a local reporter, who’d agreed to publish the story anonymously in Der Tagesspiegel.

The bathroom door opened and a man he hadn’t seen before walked in. “Guten tag,” the man said, disappearing into one of the cubicles.

Huber wasn’t entirely surprised he didn’t recognise the employee. The ZVB Korporation employed about three hundred people and new employees seemed to come and go all the time. Older staff retired or just seemed to disappear, new staff recruited.

Huber had been employed for three years as part of a small research team, specialising in bionics – computer neuron control systems. His was a niche department within the corporation, whose work primarily focussed on the biofuel sector. At least that’s what he’d thought until last Sunday.

He left the bathroom, the palms of his hands already feeling sweaty, and walked along the burgundy carpeted corridor to his office which he shared with three other colleagues, none of whom he particularly trusted.

He sat down at his desk and started packing up and making sure his computer had been wiped clean of all personal records and e-mails.

“Looking forward to your vacation? Lake Starnberg isn’t it?” Sandra Hoch asked, whilst continuing to type in program code for a new bionic horse limb the team had been working on.

“Yes, I’m looking forward to the break. My eyes need a rest from these screens,” he replied, forcing a smile. As he spoke, he glanced down at his locked drawer containing the folder of information and felt his forehead perspiring. He’d come across the data hidden on an obscure file buried in one of the company’s seldom-used hard drives. The folder had been given the name ‘ZVB Korporation Original Building Plans 1972.’ Intrigued, Huber had overridden the secure password and opened the folder. Amongst the plans for the building that would eventually house the corporation, were a series of grainy black and white photographs, memos and documents marked Streng Geheim – Top Secret. The secret nature of the folder had proven to have been too tempting to ignore. The contents of it had taken him a while to digest, and even now a shiver ran down his spine as he thought about the material.

Huber finished deleting the last of his personal messages and set his ‘Out Of Office’ assistant and closed down the computer.

“That’s me done; no more computers for two weeks,” he said, his stomach churning over at the thought of removing the printed secret documents from the premises.

“Anything you need us to take care of while you’re gone?” Hoch asked.

“Everything should be fine. I’ve completed the final report on the motor-neuron connectors for the equine limbs. The third generation human bionic arm program doesn’t start until a week after I get back, so everything should be fine.”

“Very well,” Hoch said, smiling. “Enjoy your vacation.”

Huber nodded and reached down to unlock his desk drawer, pulled the A4 folder out and quickly shoved it into his ruck sack. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief, smiled again at Sandra Hoch for the last time and stood to leave the room.

As he went to leave, one of the office cleaners entered the room. “Guten tag Barend,” he said.

“Guten tag,” Huber replied. “I’m just leaving, getting out of here for two weeks, a well-earned vacation,” he said to Hans Klein, whom he was on speaking terms with. Klein was one of the only cleaners who’d managed to keep his job the entire time Huber had been there. Most had gone; it seemed, within six months or so. Klein appeared to be quite a bright man, and Huber wondered why he was working as an office cleaner, his intellect was clearly wasted here.

“Anywhere fancy?” The cleaner asked.

“Not really, just Lake Starnburg for two weeks.”

“Ah, good. Enjoy,” the cleaner said, placing his right arm around Huber’s shoulder momentarily, before gently slapping him on the back.

Huber hadn’t noticed the cleaner being quite so tactile before. Nice chap, he thought, as he hurried along the corridor to the elevator that would take him down to the foyer.

The elevator’s doors pinged open. Huber’s stomach immediately turned over as he stepped out and saw the metal detector and X-ray scanner every employee and visitor needed to go through when entering the premises. Sometimes, when it was quiet, the guards would also check people leaving the building, and to Huber’s concern, the foyer was looking very quiet right now. As he approached the exit, both guards, dressed in their official dark-blue trousers and white shirt uniforms were leaning against one of the desks behind the X-ray scanner, talking. He sensed them watching him as he approached the exit and he glanced towards them briefly.

The guard with a blonde buzz cut caught his eye and nodded, pushed himself off the table and started walking towards him.

Huber felt a wave of panic come over him as he thought about the file in his rucksack, his pulse started racing.

At the same moment, three Japanese businessmen walked into the building, each carrying black briefcases. The guard with the buzz cut glanced at Huber, nodded as if to say, you’re OK and went to greet the three men, ushering them toward the security area.

Huber quickly exited through the revolving glass doors onto the street and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d made it. He pulled his collar up against the biting wind. The sky was grey and it looked like it was about to snow at any time. He didn’t fancy the thirty minute walk and headed for the U-Bahn to take the underground three stops northwest to a discreet café where he’d arranged to meet the reporter. It was then only a stone’s throw to his apartment where Hannah, his partner of six years would be waiting for him.

On the sixth floor of the ZVB Korp building, the cleaner looked out of the window to the street below and watched Gerand Huber walk briskly east.  He turned off the vacuum and closed the office door. Sandra Hoch had just left.

He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a small smartphone which had just four round black buttons on it and a screen. He depressed button 3 and spoke quietly into the phone. “Target has been tagged and has just left, heading towards the U-Bahn station. He has the papers in his rucksack. Viel gluck.”

The cleaner calmly removed the miniature camera he’d hidden some weeks back from the potted cactus plant on the window sill behind Huber’s desk, brushed the dry earth off the white plastic sill onto the floor and resumed vacuuming.

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