Titanic 2012 (inspector alastair ransom) Read online

  And what of that strange report given by Boxall at the inquest that he had seen a ship off in the distance and had sent a distress signal via Morse code using the SOS signal for the first time in maritime history? But then he reports it simply disappeared as if all lights had been shut down on this mystery ship. Had Boxall seen it at all? Or had he sent a message that said clear off, that all was well aboard Titanic? As per Captain’s orders at the time?

  David Then read on in Kilborn’s account taken from the records of two inquiries, one made in America via the Senate, one made in London via Parliament. Kilborn’s next entry sent a chill up David’s spine as it read:

  1:45 AM: Last words heard from Titanic by the Carpathia on her way to the rescue - "… Engine room full up to boilers… " Port-side boat No. 3 is lowered and leaves with only 25 people. She can carry 40.

  1:55 AM: John Jacob Astor, refused entry to port-side boat No. 4 by Lightoller, sees his wife off safely as boat is lowered with 40 women and children and some crew aboard. In the rush, 20 places in the boat are left empty.

  2:00 AM: Water now only ten feet below Promenade Deck.

  2:05 AM: There are now still over 1,500 people left on the sinking ship. Collapsible D is one of the last boats left. It has room for 47 people. To prevent a rush on the boat, Lightoller waves (and possibly fires) his pistol into the air and crew members form a circle around it, with arms locked together, allowing only women and children aboard. The boat is lowered with 44 aboard. Titanic's forecastle head sinks under water, the tilt of her decks growing steeper.

  2:10 AM: Captain Smith releases wireless operators from their duties.

  2:17 AM: Wireless operator Phillips continues to send last radio message. Captain Smith tells crew members, "It's every man for himself," and is seen returning to the bridge, possibly to await the end. Thomas Andrews, the ship's builder, is seen alone in the first-class smoking room staring into space.

  Titanic's bow plunges under, enabling the ensnared collapsible B to float clear of the ship but she is upside down. Meanwhile, Father Thomas Byles hears confession and gives absolution to over one hundred second and third-class passengers gathered at the aft end of the Boat Deck. The ship's band stops playing. Many passengers and crew jump overboard moments before Titanic's forward funnel collapses, crushing a number of swimming passengers.

  Collapsible A now floats free and about two dozen people in the water grab hold of it. It clears right side up, but is swamped and dangerously overloaded. Much later, Lowe, in boat No. 14, saves them just before dawn. Probably as many as half, however, have died.

  2:18 AM: A huge roar is heard as all moveable objects inside Titanic crash toward the submerged bow. The ship's lights blink once and then go out. Many survivors witness the ship rip itself apart, breaking in two. The bow half sinks.

  2:20 AM: Titanic's broken-off stern section settles back into the water, righting itself for a few moments. Slowly it fills with water and again tilts its stern high into the air before slowly sinking into the sea. Over 1,500 souls are lost in the greatest maritime disaster in history.

  David had read this and all the accounts of Titanic’s demise many times over, how it had taken less than two and a half hours from point of impact with the ice to her slipping below the calm sea that night. What had never troubled him before in his reading was Murdoch’s having “instinctively” called hard-a-starboard to his helmsman and his ordering the engine room to stop engines followed by full astern. David realized now that it would have made more sense to give these orders in reverse—full astern, kill engines, hard to starboard. Ingles could not help but wonder now if it was human error, wrongful instinct, or captain’s orders? He continued to search for inconsistencies and what might be construed as outright lies in the testimony that Kilborn cited in his pages which David, his Kindle reader reflected in his glasses, continued to read:

  3:30 AM: With Titanic no longer of this earth, The Carpathia's flares rise over the scene and those aboard the rescue ship sight lifeboats in the water. Carpathia’s normal speed is 14½ knots, but she has raced to the rescue at a shuddering 17½ knots.

  4:10 AM: First boat, No. 2, is picked up by the Carpathia. Ice floes all about the disaster area amid debris from Titanic.

  5:30 AM: The Californian advised by the Frankfort of the loss of Titanic makes for the disaster area.

  5:30 to 6:30 AM: Collapsible A survivors rescued by boat No. 14, and collapsible B by boats 4 and 12.

  8:30 AM: Last boat, No. 12, picked up by the Carpathia. Lightoller is the last survivor to come on board. The Californian arrives at the disaster site, comes alongside Carpathia, and then she steams through the disaster area to make a final sweep for survivors or bodies in the water.

  8:50 AM: The Carpathia leaves the disaster area bound for New York. She carries 705 survivors and one dog named Varmint. An estimated 1,522 souls have been lost. Ismay wires White Star New York offices: "Deeply regret advise you Titanic sank this morning after collision with iceberg, resulting in serious loss of life. Full particulars later."

  April 17: Three days later, hired by White Star Line, the Mackay-Bennett leaves Halifax to search for bodies at the disaster site. They find hundreds they pluck from the ocean and place on deck; from a distance, the cargo looks like cordwood. They fast run out of room on the boat for the corpses.

  April 18, 9:00 PM: Carpathia arrives in New York Harbor. She outruns hordes of newspaper reporters in boats clamoring for news. As the Carpathia passes the Statue of Liberty, 10,000 people are on hand to watch. Titanic's lifeboats hang at Carpathia’s sides like a somber catch. She passes the Cunard pier (no. 54) and steams onward up-river to the White Star piers. There the crew lowers Titanic's boats. The Carpathia then returns to the Cunard pier to finally unload the survivors.

  April 19 to May 25: Inquiry into the Titanic disaster undertaken by United States Senate Inquiry, headed by Senator William A. Smith. Eighty-two witnesses are called.

  April 22: White Star sends the Minia out from Halifax to help overtaxed Mackay-Bennett, which has picked up 306 bodies. The Minia finds only a mere 17 after a week-long search.

  David put aside his K6 Kindle reader, saddened once again at the plight of those on board the sinking ship that night. What made Titanic’s fate so tragic and heart-wrenching was the certainty of all those aboard thinking themselves in a safe place of warmth, lights, beautiful finery, and grace—like the house of the gods. Like a great, gilded floating terra firma below their feet. Everyone had been lulled into believing that they were in a sense on solid ground in a place where no harm could come to them aboard a well-lit, warmly heated, comfortable and lovely ‘unsinkable’ ship. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. Especially if it was an inside job.

  Anything manmade had the potential for disaster. Why hadn’t they been keenly aware of this during these years of the great Industrial Revolution that coincided with the Gilded Age? That fateful night everything that could have gone wrong simply did. Perhaps some things unseen… some things no one to this day would believe had hastened this fate—indeed had shaped this fate. Alastair Ransom, Declan Irvin, and Thomas Coogan had also shaped this fate, as had Captain Smith, Murdoch, Lightoller, and no telling how many others. Perhaps it was Titanic’s destiny from the beginning. Or was it? What could they’ve done? What could any one of them have done?

  And how did that dog get off the ship when so many people could not get off Titanic in any safe manner?

  TWENTY ONE

  Trinity came in sight of Titanic at anchor offshore at Cherbourg, France, a beautiful cove bathed in morning light on April 12 of 1912. As there was no pier large enough to accommodate the ship of ships gracing the harbor, boarding passengers must transport themselves and their bags via shuttle by boat-trains that were being de-boarded directly onto Titanic.

  Once again, those aboard Trinity saw the familiar sight of four smokestacks as they approached. With Titanic at anchor, with waters as still as glass, and what with the boat- trains coming
and going from Cherbourg pier to the giant ship, Ransom and the others were more hopeful this time of getting aboard and stating their case for quarantine before Titanic set sail for America.

  Once again the beautiful schooner caught the attention of people aboard Titanic, and a wave of excitement filled the air as Trinity lowered her sails and came rushing at the monster ship under the deft hand of Captain McEachern, who this time brought her alongside Titanic only so far, not about to make the same mistake as before.

  Ransom rushed to McEachern and pleaded, “Why have you stopped?”

  “Can’t you feel that? Underfoot, man? Under your toes, man?” asked the captain.

  Ransom, indeed, everyone aboard Trinity felt vibration created by the displacement of water—a kind of underwater shock wave that amounted to a huge draught shuddering through the schooner and the boat train. This even as Titanic sat in an idle position, all engines stopped. She still displaced a huge amount of water, enough to scuttle the schooner that was dwarfed before her.

  Captain McEachern refused to go any closer to the massive ship and instead made for the piers at Cherbourg. Once docked, McEachern pointed to an enormous tender that had obviously been busy boarding goods and more passengers. “We’ll get you aboard the tender, and from there you’re on your own, Constable, and this voucher you gave me—” he waved the IOU overhead—“better be good in Belfast! Else I’ll send some men around to find you, sir.”

  “I assure you—Chief Constable Reahall will honor your bill for services rendered, Captain.”

  It took but little time for the gangplank from the schooner to make connection with the pier, and even here at the docks with Titanic hundreds of yards off and looking like a behemoth from Greek mythology sitting atop the ocean, the schooner was being sucked in and out and rammed against the boards. Crewmen worked to place cushioning rubber tires between the dock and the rails of Trinity to absorb the impact while Ransom, Declan, and Thomas rushed to get aboard the tender preparing to make its way out to Titanic.

  “How will we gain access to the tender, much less Titanic?” asked Declan, panting as they rushed through the throng of people who’d come out to simply look at Titanic.

  “I pray the French authorities will respect the badge!” he held up his Belfast shield, asking people to move aside as the three pounded their way to the tender which amounted to a large, floating pier stacked high with goods from French companies—some labeled for New York from Paris.

  A large contingent of ticket-holders also filled the spaces of what appeared a hundred yard square platform about to ferry everyone and everything out to Titanic. While goods appeared to be loaded at one end, a queue with a gatekeeper and ticket puncher held up the final line of boarding passengers.

  “Follow me, boys,” Ransom said to the young interns.

  He pushed his way through the final crowd and flashed his badge at the gatekeeper and ticket man. “It is imperative I have a few minutes with your Captain Smith aboard Titanic. We have sent him messages and chased his ship all the way from Belfast. There is a murderer aboard and my two deputies and myself are here to apprehend him and take him off at the scheduled stop at Queenstown. We need your cooperation, sirs.”

  “Murderer indeed, sir?”

  “Aye—killed many a man this villain has. Will you help us to end his career? He could end the life of anyone here you are now boarding.” Ransom swept a hand in the direction of the men, women, and children in line. “Think of the loss of humanity should a bomb be placed aboard that monster ship of yours.”

  The two men at the gate exchanged a look at one another, eyes wide, exaggerating their response moments before they both broke out laughing at Ransom. One commented on the youth of his deputies and the other the lengths to which people will go to get aboard Titanic. “Thought we’d heard it all, eh Wally?” said one to the other.

  In the end, they were barred from the tender when the gatekeepers began calling for an armed guard who was nearby.

  “All right… all right,” Ransom said, hands held high. “When murder occurs aboard that ship, sirs, it is on your head then. Come along, men!” Ransom led Declan and Thomas off.

  “We might’ve shown them the pictures!” Declan said, slapping his leather bag beneath his armpit.

  “Those two weren’t going to be moved,” replied Ransom, “but I think others will be. Come along.”

  Ransom led them to where the goods were being loaded, and there he found the man in charge, and as it turned out, it was a fellow in uniform—an officer from the Titanic who’d earlier come over by life boat with the crew that now worked to get all the necessary goods aboard not just for the trip to New York but for the trip back.

  “Sir, a word with you, sir.”

  “Can you not see, I am hard at it, sir, and time is of the essence?”

  Alastair Ransom introduced himself, again flashing his badge in the sun, its reflection blinding the officer, “And I must speak face-to-face with Captain Edward Smith to impart facts of a highly confidential nature.”

  “What is your concern, Constable?”

  “Surely, your captain has gotten Marconi messages to the effect that death itself is aboard your ship, messages from the Belfast authorities.”

  “Messages of death aboard?” asked the officer. “I am Second Officer Charles Lightoller, Constable, and it is unlikely Captain Smith would share such wireless messages with me, but if such were so, rumors most surely would’ve reached me.”

  “And surely there must be rumors among the crew? The officers perhaps? The men receiving the messages from my boss to yours? Any whispers of sabotage… anarchists, for instance?”

  “Anarchists? Aboard Titanic?”

  “It is a possibility. Surely your wireless operator put our message into Smith’s hands.”

  Lightoller, a man with the features of a boy, took off his officer’s cap and ran his fingers gingerly through his thinning hair. “The Marconi Company men are extremely professional, sir, and not given to loose tongues; they value their jobs, after all.”

  Lightoller looked to be a bright young officer with a future ahead of him, Ransom thought, if he’d only listen. “Mr. Lightoller, please, just have a look at our evidence you have a killer aboard Titanic, and that before you set sail for New York, you must allow us to bring this to your captain’s attention. Declan! Show him the photographs—the results of this… this fiendish murderer quite possibly lurking about the shadows in the depths of Titanic this moment.”

  Declan snatched out the photos they’d brought with them for Charles Lightoller’s perusal. Lightoller gasped at the images of the bodies—before and after dissection—and he hardly knew what he was looking at.

  “This killer,” Ransom said in his ear, “works fast and he spreads a horrible disease wherever he goes, Mr. Lightoller—a plague, and if that plague gets underway as Titanic gets underway—Charles, can I call you Charles, son?”

  “Yes sir… sounds bloody serious; something… something…”

  “Something your captain needs to take seriously, Charles.”

  Lightoller swallowed hard. “All right, come on aboard; I’ll see to it you have an audience with Captain Smith.”

  “Good… good.” Ransom and his young associates stepped aboard and found comfortable places to sit about the crates. Lightoller hurried the loading and soon all passengers had been welcomed aboard.

  The huge floating tender began now making its way toward Titanic, and Ransom and the young interns relaxed; Ransom’s words to Lightoller had gotten the right reaction. He’d couched the danger in the perfect terms to move the man—that and the photographic evidence. Lightoller had stepped off, muttering, “To burn a man to death like that—awful… just awful.”

  The images in the photos did look like men who’d been incinerated; there was no way to capture the true appearance of a victim of this thing—certainly not on a grainy, two-dimensional, black and white photograph. Still the photos had had the desired result, to get
them aboard Titanic and before the only man capable of stopping the ship where it sat and ordering a quarantine.

  They would then set up a proper method of determining how to hunt this thing down, trap it, and destroy it… destroy the carrier. Fear also ran high that at some point—left to flourish, this thing would accomplish its single-minded purpose to reproduce and would replenish its kind.

  Declan, Thomas, and Ransom went to the other side of the tender and creeping up before them was the huge open hatchway at sea level where all passengers, trunks, bags and crates were to be loaded onboard. For Thomas and Declan, it recalled the night Pinkerton Agent Tuttle shouted down at them to stay off the ship, that Tuttle didn’t know where Anton Fiore might be. For Alastair it recalled standing before this gaping wall of blackness with Reahall at his back telling him he knew his darkest secrets. The same night those two interns knocked at his door and had dragged him into this crazy, madcap chase after an unknown killer none of them knew enough about—a killer toward which they’d run. Reahall had been smart enough to run in the opposite direction.

  Then Ransom had someone, a young woman of obvious breeding and some wealth, carrying an umbrella over her head, speaking in his ear, saying, “I was to’ve traveled on the seventh, you know, on the George Washington for New York, but when I heard of this fantastic wonderful new boat was leaving on the 10th, three days after Easter Sunday I changed my passage, and why not? I covered the spring fashions at the Easter Sunday races! You know, to learn Titanic will dock in New York the same day as George Washington! What a boon!”

  “I see, reporting on the Easter parade of fashions, is it, ma’am?” he replied, unsure what else he might say when he realized the couple she stood with were the well-photographed Astors—Mr. and Mrs. John Jacob Astor. Astor was the richest man on the globe, an American tycoon on his way to New York via Titanic.