chapter 2

BERMUDA

The usually bustling Bermuda Airport was eerily quiet as Air Force One touched down. The silence was broken only by the hum of engines as a line of jets prepared for landing. This wasn’t a typical visit; the emptiness of the terminal hinted at something more clandestine.

A convoy of black limousines, each flying the Bermuda flag, cut a path through the deserted streets, heading toward the docks. The absence of any onlookers added to the surreal atmosphere. At the docks, the limousines stopped beside a majestic 80-foot Nautitech Catamaran, its sleek form ready to sail into the unknown.

Inside one of the limousines, Jack sat anxiously with Milanowski and Sheldon. Milanowski peered through the tinted windows, her expression one of growing unease.

“The security here is more than I expected for Bermuda. Did anyone notice that the streets are clear? There’s literally no one out there,” Milanowski remarked, her voice barely concealing her concern.

Jack nodded, his jaw clenched. “I noticed. Did you contact the Vice President?”

“Yes, and the Secretary of Defense,” Milanowski confirmed, her phone still in hand.

Sheldon leaned forward, his face confused. “Jack, exactly why are we here? Bermuda hasn’t got anything we need. No raw materials. No fossil fuels. No diamonds. No gold. The British can have them. We don’t need this.”

Jack’s eyes flashed with a mixture of frustration and determination. “I am the President of the United States, a country that has been at war, rumored to be at war, and that has declared war every year for the past five years. I’m sick of it.”

Sheldon softened, trying to understand. “I understand, Jack. I do. I’ve been at this for five different administrations. But there’s nothing on the radar that suggests Bermuda, of all places, has any hope of helping mankind. I don’t care what Brangman’s message said.”

Jack’s expression darkened as he remembered the cryptic message. “Something like this wouldn’t be on our radar, Sheldon.”

Sheldon’s curiosity piqued. “Something like what?”

“Brangman said they found something. On the ocean floor,” Jack revealed, the weight of the unknown pressing down on them.

The catamaran cut through the Atlantic, its sleek form gliding over the deepening waters. Fifty-plus politicians and their security escorts gathered on the deck, tension crackling in the air. Afareen Zarindoost, wife of the Iranian President Pirooz Zarindoost, huddled close to her husband. Jack spotted Hiroto and approached him with a smile.

Hiroto bowed, his face lighting up with warmth. “It is good to see you again, my friend.”

Jack clasped his hand firmly. “I’ve got no choice, Hiroto. And thanks for voting to let me have the floor.”

Yanin Saendaeng, the exotic and composed Prime Minister of Thailand, approached them. Her eyes met Jack’s, and a flicker of history and fondness passed between them. She bowed to Hiroto.

“Good evening, Prime Minister Mori.”

Hiroto returned the bow, his demeanor respectful. “Good evening, Deputy Prime Minister Saendaeng.”

“Please, call me Yanin.” She turned to Jack with a soft smile. “Hello, Jack.”

Jack’s attempt at a platonic kiss on her cheek was awkward but sincere. “Hello, Yanin. It’s good to see you. As always.”

Their gaze lingered, the unspoken connection palpable. Hiroto, feeling like a third wheel, excused himself. “Jack, I should go... besides, I need to speak with Jean-Philippe Gagnon.”

Yanin indicated the direction with a nod. “The Canadian Prime Minister is astern, Mr. Mori.”

Hiroto bowed once more before leaving them. Jack moved closer to Yanin, their proximity charged with unresolved tension.

“Are we that obvious?” he asked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Yanin teased back, “That depends. Is that a satellite phone in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Jack chuckled, feeling a rare moment of lightness. “Both.”

Their laughter was brief but genuine, a small reprieve from the looming uncertainties. Yanin’s hand found Jack’s, and she squeezed it gently. “I’m really sorry about James.”

Jack’s face clouded with sorrow. “That’s what I get for raising a son who believed that there was still honor in fighting for his country. I think about it, and in a weird way, I’m grateful that Tess didn’t see it happen.”

Yanin’s voice was soft, empathetic. “How long has it been now?”

Jack’s expression turned distant. “I haven’t thought about it. It’s been three years since Tess died of leukemia.”

Milanowski approached, her presence breaking the intimate moment. Yanin released Jack’s hand and greeted her. “Deputy Prime Minister Saendaeng, it’s good to see you again.”

Milanowski nodded. “You too, Cindy. And please, call me Yanin.”

Jack noticed Milanowski struggling with her cell phone. “New phone?”

She shook her head, frustrated. “I had a signal, but there’s some sort of interference. GPS is total shit, but I have a good idea where we are right now...” She paused for effect, her eyes serious. “The Bermuda Triangle.”

Jack’s concern deepened, and Yanin looked confused. The implications of their location hung heavy in the air.

The sky had darkened to a deep purple, and the faint lights of distant ships flickered on the horizon.

Yanin’s curiosity got the better of her. “What exactly is the Bermuda Triangle?”

Jack leaned on the railing, his gaze lost in the waves. “The Bermuda Triangle is an area in the western region of the Atlantic Ocean. It’s often referred to as the Devil's Triangle because myths allege that planes and ships have disappeared under mysterious circumstances.”

Yanin’s eyes widened. “Disappeared?”

Jack nodded, his tone grave. “Vanished without a trace. Weird folks tend to blame the disappearances on supernatural or extraterrestrial events.”

Yanin looked incredulous. “As in... aliens?”

“Oh yeah. There’s a lot of that here. Roswell. Area 51. My country is ripe with alien conspiracy theories.”

Yanin glanced past Jack, her attention drawn to Bo Huang, the stern Premier of the People's Republic of China.

“I didn’t expect the Chinese to be here.”

Jack’s gaze hardened as he watched Huang. “Premier Huang? I’m surprised myself.”

Yanin noticed the tension in Jack’s expression. “Jack? What was that look about?”

Jack forced a smile, his demeanor shifting. “Look? What look?”

Behind them, voices grew louder until a screaming match erupted. Shouts in French and Italian filled the air, adding to the growing sense of chaos.

Michel Mercier, the sophisticated, silver-haired Prime Minister of France, was red-faced with anger. His opponent, Antonio Galla, mirrored his rage, both men hurling a mixture of French and Italian profanities at each other.

“You know something about this,” Antonio accused Michel, his voice a growl. “What do you know?”

“I know nothing. I received the same message you did,” Michel snapped back, his tone sharp and dismissive.

Antonio’s eyes narrowed, his suspicion clear. “No, no, you made an unscheduled flight to Bermuda last year—”

“That was for a vacation, idiot!” Michel shot back, then paused, a new realization dawning. “How did you know that? Are you spying on me?”

They jumped at each other, faces inches apart, their voices rising in a cacophony of anger and accusation. Jiaoji, a massive figure, stepped between them effortlessly, pulling the raging men apart.

“That’s enough, gentlemen,” Jiaoji’s voice was firm, brooking no argument. “We’re all in the same boat...literally.” His gaze shifted, staring into the distance. “I think we have much larger concerns.”

Following his fixed gaze, the others turned to look in the direction he was staring.

An enormous offshore oil rig loomed on the horizon, its skeletal structure illuminated by eerie green and amber lights. The catamaran sailed closer, dwarfed by the seven-hundred-foot-tall giant, which had a platform base the size of a football field.

Everyone on the catamaran stared, some gasping audibly at the sight. Antonio crossed himself, murmuring a prayer. “In the name of Jesus, cover us with your grace, my Lord.”

A man wearing a sports coat with the emblem of the Brazilian flag stepped forward, his eyes wide with awe. “It’s four times the size of the oil rig that sank off the coast of my homeland in Brazil,” he said, almost to himself.

“Wasn’t the structure in Brazil the largest oil rig in the world?” asked another man, his South African accent unmistakable.

The Brazilian nodded, his awe palpable. “Yes...but I no longer think we continue to hold that distinction.”

With Milanowski behind them, Jack and Yanin moved closer for a better look. Jack's mind raced with the implications of such a massive structure. “To build a rig that big, they must’ve found something really...big.”

Yanin’s eyes narrowed as she studied the rig. “Is it me, or does something about this structure seem...unnatural?”

Milanowski frowned, tapping her phone with frustration. “This structure is less than a thousand miles off the U.S. Coast, and it hasn’t shown up in any of our satellite images...that’s unnatural.”

As the catamaran approached the rig's man-made jetty, Felix Brangman, a tall, dark-skinned man with a welcoming smile, stood waiting. He greeted the politicians warmly as they disembarked.

“Ladies, gentlemen, I’m excited that you could make it,” Felix said, shaking hands with each dignitary.

Antonio, still tense, addressed him sharply. “Governor Brangman, such clandestine behavior doesn’t sit well with the people of Italy.”

“Antonio, call me Felix, please. And trust me, it’ll be worth the trouble,” Felix replied smoothly, his smile never wavering.

Lichelli, another politician, eyed the rig with suspicion. “How did you do it, Felix? How did you build such a massive structure without consulting England?”

Felix’s eyes twinkled with a secret. “I will answer all questions, I promise. For now, come aboard. Rest. Freshen up, and in a few hours, I will reveal all to you. Life is about to change, and I want you all bright-eyed and aware!”

As the politicians continued to disembark, Felix pulled Jack aside. “Jack, I’m really glad you’re here. Your speech earlier today was amazing. You’re exactly the type of man the world needs right now.”

Jack felt a mix of gratitude and wariness. “Thank you, Felix, but I must admit, this is stranger than I imagined.”

Jiaoji, disembarking behind Jack, suddenly stopped, staring blankly at Felix. His body tensed, and Jack noticed. “Jiaoji? Are you okay?”

Jiaoji fumbled for words, his usual confidence shaken. “It’s...the trip. Um, a catamaran is very different from canoes and fishing boats. I think I feel nauseous.”

Jack watched him walk away, suspicion gnawing at him. “Hmm...Jiaoji has a stomach as strong as an iron safe.”

Felix clapped Jack on the back, almost making him stumble. “You are a natural-born leader, Jack. If there’s anyone who can unite the world, it’s you. I see that in you, Jack. But do they see it in you?”

Jack’s eyes met Felix’s with determination. “That’s what we’ll soon find out, Felix.”

Felix's eyes gleamed with anticipation. “Tomorrow, we change the world!”