The Paradise Paradox

The Paradise Paradox

Schuyler J. Ebersol

© Copyright Schuyler J. Ebersol 2016

Published by Black Rose Writing

www.blackrosewriting.com

© 2016 by Schuyler J. Ebersol

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.

First digital version

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Print ISBN: 978-1-61296-715-8

PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING

www.blackrosewriting.com

Print edition produced in the United States of America

For Christian,

My incredible brother

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Lemuria

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

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Lemuria

In an oasis of blue lies the small island of Lemuria. An extinct volcano rises from its center, casting the only significant shadow in five hundred miles. Only the most experienced captains with the sturdiest ships can navigate through the warren of coral that creates a near perfect circle around this picturesque island. On the northeast end of the island built into the mountainside a city stands tall and proud.

The island sits in the middle of the North Pacific and far from any other landmass. Its winters are as mild as its summers. No chilling cold or suffocating heat plagues the inhabitants. This island paradise is governed as a constitutional monarchy, ruled by a king who treats his subjects well. Meanwhile, the modern world looks on with jealousy, wondering how on earth such a perfect place can exist on such an imperfect planet.

One

April 15th, 2020

THE CAPTAIN STOOD up. Long, thick grey hair fell smoothly to his broad shoulders. He had bronzed skin and bright green eyes. A captain’s hat sat securely on his head. He looked out toward the horizon, watching the empty water. Beside him, a radar screen blipped.

That’s the sub, Captain, said the man on his right.

You know what to do?

Yes, Sir.

Very well, carry on then. People scurried around the Captain and allover the control room of his ship, but he barely seemed to notice. They were nothing to him. They were only there because he couldn’t do all of this by himself. To get the submarine and execute the contract he had been given, he needed help.

April 11th

The black Maybach pulled up outside a stately government building. A huge man in jeans and a T-shirt got out of the driver’s side and hurried around to open the door. The Captain slid out and entered the building.

The lobby he entered was magnificent. The floor beneath him was some smooth red stone that ran in huge tiles to a set of elevators in brass. Four giant pillars lined the walls on either side of the tiles with roughly hewn grey stone beneath them. The pillars were the same red stone, but rose out of the grey stone almost as if they were part of it.

The elevator doors in the middle opened when the Captain was halfway across the room. A man in a dark suit stepped out. His polished black shoes clicked expensively on the stone floor. He wore a perfectly pressed white shirt and his blue tie looked too faultless to have been tied by a mere mortal.

Ah, Captain. How are you doing? The man’s voice was as polished as his shoes and the Captain recognized it immediately as the voice he’d heard on the phone. This was the man who had called him just six hours before and informed him that he had an offer for him and that there was a jet waiting to take him to the capital. The Captain had been suspicious and still was. He had gotten plenty of government contracts around the world of course, but never one from this country. Even he had never heard of the branch of government this man claimed to represent, but he had made it quite clear on the phone that the Captain didn’t have much choice in the matter.

I’m fine, Mr. Benton, said the Captain curtly. He wasn’t going to pretend that he was at all happy about being forced to fly halfway around the world to this meeting when they could’ve just as easily discussed the contract over the phone. But of course, no one trusted the phones anymore.

I’m sorry, but it was the only way we could get you to hear our proposition quickly and I think you’ll soon be happy we contacted you.

We’ll see. The Captain gestured to the elevator.

Mr. Benton nodded and pushed the brass button. The doors opened and he stepped inside, followed closely by the Captain.

They stepped out into a whitewashed hallway—the Captain had expected more exotic stone. Mr. Benton led him down the hall and into his office. The room was whitewashed as well, but filled with mahogany furniture. In the far corner next to two adjacent floor-to-ceiling pained windows sat two leather chairs with a table in between. On the table sat a crystal container filled with bourbon and two rocks glasses.

Mr. Benton took a seat in one of these armchairs and gestured for the Captain to do the same. Are you sure I can’t call you by your real name?

As I said on the phone, said the Captain in annoyance, I prefer as few people to know my name as possible. And you should not be one of them. And I’d like to keep it that way.

There’s no one else here.

All the same.

As you will, said Mr. Benton. He handed the Captain a glass of bourbon and took one for himself. How was your flight?

Comfortable, said the Captain irritably. Let’s get down to it. I didn’t want to come here in the first place. So, how about we decease with the pleasantries and you tell me why you flew me all the way out here.

Mr. Benton’s eyes flashed, but he kept his smile. Of course. He got up, grabbed a manila folder from the desk, and handed it to the Captain. Feel free to peruse that while I explain things. He took a seat and sipped his bourbon.

The Captain opened the folder at once, but was annoyed to find, not the details of his assignment, but simply a contract. He skimmed it. It was worded very vaguely and very expertly. Whoever had written it had done an excellent job of making it seem perfectly ordinary and legal, when he knew it was likely just the opposite. He flipped the pages and finally came to the last page where his eyes fell upon the number. His jaw didn’t drop, but his mouth did open a little. It was enough to catch Mr. Benton’s attention.

I’m glad you approve of the figure.

The Captain frowned inwardly. He had always prided himself on being someone who was unreadable, but the figure was extraordinary. What could you possibly want me to do to warrant such a payment?

We want you to finally put your skills to work. We need you to get something for us. And then Mr. Benton explained and as he did so the Captain’s eyes widened and he completely gave up on trying to appear stoic.

* * *

That had been just a few days earlier, and now the Captain was on the verge of executing the first part of the plan. Most of it was his own. His employers had told him the pieces but he had put it together. That was what he was best at. However, he couldn’t help but feel apprehensive—he’d done things on this scale before, never on this level.

They’re sinking below, said the man at the radar station.

Good, the Captain nodded. Tell me when we’re directly above them.

His ants hurried around the room and got into their final positions. The Captain walked over and stood at the shoulder of a tiny man with glasses who sat at a very complicated looking screen.

Are you sure we can do this? asked the Captain.

The tiny man looked up at him. We’ve never tried it on something this big before, but I can’t see why it wouldn’t work.

That’s not good enough.

The man looked up at him, his lip trembling, and then back at the screen. It will work.

That’s more like it.

The large yacht cruised forward to the spot where the submarine had disappeared beneath the waves. The Captain had bought the yacht five years previously and completely stripped it. It had been transformed from a luxury yacht into a makeshift battleship. Huge guns sat on the prow on a contraption that could lower them below deck if need be. The yacht was a sleek gunmetal grey and had also been modified to go at least thirty knots even though it was almost two hundred feet long.

The pinging dot on the radar was much closer now. The Captain walked to the window of the control room and looked out at the ocean. The waves were small and the water was unusually calm. He stood there studying the horizon until a voice behind him brought him out of his revelry.

Captain, we’re above the sub. It’s about five hundred meters beneath us.

Have they tried to get in contact yet?

No, Captain.

The Captain nodded and swept form the control room. He hurried down several flights of stairs and ended up in a hold where two small, black submarines sat. Beneath the subs were two huge round black circles that seemed to be attached at the bottom. They looked like giant magnets. Three men dressed in black stood waiting for the Captain. He didn’t even bother changing. He just climbed into one of the submarines. The men in black followed his lead.

Deploy, said the Captain.

There was a crack and the roof above them retracted. A crane overhead reached in, plucked out the other submersible, and carried it off. A minute later the Captain heard a splash and another minute later the crane picked up the Captain’s sub. The sub rose into the air, out of the hold, above the ship, and then swung out to the right over the water. They hit the surface with a small jolt and then sank below. The Captain flipped a switch and blue lights flickered on inside and out.

The other submersible appeared in front of them and turned on its own lights. Together, wordlessly, the two subs dove into the depths. The water extinguished the sunlight so that the submarines cast the only significant light. Still, they dove.

The Captain flipped on a screen on the dashboard. There was a ping and the green image of a submarine appeared surrounded by a myriad of numbers. The Captain made sense of the numbers then spoke into the mike. "Looks like it’s stopped, which means it knows we’re here. We don’t have much time. Wait here. I’ll let you know when we reach the other end.

Yes, Sir, crackled a voice over the speaker.

The Captain’s sub moved forward a few hundred feet then stopped. "Right. We’re a hundred feet above. Descend slowly at precisely one foot per second.

Yes, Sir.

A large clang broke the unnatural silence. The submersibles slammed into the huge submarine and clung there. The submarine started its engines and began moving forward, but the two submersibles stuck to it like bugs.

They’re hailing us, Sir, came a voice over the radio from the ship above.

Deploy, ordered the Captain.

A minute later the submarine’s engines stopped.

Surface. The Captain grabbed a knob in front of him and pulled upward. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the two submersibles began to rise, pulling the huge submarine with them.

Two

April 18th

YOU’RE GOING TO get a lot of pushback, your highness.

Maybe, said the King, standing by the window in his office, but in the long run it’ll be better for everyone.

People aren’t going to be happy, said Secretary White.

King Austin turned around and looked at his Secretary of Trade, what are they going to do, impeach me?

White looked taken aback.

It’s a joke, White. You’re supposed to laugh, said Austin in exasperation.

White grinned nervously. He was elderly, perspiring, and pale, cutting a strong contrast to his King. Austin was of average height. He had tanned skin, thick black hair, and bright blue eyes. Before his crowning those eyes had sparkled, but since his father had passed they’d become burdened with the job he’d inherited. He wore a dark suit with the top two buttons of his shirt opened—looking more like a movie star dressed for a talk show than a king, but he commanded respect from those who knew him none-the-less.

Austin took a seat at his desk and looked White in the eye. Look, John, our protectionist policies have helped us in the past, but they’re beginning to hurt. Some of the ships we once harbored in the past are stopping in Hawaii instead or just bypassing us for the other coast. We no longer need to be a refueling station in these modern times. Things have just started to change, but if they continue along this path we’ll be in trouble in a few years, maybe a decade. I’d rather head off the problem now by signing the Oceanic Partnership.

But Sir, the Oceanic Partnership doesn’t help us with the problem you’re outlining. It’s just going to piss off the U.S. and China.

If we ally ourselves with the weaker nations in the Pacific, we’ll have a stronger bargaining position. We’ll bring in ships from countries who’ve never stopped here in the past, which will in turn grow the job market.

But, White blustered, we will anger the tech companies who have moved here from the states. If we let cheaper products into the markets they very well may decide to move back to the states which will loose a lot of jobs.

It’s a risk worth taking. If we loose those tech companies we’ll gain back those jobs tenfold if shipping expands, which it will with the Oceanic Partnership.

All right, said White, defeated, I hear you. But I will not back down on the rise in Defense spending.

That is not your department, said Austin dismissively.

I am your adviser.

You’re my trade advisor, you’re here to advise me on trade.

Then let me tailor my argument to trade.

Austin looked at White curiously, all right.

If you do not accept the President’s national security pact and sign the Oceanic Partnership then we’ll have to up taxes considerably to cover the rise in defense spending.

I know, I wasn’t planning on accepting the pact. We need to be able to fend for ourselves.

Sir, said White, now perspiring significantly even though the office was quite cool, we cannot afford to arm ourselves enough so that we are competitive with the outside world. We are a nation of less than a million people.

But most of the world’s militaries are antiquated, said Austin with grin, we’re going to invest in the one thing we need for none of that to matter.

You can’t be serious. That will put a target on our back larger than declining the security pact, raising taxes, and signing the Partnership.

Not if we develop without anyone being the wiser, said Austin, the light back in his eyes.

You’re speaking like every other dictator. There is no way we can get the materials without being discovered.

Austin just shook his head. We’ll speak on this later. It isn’t a foregone conclusion yet, but it’s an idea. I have a meeting with Mortimer later and we’ll talk about it at the next briefing.

Secretary White took the hint and got to his feet. He pulled a folder from his briefcase and handed it to the President. Here’s the weekly trade report. I’ll save the rest of my descent for the meeting.

Austin nodded. I’ll see you tomorrow, John.

White moved toward the door.

And, John?

Yes, Sir? said John, spinning around.

I don’t appreciate being spoken to like an idiot. As you very well know I am not a dictator and I bare no similarities to the other leaders of the world who share my title. Don’t ever make that comparison again.

Yes, Sir, said John, and he hurried from the room.

Austin sighed and picked up an innocent looking packet of paper. The King sank back in his seat once more, put his feet up on the desk, and began to read.

The sun had set by the time the King neared the end of the packet. His eyes drooped and he read the same two sentences over and over again without taking in a single word.

It is the express wish of the president that Lemuria once again consider his offer. A mutual security agreement between our great countries would benefit both parties in all the ways enumerated above and more.

Austin flung the packet halfway across the desk. Benefit both parties, what bullshit. He was not going to give up a third of the island, however uninhabited it might be, for the military base of a foreign power with imperialistic tendencies. He took his eyes from the significant stack of papers the packet had landed next to and took in the office around him. It had been his father’s office, and his father’s before him. This building had been the royal palace ever since the King’s great-great grandfather, Austin I, had built it a little over two hundred years previously.

Austin I had started out as a middle-class merchant growing up on the trade routes in the South Pacific. After making his fortune in trade he had bought the island from the Russian’s for a pittance and moved there. It had a significant native population, one that at first had contested his claim to the island. However, they soon learned he was an honest man who meant them no harm and they learned to coexist. Before long immigrants sailed to the island from the United States and it quickly became an import port as the only significant landmass in the Pacific north of Hawaii and south of Alaska. The population grew and the trade revenue continued to jump. Although the island had very little to offer in terms of goods, it could offer them a safe harbor, a stopping point, in the long journey across the Northern Pacific. It could offer them lodging and food for a percentage of their goods or a small price. He named it Lemuria, after the mythical lost paradise that had been rumored to reside somewhere in the Pacific.

Austin I owned the island, independent of any country. He had grown up more a citizen of the sea than of any country so no country had grounds to claim it as their own, although many tried. He hadn’t really intended for it to become a country, but constant immigration had created just that, with him at the head. By the time Austin I died and his son was twenty-five Austin I had set up a new nation, contested by some, but ultimately ignored on the international stage for the time being. When the countries of the world realized the significance of the new country, Lemuria had already established itself on the world stage.

There was a knock at the door. The King put his feet down and pulled the packet back in front of him.

It’s Secretary Mortimer, your highness.

Come in.

The Defense Secretary looked the part. He was stiff backed, tall, broad, and severe. His white hair was parted perfectly on the right side and wore a Lemuria pin on his suit lapel.

Take a seat Morty, said Austin jovially.

Mortimer took the proffered seat, scowling at the name but making no comment. He also couldn’t keep the scowl, for he was excited and it couldn’t help but show on his face.

What? asked Austin, sliding the security pact across the table.

Mortimer picked up the packet, flipped through it, then set