5.

December 5, 04:30 EST.
Onboard the Proteus, 11 nautical miles off Long Island.

Kathy followed Arnold Budmera and Captain Haisselbak to the bridge. The captain pointed to the computer screen.
"Look for yourself. We've got five signals coming from submarine beacons, and yet…." He moved to another screen. "Our radar sweep indicates only four aircraft. The four we already know about."
Kathy turned on her heels to face Budmera.
"Sir, are you sure your engineers didn't install an extra beacon? Maybe as a security measure…."
"I personally supervised this project, down to the smallest detail. I can assure you there are only four beacons."
An officer approached the captain.
"The storm's getting worse, Captain, it's right above us. Seems to have whipped up all of a sudden over the Sargasso Sea, before moving north."
"We'll have to wait until it blows itself out," replied the captain. "I don't want to approach the coast in these conditions."
The Proteus started to heave violently. Outside, rain lashed the ship with a horrifying violence. Suddenly, a gigantic wave pounded the ship's prow. To Kathy, it looked like some kind of liquid explosion crashing against the hull.
"Seems like we're right in the middle of it," said Kathy shakily.
"Don't worry," the captain reassured her. "The Proteus is built to take a lot worse than this."
"Captain, I'm picking up something… bizarre."
"What do you mean, bizarre?"
"It's pretty fuzzy, but it sounds like a distress call and…."
"Put it on the loud-speakers."
There was a crackling, sputtering noise. Then a voice seemed to come out of nowhere. The fear and anxiety in the voice sent a shiver up Kathy's spine.
"Flight control, do you read me? Mayday, Mayday! We've strayed off the flight path, we can't see land, I repeat, we can't see land."
The rest was drowned in interference.
"Where is that coming from?" asked Kathy.
Gazing at his high-tech bank of equipment, the captain simply shrugged.
"Haven't a clue."
One of the crew members spoke up: "Maybe I have an idea. "I've got radar echoes for five aircraft flying at low altitude. What with the storm, I've had to fall back on the old radar system, it's impossible to get digital identification, the system's down. In any case, they're heading our way."
"Five aircraft? In the middle of a storm like this?" cried the astonished captain.
The crackling noise started up once again: "Shhhb… this Flight 19… Fort Lauderdale, do you read me?"
Arnold Budmera put his hand to his cheek and started scratching nervously.
"Fort Lauderdale?" he muttered.
The captain licked his lips, before venturing: "It must be an air force patrol."
"They're approaching pretty slowly if they're fighters," said the radar man. "Maybe a helicopter squadron, sir."
"Not in these conditions! It's all we need. Try to get in contact with them, I want to know if it's really an SOS."

In his corner, Budmera suddenly scowled. He moved towards one of the long windows of the bridge. He continued talking to himself quietly.
"Flight 19… Fort Lauderdale… The Sargasso Sea…."
"How many radar signals did you say there were?" he finally asked.
"Five, sir."
He put his hand to his mouth.
"What if it's… no, it's impossible…."
Everyone turned to look at him.
"Mr. Budmera?" asked Kathy. "Are you OK?"
He glanced up at her before turning to the radar operator.
"Where does this Flight 19 come from?"
"From the south, sir."
"Like the storm? I mean, it seems like they're coming from the Sargasso Sea?"
"No, it's too far…."
"But at least that's the direction they've come from – the Sargasso Sea?"
"Well… yes, you could say that."
Kathy raised her arms in bewilderment.
"But what does it all mean?" she asked.
Budmera laughed dryly.
"The Sargasso Sea is more commonly known as the Bermuda Triangle."
The captain shook his head: "You may as well forget those legends. The Bermuda Triangle doesn't exist."
"The Sargasso Sea is well known to all sailors, Captain. And even considered from a rational point of view, it's a very curious place." Budmera turned to Kathy. "Did you know that, along with all those stories of disappearances, the Sargasso Sea is also one of those very rare locations where the compass indicates the geographic and not the magnetic north?"
"Forget all this nonsense," insisted the captain.
Budmera had a concerned look about him, and yet there was a certain glint in his eye.
"And what if it really was Flight 19...."
"What exactly is Flight 19?" asked Kathy.
Budmera looked about for somewhere to sit down.
"Flight 19 was five aircraft, all U.S. Navy TBM-3 Avengers. They took off from Fort Lauderdale on December 5, 1945 on a simple training mission. But an hour later, Flight Control received a strange, incomprehensible message. No one ever saw the planes or pilots again. They disappeared like magic somewhere over the Sargasso Sea. No wreckage was found either."
After a silence, Budmera gently started talking again, as if reciting a litany: "Five missing aircraft… Flight 19… The Sargasso Sea… Fort Lauderdale… everything matches the message we just heard."
The Captain waved his hand dismissively.
"With all due respect, sir, that's all myth and legend."
"What are we picking up, then?"
"Transmissions between a group of aircraft and the coastal control tower, that's all."
Budmera rolled his eyes.
"Don't be stupid! They're trying to contact Fort Lauderdale! Which is over two thousand kilometers from here!"
One of the men on the bridge jumped up.
"Captain! I've lost the five signals from under the water."
A split-second later, it was the radar operator's turn: "The five aircraft have vanished! They've dropped off the screen. They were there a moment ago and then… nothing…"

***