Heinz Noonan, the “Bearded Holmes’ of the Sandersonville Police Department was struggling with the broken pop-top of a tuna fish can. His was a flash of desperation because it—in this case, the can of tuna fish which, as well, came from a case his wife guarded with a stern visage to keep his weight from rising—was all he could have for lunch. Yes, it was true, there was vending machine in the break room but everyone associated with Noonan had been sworn a death oat to his wife to keep the detective from approaching within a dozen feet of the calorie-rich fiend.
When the pop-top popped free and the can remained as sealed as the tomb a mummy, the detective rummage around in his desk drawer for some implement of penetration to, at the very least, allow him to pry off the top of the can. When he failed to find so much as a letter opener—an ancient device known only to those who were not millennials—he found himself looking at Harriet, the office Fairy Godmother who held a can opener in one hand and an envelope in the other.
“Both are for you,” she said as she handed him the pair, the envelope first. “But first, you have to make your donation to the Sandersonville Library Fund.”
“I didn’t know there was a Sandersonville Library let alone a Sandersonville Library Fund.”
“The reason there is no Sandersonville Library is because there is no Sandersonville Library Fund. In this case, you are in luck because the ticket you buy will be for a meal.”
“I’m buying a ticket for a meal?”
“Not for you. The Sandersonville Grille is giving a free meals to the homeless for every $100 dollars raised in the Sandersonville Library Fund.”
“Why would I donate to a library that does not exist to pay for a meal I cannot eat to a person I have never met?”
“Charity.”
Noonan scoffed. “Charity is supposed to begin at home.” He hefted the pop-topless tuna can to eyelevel as he said, “and this is the kind of charity I get at home.”
Harriet did not pull the envelope back. But she made a move as if to pull the can opener back. Noonan relented.
“OK. I’ll donate. Now give me the can opener.”
“Not so fast,” Harriet said as she laid the can opener on Noonan’s desk next to the telephone, “How can you steal a mirage.”
“Mirage? They don’t exist. That’s why they are called mirages!”
“Don’t tell me.” Harriet tilted her head sideways toward the phone. “Tell the woman on Line Three.”
* * *
“Noonan.”
“It better be. I specifically called for Captain Heinz Noonan. The Sandersonville Police Department has a reputation for accuracy. So this is Captain Noonan, correct?”
“Sort of. Until there’s a crime, I’m Heinz.”
“Well, I don’t know if I’m reporting a crime but I reporting a missing mirage.”
“What exactly do you mean by a mirage?”
There was a moment of silence, then the voice came back leaking of skepticism. “I know what you are thinking. I’m some kind of a nut case. ‘Missing mirage! Mirages don’t exist so how they be missing?’ I’m not a nut case. I have a college degree in physics and I taught high school for 27 years. I have both feet planted firmly on the ground. Do you know what a fata morgana is?”
Noonan was professional in his response. “Certainly, it’s an atmospheric condition which accentuates objects in the distance. For instance, in makes mountain ranges hundreds of miles away appear to be ten or 15 miles away and looming over the horizon.”
“Good for you,” the voice continued. “Not many people can link the condition to the visuals. Named for Morgan le Fe, King Arthur’s half-sister. She was an enchantress, the nice way in those days of saying a good witch.”
Noonan started digging in his desk drawer for a notebook and winced when he came across his letter opener.
“Let’s start with your name.”
“Harriet Dumbarton of Hines, California. Retired teacher out of Riverside. Don’t try to find Hines, California, on any map. We’re a scientific enclave between Riverside and Blythe off US Highway 10.”
“That’s desert country.”
“You got it. On a cold winter day it’s hot enough to roast a scorpion.”
“I spent one winter in Needles so I know heat. Now, why are you calling?”
“Other than fata morgana, what do you know about mirages?”
“They are things you see that are not what you think they are. Like electing a Republican and discovering he’s an anarchist.”
“Let’s keep politics out of this. Basically there are three types of mirages. One is where you see what is not there. Like the appearance of water on roadway. From a distance it looks as though there is water on the road. But when you arrive at the spot, there is no water. But, as you look ahead, you see another stretch of roadway which may have water on it.”
“OK. I’ve experienced that.”
“A second kind is one where the image of a real object is distorted. Like you said, mountains far away suddenly appear closer. But it is much more than that. The image you are seeing could be hundreds or even thousands of miles away. Why we do not know and, in a nutshell, is why the Hines enclave was formed. We have a contract with the Department of Defense to investigate mirages and develop a plan to use them in some form or fashion.”
“That’s the second type of mirage. What’s the third?”
“Mystical, so to speak. The first form of mirage is a gift of angle and distance. The second is courtesy of an atmospheric condition. Both can be scientifically explained. The third is the appearance of objects that cannot be yet are. A sailing ship in the middle of a desert, for instance, or a city layout on surface of a lake. Neither can be explained logically or rationally yet they are visually recordable.”
“By visually recordable, you mean with a photograph.”
“Yes. If the person had a camera at the time. Remember, mirages have been around since the cave and we have only had cellphone cameras for the past ten years. So many of the stories of mirages have been word of mouth. We here at the Hines enclave are using science to prove the existence of mirages. We are trying to put flesh on the mirage images, so to speak.”
“OK. Now, why are you calling me?”
“One of the strongest cases, scientifically speaking, for mirages is the ghost ship of the Salton Sea. We, the Hines enclave, are on the edge of the Salton Sea and we are searching 24/7 for a mirage of the ghost ship. We are sure the ship exists because the historical record is so profound. We have an object we know exists but cannot be located GPS-speaking. What we are searching for is the mirage which allows the ship to appear on our equipment. Then we can use the scientific information from the sighting to develop a mechanism to use mirages as tools.”
“Why does the military care about mirages?” Noonan asked. “You did say you had a Department of Defense contract to do the investigating.
Dumbarton became tightlipped. “We don’t know what the military wants to do with our data, all we know is it wants the data. Our guess, it’s more a matter of using mirages to make something appear to fool the enemy rather than just snapshotting images that appear to exist.”
“Fine. Why are you calling me?”
“Three reasons. First, there is an unknown federal project between the Hines enclave and the Salton Sea. We do not know what it is but we do know what it is doing. But it is disrupting the pristine atmospheric conditions which allow us to monitor and track mirages and then pinpoint the physical objects which appear courtesy of the fata morgana. We cannot tell them to stop because we—and they—are both secret projects. Imagine the two of us like Area 51. We cannot call the press or the police. Our chain of command, so to speak, is through the Department of Defense. It is very large and we are very small. So we are its bottom priority. But while we wait for the Department of Defense to do something, our research is being disrupted. And if that unknown project lasts a long time, it could disrupt our research for years.”
“OK.” Noonan did not know what to say so he followed his father’s advice: ‘When you don’t know what to say, don’t say anything.’
“Third,” Dumbarton continued, “you, personally are a crossroads for us. You have a reputation for solving unsolvable situations and you work for the Department of Homeland Security. So you are a fast track from us into the Department of Defense.”
That took Noonan by surprise. “I work for the Department of Homeland Security?”
Dumbarton was silent for a split second. “I know you cannot admit you work for Homeland Security to anyone the phone. Secrecy and all that. Let’s just say you are listed as the Chief of Staff for the Sandersonville Commissioner of Homeland Security. That’s good enough for us in the Hines enclave.”
Noonan rolled his eyes. He was listed as the “Chief of Staff” for the Sandersonville Commission of Homeland Security as an excuse for federal money. On paper, the Sandersonville office of the Department of Homeland Security had a ‘staff’ of 12. But off paper, those 12 were member of the Sandersonville Police Department, some janitors in Sandersonville City Hall and three PR people in the Mayor’s Office. In reality, the Sandersonville Office of Homeland Security was one person, Edward Paul Lizzard, a ne’er do well with connections in Washington D. C.
“I see,” was all Noonan could think to say. “So you’d like me to look into the situation and see what I can do.”
“Work your magic,” Dumbarton said. “You have a reputation for make the impossible possible.” She paused and then went on, “Now I have done my duty and lodged a complaint up the administrative food chain. I have done my job. Now do yours.”
* * *
This was one of those rare loo-loo calls where Noonan had neither historical specifics to investigate nor newspaper sources to examine. All he had was the rumor of a ghost ship in a desert which, at best, was highly speculative. The basics of mirage were easy to find on Google. Light passing through air of different densities affects the speed of the light beam. This causes a bending of the light rays and distorts images in the distance. The most common effect was to make it appear distant objects are floating. A ship in the distance, for instance, may appear to be hovering over the water rather than plowing through it. Sometimes the objects are reversed and appear to be hanging upside down. Since these sightings were over water, Noonan concluded researching fata morganas on the sea coast would be useless. If a vessel was spotted—on, hovering over or upside down—there would be no way to tell if the ship was ‘real’ or mythical. Ships probably appear and disappear along the seacoast with amazing regularity. And irregularity. But a three-masted Spanish galleon hovering over the sands of desert would be an anomaly and would be a bona fide mirage.
Fata Morganas were a step aside from your usual mirage because they included things from hundreds or thousands of miles away.
Maybe.
Noonan had a passing understanding of the existence of fata morganas because one of the most famous was the “Silent City of the Muir Glacier” in Southeast Alaska. Around the turn of the century in 1900, a conman in Juneau by the name of Richard Willoughby bought a camera from a down-and-out photographer and took a picture of—or found a picture in the camera of—a ‘city in the mist’ while Willoughby was—or was not—on the Muir Glacier in Glacier Bay north of Juneau. Whichever was never proven. But the photograph made Willoughby a fortune. He took boatloads of tourists to the Muir Glacier and when they did not see the “Silent City of the Muir Glacier,” he sold them copies of his photograph for the equivalent of $25 in today’s dollars.
While there were a myriad of sighting of ghost ships, the one in the Salton Sea was different because there was some physical evidence. While the Salton Sea is inland today, in the 1600s—allegedly—it was connected to the Gulf of California. An unnamed Spanish galleon laden with pearls seeking an inland passage through America to the Atlantic, ventured into the area and was trapped when the heat dropped the level of the water so low the ship could not get out. The sailors had to walk out across the desert to survive.
A century later, in 1775, an explorer by the name of Manquerna stumbled on the vessel and boarded it. He was astonished to find a sailing vessel so far from the ocean, but quite thrilled with its cargo of pearls. He took a few handfuls to hire a group of soldiers to help him loot the entire ship, but, as the legend has it, the shifting sands of the Salton Sea hid the vessel and he never found it again.
A century later, in 1870, an adventurer by the name of Charles Clusker wrote a series of articles for the Los Angeles Star about the galleon. On one of his trips to search for the ship, he disappeared. Eight years later a group of German prospectors witnessed the mirage of a ship hovering over the desert floor. One member of the group went to investigate and was later found dead from thirst and naked. In 1905, Butcherknife Ike, an odd character, claimed to have visited the ship but his sighting were never verified.
These sightings were all speculative. While tantalizing, there was not a single, solid clue to be had. Anyone can claim to have seen Big Foot, but real world forensic proof is lacking. This was also the case of the abandoned vessel in the desert. That changed in 1915 when a Native came to Yuma to buy supplies and paid for his purchase with pearls. The Native claimed to have found the pearls in an old ship in the desert. Word spread across Yuma fast and the Native was offered a good chunk of change to lead the men to the ship. The Native agreed, spent several evenings in Yuma living it up.
Until the night before he was to lead the crew to the ship. Before sunup, he had slipped away into the desert never to be seen again.
It was the use of pearls as cash that intrigued Noonan.
And the Hanes enclave.
All other stories of the ship were speculative. But the pearls being spent in Yuma offered a shred of proof tale. Not much more than a shred, admittedly, but a clue that could not be pooh-poohed because it was hard-nosed businessmen who assayed the pearls.
There were no newspapers in the area which referred to the Hines enclave or any federally funded projects in the area. There was a single reference which seemed related. In 2015, a professor from the University of California Riverside, just down the road from where the Hines enclave was ensconced, by the name of Robert Hine had died. Hine had suffered from a progressive blindness while a professor and was declared legally blind in 1971. Then, a decade later, he regained his sight and continued teacher at UCR. His memoir, SECOND SIGHT, seemed to hint at why his name could be—but not necessarily was—chosen for the name of the enclave.
A return call to Harriet Dumbarton produced no further clues. What she had told Noonan originally was the extent of the information he was to receive because everything else was on a ‘need to know basis’ and Noonan did not have ‘a need to know.’
* * *
Harriet came into Noonan’s office picking at her teeth with a tooth pick. “Just want to let you know the meal was scrumptious.”
“Meal?” Noonan looked at her oddly. “What meal?”
“The one from the Sandersonville Grille. You remember. You gave a donation to the Sandersonville Library Fund and if enough money was raised, the homeless would get a free meal.”
“I remember giving to the fund but why did you get the meal? You’re not homeless.”
“I am until I get home. But I didn’t get home until after the meal.”
“You stole a meal from a homeless person?!”
“Not stole! Secured! There were meals for a dozen and only ten showed up. I took the residue.”
“Both meals?!”
“Waste not, want not. It was my refrig or the garbage can.”
“They throw meals to the homeless out?!”
“I didn’t ask. All I said was, ‘I’ll take what’s left and said I had a homeless individual at home.”
“Really? Who’s that?”
“Tobey.”
“Toby’s your dog!”
“Well, when he’s outside the house, he’s homeless.”
Noonan shook his head in disbelief.
Harriet repeated, “Waste not, want not. And, by the way, the woman with the missing mirage called. She was quite happy and had nothing to nice things to say about you. She said she couldn’t write you a letter of thanks because, well, she just couldn’t. Federal regulations, she said.”
“How sweet.” Noonan gave a faux look of interest.
“She said something about someone having to move. I didn’t catch it all. What, exactly, did you do?”
“Nothing in particular. She said a federal project was altering atmospheric conditions and wanted me to do something about it.”
“Do something about altering atmospheric conditions. How do you do that?”
“I used my secret weapon.” Noonan looked ceilingward. “I mentioned there were rumors of terrorists lurking in the Salton Sea area of California. To solve the problem, one of the federal projects had to move. I didn’t know which one was most important, so I didn’t make any suggestion.”
“Let me guess, His Majesty called Washington D. C. and someone got wet in the armpits. They called someone who called someone who called someone and, presto!, the problem was solved.”
“Apparently. Our government in action.”
Harriet smiled.
“Absolutely. By the way, that mysterious ship in the Salton Sea. It had a crew. Most ghost ships do. Did you know that?”
“No, but I can feel a joke coming.”
“They all have skeleton crews.”
