The Dinosaur Battle Of New Orleans Read online

  THE DINOSAUR BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS

  Velociraptors in the Vieux Carré

  Dane Hatchell

  Copyright 2018 by Dane Hatchell

  Prologue

  Captain Thomas Wesselman was an angel descending from Heaven as he piloted the 737 toward its destination. The sky was an ocean of blue, without a hint of a cloud as far as the eye could see. Landings and takeoffs were the only times now that he truly felt alive. Life was so different during his time in Desert Storm, when he flew an A-10 Warthog. Wesselman had thirty missions to his credit and took out multiple tanks, APCs, SAM sites, and radar installations.

  Those days were long gone. The warrior inside the military man had never died, but Wesselman had to make compromises in civilian life. He was nearing twenty years as a commercial pilot, with the Grim Reaper of retirement looming before him with its deadly scythe ready to clip his wings.

  “We are about to catch the localizer. Our speed has to be below two hundred and fifty knots and our angle less than thirty degrees,” Wesselman said to his co-pilot. “Can you tell me if it’s time to engage the autopilot?”

  First officer Jim Hall quickly scanned the gauges, and said, “Roger that. But you have to get permission to descend to three thousand feet first.”

  “Good for you. I tried to hurry you along to see if you’d forget. You passed the test,” Wesselman said. “Go ahead and make the call.”

  “Yes sir.” Hall grabbed the mic and pushed the button. “New Orleans, Delta two-thirty-six will be descending to three thousand feet for runway twenty-two.”

  The radio squawked back, “Delta two-thirty-six, you have an all-clear on runway twenty-two.”

  Wesselman took the mic from Hall. “How’re the hurricanes down there?”

  “Hurricanes? Nothing but blue bird skies over here,” the control tower said.

  “I’m talking about the drinks at Pat O’Leary’s in the French Quarter. New Orleans is the only city in the world to have hurricanes year round.”

  “Ha-ha, Delta two-thirty-six. Hurricanes at Pat O’s are always Cat-Five!” the control tower said. “In fact…”

  Dead silence filled the cabin as the transmission stopped for an uncomfortably long time.

  Wesselman shot his gaze over to Hall, who had raised eyebrows turned his way and a growing look of concern on his face.

  The radio came back to life, “Request denied, Delta two-thirty-six. Level out and prepare to ascend to twenty thousand.”

  The sudden change in the controller’s orders and demeanor snapped Wesselman to attention. He had learned a long time ago questioning orders in an emergency often led to immediate doom. “Roger, MSY. Leveling out and heading to twenty thousand.”

  “I wonder what’s going on down there,” Hall said.

  “Could be a few things. Another aircraft may have a problem and needs to land first. The controller might have realized they assigned the runaway to two different planes. Happens more times than it should. And,” Wesselman sank back in his chair as the plane leveled out, “in this day and time, there might be a bomb threat or a terrorist attack on the airport.”

  “I’ll plot a course for Lakefront Airport, just in case they close MSY down,” Hall said. “You better inform the passengers so they won’t get spooked.”

  The radio sparked to life again, “Delta two-thirty-six, radar just picked up unknowns at your altitude. Any visuals?”

  *

  Mark Chaney drank his third cup of coffee and loaded his bottom lip with the second dip of the day. He had enjoyed smokeless tobacco since the age of eight, where the nicotine kept him alert for early morning hunts on his uncle’s property. His system had hardened enough that he could dip and drink coffee, or any other beverage, for that matter. There was no need to spit, as Mark learned over the years how to slowly ingest the juice. Ten years of long hours as an air traffic controller made dipping tobacco a necessity, not a luxury.

  His gaze fixed on the radar, Mark paid extra attention to the screen as always with arrivals and departures. When the anomalous blip suddenly appeared near a descending jet, he first thought he had a broken monitor. Objects didn’t just materialize out of thin air, especially this size and this high in the air. But a redundant radar screen showed the same irregularity.

  “Ritchie,” Mark called out to his supervisor. “We’ve got a problem over here.”

  Ritchie Lamoine had just given Delta 236 permission to drop to three thousand feet. He removed his headset and quickly stepped over to Mark’s side.

  Hovering behind Mark’s back, Ritchie said, “What the heck is that?”

  “Sorta looks like birds, but not really. They’re too big,” Mark said.

  Heading for the tower window, Ritchie snatched a pair of binoculars from his desk and searched the sky.

  “See anything?” Mark asked.

  The binoculars came down, and Ritchie wiped his eyes, a scowl had hold of his face. The binoculars went back up, and he said, “Holy heck.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s not birds.”

  “Drones? I’ve been afraid of a drone attack for a long time now.” Mark strained from his seat to get a visual through the window with no luck.

  “You’re not going to believe it,” Ritchie said. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Good god, man. What is it?” Mark was on his feet, fear weakening his knees.

  “Pterodactyls.”

  Chapter 1

  Earlier that day:

  Bridget Reed leisurely drove along Feret Street in her red Mustang, feeling the onset of indigestion from chowing down the last half of her duck sausage roll from Dat Dog. It was Saturday, and she had planned to spend the day shopping on Magazine Street for some new fall clothes. As her luck went, her phone rang, interrupting lunch.

  The call was from the Tulane University—School of Science and Engineering. Dread washed over her at the thought there might be a problem with the upcoming fall schedule. She specifically enrolled in summer school to ensure her a seat in Computer Science 225: Pseudorandomness. With trepidation, she cleared her throat and answered her phone.

  It surprised Bridget to hear the voice of Dr. Bryan Breaux. Dr. Breaux was one of her professors. Why would he be calling from the university on a Saturday? They lived in New Orleans, Louisiana. There were more things to do in the Big Easy than fifty-two Saturdays could fill. It was time to let the good times roll. Laissez les bons temps rouler!

  Dr. Breaux’s request surprised Bridget even more. He wanted her to come to the science building now. At least her school schedule wasn’t in jeopardy. Breaux’s cryptic call had added a layer of mystery, which didn’t help the digesting process of Bridget’s stomach with that duck sausage.

  What other choice did she have but go? His plea for her to come had been laced with desperation and a twinge of excitement. Diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, the poor man didn’t have much longer to live. Bridget didn’t understand why the man continued to work. Dr. Breaux should be on a cruise, living it up before that option would be taken off the table.

  She slowed and turned onto Engineering Road, looking for a place to park between the science building and the mechanical services building. The choices were many, so she eased next to one of the handicapped spaces and turned off the engine.

  Getting out of the car, the four-story, bricked behemoth of a science building sat in front of her. Bridget’s destination, though, was behind the building. So, she took the walkway between the mechanical service building and the science building for her final destination.

  She had never been to this part of the campus on a Saturday before. As far as Bridget could tell, there was no one else around. It m
ade her feel exposed, vulnerable, and questioning why the heck she didn’t trust that little voice in her head that said she should turn and head back to the car.

  The sun had the walk between the buildings heating up like an oven. It wasn’t until she stepped past the buildings and onto Johnston Quad, where the shade of an old oak tree hid the harsh rays, and allowed her to breathe easier.

  Turning left, she saw the temporary building; an eyesore in the otherwise park-like setting of the quad. Tulane University and NASA had a joint venture to study quantum entanglement. Quantum entanglement was a phenomenon where twin particles, separated by distance, mimicked each other. Applying force to one particle affected the other particle the same way. The objective was to advance communication between two points without the use of cables or even radio waves. That would make communications faster and hack-proof.

  The University had received a grant, and the two-year project was near completion. Dr. Breaux started the project but didn’t give up his duties as a professor. Teaching, he said, had always been his passion.

  As Bridget neared the building, the electrical hum from the University’s electrical substation rose, sounding like cicadas on a lazy summer afternoon. They placed the ugly temporary building in Johnston Quad to access the electrical grid; even though it spoiled the natural tranquility. Once the experimental device proved operational, NASA would disassemble the whole building and its contents, and relocate it somewhere else.

  When Bridget reached the door, it was locked tight. Really! A card reader to the left blinked red. She thought about knocking on the door, but at this point, a locked door seemed like a good enough excuse to leave and salvage a day of shopping.

  The door opened before she had a chance to turn and bolt for freedom.

  “Bridget! I’m so glad to see you.” Dr. Bryan Breaux, his hair slick with oil and glasses slightly crooked on his face, wrapped his arms around her and squeezed.

  Bridget’s arms hung by her side, taken totally off-guard by the professor’s show of emotion.

  “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come. You’re my last hope,” Breaux said, sighing loudly as he released her from his embrace.

  “Is everything okay, Dr. Breaux? You don’t seem like yourself,” Bridget said as she took a step back, turning her head to the side and giving him a wary eye.

  Dr. Breaux dropped his gaze and took a deep breath. “Bridget, everything is not all right. You are aware of my…condition.” He paused and bit his lip, then, removed his glasses and wiped his eyes. “God, I feel so selfish right now…” he said as if to himself. “Come inside, please, and I’ll explain everything.” He pushed the door further open and invited her in.

  It wasn’t too late to turn and run. Bridget considered, though, the professor’s one hundred and fifty pounds hung on his six-foot frame. If anything improper were to occur, she thought she could take him in a fair fight.

  Bridget passed through a short hall where two offices resided. Beyond that, the room opened into a large unpartitioned area, NASA’s scientific apparatus took up the bulk of the room.

  “You’re looking at the Quantum Entanglement Device or Q.E.D. Sometimes we refer to it as Q. Sometimes we’ll call it Ked because of the phonetic way to say Q.E.D. I’m sure you’re well aware of the interest in quantum entanglement, as a science, and as a potential industry.”

  “I’ve read some things about quantum entanglement,” Bridget said. “The Chinese currently have the record for distance. They put a satellite in orbit and successively completed an experiment between space and Earth.”

  “Uncle Sam doesn’t want a competing interest to take the lead. Q here has gone through all the simulation routines and is ready for service.”

  Bridget’s right hand waved the air before her. “Okay, great, so why did you call me here?” She realized after she spoke that her tone might have been a bit on the get on with it side.

  Breaux stared blankly. And then, as if he reached deep inside and found his inner strength, he said, “I called you here to save my life.”

  “Save your life?” Bridget smirked, her eyes darting side to side. “Dr. Breaux, I’m not sure I can help you there. You have pancreatic cancer. I don’t have any medical training. Your best bet is to see the doctors at Ochsner Medical Center down the street, or M.D. Anderson, in Texas.”

  “No, they can’t help me.” He turned his head toward the Q.E.D., then pointed to it. “That is my only hope. The Q,” he turned back to Bridget, “and you.”

  “Obviously, Doc, I’m just a sheep grazing in the field. You’ll have to explain this to me.”

  Dr. Breaux raised his hands. “I know. I know. I’m being selfish—getting ahead of myself. But I’ve worked so hard...” His face contorted in pain as if someone had just shoved a knife into his gut. He shook it off, and said, “Now that the Q is operational, NASA will start on Monday, taking it apart, and shipping it out.”

  “So?”

  “So, I need you to use the Q on me. It’s the only shot I have at beating this cancer.”

  Bridget hadn’t a clue how the Q could cure cancer, but there was no doubt Dr. Breaux believed it. Whether the man was of sound mind was another question. “Tell me more.”

  “NASA redirected their resources toward national defense, now that we don’t have much of a manned space program anymore. Bridget, Q is more than just a quantum entanglement device. It also can be used as a quantum transporting device.”

  “Quantum transporting? That’s stuff in Star Trek movies,” Bridget said, seriously believing the professor’s medication needed adjusting.

  “Not anymore. I’ve run all the preliminary tests. Q is ready for service in the quantum entanglement, and, quantum transportation service.”

  “I don’t get it. You want me to beam you to another planet or something where they might have a cure for cancer?”

  “Nothing that outlandish,” Breaux said. “I found out I had pancreatic cancer almost six months ago. Pancreatic cancer is a death sentence. I’ve avoided all the treatments that may prolong my life, or end it sooner, to work on a cure. A cure I’ve perfected this morning. That’s why I called you. I need you to help me cure my cancer by operating the Q. You’ll have to enter the sequences manually. I can’t do this alone.”

  “How is the Q going to cure your cancer?” As wild as the story sounded, Bridget sensed that there might be real hope at this point.

  “Q is designed to replicate atom for atom, and in the case of living tissue, cell for cell, in the transportation process. I’ve created a program that replaces the cancer cells with normal cells. When Q disassembles my cancer-ridden body and then reassembles it, I will be free of cancer.”

  Bridget’s face lit up. “Doc, that’s wonderful!” Her smile quickly faded when reality returned. “Wait, how sure are you that this will work?”

  “I believe it will work based on the simulation I ran.”

  “You ran a computer simulation, great. Have you successfully transported a living creature?”

  “No.”

  “No?” The answer did take Bridget off-guard.

  “The power requirements are massive. Performing an actual test might alert others as to my,” Breaux hesitated a moment, “personal endeavor.”

  “So, you don’t actually know if the program and Q are safe to use.” She thought some more. “What’s the worst thing that could happen when I transport you?”

  Breaux tilted his head and spread his hands apart. “The worst thing that could happen is that I could die.”

  “And you chose me to have the honor of being the one who kills you?”

  “It’s not like that at all. Bridget, I’ll die soon if it doesn’t work. You won’t be killing me if something goes wrong.” Breaux’s lips quivered, and he managed to eke out, “Don’t you see? I’m already dead.” He gasped as he tried to hold his tears back.

  How did she come to be in this place? It was Saturday. She was having lunch at Dat Dog and should
be shopping right now. Heck, she thought she might go to the French Quarter later tonight and hook up with some friends she knew were going to the Cat’s Meow.

  Instead, she had a man dying of cancer asking her to be a part of what may turn out to be an unwitting suicide.

  Dr. Breaux was a broken man. She realized he had no good options before him. What if she had cancer and needed the professor’s help? Seeing there were no sure answers, she said, “Why me, Dr. Breaux? I’m one of your students, but it’s not like we have any personal relationship outside of class. There are probably a hundred other students you could have asked to help. Again, why me?”

  “Because of a paper you wrote as a freshman on the Right to Die. I know what you went through with your father. I read you fought his decision to undergo assisted suicide until you saw it was the most humane thing to do. You were there with him when he died. Holding his hand…and showing unselfish love. That was the greatest gift you could ever give him.”

  Tears streamed down Bridget’s face. That day would never leave her memory. It was the hardest thing she had ever done in her life, but it was also the most rewarding. Dr. Breaux needed her now just like her dad had needed her then. “Show me what to do, Dr. Breaux. Even if this becomes your last wish in life, I want to help give you that chance.”

  The tension gripping the professor’s cheeks melted. “Thank you…I was counting on your understanding. I don’t know…” He stopped speaking, and then with his eyebrows reaching for his hairline, he said, “I’m ready. Let’s do this!”

  Dr. Breaux headed toward the Q. The bulk of the apparatus was rectangular shaped, with one end morphing into a tube resembling the barrel of an alien cannon. Opposite of the tube side, a small desk with two computers operated as the control center.

  Bridget followed behind and watched as he called the two computer screens to life.

  “Okay, so the computer on the left is tied into the electrical grid. It takes a lot of power for the entanglement experiments. To use Q for transporting, it takes even more. So, I had to hack into the regional power grid and divert electricity to our substation,” Breaux said. “Do you remember a couple of months ago when we had that bad rain and Lakefront, the French Quarter, and other areas flooded because of the water pumps in the pumping stations didn’t work?”