With her platform being sucked under, Diosa ran. Water, flowing powerfully below the inflatable, stiffened the bottom material giving her a semi-firm launch point. From ankle-deep seawater, Warlock jump at the hull of The Princess Dream. Below her, the churning water swallowed the rubber boat leaving only cascading waves flowing rapidly passed the superyacht’s hull.
Chapter 22 – Entrepreneur and Spy Master
The face of the magnetic climber smacked against the steel plating and bounced off. Warlock’s body slid down the hull until her feet touched the seawater. Frantically, she shoved out her arm. This time, the dinner plate sized apparatus stuck. Hanging from one arm, she pulled the second climber and slammed it solidly against the hull.
Warlock switched off the first and repositioned it higher up. After loosening the second, the former Striker pulled up and placed it even higher. Many repetitions later, she peered over the rail at the deck of The Princess Dream.
***
Although the lights were widely spaced along the deck, they forced Warlock to squint with her left eye. If she lifted her goggle, the right eye would be worse. Keeping her chin tucked into her chest and her eyes averted from the light, Diosa climbed over the rail, squatted down, and listened. When no sound of a deckhand patrolling came to her or a cry of alarm, she stood and leaned over the rail. Two seconds later, the magnetic climbers fell and splashed into the water. After slipping behind a vent, she tapped her earpiece.
“Poet. Wrap me in despair,” Warlock directed.
“Stand by for despair,” Walden responded.
High up and far from The Princess Dream, Walden punched a trigger. In response, the e-rocket fired and shot off the rails. As anticipated, the mushroom head caused the rocket to wobble. Its unstable aerodynamics were the reason Walden had taken the gunship to altitude. By launching from high up, he had time and distance to adjust the EMP delivery system.
Moments later, Diosa heard a distant pop in the sky as the e-rocket exploded.
Inside the conical cylinder, rapid combustion occurred. Heat and energy traveled as a wave through the middle of the Christmas tree. As it moved, it split the alloy allowing condensed energy to escape. This activated the wires wrapped around the cylinder. Electrified, the wires attempted to contain the excess energy by cycling it around the wire coils and through the capacitors. But a millisecond later, sharp edges of the split cylinder cut the wires creating a short circuit. With the circuit broken and nowhere for the capacitors to send their stored electricity, they exploded.
The resulting mass of moving energy shattered the mushroom head of the e-rocket. Once released, the compressed magnetic field expanded, generating an intense electromagnetic burst. On a straight line from where the rocket initiated, The Princess Dream absorbed the electromagnetic pulse and every small circuit on the superyacht hissed, sizzled, and died. The engines stopped, the lights went out, and, with the crew in despair, Warlock slipped off her goggle and admired the darkness.
***
Images flowed from Warlock’s bionic eye and flooded her mind. Heat signatures and colors showed her the deck, the extinguished deck lighting, and the hatches. On a level above, a crewman rushed from one door to the next. He glowed in reds and yellows. Navigating the dark as if it was daylight, the retired Marine pulled a two-holster belt from her pack. As she ran up the ladder, she buckled it around her waist. On the landing, Diosa followed Poet’s directions to the main salon.
The door opened and closed briefly and three people standing with candles, didn’t notice the door or see the shape scurry through the shadows around the edges of the open room. They didn’t see her but she noted details including one had a fever.
Leaving the salon, Diosa headed down a passageway. From the plans of a sister ship, Poet had selected the large center suite as the most likely. Warlock reached the door they assumed to be Sean Mareika’s stateroom. She glanced in to see that Poet was more than right.
Through the door, Diosa entered what could only be called a loft apartment. Open the width of the deck and extending to the end of that level, the compartment was divided by curtains. She knew this because the material absorbed the air-conditioning and hung in ripples of purple. The only hot spot was on the far end and Warlock jogged to it.
“Sean Mareika. You and I are going to have a talk,” Warlock whispered. To be sure he understood it was a private conversation, she pressed the barrel of a pistol into his ear. “Sit up.”
As soon as he rolled over, she shoved a piece of cloth in his mouth and zip tied his feet and hands. With him secure, Warlock stepped away to feel around for furniture. After locating a comfortable, high backed chair, she placed it near the bed facing away from the doorway.
“You are going to hop over, locate the chair, and sit,” she instructed.
He mumbled something, then the heat signatures indicated that he shook his head indicating no, and lifted his chin in a display of arrogance.
“I don’t care,” Diosa informed him. She poked him in the shoulder with the pistol. “Hop or you’ll feel the Empress’ love sooner than you ever expected.”
His face flashed a bright red. She couldn’t read his carbon dioxide level due to the cloth in his mouth. Then, the sensor in her bionic eye shifted. Ammonia from his skin smelled of his excitement. It confirmed one thing. The chairman of Uno Global Transporters was a Constabulary sympathizer and loved his Empress. But Warlock couldn’t see the chairman. Looking away, she peered into the dark until her sensors rotated back to infrared.
A poke with the barrel urged Sean into motion. He put out his hands and scooted off the bed. Once he felt the chair, he hopped to it. After closing the blinds on the windows around the sleeping section, Diosa walked around the chair.
***
Leaning over from behind, Warlock spoke into his ear.
“I’m going to pull the gag,” she informed him. Sean Mareika jerked in surprise at the unexpected closeness. “If you call out, remember you are in the crossfire.”
She plucked the cloth from his mouth.
“It’s dark. I can’t see you,” Sean complained turning his head from left to right and back. “What kind of fool comes into my home and assaults me? You may have got on but I have twenty security officers with me. You’ll never get off my yacht.”
“Consider this Sean. I’m here in your bedroom,” Warlock pointed out from in front of the chair. “And there are no big, scary men with guns nearby. Just you and me.”
“True. Alright, what do you want?”
“Mostly your head. Or heart, I haven’t decided yet,” Diosa replied now from behind him. “But a friend advised me that evidence about your network would be more valuable. I argued but, in the end, his logic won out.”
“My network? You mean the affiliated companies of Uno Global Transporters,” he suggested. “It’s public knowledge.”
“Your ties to the Constabulary network,” she corrected from his left side.
The old saying goes, the first person to talk loses. Warlock remained silent as she shifted to face him.
“Turn on the lights and let’s talk like civilized people,” he offered. “I’ve got all night.”
“I don’t. As you are aware. But just for the sake of curiosity, where are your Constabulary documents?”
Sean couldn’t see his hands or anything else in the room. The cognitive bias of false-consensus tricked him into believing Warlock was as blind as him. If he couldn’t see, his self-esteem assumed neither could his assailant. It’s why he boldly turned to his right and glanced at something along the bulkhead.
“Thank you, Sean,” Warlock whispered into his right ear. “It would have taken me hours to locate them.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he blustered. “And stop doing that. I want to know where you are when we talk.”
Up to this point, Diosa had allowed the infrared sensor to dominate. But it wouldn’t be of any use at finding and opening a cold cabinet or a safe with no heat signat
ure. As she took careful steps towards the wall space and a piece of furniture, she closed her eyes and focused on bringing up her ultraviolet beam.
Warlock ran her hands along the lower bulkhead and over the dresser. Nothing could be felt so she grabbed the dresser and pulled outward. It didn’t move. While thinking of her next move, Diosa opened her eyes and leaned on the top. It clicked.
It wasn’t the UV that activated. Her hyper sound sensor came online. Another push brought another soft click. The dresser felt solid on the deck so she lifted it. The large piece of furniture rose to above shoulder level.
‘It’s like a magician doing a levitation trick,’ she thought. ‘Lift the heavy object and rotate it so the audience can see there are no wires.’
With nothing else left to try, Warlock twisted the dresser. It came away from the wall and rotated ninety degrees.
“Very clever, Sean,” she remarked.
“Get away from there. It’s nothing,” he exclaimed.
His heart pounded in his chest and she heard the strain in his vocal cords. Ultra-hearing during questioning was a new skill. With her hands, she felt behind the dresser. A finger touched a ring, hooked through it, and pulled open a door. Behind it was a stack of drawers. Not a locked compartment, but simple, slide them out drawers.
The documents and a pad went into waterproof envelopes Poet insisted she carry. After sealing, the packets were placed in her backpack. Diosa walked back to Seam Mareika.
Unfortunately, all she could sense was his stomach churning, his breathing, heart pumping, and the swoosh of his silk pajamas. She hadn’t realized they were silk from the infrared.
Several times she closed the bionic eye, focused on the infrared, and opened it. One time she saw colors, another she smelled the cleaning products used in Sean Mareika’s stateroom. Then the UV snapped on and she saw Sean’s teeth.
“You need some dental work,” Warlock observed as she held the piece of cloth in front of his mouth. “One final question, Sean. Are you collaborating with the Empress’ Constabulary?”
“No,” he said and he displayed none of the signs of lying. It confused Warlock. Then he lost his Realm accent and clarified. “I am Lieutenant General Sean 5th Mareika of the Empress’ Uno Command. I am a soldier, not a spy.”
The abundance of Constabulary officers living and operating on Planet Uno astonished Warlock. She should slit his throat. It was just below his bad teeth but Poet had suggested making this a reconnaissance mission. Mareika had valuable information and wasn’t of use to anyone dead. With the correct documents, Uno security could always arrest him later. Reluctantly, she settled for a threat.
“If I were you, General Sean 5th Mareika, I’d turn myself over to the authorities. The next time I visit, I won’t come for documents.”
Diosa shoved the cloth in his mouth and headed for the exit. As blind as Sean in the total blackout, Diosa placed a hand on the wall and let her fingers guide her in the direction of the door. She was hoping the door handle hadn’t been cleaned recently. A little UV glow would hasten her departure. Then, the door opened and a man holding a flashlight came into the suite. Luckily, the beam was directed at the floor.
“Mister Mareika. I’m sorry to disturb you,” he called across the stateroom from just inside the doorway. “Engineering will have the engines back online in ten minutes.”
Diosa looked back into the room in time to see Sean Mareika fall out of the chair and roll across the carpet. The security guard ran to his boss and Warlock slipped through the open door and into the passageway.
Four men with rifles and flashlights stood at the mouth of the salon. Warlock reached up and dropped the goggle over her right eye.
“Your bionic game time has expired,” Diosa mumbled as she drew both pistols. “It’s time for some old school Marine Corps tactics.”
***
The armed men looked at the doorway, probably expecting someone else besides a woman in a wetsuit with a goggle over her eye. They did one thing correct. Each shined their flashlights at Diosa and the door.
Trapped at the end of a passageway, blinded by bright beams, and targeted by rifles should have ended the mission. It would have for most agents. But most agents weren’t Striker trained.
“There’s an intruder on board,” a voice called from Mareika’s suite. “Shoot on sight.”
The gunmen hesitated. Maybe due to the unexpected order or out of fear of sending stray rounds into the boss’ stateroom or because they had the intruder pinned at the end of the hall. But the confusion lifted. They shifted their barrels, aimed at Diosa’s torso, and pulled triggers. Good technique and fire control except, the intruder was no longer there.
Warlock stepped to the side, drove off the deck with one foot, and planted the other high on the wall. When the heel connected, the foot flexed and, as soon as the ball of her foot touched, she pushed off. Her body rose out of the path of the bullets. The gunmen adjusted and put lines of chest high holes in the wall.
Somersaulting just below the ceiling, Warlock brought both pistols across her flipping body and fired twice. It was all the time she had before slamming, upside down, into the opposite bulkhead. But it was enough to put down two of the gunmen. The final two elevated their barrels and punched bullet holes in the ceiling where the woman had smacked into the wall.
As she hit, Warlock kicked the overhead driving her body down to the deck. Tilting her head forward, she squared her shoulders and let them absorb the impact. It jarred her, but didn’t prevent the former Striker from extending one arm and bringing the other across her chest. Two double taps and the last gunmen in the salon fell. Rolling to her feet, Diosa assumed a shooting stance and pumped four rounds into the stateroom. She didn’t intend to hit anyone, just force Sean Mareika and the guard to duck for a few seconds.
It was all the time she needed to holster the pistols and snatch up two carbines on her way across the salon. At the doorway, she extracted the magazine from one and shoved it in her pistol belt. Then she tossed away the extra rifle and peered out at the deck. With no sign of any of Mareika’s security, Warlock ducked out of the room.
Logic dictated that escape from a large ship required the fleeing person to rush to the deck closest to sea level. A solid idea and, judging by the number of flashlights beams sweeping the deck below her, one agreed upon by the security detail on The Princess Dream.
They were searching down, so Warlock placed a foot on the railing, jumped up, and spun around. By grabbing the edge of the structure above her, she managed to climb and scramble onto a higher deck.
“Poet, it got hot,” Diosa whispered after tapping her earbud.
“What’s the temperature?” he inquired.
“Minimum sixteen hostiles,” she reported. “I could use a good idea.”
“Do not go into the water,” he advised. “The vessel is stationary. Shooting fish in a barrel comes to mind.”
“I’m looking for a more proactive approach,” she insisted.
“Use interior ladders and head for the stern,” Poet suggested.
“Not to second guess my support team,” Warlock responded. “But that will box me in. Why the stern?”
“Maybe nothing. But possibly a way out,” he answered.
The only light was from the points of twinkling white in the black sky and they cast no illumination on the deck. But from her stooped position, Warlock picked out a man’s shape as he moved across the backdrop of stars. He walked smoothly, probably on the balls of his feet to keep his head level. Some people had excellent night vision, some people walked softly but, few carried a sniper rifle with a night scope. That would describe a predator and, the man stalking the deck fit all the criteria.
Warlock dared not reply to Poet. Stooping lower, she passed the carbine from her left hand to her right so the gunstock faced forward. The hunter peered into a recess, silently tested a door handle, and gazed over the railing at the activity on the lower deck. A good guess would be he hungered for a sho
t and the honor of taking down the intruder. After making sure there was no target, he moved forward and repeated the actions. Precise and methodical, he inspected this area of the deck moving closer and closer to the hunched down Striker.
In classes about defending against terrorism, the instructors taught that rigid adherence to any system makes the system inherently vulnerable. The sniper’s susceptibility came from the pattern of his search. It allowed Warlock to calculate and anticipate the optimum moment to attack.
As the sniper turned to peer over the rail and down at the lower level, Warlock came out of her crouch. On her third step, he sensed the movement. But even superior eyes can’t adjust from looking into the distance at moving lights to picking out a rapidly moving body in the dark. He quickly lowered his center of gravity and raised the rifle’s stalk preparing to fend off an assault. It was a good strategy if the assailant planned on hand-to-hand combat.
Warlock had neither the time or inclination for a jiu-jitsu match. Wheeling the carbine up and over her head, she clubbed the meticulous sniper to the deck. Three taps to be sure he stayed down and the Striker pulled his body across the deck and rolled him under a lifeboat. She tossed the sniper rifle in after him and moved to an entrance hatch. Inside, Diosa followed a corridor seeking a stairwell.
Why inside the ship and deep into the stern, she didn’t know. But she trusted Poet. In the soft red emergency lighting, she located a ladder and started downward.
Chapter 23 – Getting Out Alive
One deck above sea level, Warlock skipped around the bulkhead to reach the next ladder. So far, she had been lucky. No security interfered with her progress and she hadn’t been seen by any of the ship’s crew. That ended as she stepped on the second riser.
“Intruder on deck two,” said a man at the bottom of the steps gawking up at her.
Their meeting must have been as much of a surprise to him as it was to Diosa. The proof, and her advantage, was he made the call on his radio before raising his rifle. But the guard wasn’t the only one with a weapon’s issue.
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