Op File Sanction

by J. Clifton Slater

  Wanting to avoid a prolonged gunfight in a narrow stairwell, Warlock dropped her carbine and grabbed the ladder’s rails with her hands. Then she threw her legs up and apart and placed them on the rails. Gravity took over and she rocketed down. His rifle rose and just before he could target the speeding Striker, her boots impacted on his chest. He flew back and splattered against the bulkhead. Diosa didn’t bother hitting him again. It wasn’t necessary.

  Both carbines had suffered trauma. She picked up one and followed the red emergency lights towards the rear compartment of the superyacht.

  ***

  Knowing the guard’s call would bring a security force, weighed heavy on her. No matter her warfighting skills, superior numbers always won in protracted battles. While she jogged and, to take her mind off the thought of dying in a compartment on a Constabulary vessel, she looked at the bulkheads.

  The internal walls were riveted steel resembling the interior of a Navy warship. This wasn’t the lavish yacht depicted in photos of The Princess Dream. From them, the superyacht appeared to be sleek lines and luxury. Down here on the lower deck, the yacht was robust and all business.

  As Warlock arrived at a hatch, she wondered which of those she’d find on the other side of the bulkhead. Voices talking excitedly carried down the passageway. Obviously, the response team had found the unconscious guard. Diosa spun the locking wheel and pulled the hatch open.

  It was dark inside without the regularly spaced emergency lights of a corridor. Beyond the lack of visual markers, she got the feeling of open space. Then far in the distance, her left eye landed on a lone red light.

  ***

  Warlock closed the hatch and shoved the carbine into the locking wheel. To open the hatch, the guards had to remove the wheel from the other side and push the connecting bar out. The bar, the wheel on this side, and the rifle, when they fell to the deck would make a lot of noise. Jamming the wheel gave her a little more time and the clanging, a warning just before the guards came through the hatch.

  Inky blackness surrounded the unrestricted agent. Without knowing what obstacles lurked in the compartment, she paused. Many missions failed when a Marine or Striker suffered an accidental injury during the insertion or exfiltration. After dodging bullets while shooting it out with the guards, she didn’t want to end this mission by breaking a leg in the dark. Hoping for a clue, Warlock lifted her goggle, closed her left eye, and concentrated.

  As feared, it was another spin of her bionic eye’s roulette wheel of sensors. Shades of blue/black informed her the compartment contained no heat signatures except for the emergency light in the distance. Suddenly, the infrared shifted to her soundwave sensor. The crackling of electric circuits, probably those repaired after the EMP, the slapping of waves against the hull, and creeks and groans of the idle yacht’s superstructure touched her mind. Then everything went black. Unlike the darkness of the deck, this black felt like a velvet void. Having no light, her color spectrum sensor returned no information. She sensed another shift and the useless feedback ceased. Not just to black, but to nothing. Her scattered bioimaging was of less use than the color sensor in the dark. Thankfully, her mind, or the bionic eye, realized the absence of stimuli and the imagined wheel of sensors spun again.

  Aromas, not the recognizable delicate ammonia of sweat or the waves of carbon dioxide from breathing, but strong mixed industrial smells of the chemical compounds assaulted her mind. Although it gave her a slight headache, the input from the Haller’s organ at least returned some information. With her arms out, Warlock stepped carefully away from the barred hatch and deeper into the compartment.

  Poet mentioned there might be an escape route down here. And while his guesses usually turned out to be right, her researcher wasn’t infallible.

  A flat plane pressed against her palms. Using her hands as a guide, she patted and followed the vertical surface. It bent away and, where it ended, the material curved sharply and began widening again. With both hands on the apex, Warlock inspected the form. It could be a decorative wall. Leaving the wall behind, she followed the scents from the original direction of her blind walk. Two steps later, the bionic eye rotated her sensors again.

  A glowing spot appeared on the deck. Lifting her head, Warlock used her UV beam to locate more of the fluorescent material. Almost as if a lighted path, they tracked away in uneven shapes with irregular spacing between them. Not lights, Warlock thought as she kneeled and dipped a finger into the material. Bringing it to her nose, she used natural smell to identify it. Some mechanic had spilled and splashed antifreeze on the deck. Figuring the trail marked a clear path and ended at a workstation, she quickened her steps.

  In the distance, a pond of neon green forced her to slow. As she neared the pool, it rose and shrank then her stomach bumped into an edge. Reaching out, Warlock touched a work surface. She realized an optical illusion caused the raised glowing stain to appear in the dark as a large distant object. A search of the workbench located a flashlight and as she clicked it on, the carbine in the locking wheel rattled.

  ***

  Warlock dropped the goggle over her eye and shined the beam back across the deck. The light illuminated what she assumed was a decorative wall. Each section reflected the light exposing the side of a motor launch. Further inspection of the deck revealed other boats of various sizes. She paused when the light landed on a speedboat. Not only would the fast boat give her a rapid exfiltration, but it also offered a fun ride. But the rifle and locking wheel rattled again. She didn’t have time to place a sling under the hull and use the overhead crane to carry it to where? She shifted the beam to the red emergency light.

  Below the red glow, an exterior boat hatch broke the section of the hull between the ship’s ribs. There was her exit. But opening it and diving into the ocean put her at the mercy of the guns lining the rails. She could have accomplished getting shot by simply diving in from the upper deck. Metallic banging carried from the hatchway as the guards pounded on the center core.

  She swung the flashlight beam to the other side of the boat hatch. As it turned out, Poet was one hundred percent on this mission. Two levels of jet skis took up a corner of the deck. But unlike those found by heroes in blockbuster movies, these were strapped down. Not conveniently sitting and idling near the exit ready for the star to jump on and flee from the bad guys.

  Warlock ran to the stacks, threw the handles on the strap tightening bars, and set four of them loose. Expecting to have to muscle the heavy watercraft, she pulled the first one hard. It rolled forward almost running her down. Initially, she wanted one positioned for a quick getaway when she opened the hatch. But the removable wheels on the skis and the ease of moving the jet-propelled vessels, gave her an idea.

  ***

  When four jet skis were lined up in front of the boat hatch, two things happened. The engines of the superyacht rumbled to life and several floodlights blinked on. Two of the floods shined down from above the hatch.

  Warlock jumped from one ski to the other starting their motors. At each, she removed the lanyard from the kill switch. Then rolled the throttles to full power on the three and wrapped the handles with the lanyards and tied them to the handlebars to keep the engines going.

  The two beams reinforcing the boat hatch slid out easily. A series of wingnuts spun off just as easily so all that held the hatch closed was its own weight. Warlock pushed three skis forward but left the fourth back. From the hatchway on the other side of the deck, the rifle fell as the center core moved the locking wheel.

  Pulling both pistols, Warlock shot out all the nearby flood lights. There would be no illumination spilling from the boat hatch highlighting the sea for shooters on the deck above. She holstered the weapons and kicked the boat hatch open. Then one by one, she shoved the running jet skis out.

  ***

  A shout went up from the deck above the sea level. One, two, and three objects roared from the side of the yacht, plunged into the water, and reappeared. Then they began c
hurning up wakes. A spotlight was called for and it snapped on. A jet ski circled before stabilizing and zooming away. The spot followed it until the operator saw there was no rider. He shifted to the next jet ski…

  The wheel lock, and center core tumbled to the deck. Two guards jumped through the door with their rifles pointed down range. They split to the sides and two more came in and advanced further onto the boat deck.

  They saw a woman in a wetsuit run up behind a jet ski, place her hands on the rear of the seat, and like a bobsledder, sprint out of the boat hatch. The security detail didn’t get off a shot.

  ***

  In the short fall from the yacht, Warlock crawled forward and managed to get a grip on the handlebars. Then they hit and the jet ski submerged. Unlike the three that rose from buoyancy, the ski controlled by the Striker broke the plane of the surface in a spray of water. As the rider rolled the throttle, the full power of the ion engine cycled to the jets and a rooster tail blossomed behind the ski.

  The display drew the attention of the spotlight operator. By the time he adjusted and located the occupied jet ski, it was jumping waves and moving rapidly away. A few rifles sent rounds in the direction but none came close.

  On the upper deck, they could hear Sean Mareika screaming.

  “Where is my sniper? Where is my sniper?” he bellowed. “What am I paying him for if he can’t take down a woman on a jet ski? Where is he?”

  The sniper’s corpse and his rifle were laying under a lifeboat two meters from the Constabulary officer.

  ***

  “Poet, you up?”

  “I’m here Warlock. You sound as if you’re running.”

  “Not running. Just me and a jet ski hopping waves,” she replied. “I’d like a hot cup of coffee. Know anywhere a girl can get a cup?”

  “I’d suggest my blend,” Poet replied. “It’s out of this world.”

  “I’d love to meet you. Saw where and when.”

  “It’ll be a few. I’m sort of busy right now. Your friends are painting me.”

  Diosa looked back at The Princess Dream. More lights were on as the crew had replaced more of the power relays. But the shocker was the two rockets that lit up their launch bays before they screamed into the sky.

  Two seconds later and just about the time Warlock snapped her head around following the rockets, both exploded. It happened fast and the brilliant flashes faded quickly. It was too far away to see, even if she wasn’t bouncing violently across the waves.

  “Poet. Poet, speak to me,” Diosa demanded. Panic filled her voice.

  But her pilot didn’t respond. Thoughts of how far the jet ski could travel or how long before the motor launch overtook her, filled Warlock’s mind.

  It was her training. Act now, finish the mission. Grieve later. She had done it before, more times than she cared to remember.

  Then the sound of four closely space explosions came from behind her. Twisting around, she saw fire and smoke rising from the bridge of the superyacht.

  “Angle ninety degrees to your right,” Poet instructed.

  “Poet. Are you all right?” Diosa asked. “Where are you?”

  “Look up and maintain speed,” he directed.

  The stars were blotted out as the belly of the gunship dropped down. When the skids lowered to within arms’ reach, Warlock stood on the seat of the jet ski and jumped onto one. Two minutes later, the retired Marine climbed through the hatch.

  “What happened?” she demanded.

  “Their electronics haven’t fully recovered. I noticed the targeting radar before it identified me,” Poet said with a yawn. “How are you?”

  “Wait. While you were talking to me about coffee, you were flying evasive actions?”

  “And arming and locking in targets for my rockets,” he explained. “Did we cut off the head of the snake?”

  “No,” Diosa replied. “Sean Mareika is a Lieutenant General.”

  “Since when do you go easy on general staff or any rank?”

  “Because he’s not the head of a lone spy network,” Diosa informed her pilot. “He isn’t even the overall commander of the Empress forces on Planet Uno. We’ll need to dismantle the entire command structure to end the threat to the Realm.”

  “Before we take on an army, can we have a cup of coffee.”

  “That is a good idea,” agreed Warlock as she slipped off her backpack and placed it on the deck of the gunship. Then she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

  “Uno orbital control. This is Talon Two requesting clearance to leave the atmosphere.”

  “Talon Two. You are cleared through the stratosphere. Contact Master of Transit when you reach orbit. Safe travels.”

  “Thank you orbital,” Poet replied as he pulled back on the controls guiding the gunship into the night sky.

  Chapter 24 – Mission Statement

  The screen flickered before Eiko’s face came on the monitor.

  “Warlock. Poet. You two look very nice,” Eiko complimented them. “Are you going to the services for Commander Eine Mikka? Just so you’re not surprised, it’ll be a closed casket.”

  “I read about the horrific traffic accident that happened on the way to his family’s estate,” Diosa commented. “Where did you get the fuel truck on such short notice?”

  “What I want to know is where did you get the charred corpus?” questioned Walden.

  “I have no idea what you two are insinuating,” replied the Special Agent.

  “Why are we here?” inquired Warlock. “I thought after all the debriefs, we’d have a few days off.”

  “This is the official notice,” the Special Agent informed them. “Your sanction has been withdrawn.”

  “I’m surprised it took this long,” Poet offered.

  “So was I,” Eiko admitted. “Government departments and the military don’t usually like people operating without oversight. I’ve been in meeting after meeting trying to close out our part of the investigation.”

  “What was keeping us involved?” inquired Warlock.

  “Your success mostly,” Eiko replied. “As soon as reports started coming in from the documents you appropriated, everyone wanted to dump the follow-up work in our laps. I finally convinced them to do their jobs and let the GCIIA do ours.”

  “What is our job?” Warlock asked. “For example, is there a mission statement printed somewhere?”

  “I don’t understand,” Eiko confessed. He thought for a second. “We are a covert operation so we don’t need or want a public brand.”

  “I saw on the net where Uno Global Transporters is in financial trouble,” Poet said changing the subject. “Is it due to the disappearance of their chairman of the board?”

  “According to our analyst, Sean Mareika going into hiding has nothing to do with UGT’s troubles,” Eiko reported. “The whole conglomerate was hemorrhaging money. Management hid the problems by shuffling resources between divisions. Now that the public is aware, our people believe the firm will be in receivership soon.”

  “Hold on. I thought we didn’t deal with the public,” questioned Warlock.

  “We do but through unofficial channels,” Eiko stated. “Or by requesting help from another agency more qualified for a specific task. Like asking the Marine Corps to pay a midnight visit to the UGT compound.”

  “Locate, close with, and destroy the enemy. Now there’s a mission statement,” Warlock articulated one of the Galactic Council Marine Corps’ brands. “Was the fight bad?”

  “No casualties for our guys. But a few of UGT’s employees stepped up for a bout with the Marines,” Eiko described. “They won’t be able to do that again.”

  “Shooting at Marines just makes them mad and draws their attention and fire,” bragged the retired Master Sergeant. “What have you got for us?”

  “We have a few pots in the fire. I’ll let you know when one boils over,” Eiko said with a smile. Then he shifted in Walden’s direction. “The next time I call, you better be available
, Poet. If I have to, I’ll replace you with a separate pilot and a different researcher for Warlock. Am I clear?”

  “Absolutely special agent, understood, agreed, confirmed…,” Poet was still speaking when Eiko broke in.

  “Ending transmission,” he announced and the monitor went blank.

  Walden faced Diosa and began to defend himself.

  “If I hadn’t been occupied with business at the entertainment district,” he explained. “We wouldn’t have found the counterfeit pesetas or the UGT connection or…”

  “Come on Poet. We’ll be late for the party,” Diosa interrupted.

  They left the security pod and the comm center. Outside, the two agents strolled through the quad and cut across a parking lot.

  “The University Ion Research Facility,” Walden read the sign on the front of the building. “I’ve reviewed a number of papers published by the facility but have never been here.”

  “There is a first time for everything,” Diosa stated as she held the door and ushered Walden inside. “I appreciate you coming along and being my wingman.”

  “You should appreciate that I put on a tie for you,” countered Poet. “You can pay me back later.”

  “Didn’t Eiko just offer me two people to replace you?”

  “He said, mentioned, hinted at, if I was unavailable,” Poet stammered. “I am accessible.”

  The guard at the reception desk checked the names against a list, handed them badges, and pointed to the elevators.

  ***

  Frederick greeted them when they walked into the conference room.

  “Thank you for coming. Both of you,” he gushed. “It’s just a going away party for a few of my engineers and scientists. But I thought it would be fun.”

  “This is my associate, Walden Geboren,” Diosa introduced them. “Walden meet my friend Frederick.”

  “Where are they going?” Walden inquired.

  “UGT’s navigation and communications research division is going to be sold off,” Frederick explained. “The top bidder is staffing up. They raided my staff.”