Ripple (Breakthrough Book 4)

by Michael C. Grumley

  After all, he was part of the group who had been searching for her and was one of the best hackers China had ever seen. Until they forced him to flee for his own survival. Leaving the young man known by the rest of the hacker community as M0ngol with a new agenda.

  Now that he was on western soil, his first priority was to locate the man known as Will Borger––the one to whom M0ngol himself had revealed Li Na’s location, aboard the Canadian container ship.

  ***

  Lee Kenwood glanced at the shadowy hills crawling past them, illuminated only by a soft glow of moonlight shining diligently between the scattered clouds above them.

  Ambient light made both Lee and Will Borger thankful as they now attempted to navigate an even tighter, and much windier, dirt road. With the headlights off, the two peered intently through the windshield, using the faint moonlight to keep them on the treacherous road.

  The screen on Lee’s phone illuminated and he looked down to check the incoming message. With a frown, he turned to Borger.

  “They found Mr. Lightfoot’s body.”

  Will Borger dropped his head solemnly. “What about Tay?”

  “No word on Mr. Tay yet.”

  Borger shook his head, disheartened. Will focused instead on keeping the truck’s speed under ten miles per hour, reducing as much of the bouncing and shaking as he could. The IMIS servers in the back were heavy, yet extremely sensitive to sudden jarring.

  They rounded another small turn, continuing stealthily along the perimeter of the giant complex. Fortunately for them, this was the one federal site in Puerto Rico that would never have floodlights.

  The project’s construction had begun in the 1960s, funded by the U.S. Department of Defense, and built to study the planet’s ionosphere. The famed Arecibo Observatory was repurposed into a national research center in 1969 after being taken over by the National Science Foundation. It relied not only on the uniqueness of Puerto Rico’s limestone sinkholes, but also the island’s proximity to the equator. Not only did it hold the record of being the largest single-dish radio telescope on Earth for the last four decades, it also had the honor of producing some of the most historic radio-based observations in human history.

  After almost twenty minutes, the truck wound its way through the last turn and slowed when it saw the huge chain-link fence standing twenty-foot-tall. Stretching across their path, the fence was constructed with strands of barbed wire across the top, and what appeared to be a small, narrow maintenance entrance in the center. The thick poles on each side of the double gate reached the full height of the fence, all topped with more barbed wiring.

  Below, at ground level, a human shadow stood just inside the fencing. Lee glanced at Borger before opening the passenger door and sliding down onto the ground. He walked past the truck’s hood and idling engine as he approached the gate.

  When he got close, the shadowed figure pulled one side of the gate open and stepped out. As Lee drew near, he stopped just a few feet from the older man, whose gray and white hair was easily visible in the moonlight. A dark-blue hat matched the rest of his uniform.

  Lee grinned. “Hello, Mr. Diaz.”

  The guard smiled and closed the gap between them.

  “Good evening, Lee.” The man embraced him and then looked past to the truck with Will Borger sitting in the driver’s seat. “I was beginning to worry.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  Diaz frowned. “I told you, no more sir.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  “Is this everything?”

  “It should be.”

  Diaz nodded approvingly and motioned Lee in the direction of the complex. Together, they pushed both large chain-link gates all the way open, providing a path for Borger and the truck.

  Borger eased forward, rolling slowly past them before the two promptly closed the gates behind him. Diaz locked them again and walked to the front of the truck where Borger was rolling down his window.

  “Keep your lights off and follow me.” Without another word, the senior man continued forward and climbed into a nearby Ford Explorer.

  Next to Borger, Lee gently pulled his door closed and watched keenly as they accelerated.

  ***

  Their destination was less than a quarter mile away. It was one of a dozen of the complex’s maintenance buildings, standing twelve feet tall and made of thick concrete walls for improved insulation. The place felt surprisingly cool when the three men finally stepped inside.

  “Used to have a bunch of outdated weather equipment running out here,” Diaz said. “Until a couple years ago, when a few of the buildings were cleaned out. Rumor has it that the old equipment was getting too expensive to operate. None of these buildings have been used since. And this one’s the furthest away.”

  Using their phones as small flashlights, both Will and Lee scanned the walls, noting the power circuits near the floor.

  It was the perfect location. The biggest challenge in moving the IMIS system had not been finding a secure facility. There were thousands of places they could have hidden it, tucked away from prying eyes or from all of civilization, for that matter.

  Nor was it electricity. That had been easy too.

  Their biggest problem was connectivity––having a communication link to the system. Even though Borger could bundle enough satellite links to make it work anywhere, the signal would still be traceable. And relatively easily for someone with the right skills.

  This made Arecibo the perfect camouflage. It housed a three-hundred-meter dish, used twenty-four hours a day, nonstop. Numerous pieces of equipment, including the interferometer signaling and several more radio and optical observatories located around it. All of these devices receiving and transmitting different signals and frequencies would make it easy for Will and Lee’s satellite link to be lost in the noise. The frequencies would never interfere, and even if noticed, would likely be written off as residential bleed-over from a nearby cabin or motorhome.

  The perfect place to hide IMIS was in plain sight. And all made possible by one of the facility’s senior security guards named Luis Diaz––the father of their lost friend and colleague, Juan Diaz.

  118

  President Carr finished scribbling his signature on several documents before glancing up after the door to the Oval Office opened. Short and stocky, his chief of staff, Bill Mason, entered without a word. He was followed by Admiral Langford and Defense Secretary Miller.

  The president sat up and placed his pen down; he then watched as all three men approached and took seats around his desk. Langford leaned forward and slid a large, sealed manila envelope over the desktop, which Carr picked up and opened. He slid the papers out, placed them on top of the envelope, and began reading in silence.

  After a few minutes, he raised his eyes and looked heavily at Langford and Miller. “You’re joking.”

  “No, sir.”

  The president placed his hands on his desk. “You’re actually serious. A marine preserve?”

  Langford and Miller both nodded.

  “That’s how you plan to hide this alien ship, in the ocean, by turning it into some kind of sanctuary?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Are you two that short of sleep?” Carr asked. “This is what you’ve come up with?”

  Langford didn’t flinch. “There are hundreds of marine and coastal preserves already. Each sitting president in the last twenty-five years has dedicated funds to increase that number. You would be no different.”

  “Wouldn’t that attract attention?”

  “Not really. The newest and largest preserve is the Pacific Remote Islands Marine National Monument south of Midway. It now covers an area that is three-quarters of a million square miles. We would only need a tiny fraction of that near Trinidad.”

  The president shook his head. “And what exactly would we be protecting?”

  “Turtles,” Miller answered.

  “Turtles?”

  “Several species of turtles are e
ndangered in the Caribbean Sea. Loggerheads and Hawksbills primarily.”

  “And these turtles are in the same location as our ship?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  Langford shrugged. “We don’t need them to be. We merely need to claim that they are.”

  Carr thought it over, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “Well, it’s damn big ocean. I’m sure there’s got to be a few turtles somewhere in the area.”

  “How much money?” the chief of staff asked.

  “Not much. Maybe fifty million. Enough to make it appear legitimate.”

  “And you think this will keep everyone away?”

  “We think it will attract the least amount of attention,” Miller replied. “It will also make the environmentalists happy and allow them to focus their energy elsewhere. While we continue our work.”

  President Carr exhaled. “This is the best idea we have?”

  “This is the only idea,” Langford said. “The ship cannot be moved, at least not now. We need more time to get attention away from the area. It would also provide a logical reason for us to have a research vessel permanently located there.”

  Mason shook his head. “I don’t like it. Those are international waters. We don’t have the authority to commandeer that area. It’s likely to start a political fight that we don’t need right now.”

  Langford stared at the chief of staff. “Well, we’re all ears for your idea.”

  Mason did not answer.

  “Look,” Langford turned back to the president. “These are small islands we’re talking about. If we must incentivize a few countries, then we incentivize them. We can more than make it worth their while.”

  “And Venezuela?”

  “They need help more than anyone right now. From anyone. If we make the offer attractive enough, they should jump at it.”

  The president pressed his fingers together in front of himself, thinking. He looked at Mason. “It may not be the worst idea.”

  Mason merely shrugged.

  “Okay,” Carr said to them both. “Make it happen. But your job is to keep this operation as small as humanly possible, without raising suspicion. Understood?”

  Both Langford and Miller answered together. “Yes, sir.”

  “And we’ll need to be ready for the Russians wanting to know what the hell happened to their new submarine. But for now, your first order of business is to come up with an explanation of why we have an oil rig burning in the middle of our new marine preserve.” Carr looked at his watch. “You have thirty minutes.”

  119

  Raindrops began forming dots on DeeAnn Draper’s shirt as she sat on the ground, watching Dulce play in the tall grass. She looked completely at home, running and tumbling with the other young gorillas.

  Accompanying the early hints of rain was a cool breeze continuing to strengthen across the top of Mount Bisoke.

  DeeAnn’s tan shirt rippled gently, and the tall grass around them rippled in waves across the clearing. Of course, none of the gorillas seemed to notice the weather changes.

  Behind her, Ronin stood solemnly, looking on and admiring the green hills which stretched in every direction. They exhibited a vast lushness that he had never seen on his own planet.

  At least not yet.

  After searching the second vault, they had also found and stopped the leak. The same seepage which had been providing the former warlord Ngeze with enriched water for his prized opium fields, would now be removed. The vault itself had been well-camouflaged, hidden from view, by Ronin’s people. It would remain that way until Clay or his team returned.

  The visiting soldier, standing motionless, moved only his eyes when he noted DeeAnn raising her arm to check her watch. It was almost time.

  ***

  DeeAnn took a deep breath and rose onto one knee. She faced the vest toward Dulce and called to her.

  The young gorilla paused in her playing and stood up to peer over the grass. Her dark fur blew softly in the wind. She abruptly turned and knuckle-ran a dozen yards back to DeeAnn.

  DeeAnn’s eyes were red with tears.

  “Dulce, it’s time for me to go.”

  The small gorilla studied her sadly.

  Go now?

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Come back?

  DeeAnn frowned and slowly shook her head.

  Dulce turned and looked at the rest of the gorillas––children and mothers. The larger males sat further out, protecting the band.

  “Dulce,” DeeAnn said. The lump in her throat suddenly grew, and she struggled to speak. “I have to go. But you don’t. You can stay. If you like.”

  Dulce turned back around. Me stay?

  DeeAnn pursed her lips and simply nodded.

  You no stay?

  She shook her head. “I can’t. I have to go home.”

  This home.

  DeeAnn’s voice began to waver. “This isn’t my home. It’s your home.”

  Without a word, Dulce raised her hands and wrapped them around DeeAnn’s. After a long silence, she let go and stepped backward in the grass.

  DeeAnn began to cry. She watched in silence as Dulce made a very slow turn and proceeded to walk back toward the others. One of the mothers opened her arms and welcomed Dulce in closer to her. All the while, Dulce kept peering across the grass at DeeAnn, sadly.

  DeeAnn immediately raised her hands and covered her face. She wept into them, unable to contain her emotion, her shoulders shuddering as she cried.

  She turned away, not wanting Dulce to see her like that. She wanted Dulce’s last memory of her to be a happy one. But nor could she bear to see Dulce happy without her, knowing she’d never see her baby again.

  With her back turned, DeeAnn’s vest could not translate anything more. Still sobbing, she reached down to pick up her bag. She prayed Dulce would be happy. The little gorilla had given DeeAnn so much. Much more than she knew. And helped her heal in ways she would never understand.

  Now Dulce was free. Back where she belonged. And with a new family that would take care of her.

  Now she had to leave. And be strong. It was not the goodbye she wanted. But it was probably easier. For her and for Dulce.

  She kept her back turned and began walking toward Ronin. Neither she nor her vest could see Dulce, or the female gorilla, or their exchange. Nor did she see when Dulce turned and came bounding back through the grass.

  It was only Dulce’s enthusiastic grunts that allowed her to turn in time for the small gorilla to jump up and into DeeAnn’s arms. Where she wrapped her long arms tightly around and squeezed.

  When Dulce leaned back and peered up at DeeAnn, IMIS translated every word.

  You me mommy. You me home.

  120

  It was pitch black. No light at all. And no sound.

  The only sensation Tay had when he opened his eyes was touch and the hard surface beneath him. It was so dark, he could not even be completely sure his eyes were open.

  Tay moved his right arm across the smooth, cold metal and nearly screamed in pain. But he could at least move it. He then tried his left, followed by both legs. All excruciating, but functional.

  His fingers found his face, where he could feel dried blood covering most of it. Rolling his head from side to side, he could see absolutely nothing in the darkness. Where in God’s name was he?

  Tay tried to play back his last memories. Patchy and jumbled. Panic, with water swirling around him, as he and Lightfoot tried to detach the drill from the ship. But he couldn’t remember why.

  Tay retrieved a glimpse of himself making his way to the back of the drill, desperately trying to throw the giant motor into reverse. And then the violent bucking of the drill, smashing into them.

  And finally, the massive surge of water sucking them toward the wall.

  His bearings slowly returned like a continuation from his last memory. He turned and again tried to peer through the total darkness. He couldn’t see anything at al
l, at first. But then something appeared. Something distant and dimly lit. Glowing softly.

  ***

  It would take a long time for Tay’s panic to subside. He was trapped inside the ship. But unlike Lightfoot, he was alive. He was still alive, and more than that…Elgin Tay was an engineer.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Michael Grumley is a self-published writer who lives in Northern California with his wife and two young daughters. His email address is michael@michaelgrumley.com, and his web site is www.michaelgrumley.com.

  MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR

  It’s funny. As a teenager, I realized at a certain point that I owed a lot of who I was to my parents, naturally. As a man, I came to accept that I’m nothing without my wife and daughters. And now as an author, I know that I’m nothing without my readers.

  I’ve learned an awful lot over the last few years since starting the Breakthrough series. One is that writing a book is much harder than it seems. Another is that many things determine success, not the least of which is some degree of luck. And perhaps most importantly is that no one is an island. In the end, we all need the help and support of others, in anything we do. And for that, I would like to say thank you.

  Thank you for investing your precious time with me, and of course with Dirk, Sally, Alison, John Clay, and the others. I could never have dreamed how many people the Breakthrough stories would affect, and how many readers would in turn affect me. I suspect any author worth his or her salt would agree that their readers have touched them as much as they have touched the readers. And for that, I am eternally grateful. I simply would not be writing these stories without you, and I am deeply grateful.

  I truly hope you have enjoyed Ripple. There are some big concepts laid out in this story line, and if you’ve enjoyed it so far…just wait until you see what happens next.