Waypoint: A Game of Drones

by C. F. WALLER

  “It’s getting late,” I sigh, setting my empty on the deck.

  “What time is it?” he sighs, forcing himself to a fully seated position.

  “Midnight, I should get to bed.”

  “You’re from where in the States?” he asks, getting to his feet. “East coast or west?”

  “Middle,” I reply, trying to stand, but needing assistance from the rail to gain my feet.

  “Well then, it’s only lunch time for you,” he declares, plucking my empty off the deck.

  “How do you figure?”

  “It’s midnight here, but back in say, Texas, it’s lunchtime tomorrow.”

  “Maybe I should call ahead and see if I am about to do something I regret?”

  “Best to wait and see how it turns out,” he assures me, ending in a wink.

  We drag the chairs away from the rail, but leave them on the deck. He follows along, stopping to drop the bottles in a waste can. The sound of glass landing on glass breaks the quiet of the night, the can apparently full of our empties. I endure a mental deliberation on the stroll to my cabin. Where is this going to end? I had almost warmed to the idea, but he’s less attractive if there really is a Sybil.

  “This is me,” I shrug, leaning my back on the door to my cabin.

  “So, Miss Middle United States, you going to invite me in for lunch?” he asks, one hand on the door over my shoulder.

  “I thought Sybil was the one for you?”

  “When she goes out, I don’t ask questions.”

  “You’re a very odd man,” I frown, stopping him from kissing me by turning my cheek.

  “No lunch then?” he sighs, disappointed.

  I shake my head slowly.

  “Are you sure?” he presses, stopping to smile wide at the end.

  “Sorry mate, hard pass.”

  “You are aware?” he sighs, then lowers his voice to a whisper, putting his lips next to my ear, “that Sybil is my cat.”

  “She did seem a bit eccentric,” I exhale, having somehow missed the clues.

  “Still no on the lunch?”

  I don’t answer, but simply open the door and enter. I don’t shut it behind me which in a way is an answer. What am I doing?

  Chapter Ten

  The morning brings news that the sled has breached the surface. Apparently, after extricating the case from the Gulfstream, the balloon apparatus designed to float it to safety malfunctioned. The sled, a largish metal barge used to lower tools to the worksite, served as a lifeboat. The tiny robot placed the case on the sled, then popped some nitrogen canisters that raised the entire contraption topside.

  We all watch from the deck as a skiff goes out to rendezvous with the floating platform. Mazio Lee, who I have not previously seen, goes out with Todd. Dexter demanded to go along, presumably to check on his tiny robot, but was denied by this Lee character. Apparently they are still worried about the condition of the case. What is inside there anyway?

  I risk the main mess hall to get a cup of awake, then find the sled already on the deck at the stern. The case is dull grey with an elaborate keypad lock. The numbers glow green in the early morning haze. The case appears to be undamaged. Lee, an older Asian man with tiny round spectacles and a buzz cut is speaking into his phone. The language is Japanese, but the longer I eavesdrop, his jerks and pauses indicate he may be talking to more than one person.

  “The case is fine,” he asserts aggressively, pulling a plastic bag over it and sealing it with a sticky flap. “Undamaged.”

  There is a pause and he turns his shoulder, blocking my view. I move closer to listen, pretending to watch the crew working near the sled.

  “No, I didn’t open it,” he growls, “and I don’t plan on it.”

  There’s a long pause as he listens to the caller.

  “Come out here and do it yourself then.”

  He turns abruptly, nearly running into me with the case, the plastic pulled tight from his death grip. At first startled, he puts the phone in his pocket and marches past me, going the other way. He no doubt assumes he’s the only Japanese speaking person on the boat. It’s never a good idea to assume.

  The dive guys are already crating up their toys, the tiny robot nowhere to be seen. Water runs down the deck, forcing me to swap sides. The corroded sled has some sort of green vegetation hanging off it, possibly seaweed. Dexter sits on a crate holding the swimming box overhead. He turns it in the early morning sun, scrutinizing it carefully. Cam notices me watching and frowns, pointing at his eyes with two fingers, then at me, indicating that he is watching me. Right back at ya pal.

  “Got what you came for then?” I startle John from behind as he directs two men still in the skiff to the right of the boat.

  “Yeah.”

  “Case damaged?” I inquire, pointing my cup at Lee’s back as he scurries down the deck.

  “He doesn’t think so.”

  “But he declined to open it out here.”

  “He what?”

  “Lee was talking to someone on the phone. They asked him to open the case and check the contents, but he refused.”

  “Wait a minute,” John squints his eyes, glancing from me to the spot Lee made his call. “You speak Japanese?”

  “I was a Navy wife,” I reveal. “Stationed at Yokosuka for a year.”

  “You didn’t mention the Navy last night,” he eyes me suspiciously. “Or wife for that matter.”

  “Am I more or less attractive to you now?”

  “How could you possibly be more attractive?”

  “Good answer. What now?”

  “The Bombardier is already on route. They will be here to pick up the case by noon, then I can finally get off this tin can.”

  “You going back with the case?” I ask, unsure if cutting the cord on this one-night-stand is for the best, or a lost opportunity.

  “Oh yes, I’ll be having a great big T-bone in Perth tonight.”

  “Perth have a good steak place?”

  His face suddenly morphs into one of embarrassment. I’d surmise that it’s just dawned on him that we are unlikely to see each other again. I only asked as a courtesy, but it feels nice that he almost looks sad. My bar on men is pretty low these days.

  “I don’t suppose you’d like to come with?” he asks, but I suspect he’d need to ask permission for that to actually happen.

  “All three of us?”

  “Well, no. There’s another Bombardier coming for your team. You got a lot of stuff to haul back to civilization.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight or tomorrow, I’m not 100% sure.”

  “Give me awhile to ponder your offer,” I remark, thinking Hal might want me to follow the case. “You mentioned dinner in Perth. Are you taking the case to Australia? I thought it was on its way to Bahrain when the plane went down.”

  “It was, but the sea plane can’t get there without stopping for a refuel. We will have to stop on the way back to Australia, then put the case on another Gulfstream. Lee seems to think it’s going to Dubai now.”

  “I thought he was speaking Japanese?”

  “The word Dubai in Japanese is still—,”

  “Still Dubai,” I finish his sentence. “But you’re getting off in Australia?”

  “Yeah.”

  When he first offered, I had the inkling that it was just a way to allow me to save face. I’d have the opportunity to say no, then it wouldn’t be on him. I’m watching his expression trying to decide if this is the truth, or would he actually like me to go with him to Perth. My previous impression was that he was looking for a job, not a career. What exactly am I looking for?

  “What would Sybil think of you bringing home some competition?”

  “I think she’d be understanding. Just don’t mess with her ball of string.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I nod. “The visit, not the string.”

  He smiles, then heads back the direction Lee left. The Nerds are busy packing, so I cross to the other side of
the ship, then lean on the rail to call Hal. I think this conversation is better handled on a phone call as opposed to a text. He picks up after only one ring.

  “Any news?”

  “They got the case. Brought it up this morning. A guy named Mazio Lee put it in a plastic bag and carted it off.”

  “So it’s undamaged?”

  “That was the general impression, but they sealed it in plastic. There is a sea plane coming to get it in a few hours.”

  “I don’t suppose you know where they are taking it?”

  “John suggested Dubai?”

  “John?”

  “Yeah, sorry, Aussie who’s running things here,” I clarify. “He asked me if I’d like to tag along. Plane’s going back to Perth, then the case goes on a private jet. I’d be out of touch after that, but I can tag along if you want?”

  There’s a long pause. Do I want to go with John, or want to be told to? I have to shake off a memory of waking alone in my cabin this morning, John having already left. I am a complete mess.

  “That’s interesting, but no, you wait and come back with the dive guys.”

  “What about the case?”

  “I’ll have the plane intercepted,” he relays in a serious tone. “It will have to refuel on the way back. We can grab them up when they stop.

  “What do you mean by grab them up?”

  “The contents of the case are headed for some very nasty people. The sort of people who don’t favor the interests of the United States. Their delivery boys will have to answer a lot of questions.”

  “I thought this was about the planes? Why are you so interested in the case all of a sudden?”

  “Recent revelations have made the case our first priority.”

  “Okay, well, this John guy just arranged the boat,” I allege, trying to keep him from a jail cell at some government base. “He’s not a terrorist or anything. He doesn’t even know what’s in the stupid thing.”

  “If he’s on the plane, then I can’t help him, but listen very closely. Under no circumstances can you tip them off. If they disappear because one of them suspected a trap, you’ll be held as responsible as they are.”

  “What are you saying Hal? That would make me a terrorist?”

  “If you warn them,” he pauses ominously, “then yes.”

  “Hells bells,” I gasp, tapping a fresh pack of smokes on the top of the rail. “Tell me what’s in the case that pushes an airplane graveyard to the back page?”

  “You know anything about Smallpox?”

  “Sure, kids get it when they’re young.”

  “No that’s measles,” he corrects me. “Smallpox was eradicated worldwide back in the late seventies, but the WHO and CDC retained samples.”

  “So, it’s some sort of Bio Weapon?”

  “It’s everything you need to build one. A real nasty one at that.”

  “Can’t you just immunize for it?”

  “Smallpox has been gone for sixty years. No one has an acquired immunity. It flies through the air. If you get it, you carry a ten-foot cloud of death around with you. The mortality rate is one-in-three.”

  “Bad news then.”

  “If a hundred people in New York City got it, you’d have to encircle them with one-hundred million vaccinated people to contain it.”

  I pause to ponder this revelation.

  “Would you like to guess how many doses of vaccine exist?”

  “Not enough?”

  “Less than ten,” he reveals, then pauses. “If a vial of this got dropped in any major city, it would set off a worldwide epidemic that makes HIV look like cold and flu season.”

  “When you jump these guys, there’s liable to be trouble,” I warn, an image of a New York street lined with the sick and dying playing across my thoughts.

  “We’d like to interrogate them, but if it turns ugly there will be gunplay. Do not get on that plane.”

  “John isn’t a player in this,” I protest, still weak in the knees from a visual of dead bodies lining a city street.

  “Then keep him off the plane, but I think you can imagine what will happen if you warn them. You don’t want to be responsible for that.”

  “I’m feeling nostalgic for Old Navy.”

  “Old what?”

  “Never mind,” I snap, still tapping the unopened pack of smokes. “Just make sure you get the plane.”

  “We will.”

  “Why didn’t you just leave the case on the bottom,” I suggest, then scan the skies as another idea crosses my mind. “Or just drop a cruise missile on the ship.”

  “We’d prefer to have the case in our hands.”

  This adds a new wrinkle to the game. Does U.S. Intelligence want the Smallpox for themselves, not just to keep it away from terrorists? Why this revelation surprises me I cannot imagine?

  “So, am I done now?” I demand, already imagining ways to convince John to follow me back to Australia.

  “No, I need you to come back with the dive people. There’s still the matter of the airplane graveyard at the bottom of the Indian Ocean.”

  “Yeah, about that,” I yawn, arm across my mouth. “The dive guys think all the passengers were dead before—.”

  “Not now,” he cuts me off. “I’ll brief you on that when you’re stateside. Are we clear on the rest?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I reply sarcastically, annoyed that he won’t even listen.

  “Call me if anything changes.”

  “Yeah.”

  The call ends and I peel open the end of the pack and light one. Exhaling smoke over the rail, I watch the skiff return to the sonar boat. I need to keep John off that plane. Having not showered this morning, I can still imagine his hands on me the night before. Do I actually care enough to risk tipping off his employers? I day dream wistfully about the previous evening, then flick my partially smoked cigarette over the side. Yeah, I need to at least try.

  Chapter Eleven

  John is adamant he needs to be on the first sea plane. Even after I suggest my willingness to spend a few weeks at his place, he balks. According to Hal, I can’t actually do that, but it’s a lie I was willing to tell. John explains that he received half the money up front, and fears he may not get the rest if he’s not in at least partial possession of the case.

  “Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” he begs, glancing over his shoulder at Lee boarding the skiff.

  “Sorry, I can’t just leave the guys,” I argue, using the dive nerds as an excuse. “Is there anything I can say to keep you off that plane? There’s not one thing I could do?”

  “Your killing me here,” he sighs, no doubt imagining all sorts of lewd acts.

  “The next plane won’t be here to pick us up until tomorrow,” I whisper. “We could do a lot of damage by then.”

  He stares past me, the wheels turning in his head.

  “Whatever you’re thinking and then some.”

  This draws a raised eyebrow from John, as my phrasing was a bit raw. It’s possible my lack of experience with casual sex has left me grasping at straws. Recalling my timid performance the previous night, my suggestive begging probably seems out of character. And it is. Fearful of being labeled a terrorist, or worse, letting the case get away, I change direction into a guilt trip.

  “That’s okay,” I pout, arms crossed. “It must not have been that good.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he stutters. “I don’t want you thinking that.”

  “You are choosing the money over—.”

  “It’s a lot of money,” he whines, wearing an exasperated expression. “Give me your cell number and I’ll call the minute I sort this out. I can pick you up at the dock if you want.”

  He pulls out his phone and prepares to enter my number. I ask John for his, then call him to make sure he has my number as well. In a rather embarrassing moment, he kisses me aggressively, before climbing down the ladder and into the skiff. Dexter and Cam, lean on the wall, eyeing me suspiciously once the skiff departs.
/>   “What?” I groan, crossing my arms.

  “Cam was just observing that your tryst with John is perfectly in line with your cover.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “The real Lydia has a tendency to make nice with the enemy,” Cam grunts, then shuffles away, obviously annoyed.

  “John isn’t the enemy.”

  “If you say so,” Dexter shakes his head. “Can I offer some free advice?”

  I nod.

  “This isn’t what it seems.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Exactly what I said. You don’t know me very well, but this isn’t my first time.”

  “First time for what?”

  “Being dragged into something without the ability to tell the good guys from the bad ones.”

  “I think it’s pretty clear,” I snap, then pause in thought. “Wait, what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, this isn’t what it seems,” he repeats, crossing his arms.

  “What does it seem like?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Won’t or can’t?” I demand, then wobble as the ship tips slightly.

  “Won’t.”

  “Why is that?

  “Because I’m not sure if you’re one of the good guys,” he whispers, patting me on the shoulder, before walking away. “Good luck.”

  …

  Our ride doesn’t come until the next morning. I do not see my dive buddies until breakfast, but they offer nothing new over toast and coffee. Todd stays behind, presumably to deal with the impending media explosion that will occur when the information regarding the airplane graveyard gets out.

  In an odd twist, four men in military fatigues get off the plane and stay behind. There aren’t any flags, or clues to whose troops they are on the uniforms. Did Todd leak the story already? The men carry side arms, which is pointed out to me by Cam, who suspects a conspiracy at all times. As we watch the new people disembark, he tells me alien space probes are swimming free in the oceans of the world. He probably vacations on the grassy knoll.