THE PRICE SHE'LL PAY: For the secret she never knew she had...
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As former C.O. of the Special Missions Unit, he was recalling old covert ops. She let him be.
Sid caught Iain’s eye, arching his eyebrows.
Iain shook his head. He was empty.
They worked out, cleaned their guns, and studied the charts.
“Sid? She said she killed five men in Montecito.”
“Jesus,” Sam said. “We can’t let her kill Mavra Kimirov.”
Sid said, “Our plan is to take care of Ms. Mavra Kimirov, the serial killer ourselves.”
“Good.” They all said in unison.
While Dez was preparing everyone’s dinner, she had a premonition. ‘Instincts never lie’ that’s why we have them, she’d been trained.
Sid walked into the kitchen to taste her food.
“Sid, darling. They’re coming. I feel them in my bones.”
“Your bones never lie,” Sid hugged her. “She’s ready and so are we. Nearly…”
Around 1600 as daylight quickly faded, six of Mavra’s men headed out to the inlet in their van, hauling a large dinghy with an outboard. They looked like an Orca whale tour group, confused by the season. Their U.S. destination, a small westside inlet across Haro Strait, near the San Juan County Park called Dead Man’s Bay.
Less than a mile south on Victoria Drive, Elise felt them too, and was watching for them through her powerful thermoscope binoculars.
Dez let Sid and the boys finish their meal, as her anxiety mounted. She excused herself from the table and went into her office and saw the radar. There it was, whatever it was. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She called her Westside spotters, Kurt, Jim, and Bonnie.
“I’ve got something on the scope and I haven’t heard from you,” Dez asked Kurt.
“Could be the lost whale?” Kurt, the Westside spotter said.
“Confer with John immediately, please?”
The spotters looked again and called John.
John immediately called Dez, “Sorry, Dear. Checked with my sources in Bangor and Kent. Everything is in port. It’s got to be a lost whale. Coast Guard will be monitoring, anyway.”
“Nothing at all? This is maddening! All right. Keep to your post please,” Dez sighed.
Sid stepped into her office and was looking at the scope, “Jesus! Dez! It’s a small sub. We can’t defend against a sub, Dez!”
“Oh my God! Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’s a sub. Ask John to take another look. I’m sure.”
As she reached for her METAPHOR phone, it rang.
It was John, again. “I had an epiphany. I thought it might be a very small sub, so I called Kent for back up. He was just about to call me. He said, “it’s possible it’s the salvage sub he saw in their latest report, going to Cape Flattery looking for the wreck the S.S. Pacific.””
“In this weather? Thanks John. It’s Kimirov under the guise of a salvager. I’ll keep you posted.” Dez hung up and turned to Sid. “What choice do we have? Elise is determined. It could work.”
“It’s a sub, Dez. A sub! You’re going to have to let them take her and hope she is able to contact us. And pray for a miracle,” Sid sighed at the futility of Elise’s rescue.
“What are her chances?”
“As I see it, seventy-five percent… failure rate. Essentially a…”
“…suicide mission.” Dez finished.
Dez sat down and put her face in her hands, too depressed to cry. For Sid to articulate everyone’s thoughts was too heavy. The complete hopelessness had come full circle.
Sid called Elise on the secure phone. She was ready to go, sub or not, she told him.
“Should I call the President?” Dez asked Sid.
“No, not yet. He’s our one time, ‘get out of jail free’ card.” Sid pulled Dez to her feet, and held her for a long time, feeling the helplessness taking hold of him, too. “She’s covered and prepared. We’ll be right by her side. Do you believe me?”
Dez shook her head, “Improbable and utterly impossible. Not in a sub. You said so yourself. It was your tone. She’s going to die.”
Sid refused to feel helpless. He couldn’t let her call the President. Not yet, even if she was his chief. The President could only do so much without ringing bells all over hell.
Old images of Sid and his dolphins in the murky depths of the Gulf exploded in his mind’s eye. Sid grabbed his long gear bags, and ran them to the door.
“Honey? Get your sea gear on! It’s not hopeless yet. Sultans! Put on foul weather gear. Grab my bags. Get me to the closest scuba store, then the harbor, then Dead Man’s Bay. Dez! I just got a hell of an idea.”
“God, love ya!” Dez kissed him as they grabbed all their gear. Dez picked up a box of hot chocolate mix, a gallon jug of water, and a bag of pills.
“Sorry dogs, you have to stay. Go lay down.”
They all ran for the van.
Sid shared his plan in the van.
Dez drove her team to Jensen’s Shipyard, one half mile east of the harbor. Next, she drove them to the dive shop at the base of the big tree at the ferry landing. Sid broke in and shouted out their supply list.
Dez found a battery operated metal probe water heater for her hot chocolate and a huge thermos. Everyone grabbed kayaks, paddles, dry suits, dive gear, dry bags, food, rope, and a sea scooter.
Sid explained the plan further, as they shopped for Iain.
Iain reviewed his new dive gear.
Dez left $5000 in cash under the counter by the register.
“Are you sure we’ve got everything, Iain?”
Iain checked the new gear. “Yes, sir. Just get me there. Should be no problem.”
Dez kissed them both. “God love ya, God love ya!”
They sped to the west side’s Snug Harbor to get a few more things they didn’t find at Jensen’s.
Eamon was prepping their boat. They had to be ready and in position quickly for this crazy scheme of Sid’s to work. Desiree called Elise and told her the plan.
Winter darkness descended. The Wind was whistling threw the pines, ‘Death is coming.’
Elise stood outside. Death was drawing her to Dead Man’s Bay, a moth to a flame.
Sid called her now to say they were located in the Strait. Elise said she’d walk down to the cove where they appeared to be headed.
Elise left the front door unlocked and walked down the hill to the small inlet. Her armor, her mammoth sense of justice.
CHAPTER SIX -- DEAD MAN’S BAY
THE WIND INHALED OMINOUSLY and exhaled angrily, frustrated with those who would not heed her warning. The irate waves were punching the rocky shoreline. No one in their right mind would be out in this weather.
Six tired men in dry suits lumbered out of the frigid, white-capped water, beaten up by the wind and the deadly chop. They pulled the almost too small life raft up on the rocky shore of Dead Man’s Bay. They were on schedule even after a day’s run in the sub, a piece of cake to these ex-submariners.
“Take me to Mavra Kimirov! I’m Elise Andersen!” Elise shouted to be heard.
No one could see her.
She was viewing them through her thermoscope goggles. She took them off and hid them in her pants. She snapped on her flashlight, shining it on her face.
She was in front of them on the hillside path out of the beach. She walked down to meet them as she blinded them with the flashlight.
They stood frozen, tortured by her surprise. “Jesus, Bruno! She’s waiting for us. How’d she know we’d be here?”
“Hell? Who cares? Our job’s done. Don’t think so damn much! Jesus lady! D said you were ballsy. You do have a death wish. Must want Ms. Kimirov bad.”
“Something like that,” Elise said as she walked up to the stunned men.
“Orders are to get you in this dry suit. How’d ya know we’d be here?”
“Night goggles. Watched you from up above. You made it too easy.”
“Ms. Andersen wants Ms. Kimirov so bad she can taste it, huh Lassie?”
They rowed out into the pitch-black choppy water of Haro Strait.
Elise blinded Bruno again with her Mag light, “You know, she’s going to kill us all. You’re never going to spend that money she’s paid you, unless you outsmart her and transfer it to your family accounts right away.”
Bruno grabbed her light and snapped it back in her face, “You have a point there, counselor. Think she’s right, boys? That Kimirov broad certainly is a crafty one.”
She’d planted a seed. Mutiny was on the far horizon.
“Shit, Bruno. I didn’t sign on for this. The duty was raising the gold from the S.S. Pacific, not capturing this crazy broad bent on revenge and giving her to another worse crazy broad.”
“What the fuck is going on Bruno? You knew about this? Geezus, man! This is fucked up.”
“She’s just a bit of extra duty Mates. Eyes on the prize, now. We’re being paid very well.”
Elise snatched the light back and laughed, mocking them, and shined the light into each of their faces.
“Guys. If you insist on dying in service to the ultra-privileged, the less than one percent like Ms. Kimirov, wouldn’t you want your families to be able to bury you and enjoy the fruit of your labors and your noble death? That is if they can find you, and spend the money you died so willingly for? It’s only common sense. No matter what she does, you’ll have earned the money.”
“Yes, Lassie. You’ve made your point. Now stop your yappin’ and let it sink in.”
“Just food for thought.”
“Aye. And it’s a feast!”
The men continued to grumble amongst themselves. Elise was quiet for the rest of the terrifying trip out into Haro Strait.
For a while Elise was looking at her feet so they couldn’t see that she was pleased with herself, praying they didn’t capsize and drown before they got her to their destination, and the deadly bitch Ms. Kimirov.
The water was splashing in so fast they’d been bailing since shoving off. She grabbed a facemask and bailed with them, a united purpose meant to bond them with her. The water was winning.
Suddenly, there was their small sub.
They tied off the raft to the conning tower. It was ideal for underwater search and survey, a Rov/diver support ship. Steel construction. Built 1976. Length 35m. Beam 2.4m. Displacement 175 tons. Three cabins for eleven men with a Captain’s private accommodation, an office, an Officer’s mess, crew mess, galley, toilets, and showers. She had 2x HIAB deck cranes fitted with a cargo hold. Her main engines were MTU diesels 8V331 TC92 2 x 720KW (de-rated to 520KW), and one spare main engine. And twin screw (Seffle variable pitch props). She cruised at 12Kts, with max speed of 15Kts.
Bruno helped Elise up the rungs. Bruno looked her right in the eye. He smiled. She had their chief. Good.
She crawled down the rungs into the sub and was met by an enormous woman as the rest of the inside crew gawked at Elise and whispered amongst themselves.
“She’s the broad from the news.”
The men from the boat climbed down. The last one in secured the hatch.
CHAPTER SEVEN — DEATH WITH A VIEW
SID SAID TO IAIN now in his scuba gear, far into the water heading toward the sub,“Do you have her?”
“Yes sir. One hundred fifty yards, traveling southwest, visibility good, signal strong.”
“Any visual on the sub? Any foreseeable problems?” Sid was tense with worry.
“Not yet, sir. I’ll let you know. Best to put it into high gear. Current, strong. Got to hurry. Will report back, post mission. We are the Sultans…”
Iain had good clarity and good audio in his underwater headgear microphone.
“Till our dying day. Be careful out there.” Sid sighed.
IAIN MOTORED ON, hurrying but smiling in the cold water. Dire Straits, their Mission Trumpeters, drove him onward. The Old Man was one for wringing every bit out of a man, making you rely on instinct and both sides of your brain.
Sid had coached them when the Sultans 2.0 were stealing equipment at Snug Harbor.
Iain laughed when Sid connected his phone to the van’s radio and Dire Straits “Private Investigations” played.
“Gotta ride into the mouth of the beast properly, boys.” Sid said with a grin.
“Aye, aye sir,” Dave and Mac had said.
Mac and Dave already felt back in-country satisfying their adrenalin needs and their C.O. Dave and Mac smiled. They already loved the Old Man.
“For luck. Wouldn’t be the same without it,” Iain had said.
SID HAD PLAYED it at least ten times while they had assembled their equipment at Smallpox Cove, the next inlet north of Dead Man’s Bay. Dez was their lookout, using her thermoscope. Everyone helped dress Iain.
Iain threw a ‘thumbs up then, a fist’ as he disappeared into the frigid water with all his gear trailing behind him.
Iain hummed Dire Straits’, “Sultans of Swing” in his head as he gunned the thumb controls on his Submerge UV-I8 underwater Scooter, following Elise’s GPS signal on his forearm radarscope. She was seventy-five yards in front of him now. The drag on the equipment he was carrying was slowing him a bit and he was fighting the northbound current. He so wanted to please the Old Man but he knew he was cutting it close. If the current got stronger, he’d fail.
SID GAVE Dez a thumb’s up, to let her know everything was going fine. Sid knew not to speak to Iain now, in case they had sonar. He walked back to her on the hill.
Dez collapsed in relief. “You’re brilliant,” she said as she kissed him.
“It’s only the first step Love,” Sid said.
IAIN WAS in awe of the brilliant sea life he was seeing with the scooter’s headlight, the water clearer than expected, smiling at the beauty tempering how near death he was. He looked behind him to see what he was towing was still with him. Iain smiled at the Old Man’s brilliance.
Iain easily followed the signal of Elise’s GPS chip right out to the middle of Haro Strait. He was able to locate the sub as her GPS signal abruptly disappeared. Iain entered ‘save’ on his radar. He could hear the sub’s generators. Now the sub’s engines were turning over. He’d better hurry.
ELISE LOOKED at the rest of crew who didn’t know why she’d been brought aboard. Elise showed fear on purpose.
Dr. Arden took Elise’s hand. “This way. Cooperate and you’ll live. Resistance is futile, you understand.”
“Completely.”
“What the hell?” a crewman said as he realized something was amiss. They were angrily whispering, asking Bruno questions, as Elise was lead away. Many got into their phones and transferred their pay.
“Shut your gobs and take your stations, we’re underway in two minutes,” Bruno barked.
CHAPTER EIGHT — PARTNERS WITH THE BEAST
IAIN SAW THE SMALL SUB was blowing her ballasts, submerging. ‘It’s a wonder what money can buy.’
Iain quickly came up behind the sub, staying to the left of the prop wash. The sub was slipping past him. He shoved the scooter between his knees, clipped it to his utility belt, the weight of it pulled him down. He clipped himself to the handlebars on the side of the sub, using both hands to secure the huge magnets with the trailing goodies, to the hull ten feet ahead of the prop. They’d never fowl drifting up there.
He unclipped himself, pushed off sideways, gunning the scooter’s motor and kicking hard to get away from the prop wash and watched the goodies trailing properly, as the sub pulled way under his feet.
Iain saluted the sub as it continued diving.
The UV-18 pulled Iain back to the Island. He spat into his mic in a stutter pattern to imitate the mechanical sound of a minkie whale.
INSIDE ELISE’S room there was a bunk, an IV pole, several solution bags, one primed and ready waited for her. Multiple filled syringes lay on an instrument tray. There was a video camera on a tripod.
“Put this on.” Dr. Arden threw a gown at Elise, crossed her ar
ms and waited. They weren’t about to waste time, now that they had her.
She surveyed the room per training for things to use as possible weapons and saw the tripod and IV stand. She could also use air filled syringes. The camera made her pause. She felt the first tremor of fear. The damn obvious scenario struck her hard. She might not get to meet the murderous bitch Ms. Kimirov, after all. Her plans, METAPHOR’s mission, and Sid and Desiree’s plans would be for nothing. She dismissed her disruptive “little voice” and kept her cool.
Elise slipped out of her heavy dry suit, hung it on the hook, kept the goggles out of sight, and removed her winter clothes, damp with perspiration. She rubbed herself dry with the gown, put it on, lay down on the bunk and extended her arm for the IV.
“You’re cooperating? Seems entirely inappropriate,” the huge woman said.
“I want to speak to Ms. Kimirov about some negotiations when this is over.”
“I will relay your message. No guarantees.”
Dr. Arden started her IV roughly, not the greatest technician. She taped it, opened the thumb valve and cool IV fluid entered rapidly, hurting a bit.
“Been a while since med school?” Elise said mocking her sloppy technique.
“Is that meant to be a summation of my skills, counselor?” Dr. Arden snorted.
“Of course.”
The Doctor chuckled as she slowed the drip rate down. Dr. Arden picked up the first of her syringes, pinched off the tubing below the med port, then slowly pushed the med into the tubing, released the pinch and slowed the drip rate more, counting the drops by the fifteen second intervals, as the tiny bubble that indicated where the med was advanced down Elise’s arm, toward her body, toward her brain and toward releasing her secret.
Elise bit down on the antidote capsule she’d kept under the base of her tongue, and felt the gel’s bitter taste. She let it lay under her tongue absorbing there. When the Doctor’s back was turned she pushed the capsule behind her molars, pushing out all the gel until she could no longer taste it, then she swallowed it.
“What will this feel like?”
“Like a pitcher of margaritas. You’ll answer truthfully, unable to help yourself.”