by John Hunt
Harrigan dreaded the moment when that door would open. He was beginning to like the security of their little cell, and the pain in his injured face was beginning to wane. As far as he was concerned, he would rather spend eternity in this blackened locker than go back out on the deck to be beaten further. But it was not to be.
There was scratching of metal on metal as the handle was thrown back, and a whine of protest as the hinges strained under the weight of the opening door. Light poured in, so insultingly bright that both the prisoners within had to shield their eyes. Standing in the doorway was a dark figure, the outline of an automatic weapon casually resting in his hands. Light surrounded him like a halo. Neither Elisa nor Harrigan moved when the man motioned for them to come out.
“What are you waiting for, you two?” The man said in perfect English. “Do you want a written notification before you’re rescued next time?”
Elisa, the light painfully assaulting her eyes, still couldn’t make out the figure, although the man in the door could certainly see her. “Who are you?” she asked.
“My name is Jeff Baddori. I work with Petur Bjarnasson.” There was a brief pause. The man was examining her with eyes that could not be seen. In a moment, he added, “And I believe, young lady, that you and I have already met.”
56. Observe and Report
THE ELEVATOR, DESIGNED for speed and efficiency, seemed slow and plodding now. Petur pushed at the buttons, impatiently and without the desired effect. They were at the bottom soon, but it felt like an eternity for those riding it. Isaac seemed particularly restless. After getting off the elevator, Petur moved quickly to a small room nearby. He shuffled around for a moment, emerging from within holding several small two-way radios. He spread them around the group, and then walked toward the door.
Isaac joined Petur at the front and spoke quietly.
“Do you have any plan to free Elisa and Evan?”
“Isaac, how could I possibly have a plan for that? Harrigan was supposed to lie low. Obviously, he didn’t. And I had no idea Elisa would be kidnapped. Heck, I had no idea that she knew Marcos. It seems there is a lot I don’t know.”
Isaac said, “Well, there is apparently a lot that others of us don’t know either, such as what happened to Paradise 5. Have you been keeping secrets from me?”
“I’m sorry, old friend,” Petur said, sincerely. He paused for a second as the automatic door in front of him opened to allow his exit from the building.
After Isaac had come through, he told Petur, “I have a notion what happened anyway.”
“You certainly should! After all, you were the one who recruited Harrigan. You knew the potential of his research.”
“Yes, but I didn’t think it was that close to an actual application.”
“Well, neither did I. He wasn’t telling anybody. He kept himself locked away in his deep hole in the ground most of the time, only coming out for those incongruous Hashes he loves so much. He didn’t write anything about his work, and I never pressured him, of course.”
“So, when did he tell you?”
“He didn’t. I figured it out for myself, with a little help from Joseph Onbacher.”
Isaac threw a glance over his shoulder. “Joseph knew also? He didn’t seem to, back there.”
“No. Joseph only provided me with a critical piece of information.”
They were all outside the building now. Several golf carts were waiting for riders, and Petur pointed to them.
“Sophia, please go to the communications shack and see if you can figure out how to raise that British squadron Marcos mentioned. And try to contact the British Admiralty while you are at it. Let’s see where we stand. Also, if you can figure the radar out, take a look to the Northeast and tell me if you can see any sign of Marcos’s boat.”
Onbacher interjected. “Mind if I go with her? I’ve got a message to send.”
Petur just nodded. Then, he gazed at the remainder of his personnel. “Thomas,” he said to the doctor, “can you make arrangements for dealing with a thousand Mexican seamen and soldiers who have been shipwrecked over on Paradise 4?”
Standall shook his head in amusement, “You always give me the easy jobs.”
The pilot asked, “Mind if I go take a look at my plane? It’s possible they missed the important parts when they filled it with bullet holes.”
“Do what you can. We could use a plane. Glad you got out okay.”
“I’m glad they thought Joseph was the pilot.”
Petur turned toward the giant German. “Otto, do you think you can rustle up some marine transportation? I think it might be a good idea to have any ill or injured sailors come over here. We can put them up in the infirmary or the resort.”
Otto Wagner laughed his deep laugh. “Formerly an invasion force, now our welcome guests.”
Petur added briskly, “The concept of turning the other cheek has a great deal of merit. Did you know that turning the other cheek doesn’t mean to go accept another beating, as so many people have been led to believe? Really it means to stand up to your oppressor as an equal. Everyone, please stay in touch with your radios.”
“What are you up to, Petur?” Joseph asked before departing.
“Isaac and I are going to try to keep an eye on Elisa and Professor Harrigan.”
The group divided and headed their separate ways. The first two went to the communications shack, a small but very modern building that housed a technicopoeia of modern communication equipment, including satellite audio, video, and Internet connections. Also within were the standard radio-frequency transceivers, which could come in handy in the attempt to contact the British Navy. By way of thick fiber-optic cables, it was intimately tied into the array of antennas and satellite disks at the top of the mountain.
Standall, Onbacher, and Wagner went off toward the infirmary, and Isaac, Jack Gaimey, and Petur climbed aboard a third golf cart. They drove up the airport road toward the observatory on the mountain peak, on the way dropping off the pilot next to his moth-eaten and obviously seriously damaged plane.
“So, what sort of plan do you have to help Elisa?” Isaac asked. There was desperation in his tone.
“Well first, I want to check out the observatory. Let’s see if Harrigan is there, dead or alive. Then, regardless of what we find, let’s just watch. There is a great view from up this peak.”
“You mean you just want to stand idly by while Marcos sails away with her?”
“Yes Isaac, that is all we can do.”
“That’s not much of a plan! We have to do something more than that, Petur. We have to!”
Petur eyed his longtime friend curiously. There was no trace of his usually jovial persona, his usually light-hearted nature. Isaac had never been far from his sense of humor. In fact, he used his gift of humor even more extensively when facing stressful situations. Since Marcos had left with Elisa, Isaac had not made a single quip. Not one. This was entirely out of character, especially given the stress of the current situation.
“What is it, Isaac? What are you not telling me?”
Isaac was silent. The cart was making progress up the side of the mountain. In just a few minutes they would be at the observatory.
“What critical information?” Isaac asked.
“Hmmm?” Petur asked in return. He was taken aback by the non sequitur.
“What critical information did Joseph give you that made you think Harrigan was about to be successful in his experiments?”
“While we were off failing to find the Bounty with all that high-tech gear on the Elijah Lewis, I hopped a ride back home with an engineer who claimed to be off a merchant vessel. He’d rented one of the boats from the resort and had been out exploring Paradise 5. Seemed rather strange, though. There was no ship in port at the time. Later, Joseph told me that he had seen that same man chatting with Harrigan in some hidden grog hole on the wharf.”
“A grog hole?”
“Yeah. It’s like a Hellhole with beer. It tur
ns out that one of our enterprising citizens has been running a black-market pub on the pier.” He turned the cart up a tight hairpin curve. “Anyhow, Harrigan and this fellow named Clemons were plotting something in that bar. Onbacher overheard parts of the conversation, which sounded mighty suspicious to him, like Harrigan was trying to do something that would be frowned upon, or perhaps dangerous. Joseph talked to me, which got my ass in gear to check out this Clemons fellow. You helped me with that, remember? He’s the guy that used to work in the same university that Harrigan did. An engineer, yes, but not in the merchant marines. Seems that he got in some trouble with the law, providing alcohol to the college kids, running poker tables. Nothing serious. But he got fired and that’s the last thing you could find out. Then he shows up here.”
“I remember, a bit. What did Harrigan say about this guy?”
“He made no apologies for recruiting him. But then he told me everything, including why he had hired Clemons. Clemons was setting up the experimental equipment on Paradise 5, as far away from people as he could. You see, Harrigan didn’t know exactly how big the effect would be. It was as simple as that.”
The cart had made it fully up the mountain now, and Petur parked it haphazardly near the entrance to the observatory. He jumped out, Isaac more slowly following.
Running through the several buildings revealed no bodies, no sign of Harrigan, dead or alive. The two men called his name as they moved into the domed building which held the largest telescope. The giant reflector was still aimed down at Science Hall. Lasers were taped, screwed, and glued onto the circumference of the mirror, with wires and tubes tossed loosely about. It was a slipshod job, but then, it was all put together in a couple of days. Harrigan had done great work creating this work of fiction.
“He must be on Marcos’s yacht,” Petur said, panting from the exertion of moving about the place so rapidly.
Petur led the way to a smaller domed building. Within it was a smaller, fifty-centimeter reflecting telescope that Petur had used from time to time to peer around the horizon. He removed the plastic caps that protected the optics, and aligned the smaller finder scope with his first target, changing to the big scope when he was roughly in the right position.
Paradise 4 was cluttered with people. The shore was lined with men, most sitting on their haunches awaiting others to rescue them, some taking things into their own hands and building shelters. Several small shanties had already been constructed and more were under development. Smoke rolled up from a dozen fires. Petur hoped that nobody on the island lay injured.
Next, he turned the telescope 180 degrees, scanning to the northeast. The horizon from this altitude was about 100 kilometers distant. Petur should be able to find the yacht, but the telescope was too powerful for scanning, and finding nothing on his initial pass, he pulled away from the eyepiece and examined the water with his naked eye. There was indeed a small speck out there in the distance, occasionally catching and reflecting sunlight.
Using the attached finder scope, it was still difficult to get a bead on the yacht, but finally he succeeded. It was clearly Marcos’s yacht, sailing away from them. There was hardly any wake, however, so Petur doubted they were making much headway. Changing to the larger telescope, which required some difficult adjustments, Petur was able to get a closer look at the goings-on on the vessel. Nobody was visible on the stern deck. They must all be on the bridge and down below, he thought.
“What are you seeing, Petur?”
“His yacht is out there, steaming away from us rather slowly.”
“How far out are they?”
“I have no idea. I’m pretty lousy at gauging distances. When they get the radar online, we’ll get a precise figure.”
“Can you see any activity?”
“None. Seems quiet…Wait one moment.” Petur adjusted the telescope’s equatorial mount and frowned, concentrating. “The boat is turning.”
Isaac said, “Uh-oh.”
“Are you worried?”
“Well, Marcos will probably be pretty pissed off that he was unable to destroy us completely. I bet he’s figured he still has a few hours before the Brits make their appearance. He probably is turning around to come finish us off.”
“He will have difficulty with that task for two reasons.” Petur was still looking through the telescope. “First, we aren’t tied up anymore. If we need to go into hiding in the jungle, we can. Second, I don’t think Marcos is in command of that boat anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
As the boat turned to port, Petur had gained a view of the forward deck. Perhaps two-dozen figures were kneeling on the foredeck, hands behind their heads. Two tall men with large weapons were moving among them, although the telescope was not of sufficient power to get a clearer image of what they were doing.
“It would seem that someone has taken over.”
“Who would have done that?”
“Isaac, even though I hadn’t planned on anyone being kidnapped, I did consider that things might not go according to plan. And they indeed did not. Anyhow, I kept a little something in reserve.”
Isaac asked, “And, what, my friend, was that?”
“Jeff Baddori.”
57. Mexican Standoff
OUTSIDE THE DOOR of the rope locker, Harrigan and Elisa were able to stand vertically and stretch, and they took the momentary luxury to do so while they evaluated the scene. There were two unconscious soldiers, tied in ropes and duct tape, lying uncomfortably in two heaps on the floor. A fair bit of blood had been splattered on the white painted wall above the man with the prominent jowls. Baddori smiled sheepishly and said offhandedly, “Messy business, this is.”
Harrigan spoke up quickly. “Is Petur on board the boat?”
“No,” Baddori replied. “I got on board before you all did. I’m sorry, Professor, that I couldn’t stop Marcos from hitting you so hard. I couldn’t see much of what was happening, I’m afraid.”
“How about now? What’s the position now?” It was Elisa speaking.
“We’re in a great deal of a better position by now, I think.” He held a tiny radio in his hand, and pressed a button. In a moment a quiet, heavily accented voice came through.
“The vessel is secure.” The accent was German.
“Yes. A great deal of a better position.” Jeff indicated that they should move on out into the passageway, and as they did so, he spoke to Elisa. “And now, my lady, would you be so kind as to tell me who you really are? Juan Marcos calls you Maria. Petur calls you Elisa.”
Elisa interrupted. “And you…?”
“I remember you as ‘Tanya.’ I owe you for saving my life in Moscow. I feel good that I can now return the favor. But I would love to know what you are up to, my highly aliased friend.”
“All in good time, Jeff. But if Petur is not here, then he still may be tied up in the restaurant of Science Hall. He and the others will be getting uncomfortable by now. We need to get back to them.”
Jeff nodded in agreement, and led the way up the several companionways, which soon brought them onto the deck. Eyes now accustomed to light once again, the two former prisoners were met with a welcome sight. Sitting on the foredeck, lashed tightly, was the entire complement of Mexican sailors and soldiers. Two tall men with closely cropped hair, German engineers who worked for Otto Wagner, were guarding them. Elisa looked up at the bridge. Another of the German engineers stood there with a menacing Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun held tightly in one of his hands. He was in the process of taping and incapacitating a short balding Mexican soldier, while keeping a careful eye on two others. The other two were Juan Marcos, who appeared very tired, and the skipper of the boat.
Jeff moved quickly toward the bridge while the German engineer finished his task, shoving his bound captive to the floor, while indicating that Marcos should sit in a corner. Jeff climbed the narrow steps two at a time, and entered the bridge just as Marcos edged himself to the floor and sat down. Jeff stood above him.
>
“Well Juan Marcos, it is good to see you again.”
The regional governor looked upward into the face he knew all too well. “You! You again!” Marcos tried to rise, but a gun was soon at his temple. He settled back down, but spit out, “How can you possibly be here?” Then he added, “I will kill you!”
“You will kill nobody today, Juan Marcos. No, instead you will be indicted and tried for the murders you have already committed over your career.” And with that, Jeff turned to the German engineer who held the pistol. “Wilhelm, you will find a rope locker in the bow, on the lowest deck. It will be a tight fit to get him through the door, but I think it would be a very nice place to stow this extra ballast.” He was pointing to Marcos.
“It will be my pleasure to accompany him.”
Jeff added, “You’ll find two more of his henchmen incapacitated there as well. If they’re conscious, search them again for weapons, and put them in with Marcos.”
“Again, it would be my pleasure.”
Finally, Jeff added, “And keep an eye out for others. Some may be hiding.”
Marcos sneered at Jeff as he rose to his feet. “This time, you will not win. I will see you die, Baddori. And it will indeed be my pleasure.” Marcos was shoved harshly out the door, and downward toward his new dark and musty accommodations.
Jeff turned to Captain Zamrano. “You are under no obligation to assist us; however, given that you have been working for Juan Marcos — a man soon to be convicted in international court of innumerable crimes — I would recommend that you consider it. It would be a help to us if you could steer us back to Paradise 1.”
The captain did not hesitate, turning the wheel and swinging the boat to head southwestward, back toward the Paradise chain.