The Olympus Device: Book Three

by Joe Nobody

  Dusty refused to seek medical attention, and that was that.

  After repeating the events that happened in the street for almost an hour to the FBI men, the Texan finally declared that enough was enough. He promised to answer any others questions the feds could dream up in the morning.

  Dusty slept for hours, never once complaining about the hotel room’s lousy bed or the constant ringing of Grace’s cell phone.

  She had just stepped back inside after completing another call when Dusty rolled over and attempted to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Did anybody get the number of that truck?” he grumbled, gingerly testing his limbs and back. “I feel like I’ve been in a cage fight with a bear.”

  “There’s some coffee over here,” she responded, pouring a cup and then bringing it to him. “Maybe this will help you feel a little more human.”

  “Thank you,” he replied, raising the steaming brew to his mouth. “What have you been up to? I was dreaming that you were running for the office of president of the United States.”

  She laughed, bending to kiss his forehead. “Not exactly, but I can understand why you might dream that. I’ve been on the phone with the White House staff on and off all day.”

  “So it’s really over?” he asked, half wondering if that had been a dream as well.

  “Yes, it’s over. Andy is safe; the country is safe, and you’re pardoned… a free man.”

  Dusty smiled, letting it all wash over him. “Good. Then I can go home?”

  Grace sighed, sat down beside him, and placed a caring hand on his knee. “Not exactly.”

  “What? What do you mean? I’m pardoned. A free man. Unwanted. I can go where I want – right?”

  “While the government no longer wishes to confiscate your invention, they don’t want anyone else getting their hands on it either. And I can understand their point. A virtual parade of foreign governments, criminals, thrill seekers, and the curious would descend on West Texas. Unless you want a full armored division of the U.S. Army surrounding your ranch, returning home is out of the question.”

  Dusty didn’t want to accept her lawyer’s logic. “I thought we were going to figure out some method of turning the rail gun over for scientific research and exploitation for peaceful purposes? Why would anyone want to bother me if it’s made clear I no longer possess the damned thing?”

  Grace brushed his cheek, trying to sooth away what she knew was troubling the man she loved. “Dusty, think about this for a minute. Put yourself in the place of a desperate foreign government. Would you believe the rail gun was an accident? Would you buy the story that Durham Weathers couldn’t build another one? You would be kidnapped in a heartbeat, hustled off to some gulag, and tortured until you gave up the secret to the technology.”

  Pride overcame reason, Dusty stiffening his spine and puffing out his chest. “They better bring a small fucking army with ’em if they’re going to try and take me off my land.”

  Grace didn’t respond. Instead, she merely smiled, giving the troubled Texan time to think it through. Mitch, however, wasn’t as diplomatic. “Brother, you know they will come with that army. You can’t watch your back forever… even you can’t remain on guard 24-7 for the rest of your life.”

  Reality soon dawned, Dusty rising off the couch and strolling to the small room’s window, a heavy sadness filling his heart. “So I’m basically screwed for the remainder of my days? All because I got lucky and pieced together some components with bailing twine and duct tape? This is unbelievable. All I want is to go home, fiddle around in my shop fixing duck guns, and occasionally take a beautiful lawyer I know out on Saturday night. Is that too much to ask?”

  Grace rose and joined him by his side. After putting her arm around him, she responded, “Yes, for a time, going home will be impossible. But don’t give up hope just yet. We’ll figure out some way to protect you and the rail gun, and then I’m sure the government will help you with something like the witness protection program… something to help you establish a new identity.”

  “All of our lives are changed forever, Dusty,” Mitch added. “Even Andy and Maria will have to be protected and hidden. I’ll never be able to go back to A&M. The same evil element that would come after you might think I know the rail gun’s secrets as well. My wife and kids would never be safe again.”

  Dusty shook his head in disgust, the scope of their situation becoming clearer. “I’m sorry I got you all into this. I wish I could take it all back… I don’t know what else to say. Sounds like I’ve messed up everybody’s life.”

  Mitch joined the couple at the window, facing his brother and placing a reassuring hand on the older man’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Dusty. Seriously, it will all be fine. The benefits of your discovery will outweigh our inconveniences. We’re all in this together, and we’ll make it work. I promise.”

  “Thanks, Mitch,” Dusty said with barely a whisper.

  For a bit, the Texan just stared outside, clearly lost in thought. Eventually, his attention returned to the present. “So what’s the next step? Let’s get this rodeo in gear.”

  Relieved he wasn’t going to fall into a dark void of depression, Grace perked up as well. “The president is going to Camp David to meet with his advisors. Until then, we’re to lay low and keep out of sight. No one has any clue how long it will take to come up with a solid plan for what to do with the rail gun.”

  Dusty looked around at their cramped hideout, wrinkling his nose at the low budget decor. “Any chance we can move to a bit more classy digs?”

  Grace chuckled, “Actually, they would prefer it if we just stayed here and out of sight.”

  Pointing his finger toward Washington and inhaling deeply, Dusty was about to unleash a string of unkind words. His rant was stopped cold by Grace’s mischievous look.

  “I told them that was unacceptable. Furthermore, I explained that we wanted to sneak back to Texas while they were contemplating our future,” she informed the still-steaming Texan. “I want to go home and get my affairs in order, and I assumed you both would want to do the same. They can protect us for a little while… at least long enough so that we can pack a bag or two.”

  Dusty’s smile was bright and wide, “And they agreed?”

  Nodding, Grace said, “Yes, they decided that it is probably safer for us right now to be in the Lone Star State, especially if the world thinks we are still in our nation’s capital. We’ll even have United States Federal Marshals to escort us on the drive home.”

  In the blink of an eye, Grace was lifted off her feet, Dusty spinning her around in circles. “Yes!” he said with glee. “God, I miss my ranch.”

  “I promised we’d keep a low profile. We have to stay out of sight and not visit anybody.”

  “No problem,” Dusty committed. “I just want to walk my land again, even if it is for the last time.”

  The two men standing by Dusty’s driveway looked uncomfortable in their dark suits and sunglasses. Like hundreds of times before, the Texan pulled up beside his front porch, scanning the property he’d missed so dearly.

  “I’m still shocked they’re letting us stay here,” Mitch grinned after the SUV rolled to a stop. “I wonder if they’re going to let Dusty experiment in his workshop?”

  Grace eyed the two strangers, something about them seeming familiar. “Everything okay, Grace?” Dusty asked, sensing her unease.

  “Those two must be from our FBI protection detail… but something looks… not those two again!”

  “You’re right,” Mitch said from the back. “It’s Shultz and Monroe. Those two are like bad pennies – they keep coming back. What are they doing here?”

  As the pair strolled closer, bad memories welled up inside Grace. “From College Station to Austin, and all points in between. It’s like they’re family or something,” she barked. “Why in the hell would they assign….”

  Dusty flashed a sly grin. Reaching for the rail gun, he said, “Want me to take care of them, onc
e and for all?”

  Grace stopped him with a hand on his arm. “You’re funny, and I’m tempted. But seriously, I suppose if you think about it, it makes sense in a sick sort of way. Knowing how the government works, they probably assigned those two because they’re familiar with our story.”

  “And I thought the feds didn’t have any sense of humor,” Dusty grunted.

  The stiff passengers exited their vehicle and began stretching the circulation back into their frames. What seemed like a lifetime of travel crammed into just a few weeks was taking its toll. Despite all that had happened, it was exciting to be back home.

  Dusty took the jubilation a step further, walking a few steps away and holding his arms wide as if hugging the land. “I’m home, Mom,” he said. “Your wayward son has returned to your loving embrace.”

  The two government types approached, nodding stoically at the trio of travelers. “Good afternoon, folks. We’ve been assigned to head up the protection detail while you’re staying in Texas. Miss Kennedy, there is a team at your property as well. I’m sure you’ll be wanting to check out your homestead soon. We’ve even arranged for your dog to be returned.”

  “Roscoe!” she smiled with glee. “Oh, how I’ve missed that worthless fleabag.”

  Monroe continued, “We’re simply here to make sure no one bothers you until Washington finalizes the details. Hopefully, you won’t notice my teams. We only require that you remain here or at Miss Kennedy’s property, and that no outside contact is initiated. Please provide as much warning regarding any activities outside the usual routine, and I’ll do my best to accommodate you.”

  “Are my wife and children being relocated from College Station?” Mitch inquired.

  “Yes, they should be arriving tomorrow at the latest. A moving van with your household contents is in Austin, awaiting instructions.”

  Turning to his brother, Mitch said, “I’m so looking forward to that reunion, and I know the kids are anxious to see Uncle Dusty.”

  “What about my son?” Dusty asked.

  “He’ll be arriving from Houston in a few days. There is a team observing your ex-wife’s home while he mends from the explosion at Lake Travis,” Shultz answered.

  “Good. It all sounds like it’s coming together. Now if you all don’t mind, I’d like to go inside. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in my own house,” Dusty nodded.

  Chapter 13

  Captain Bard, formerly of the USS Gravely, stood at attention. His starch-stiff, brilliant white uniform a model of perfection down to the highly polished shoes and regulation length hem.

  The display of military precision and discipline did little to offset the dark, melancholy atmosphere that commanded the room.

  He’d been unexpectedly summoned by the vice admiral, a man who controlled the young officer’s destiny. Acting as the chief magistrate of the highest-ranking board of inquiry ever formed by the U.S. Navy, the three Silver Stars on the older man’s shoulder board were an indication of how seriously the Navy was taking what had become known in the civilian press as the “Gravely Matter.”

  Never in the proud history of the United States Navy had such an incident occurred.

  Captain Bard stood in front of the man, facing the seated officer with square shoulders and a still spine.

  “At ease, Captain,” ordered the admiral. “I wish to have an off the record conversation between two sailors, not a formal meeting between a fleet officer and a captain.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And, before we have our little chat, I want your word as an officer and a gentleman that anything said in this room will remain confidential… just between two men who love and serve their country. Is that acceptable, Captain?”

  “Absolutely, sir.”

  “Good. After an extensive investigation, over 100 hours of testimony, and a detailed review of the facts, the board of inquiry will find no criminal fault against you or your officers. Formal charges will not be brought.”

  Bard started to smile but caught himself. “At ease,” meant he could soften his stance, not be relaxed or casual. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Oh, don’t thank me just yet, young man. There’s more. The other boot is about to drop.”

  Sighing deeply, the seated admiral seemed to be picking his next words carefully.

  The senior officer continued, “It is the opinion of the board that the actions of Gravely on the day in question represent the darkest of times for the United States Navy and the U.S. military in general. From the perspective of both the public and civilian political authority, poor judgment was demonstrated at several points throughout the chain of command. For those who haven’t served, which includes most of Congress, it appears as though your strict adherence to regulation is an indication of a much larger problem within our protocols and procedures. I can’t say that I disagree.”

  Pausing to shuffle the documents in front of him, the admiral continued. “In your own testimony, Captain, you stated that you knew the order wasn’t, and I quote, ‘right.’ Other members of the crew testified they suffered similar doubts. Yet, despite all of these reservations, Gravely fired on the United States of America. Not once, but twice. Technically, her Captain and crew followed orders. Morally, there is a higher standard at play.”

  The judge peered over the top of his glasses, glaring at Bard as if he was expecting some sort of reaction. His gaze was met with a stoic, expressionless face that provided no clue as to what the man before him was thinking. After a brief consideration, the admiral decided he really shouldn’t have expected anything less and returned to reading his document.

  “So, Captain, we now find ourselves in the midst of a very complex situation, or as the president put it just a short time ago, ‘one hell of a pickle.’ For the first time in the proud history of the U.S. Armed Forces, a coup has been attempted. Willing, or unwillingly, my beloved Navy has played a role is this unfortunate event. One of our own flag officers went rogue. One of our own ships attacked the very country she served. These are dark shadows that will loom for years over our branch. Do you understand, son?”

  “Yes, sir, I believe so,” Bard responded, not liking where the conversation was going.

  “So my dilemma is quite simple really. Most of Congress as well as the American public want somebody’s head. They are demanding accountability. It’s only human nature, I suppose. And yet, on the other hand, I have an outstanding young naval officer who technically didn’t do anything wrong. Follow me so far, Captain?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So let’s get right down to the brass tax. Your naval career is over. Most likely, so are most of the opportunities typically afforded a private citizen. You will be facing numerous civilian lawsuits, your face is well known, and I doubt many defense contractors or other private firms will be anxious to hire someone carrying your level of negative notoriety. Doesn’t seem like you’re getting a fair shake, does it son?”

  “No, sir.”

  “That’s exactly what I told the two visitors I had just a short time ago. I informed them that I thought a tremendous injustice was being leveled against one of my officers… a man who loves his country and has served her well. And you know what? They agreed. With your permission, Captain, I’d like to introduce them to you. I think you’ll want to hear what they have to say.”

  Bard didn’t know what to make of it all. When he’d risen this morning, he was a man under arrest, confined to quarters with two robust Marine guards stationed outside his door, his repeating nightmare of spending the rest of his natural life behind bars a stark reality.

  Then the odd summons, followed by what has so far been a roller coaster of a conversation with the vice admiral. He wasn’t going to be charged. His career was over. Life after the Navy was going to suck.

  It was all so much, so fast, Bard felt as if he had nothing to lose at this point. His gut read of the admiral was that the old man was trying to help him, so he agreed. “Of course, Admiral, I woul
d like to meet your guests if you believe they might be able to better my situation.”

  Nodding, the admiral rose and walked to a door that led to a small waiting room off his office. Waving his hand informally, he said, “Come on in folks. I’d like to introduce you to the captain.”

  Bard watched as a man and woman entered the office, the friendly looking fellow extending his hand. “Captain, my name is Evan Tomkins, and this is my associated, Miss Kingsley.”

  After the introductions were complete, Evan got right to the point. “Captain, we would like to present you with a very special opportunity that I believe you’ll find interesting.”

  “Go on, sir.”

  Two hours later, Bard left the admiral’s office, his uniform now missing the insignias of rank, a satchel of very special letters under his arm.