The Mind Pirates (Harbingers Book 10)

by Frank Peretti

  Taking the Riqueza

  At Zedekiah and Audrey’s insistence, Brenda, Tank, and Daniel had dinner and spent the night. Brenda crashed on the couch, Tank on the floor, Daniel on the floor next to Tank and close to Brenda. Sleep, at least for Tank, was a little difficult with the frequent vibrations coming through the floor: Zedekiah, bothered and thinking, pacing back and forth from his bedroom to his computer room and back again.

  In the morning, over bagels and fresh-brewed coffee, he shared his musings. “A kidnapping from a lonely beach and a boat rowed out to sea? Not The Gate’s style, but definitely the style of Thatch and his pirates. Also, the murders tell me The Gate doesn’t yet have the technology, while we know Thatch and his pirates do. Therefore . . . ”

  With Audrey as his eyes, he led them into his computer room, a chaotic jumble of keyboards, screens, wires, control panels, and papers, all labeled for Audrey’s sake with post-it notes. “If we assume the Read/Write technology interfaces wirelessly with either a satellite or the internet, I might be able to hack into the system aboard that ship. If we can pick up a signal from any Reader, the GPS inside the Reader will tell us where the ship is, and if . . . ” He hesitated.

  “If . . . what?” Brenda asked.

  Zedekiah opened a drawer and produced a gold earring exactly like the one Andi had bought and worn. “Yes, Ben and I made several of these, both Readers and Writers. This one is a Writer, and if one of us can wear it, we could possibly connect with a Reader aboard the Predator and . . . uh . . . receive mental impressions of the surroundings, maybe even overhear conversations, see who and what we’re dealing with.”

  “Yeah!” said Tank. “That’s it! Can we do that?”

  “Well, in a perfect world, yes. But someone on the Predator would have to be wearing the Reader in order for us to receive their mental images. We’d be fishing a bit.”

  Brenda could hear the uneasiness in his voice. “Okay, what else?”

  “I have no control over the system on the ship. If Ben or anyone else has scrambled or encrypted the system to prevent invasion, this Writer could, uh, scramble the brain of the wearer.” He nervously cleared his throat. “The damage would be irreparable.”

  * * *

  I awoke that morning to a new sensation: the rumble of engines! So much for the seventeenth century.

  I had little time to wonder about it before Scalarag ducked through the compartment door. “Up and about, Professor! We’ve a show to do today! Deck yourself out as befits a seaman.” He produced the key to the leg irons and set me free. “Cap wants all men on deck. We’ve set course to overtake the Riqueza.”

  Ah yes, the Riqueza, the colorful and completely fake Spanish galleon I and the team had climbed aboard less than a week ago. Within hours it would be loaded with laughing, gawking tourists with cameras and piña coladas, all ready to be boarded and raided by make-believe pirates. Oh, if those hapless flower shirts only knew!

  Donning my seaman’s blouse and pirate’s scarf, I followed Scalarag topside, emerging on the deck to find the sails unfurling, the crew hauling and trimming to wring out the utmost knot.

  “You!” hollered Rock. “On the mizzen!”

  “The third mast,” Scalarag advised me.

  I hurried to join the crew, taking hold of the sheets and letting them out to open the sails fully to the wind. The Predator heeled to port, the waves dashing and foaming against her sides. We were motoring and sailing, in a hurry.

  Thatch stood by the rail at the bow, sighting ahead with a spyglass. “There she lies!”

  I could see the three-masted Riqueza on the horizon, only half her sails unfurled, poking along to be taken by the likes of us.

  “Look alive, men! Cast loose the guns!”

  There were six cannons on the main deck, lashed, tied, and chocked. The gunners let them loose.

  Scalarag led me to a locker beneath the quarterdeck where we found folding chairs. We formed a chain with some of the crew and set them up on the quarterdeck, twenty in all. These would be the choice seats for the tourists with red wrist bands.

  “Load your guns!”

  With practice and polish, the gunners put the powder cartridges and wadding down each bore and rammed them home. No cannon balls; this was show biz, just smoke and noise.

  We were closing on the galleon, and dead ahead of us both was Pirate Island, a green bump in the ocean where a Disneyesque Port Royal awaited with costumed staff, souvenir stores, and pirate dinner show.

  “Fire!”

  From the deck of the Riqueza the cannon fire had been exciting and theatrical. From where I stood on the Predator, it was a fusillade of thunders that shook the boat and made jello of my insides.

  “Reload!”

  I could see the Riqueza was laden with brightly clad, sun-blocked tourists, no doubt wealthy, a veritable treasure trove –– the admission price for this fantasy made sure of that.

  The cannons would be firing again. This time I would unabashedly cover my ears.

  * * *

  Zedekiah tapped the keys while Audrey watched the computer monitor. “We’ll send out an inquiry and see if we get a reply from any Readers aboard the Predator. I’d like to go around the ship’s system so nobody notices, but . . . well, here goes anyway.”

  “I think there was a show scheduled for today,” said Audrey.

  “Oo-hoo, then we might see quite a spectacle . . . or somebody will.”

  Audrey looked at Tank; he just wondered why. She looked at Brenda; Brenda cringed a bit.

  Zedekiah muttered to himself, kept tapping the keys, moving the mouse around. “Elusive little devils . . . ”

  * * *

  Andi sat at the console, letting one memory lead to another as she strived to get the system working.

  Sparks sat in a chair beside her, more a snoop and a nuisance than a help. “Come on, we have to get the Readers linked up before we dock.” He pointed at a small blinking box near the top corner of the screen. “Is that an inquiry?”

  The moment Andi saw it, she knew what it was. “Shouldn’t be. Is there a Writer energized somewhere?”

  Sparks checked the cabinet where the Writers –– some earrings, a hat, a very modern headset –– were kept. Just then the whole ship quaked as the boom of the cannons rang through the timbers. Sparks braced himself. He was looking away.

  With a quick sequence of clicks, Andi consigned the blinking box to another screen which she minimized out of sight. “No, forget it, looks like we’re clear. Must have been something else.”

  “What?”

  “When I remember, I’ll tell you.”

  * * *

  It was the finest entertainment, really: Muscular men in pirate garb, swords flashing, pistols popping, swinging on ropes like acrobats, swarming aboard the Riqueza and playfully taking captive the extra-paying tourists with a red wrist band. I joined in the fun, blending, as it were, helping the hapless souls across the gangplank and aboard the Predator. With roguish decorum, I showed a jolly couple to their chairs.

  “Oh,” said the lady, “I’ll bet you have fun being a pirate!”

  “M’lady,” I said as I took their drink orders, “you have no idea!”

  * * *

  Zedekiah Snow shook his head as Audrey, his eyes, scanned the computer screen. “No, no, we aren’t getting through. This has to be the ship’s system, it’s framed just the way Ben would have done it, but it won’t let us past the initial inquiry. It can hear us knocking at the door, but it’s waiting for the password to let us in.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Tank, pulling a notepad from his pocket. “What about what Andi said that first time, the aardvark thing?” He flipped through the pages until he found it. “Uh, Aardvark, Basil, Crustacean, 233 ––”

  “Hold on, hold on!” said Snow, tapping away at the keys. “Now, is that just A, B, C, or the whole words?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We’ll try the whole words.” He tapped them in. “Now, you ha
ve numbers?”

  “233 997 417709.”

  Snow tapped them in. “Mmm. Ben always liked big entry codes. Here goes.” He tapped Enter.

  They waited.

  Chapter Seventeen

  An Inquiry

  Thatch was in full character, strutting about the deck, sword waving above his head, wild-eyed and savage. “You’ll be taking your seats and causing us no grief, or we’ll sever the tendons behind your knees, roll you up in squid guts and throw you to the sharks!”

  Our captives laughed at that. Context was everything.

  I brought up the last couple, definitely self-made high rollers judging from the man’s watch.

  Rock took his turn letting the chosen twenty know where the restrooms and life jackets were, and from that point, as both ships eased into the lagoon and toward the wharf at Pirate Island, there were songs, demonstrations, even a member of the crew who could juggle knives with his ankles behind his neck. I could never do that.

  * * *

  Andi knew, thanks to Ben’s memory, that another system was trying to link up with the system on the ship. She also knew such a fact could be an advantage if Sparks didn’t know about it. “Okay, this must be the codes and frequencies for the Readers. Where are they?”

  “In the Captain’s quarters,” said Sparks. “They go ashore when we dock.”

  “Well, I need the identifier for each one so I can keep track of what I’m monitoring.”

  “Should be on your screen.”

  “I can’t find it.”

  “We’re pulling up to the wharf!”

  She faced him and shrugged with palms up, at a loss.

  That got him to move. “I’ll get the info off the units. Hold on.” He hurried out of the room, heading topside.

  She had her chance, a window of mere minutes. Hurriedly, she brought up the blinking box. One click and it became a menu, and within that menu was an inquiry. Somewhere, someone was requesting access to the Readers –– and with that request was the access code, the words Aardvark, Basil, Crustacean, and the numerical sequence.

  Oh! It was like being able to breathe again, to live just one more moment. This was the outside world calling, the only people who would know this access code: Tank, Brenda, Daniel!

  Come on, come on, she pleaded with Ben’s memory, how do I accept?

  All she had to do was ask; the memory came to her. She clicked here, entered a command there, assigned a path, and clicked EXECUTE.

  * * *

  “We’re in!” said Zedekiah Snow with a clap of his hands.

  Tank let out a whoop.

  Brenda asked, “What does that mean?”

  “It means,” said Zedekiah, “that now we can use a Writer at this end to receive brainwaves from a Reader at their end, to tap into what’s going on.”

  “Great!” said Tank.

  Brenda was rather quiet.

  Zedekiah got a little quiet himself. “And the fact that user input was necessary to complete the access tells me that someone running the system let us in.”

  “Andi!” said Daniel.

  * * *

  Andi could see the code going through, the system responding ––

  “Are we ready?” came the Captain’s voice behind her.

  It made her jump. She rose from the chair, fumbled for the mouse, blocked the screen with her body. “Uh . . . uh, yeah, I think so. Uh, Sparks has gone up to get the identifiers from the Readers.”

  How long had he been standing there? Did he see the inquiry, the access code? Were they still on the screen?

  Well of course they were! She was dead. Fried.

  What was he holding? Some green, feathery outfit. “Try this on for size.”

  “Uh, right, right. Just let me make sure . . . ” Her hand trembled as she moved and clicked the mouse. The menu closed, but the system was acknowledging the inquiry, opening up all the Readers –– both on the ship and . . . wherever else. Sparks was sure to notice.

  Speak of the devil. Sparks came back in with a list in his hand. “Okay, here are the identifiers ––” He spotted the screen and pushed her aside. “Well, looks like you found them.”

  “Uh, yeah. Up and running as far as I can tell.”

  He sat in the chair. “Okay, Readers are online, ready to go ashore.”

  “Aye, and in good time,” said the Captain. “Norwig will set them up. Got my Writer?” Sparks reached for a gold earring hanging on a hook and handed it to the Captain. “Grand enough. Tell me when I can listen in.”

  “Will do.”

  The Captain addressed Andi, “And as for you . . . ” He handed her the green, feathery thing. “You m’lady, will accompany me.”

  “What’s this?” had just escaped her lips when she saw the cartoonish parrot head and realized it was a costume.

  “Being the parrot always falls to Spikenose, but not today,” said the Captain. “Today, it falls to you. I’ll not be leaving you aboard the ship unwatched, nor can I let your face be seen, so today you’re the parrot.”

  “Happy squawking, shipmate,” said Sparks, his glee all too evident as he turned to the console. “I’ll take it from here.”

  * * *

  “Yes, yes, of course,” said Zedekiah, still clicking and tapping for information. “The Predator’s GPS locator places the ship at Pirate Island. No surprise there. You were right, Audrey, they must have a show today.”

  “But that just proves you’re into the Predator’s system!” said Tank.

  “With the help of someone who recognized the access code, and that it could only come from you. Now if we can just pick up a Reader. Maybe your friend Andi will see to that . . . ”

  Daniel always meant well, and I imagine he could discern Brenda’s misgivings about the magical earring. While all the others were focused on what was happening on Pirate Island, he gently took the earring from the table and looked it over.

  “I think I’m finding some of the Readers . . . ” Zedekiah said.

  The screen went crazy!

  “Oh!” said Audrey.

  “Oh, no, no, no!” said Zedekiah.

  Daniel didn’t have pierced ears. He may have thought he would hear something by pressing the earring to his ear.

  “Someone’s scrambled the system!” said Zedekiah, and perhaps the one great fear that came with that made Audrey scan the room for the earring. “Daniel!” she cried.

  “Daniel, stop!” Zedekiah screamed.

  Brenda’s hand grabbed Daniel’s wrist when the earring was only inches from his head and plucked the earring from his hand. As if it were red hot, she tossed the earring to the floor. Daniel was terribly frightened, of course, on the verge of tears, but she pulled him close. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay . . . ”

  Zedekiah settled, shaking, into his chair. He had to clear his throat before he could say, “Audrey, if you please, the screen.”

  She returned to her post beside him and looked at the screen.

  Zedekiah slumped in his chair. “Where we once had a friend, we now have an enemy. Don’t touch that earring.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Pirate Island

  Pirate Island. It was pure fantasy, a seaport in miniature harking back to the Caribbean of the seventeenth century with its colonialism and rowdy decadence. As a tourist, I’d found it amusing. Now, save for my perilous situation, I could have been a part of it. Even as Scalarag and I helped secure the dock lines to moor the Predator safely against the wharf, I was enchanted by the village, the costumed populace, the seafaring music, the smell of the sea, and the majestic sailing ships. If I’d not been a captive I could have been living in another time, caught up in the euphoria of make-believe.

  As were the tourists, I suppose, coming down the gangways and flooding the place, cell phones and cameras already clicking at the sights: the wenches peddling their goods, the jugglers, the fire eater, the traditional dancers, Captain Thatch in full regalia accompanied by his theme park parrot.

  * * *<
br />
  Andi did her best to be a parrot, waddling on her parrot feet and looking out through the cartoonish, two-way eyes, but her mind was on the system, the inquiry, Sparks sitting there watching that screen.

  The Captain drew the gold earring from his pocket as he strutted and Andi waddled up to the Pirate Island photo booth next to the wharf. Here the tourists could don the pirate hats, scarves, and earrings from the rack and get a souvenir photo with the Captain, the Predator filling the background. Norwig the Bean was running the booth; Harry the Scar was the photographer.

  And right now, they were idle.

  “Well?” asked the Captain.

  “Ready when you are,” said Norwig.

  “Before the show, then. We’ll ––” Thatch winced and put his finger to his ear. “What? Say again?” He was wearing an earbud to keep in radio contact with Sparks. It appeared Sparks was talking to him. “Why? We’re not taking any pictures yet. All the Readers are hanging on the rack in a dead calm.” He glanced at the earring in his hand and told Norwig, “Sparks says to put on the earring, we’re getting a signal.”

  Norwig and Harry looked again at the rack of scarves, hats, and earrings, all the Readers they had. “From what?” asked Norwig.

  Thatch radioed back, “All the Readers are right here, doing nothing . . . well, you give me a Read and I’ll put on the Writer!”

  He shoved the earring back in his pocket. “Keeps telling me to put on the earring. I hate that thing, and what’s to monitor?”

  “But have you noticed,” said Harry, “how many scarves and hats there are already?”

  The Captain looked about, and so did Andi, and Harry had a point. All along the wharf, across the dining plaza, and up the length of the cobblestone street, heads without a scarf or pirate hat of some kind were few and far between.