Antiphon

by B. L. Roberts

  “There is something I need to get set up, and I could use your help. I don’t want Matteo Bramboni to know we are expecting him, I want to surprise him. I would prefer not to use your choppers to get my extra men on the island, they would be a dead give away. I’ll show you what I have in mind.”

  Peters produced a large scale map showing the island, and nearby mainland.

  “The choppers need to be able to fly from here, to the island, and back, on a tank full.” He pointed to a city about two hundred miles to the north.

  “I want them to fly straight out, off the coast, then turn south to the island, keeping out of sight of land. Also, fly low, just skimming the water. I don’t want anyone to know the direction they are heading.”

  Sorensen nodded. He understood the strategy immediately. The two men talked quietly for over an hour, as Peters outlined his plan, then Sorensen went into his study, and Peters to his room, both to make phone calls. Frederik had done much for his country, and its government. His businesses had generated considerable income for Sweden, created many jobs, and he was scrupulous in paying all the taxes he and his companies were obliged to pay, without employing a small army of accountants, lawyers and financial advisers to help him avoid payment, and this had been recognised.

  Frederik had always steered clear of personal involvement in the cauldron that was the political parties in his country, not wishing to take part in the politics of the country himself. The eight major parties in Sweden ensured political arguments kept social issues simmering away, not far from the boil, and his extensive business interests required that he not offend anyone in power.

  Political power in Sweden shifted frequently, so Sorensen tried to stay onside with everyone, which was not always easy. He donated considerable funds, every year, to the four major parties, which helped cement the friendships. Although he stayed out of politics, Frederik knew many of those in power on a first name basis, and frequently entertained the more important of them, in his home.

  He thought, now was time to call in a favour. It would take some clout to get what he wanted, so he might as well start at the top. He was put through, with only a small delay.

  “Frederik, it is good to speak to you again. To what do I owe the pleasure of you calling me?”

  “My dear prime minister, I will not take up much of your time, I know how busy you must be, but there is a small favour you might be able to do for me, that I would ask you to consider.”

  The prime minister was well aware of how much his party had received over the years from this man. He had also been fully briefed on the Sorensen boys kidnapping, had phoned Frederik personally, to offer his concern and the support of the Swedish police, and had again phoned personally, when news of the boys return, broke. He believed the kidnapping was about ransom extortion.

  “Please call be Stefan. We are old friends, Frederik. Of course, if I can be of any help, I would be delighted.”

  The Prime Minister expressed surprise when he heard Sorensen had purchased an island near the American coast, and had established a secret laboratory there.

  “Why there, Frederik, why not here, in Sweden?”

  Frederik thought quickly, the Swedish government did not need to know what was happening in that laboratory, and he was not about to tell them now. He had to justify why his lab was not in Sweden.

  “We have some important scientists working on this project, and the only way I could entice them, was to make it easy for them to get over to the American mainland, quickly. Also it helps us to maintain secrecy, hide what we are doing from our competitors.”

  “Hmm. It would be nice, if you are developing some wonderful new product, for our country to get some credit.”

  “Of course, when it is ready, the world will know that what have developed, is Swedish.”

  Frederik hoped his lie would not come true.

  “Explain what it is you want me to do.”

  Frederik told him.

  “So, what you need transported can’t be carried commercially?”

  “To be completely honest, yes, we possibly could organise commercial services, but the trouble is, security, and urgency. I do not want it to get out, what we are carrying. It would give our competitors an insight we don’t want them to have, and we need them straight away.”

  “Hmm. I think I understand. Frederik. I will do what you ask, immediately. I get on well with their Secretary of State. I’m sure we will be able to work out something. The Americans are anxious to keep us on their side. You must tell me exactly what you need.”

  Frederik outlined Peters requirements.

  “That is not much to ask for. I’ll let you know how I get on.”

  Two hours later, Frederik walked into Peters room.

  “It’s on. They’ve agreed to let us have the choppers. I have to tell them where to rendezvous. Now, you have to get your men ready. Have you decided on a jump off point?”

  “I should have an answer within the hour. Long Beach is the closest town where we won’t be noticed, and I’m lining up a property we can use there, as we speak. I can have my men on the ground by first light tomorrow, American time. I have checked, and the choppers we need are currently based in L.A., and are ready to roll, on a stand-by status. If they get the nod from upstairs, they can be in the air within an hour.”

  Frederik nodded. Peters was a man after his own heart. He could organise complicated arrangements, quickly and decisively, and Sorensen had already seen how efficient those arrangement could be.

  “I’ll tell my pilot to get the Gulfstream ready for you, now. Brent, are you sure you want to be involved in this, on the island?”

  Peters grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it for worlds.”

  45

  Two days later, Peters greeted the crew he had assembled. All had served under him previously, and all had jumped at the chance to do so again. Most were navy seals, some still in service, and a few, lately retired. They were a formidable group of men. Some of the men had not seen each other for a time, and there was some back slapping and hugs, as they met together. Some had travelled hundreds of miles to get there. Peters waved them into a group, so he could address them.

  “Guys, it’s great you could make it, and it’s great to see you all again. I couldn’t say too much when I called you, so here is the gen.”

  After he outlined his general plan to defend the island, he added.

  “There will be shooting, and there will be men getting killed. I don’t want it to be any of you. I have provided for medics to be on hand, let’s hope none of you need them. Don’t underestimate the enemy, that’s always rule number one, and keep in mind who they are. They are criminals, killers, they are there to commit murder. They won’t hesitate to kill you, if you give them the chance, so don’t. Now, check your equipment, wheels up in half an hour.”

  The peace of the small farm was shattered, as three U.S. air force UH1N helicopters thundered into the air, gained altitude, then swung out to sea. The Hueys had been the work horse of all branches of the U.S. military for over fifty years, although the machines now loaned to Peters, were by no means identical to the first Hueys drafted into duty. More than sixteen thousand of the machines were currently spread around the more than eight hundred bases the U.S. maintained in one hundred and fifty six countries around the world. Finding three available immediately, on standby, had not proved difficult.

  Once well out of sight of land, the choppers descended to fifty feet above the sea surface, then swung south. On board, men checked gear, and passed around the night goggles Peters had been loaned. An air of quiet excitement pervaded the men. This was no ordinary mission, they were not here as soldiers of the American government, but they might as well have been. They had all seen action under Peters, and were eager to serve under him again, and they were all wearing military fatigues.

  Soon after they had landed, t
he choppers took off again, retracing their route, this time carrying puzzled scientists, who wondered why they had been so unceremoniously ordered to leave, immediately. Sorensen had chosen the island because of its inaccessibility from the sea. There were no long, sandy beaches which would encourage passing pleasure yachts to explore, the island’s shores rose straight from the water, mostly as perpendicular walls, the result of volcanic action centuries earlier. The cliffs were almost vertical, except on the western side, where, for about two hundred yards, they had eroded into a hill which sloped down to the water’s edge, and to a small pebbly beach.

  A line of trees had established and developed, about thirty yards up this hill. Thick foliage now covered most of the island, except for the space Sorensen’s workers had cleared as a site for the laboratory, plus a landing area for the support helicopters.

  Peters thought, ‘if I were planning to attack the island from sea, this area of low cliffs and small beach is the obvious choice.’

  He assumed Bramboni would think the same way. Hopefully, the man would have no idea the island would be defended, strongly. Also, hopefully, if Bramboni thought he, Peters, was dead, he would be more complacent in his planning of the attack.

  Peters deployed his men just inside the base of the tree line, digging them in, in shallow foxholes, and concealing them with netting, and tree branches. It was now a game of patience, waiting, but not knowing just when the attack would come. It was possible Bramboni’s men would be equipped with night goggles, he didn’t doubt the Sicilian’s ability to procure such equipment, but he should have the element of surprise, and that would be a decisive factor.

  His men would wait for Bramboni’s boat to arrive and deliver his men ashore. Then the fun would start!

  46

  Matteo Bramboni sat in the wheelhouse of the large fishing trawler, staring out into the darkness. The Italian skipper stood at the wheel, his eyes darting alternately between the large circular screen that flashed lights indicating other vessels, small rock outcrops, the position of his own vessel, and then ahead, into the black space that was water, although there was not much to be seen. Just in front of the boat, the sea disappeared into inky nothingness.

  “How long to go, do you think, Guise?”

  “We will get there around two in the morning, as I said. Another six hours. It will still be completely dark. The sun will not begin to rise until six o’clock”

  “That is good.”

  Bramboni looked at his glowing wristwatch. They still had several hours to wait. He had better start preparing. Fortunately, the sea was calm this evening, just a slow, long swell coming in on the starboard side, which the trawler barely noticed. A couple of his men lay on the deck, in between the wooden crates covered with the draped canvas sheets that took up much of the available deck space.

  ‘They are weak’ thought Bramboni, who had never felt sea sickness. He refused to let Guise give them tablets.

  “No, no tablets. They make you drowsy. Let them be sick a little. It won’t affect their fighting ability. It’s not too bad. They will be all right.”

  Giuseppe shrugged, it made no difference to him. He was being paid plenty, far, far more than he would have made with the nets, even if he had gotten among the fish, which did not always happen. Jobs like this did not come along very often, he thought, unfortunately. If they did, he would soon be able to sell the boat, and go back home, to Italy, buy a small olive orchard, and retire with Marie.

  The trawler had been at sea now, for two days, motoring steadily northwards. Giuseppe had calculated the time of their arrival well, and he now eased the engine back a little, to ensure they did not reach the island too early in the night.

  Bramboni wanted his landing to be under the cover of darkness, and make the initial attack to eliminate any guards, while they slept, the hours just after midnight, were when people slept most soundly. He would then use the daylight to destroy the laboratory, which he planned to blow up and burn, and round up all the people working on the island, to kill them. It was a good plan. Nothing would go wrong.

  “Okay, it is time. Get these boxes open.”

  Bramboni’s men stirred and gathered, under the deck lights, around the crates, which were broken open. Two large inflatable boats, packed inside, were pulled out, and unrolled. Giuseppe directed the men to the air hose attached to the boat’s engine, and they began inflating the first rubber vessel. It was larger, inflated, than Bramboni had visualised.

  “Okay, tie it over the side of the boat out of the way, and make sure you bloody well tie it tight. If we lose it overboard, I will cut your balls off.”

  The men laughed. Matteo would not be cutting off any balls tonight, he needed all his men for the battle ahead, but nevertheless they took great care with their knots, as the heavy and awkward rubber ducky was lifted over the side of the boat, and secured. The second one began to inflate.

  Weapons and ammunition were distributed, and the men completed assembling their rifles and checking magazines. A sense of anticipation quietened the men, and adrenaline levels began to rise, as the time for action drew closer.

  “We stop now. You get the motors onto your boats.”

  Giuseppe cut the engine, and the trawler slowed, then began to drift. The inflatables were drawn up to the stern of the trawler. Two outboard motors were pulled from their crates, and carried to the back of the trawler.

  “Put a rope on that before you lower it over the side. Remember how we did it.”

  They had rehearsed this manoeuvre several times previously, only the trawler had then been tied to a mooring, not moving up and down, and it had been daylight. Under the trawler’s deck lights, the task of attaching the motor to the inflatable was not so straight forward.

  The motor was eventually screwed into position, and the heavy fuel tank dropped into the bottom of the vessel. The second boat was then similarly pulled up to the trawler, and the exercise repeated. After half an hour, both inflatables were ready, the men climbed aboard, and equipment passed over to them.

  Giuseppe started the trawler engine once more, and the low thrum of the big diesel vibrated through the boat, as it again surged forward, towing the two inflatables. Bramboni had selected the Honda outboards because of their quiet operation. Some of the engines he had tested were raucous, but the Hondas were relatively silent, when operated at low speed.

  They would leave the trawler several miles at sea, and motor slowly to the small beach he had marked on his map. Finding it in the dark should not be too difficult with the night goggles he would wear. He had only been able to procure four sets of the night goggles. He and Niccolo would each wear a set, and his two best fighters, the other sets. They would help find the beach, and he would be able to watch his men, as they moved across the island.

  “From now, no more lights. Lights can be seen for miles. We are nearly there.” Giuseppe gave the order.

  “It is time. I will stop now.” Giuseppe cut the engine once more. “The island is due east, about seven miles away. It shows on the radar, see.”

  Bramboni admonished his men, “No more talking. We are close, and voices carry.”

  Bramboni peered at the screen, and the big smudge that was the island, clearly flashed.

  “If you keep to an easterly bearing, you will not miss it.”

  Matteo had not navigated by compass before, but he held the instrument in his hand as Giuseppe had shown him, and although he could not see the island, in fact, he could see nothing beyond the boat, it should not be difficult to steer the boat east, until he ran into land.

  The men seated in the inflatables, fiddled with their weapons as the motors fired up, and the two vessels began to slowly head towards the invisible island.

  In the lead vessel, Bramboni felt a sense of satisfaction. Soon, the contract with the church would be fulfilled, finally. Brent Peters had already been killed. There only r
emained that wretch Sorensen, and his family, to be dealt with. They would be next. Giovanni would be avenged, and his, Matteo Bramboni’s reputation, restored.

  His eyes strained through the night goggles into the darkness, searching for the island, and the landing beach.

  47

  Frederik Sorensen stepped out of his helicopter, stretched, then turned to his two sons who had alighted behind him. He had brought them along as company, and also so he could keep his eye on them. It had not been his intention to visit the Ugandan village he and Wong had selected for their initial test, but the thought of what he was about to bring to that village, troubled him. His conscience was doing battle, and it had been keeping him awake at night.

  He hoped that what they were about to do was the answer. That the number of people in the world was growing out of control, he accepted. That something urgent had to be done to curb this growth, he also accepted. He also knew that the potential answer to the firestorm of problems this huge burden of population was placing on the planet, was within his power to unleash. It frightened him.

  Frederik thought he had resolved the ethical issues involved, that what he was about to do was difficult, but necessary, and he could move on, but it still bothered him. It was not knowing how it would all finish up, what the end result would be to a world, operating on different norms to what it was used to. The virus would no doubt bring about changes they could not anticipate. People would be affected in different ways, as societies evolved with fewer children. How they would react, was an unknown.

  It would be years before enough information was collected, to fully assess the effect of the virus, and by then it would be too late, if side effects that they had not envisaged, became apparent. A whole generation would grow up, and eventually die, without ever knowing the joys of parenthood, but this was the medicine he had prescribed. That this outcome was necessary to save the world, did not make it any more palatable. It was tough medicine.