The Carbon Cross (The Carbon Series Book 2)

by Randy Dutton

  “We could keep some and throw the rest over the side.” He opened up the porthole and looked at the ship’s green wake intersecting with breaking waves.

  “...and leave some.” She started rolling epoxy and sticking it in the chambers of a UMP9 and one shotgun. She squirted superglue into the pistol’s magazine, then threw the rest of the weapons through the porthole.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ll leave two rigged guns to blow up if they use them...hold on.” She cupped her hand to the ear piece. “Hear that? They’re trying to get into the engine room. Now it’s a full alert.”

  “They’ll be coming here next for more weapons or explosives.” Pete started throwing the second Anzio bolt and the surplus 9mm ammo through the porthole and into the water. “Grab your loaded UMP magazines and let’s dump the remainder.”

  Anna relayed the excess ammo and weapons to him as he cast it through the porthole into the light green sea.

  When only the blocks of C4 remained, Pete hesitated. “I’ve got an idea. There are two inside aft stairways leading up through the superstructure. How about I set delayed charges to blow out the stairs and create impediments?”

  “Good idea, but don’t use too much. Otherwise you’ll blow the entire superstructure off the ship...or set a fire.”

  “This stuff I know.” Pete took his knife and, on a fold-out wooden desktop, used the blade to cut off two flat, square chunks. Into each block he carved a four centimeter deep hole—a cap well—and inserted a military-grade M6 electric blasting cap with wire lead. He then connected a combination electric initiator and timer to the loose wires. His fingers squeezed the plastic round the detonator side to hold it in place.

  “I’m setting both timers for 12 minutes, but with a 10-second gap between them.” He had two demolition charges in his left hand.

  He held out his free hand. “I’ll be right back. May I borrow your silenced pistol? I’ll try to keep this quiet.”

  She passed it over, and then cocked her UMP.

  He peered outside the door and ran quickly aft to the framing holding up the stairways. With the ubiquitous duct tape he knew to always carry, he secured a hidden charge underneath the metal frame top of each staircase. He rushed back and handed back the pistol.

  “We’ve got about 9 minutes left on my watch. That’s how long we have to take the bridge.”

  Her brow lifted when she saw him stuffing a small roll of wire, blasting caps separated by a wrap of a small wash cloth to prevent shock, some timers, and a brick of C4 into one pocket.

  “For the future.” He slung a UMP9 over his right shoulder and slipped five magazines in his right cargo pocket. He grabbed the shotgun’s pistol grip with his right hand.

  “Okay, Rambo...that’s the last of the excess through the porthole! I’ve kept four machine pistol magazines. I don’t need silence anymore.” She unscrewed the silencer, switched the magazine to red, and put the custom pistol back in her pocket.

  She grabbed her UMP9 and paused. Her free hand grabbed his collar, and pulled his face towards her. Her hand relaxed and slid gently against his cheek to cup behind his neck. She softly kissed him on the lips. “I love you, Honey. No matter what happens, always remember that!”

  “Without a doubt.” He brushed a loose strand of black hair from her eyes, and warmly responded, “I’ll always love you too! Don’t make this sound so final.... We’ll get through this intact.”

  “I like your confidence.” Her expression turned stony. “Now, let’s get to the bridge...I’ll take the ladder to the starboard bridge wing, you take the port.”

  “Why not go through the interior corridor that connects with the pilot house?”

  “Too constricting. I want to catch them in a crossfire and prevent them from using the bridge wings. I’ll yell in Spanish for them to put down their weapons. If they start aiming – take them out! Leave the captain to me. We need him.”

  “Roger that, Babe.” His eyebrow lifted. “And Sven?”

  “If the bastard lifts a gun...kill him!”

  Pete grinned. “Works for me. Give me a two-second head start...I don’t climb stairs as fast as you.”

  They synchronized their watches and headed for the bridge.

  Chapter 104

  June 13

  Snath Corporate Jet

  Somewhere over the Atlantic

  Gabriel braced for possible air turbulence. With one hand rested on Yoav’s fixed chair back, he motioned with the other to a young woman with long, silky black hair. “Join us...and learn.”

  They moved forward to the conference table. The slender woman smiled nervously and sat to Yoav’s left.

  “Status report.” Gabriel said.

  The grinning analyst’s eyes quickly glanced at Starr then flicked a screen to show a listing of Google Earth searches. “Over the past 24 hours, several views have been made of Puerto Montt’s port and coastal areas.”

  “How out of the norm?”

  “It peaked fivefold a couple hours ago, all from one computer.”

  “Anything unusual?”

  “It originated from the Don Luis Hotel’s Wi-Fi account, and the views shifted from the port to this path.”

  Another screen popped up of the Gulfo Corcovado.

  Gabriel squinted at an orange line that abruptly shifted into a narrow waterway. “Why do you have a southbound tracking line turning toward land?”

  “I’ve plotted the requestor’s image views. I think it shows intent and points to this fiord.”

  “Is there a ship involved?”

  Yoav grinned and clicked some keys. “According to the harbor master, the Desea Verde departed this morning.” An image of a small freighter popped up. “Not so coincidentally, that’s just after the GPS signals started.

  “Ship’s planned destination?”

  “Multiple stops, first one being Buenos Aires.”

  “Ownership?”

  “A shell corporation. We’re researching the real owners.”

  “What’s it carrying?”

  “It’s manifested with over a hundred large chemical cylinders...contents are fertilizer.”

  “Bring up that dock view again.”

  A satellite image appeared on a second overhead screen.

  The older man’s brow knit as he brushed back his thinning hair. “Find out everything you can about that dock operation. Who owns it, and”—his finger pointed at the two storage tanks—“what’s been in those?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “I also want to know everyone who’s ever visited the facility.”

  “That’ll take some time.”

  “Acquire whatever assets you need. Time’s critical and so is secrecy. Since you so highly vouched for your friend here, use her as part of the team. Her Spanish fluency will help.”

  “Yes Sir,” Yoav said. “But may I ask what we’re seeking?”

  “If Sven or Anna have done something here, I want to know what, so we can distance ourselves from their mischief. The world still thinks of them as ours.”

  “Got it.”

  Gabriel pointed at the freighter picture. “Assuming it is Anna, what’s on the ship she wants? The phytoplankton’s already spread around the world, so another shipload wouldn’t matter”—Gabriel’s brow furrowed—“or would it?” He pointed at an image. “Why’s that village at the head of a fiord important?”

  Yoav pointed inland. “It’s the last downloaded image.”

  “Find out what makes it so important.” He motioned to the woman. “Starr, come with me, I’ll brief you.”

  As she rose, her hand briefly squeezed Yoav’s forearm. Her gratitude was expressed in her eyes.

  She followed her new boss and sat across him in the forward cabin.

  “Starr,” Gabriel started. “I used a lot of political and financial influence to get you out of pretrial confinement and whisk you out of the country.”

  She swallowed hard. “For which I’m very grateful.”

 
; “To Yoav no doubt. I avoid felons when possible...too much baggage. But for his lobbying on your behalf, I made an exception. Your loyalty to this organization will be tested. Don’t disappoint me...even once!”

  “I won’t, Sir.” Her lips pursed.

  “Here’s what we’re doing. We’ve got a couple rogue employees that disappeared last year. Sven Johansson and Anna Picard.” He sipped a warm Guinness. “Tell me what you know about either.”

  “I’ve heard of Dr. Johansson. Probably everyone has. He’s the scientist who created the carbon capturing species, the man the UN hailed as singlehandedly stopping the rise of global carbon dioxide.”

  “And of the latter?”

  “Anna Picard?” She shrugged. “Never heard of her.”

  “She was Swanson’s gal Friday, so to speak....” His eyes and the corners of his mouth drifted upward as he continued. “Recruited key executives, and did the dirty work the boss couldn’t touch. Phenom memory and tactical skills. Was quite the chameleon, much like yourself I’m told.”

  “Past tense?” Her head cocked.

  “Up until yesterday, we believed the Russians killed her last August.”

  “May I ask what changed?”

  A couple of key strokes brought up the coin pinging program. With a grin, he turned his laptop to her. “These are two GPS-enabled trackers that were turned on a few hours ago. I believe one’s hers.”

  “And on the Green Way?”

  “Yes.” He turned the laptop, clicked a few keys, and turned the screen back to Starr. “Anna could be alive and on a—”

  Starr’s eyes were nearly round.

  “You okay?” Gabriel asked.

  “Kate?” Starr stammered.

  “What?”

  “That woman...Kate.... I’ve met her.”

  “Are you sure?” His tone was skeptical.

  “Well, the hair and makeup are different, but, yeah, I think it’s her.”

  “Where?”

  “Dallas, last July. She married into an oil family.”

  Shaking his head, Gabriel exhaled a deep breath. “Yoav told me you had a great memory for names and faces. I’m afraid he may have exaggerated.”

  She kept staring at the picture. “I’m pretty sure it’s her.”

  He shrugged and brought up five images – one after another.

  Through each, Starr nodded. After the last image, she commented, “You said she was a chameleon.”

  “But she avoided entanglements and would never marry someone who worked in the fossil fuel industry.”

  “It was Pete Heyward’s dad who owned—”

  Now it was Gabriel’s eyes that widened. “Heyward?!” He leaned back in his chair, his mouth hung open. “Kate...Catherine.”

  “Yes, my target called her Catherine before she told me everyone called her Kate.”

  A grin formed. “Anna hated that name...too English.” His attention returned to Starr. “Anna Catherine Picard.”

  Her voice tightened and her hand balled. “She’s not from the Midwest, is she?”

  He bemusedly shook his head. “California.”

  “And schooled....” Her breathing was rapid.

  “UCLA and Harvard Law...top honors.”

  “That b...” Her lips pressed tight while intensely glaring at the photo and contemplating months of past legal problems. “She set me up!”

  “So that’s why your surveillance failed and your stash burned.” Gabriel didn’t attempt to hide his amusement. “No doubt Anna was protecting the Heywards.... You’re lucky though.”

  “How’s that, Sir?” She tilted her head to him while slowing her breathing rate.

  “You’re alive.”

  Starr’s eyes rolled, then narrowed. “You said dirty jobs?”

  “I won’t give you specifics, but she’s lethal.”

  “Excuse me, Sir. I have a score to settle—”

  “Your issues are subordinate to mine...understood?!” Gabriel’s voice was stern.

  “Yes, Sir,” she said with more restraint that she felt.

  Gabriel directed his attention to the main cabin. “Yoav, come here! Your girl’s just unraveled a mystery!”

  The confused analyst came forward and was motioned to sit down next to Starr.

  Gabriel leaned forward and focused at the new hire. “Start over. Tell us everything!”

  Chapter 105

  June 13, 1700 hours

  Green Dream

  Pete rushed through a passageway to the port side. As he stepped onto the metal landing, the cold, damp wind assaulted him. Guilt surged through him as he realized Anna’s starboard side was bearing the full brunt of the salt-spray-laden west wind as it flowed over the ship on its way to the misty shore. The whipping air currents and shrill whistling would impede her reaction time. He feared she also was more exposed by the setting sunlight casting long shadows that would highlight her presence.

  Intellectually, he knew she had quicker reflexes and was better able to cope with the harsher conditions than he was with his artificial leg. In the portside shadow, he was less exposed on the landing below the bridge wing and under the open steel stairway that led upward. There, he would stay hidden until it was time. For the moment, he could only wait and consider the coming battle. He sighed when he saw wide mats of Fuzz, split by the ship’s bow, bobbing in the light-green waves.

  Pete glanced at his digital readout, three...two...one... With his shotgun raised, he rushed up the stairs as Anna charged up the starboard side. In a flash, they were on opposite bridge wings, pushing in opposing doors.

  “Bajen las armas!” Anna yelled from a squatting posture partly shielded by the framing. Her weapon, like Pete’s, was shouldered, pointing into the bridge.

  The startled starboard guard twisted and quickly raised his UMP9 muzzle toward her.

  From her lowered position, Anna fired upward into his chest.

  Pop, pop, pop! The three round burst shredded his heart and lungs, and dropped him onto the deck. She stood and peered through the smoke for more threats.

  The port-side guard, alerted by her yell, also was swinging to his right until he caught Pete’s reflection in the pilot house window. The burly man took an evasive step forward, lowered his body. Reflexively, as he twisted left, he pulled the trigger.

  Pop, pop, pop, pop... The automatic machine pistol spewed half its clip in a sweeping arc towards the door, shattering glass and ricocheting copper-jacketed hollow points off metal walls.

  Pete, partly concealed behind the door frame, fired once.

  Boom! The blast ripped open his target’s upper chest and neck. Blood from the guard’s severed artery squirted across several pilot house windows as the body slumped backward onto the red-speckled deck.

  Pete charged through the door and into the smoke of pungent gunpowder. Sweeping his shotgun through the bridge, his aim alternately settled on the two very still survivors of the two-second gun battle. One was the stocky, gray-bearded sea captain; the closer one was a tall blond man. Both men were shocked by the assault and offered no resistance.

  “Moving!” Anna rushed in. “You got Sven?!” she yelled, while aiming her pistol at the captain.

  “Got him!” Pete moved to a rear position that gave him a clear shot of both men without the possibility of hitting her.

  From just over an arm’s length, her pistol’s barrel pointed between the captain’s eyes and asked in Spanish if he had a weapon.

  The older man’s eyes were wide as he slowly shook his head. “Nada.”

  “Sit in your chair!” she demanded, pointing to the captain’s chair that was bolted to the deck and allowed only pivoting and reclining. When the captain started to protest, she snarled, “Silencio!”

  Looking into the barrel of her gun, his mouth clamped closed.

  A long zip tie dangled from her left hand. “Put your right arm on the rest, and zip tie them together.”

  After he complied, she yanked it tighter, then held her pistol loosely whil
e zip-tying the compliant captive’s left wrist, and his ankles to the chair supports.

  Meanwhile, Pete motioned for Sven to move to a second fixed chair on the port side. “Sit!”

  Sven’s expression transitioned from shock to a smirk as he started moving. “Anna...dear Anna”—he casually walked to his chair—“I was wondering when you’d come to do Alexis’ dirty work.”

  She ignored him until the captain was fully restrained, then pulled a strip of duct tape and slapped it over the bearded man’s mouth. She spoke softly into the captain’s ear. “Cooperate and you live...and you get your ship back. Understand?”

  He nodded slowly.

  “Done here!” She redirected her weapon at Sven. “I’ve got him covered.”

  Pete frisked him for weapons, then backed up and re-aimed the shotgun. “He’s clean.”

  “Sit down, Sven!” she ordered.

  He evaluated her resolve, looked at the cannon aimed at his head, and complied.

  After zip-tying his wrists and ankles into the chair, she picked up her weapon. Moving toward the ship’s electronics, she answered in a flat tone, “I’m not working for Swanson.”

  “Then why are you doing this?” Sven seemed perplexed.

  As Sven’s question hung unanswered, Pete dragged the port-side guard’s body through the silent pilot house onto the bridge wing. Its trail left a long blood smear. The heavy, lifeless corpse was toppled over the railing and into the darkening water.

  Stepping back inside, Pete turned his uplifted thumb and forefinger in the air. They switched sides.

  Pete then picked up and dumped the starboard-side body also into the sea. Stepping back inside, he loaded another shell and laid the shotgun on the map table at the rear of the room. Then he unslung the longer-range UMP9 and watched the starboard side for movement.

  With both exterior doors open and a couple broken windows, the starboard breeze had mostly displaced the nitrosated gun smoke with chilly salt air.

  Anna was in constant motion, scanning ship’s controls one moment, looking for approaching guards the next. Feeling antsy, she peered around the port bridge wing with her pocket mirror, her UMP9 aimed aft. Feeling a momentary reprieve from danger, she turned toward Sven and answered coldly, “Because I’m going to stop you from making a more tragic mistake.”