by Ken W. Smith
“Don’t be too sure about that. The bots saved lives and provided important intel. They can be valuable tools for the military or search and rescue teams. I’ve never seen anything like them, and I’ve tested a lot of surveillance and weapons systems.”
“You have?”
“Yes. Special operations teams often test the new gear first. Then, we try it out in the field before the military decides to buy them in large quantities. I’ve tried a lot of similar systems that never worked. They bombed. Your system works. But I do have a few suggestions to make it better.”
“See, you don’t like it,” Kyle said.
Jay shook his head, “That’s not what I said. Listen, show me how you design and build the bots. Then, I’d like to show your system to a few of my friends.”
“Okay, I guess,” Kyle said. “But I have a question first.”
“Shoot.”
Kyle laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“You said shoot. My friends say you’re the world’s deadliest man. Is that true?”
“Not at all. Many people are much deadlier. But, I’m good at my job.”
“Like killing? Were you an assassin?”
“Sometimes, you need to kill bad people to save good people.”
“Like in the Boston Cathedral? Or on Mansion island?”
“Yes, you can say that.”
“Then you saved my life. Twice.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was in the Cathedral,” Kyle said. “Part of the choir up in the loft.
Jay perked up. This was the type of information he was looking for. He asked, “Did you see anything that might help the investigation?”
“I don’t know. I was videotaping the opening scene with my cell phone.”
“Can I watch the video?”
“Sure,” Kyle said. “Let me get my phone out, and I’ll show you.”
Kyle dug into his pocket and pulled out an old smartphone. Kyle scrolled through a set of photos and videos to find the one he was looking for.
“Here you go. This is the video where you shoot the priest.”
“Let me see. I’m going to tell you something I’m not supposed to. I’m sworn to secrecy, so if the word gets out, I’ll know you talked. Understand?”
Kyle nodded.
“The priest was an imposter,” Jay said. “5He killed a real priest in New Bedford and stole his vestment. He was wearing a suicide bomb vest like the bombers in New York and Rome. Look, you can see he’s holding the detonator. And he yells something right before I shoot him. Kyle, can you send me this video? This is evidence. It could help the investigation.”
“Sure, whatever you want.”
“And one last thing. I wasn’t an assassin. I was part of a hostage rescue team, and we saved people’s lives. So you don’t have to worry.”
* * *
Jay and Kyle walked back to Marty’s house. Jillian and Lindsey were waiting for him.
Jillian screamed, “Oh my God, you’re alive!” Kyle turned around, burying his head in his hands. Jay laughed and wrapped his arms around the teen’s shoulder.
Jillian ran over and hugged Kyle tight. “Is everything okay? I was so worried. You didn’t answer your phone. We couldn’t find you.”
“Mom, can you stop? You’re embarrassing me.”
Jillian stepped back. “You were kidnapped and traumatized. I thought you were going to commit suicide. I won’t apologize for loving you. But you need to start talking to me. Or someone who cares.”
“Okay, mom, I get it. Now leave me alone!” Kyle ran into the carriage house, slamming the door behind him.
“I don’t know what to do,” Jillian said. “I’m so scared I’m going to lose him too. He’s all I have.”
“I talked with him. He’s been through a lot lately. He’s sad Charlotte was sent away. He blames himself.”
Jillian stared at Jay. “He told you that?”
Jay nodded.
“He never told me he liked Charlotte. I didn’t even know her name. Are you saying he loves her?
Again, Jay nodded.
“Oh my God, that’s awful! He never tells me anything!”
Jay found Kyle in the carriage house basement, staring at an image on a computer screen.
“What are you doing?” Jay said. “It looks pretty cool.”
“I’m running a simulation program. I’m trying to improve the design of my microbots.”
“Why are you doing that? I don’t know much about drones.”
“They’re not drones. Drones only fly. The microbots are flying robots. They also swim and do other things. I’m trying to make the bodies lighter, so I can add more functions and battery life.”
“How does the software help you?”
“You type in the parameters you want. The software runs millions of options until it recommends the best design. Then I print out a prototype and try it.”
“What do you mean, print it out?”
“I use a 3D printer. That’s how I built the microbots. I print the bodies and assemble the printed circuit boards.”
“That’s amazing,” Jay said. “But how did you learn this? Don’t you have to go to engineering school?”
“I guess I’m a fast learner. I look up stuff on the internet and ask questions. I did have a mentor when we lived in Canada.”
“When did you live in Canada?
“My mom studied maritime engineering in Newfoundland for four years. She graduated last spring, and we moved back to Cape Cod in July.
“What did the mentor help you with?”
“Electronics and robotics. He taught electrical engineering at the university.”
What was his name?”
“Professor Harris.”
“Are you sure his name is Harris?”
“I’m positive. We lived in his guest house.”
Chapter 28
The French Riviera
Fame had its rewards. Owning luxury homes around the world was at the top of the list. Privacy and anonymity were a close second. And then, some people had it all.
The warm breeze fluttered the paper umbrella in Angelica Bonham’s frozen cocktail, but she didn’t notice. Instead, she lounged in the sun next to the pool of her twelve-room villa. The view of Cannes and the Mediterranean Ocean was one reason she bought this home. The remote location at the top of a hill was another reason. Thick underbrush grew on both sides of the winding driveway and dozens of security cameras assured her security team would never be surprised. The front of the house sat on a cliff’s edge, dropping several hundred feet on the ocean side. The back of the house sat embedded into the base of a granite face. In the case someone was able to breach her defenses, Angelica’s companions were capable of providing an aggressive defense.
Ivan, her bodyguard, and occasional lover was a legendary Soviet sniper and a pay-for-hire assassin. Her new boyfriend, Darius Jacba, was a Polish drug lord with an extensive organization in France. He loved mixed martial arts and even convinced her to build a fighting cage in the basement.
The privacy of the villa allowed her to have special guests. The kind she kept away from the paparazzi stalking her every move. Her newest friend, Kathleen, was a famous news correspondent. They met at the Golden Globe Awards several years ago and bonded almost immediately. Kathleen had her own problems and was involved in her own steamy affairs, but it seemed her life was a bit quieter these days. Her boyfriend, a Brit named Farrity, had steely gray eyes, salt-and-pepper hair, and was quite handsome. However, he did have a bad limp. Kathleen explained she was nursing him back to health after an unfortunate accident. But it didn’t seem like Kathleen was doing any nursing at all.
“Angelica darling, it’s time for the daily briefing from The Master,” Jacba said from the veranda above. “We can’t miss the updates.”
“Can you record today’s message?” Angelica said without opening her eyes. “I’m quite tired. You wore me out last night.
*
* *
As the women soaked in the sun, the three men chatted on the upper veranda. Jacba, a slim, fit man with pale skin and long, white hair pulled back in a ponytail, poured 18-year old scotch for the group. A valet delivered a tray of escargot and peeled shrimp which Jacba devoured with his hands and washed down with a full glass of the precious liquor.
Farrity took his time eating in the more civilized British manner by using a fork and knife. He detested drug dealers and preferred Ivan’s company, but he had to be polite to his guest. “How is the movement progressing in Europe?”
“We are having great success recruiting cell leaders into the family,” Jacba said. “We start them out as drug runners, then mold them into operatives. It is a particularly challenging process. But, if they survive, they become strong and loyal leaders.”
“Why drugs?” Ivan asked.
“It is profitable and, in most countries, considered a minor crime. It is also easy to bribe local officials to look the other way. In fact, in France, the government is the number one supplier of methadone. We steal their inventory and resell it in other countries.”
Farrity was intrigued, “How do you train your recruits?”
“We use MMA fighting techniques, with our own twisted rules,” Jacba explained. “It is an excellent conditioning routine and teaches them to be ruthless and fight without constraint. By the time we introduce weapons, they are already trained killers.”
“Who’s idea was it to use MMA?” Ivan asked. “It is not taught in the military.”
“Angelica,” Jacba replied. “She is a big fan and enjoys the competition.”
“Angelica Bonham is an MMA enthusiast? But she makes her money based on her beauty. What if someone breaks her nose?”
Jacba laughed, “You don’t understand. She never lost a match. Nobody even gets near her face.”
You said you have your own twisted rules,” Farrity asked. “What are they?”
“There are no rules. No tapping out. Winner takes all.”
“You mean a fight to the death?”
“The only way. Do you want to try? In fact, my trainer, Conrad, is downstairs now working with a team of recruits.”
“No thanks,” Farrity said with a nervous laugh. “I’ll stick to my form of mayhem.”
Jacba smiled and finished off another glass of scotch, “Speaking of mayhem, did you dispose of Mendes yet? He is a royal pain in our ass. Unfortunately, stopping the Boston bombing set back our plans.”
“No, not yet,” Farrity said. “But I will shortly. In fact, I need to leave and head back to the States. I have explosive plans to end his illustrious career.”
Chapter 29
Fourth of July, Cape Cod
Jay scanned the serene waters of Buzzards Bay through his sniper scope. Unfortunately, his view was obscured by the evening haze hovering over the water like a translucent blanket. Despite the cool night temperature, he was tense but not nervous. Jay lay prone on the bow of the twenty-five-foot Coast Guard patrol boat. Behind him, an MSST member operated the .50 caliber machine gun. The Coast Guard Marine Safety & Security Team was responsible for anti-terrorism operations. Tonight, their job was to apprehend one of the terrorists responsible for the Boston Cathedral attack before he harmed any more innocent people.
Petty Officer Kathy Brennan peered through a set of high-powered binoculars.
“Jay, I appreciate your help on this mission,” Brennan said. “You are the highest qualified sniper available. But remember, as a contractor, you’re not cleared for boardings. So let my team handle that.”
“Roger,” Jay said.
“Chief, do you see anything?” asked Mack over Jay’s radio headset.
“Negative, no sign of the boat.”
“What’s your twenty?”
“We’re three hundred yards north of the Nob. The water is calm tonight. A light haze is settling over the water.”
“Our stakeout team said the boat left Barnstable Harbor an hour ago. They observed one person on the boat.”
“What kind of boat is it?”
“A lobster boat. White with a blue hull. Traveling at eighteen knots.”
“Where is it headed?” Jay said.
“It’s heading your way. Our GPS showed it exited the south end of the Cape Cod Canal five minutes ago.”
“What do you think they’re planning?” Jay asked.
“We’re not sure, but we heard a lot of internet chatter the last few days about an attack. But, of course, the biggest crowds are on the Fourth of July at the oceanfront fireworks displays.”
“That leaves a lot of possibilities. Every town on the Cape and South Coast has fireworks on the ocean.”
“We know, but Falmouth has the largest crowds right on the beach. Plus, we’re expecting at least a thousand boaters anchored offshore. So it is a target-rich environment.”
Brennan was listening in on the same radio frequency. “Do we have probable cause to board the fishing boat?”
“Not yet,” Mack said. “Right now, we have the statement from the guy we arrested in Falmouth. He told us he picked the drone up from this fishing boat. There wasn’t anybody on board when he was there.”
“It sounds like probable cause to me,” Jay said. “Since the drone tried to kill me.”
“Jay, cool down. We have to do this right if we want a conviction.”
“Who said I wanted a conviction,” Jay said. “The only way we know this bastard won’t harm anybody is to put him in a watery grave.”
“Cool down, Jay,” Mack said. “I know you have a lot of reasons to kill this guy, but now that the FBI is involved, we have to do it by the book.”
“Roger, that,” Jay replied. “We’re dealing with a psychopath. There are thousands of people’s lives at stake. We can’t let that boat anywhere near Falmouth.”
“Then it has to be a security case,” Brennan said. “If the boat is a threat to public safety, I have the authority from the Coast Guard Regional Command Center in Boston to board or stop the boat as I see fit.”
“What about Falmouth Police?” Jay said. “They’ll need time to evacuate the beachfront.”
“There won’t be time to evacuate ten thousand people,” Mack said. “We need to keep that fishing boat away from the beach. I’m more concerned about the boaters. But I agree. Let’s loop Marty into the comm circuit. We’ll want to make sure emergency response teams and the local hospitals are on standby.”
Jay’s stomach tightened from the anticipation. The fishing trawler was five minutes away, but the time dragged by. He saw deck lights from the boats passing by. He also heard loud music and singing as people sailed towards Falmouth Heights. A distant boom startled Jay. Then he saw the distinctive flash of fireworks—one of the towns on the opposite side of Buzzards Bay starting their celebration.
“I got him,” Jay said. “Lobster boat with a blue hull. Traveling south, southwest. Coming right at us.”
“Roger,” Brennan said. “GPS confirms that’s our boat. We’ll let him pass and fall in behind. MSST prepare to board.”
Jay scanned the fishing boat through the sniper scope. The view was a bit foggy, but he could see the pilothouse. Strange, he thought. It’s empty. Alarm bells rang in his head.
“Brennan, do you see anybody on the fishing boat?”
“Negative.”
“The boarding team leader is Lieutenant Salerno. He’s in charge. Got it?”
“Roger that,” Jay said.
Jay held on as the boatswain mate increased the speed and pulled up tight to the fishing boat’s stern. Jay sat at the bow of the patrol boat as it bounced over the light chop. He flipped down his night vision goggles to get a better look at the lobster boat. He saw a small derrick and chain pull located near the aft. Steel mesh lobster traps lay strewn across the deck.
The assault team pulled alongside the lobster boat
“Salerno, board the fishing boat,” Brennan said.
“The deck is too small for the f
ull team,” Salerno said. “I’m taking Jones and Murray. The rest of the team will stay alert and ready to go.
The boatswain mate sped up to match the speed of the lobster boat. They pulled up against the lobster boat’s port side, and the assault team members climbed over the rail.
Jay watched Salerno as he tried to enter the pilothouse, but the door was locked. Jones smashed the window with the butt of his assault rifle and opened the door from the inside. Salerno entered the pilothouse and reported, “All clear. We’re going to check the cabin.”
Murray kicked the door in and entered the cabin.
Jay heard the sound of a single rifle shot.
Salerno and Jones rushed into the cabin. There was more gunfire. Then Salerno emerged, pulling Murray out with him. Jones followed behind, covering their retreat.
Salerno waved for the rest of his team to board, “He took a shot in the head, but his helmet stopped the bullet.”
Before any of the remaining assault team members moved, Jay leaped over the side rail onto the fishing boat. He grabbed Murray by the collar and dragged him aft until an assault team member pulled him onto the patrol boat. Then Jay picked up Murray’s M4 and joined Salerno in the pilothouse.
Brennan yelled into the radio, “Mendes, what the hell are you doing?”
“You can’t risk losing any more of your team members. This guy is a psychopath.”
“That’s what we do. It’s our job. Now get off! That’s an order!”
“I’m not on your team, remember.”
“But I can arrest you. Salerno, place Mendes under arrest and bring him back to the patrol boat.
Suddenly, the lobster boat sped up and turned hard to port. The sudden turn knocked Jay and Salerno to the deck.
“Who’s piloting the boat?” Brennan asked. “You’re heading straight towards the fireworks barge!”
“Nobody,” Jay replied.
“Salerno and Mendes, you need to get off,” Brennan said. “We need a clear shot for the .50 cal.”
Jay struggled to regain his footing as the lobster boat accelerated to almost thirty knots. “What the hell is powering this boat?” he said. “We need to get the shooter and get off the boat!”