by Scott Cook
“Welcome to Aqua Lab one,” Miles said, waving us in with a flourish.
“Wow…” I breathed, taking in the sight with nothing less than awe. “I’m no farmologist… but this is pretty gosh darned impressive.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Clay muttered.
We had essentially entered a twenty-foot wide corridor topped by grated catwalks at least fifteen feet over our heads. The corridor stretched nearly to the rear of the building where it ended at a series of control panels behind which must be pump and filtration machinery.
I figured this because to either side of us, rising to the level of the catwalks above, were huge aquariums that literally teamed with life.
“The tanks are individually maintained with separate power, filtration and environmental conditioning,” Miles explained as we strode down the nearly two-hundred feet of Lexan walls. “We’ve currently got eight food species in here as well as two tanks for feeder fish.”
It was amazing. I’d never seen so many of each species in one place. There were mangrove snapper, shrimp by the tens or hundreds of thousands, lobsters, crabs and sea trout. One tank was even a multi-tiered system of rocks and ledges to which huge oysters and clams clung.
Each tank, which was divided by a thick wall from its neighbors, had a different ecosystem. For example, the mangrove snapper pen had a gently rising sandy bottom with rock structure and even living mangrove trees in the rear shallows. The lobster pen was a lobster’s dream with ledges and crannies and all sorts of places to hide and hang out. What amazed me was that there were both spiny lobsters such as those found in Florida and northern cold water species with big claws, known somewhat inaccurately as Maine lobsters.
“We raise mullet as well,” Miles was saying. “They make great prey species for the predators and can be used as food, too.”
“I see you’ve got a couple of empty tanks,” Clay noted. “What’s going in them?”
“We’re working that out,” Miles said. “Seeing if we can raise and maintain dolphin… the fish.”
I laughed, “Yeah, Mahi-mahi. Do you think they’d do okay in a shallow environment?”
“Not sure,” Miles said. “I’m having that looked into. I’d also like to do flounder. A few freshwater species, too.”
“I’d think freshwater fish would be easier,” Clay said. “They are in home tanks.”
“True,” Miles replied, “but these larger systems make that less of an issue. And frankly, saltwater species are more robust. Let’s go upstairs.”
He led us up a metal staircase to the catwalks that ran the length of the tanks. Here we could look down on the fish and their environments. Above were a variety of lights, aerators and other devices that helped to maintain the huge aquaponics tanks.
A tall, slim woman in a lab coat appeared to be doing a water test on the filter feeder tank. She looked up when she heard our footsteps on the metal gratings, smiled and strolled over.
“Miles, welcome back,” she said, treating him to a brilliant smile. She was maybe five foot eight with an almost too thin body. Her hips were narrow and her breasts small but she was proportioned nicely. Her jet black hair was cut in a bob that framed a pretty and youthful face, even though I guessed her age at just over forty.
“Hey there, Karen,” Miles said warmly. “Let me introduce some friends of mine. Scott Jarvis, Clay Delaney, meet Doctor Karen Aldroid, our resident marine biologist and head of aquaponics.”
We exchanged polite waves in lieu of handshakes.
“A pleasure to meet you, Doctor,” I said. “What are you working on there?”
“Just taking water quality samples,” She explained, holding a small vial up to the light. “We’ve got diagnostic gear for that, but I like to cross check everything. These new Blue point two-point-ohs are pretty robust, but I want to be certain.”
That piqued my interest, “New oysters? Are they… are they larger and more efficient at filtering?”
Her eyes widened somewhat. I think she was surprised that a guy like me, perhaps somebody she might have pegged as a big dumb jock or thug type, would have some knowledge of this new scientific development.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” She said with a smile. “They were developed by Mote Marine in Florida, or in part anyway. Along with a marine biologist named—“
“Imani Tariffa,” I said softly. “Yes… I knew her.”
“Really?” Karen asked intently. “I heard she had done some amazing work… but I also heard she died in an accident earlier this year.”
I nodded. The biologist seemed to sense my discomfort and quickly moved on, “Well, everything is going great. So are these guys new investors, Miles?”
“Just friends,” Miles said. “Giving them the nickel tour.”
“Well, welcome,” Karen said warmly. “I hope that your visit will be interesting.”
That’s when an alarm began to blare. Not too loud, but loud enough to get our attention. We heard the hiss of a public address system coming to life.
“Attention! Attention! Intruder alert!”
Clay and I looked at each other and sighed wearily. It looked like this tour was about to get very interesting.
Chapter 8
I turned and ran to the stairs, bounding down in a barely controlled fall. Clay was right behind me, followed more distantly by Umberto and then Miles. I heard the latter call back to Karen Aldroid to tell her to stay in the lab. I wished he would also.
Then I wondered what the Christ I thought I was doing. I didn’t have a weapon and neither did Clay. That was fine, I’d just Captain Kirk it…
I’d approach the bad guys and make a clever speech until they joined my team.
And if that didn’t work… I’d beat the snot out of them!
Of course… it had never actually worked for me…
“Exactly what’s your plan, Rambo?” Clay asked as we rushed for the door at the far end of the greenhouse.
“Workin’ on it!” I said.
“Senores!” Umberto shouted from behind us. “Please stay inside until we know what’s going on!”
I heard a derisive laugh from behind us. Miles Palmer said, “You don’t know Clay very well… or his friend…”
In spite of our natural inclination, however, Clay and I did skid to a halt just before we reached the big semi-transparent door. Partly because it was stupid to rush out into unknown danger… and partly because we didn’t quite know how to open the damned thing.
“Alfredo!” Umberto was shouting into a hand-held radio. “Informe! Que pasa?”
There was a crackling response that I didn’t quite hear. In another second or two, the squat form of Umberto Rincon slid to a stop next to us. For such a short and thick man, he moved pretty fast. He was only huffing a little when he said: “My second in command, Alfredo Esposito. He says two trucks headed in from the lake and two Jeeps coming from the east.”
“Same MO as the last time…” Clay muttered.
I found that odd, too. Although I guess if it worked, go with it.
“Yo en esta casa de pascado!” Umberto said into his radio. “Uno arme!”
Clay looked at me in confusion.
I scoffed, “Really man? You’ve been here like four or five days now and you don’t speak fluent Spanish?”
“I’ve been busy,” he quipped.
“He’s saying he’s in the aquaponics greenhouse,” I said, “with only one weapon.”
“Well that sucks,” Clay said, “and we’ve got two vehicles coming up on us. Umberto, Miles… there aren’t any weapons in here?”
Miles frowned and turned to his chief of security. The Costa Rican shook his head, “No. But I do have a team on the way.”
“We’re safe in here,” Miles stated confidently.
“Yeah, unless they’ve got RPG’s or Stingers or Christ knows what…” I growled. “Guess we’ll just have to borrow a couple of guns, then.”
Umberto scowled at that, “Señor…
my men will handle this. And I’d like to keep them armed.”
I grinned at Clay who smiled back. I was glad we were on the same page. I turned to our hosts, “I wasn’t talking about your guys. Is there a back door to this place?”
“Yeah, it’s in the back,” Clay tittered.
Miles cocked an eyebrow, “Yes… past the control stations at the other end and through the machinery room. There’s a fire exit.”
“Do we need a code?” I asked.
“No, just like this door, all of them allow exit without any code or scan,” Miles replied.
“Oh,” I said sheepishly, “That makes sense.”
“Figured you’d have detected that,” Clay needled.
I flipped him off, “You’re the Army guy. Isn’t that something you should’ve known?”
Clay flipped me off in return and scoffed, “we just point our bang-bangs and shoot em’. They didn’t train us infantry types to deduce stuff, Sherlock.”
“You’re a douche, Tonto.”
“And proud of it, pale face.”
I took off running and Clay was right with me. I didn’t go all out, on account of I was faster.
“Wait!” Umberto and Miles shouted in unison.
We didn’t wait.
Once again, we traversed the length of the greenhouse and found a door marked “Authorized Personnel Only” next to the monitoring station. I flung it open and plunged into a dimly lit room that hummed with power and pumping noises.
“Hey, are we authorized?” Clay asked.
“Uh-oh… hope we don’t get in trouble…”
We made our way through the huge pumps and filtration systems to a heavy metal door with a small Lexan square set at about eye level. I peeked out to try and get some kind of a lay of the land.
The valley we were in was fairly large. Maybe a mile across and twice that deep before the hills rose too steeply for farming at any rate. Although mostly open, there were several stands of pines and cedars dotting the landscape. It was through these that I saw the two Jeeps winding their way toward us.
“There must be surveillance gear out there,” I told Clay. “I don’t know how anybody could’ve seen them yet… they’re about a mile off.”
“Dammit, I wish we had some gear…” Clay cranked. “I feel naked without a weapon, field glasses… or even a big stick.”
I sighed in commiseration, “Yeah… As I see it, we have only two options. We go out and skulk among the trees and wait to see if one or both of those Jeeps gets close enough for us to jump the crew… or we wait in here and see what they do and then act at that point.”
“I notice just hiding in here with the others wasn’t one of your options, Scotty with the knotty botty.”
“Course not, Clay-dough. What kind of wuss do you take me for?”
“You know you’re scared.”
“You’re scared.”
“Nah-uh.”
“Yeah-huh.”
Clay pressed up against me and we watched as the two vehicles covered the ground fairly rapidly. They were close together, one taking the lead and the other following two car lengths behind. I made a nondescript sound of disapproval.
“Not good tactical discipline,” Clay agreed, reading my mind. “They ought to be spread out.”
“So what do you think?” I asked.
“About what?”
I treated him to a glare, “Seriously, man? About Tom Brady playin’ for the friggin’ Buccs… what the Christ do you think? About my two options!”
“You’re so easy,” Clay needled and jabbed me in the ribs.
“Funny… that’s what I told your sister last month.”
He scoffed, “Okay… If I had to guess, and I guess I do… they’re headed for us, or one of these greenhouses.”
“Sure,” I replied, “although unless they’re loaded for bear, they can’t get in.”
“Yeah, but they could hide and wait for the shit show down in the canyon to do whatever it is they’re planning,” Clay noted. “Just like before.”
Hmmm… I don’t’ know… if that were the case, then wouldn’t they have come in the trucks up here?” I offered. “A couple of pickups can hold more swag than a Jeep.”
“Shit…” Clay muttered. “Either they hadn’t thought of that… or something else is up.”
Miles suddenly appeared behind us, huffing from the exertion, “I thought you guys were going out there?”
“Two unarmed men against two vehicles, maybe four dudes with weapons?” I asked incredulously. “Are you daft, man? We could be mildly injured.”
“Yeah, that was my point earlier,” Miles protested.
“We’re scoping it now,” Clay said. “Seeing what our buddies do.”
“Here,” Miles handed Clay and I each a headset. “No weapons in here, but at least you can use a pair of comms. Voice actuated, unidirectional speakers and microphones. Sensitive only to the wearer’s voice and the output audio is virtually inaudible from more than a foot away.”
“Cool,” Clay said, slipping his on.
I fitted my gear on and noticed that Miles was wearing one, too. I tapped the toggle switch on the left ear cup and was immediately inundated with chaotic sounds.
A chorus of clipped Spanish broke through the static and was so animated that I could hardly tell one voice from another. There was an underlying current of radio discipline, but in spite of my fair fluency in the language, I was hard pressed to separate anything useful.
“Red, blue, green,” Clay said, pointing at me, then himself and then Miles.
We all nodded. Miles certainly knew radio protocol from his time in the military and I did as well. It would make it easier for us to communicate, at least.
“Should we change freqs?” Miles inquired.
Clay frowned and I shook my head, “No, let’s stay on this one. We could pick something up. If we need to, then we go up two odds. Let’s say… Oahu for that channel and Maya for this one, got it?”
Clay and Miles nodded and grinned.
“What’s the plan, skipper?” Clay asked, putting me in charge.
“Why am I the skipper??” I asked, “You’re the army guys.”
That earned me a middle finger from both men.
“You’re just crazy enough to be an officer,” Clay remarked. “Miles and I are just a couple of Marines.”
“What’s the difference?” I chuckled as I was hit with two more birds. “Okay, switch to comms, then.”
“Green,” Miles said.
“Blue” Clay chimed in.
“Red,” I intoned. “Looks like our two vehicles are closing. I can see… four tangos inside. Maybe four hundred yards off and possibly slowing.”
“Strat?” Miles asked.
“Blue and I are out,” I said. “Green monitors. Suggest spread out and flank, using cover to approach.”
“Red, Blue… you think you’re cool.”
“Blue, Red… not a matter of opinion. I think we can still slip out… let’s go. Goal is to separate tangos from their weapons and subdue.”
Clay chucked me on the shoulder and I pushed the door open. With Miles still behind it, he would be both secure and be able to offer us a quick way back in should we need it.
We were fortunate in that some kind soul had cut down a swath of pine trees only a few dozen yards beyond the rear of our building. They’d stripped the trunks and laid them out in several neat piles. This would give us a little cover, but it was hardly sufficient.
I pointed and Clay nodded. We low ran the twenty yards or so and dove to the dirt between two piles of logs that were laid parallel to each other and perpendicular to the rear wall of the aquaponics lab.
The two log ramparts were maybe thirty feet long and about three feet high. Not huge, but they’d at least give us a fallback as well as a place to scope our targets away from the open ground near the building.
Clay and I rolled up onto our knees and peeked over the logs. We both looked to the northeast
to where the two Jeeps were prowling between the trees and over the uneven ground toward the northeastern corner of the lab. They were maybe three hundred yards out and moving slowly at just over walking pace.
“Still sticking together,” he whispered.
“And headed right for us,” I said, “and taking their sweet old time about it…”
“They couldn’t have done this shit at night?” Clay joked.
“I know, right!” I replied. “Would’ve made our lives easier. Very inconsiderate.”
Suddenly the Jeep in the rear broke off and turned due south. Maybe these guys weren’t so stupid after all. At that angle, they’d pass to the east of our little fort and have cover from the rest of the stand of pines that hadn’t been cut.
“Probably gonna make for the next greenhouse,” Clay observed.
“Or come at this one from multiple angles,” I said. “I’m gonna say that Jeep two is our target, but let’s see.”
“Red, Blue… Green,” Miles’ voice crackled in our left ear. “What’s your sitch?”
Clay and I both reached up and unmuted our mics. We’d done this so as not to broadcast our movements.
“Green, Blue,” Clay reported, “target vehicles have split. One headed for you, the other circling to either flank your position or the next greenhouse. What’s in there, anyway?”
“Hydroponics lab… same setup as this and the other. Security code lockout with ballistic Lexan. What’re you planning?”
“Green, Red… not sure yet, will advise. Standby.”
I made a cutting the throat gesture to Clay. He raised an eyebrow but reached up and clicked in the mute toggle, “What?”
I frowned, “Dunno… but we’re not broadcasting movements or strategies over an open channel.”
Clay nodded and frowned, “Yeah… we should at least go to Oahu.”
I shook my head, “Okay… but you and I need another private freq. Let’s use the one just below this one. When either of us says Chupacabra… we switch.”
He chuckled, “Got it. Don’t you trust Miles, though?”
“I don’t know, man… I trust you, and in this situation, that’s what I’m gonna count on.”