by Dan McGirt
“Welcome aboard,” said MARISA.
“It’s good to be back,” said Jack. “Get us out of here.”
“Aye, aye, captain!” The yacht executed a tight one eighty-degree turn and powered for the open sea. The missile boat came about and followed at five hundred yards astern. “What course?” inquired MARISA.
“Do you have a HIDD grip on that missile boat?” asked Jack.
“Yes.”
“Lock down its weapons, coms, and propulsion. The others too, wherever they are. And cripple every San Marcan air and maritime asset you can reach.”
“Done.”
“Stealth mode and flank speed to Deepfire, holding at range twenty miles.”
“We’re going back?” Galahad frowned.
“Oswald has Cassi. I’m getting her out.”
“We’re getting her out,” said Galahad.
“Right. Then we’re shutting down SEG’s little science experiment. They’re playing with forces they don’t comprehend.”
Galahad turned his palms up in a Monoga shrug. “Why bother? All that telluric talk sounded like so much hoyat. They want to set money on fire trying to make fuel out of the Earth’s static discharge, let them. If it works, then green energy, man.”
Jack pursed his lips. “I doubt LiquiOil has improving the environment in mind.”
Gal dropped into his chair and snapped on his acupressure wristband. “Just because SEG is sinister, doesn’t mean they aren’t stupid too.”
Jack brought up the tactical display of San Marcos and surrounding waters. “They’re not stupid. Fanatical, but never stupid.” With a pinching gesture he zoomed a 3-D representation of Deepfire until it was several feet high. “And they aren’t after telluric energy as a power source, not in the way Corbett thinks.”
“No? Then they have Cousin Corbett plenty buffaloed.”
“He wouldn’t be the first president to make the mistake of trusting LiquiOil.” Jack called out several adjustments to the Deepfire image based on his observations during their previous incursion. The graphics package made the edits almost instantly.
“My guess is they’ll activate the BOLD again tonight,” said Jack. He indicated the boron laser drill apparatus secured near the center of the platform. “If I’m right, it was last powered up the night Sandpiper was lost, but something went wrong. An equipment malfunction.” Jack glanced at Gal through the translucent hologram. “It looked like the BOLD was under repair, based on the brief look we got last night.”
“All too brief,” Galahad agreed.
“The way I see it, BOLD had a serious system failure. They hauled it up and took it offline for diagnostics, repairs, system checks. Three days offline. Then we crash the party last night.”
Galahad tilted the chair back, closed his eyes, and emitted a contented sigh.
“You with me, Gal?”
“Listening,” he said.
“Oswald is already behind schedule, now we’re poking around. I guarantee he’s had his technicians working double shifts to get BOLD operational posthaste.”
“Before we interfere again.”
“Before we interfere again, and because his window for tapping the telluric stream efficiently is closing. The nodes wax and wane due to a complex interaction of the moon’s gravitational pull, sunspot activity, solar rotation, variation in the Earth’s magnetic field, and other factors.”
“Naturally.”
“Right now the San Marcos node is surging, but it could peak and decline any day, even go temporarily dormant. It’s an inexact science.”
“To say the least.”
“What I’m not sure Oswald appreciates is that by tapping the telluric node, SEG disturbed a delicate ecological balance. He woke up something better left asleep.”
Galahad’s eyes snapped open. “The big tentacle.”
Jack bit his lower lip and nodded. “I imagine that creature is sensitive to alterations in the telluric. That’s part of the story the Sina’an Muul murals tell. A detail Oswald would dismiss as mere superstition.”
“Just like a paleskin. Gullible when they should doubt, doubting when they should believe.”
“Something like that.” Jack tagged various features on the Deepfire hologram. “BOLD attracted the creature. It sank Sandpiper en route to Deepfire. But the laser drill failed for some reason. The creature went away. All the little fishes of the Gulf went back to their regular activities. Natural order restored.”
“But if they turn on the laser drill again...”
“Our tentacled friend may return, with a high probability of attacking Deepfire, the source of the disturbance. And while part of me would be content to let SEG reap the consequences of their foolhardy experiment, it’s a different story if Oswald was telling the truth and they’re holding Cassi on the rig.”
“He may have lied simply to bait you,” said Galahad.
“If so, it’s bait I have to take.”
“Understood.”
“So we get Cassi out. And we disable BOLD. The SEG boys won’t like it, but it’s for their own good.”
Galahad curled his lip in a wry smile. “I just hope we’re not swimming in again.”
“This time we fly.”
***
Jack and Galahad flew low over the Gulf of Mexico, with a hard ceiling of fifty feet, at times dipping to within fifteen feet of the whitecaps. The rising wind was changeable – chiefly out of the southeast, with occasional gusts from any direction. A scudding pall of dark clouds blotted out the moon and stars. Flares of heat lightning lit the horizon.
“Range ten miles,” said Jack. Deepfire was visible in the distance as a smudge of white light and flashes of red.
“This is much better than swimming,” said Galahad.
The GlideWing harnesses strapped to their backs had angled carbonfiber wings propelled by four ST-3100 series run-quiet gyrostabilized turbofan mini-thrusters. The system was powered by a high-energy density battery pack providing a range of one hundred miles and a top speed of 92 mph. The GlideWing assembly was developed by ScarletTech for the U.S. Special Operations Command’s Individual Combatant Aerial Transport–Medium Range program. When ICAT-MR was terminated due to budget cuts, Jack snagged the prototypes, stripped out useless features imposed by the military’s more absurd specifications, and improved the GlideWing’s range and maneuverability.
One of the things Jack had removed was an emergency parachute module – it wasn’t needed since the system could glide and maneuver to a landing even without power. Galahad, unconvinced, insisted on wearing thruster boots, ignoring Jack’s crack about going belt and suspenders.
“MARISA, are those missile boats still offline?” asked Jack. “I don’t want them taking potshots at us.”
The AI’s calm voice was crisp and clear in Jack’s com. “Communications, fire control, and engines remain disabled, per your previous directive. They shan’t be a problem.”
“Cousin Corbett won’t like that,” said Galahad.
Jack laughed. “I told him he could have his systems back when I returned to the States. I not on American soil yet, am I?”
“Or any soil,” said Galahad. “Sneaky devil.”
“What about air assets? I don’t want to meet those helo gunships.”
“I’ve taken down San Marcos radar and air traffic control, military and civilian,” said MARISA. “However, their aircraft can still fly. They aren’t networked in any way that allows me access.”
“No one’s perfect, sweetheart. Even you.”
“Charmer.”
“If anything gets close enough to be a threat, dissuade them. Disabling fire only.”
“Aye, aye, captain.”
“Acts of war, man,” said Galahad.
“It’s not a war I started,” said Jack. “MARISA, we’re making the climb.”
Jack streaked upward at a sharp angle. Galahad followed. They climbed to nine thousand feet. Jack would have preferred more altitude, but the clouds were pressi
ng low and he wanted to keep a line of sight on Deepfire. The wind was stronger up here, buffeting them hard, and there was a risk of lightning. But they were more likely to reach Deepfire undetected if they dropped down from above.
They soon circled high above the massive offshore rig. The telescopic camera and sensor package in Jack’s flight helmet scanned Deepfire and mapped the data onto a 3-D schematic in the heads-up display, identifying components, counting personnel, and tagging armed adversaries.
“More than two hundred crew,” said Jack.
“Estimated fifty are security,” replied Galahad, who had the same data on his HUD. “That’s high for the middle of nowhere. They’re expecting trouble.”
“They’re expecting us,” said Jack.
“Maybe MARISA could lay down some suppression on the platform. Soften them up before we go in.”
“Negative. I want to find Cassi before we start breaking things.”
“Roger that.”
Deepfire, fully illuminated, bustled with activity. Workers in green coveralls and yellow hard hats swarmed around the production pod and generating plant or boiled up from the inner chambers of the platform like so many ants. SEG security teams were on station around the topsides perimeter, high up on the boom and derrick platforms, and on the helipad, where stood an S-61T chopper displaying LiquiOil’s green and yellow paint scheme – a replacement for the helo Jack had hijacked last night.
Four RHIB patrol boats with full complements circled Deepfire. About three hundred yards north of the semisub, a tug towed a floating dock into position. The square platform was fifty feet to a side, flat and empty except for lighting gantries mounted at each corner and a metal pole in the center. Two crew boats trailed the tug.
“What’s that all about?” asked Galahad.
“Unclear,” said Jack. He returned his attention to Deepfire, activating an infrared scan with a flicker of his eyes.
A wash of muted reds and purples filled the rig schematic in his HUD. The generator plant, where a dozen jet turbine engines roared, was all red, throwing off intense heat as the spinning turbines generated more than a gigawatt of electricity. Cables hot with juice wound like scarlet serpents from the plant down into the guts of the station, converging at its heart, where the moon pool opened into the sea, to feed the laser drill.
A glance at its two hundred foot support tower told Jack the drilling assembly was engaged, penetrating the Gulf’s dark waters like a protruding fang.
Jack banked wide of the rig and adjusted his scope to peer beneath Deepfire. Nearly one thousand feet below the surface, the tip of the laser drill glowed blue-white like a sunken star. Jack couldn’t discern details, but it was evident the laser was flaring into open water, not secured against the sea floor for proper drilling operations.
“They’ve activated the BOLD,” said Jack.
“Is that bad?” said Galahad.
“It will be.”
The muffled turbofans of the GlideWing thrusters generated a whirring hum of no more than 60 decibels, comparable to the sound of a bee swarm. Their approach was unlikely to be heard over the rising wind and the noise of the power plant. A parachute drop would be the most stealthy option, but an unpowered glide down was the next best thing.
“Ready?” said Jack.
“Death from above, man.”
“Non-lethal, Gal.”
“If you insist.”
Jack lined up with the living quarters, a stack of prefab units on the east edge, next to the raised green octagon of the helipad. He cut power to his turbos, locked the wings back and plummeted toward the deck in a hawk dive – arms at his sides, head down. Below him, unaware, stood a lone SEG trooper scanning the water.
At thirty feet, Jack tucked into a stand and flared his wings. A thin synthetic durasilk membrane unfurled under his arms, giving enough lift to slow his headlong fall to a sub-fatal velocity. The ripple of the fabric catching air alerted the guard, who looked up in time for Jack’s boots to meet his face. Jack’s momentum took the man off his feet. His helmeted head clacked against the prefab unit’s roof. Jack landed atop him, the soldier’s body absorbing his remaining momentum.
Jack shot the SEG trooper with a stun round from his wrist-mounted needler. “I’m going below,” he said.
While Jack dived, Galahad swooped past the small platform atop the drilling derrick. The SEG solider posted there was facing the wrong way to see Jack flash past, but he sensed a disturbance and turned, leaning over and looking down in time to see Jack land. Galahad took advantage of this distraction and hit the SEG man with a double shot from his wrist-mounted needlers. The soldier slumped unconscious against the safety rail.
“I’ll keep them busy up here,” said Galahad, acknowledging Jack’s transmission.
Jack hit the release on his GlideWing harness, removed his flight helmet, and bounded down the exterior stairs to the top floor of the living quarters. Two decks of housing units stood topsides, with two more below the main deck, built into Deepfire’s hull. Any captives would likely be on the lower decks. Jack descended to the bottom level.
A steel door led to a long corridor. A pair of roughnecks turned as Jack entered. Their quizzical looks became expressions of alarm. One crewman opened his mouth to shout as Jack shot them both with stun darts. The men crumpled to the floor. Jack stepped over them and moved swiftly down the passage, trying each door. None were locked. LiquiOil offshore crews typically bunked four or six to a room. Markings on the doors indicated this floor housed mainly crew members on the twelve-hour night shift.
Jack paused at the other end of the corridor. He could work his way up through the crew housing levels, but thought it less probable Cassi or her shipmates would be on the decks above him. Down here, cabins could be set aside and secured with minimal disruption to onboard routine. The lack of locks and guards suggested SEG’s captives, if any, were elsewhere.
“Crew housing is a bust,” said Jack. “Heading for the command quarters.”
While the roustabouts and roughnecks got barracks-style accommodations, higher ups rated separate housing. The OIM – or offshore installation manager – was the equivalent of a ship’s captain, in overall command of the platform. He had his own suite, as did his deputies. Quarters were also reserved for important visitors – such as Oswald and key members of his Special Engineering Group team. He’d look there next.
“Roger that,” said Galahad. “All quiet up top.”
Jack exited the housing unit and hurried down a narrow white corridor. He passed a gymnasium, rec room, and small movie theater provided for Deepfire’s crew – all empty. Jack turned a corner to reach another set of doors that opened into a corridor running the length of the platform’s south side. LiquiOil personnel moved briskly along the passage in both directions. None were near Jack, none saw him. He ducked unnoticed into a stairwell and climbed back to the main deck, where the executive quarters occupied the first floor of a rectangular structure, two stories high, perched on Deepfire’s south rim. A tiled corridor pierced the building. Jack emerged at the east end of the passageway and came face-to-face with a pair of engineers. He shot one and elbow smashed the second out of the way to get a clear shot at the real threat – a SEG merc posted outside a door halfway down the corridor.
The merc clawed for his sidearm. Jack’s wrist-mounted needler was too fast and his aim too accurate. The trooper took two stun rounds, huffed, and tumbled to the tiles. His pistol never cleared the holster.
Jack put a dart in the second engineer and left the man sliding down the wall and into an hour-long torpor as Jack sprinted to the door the merc had guarded. It had to be where they were keeping Cassi.
Jack stepped over his downed foe and tried the door. Locked. He procured a blue tablet not much larger than a quarter from a pouch on his rigging, broke the seal, and molded the microplastique tab against the lock mechanism. It adhered perfectly. Jack stepped back. The blast tab would detonate ten seconds after being applied.
The low yield explosive detonated with a pop! no louder than that of a light bulb blowing out. The husk of the tab flew off the door and across the hallway. Most of the blasting force was directed into the lock, annihilating it with minimal damage to door and frame.
Jack kicked the door open, paused, then did a crouch and lunge through, with both hands out, seeking a target for his wrist needlers.
Jack froze. He stared into the barrels of six Keck & Hochler NP5 submachine guns in the hands of a SEG security team. The door across the hall opened, as did others along the corridor, disgorging more armed troopers.
One of the men in front of Jack said “Director Oswald requests your presence on the bridge, Dr. Scarlet.”
Jack recognized him as the team leader he had shot in the moon pool last night. He considered his options. He could shoot, tuck, and roll, slam the door behind him, and maybe clear this cabin without getting shot. All that would gain him was a few seconds. He’d be trapped inside with no exit. The rest of the unit would unload on him through the bulkhead, which was little more than fiberboard. Maybe he had time to scrounge a KH and return fire, but it would amount to nothing more than a the futile gesture of taking a few of them with him. Every other scenario that flashed through his mind ended the same way.
Jack raised his hands. “SEG knows me all too well.”
23: Decked Out
“SEG knows me all too well.”
Galahad heard the resignation in Jack’s voice. He, too, knew Jack all too well. His friend had walked into a trap. He was reproaching himself for succumbing to SEG’s deception, even as his agile mind worked the angles, looking for an opportunity to regain the initiative.
Galahad had only a moment to wonder if the trap had been set for one or for two. Searchlights came on suddenly, six of them, massive Daystar lamps that lanced pillars of pure noonday into the sky. A beam transfixed Galahad, dazzling his eyes before the adaptive face shield of his flight helmet could darken to protect them. Then he was doubly blind – his eyes burning with white spots behind the suddenly too-opaque plastine visor.