Catalyst (Breakthrough Book 3)

by Michael C. Grumley

  And she thought she’d found it. No, she was sure she had found it. But so had someone else and the events that unfolded as a result were devastating. She’d briefly had in her hands the greatest biological anomaly in history, just days before it all came to a violent end.

  She was aboard the Bowditch when it sank in a twisted heap of fire and steel. She was one of the crewmembers who made it off in time, thanks to one man who, in the face of the worst possible situation, still managed to save most of the lives on his ship. The same man who died trying to save his chief engineer below deck. In the end, the Captain was the greatest hero she had ever seen. And he was more than just a captain, he was her father. A father who didn’t just save his crew…but one who stood between death and his own daughter, and won.

  Her eyes began to well up again as she pulled the paddle up and onto her lap, allowing the canoe to slow to a stop again, against the water’s soft ebbing.

  Her father was gone. Her hero. Her dad.

  Neely Lawton’s tears came again, as though they would never end. A week alone in the solitude of her Everglades still wasn’t enough to help heal her broken heart. She knew it would take time and yet she still didn’t want to let go. She didn’t want him to simply become a memory, or images she thought of periodically. She didn’t want him to fade.

  She sat listlessly in the channel, listening to the subtle sounds of the earth around her –– the chirping birds and the trickling of the water around the worn hull of her canoe. In front of her knees sat her pack and tent, neatly bundled.

  Neely had remained motionless against a large mangrove shoot for nearly thirty minutes when she heard it. The sound of an engine approaching. It had a distinct pitch which told her it was an airboat, a common craft in Florida used in shallow waters. And she was surprised to hear it.

  Neely was miles from the larger lakes and channels. She hadn’t seen a soul for days, which filled her with a sense of both curiosity and concern.

  It was unlikely to just happen upon someone that far up the Watson River, but the sound of the engine told Neely that the craft was headed straight for her.

  She hadn’t seen anyone…but it didn’t mean someone had not seen her.

  Someone had seen her. Someone she was about to wish had not.

  Sitting on tall seats atop an old and dingy airboat, Sal and Jered Hicks had grown up in the backwoods and swamps of Southern Florida. Brothers who both had spent the better part of their lives among the unpatrolled waters of the northwestern Everglades hunting anything they could sell on the black market, protected or not. Yet the Glades provided something far more important to the brothers than just a source of poached alligators. It provided obscurity. The ability to simply disappear within the jungle-like terrain for months at a time. Especially when people might be looking for them. To the Hicks brothers, the state of Florida’s greatest natural treasure was the ultimate protection to its inhabitants from the world outside.

  Sal and Jered spotted the red canoe earlier that morning and had been quietly following it until they were sure the woman was alone. Because once they started the engine, they had to move fast.

  Neely leaned forward as the boat sped into view around a nearby embankment. Two men were aboard. Each was dressed in a T-shirt and shorts with one donning a large camouflage hat, the wide circling brim hiding much of his unshaven face. The second man looked to be wearing a similarly sized, and seemingly dirtier, straw hat.

  As they roared down the channel toward her, she could hear the throttle ease up, causing the boat to dip forward and begin slowing. When the men were within two hundred feet, they dropped the engine to an idle and examined Neely as the last of their boat’s momentum took them the rest of the way.

  The short-bearded man at the controls smiled under his straw hat. “Howdy.”

  Neely’s response was reserved. “Hello.”

  “What’s a perty thing like you doing way out here? You lost?”

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  Her eyes left the first visitor and were now watching the man whose face was partially concealed.

  “I’m sure.”

  The pilot of the craft nodded and scooted in his seat, turning around and scanning the area. “I don’t see any friends. I hope yer not alone out here all by yerself. Lot a nasty things crawling around out here, worse than gators and crocs.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You want us to tow you in? Be a lot faster.”

  “Really, I’m fine. Thanks.”

  The pilot nodded again and scanned behind them a second time. He turned to his brother Jered, who was watching the woman with his dark eyes. Without a word, Jered lowered his hand and dropped his empty beer can onto the already littered floor of their boat. His foot was resting on the top of a dirty ice cooler, held in place by an even dirtier and fraying bungee cord.

  A smile slowly spread across his thin lips. “I guess she doesn’t want a tow.”

  “I said I was fine.”

  Her response caused Jered’s smile to widen, exposing a set of yellowed teeth. “She says she’s fine.”

  The larger and fatter Sal shook his head. “I don’t think she knows what a dangerous place it is out here.” His eyes peered intently at Neely. “Why, there’s gators out here big enough to-” He suddenly stopped when he noticed her position.

  Her body was leaning forward as though supporting herself with a hand on the forward seat. But her hand wasn’t on the seat. Instead it was just a few inches farther, resting inside the opening to her pack.

  “What you got there, girl?”

  Jered noticed it too and continued smiling. “I don’t think your phone is going to work out here.”

  She watched quietly as both men laughed. Jered nodded and stood up out of his chair, approaching the front edge of the flat-bottom boat. The engine was still idling as the craft inched slowly forward, leaving less than fifteen feet between the two boats.

  Sal responded to his brother’s nod by reaching down for the throttle. Another quick blast of air would push them within reach of the canoe.

  But just as Sal’s hand fell onto the metal knob, his entire body abruptly froze at the sight of Neely sliding a gun out of her bag, her hand wrapped firmly around the handle.

  Her index finger was resting just above the trigger of a nickel-plated 9mm Sig Sauer, the 1911 her father had given her after graduating from Officer Training Command.

  Her eyes remained fixed on Jered, who was now leaning toward her and had been waiting for his brother to push them forward. Instead, his eyes widened when he too noticed the bright glint of the gun’s barrel. He immediately straightened and looked back up to her face where her gray-blue eyes stared at him, unblinking.

  His hands shot up in front of his chest. “Whoa. Easy, sweetheart. We’re just being friendly now, right?” He turned to Sal who still wasn’t moving either.

  “T-that’s right. It’s a long way back. Just thought it’d be gentlemanly if we gave you a hand.”

  “I don’t need a hand.”

  “We can see that.”

  Jered calmly glanced down at a large duffle bag beneath his seat. Inside was his own gun. He had put it away to avoid getting it wet. Now he wished he hadn’t. He was also wondering how quickly he could retrieve it. It was loaded and ready.

  The two men stared at each other with the same thought. They’d been in scrapes before…far worse than this. They exchanged a knowing look that just because a woman had a gun didn’t mean she knew how to use it.

  They were considering their options when Neely unexpectedly reached into the bag with her free hand and retrieved another item. This time, it was a piece of clothing, and it was about to put an end to any thoughts the two had of escalating this confrontation.

  She calmly pulled out a dark blue baseball hat and pulled it over her head from back to front. Above the cap’s bill were four large, unmistakable white letters.

  N-A-V-Y.

  Both men’s expressions
changed instantly. This woman clearly knew how to use the gun in her hand.

  “She doesn’t want any help, J.”

  Jered nodded his head and stepped back from the front edge of their boat. Behind him, his brother throttled up and turned the vertical rudders, twisting the fanboat into a hard turn. It slowly curved away from the canoe and continued a 180-degree turn, just clearing the embankment on the far side of the channel. Once clear of another mangrove patch, their engine and fan emitted a deafening roar and accelerated the craft back along the path from which they came.

  The burst of hot air, coupled with the smell of grease and gasoline, washed over Neely as she watched their retreat. Her heart was pounding in her chest and a bead of sweat escaped from under the cap, running down past her left ear. She hadn’t been that frightened in a long time.

  Hours later, Neely Lawton rounded the river’s mouth in her canoe. She was heading for Tarpon Creek, situated on the southeast end of Whitewater Bay. She took a break and glanced at the sun, which was beginning its descent into another stunning Everglade sunset. As she stretched her back, Neely watched dozens of birds take flight into the warm, windless sky. Near the edge of the water, an alligator watched her intently with only its eyes and nose protruding above the surface.

  She wasn’t going to make it. It was still too far to Tarpon, which meant another night on one of the chickee platforms. Something she was trying to avoid given her inauspicious morning. The fear that the two men might still be watching her would make sleeping almost impossible. It was going to be a very long night.

  Then suddenly, her cell phone rang from inside her heavy pack. She was back in range again. Neely dropped the paddle at her feet and quickly dug the phone out of her bag before it went to voicemail. The number on the screen was unknown.

  “Neely Lawton.”

  “Neely, hi. This is Alison Shaw. We met a few weeks ago on the-”

  “I remember you, Alison. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. How are you?”

  Neely gazed across the bay, its still water reflecting the azure sky above it like a mirror. “It’s been a mixed day. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, actually, if you have some time I need to talk to you about something. Something important.”

  Neely leaned back in her seat and stretched her legs out. “I have a lot of time at the moment.” She paused, thinking. “How did you get a hold of me?”

  “Through Admiral Langford.”

  “Admiral Langford?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow. Okay then...shoot.”

  She heard Alison take a breath on the other end.

  “It’s about something you mentioned the last time we talked. About what happened in Guyana. More specifically, the plants you were examining aboard the ship.”

  “Okay.”

  “Well, the thing is,” Alison said, “I think I’m seeing something similar here.”

  Neely’s eyes widened. “What? Where?!”

  “In Puerto Rico. Here in my lab.”

  “Puerto Rico?”

  “Yes. At our research center.”

  “What kind of-”

  Alison stopped her. “It’s a long story, and probably too much to try to explain on the phone. But I’m wondering if you could make a trip down here. We could use your help.”

  “Yes,” she answered immediately. “Yes, I can.” Neely suddenly paused, realizing where she was. “Um, it may take a little time to get there. I’m not exactly close to an airport.”

  “That should not be a problem. I think Admiral Langford is dispatching a ride for you.”

  “Does he even know where I am?”

  “He said he had Wil Borger searching for you. I’m guessing that probably won’t take him very long.”

  Neely smiled on the other end. It was the first smile in what felt like a very long time, and she had to admit it felt good. “Well, Alison. I must admit, your timing probably could not be better.”

  From her chair, DeeAnn watched Alison as she ended the call. “So you called in your favor.”

  “I had to.”

  DeeAnn nodded. She looked past Alison to the double doors leading to the lobby.

  Alison followed her gaze with a curious look. “What is it?”

  “Sofia.” DeeAnn looked back. “I’ve been thinking about her since she first came here and especially after seeing her now.” She looked down at the table, wiping it absently with her hand. “I keep thinking about her in that wheelchair, knowing that the end was coming and yet still fighting. She wasn’t ready to give up a single moment. At least not willingly.”

  Alison grinned. “That’s true.”

  DeeAnn shook her head. “Can you imagine how afraid she’s been? Every hour of every day, knowing what’s coming? And she’s still fighting.” She turned to Alison incredulously. “She’s eight, Alison. Eight!”

  “Yet here I am. At my age, afraid of what might happen by going back into that jungle. But Sofia knows what’s going to happen. I am trying to hide…while that girl is trying to live. Do you know how small that makes me feel? Or how horrible?”

  “We all have to live our own lives, Dee. We have to make our own decisions.”

  DeeAnn shrugged. “And now Steve is going back, trying to protect something that may cause almost unimaginable ramifications, both good and bad. Something that any country would probably kill over. And now what if that something was actually able to help Sofia? What if it were able to help others like her?”

  Alison didn’t answer.

  “So, say something does happen to me, Ali. Exactly how many more lives is mine worth? And even worse, what happens to them if Steve fails…because I wouldn’t help?”

  “I don’t think it’s that easy,” Alison replied softly.

  “No? Then please tell me how I look someone like Sofia in the eyes from now on, after I refused to go?”

  DeeAnn remained quiet, allowing the room to fall silent before she finally leaned forward and stood up.

  Alison’s eyes widened. “So…are you saying, you’re going with Steve?”

  “Not without talking to Juan first.”

  20

  The small base which housed the infamous Naval Special Warfare Development Group (NSWDG), also known as DEVGRU, was smaller than most would imagine. It was also quieter, located on fewer than fifteen acres, and hosted a dozen buildings of varying sizes. The legendary base was also less elaborate than its reputation suggested, but what it lacked in visual awe from the outside, it more than made up for inside.

  Less than four miles due south of Virginia Beach, the home of NSWDG in Dam Neck, Virginia, was rumored to have an operational training budget almost surpassing that of the entire U.S. Marine Corps. This guaranteed that the team once known as SEAL Team Six had access to the most modern weapons and fighting technology available on the planet. And the training areas both inside and below ground proved it.

  It was also here, in the base’s southernmost and largely nondescript building, where Steve Caesare stared down at a large 3D tabletop image before him. Resting his hands on either side, he was shaking his head slowly. This was going to be difficult.

  Serious missions were usually planned by multiple SEAL operators to ensure every conceivable scenario and logistical detail was considered. But this time Caesare and his men were on their own. Under direct orders from Admiral Langford, they were instructed to get in and out with the least number of people knowing, no matter what resources it took. Whatever they needed, Langford would get.

  But resources weren’t the problem. In fact, Caesare was sure that no material item in the world, short of an invisibility cloak, was going to help them here.

  The large Italian mused at his last thought, knowing the DoD was actually working on that very idea. It was done by bending light with fiber optics, but it was still decades away. All he knew was that a cloak like that would be damn handy about now.

  Another problem was their inability to rehearse the mission prior to
execution. Rehearsals were something SEALs did without fail, followed by a thorough debrief. This was the first mission the three younger team members would have without the benefit of either, and the concern was obvious on their chiseled faces.

  Facing Caesare on all sides, Corso, Anderson, and Tiewater stood around the table, coming to similar conclusions. Ignoring the fact that they’d never been sent to rescue a primate before, the logistics involved in getting in and out unseen were problematic at best. And that was putting it mildly.

  An army from Brazil’s Eighth Military Region was mobilizing at its base in Belem, the nearest base to the Acarai Mountains. According to reports from Wil Borger, the Guyana government was furious over what the Chinese had done and were denying all requests asking for access to the area. And as facts inevitably began leaking out, their neighbors Venezuela and Suriname were doing the same.

  Venezuela was out as an entry point for obvious reasons, and any other airport large enough for military aircraft was now asking questions too. And many of the smaller airports were as well. But even if they could make it in, ground transportation was another problem. There were only two usable roads, each on either side of the mountain, both long and treacherous. Tiago Otero and his army would be coming up the south side, leaving the only road available as the one that ended in Guyana’s capital city of Georgetown. It was the same road the Chinese had carved into the mountain to get their treasure out, and it was already populated with local agencies investigating exactly what had happened at Acarai.

  The chances of Caesare’s team getting to the top undetected were growing slimmer by the hour.

  The partial 3D map in front of them displayed the area in impressive detail, including the multitude of surrounding peaks and elevations, displayed with tiny white numbers hovering over each peak.

  “We’d still need two vehicles,” Corso said in a deep voice. “And extra fuel to make it up.”