The Hydra Protocol

by David Wellington

  “Quite a lot hidden back there, I think,” she said, as if the blonde didn’t exist. “Jim here could tell us all a few things, if he let himself.”

  Chapel’s mouth started to curve into a frown. How had she known his name? Nobody had introduced them. But it seemed the mystery would have to wait.

  “In the pool, now,” Donny called out, lifting a pair of plastic cups over his head.

  “You go ahead,” Chapel told him, smiling at his friend.

  But Donny wasn’t having it. “My party, my rules. I’m getting hot and I want to cool down. With you,” he said to the blonde, “and you,” to a brunette who looked up with the wide eyes of someone who had just won the lottery, “and Sheila, of course.”

  “Shelly!” the girl yelled from the bar, sitting up and knocking over the paper shot cups the bartender had been arranging on her stomach. Nobody seemed to mind. Shelly jumped off the bar onto Donny’s back and howled in laughter as he ran with her over to the pool, only a few feet away. He jumped in with Shelly still clinging to his neck, sending up a great wave of chlorinated water that splashed half a dozen dancers nearby. A general roar of excitement went up and the DJ switched to a new track, one with an even faster beat. One by one girls and men jumped in the pool after Donny, until the deck was awash with their splashing.

  “Jim-meeee!” Donny shouted. “Where’s my Jim Dog? Jim-Jam, you get in here right now or I’ll have the captain throw you overboard!”

  Raising his hands in protest, Chapel tried to laugh off the invitation.

  Donny wouldn’t hear it. “In. The. Pool. Now!” He lunged out of the pool and grabbed Chapel’s leg. “Now!”

  “Hold on,” Chapel said, suddenly alarmed. If Donny pulled him into the pool just then, it was going to be a problem. “Let me just—”

  “Get that shirt off him,” Donny shouted, and a couple of coeds came giggling up to do just that. Despite his best efforts, they managed to pull Chapel’s polo shirt over his head.

  Chapel knew exactly what would happen then.

  The girls in the pool stopped laughing. One of them wiped hair from her eyes and stared at his left arm, and especially his left shoulder. It took a second for others to notice, but he could tell when they did because their eyes went wide too. Nobody said anything, of course. But it looked as if the water in the pool had suddenly turned twenty degrees cooler.

  “Damn it, Donny,” Chapel said, under his breath.

  Under the polo shirt, Chapel’s left arm looked just like his right one. It had the same skin tone and the same amount of hair. The illusion ended at the shoulder, though, where the arm flared out into a wide clamp that held it secured to his torso.

  There was no point in trying to hide it anymore. Chapel reached up with his right hand and flipped back the catches to release the arm. It was a prosthesis, an exceptionally clever and well-designed replacement for the arm he’d lost in Afghanistan. When he took it off and laid it down carefully on a deck chair, it looked like something torn off a mannequin. He worried about just leaving it there, but he doubted anyone would get too close. None of these people would want to touch the thing.

  The DJ didn’t scratch a record. Most of the partygoers saw nothing, and their roaring clamor of excitement didn’t drop by so much as a decibel. But around the pool the whole atmosphere of the party had changed, grown more subdued. The party was ruined.

  Chapel stepped down into the pool and submerged himself until only his head was above the water. He looked over at Donny with half a grimace on his face. He wanted very much to duck his head under as well, and just disappear.

  “Does it hurt?” Shelly asked.

  “No,” he told her. “Not anymore.”

  “How did . . . I mean, how—”

  Donny swam over to stand next to Chapel. “Shelly,” he said, “do you remember 9/11?”

  “Of course I do!” she squeaked. “I was in fifth grade when it happened. We got to go home from school for, like, three whole days.”

  Donny’s face squirmed as he tried to contain a braying laugh, but he couldn’t quite manage it. Eventually he just gave in and let the laughter boom all around the pool, until somebody else picked up on it, and then everyone was laughing. Even Chapel. “This man here,” Donny said, “is an American hero!,” and he grabbed Chapel’s right hand under the water and dragged it up into the air, making Chapel stand up and show his ruined left shoulder again.

  The pool erupted in one huge roaring cheer, as cups everywhere lifted in the air and pointed in Chapel’s direction. The dancers jumped up and down and the bartenders grabbed new bottles and the party lurched back into full-on mode, back to exactly where it had been before Chapel’s shirt came off.

  Good old Donny, he thought.

  SOUTH OF MIAMI, FLORIDA: JUNE 10, 21:04

  The party never really ended, but the level of alcohol consumed on board meant that by the time the sun set, a lot more people were sitting down than dancing. Dinner—catered by one of Miami’s best authentic Cuban restaurants—was served at eight o’clock and that helped alleviate the chaos a little, too.

  Chapel found he had to be careful where he walked on the deck, which was strewn with abandoned cups and greasy paper plates. It would be very easy to slip and fall overboard, and he was a little surprised nobody had done so yet. He found Donny holding court in a lifeboat that hung off the starboard side. Nestled in there with him on a canvas tarp were Shelly and a couple of girls Chapel hadn’t been introduced to. A guy who looked like a surfer, maybe half Chapel’s age, was tuning an acoustic guitar while he puffed on a joint. As Chapel leaned over the side of the boat the surfer tried to hand it to him, but Chapel politely waved it away.

  “Permission to come aboard?” Chapel asked.

  Donny smiled. His eyes were a little hooded, and he looked like he was ready for a nap. Shelly was stroking his arms as if she couldn’t believe how muscular they were. “Granted,” he said. “Jim . . . Jim . . . I need another stupid name to call you.”

  “Keep going, you’ll get there,” Chapel said, climbing into the lifeboat. It swayed a little and he mostly fell inside, right on top of a woman he hadn’t seen. Everyone seemed to think this was hysterically funny, including the woman he’d fallen on.

  “Sailor Jim,” Donny said, finally. “Is that something? Is there a Sailor Jim? Lord Jim, maybe. Isn’t that a book?”

  “There’s a Slim Jim,” Shelly pointed out.

  “I was saving that one for later.” Donny reached over and steadied Chapel as he tried to find a seat in the crowded lifeboat.

  Once Chapel was safely ensconced he turned to apologize to the woman he’d fallen on. It turned out to be the dark-haired Asian woman he’d met earlier at the bar, the one who’d pegged him as a soldier. She acknowledged his apology by closing her eyes for a second and giving him a vampish shrug.

  “I’ve had worse things fall upon me,” she said. “So Donny has told us all about you.”

  “He has?” Chapel asked, a little alarmed.

  “Is it so strange? You are the honored guest of this voyage. And a very interesting man to hear him tell it. A man of many accomplishments. You fought in Afghanistan, he says?”

  Chapel frowned. What had Donny been saying about him? Donny didn’t know anything too secret—most of Chapel’s military career was classified—but he valued his privacy. “I don’t much like to talk about the past.”

  “Me either,” Donny announced. He struggled to sit up, pulling Shelly with him until she was sitting on his lap. “Especially when the present is so much more interesting. In all the years I’ve been sailing on this yacht, this is the very first time Jim Chapel has agreed to grace us with his presence. I want to know why now, after all this time.”

  Chapel sighed. “I had some things I needed to think through. I thought I would get away for a few days, give myself some quiet time.”

  “Exactly what you should expect from one of my world-famous party cruises. Peace and quiet!” The girls in the lifeboat
all cheered and shouted at the idea. “C’mon, Jimster. Spill the beans. You said it was something to do with that girlfriend of yours. The sexy redhead.”

  Chapel laughed. “You’ve never met Julia. How do you know she’s sexy?”

  “Red hair. Likes soldiers. Sounds like a good start,” Donny pointed out.

  “She’s . . . amazing. Julia.” Chapel found himself smiling without meaning too. “And she is. Very sexy, I mean. More than that, she’s beautiful. And smart. Very sharp. She and I went through some things together, tough things, and it just brought us closer together.”

  “The good start is turning into a good thing. But you didn’t come all this way to tell me you think you like somebody. You’ve got a decision to make—I can see it in your face. A big decision.”

  Chapel was not a man given to giggling or outward signs of joy. But he came pretty close just then. “Yeah.”

  Donny nodded. A lot of people assumed when they saw him that he was just some dumb meathead, but Donny had been an Army Ranger, and you didn’t get into Ranger school without something between your ears. “Well, I accept, of course.”

  Chapel’s eyes went wide. “You—what?”

  “I accept the position as your best man. Because that’s obviously why you’re here. To ask me to be your best man.”

  “Best . . . wait a minute,” Shelly said, and put a hand over her mouth.

  “Hold on!” Chapel protested. “I haven’t asked her yet—maybe I should before I go looking for someone to—to—”

  Donny moved Shelly next to him, then lunged across the lifeboat and grabbed Chapel up into a rib-cage-crushing bear hug. Chapel laughed and slapped his friend’s back until the big ranger released him.

  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” Shelly said, tears starting to form in her eyes. Despite the fact she’d never met Julia and had met Chapel only a few hours ago, it seemed she was pretty excited by the prospect of a wedding. Any wedding.

  Chapel had to admit he was pretty excited himself. The idea to propose to Julia had come to him in a sudden flash of inspiration a week earlier. The two of them had been going through a rough patch, fighting a lot, and it had taken him a long time to realize why. Julia didn’t think he was serious about her, that he was just stringing her along. She needed to know that he was committed to their relationship. As soon as he’d thought of it, a proposal had seemed like a great idea. There was no hesitation in him, no doubt. He was ready to spend the rest of his life with Julia. Why not formalize it?

  “It may be too early for congratulations,” the Asian woman said. Her eyes searched his for a moment though he couldn’t figure out why. “But all the same. How wonderful.”

  “Wonderful? It’s awesome! Oh my God, Donny, can I be your date at the wedding?” Shelly asked.

  “Hold on,” Chapel said, laughing. “Nothing’s official yet, I still—”

  He stopped because he’d seen something out of the corner of his eye. He made a point of not turning to actually look but, yes, it was there. Up in the wheelhouse of the yacht, high over the deck, someone had switched on a blue light.

  “I was serious about that best man thing, if you want me,” Donny said. “I know you’ve probably got someone else in mind, but let me just point out—if you go with me, your bachelor party is going to be sick. And I mean epic. I will get every stripper in South Florida together and they will march in a parade in your honor, Jam Master Jim. You know nobody throws a party like me—”

  “Uh, sorry,” Chapel said. Up in the wheelhouse the blue light switched off. He heard a chain rattle somewhere up in the bows and knew the yacht had dropped its anchor. “Listen, I—”

  “Most guys would go with a limo to take you to and from this bachelor party,” Donny went on. “I’m thinking helicopters. Multiple helos.”

  “I, uh,” Chapel said. He hadn’t expected this to come so soon. “Talking about this,” he said. “It’s making me a little queasy.”

  “Try this,” the surfer with the guitar said, and he tried to pass Chapel his joint. “It’s good for seasickness.”

  “I think what our new friend is trying to say is that he’s getting an attack of cold feet,” the Asian woman said. “Perhaps he should go lie down in his cabin.”

  He wanted to thank her for that—it was the perfect out—but he was too busy doing his best impression of someone about to throw up. “I’d better get out of this boat,” he said.

  Donny helped him climb back down onto the deck. “You okay?” he asked, suddenly serious.

  “Fine,” Chapel told him. “I just need to lie down for a second.” He patted one of Donny’s giant biceps in thanks and then headed forward, making sure to stagger a little. Behind him he heard some of the girls laughing, probably making fun of the poor guy who’d had too much to drink or who maybe was a little too afraid of commitment.

  As soon as he was out of their sight, Chapel dropped the act and hurried down a ladder to the cabins in the next deck down. He passed by a few partially opened doors, beyond which revelers had broken down into smaller more private parties, then found his own cabin. The door was still locked. Good—he’d worried that some couple in need of a bed would stumble into his cabin uninvited. That would have been a problem, since all his gear was in there.

  His bag was still sitting on his bed where he’d left it. He made sure the door was locked, then took off his clothes. He unzipped the bag and pulled out the drysuit and his other gear.

  The blue light had been a signal meant just for him. It was time to get to work.

  OFF CAY SAL BANK: JUNE 10, 21:43

  The first thing Chapel did was put on a hands-free radio headset. He switched it on and whispered, “Angel? Are you receiving me?”

  The voice that answered him was sexy and warm, and like every time he heard it he felt his stomach do a little flip. “I’ve got you, sugar. Are you all geared up?”

  “Putting on my drysuit now,” he told her. Angel was his operator, his direct connection to his boss and any information he might need to complete his mission. She had saved his life more times than he liked to think about—certainly more times than he could ever thank her for. He had never met her in person, though, only ever heard her voice—which was how it had to be. Angel knew enough secrets that if she ever fell into the wrong hands, she could devastate national security. Chapel didn’t even know where she was calling from, or anything really about her except that she was a civilian and that his boss trusted her completely, just as he did.

  As he zipped up the drysuit—a form-fitting neoprene bodysuit designed for technical diving—he listened while she read off the local water temperature, the weather forecast for the next twelve hours, and the names and headings of every seagoing vessel in the local area. He adjusted a strap on his headset to make it secure, then zipped up the coif of the suit, covering most of his head. He would leave the mask and flippers for just before he went in the water. The suit was heavy and he started overheating as soon as it was on, but it was necessary. He couldn’t get his artificial arm wet, which meant he needed a closed suit. Where he was going it was going to be a lot colder, too, and he imagined he would be very glad for the suit’s insulation in a few minutes.

  The suit came with a compact rebreather system that was just a little better than anything a civilian could buy. Chapel was an experienced diver, which made it feel just plain weird that there was no air tank hanging off his back. Instead the rebreather had him breathe constantly into a bag across his chest that looked like a collapsed life vest. He checked the system with ten normal breaths, in and out, in and out, just like he’d been trained. Everything about the rebreather was different from the SCUBA gear he was used to, right down to how you breathed through it. The system used a full face mask so he didn’t have to hold a regulator in his mouth. Instead of giving him a steady stream of gas from a tank, the rebreather took in his exhalations and scrubbed out the carbon dioxide, then returned the air to him rich in oxygen. A small tank of helium mounted on hi
s stomach would be mixed in with his own oxygen and nitrogen to prevent some of the nastier physiological effects of a deep dive. The system was finicky and hard to use—you had to constantly monitor the partial pressures of the three gases, while also managing the pressurization of the drysuit—but it definitely had its advantages. Most important, it produced almost no bubbles, which was good for covert work.

  He strapped on a buoyancy compensator and a dive computer and he was ready to go. “Angel, do you see anyone up on the deck right now?”

  She looked down on the yacht with orbiting satellites good enough to make out what the partyers on board were drinking and told him it looked clear. “You’re good, sweetie. They’re all back around the pool. Don’t forget my transponder.”

  “Got it right here.” Chapel grabbed the transponder, his mask, and his flippers and slipped out the door of his cabin. Down a short corridor he opened a door and stepped out onto to a swimming balcony built into the bows of the yacht, riding just above the waterline. He put on his mask and flippers and stepped down into the water, trying not to make too noisy a splash.

  Chapel had grown up in Florida, which meant he’d spent what felt like half his youth in these waters. It felt good to be back in the ocean, like he was some kind of amphibian that had spent way too long on dry land.

  Well, he thought, technically these weren’t Floridian waters. Technically they belonged to Cuba, which was why he had to go to such lengths to keep his dive a secret. The captain of the yacht had anchored in a place he wasn’t supposed to. Technically what Chapel was about to do was illegal under the law of the sea and two sovereign nations. Technically if he was caught doing it, he could be arrested, given a quick trial, and then executed.

  Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

  Before he went under completely, he kicked himself around the side of the swimming balcony and over to where the yacht’s thick anchor cable slanted down into the water. He clipped the transponder unit onto the cable and switched it on. The unit carried Angel’s signal and relayed it through the metal cable. Wires embedded in his gloves could pick up that signal when he touched the cable, allowing him to talk to Angel no matter how far below the water he went.