The Founders

by Richard Turner

  Grant handed Maclean his MP7 and several loaded magazines. “How’s Jeremy doing?”

  “The man’s never been happier. I think he’s just ecstatic to be alive. I don’t think I helped things by telling him parachute malfunction stories during my SAS training while we were waiting to jump.”

  “No, I doubt that filled Jeremy with much confidence.”

  When they were finished equipping themselves, the two soldiers rejoined their colleagues.

  “Well, folks, shall we head out and see why Susan wants us to check out Bouvet Island?” said Grant.

  “As long as there’s not another genetically modified creature, like the ones we bumped into running amok in Alaska, I’ll be happy,” said Hayes.

  “Come on, Professor, it wasn’t all that bad,” said Maclean. “Who knows, there might be something even worse waiting in the shadows for us to come along, so it can eat us.”

  Elena tutted. “You two are awful. Whatever happens, let’s hope it helps us find Susan.”

  “I’m with Elena,” said Grant, pulling back on his SMG’s charging lever. “Let’s move out, see what happened to the Norwegians, and take it from there.”

  33

  The ice soon gave way to rock as the land sloped down toward the cold, gray waters of the South Atlantic. Two hundred meters away sat the Norwegian research station. Built in the mid-nineties, the camp consisted of three small, pre-fabricated huts.

  Grant brought his binoculars to his eyes and surveyed the station. The buildings looked to be in good order, but there wasn’t a soul to be seen moving about. He waited a minute before ordering Wright’s squad to continue their advance down the slick embankment toward the huts.

  “That doesn’t look too inviting,” said Maclean, pointing out to sea.

  Grant shook his head at the bank of fog rolling in. They had, at best, fifteen minutes before it arrived. “Hopefully, the Norwegians are okay, so we can hang out with them until the fog passes.”

  Elena slipped on the wet ground and plowed into Grant’s back. “Sorry.”

  He helped steady her. “It’s all right. The ground gets flatter by the station.”

  “Sir, you may want to see this!” shouted Wright.

  “Elena, Jeremy, stay here with Jim,” said Grant. He unslung his weapon and made his way to Wright’s location at the back of the small weather station.

  “Did you find something?” Grant asked.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Wright, pointing to a severed leg resting among the rocks.

  A chill ran down Grant’s spine. He got down on one knee to examine the leg. The flesh at the separation point was ragged, as if it had been torn from a body, rather than neatly cut. “Find the rest of the team,” ordered Grant.

  In pairs, the Rangers checked the three huts for survivors. It took less than a minute before one of the soldiers signaled that there were no survivors. Grant walked up the metal stairs leading to the huts.

  “Sir, they were in there when they were attacked,” said a specialist, indicating to the closest hut.

  Grant stepped to the doorway and stopped. The shack was the scientists’ sleeping quarters. The room was a bloody mess. The beds had been flipped over or knocked to one side. From where he stood, Grant could see shredded, blood-stained sleeping bags. The floor and the walls were covered with ripped thermal underwear, blood, and large chunks of torn flesh.

  Grant shook his head and checked the next hut. It was the site’s bathroom. There were no signs of a struggle. He opened the door to the last building and saw a room filled with desks, computers, and scientific instruments, none of which had been touched. He moved to a spot where he could be seen and waved for his colleagues to join them.

  “What do you think happened here, sir?” Wright asked Grant.

  “I don’t know, but I don’t believe the South Atlantic is home to any known predators that could have done this. For now, I’d like your men to take up a defensive perimeter around the camp.”

  “Hooah, sir,” replied Wright. He turned and passed the orders to his two fireteam leaders.

  “Brace yourselves,” Grant warned his colleagues as they approached.

  Elena let out a startled cry when she almost stepped on a severed limb.

  “I take it we’re too late to help them,” said Maclean.

  Grant nodded. “It looks like something got into the camp last night and killed all of the Norwegians in their sleep.”

  “What could have done such a thing?” asked Elena.

  “I was hoping you or Jeremy could answer that question.”

  “Whatever it was, it had to be smart enough to know to open the doors to the sleeping quarters and was no larger than a man to fit in and out of the doorways,” said Hayes. “And since the biggest things on this rock are penguins and some seals, I think we can write them off as possible suspects. The only logical conclusion is that it was a man who killed these poor souls.”

  “I’m with the Jeremy on this one. A man could have easily made it look like an animal did it,” said Maclean.

  “He’d have to be incredibly powerful to rip a man’s leg from its body,” said Grant.

  “Not really,” said Hayes. “A couple of precise surgical cuts anywhere in the skin, and you could easily tear the flesh from the body.”

  “Well, whatever happened, it must have been horrible,” said Elena.

  Grant wasn’t sure what to believe. He escorted his friends over to the station’s office, away from the carnage. He opened the door, walked over to the nearest laptop, removed a glove, and pressed the space bar. The computer came to life. Whoever, or whatever, had attacked the camp hadn’t been interested in the men’s scientific work.

  Grant said, “Folks, take a look around and see if you can find anything which might tell us why the Norwegians were butchered.”

  Outside, a man called out Grant’s name

  “Dave, I think the Rangers have found something,” said Maclean.

  Grant pulled his glove back on. “Jim, stay here with Elena and Jeremy while I see what’s going on.”

  “Sure thing,” replied his friend.

  Grant walked outside and found Sergeant Wright examining some footprints in the black sand.

  “Sir, Specialist Martinez has located some tracks leading from the weather station that continue the length of the beach,” explained Wright.

  “How many tracks?” asked Grant.

  “Two sets, sir,” replied Martinez. “I think one of the Norwegians may have escaped and ran this way. You can clearly see the man was wearing socks.”

  “And the second set?” said Maclean.

  “It kind of looks like a man’s bare footprint, but I can’t be sure,” said Martinez.

  “Why not?” Grant asked.

  Martinez moved aside, uncovering the tracks.

  Grant swore under his breath. The footprint was larger than the average man’s. The heel seemed in proportion, but the front of the foot was twice as wide as it ought to have been. Grant squatted down and looked closely at the toeprints. His blood turned cold when he saw what could only be claw imprints. Grant creased his brow. He wasn’t sure what he was looking at, but he immediately knew that they weren’t alone on the island. He looked over at Martinez. “Specialist, do you think you can follow these tracks?”

  The young soldier nodded. “Not a problem, sir. I used to go hunting with my dad in the badlands of New Mexico.”

  Grant stood. “Sergeant Wright, I want to follow these tracks. If there’s the slightest possibility that one of the Norwegians survived the massacre, I want to find him. We need to know what we’re up against before night falls.”

  “Yes, sir. Shall I send a man back to round up your people before the fog rolls in?” said Wright.

  “Yes, please.” Grant stared down at the abnormal tracks that followed the Norwegian’s along the beach. The man must have been terrified out his mind, he thought. He took in a deep breath of salty air and looked up at the leaden sky. Barely louder th
an a whisper, he said, “Susan, what is it you want me to see here?”

  A reply never materialized. The only sound came from the waves lapping against the beach. Seconds later, the fog rolled in, enveloping Grant in a cold, damp mist.

  Grant placed Elena and Jeremy in the middle of the Ranger squad for protection while he, Maclean, and Specialist Martinez walked out front, following the strange tracks.

  The fog made seeing more than an arm’s length away hard. The group slowly made its way up the beach. After a few minutes, they rounded a bend and stopped in their tracks. Like an impenetrable wall, the stern of a beached ship blocked their path. The vessel listed over to its portside resting on the shore. One of the trawler’s fishing nets hung down the hull of the rust-covered vessel.

  “Sir, the tracks end here,” said Martinez. “It looks like the Norwegian used the net to climb onto the ship.”

  “And the other tracks?” asked Grant.

  “They seem to go out to sea.”

  “Figures,” said Maclean.

  Grant waited for everyone else to catch up with them. Without having to be told, the Rangers spread out and set up a defensive perimeter.

  “I take it that’s the ship that ran aground here during the night,” said Hayes.

  “Looks like it,” said Grant. “The tracks end here. If we’re going to keep looking for the Norwegian scientist, we’re going to have to board the ship.”

  “I can send a squad to sweep the ship,” suggested Wright.

  “I think it’s going to take all of us to search a ship that size,” said Grant.

  “Dave, let Martinez and me climb up and see if we can find some markings on the ship that might give us a clue as to who owns it,” said Maclean. “Think about it; you’re still going to need someone to cover the rest of you while you climb up to join us.”

  Grant would have preferred to go himself but saw the logic in his friend’s proposal. “Okay, but don’t go wandering off without the rest of us.”

  Maclean removed his pack and left it with the others piled up on a rocky outcropping next to the ship. He jogged back to the net and slung his weapon over his back. “See you in five minutes.”

  “And not a second more,” said Grant.

  Maclean grinned. “Come on, Specialist Martinez, time to earn our danger pay.”

  34

  Maclean popped his head over the railing and looked at the fog-shrouded deck. As expected, the ship appeared deserted. He pulled himself up and swung his legs onto the metal deck. He took hold of his MP7 and flipped the safety off. The stench of dead fish hung in the air.

  “Now what, sir?” said Martinez.

  Maclean wasn’t used to people calling him sir, but Grant had insisted that he be treated as an officer to save confusion when the shooting started, as there were already three American sergeants in Wright’s squad. “Stay close. Let’s see if we can find the ship’s name or its identification number.”

  With their weapons tight in their shoulders, the two soldiers walked slowly into the mist. The angle of the ship and the wet fog made the deck slippery to walk on. They had gone about ten meters when Martinez tapped Maclean on the shoulder.

  “Sir, look.”

  Maclean turned his head and saw a water-soaked logbook lying on the deck. He bent down and picked it up. The writing was in an Asian language Maclean couldn’t read. He was about to drop it and carry on when he spotted the ship’s name and port of registration in English on the first page.

  “Bingo,” said Maclean, reaching for his sat phone. “Martinez, cover me while I make a quick call back home.”

  “Fidgeting won’t make them appear any faster,” Elena said to Grant.

  “They’ve been gone too long,” he replied. “I should climb up and see what’s going on.”

  “James knows his job. He’s probably just being thorough.”

  Grant ceased his nervous tapping and nodded.

  A loud whistle pierced the fog. “Come on up,” shouted Maclean.

  Grant ran to the net and began to climb. It took him less than a minute to make his way up to the ship’s deck. He spotted Maclean and Martinez kneeling behind a metal wall. He brought his weapon down from his shoulder and slid down beside them.

  “Nice of you to join us, boss,” said Maclean.

  “The deck’s quite slippery,” said Grant.

  “That, and the angle she’s resting on make it a real bugger for walking.”

  “So, what did you find out?”

  “The ship’s name is the Southern Star, and she’s registered in Malaysia as a cargo vessel, but by the wonderful aroma you can smell in the air, the ship is, in fact, an illegal commercial trawler. It is supposed to be hauling goods to and from Madagascar, but we can both see that’s not true. According to its registration, this ship has a complement of fifty officers and crew, none of whom have taken the opportunity to welcome us aboard.”

  “Who did you speak to at headquarters?”

  “Colonel Mason.”

  “Did she pass on anything else to us?”

  “Yeah, be careful.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.” Grant raised his head. “I wonder how big this thing is? It’s damned hard to judge in the fog.”

  “I have a schematic on my phone,” said Maclean, handing him the device.

  Grant skimmed over the picture. The ship was seventy meters long with a beam of fifteen meters. Aside from the wheelhouse, there were three main decks that would need to be cleared, room by room. He handed back the phone, stood, and helped his friends climb onboard over the side of the ship. Elena had no problem scaling the net, but Hayes had to be helped all the way up by one of the Rangers. When everyone was on the ship, Grant called Wright and his colleagues to his side so he could pass on what they were going to do next.

  “Sergeant, have one of your fireteams remain here while the other accompanies us to the wheelhouse,” said Grant. “We need to minimize the chances of blue-on-blue casualties. Once we’re ready to sweep the rest of the ship, you can call them forward.”

  “Hooah, sir.”

  “Captain, do you think we’ll find anyone still alive on this ship?” asked Hayes.

  “I’m hoping that Norwegian scientist is still alive and hiding somewhere belowdecks,” said Grant.

  “We’re good to go, sir,” reported Wright.

  “Okay, lead on. Proceed down the portside of the ship. It should be easier to walk on.”

  With the Rangers in the lead, Grant’s party followed them, trying not to trip over the debris scattered on the deck.

  “Where can everyone be?” said Elena.

  “If the Norwegians are anything to go on, I hate to say it, but they’re most likely all dead,” replied Grant.

  “May God have mercy on their souls,” said Elena, crossing herself.

  At the stairs to the wheelhouse, Wright said, “Sergeant Jackson’s fireteam will sweep the bridge and look for survivors.”

  Grant nodded and waited. It didn’t take long for Jackson’s men to complete their search and call everyone up.

  “Doesn’t look like anyone managed to get off the ship,” said Maclean as they passed a row of life rafts.

  Jackson’s men moved aside to let Grant’s people inside the wheelhouse. Because the ship was listing on its portside, they all had to climb to get inside the control room. Books, maps, and pens shaken free during the storm covered the floor. The bridge, like rest of the ship, was old and rusting.

  “It’s a wonder they ever put to sea a vessel in such poor shape as this one,” observed Elena.

  “From what I’ve read, illegal fishing, especially in the South Atlantic, is a booming industry,” said Hayes.

  “Sir, there are some stairs over here that lead down below,” pointed out Wright.

  “Those should lead to the crew quarters,” said Maclean.

  “Sergeant, call your men up,” said Grant to Wright. “They can keep guard while we check out the crew’s accommodations.”

>   As soon as Wright was out of earshot, Maclean leaned forward, “Captain, I’m never going to question your command authority or your tactics, but Staff Sergeant Wright knows his job. You’re micromanaging him. Just tell him what you want him to do and let him decide how he’ll accomplish it.”

  Grant knew when to take advice from an experienced NCO and a good friend. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was doing it. I guess I’m still acting as if we were back in Iraq at our old training establishment. I’ll make sure to rein myself in from now on.”

  Wright reappeared. “We’re ready to go, sir.”

  “Lead on, Sergeant,” said Grant. “My team and I will follow your lead.”

  Apart from the ship’s captain and the first mate, the rest of the men slept four to a room. The storm, along with the sudden stop on the beach, had knocked anything not tied down onto the floor. Books, laptops, games, and bedding were strewn everywhere. But no bodies were found.

  “The next floor has the ship’s mess, galley, and a large freezer on it,” said Maclean, checking the image on his phone.

  “Is it the same size as this deck?” asked Wright.

  “Yes.”

  “Carry on, Sergeant Jackson,” said Wright, indicating the stairs leading down.

  The first room they came to was the mess area. Drinking glasses and broken bottles of alcohol littered the floor. Grant heard and felt the glass crunch under his feet as he walked. The galley was no better. Grant checked his watch. They had cleared two decks but had yet to find a single body. It would be getting dark in a couple of hours. The thought of spending the night out in the open with an unknown creature moving about didn’t fill him with much enthusiasm.

  “Sergeant Wright, we need to move things along. I’d like to sweep the next two decks simultaneously,” said Grant.

  “Not a problem, sir. I can have Alpha fireteam stay with us, while Bravo clears the lower deck,” said Wright.

  “Sounds good. However, I’d like Mister Maclean and Professor Hayes to accompany Bravo fireteam.”

  “Hooah, sir.”

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea to split us up?” said Hayes. “What if we bump into something nasty?”