The Tesla Legacy

by Robert G. Barrett

  At that moment, Commander Sisti was having a ripper of a time in a Rushcutters Bay motel with a twenty-year-old Korean hooker who was dressed in a SCEGGS school uniform. He’d temporarily stopped for a beer, when his pager beeped telling him to contact the ship. Roy had another two-hundred-and-fifty-dollars worth of fun and games with the hooker, then took a shower and rang the ship. After changing back into his jeans, New York Jets T-shirt, cap and blue cotton bomber jacket, he farewelled the girl and reluctantly caught a taxi back to Garden Island.

  Before he transferred to the Tocqueville, Commander Sisti was a member of the super-secret United States Tactical Concept Detachment, The Activity. For three years he’d been stationed in Colombia chasing narco-terrorists and drug cartels. He’d had two helicopters shot down by members of FARC, the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia. He’d been shot in the leg by the Medellin and had a car machine-gunned outside the US Embassy in the Avenue El Dorado, Bogota, by two sicarios, Medellin hitmen. Nevertheless, Commander Sisti considered this all part of the job. Roy’s turning point came two years previous when he was flying two surly members of the Bloque de Busqueda, the Colombian para-military police, back from Villavicencio with two Catholic nuns and the police threw the two nuns out of the helicopter in case they could identify them. Roy shot the two Colombian police with his service .45, reported it as groundfire, then applied for a transfer to the USS Tocqueville patrolling the Straits of Malacca between Malaysia and Sumatra. A brave and loyal officer, Commander Sisti got his transfer and the Tocqueville was where he would stay until his hitch finished five years down the line.

  It was only a short journey back to Garden Island. Commander Sisti strolled up the ship’s gangplank, saluted the flag at the stern, then ambled down to Captain Ultzhoffer’s cabin. When Roy got the okay to enter, the captain was seated at his desk drinking a Pepsi and reading Time magazine. He smiled up at Roy, returned a cursory salute and told Commander Sisti to take a seat opposite.

  ‘How was your leave, Roy?’ asked Captain Ultzhoffer.

  ‘Arnall,’ replied Commander Sisti. ‘You’re a devout church-goer with five children. Believe me, you don’t want to know how I spend my liberty.’

  ‘You’re right,’ agreed Captain Ultzhoffer. ‘I don’t want to know how you spend your liberty.’

  ‘So what’s going on, Arnall?’

  ‘Hang on, and I’ll get you filled in.’ Captain Ultzhoffer clicked a switch on his intercom. ‘Ensign. Patch me through to Agent Sierota in Newcastle.’

  ‘Yessir.’

  Captain Ultzhoffer smiled at Commander Sisti. ‘The NSA need you for a covert mission.’

  ‘In Australia?’ said Commander Sisti.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘They got to be shittin’ me.’

  ‘Putting you through now, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, ensign.’

  ‘Hello. Agent Zimmer Sierota here.’

  Agent Sierota. I’m Captain Ultzhoffer. I have with me Lieutenant Commander Roy Sisti. I believe you need a chopper?’

  ‘That’s an affirmative, Captain.’

  Agent Maldon had given Agent Sierota a routine briefing about Commander Sisti. After the introductions, Zimmer got straight down to business. It was a brief but clandestine mission. Commander Sisti was to wear civilian clothes, they would fly to a small country town called Scone, where Zimmer would take out two security risks. To avoid suspicion, there was a joy-riders’ heliport at Nelson Bay, not far from Newcastle. Commander Sisti was to collect him there, and return him there after the mission. Commander Sisti said the chopper needed refuelling and there were other protocols to be adhered to, but it was all can do and he’d be there at the requested time. Agent Sierota said he’d meet Commander Sisti at the rendezvous point and hung up.

  Captain Ultzhoffer gestured. ‘Sounds like a walk in the park if you ask me, Roy.’

  ‘Yeah,’ shrugged Commander Sisti. ‘I don’t even have to get changed.’

  Jesse knew Mick was improving. Sitting on the edge of the bed, it only took him two attempts to get his socks on and lace up his Colorados. Jesse put the leftover toasted sandwiches in a plastic bag and placed them in her backpack, along with her camera, the diary and anything else she thought she’d need on the day. Mick put the Allen keys in his backpack, one or two other things and the rest of the Panadeine. Satisfied they had everything, they walked out to the car. Mick got in the passenger side and waited while Jesse went to the office and told the manager they’d be staying another night. That was no problem. She then drove out of the motel, stopping at Subway to get two six-inch ham and two six-inch roast chicken on parmesan and oregano, plus two large bottles of water.

  Jesse was cruising along just outside of Scone with the GPS transceiver next to her and Mick still wasn’t saying much. ‘I’m A Believer’ by Smash Mouth was playing on the radio when the transceiver started to ping.

  ‘Hello. Who’s this?’ said Mick. ‘It better not be Bruce the goose again.’

  A little further on, Jesse pointed to a metal pole at the side of the road. ‘Look. It warns you if there’s any speed cameras.’

  ‘Unreal,’ said Mick. ‘I’ll use it in the Buick.’

  ‘In the Buick?’ said Jesse. ‘Mick, you’ve never driven the Buick over sixty kilometres an hour since I’ve known you.’

  They motored on, the sign indicating the turn-off to Burning Mountain appeared, and Jesse took it. A little further on she pulled up in the parking area, not far from a solitary white campervan.

  ‘Well, here we are,’ said Jesse, switching off the engine. ‘How are you feeling now?’

  ‘Still not the hairy chest,’ replied Mick.

  ‘Before we get out of the car, I’ll show you something.’ Jesse held the transceiver’s screen up to Mick. ‘Can you read that?’ she asked him.

  ‘Not really,’ grunted Mick.

  ‘It says, S 31. 51. 383. E 150. 54. 017. That’s our latitude and longitude. And our altitude is 776 metres. Grouse or what, homeboy?’

  ‘Terrific,’ said Mick.

  Jesse put the transceiver down and started tapping out a rap beat on the dashboard.

  ‘Oh yeah, my boyfriend’s got attitude.

  Cause he can’t handle my longitude and latitude.

  But that don’t worry Jesse, cause she’s really keen To go and find Nikola Tesla’s death ray machine. Yeah, yeah. Uh, huh, huh, huh.’

  Mick shielded his eyes. ‘Oz. Please. My brain’s hurting enough as it is.’

  ‘Come on, you big blouse,’ said Jesse. ‘Let’s get going.’ She wiggled her eyebrows at Mick. ‘And if you behave yourself, I might let you have your filthy way with me when we find the doomsday machine, to celebrate the occasion.’

  Mick looked at Jesse aghast. ‘My God, woman,’ he said. ‘After all the sex we had last night? You’re insatiable.’

  ‘I know,’ said Jesse. ‘But it’s your fault, Mick. You’ve turned me into a mad raving case.’

  ‘Ohh yeah. Blame me,’ said Mick.

  After making sure they had everything, Mick and Jesse got out of the Commodore and Jesse locked the doors. They slung their backpacks on, adjusted their caps and sunglasses and set off.

  Mick started doing it tough on the other side of the small metal bridge. By the time they reached the tree line he was sweating 40% proof and when they saw their first kangaroo, Mick wished it would put him in its pouch and hop back to the motel with him.

  Halfway up the mountain, they encountered a florid-faced man and his wife and young son coming down. Their snow-white skins were smothered in blockout and they were all wearing big straw hats and thick leather sandals. Jesse smiled them a big hello and the man and his wife grunted something back in Scandinavian. Mick grunted something unintelligible back in Strine as they passed him on the trail.

  ‘Well, at least that’s the weekend crowd out of the road,’ said Jesse as they continued climbing.

  ‘Yeah. Bloody tourists,’ sweated Mick. ‘There must be millions of the
m.’

  After a couple of pit stops so Mick could gulp down some water, they finally made it to the top. Jesse led the way straight to the rest area and they stopped to take in the fabulous view.

  ‘Well. Here we are,’ she smiled.

  ‘Yeah,’ sniffed Mick as a whiff of sulphurous gas drifted over from the ash-covered mound. ‘The scene of yesterday’s crime. Look. The wet patch is still on the table.’

  Jesse gave Mick a withering once-up-and-down. ‘You filthy, degrading beast,’ she said. ‘Just for that, you’re not getting a rest. Come on.’ Jesse stabbed a finger towards the distant hills and mountain ranges. ‘That way.’

  ‘Humourless old prude,’ muttered Mick as he followed Jesse to the remains of an old barbed-wire fence skirting the viewing area, then stepped through a gap in it behind her.

  Walking steadily, the landscape changed to reasonably level, tree-studded rolling valleys strewn with boulders. Mick had popped a couple more Panadeine on the way up, and after raising a good sweat and drinking lots of water, he felt a little better. Further along, they picked up a couple of small branches for staffs, then Jesse found an old trail a couple of metres wide winding through the trees. It was rough and strewn with lumps of granite and white quartz and had been washed away over the ages. But it made the going easier.

  ‘This could be an old gold prospector’s trail,’ said Jesse.

  ‘Yeah. Look at all that alluvial quartz,’ said Mick. ‘I wouldn’t mind coming back out here with a metal detector.’

  ‘I’ll be in that,’ smiled Jesse. ‘I love bushwalking.’ She showed Mick the digital compass on the transceiver. ‘Especially with this thing.’

  They crunched along the old trail towards the approaching hills and granite mountain ranges to the accompaniment of parrots and birds whistling or squawking in the trees. A couple of big red kangaroos bounded past, and they disturbed the odd bush turkey here and there plus a small mob of grey wallabies standing in a gulley. Several willy-willys whirled through the valleys. One went by in a spiral of dust and leaves less than fifty metres away. Mick turned to follow a magnificent wedge-tail eagle drifting across the sky and noticed the ash mound and wooden buildings on Burning Mountain had disappeared amongst the valleys behind them.

  In the Sunday traffic along Nelson Bay Road, between Salt Ash and Bob’s Farm, Agent Sierota started getting uneasy behind the wheel of the hosed-out Jeep Cherokee. It wasn’t the police car behind Zimmer that made him nervous. Or the fact that he had an AR 18 and ten twenty-round magazines inside a black ziplock canvas bag secreted in the Cherokee’s hidden compartment, along with his fully loaded Smith and Wesson 1006 and six nine-round magazines. Zimmer had the scanner on the seat beside him and noticed the needle move. It went steadily along the New England Highway out of Scone, stopped past Wingen, then started moving slowly at Burning Mountain Nature Reserve. Agent Sierota wasn’t familiar with the locations, but it meant Mick and Jesse had started off in their car, now they were on foot, and no doubt heading for Project Piggie. So the sooner Zimmer got to them, the better. With one eye on the scanner, Agent Sierota drove past the Sunday crowd at the Tomaree Sports Complex and pulled up alongside the fence just past the heliport office. The office was closed and Zimmer got out of the car to take a look around when his cellphone beeped.

  ‘Sierota.’

  ‘Agent Sierota. It’s Commander Sisti. My ETA at that heliport is ten minutes.’

  ‘Roger that, Commander. I’m here now. I’ll see you in ten.’

  After going through all the necessary protocol with his ship and the Australian authorities, Commander Sisti lifted off from the Tocqueville and flew north out of Sydney Harbour, hugging the coastline all the way to Stockton Beach. After his current missions off Malaysia, the flight was a day at the beach and Roy was quite impressed with the beauty of the New South Wales coastline. On the way, he came in low over some place on his map called McMasters Beach where two young girls with enormous breasts were sunbaking topless at the northern end. One looked up and waved as he flew over. Roy’s face burst into a happy lecherous grin and he turned around and circled them. And sonofabitch! If they both didn’t sit up and wave! Goddamn! The women out here sure are friendly, smiled Roy, before flying on.

  With the ziplock bag at his feet, and holding the scanner, Agent Sierota was standing by the Jeep Cherokee when he heard the chatter of an approaching helicopter. He looked up and there was no mistaking the Kiowa OH–58D. Zimmer picked up the bag and scanner then climbed through the fence and waved as Commander Sisti expertly touched down in a noisy flurry of dust and swirling leaves. Keeping his head instinctively low to avoid the spinning rotor blades, Agent Sierota stepped across to the helicopter, opened the door and threw his bag in the back. He then climbed on board, carefully resting the scanner on his lap before closing the door after him.

  Commander Sisti offered his hand. ‘Roy Sisti,’ he shouted. ‘Do you wish to dispense with formalities, Agent Sierota?’

  ‘Sure.’ The NSA agent gave Commander Sisti’s hand a quick shake. ‘Zimmer Sierota.’

  ‘Okay. So where are we off to, Zimmer? Scone?’

  ‘That’s right. You know it?’

  ‘I got it on the map,’ nodded Roy. He gave Zimmer a cursory once-up-and-down. ‘So what’s our mission?’

  Zimmer nodded to the bag. ‘I have to take out two security risks. Code Red.’ He nodded to the scanner on his lap. ‘We’ll track them on this.’

  ‘That’s an AST 1235. You want to run it through my ARC 186?’

  Zimmer shook his head. ‘No. It doesn’t matter. I’ll guide you.’

  ‘Suit yourself. Okay. Buckle up and slap your cans on,’ said Roy, ‘and we’ll DD out of here.’

  ‘Let’s do that, Commander.’

  ‘Agent Sierota clicked into his seatbelt and put his headphones on as Commander Sisti took the chopper up, banked over the sports complex and headed west.

  Tramping along doggedly, Mick and Jesse followed the old trail towards the approaching mountain range. Mick’s hangover had eased. But having eaten hardly any breakfast, he was getting hungry and looking forward to one of the Subways in his backpack. Jesse, on the other hand, was full of fervent energy and enjoying her trek through the trees and wildlife.

  Finally the trail ended at a rising line of scrub and stunted trees growing beneath an enormous wall of towering granite. The cliffs ran away on either side and several metres above the trail’s end an uneven ledge jutted out from beneath a huge rocky dome rising from a deep cleft sliced into the rock. It was completely silent. Any sound, even the wind, was soaked up by the massive barrier of lichen-coated stone.

  Mick turned to Jesse. ‘Is this the spot?’ he asked her.

  ‘I’d say so.’ Jesse placed her staff and backpack on the ground, took out the sheet of motel stationery and compared her notes to the reading on the transceiver. ‘Yep. This is it all right.’ She offered the readings to Mick. ‘You want to check?’

  Mick shook his head. ‘No. I’ll take your word for it.’ He stood back and gazed up at the towering rockface. Standing out in the middle of nowhere under a vast open sky amongst endless rolling valleys and huge ancient stone hills and mountains, Mick was awestruck. ‘Shit! If these are the Piggiebillah Hills,’ he said, ‘they sure looked a lot smaller from over on Burning Mountain.’

  Jesse also moved back and stared up at the steep grey cliffs. ‘Yes. You can say that again,’ she said.

  ‘So what are we looking for?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ answered Jesse. ‘Some sort of entrance, I’d imagine.’ Jesse placed the transceiver in her backpack. ‘Anyway. We may as well start looking while we’ve got plenty of sun.’

  ‘How about something to eat?’ suggested Mick. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘Why don’t we have a look around first? Then we’ll both eat.’

  ‘All right. You’re the boss.’

  Mick placed his backpack next to Jesse’s and started searching around one side of the rockface
while Jesse searched the other. Mick was poking around in the scrub and keeping an eye out for snakes, when his staff struck something. He beat away the creepers and called out to Jesse.

  ‘Hey Oz. Have a look at this.’ Jesse hurried over and Mick pointed out a rusty metal band and a few rotting wooden spokes radiating out from the remains of a hub. ‘It’s an old wagon wheel,’ he said.

  ‘Hey, you’re right,’ said Jesse.

  ‘Didn’t you say Tesla mentioned a bullock wagon in his diary?’

  Jesse’s eyes lit up. ‘That’s right. He did.’

  ‘This might be part of it.’

  ‘It might, too. Shit! I’m going to get my camera.’

  Jesse went to her backpack, so Mick kept searching along the rockface and around the bushes. He went along a few metres then came back and stared up at the ledge jutting out from the cleft in the rising granite. Jesse was taking photos and Mick was staring at an old wasps’ nest at one end of the ledge, when something caught his eye. He stepped back and took his sunglasses off for a better look before calling out to Jesse.

  ‘Hey Oz. Come here for a minute.’

  Jesse stopped what she was doing and came over. ‘What is it, Mick?’