by Tony Bulmer
cars suddenly rose up like a monster from the deep,
holding his gun gangster style. He let rip on full
auto. Bullets filled the air, zipping and singing as
the came.
Karyn stood and double-‐tapped the
gunman, two quick shots in the head. The hot
bullets took him down, snapped his head back like
it was coming off his shoulders. But already Karyn
was up and moving, double-‐timing it to the Prius,
where she slipped into the drivers seat and fired
the engine up.
Brad Verner was cowering in a ball in the
passenger side foot well.
“You might want to clip your seat belt
Verner.” Karyn didn’t wait for an answer. She was
already on a trajectory that cut through traffic with
a trail of burning rubber. A chorus of horns
serenaded them as Karyn floored the gas and
accelerated through the first light they came to. “Are you insane? ” squawked Verner as he
rolled in the foot well.”
“I told you I had things to do tonight Verner,
but you wouldn’t listen would you?” They were
moving now—travelling at least twice the posted
limit and still gaining speed. Karyn pulled into the
outside lane, speeding past anything that blocked
their way by cutting into the median. Lights flashed
by, as Karyn tore through the gears like a rally
driver.
“Slow down, for gods sake slow down, I beg
you!” wailed Verner.
“We ain’t out of this yet.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“They’ve got follow cars—if we are lucky
we will shake the one on our tail at the next light—
but if these guys have had any kind of experience,
they will box us in and soon—so they only thing we
got going for us right now is crazy.”
Brad Verner peered up at her from out of
the foot well. “Crazy? I don’t like the sound of that,
not at all. I cannot handle this, please just pull up at
the next light and let me out—you can take the car,
just let me out.
“Negative.”
“What the hell do you mean negative?” “I mean that the people following us want
us dead Verner. If I let you out of my sight they will
find you and kill you, and you won’t be able to do a damn thing about it.”
“Why would anyone want to kill me—all I have ever done is try to help people, care for the environment and buy ethically where ever possible. Why would anyone want to kill me?”
Karyn cut through traffic, weaving through the drive time pack like a Nascar veteran.
“You have been shooting you mouth off haven’t you Verner, saying things about Deng Tao’s power generation project. Maybe his board of directors have had a meeting and decided it’s time they turned a different spin on the negative publicity that you have been giving them?”
“Ecological disaster is not something I can keep quiet about.”
Karyn swerved into the oncoming lane and cut past a turning car, without pausing to think. As headlights raced towards them with the speed of inevitable impact, Karyn swerved back to the safety of the outside lane, with only fractions of a second to spare.
Verner let out an unholy wail, as the car swerved sickeningly through the lanes pulling g’s like a runaway roller coaster.
Karyn held the wheel in a 9-‐3 fixed input grip, her manner calm and relaxed.
“You said they were going to blow the Island up.”
“Not this Island. I am talking about the Big Island—about Kilauea.”
“The Volcano?”
“One of the biggest in the world, the Tao Corporation are drilling into it to extract
geothermal energy—”
“Geothermal energy?”
“The molten rock inside the volcano creates
more energy than a thousand nuclear power stations. By drilling deep into the structure of the volcanic fault lines, the heat energy can be harnessed and converted, turned into steam, to power generators and create an unlimited amount of free electricity.”
“Except you rained on their little parade didn’t you Verner?”
“I was just doing my job.”
Karyn snapped a box-‐junction turn so fast and aggressive, that the sound of squealing rubber drowned out the next part of the conversation.
That is when the bullets came, lighting up the road in a hail of bouncing sparks. The shells tore into fabric of the Prius rending through the metal with a deadly clatter.
“We have got interference, said Karyn grimly. You might want to keep your head down Verner.”
“What the hell do you think I am doing?”
“I think you are missing a hell of a ride, cowering in the foot well like that. Why don’t you grow a pair and strap yourself into your seat? We take a roll right now and your head will get splattered all over the upholstery—I don’t think your insurance people would approve.”
“You are crazy! You work for the
government don’t you? The damn government, that’s what all this is about isn’t it?”
“Hey, relax Verner, the Department of Justice believes in giving the tax payer value for money. So sit back and enjoy the ride.”
“The DOJ? I don’t believe that for a moment.
You are some kind of crazy killer out to kidnap me
aren’t you?”
Bullets impacted the trunk of the car now—
a hellish noise, like some giant unseen devil was
chiseling holes in the fabric of the car with a
pointed stair rod. The passenger side wing-‐mirror
exploded, carved off by a hail of tracer rounds. A
violent cascade of flames and wreckage bounced
away with frightening speed into the roadway
behind them.
Karyn swerved violently. Slammed the
brakes on, and pulled a furious handbrake turn that
sent every car in their wake into a demolition-‐
derby style crunch up. The wheels on the Prius
never stopped turning—even as the car reached
the zenith of its peeling arc. The hellish, imploding
forces took hold of them pressing them deep in
their seats, as the burning tires finally caught the
road and sent the Prius accelerating away. The traffic on the other carriage way was
already backing up, trapped in a logjam of total
carnage. Karyn moderated her speed, flipping turn
after turn now, disappearing in the maze of
streetlamp avenues that stretched away to the
glittering skyscraper towers of downtown
Honolulu.
“I want to go home,” said Verner weakly. “That will not be possible,” said Karyn
her
voice quiet, her eyes on the road.
“Where the hell are we going then?” Karyn smiled—business. Government
business.”
13
Captain Pedro Álvares stood watch, on the bridge of the Nautilus, as the darkness of the ocean night closed in. As the captain of a science ship with a small crew of nineteen, there was much to oversee and do, especially during the night watch. The Pacific shipping lanes were some of the busiest in the world and in these gently undulating waters danger was ever present. Álvares watched, all his senses on heightened alert, as a parade ocean going giants crossed the distant horizon monstrous ships bigger than the New York Chrysler building cutting through the ocean mist, like giant sparkling monuments to a distant civilization.
During the hours of night, the control lights on the bridge of the Nautilus were set to a subdued setting, so that the navigation instruments could be viewed more easily. The result was an eerie electronic glow that pulsed with living energy. The computerized systems on the bridge controlled all functions of the ship, reducing the need for humans to a supervisory role. Modern seamanship required few of the dead reckoning skills that Álvares had learned, during his long years as a hard-‐bitten veteran of the US Navy and Merchant marine. In the modern world, computers and technology were the new kings of the sea. The navigation screens on the Nautilus provided global positioning information for every ship within a thousand miles—a simple search and scroll operation could provide an even greater field of information, stretching to the far shores of Asia or the southern tip of Tierra del Fuego to the South. It was also possible to narrow
the search field and focus in on any ship in the world, then find its course, tonnage, and flag of convenience so that it might be logged and identified. The computer systems offered a navigational safety net that, in theory, eliminated human error from all operational activities.
But Álvares could never rest easy knowing the fate of his crew and ship dangled in hands of technology. He was a man of traditional skills, a hands-‐on sailor from the old school. He prided himself in the long hours he worked, keeping watch, giving orders and holding tight control of all the ships functions.
But long years of service were taking their toll on Captain Pedro Álvares. Standing watch now, he felt the bile rising from his gut—his cursed stomach. The doctor had said it was gastric reflux, or some damn thing. Told him to take a bunch of pills, like that would do any good. Maybe the smart-‐ assed doctor could give the damn world some pills, to counteract the sickening spread of modernity and all its associated techno twaddle? There just wasn’t a place for old-‐school sailors anymore—all the new crew members were so young, they probably couldn’t remember what it was like to sail across the world in the days before computers— scary damn scary—and that was just on the American ships. The foreign ships were worse—all of them crewed by half-‐educated Third-‐Worlder’s who barely knew port from starboard. You got one of those johnnies heading your way in a tanker weighing in at 500 thousand dead weight tonnes, and you had to pray they had some half-‐literate, quarter-‐sober supervising officer in charge, or they would plough you into the ocean bed without a
second thought—not even realize it either, until they reached portside and some company blowhard complained about scratches to the hull.
Álvares scowled. Looking out to the star filled horizon, he said, “You got a fix on the buoy yet Kellerman?”
“Affirmative, Captain. It is drifting south on the current. But the signal is still cutting in and out. I estimate we will rendezvous within the next 15 hours given present conditions.”
“That the best guess you got Science Officer?”
“The tracker beacon is malfunctioning. It
must have gotten damaged when the buoy became
detached. If I could get a constant fix we would be
able to make time on it. As it is, we will be playing
catch up for the next few hours at least. Maybe it
will give Buchanan time to fix that winch motor, he
has been toying with?”
“I don’t want to be chasing that thing all the
way to the South Pole. We are talking a quarter-‐
million dollars of Federal Government property,
and that isn’t the kind of bounty that is going to slip
through our fingers. Do you read me Kellerman?” “Loud and clear Captain.”
Álvares put his night glasses to his eyes and
surveyed the horizon, “Furthermore, your
comments concerning First Officer Buchanan’s
winch operations have been duly noted.”
“Yes Sir, but it is vital that we have the
winch functional before we catch up with the buoy.
I haven’t been able to download a full status report,
because of the damage to the buoy’s Satcom
System. But from the initial data it looks like the
buoy took a direct hit from a ship, and you know what that means.”
Álvares breathed deep. If the DART buoy had been hit, it could be badly damaged. If they were lucky Kellerman would be able to repair the damage on board; if not, they would have to ship the damn thing back to base in Long Beach, which would mean a long and unwelcome extension to their mission—days, maybe even weeks longer, and that was always assuming the fritzing electronics on the buoy stayed live until they caught up with it. If the buoy’s COM systems went black, who knew how long they would have to spend looking for it.
“Keep on it Kellerman,” said Álvares. “You lose that damn thing and it is coming out of your paycheck.”
Kellerman wasn’t amused. She gave that Captain a sharp look. Like she gave a damn what the barnacle encrusted boss thought of her attempts to rein in the wayward technology.
A bleeping alert on the automatic ship identification system suddenly filled the bridge. A pulsing amber light, warning that somewhere, out in the endless darkness of the Pacific, a ship had set a course that would intersect with that of the Nautilus.
Álvares knew the exact implications of the alert, but that didn’t stop him from snapping, “What is that infernal racket Mooney?”
“We got an incoming signal, maybe a hundred nautical miles out.”
“Virtually the other side of the world. I remember a time when you didn’t change course until you got so close to their starboard bow you
could see what brand of tobacco the wheelman was smoking.”
Mooney’s eyes glistened wide in the half-‐ light. Álvares gave a laugh, “That’s right, back in the day you could smoke in the wheel-‐house. Matter of fact, it was considered disrespectful if you didn’t. What do you think of that?”
Mooney blinked, like he had been caught in the headlights of an ancient logic he neither understood, or very much cared for. “The AIS signature says he is North Korean, Captain,” Mooney swallowed hard. “A trawler called Wonsungi
out of Chongjin.”
“Chongjin eh? He’s a long way out of his bailiwick, why don’t you give him a blow on the ship to ship and see what he’s got on the breakfast menu?”
“Should we change course Captain?” “Not unless you want to help Science Officer Kellerman here pay for that missing buoy when it drops off the edge of the earth,” said Álvares. “Now get back to those damn monitors and let me know when there is an event worth knowing about, and turn off that damn alert while you are about it would you.”
Mooney turned back to his instruments, sweat beading on his forehead, every shift was the same, the captain could be a real prick when he wanted to be, so full of homespun advice from the old days, and yet he rarely if ever followed regulations by the book, it was almost as though the old man had written the book himself—and yet the captain’s book was far different from the ones Mooney had learned at the Academy. Mooney watched the signature of the North Korean vessel
cutting towards them, wondering how he could reconcile the conflicting words of his boss and those of his teachers at the Naval Academy.
14
“My car! Have you seen the damage? There isn’t a body-‐shop in the world who will be able to put this right.” Brad Verner was upset, and justifiably so, his pristine car was peppered with bullet holes.
“Relax Verner. You fill enough forms, you can get anything fixed in this life.” Karyn Kane sat in the driver’s seat, looking over the report she had gotten from HPD Chief Donald Mālama. She turned the page and said, “Get back in the car Verner, think how lucky you are, rather than focusing on that glass half empty bullshit all the time.”
“Lucky? I don’t know what you mean by that exactly, but this is where I get off. I want you out of my car and out of my life. Nothing is worth being murdered for.”
“Stop being so dramatic Verner, you are alive aren’t you?”