by Tony Bulmer
There was one consolation however. Tao was an outsider, a foreigner. Congress would never stand for such a person throwing down his muscle into the political arena. No matter how gullible and money hungry they were, those lazy assed congressional suits would never be able to take directions from a Chinese megalomaniac, who spoke in happy-‐clappy platitudes, like some kind of fortune cookie script writer. It just wasn’t going to happen, not in a million years. Those expense account dolts on Capitol Hill just wouldn’t stand for such an outrageous and unconstitutional
imposition. There would be a united stand, as every
patriotic American rose up to voice protest. The idea was outrageous. Unthinkable.
Or was it?
What if Deng Tao was seeking to overthrow the old order completely and replace it with a new board, of his own choosing? What if he was planning a corporate take over of American Government? It was a scary thought, real scary.
Karyn moved more quickly now, as quick-‐ fire ideas spun faster through her consciousness. There had to be an angle she was missing. There had to be a catalyst that connected the Tex Johnston murders to the wider ambitions of Tao and his cronies. But what was that catalyst? Perhaps she would find a clue aboard this giant floating pleasure palace? Moving like she belonged, Karyn began exploring the ship.
Out across the bay, the fireworks show blossomed high in the night air. Hurrying along the high polished gangway to the rear of the ship, Karyn marveled at the hypnotic flaming patterns of the airburst explosions, as they flamed out, like glowing peacocks, every glittering nuance melting softly downwards, to be consumed by the black and menacing ocean.
They are going to blow up Hawaii.
Brad Verner’s words reverberated in Karyn’s head, as the night air hung heavy with the scent of burning gunpowder.
Poor Verner. He had paid the price for having a big mouth and blabbing his crackpot conspiracy theories to anyone who would listen. The poor sap. He was probably lying at the bottom of some deep mountain ravine, or dragging along
the ocean floor like some shark-‐bait appetizer by now.
Or maybe, he had busted out of the trunk, escaped from those yo-‐yos at the HPD and was at this very minute kicking back with his mom and pop in Seattle Washington, drinking Mocha-‐latte and counting his blessings?
Unlikely. The skinny little nerd was dead, no doubt about it.
Karyn pondered the implications.
If Brad Verner was right and Tao and his cronies had some madcap idea to blow up the Island, what would they achieve by that? And how in the hell did they think they would be able to do such a thing anyway—not even a nuclear bomb would be powerful enough to destroy Hawaii. Karyn’s mind turned back to her arrival on the Island—the protestors outside the Tao
Corporations headquarters, the meeting with Verner in the lift—the crooked cop Kibishi. There just had to be a clue to this whole damn mess somewhere.
Karyn stepped over a velvet rope and walked farther along the deck, trying door handles as she went—all of them locked, and the windows shuttered tight against prying eyes. Amid the scent of gunpowder swirling in on the night breeze, Karyn’s instincts burned hot. She could tell by the raw, dry taste in her mouth, that danger was close. She felt the adrenaline pound hard within her, felt the powerful endorphin rush building, charging her muscles. The fear was close now, so close you could almost reach it out the air.
Sliding against the cabin superstructure, the gangway was very quiet at this end of the ship. Shadows reached in towards her. Karyn paused, listened. The fireworks show was over now, but the cacophonous voices of the party guests were raised against the night, and they carried towards her, mixed with the lilting sounds of the chamber orchestra. But the music sounded more dissonant now, reverberating in the darkness with an almost eerie quality.
Karyn slid into a darkened doorway, and tried the handle. As she felt it slowly turn beneath her fingers, a quiet voice spoke out in the darkness behind her. “Ms. Kane, How wonderful to see you, I would like to say that we were expecting you, but in truth, given the circumstances, your arrival has been the subject of great conjecture. I on the other hand was never in doubt. I was absolutely convinced that you wouldn’t let us down.” In the eerie half-‐light Calista Johnston stepped out of the shadows, and she wasn’t alone.
36
The Pacific As the Nautilus pitched gently on the soft rising ocean swell, cautious footsteps sounded out on the deck above. Kellerman crouched down behind the galley work island, and drew back the bolt on her M16 assault rifle. “So what’s the plan?” she asked, her voice no more than an urgent whisper.
Buchanan stood by the door, peering out into the corridor. “We hole up. Wait until they make a play, then we pop ourselves some bad guys, unless you got other plans? But I have to warn you, I am not the dinner date type Kellerman, so don’t get any big ideas.”
“No shit. Always the one with the surprises aren’t you Buchanan? Let me guess, your idea of a night out is a pool hall, pizza with a cold beer entrée and a half pint of Scotch for dessert?”
“You think you got me all figured out don’t you Kellerman? Well, there’s nothing wrong with simple tastes, let me tell you. So, if you are planning to muscle me with some kind of holy-‐roller life change advice, you better swallow it down, because I am not in the mood.”
Kellerman snapped to her feet and moved quickly to the other side of the door, holding the M16 high and ready. “What are you waiting for tough guy? Let’s head out and kick some ass.”
Buchanan pulled a face. “You ever use one of those things before?”
“Sure, down on the range. I scored top five in my class, three years running.”
“I’ll just bet you did, you little blue-‐stocking
firebrand. And in all that time those instructors at
the Academy were loading you up with small arms
schooling, how many actual people did you shoot?” “Hey, screw you Buchanan—you saying I
haven’t got it in me to take a pop at some gun-‐
toting dirt-‐bag? Let me remind you, I just bashed
some guy’s head in with a fire extinguisher.”
Kellerman flipped her head towards the guy laying
on the floor in a pool of blood, “Then there is that
dude right there. So if you are trying to say I
haven’t got the stomach…”
“Do you have a bullshit answer for
everything Kellerman? I got concerns is all I am
saying. Paper targets don’t fire back. Those creeps
above us have got themselves AK47s, probably
know how to use them too. Have you ever seen
what an AK47 can do to the human body?” “Have you?”
“Sure. I ran with the Marines for a while. I
got to see my self a whole morgue full of cadavers
and then some. I wouldn’t recommend anyone
living with those kind of memories.”
“You are trying to protect me? How sweet.
You goddamn caveman. Do you think we are living
in the eighteenth century or something? Maybe you
think women are only good for needlepoint and
playing the harpsichord? Well, I got news for you
buddy, this is the twenty-‐first century right here. If
I want to chop some goddamn human in half with
an automatic weapon, I got myself the training and
experience to get me there. Are we clear?” Buchanan blinked, nodded slowly and said,
“All this time you have been breaking my balls
about having some problem about woman, and
their so called rights, but what you said right there is proof positive that you are the one with the problem. You are just rebelling against your spoiled little white girl life, aren’t you Kellerman—coming out with all that ball-‐breaking shtick, to prove you are just one of the boys? Well, guess what—you aren’t and you never will be one of the boys, so why don’t you just swallow down the truth and give everyone a break?”
Kellerman’s mind boiled with angry retorts. She stared at Buchanan, looked into his steady dark eyes and thought for the first time she sensed a hint of vulnerability. She parted her lips to say something then closed them quickly. As she did so, she felt her bottom lip quiver. She drew her lips together tightly and turned away. Had he seen her moment of weakness? She hoped not.
In the quiet moments that followed, there came more sounds of hurried footsteps scampering furtively on the deck above.
Buchanan looked up—trying to gage what was going on. He narrowed his eyes, “Those are the biggest rats I ever heard. My thinking is they are going to come scampering down to look for us any second now. So, what I want you to do is sit tight here. Keep your weapon trained down the gangway, while I make a break across the corridor to the Captain’s cabin.”
“What do you mean? You think you are leaving me here? What if I don’t want to stand here like some target practice piñata?”
Do you ever give it a rest? Those creeps are going to make a move, they just won’t be able to help themselves and when they do come, we will be waiting for them, you here and me over there,”
Buchanan jerked his thumb across the corridor. “We wait until they get down the ladder, then we open up, both of us together working a crossfire strategy. You understand?”
Kellerman curled her lips contemptuously, “Of course I understand. You think you are General Patton or something? What are we going to do then, because as soon as we start popping them they are going to get plenty mad, I wouldn’t be surprised if they start rolling grenades.”
“If they were going to come heavy, they would have done that already. Right now, they got no idea what they are dealing with. They probably think we are sat down here with nothing more than a fry pan and a filleting knife between us. So when we make the take down, we have got to hit as many bad guys as possible, while we’ve still got the element of surprise.”
‘Now you are making sense. But I still don’t like it. We have got to give ourselves the edge, start calling shots—and the longer we sit down here acting like prisoners, the less chance we have of doing that. If we want to get on top of this thing, we have to make an offensive play—break out topside, and see if there is anyone alive to help us fight our way out of this situation.”
“That is the craziest shit I have ever heard. If you think the medal-‐of-‐honor is going to look good laying on top of your coffin, you can count me out.”
“All I am saying is we should engage then pull a tactical fallback maneuver through the watertight doors. Then, we can make a break topside through the service hatch up stern.”
“You think they won’t have that covered?
Those creeps are probably waiting for us to do that
right now. My guess is they will make a decoy
assault, driving us out of our little hidey-‐hole so
they can gun us down when we scoot out of the
hatch in the rear.”
“You are over thinking. These scumbags
have no idea who they are dealing with. Let’s seize
the initiative, while we still got chance.”
Buchanan raised a wry eyebrow. “Yeah, you
got it. Who’s sounding like General Patton now?” Kellerman scowled. “Point taken Mr.
Tactics. Why don’t you scurry across the corridor,
you are starting to give me a migraine.”
Buchanan sniffed and gave her a steady
look. When the shit hits, you follow my lead, we
open up together—short bursts until you are out of
ammo. Then pop a fresh clip and fall back to the
hatch, while I lay down suppressing fire. Are we
clear?”
As the response curled across her lips, she
was already too late, because Buchanan had slipped
away into the gloom, as silent as a passing shadow. Then there was silence.
Silence for a long time.
As the slow minutes passed like hours,
every creak and groan of the ship filtered into the
dark metal world below decks. The distant lap of
the ocean moving against the hull, mixed with the
soft rhythmic thrum of the idling generators in the
power plant. The smell of oil and diesel fuel hung
heavy in the air. Kellerman felt the weight of the
M16 pulling at her arms—felt the hot perspiration
running through her fingers, as the fetid humidity
closed in, like the grip of a dungeon cell.
Down the corridor, a dim halo of light trickled down from the forward hatch. When they came, they would slide down from above. Except, they weren’t coming. They were holding off. Maybe they were waiting things out in the hope their prey would make a mistake? Or perhaps they were laying explosive charges, so they could scuttle the Nautilus, sending her and what remained of the crew to the bottom of the ocean. Who would find them then? The Pacific was ten miles deep maybe more out here, and they were way off course, heading south on the fast moving ocean currents. Even with the latest Navy sonar it would take years to trace the wreck. By that time their long dead corpses would have dissolved into the ocean floor, never to be seen again. Kellerman shuddered, then gritted her teeth and renewed her grip on the M16. Thinking crazy helped nothing, all it did was chisel morale—let the demons of doubt move in, so they could gnaw away at her confidence. Kellerman frowned hard, then shook her head, trying to banish the negative thoughts. She squinted down the corridor. She couldn’t see or hear Buchanan. He had disappeared into the encroaching darkness.
Silence.
How long would they, or could they wait? Kellerman thought about Captain Álvares. Heung had shot him good. Probably grazed an artery judging by the am
ount of blood. How long could the poor bastard last with a wound like that— minutes—hours? Not much more than that, certainly, and they were days from the nearest land. Álvares was probably dead already. And then there was the rest of the crew. Once the shooting started, the pirates would start killing hostages for
sure. Maybe they had killed them all already— maybe she was trapped alone with Buchanan—just the two of them together, fighting off a whole boatload of armed men.
They would need food and water and ammunition and—
The sound of feet—moving across the deck above.
What the hell were they doing up there? What in the hell did they—
The figure slid down through the forward hatch faster than a firefighter down a stationhouse pole. Kellerman’s eyes popped wide. A flush of perspiration chilled her. She felt her tongue swelling hot and dry—she tried to suck a quick breath, like the instructors in the Academy had taught her, but there was no time, because fractions of a second later the shooting started. A wall of bullets came bouncing down the corridor towards her, accompanied by the ghastly flicker of gunfire. The noise was intense, louder than anything she had ever heard,