“What do we do now?” Leif asked.
Jeffrey stopped and looked at Stacy and Leif. They were both so young. He wasn’t sure how this was going to end, but he had a feeling it was going to get worse. Suppressing the desire to leave them there, in the relative safety of the wilderness, he stepped into the cockpit.
As he strapped himself in, he said, “We need to put a few miles between us and our friend out there. Then we play our hand.” He looked at the rear monitors and saw nothing but blackness. He turned on the floodlights, illuminating Freisman limping away from the gunship. Jeffrey turned the floodlights off and said over his shoulder, “I have to get in touch with Sam Cantwell.”
“Admiral Cantwell?” Leif asked.
“Yes.” Jeffrey fired the turbines, let the temperature rise to operational levels, and jumped the gunship off the gravel. He wondered for a moment if Freisman had moved far enough away. “It’s the only thing I can think of to get those ships evacuated fast.”
“How much time do you figure we have?” Stacy asked.
“Just enough, I hope.” Jeffrey looked up at the stars overhead. The hair on his arms rose as he imagined yellow blooms of nuclear explosions flowering out of the dark spaces between them.
CHAPTER 22
Carter Roberts walked down the wide hallway past Greco-Roman statuary, some replicas, others original. The hallway led to Maxine King’s expansive bedchamber. Carter had not been invited there in years. As he walked, he recalled the room she slept and entertained in. The broad space lay under a domed ceiling. Alcoves along the walls displayed an eclectic collection of sculptures. Arching windows near her bed looked out on a courtyard garden, dense with exotic plants from around the world. Throughout the chamber, fine rugs lay over marble flooring. In the center of the room, a fountain and heated pool glowed with wavering light.
He walked up three steps and stood between the pillars that flanked the chamber’s entrance. He listened, but the thick oak of the door allowed no sound through. He lifted his fist to knock. Then, armed with dire news, felt the bold desire to shock her. He gripped the door handle, shoving the door open, and turned on the light. In the tall, banistered bed the covers shifted and then Maxine sat up, naked. She scrambled for the sheet and covered her torso. A soldier rolled off the bed and stood: naked, angry, ready for a fight.
“What is the meaning of this?” She looked at Carter, confusion in her eyes. “Carter? What are you thinking?”
Carter said nothing for a moment. He looked over the young soldier who, now realizing who had just come through the door, covered his crotch with his hands.
Carter said to the soldier, “Get your clothes and get out.”
“You don’t dare move from that spot,” Maxine said to the soldier. She looked at Carter. “You are going to leave, now.”
Carter felt fury rise up, stuttering the breath in his chest.
She wants to play it this way? Fine.
“Roger Freisman has been kidnapped,” he said.
Maxine had opened her mouth to cut Carter off, but now it hung open, silent.
“I can continue,” Carter said, “if you don’t mind your pet hearing more.”
Maxine pulled the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around her. She said to the soldier, “Go. I will send for you.”
The soldier collected his scattered uniform and walked toward Carter. Carter remained centered in the doorway. The soldier stopped in front of Carter and waited to be let by. Carter stared at the soldier.
“Sir?” the soldier asked.
Carter did not move. The soldier looked over his shoulder at Maxine. Maxine pointed at the door. The solider looked back at Carter, dropped his gaze, and then side-stepped around Carter, pressing his back against the wall to avoid touching Carter’s shoulder. He left the room, and Carter felt a cruel smile pull at his lips as pushed the door closed. But, despite his smile, he felt terrible. He had failed her, had put the entire project at risk. Worst of all, he had allowed jealousy to draw him in.
Maxine stared at him with derision in her eyes. “Not your finest moment,” she said, and turned and walked across the room. “You will give me a moment to dress.”
He watched her as she made her way across the chamber toward her closets, the sheet wrapped around her. He felt his desire for her crest, but it broke on frustration and jealousy. As she left the room his conflicting emotions left him feeling displaced and tired.
He walked to the heated pool. Intricate, white tiles glowed under blue lights. Floating in the pool, a half-submerged champagne bottle turned in an eddy. The torn away foil at the neck glinted silvery as the bottle drifted.
Maxine came back into the room wearing a white robe and walked up to Carter. Carter caught her eyes and then looked back to the champagne bottle.
“Having a good night were you?”
Maxine looked down into the pool at the bottle.
“How dare you.” She swung her open palm at his face, but this time Carter was ready for her and snatched her hand out of the air and gripped it. For a moment Carter relished the look of frustration on her face. Then he let her fingers slide away from his, feeling the sweat on her hand for just a moment.
“You know how this works,” she said. “You knew it when you signed on. I will not tolerate–”
“I know, I know,” Carter said, holding up his hands. “I understand, and I apologize. I normally do very well…” He paused choosing his next word… “coping.”
“What do you mean coping? Coping with what?”
“With being in love with you all these years.” It was out before he realized he had said it. He looked back down to the pool, wishing he hadn’t. He knew she loved nothing but her cause, and while he loved it as well, he wished for more.
“You…” she paused, and then said, “love me?”
A rush of hope filled Carter, and he said, “Yes, ever since we first met. I always have.”
She looked down at the champagne bottle. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
He shrugged his shoulders not wanting anything to show on his face, not wanting to risk anything more.
Should I have told her years ago?
She looked back at him, and the depth of the anger in her eyes collapsed Carter’s hopes. “This means that you are nothing more than a sentimental fool.” She turned and walked to the intercom desk. “You will be removed from my presence now.”
“No.”
Maxine looked back at him, her hand suspended over the desk.
“Please, listen. What about Freisman? Don’t you want to be briefed on his disappearance?”
“Abram Soltova is your second, yes? He will replace you immediately. Send him to me with the information.”
“I’ve been loyal to you for ten years, how could you just throw me aside? You still need me.”
“No, I need the best counsel at this level, and you are compromised by idolatry.”
This made Carter angry. He walked over to her and grabbed her arm. “You will not throw me aside. Not after everything we have been through. I love you, but I won’t let it be a problem. I’ve spent all these years feeling this way, and have still done well, haven’t I?”
“Let go of me,” she said, pushing at his hand. Carter had never seen her fearful before, but he thought that might be what he saw in her widening eyes. Her voice rose as she pushed harder, “You could have ruined everything for me at any moment.”
“But I didn’t.” Carter said, his anger fading. “Please let me stay and assist you, at least through the destruction of the fleet.”
Perhaps I can convince her to let me stay longer… after it’s over.
“Please,” he said, releasing his grip and smoothing the fabric along her arm.
She glared at him, but then her look faded to sternness. “Fine. But this is why Stacy Zack is still alive. You were distracted and made poor decisions. You have failed, and it is costing me dearly. If she gets to the wrong people before detonation, there will be far
too many questions as well as potential failure. You have put years of planning at risk.”
“I agree,” he said. “I’ve been foolish, and perhaps distracted. I will avoid it. I can avoid it.”
“Enough of this.” She poured herself a glass of water and then motioned for him to do the same if he should care to.
“No, thank you.”
“If I see any evidence of distraction in your performance–” She took a long drink of water.
“It won’t happen.”
She lowered the glass, and looked at him as she might a stain on her dress. “If you do, you will be commanding the machine shops.” She set the glass down, walked to a large couch, and sat. Carter walked over to the couch, pulled up a straight-back chair, and sat across from her.
“Roger Freisman disappeared from his home this evening. Rather, he never reached his home.”
“How do we know it was a kidnapping?”
“The security camera caught it. As he drove up to his house, a man walked up to his vehicle and kicked it. Freisman got out to confront the man and was forced into the backseat at gunpoint. In total, three individuals got in the car with Freisman.” He took a handheld screen from his pocket and passed it to Maxine.
Maxine looked at the screen. “This is whom?”
“Jeffrey Holt, the Hammerhead.”
“He definitely looks the part.” Her eyes traced over the face on the screen. “Dear God, he’s a handsome man isn’t he?”
Carter exhaled, closing his eyes. “If you say so.” He opened his eyes and looked at her again. He felt jealousy rising as she looked at the image. He pushed the feeling aside and reached out, tapping the screen. “Approximately thirty minutes after this was taken, a sheriff’s deputy stopped Freisman’s car west of Bremerton.”
Maxine looked up at Carter, her eyes brightening.
Carter held up his hand to mute her optimism. “The deputy was found trapped in his trunk a short while later.”
“How can one man be so hard to stop?”
“It’s not just one man. Apparently the three worked very well together to subdue the officer.”
“Well, at least the military is more highly trained than the local police force,” she said, looking back at Holt’s image.
“I would say it was more luck than anything,” Carter said, wanting to be unimpressed with the group that was causing him so much trouble. “At some point their luck will run out, and we’ll end this.”
“Yes, see that you do.” She handed the screen back to Carter, who shut it off and put it in his pocket.
“I’m concerned about what Freisman may reveal to them,” Carter said.
“He will hold up well. He is totally committed to the cause.”
“I’m still concerned. Has he been trained on dealing with interrogation?”
“I would doubt it.”
“We should remove you from this area.”
“Are you serious?” She raised her hands and slapped them down on the couch. “We should hope they come here. I have 200 highly trained men and women on-site. We have three Kiowas here now, that should be more than a match to their one.”
“Remember what Holt has done to our troops and equipment over the last few days.”
“Totally different,” Maxine said. “He has proven that he can run, but to attack is a different matter.”
“We need to get you to a safer location.”
She stood and walked to the bar. “There is no safer location than here.”
“The safest location is the one that no one can find.”
“No.” She filled her glass with water and smiled at Carter. “I have a different plan.” She walked up to him and stroked his face, causing his heart to race. She leaned in close to him, close enough to kiss. He caught the waxy, talcum scent of her lipstick.
“We have no leverage on Holt,” she said. “Find me Stacy Zack’s family. She must have a mother, father, brother? A sister?”
“A mother, father, and one sister, all in Colorado.”
“Excellent,” she said, and turned and walked to her bed. “Now get out of here and send my soldier back to me.”
CHAPTER 23
As Jeffrey lifted the gunship up above the trees, he saw the moon resting, half-submerged on the distant ocean horizon. He throttled on and chased the moon for no reason but to give himself something to do. He ran out of land, and the gunship flew out over the empty darkness of the Pacific Ocean. Slowing the gunship, he watched the moon slip down out of sight, leaving him to fly over the vast blackness of the ocean with the swath of the Milky Way above. He turned the Kiowa back toward land. The faint hope of dawn glowed along the hills and mountains. Jeffrey pushed the throttle forward. As he approached the coastline, he saw a broad strip of beach, its sand catching just enough light from the forming dawn to make it stand out against the surrounding blackness.
He descended to the beach in a spiral and set the ship down on the sand, shut off the engines, unstrapped, and stepped into the back of the cabin.
“So, what’s next?” Leif said, as he unhooked his harness.
“I need a moment,” Jeffrey said. He hit the switch to lower the ramp. Cool ocean air pressed the heat out of the cabin. When the ramp touched down, Jeffrey walked out onto the sand. “I’m going for a walk to think. I need to make sure I have this clear in my head.”
Jeffrey walked away from the gunship and considered the man who might be their only hope. He wondered if Admiral Cantwell was part of this mess. Jeffrey had known him for many years, and while Cantwell had also fought in the war, their paths had not crossed in those days. Cantwell held the reputation of a strict but fair man. Still, Cantwell had just been interviewed in the grounding of the Jules Verne freighter a few days ago. Did that hint at involvement? If he wasn’t involved, then he was Jeffrey’s man. If he was part of Maxine King’s group, then Jeffrey had a problem. Jeffrey had isolated himself from the military machine for so long that he had no other personal contacts. Other official channels, and the press, would be unreliable and slow to initiate action.
Jeffrey thought back to what Freisman had said about implanted memories and intentional scarring.
Could it be possible?
He extended his pinkie, one joint short, and remembered having the tip crushed so badly that it had required amputation.
No artificial memory implant could be that detailed, could it? Were those six years of war all a fabrication? The decades coping with the memories just wasted time?
He shook his head.
None of that is important, right now. I’ve got to stay focused.
Jeffrey turned and walked back toward the gunship as dawn spread in among the stars. His boots pressed into the beach where retreating waves had left the sand smooth and wet. As he walked, something on the edge of his senses bothered him. He closed his eyes.
Is that a jet engine?
He strained his ears at the void and heard the breaking surf. He opened his eyes and looked across the sky and saw the small shapes of gulls wheeling in the cold air. Then he heard it. Off in the distance, the faint sound of thunder rumbled continuously. The sky held no heavy clouds.
He looked along the horizon.
There you are.
Far out over the ocean, up high, maybe five thousand feet, the tiny, bladed shape of a Kiowa gunship skitted through icy wisps of clouds. Jeffrey turned and ran toward his gunship. As he approached, he saw that Stacy and Leif had walked north, up the beach. He shouted to them. They couldn’t hear him over the surf. As he ran, his back spasmed and he had to slow to a jog. Stacy stopped and looked out over the ocean, and then back at Jeffrey.
She hears it.
He pointed to his ear and then over the cliffs to the north. There was another source of thunder, he was sure of it.
“We need to get out of here now,” he yelled over the surf. He began jogging toward the gunship again, but his back spiked with pain and he slowed to a walk.
He reached the gunship and w
alked up the ramp as quickly as his back would allow. Stacy and Leif ran up the ramp a few moments later. Jeffrey strapped in and fired the compressors, spooling the engines. The ramp lifted and sealed, shutting out the sound of the engines.
Leif said, “We’re in.”
“Tell me when you’re strapped in.”
A moment later, Stacy said, “Okay, we’re good.”
A fast, black shape flashed out from around the cliff to the north.
“And there you are,” Jeffrey said, as he watched the second gunship fly out over the water. He tapped the temperature gauges, willing them up. The gunship turned south. As it passed, Jeffrey saw that the pilot was looking out to sea. Jeffrey’s eyes shifted from the pilot to the navigator, whose eyes were locked on his.
“Dammit,” Jeffrey said, looking from the second gunship to the temperature gauges and back again. The gunship, now halfway down the beach, hooked left, turning in behind them.
“Dammit, dammit, dammit,” Jeffrey said, staring at the temperature gauges. The stick felt dead and heavy to him as he waited for the indicators to turn green. The second gunship had rounded on them, and Jeffrey had to look at his rear camera displays to see it. The small, dark shape came up from behind, fast. At any moment the pilot would open up, tearing them apart with depleted uranium sabot rounds. Or perhaps the pilot would use missiles to scatter them across the sand as Jeffrey had done to the highway in Australia. The needles on his temperature gauges rose quickly now, but were still below the lower limit.
We must be within their firing range now.
The needles swept up and the engine temperature lights ticked from red to green. Jeffrey yanked on the vertical controls. The Kiowa jumped off the sand, its massive thrust bringing a dizzy lightness to his head. He fired the nose thrusters at full power and flipped the ship nose over tail like a pancake off a spatula. Weightlessness tickled at his gut as the ground dropped away and then rolled back into view upside down. He slammed the throttle forward and his gunship leapt head on, the oncoming gunship now lined up in his center windshield.
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