Kai fumbled through the screens and found the contact. “What should I do with it? I’m not going to give it to you.”
“Just push the number and do what I say.”
Kai glanced at Adili and the big man nodded. Kai pressed the contact and looked to Trip for further instructions. The cleaner scribbled a series of numbers and letters on a scrap of paper, handed it to Kai and said, “Read out that sequence when they ask for it.”
Clearing his throat, Kai repeated the sequence, then gave the proper response for name verification. Trip whispered, “Ask them to verify an order for an MQ-47C drone deployment from Whidbey. Clearance level is ‘Alpha-Zulu-November.’ Don’t say anything else.” Repeating Trip’s instructions, Kai switched the device to speaker. The helicopter blades hummed outside but within the cabin all was quiet. A terse voice from the transmitter broke the silence. “Negative, Mr. Ashfield, we’re showing no long-range birds deployed from our base during those parameters.”
Trip squinted, impulsively he leaned forward and spoke into the receiver, “Soldier, give me a read out on any Mossies redeployed in the Pacific with orders that emanate from HSA West Coast office within the last 48 hours.” Silence followed as Kai glared in Trip’s direction. Adili pushed the HighTower contractor back into his seat.
The disembodied voice returned, “Sir, we’ve got a long-range drone that was re-routed from the Gulf of Alaska to coordinates on the north side of Graham Island-Haida Gwaii, British Columbia. Additionally, an MQ-47C was deployed yesterday at 1640. The specific coordinates on that flight plan are unavailable for this clearance level.”
“Gotcha’ Mandy.” With a wave his hand, Trip directed Kai to end the call. There was a moment of silence before Trip looked at Kai and asked, “Can you send word to your wife? She might want to relocate soon.”
“What are you on about then, ay?” Kai muttered.
Garance whispered, “Genocide.”
“What? …Are we talking about Kim’s weapon here? There’s no way—no practical way to move so many people that quickly. Shit!” Kai slammed his hands against the instrument panel.
Adili reached for the door handle. “I can run after the truck—find the code speakers. We can send a warning.”
Garance shook her head, “There’s not enough time. The drones will arrive before…”
Trip interrupted, “You want to divert HighTower’s attention away from Kaleka’s yacht, right?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Then I have the perfect solution. Trust me on this.”
Adili grumbled to himself in Swahili. Turning back toward Trip he said, “You are not worthy of our trust. I would not follow you into a public restroom—let alone a plot to save our friends.”
Kai placed his hand on Adili’s arm. “Let him speak, then we decide. Alright?” Adili nodded his agreement.
Trip moved forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, careful to avoid the dressing on his bad leg. “Look, I’ve got only one objective in this enterprise of yours and that’s survival. As far as I’m concerned, whether it’s ATHENS or HighTower, I’m Switzerland—the size of the deposits into my bank account will determine which team I’ll go to bat for. On the other hand, we seem to have one thing in common: Amanda Terrance. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’” He paused to observe Kai’s reaction, then continued. “I believe we can work together on this. You can create a diversion—provide your friends a fighting chance as well as prevent Amanda from reenacting the Battle at Wounded Knee.” He gestured toward his bandage with an ironic smile, “And I will get a small degree of personal satisfaction from the bargain. So, here’s what I suggest…”
HighTower’s helo made a spiraling turn around James Island and rose skyward as it headed eastbound—in the direction of New Seattle.
41 The Sacrifice
Elliot Bay. Seattle WA. Aug 27 2033.
47°36'30.9"N 122°20'57.6"W
“We might as well just stick a bunch of turkey feathers in a plastic headband for as accurate as these costumes are,” Táan muttered, fastening the snaps on his suede vest. The rest of the tribal performers donned their own outfits while an ATHENS coordinator read the event schedule. The pier was crowded with people in brightly colored ethnic clothing. Táan took a step back as a group of burly men dressed in beads and piupiu skirts sauntered down the dock. He noticed that their chins and upper bodies were inked with the same stylized design as Kai’s shoulder tattoo. Further up the dock, a chorus of Buddhist monks practiced their harmonic chants while behind them, a dozen Swedes carried mandolins and nyckelharpa toward the ramp. The ringing sounds of steel drums bounced off the water as several Trinidadians began an impromptu jam. Táan adjusted his spruce hat and absorbed the sights and sounds. One of the Salish leaders waved him over. “You an experienced paddler?”
Táan nodded, “Yeah, I pull down pretty hard, I guess.”
“Good, good… we need a few strong ones in that third canoe. Go check in with Able—the kid holding the Thunderbird flag.”
Táan walked over to speak with the young man in the last boat and was assigned an aft position. It felt good to be back on the water; the familiar noises and smells calmed him and he felt his confidence returning. Grabbing one of the painted sculls, he held it in front of him, thinking about his eagle paddle awaiting him in Point Roberts. A soft noise from overhead drew his attention and he looked up to see Monk gliding on an air current, long black wings lifted in a V-shape as the raven hovered above him. Táan smiled and called up, “I knew you couldn’t miss out on all this excitement.”
Just then, the canoe tipped to one side as the other paddlers climbed aboard. Táan steadied himself and offered a hand to Jun. Kim hopped inside the canoe, tossed a paddle to his nephew and sat down next to Táan. “This feels familiar,” he said.
The coordinator called down to the longboats, “OK, ’Salish tribal performers,’ is your troupe ready?” The elder paddler gave her a curt salute. “Excellent, you may depart for the yacht now. Keep in mind, you are to board on the aft platform—that’s the back of the ship.” The woman tapped her mobile device and turned toward the head of the dock, directing other performers into cues. Táan watched her return and took a deep breath, now it begins. At that moment, he noticed a white van pull into the parking lot and reverse into a space near the top of the ramp. A slender young woman stepped out of the passenger-side door and Táan was instantly captivated. Her hair was swept into a graceful knot at the base of her neck and wisps of curls framed her face. The sequins of her long black dress redirected the fading sunlight into glacial fractals. Jun nudged Táan with his paddle. “Nice transformation, huh? I borrowed that dress from one of the queens at the Pufferfish club…We had to use almost a half a roll of tape just to get it to fit properly. I gotta hand it to her though, Dot sure can pull it off.” Táan blinked several times as he stared at the woman on shore. It’s true—that’s Kijii!
An impatient shout from the elder cut their conversation short. “Hey, Haidas—how about giving us some help?” Táan recovered quickly and dug his blade into the water. The canoe pivoted toward the giant ship as it slipped away from the pier. The kaleidoscope of colorful costumes melded into an impressionist rendering, only to be replaced by the fluid glint of light on waves. With every stroke, Táan felt the familiar burn return to his muscles. He lowered his head, took a deep breath and propelled the longboat toward Kaleka’s yacht. A rhythm soon developed as the crew lapsed into synchronized strokes. Táan spared a few seconds to look over his shoulder at Dot’s glistening black dress amid the sea of colors.
The band collected their instruments from the van and waited to board the shuttle. As her alias name was called, Dot filed down the ramp; her four-inch heels catching on the hem of her gown. A deckhand offered his arm and Dot gratefully accepted it as she climbed onboard and took a seat. Once the other passengers were situated, the automated tender sped toward Kaleka’s yacht. Dot smoothed the dress across her lap
and looked around at the other passengers. The Trinidadians laughed amongst themselves, ignoring the other occupants. The musicians on either side of her seemed unconcerned that a new vocalist had been added to their ensemble. She watched the deckhand secure the steel drums and tried to steady her trembling hands. She noticed a tall, powerfully built man sitting directly opposite her. His tailored tuxedo looked strange paired with his reflective sunglasses and Dot felt a sudden tinge of apprehension. She turned away and looked out at the water, conscious of his scrutiny.
Dot’s shuttle made a gentle arc as it drew alongside the massive ship. Dot peered high above her and read the yacht’s sparkling gold letters, silently mouthing the word “Monita.” She wondered what it signified, rich people use much fancier titles for their ships than most—it’s certainly grander than ‘Nomad’… or even ‘Dottie Rose.’ Just then, an enormous door on the side of the ship opened, the tender throttled down and glided into the yacht’s cavernous belly. Mouth agape, Dot soaked in the opulence of Monita’s floating garage as they came to a stop near the center aisle. She hastily gathered up the hem of her gown and followed the other passengers, steadying herself on the gleaming handrails. The tender noiselessly reversed out of the garage.
A prim, nervous looking man waited for them underneath the chandelier. “This way everyone, if you please… We’ve got a tight schedule to keep this evening.” He motioned for the group to follow him and Dot fell in line behind her band members. She sensed the presence of the man in sunglasses behind her but didn’t dare to turn around. The group entered the glass elevator and Dot found herself pushed up front against the controls. Glimpsing her reflection in the panel momentarily, she was caught off guard. The freckle-faced girl from Old Massett was gone; replaced by an elegant woman. Who is this person? Dot had no time to consider as the glass doors whooshed shut and the elevator engaged. She felt a sudden feathery twinge in her stomach and, within seconds, the doors opened to reveal Monita’s main deck. Dot was expelled from the lift as its occupants exited. Stumbling in the high heels, she regained her footing then froze in shock. Everywhere she looked, hundreds of glamorous men and women in various groups milled about; laughing, drinking and plucking fancy entrees from silver trays offered by uniformed deckhands. Glass, chrome, gold, and gleaming white marble covered every discernable surface area between the guests and the paparazzi. Before Dot could regain her composure one of the musicians tapped her on the shoulder, “Hey—what’s your name? Let’s go.” He motioned toward a spiral staircase that wound up to a balcony spanning the width of the ship. “We’ve got to head up there and get ready.” Dot nodded and tried to swallow but her throat was tight and bone dry. Don’t ask me for my name again—please. Just lead the way. Don’t question it… “C’mon, they’ll do a quick mic check and we can grab some grub before we have to go on.” Without waiting for a reply, he bounded up the stairs. Relieved, Dot followed him to the top deck. With every step, her stomach churned and her breathing shallowed. This is crazy—we’ve made a terrible mistake. She felt nauseous and her legs nearly buckled as she reached the balcony level. This isn’t going to work—they’ll discover I can’t sing. They’ll find out who I’m with—we’ve got to do something… Where’s Táan? Dot searched wildly around for any sign of a familiar face. The crowd below began to swirl and she felt lightheaded. Grasping onto the railing, she steadied herself. At that moment, the whirr of flapping wings filled Dot’s ears. Monk settled on the rail beside her, cast a sidelong look and, with a brief shake of his feathers, issued a loud kraa, kraa. Dot heaved a sigh and smiled.
Down on Monita’s main deck, the evening’s gala was in full throttle. On the center dais, a team of Chinese acrobats completed their routine with a dramatic flourish and exited the stage. Bright stage lights flashed onto the platform and the media rushed forward. The main deck lights dimmed and a follow-spot darted through the assemblage as Raj Kaleka parted the crowd and took to the stage. He stood at the center and waited patiently for the thunderous applause to ease. Occasionally he attempted to speak, only to be drowned out again. Dot observed him from above, curious to see the man they’d travelled such a long distance to find. He wasn’t as tall as she’d imagined, and yet there was a presence about him—larger than life. She felt a rush of excitement—to be this close at last… and yet, he was still so unreachable.
Raj smiled and waved, picking out certain individuals in the audience and pointing or nodding in their vicinity. Eventually the noise subsided and he stepped up to the microphone. “Welcome everyone—and thank you for joining me here tonight on the Monita. She’s quite special, isn’t she? I’ve had a few of you ask me what it means—Why that name? Let me clear this up first—no, it’s not the name of a new girlfriend.” Spotty laughter broke out in the crowd and numerous female voices cheered. A voice from the back of the audience called out, “Is that position vacant?”
Raj laughed and proceeded with his speech, “‘Monita’ is a Latin word, meaning a premonition. This is significant in numerous ways: First, I think of the many warnings our planet has been sending us—omens that have gone unheeded too long—which many still refuse to acknowledge. I think of the turmoil we are now experiencing because those warnings were ignored—the suffering and the losses across our earth… So many lives and wasted resources.” Raj paused for a moment before continuing, “But, at the same time, ‘Monita’ also means ‘Oracle’, and I find that uplifting, because, if we’re searching for divination—for some kind of parable in our transforming world—then can we not also look for promise?”
Dot studied the outlines in the crowd hoping to spot her friends and locate the man in mirrored glasses. Nothing out of the ordinary caught her eye; the attentive crowd remain transfixed. As Dot listened to Kaleka speak, she understood why Kim chose this man for help. She continued to scan the main deck as the CEO outlined the plans for his floating cities. Raj praised the many investors and international leaders who’d pledged support and laid out the framework for his international havens.
As he neared the conclusion of his speech, the passion in Raj’s voice intensified. “The lottery of one’s birth should not be the determining factor for who deserves to inherit our world. Yes, the human race is facing critical—even frightening times and yes, some have turned their backs in response to this; opting to exclude and their fellow men out because of greed or cowardice… but I do not believe that this is the fate of our species—In fact, I strongly believe that it is at exactly these times of crisis and desperation when humankind will answer the call. I believe that our integrity and resourcefulness will rise to meet these challenges. I believe that centuries from now, our descendants will look back and say, ‘They helped the vulnerable few so that the many would survive; they chose hope, and did not give in to not fear.’”
As Raj concluded, cheers erupted from those in attendance, the applause echoed off Monita’s bulwarks. Dot clapped along with the rest and her eyes followed the CEO as he stepped off the dais, becoming engulfed in the mass of people. She watched Kaleka’s handlers and security fend the exuberant admirers away, creating a human barrier around the billionaire. She wondered how Kim would ever pass through those vigilant gatekeepers. The guests soon resumed their socializing and the crowd dispersed. It was now easier to discern individual faces. A figure near the transom caught Dot’s eye and she recognized the tuxedoed man from the shuttle. Squinting, she observed him talking with another person. Dot noticed that the other man was dressed similarly—and wore the same mirrored sunglasses. HighTower! They must be… A soft tap on her shoulder made her jump. Monk made a series of low clicking noises and raised his beak. “Kij’—it’s me.” The sound of Táan’s voice soothed her instantly and she turned toward him. “No, best not to look back—we shouldn’t be seen talking. We aren’t supposed to know each other, are we?” Dot nodded and focused her attention on the deck below. The Maorian dancers were performing a Haka ritual that reminded her of Kai. She was suddenly filled with longing for her frie
nds and family. Táan watched the performers from behind her shoulder, eventually saying, “I reckon I’d better get back down there. Kim and Jun are waiting for their chance to get close to Kaleka—he’s really something, isn’t he?” Dot made a subtle nod of agreement, fighting the urge to turn around. “Alright then, wish me luck—and watch our backs.” Táan leaned close to her cheek and whispered, “You look magical, Kij’.” He gave her hand a squeeze and was gone.
With ear-splitting screams, the Maoris finished their Haka and marched offstage. Dot leaned over the railing to get a better look at the unfolding events. She spotted Raj Kaleka, surrounded by media and his ever-present entourage. Searching across the quarterdeck, she located Kim and his nephew huddled over Jun’s mobile. The pair had discarded their costumes in exchange for more formal attire and now blended in with the rest of the guests. Dot shifted her gaze toward the landing and saw Táan making his way toward the transom. She drew a shaky breath and absentmindedly brushed her fingertips along Monk’s wings. Being the lookout was far more difficult than she’d anticipated; she wished she was down on the main deck with her friends—anything was preferable to standing still in one place watching it transpire.
Jun looked nervously in Kaleka’s direction. The press had begun to thin out and Raj was chatting with a handful of celebrities and dignitaries. “We need to make our way over there now, Uncle. We should be close enough to grab the opportunity when it arrives.”
“If it arrives. Look at all the staff he has around him.” Kim’s voice was strained and he kept running his hand over the pocket containing his data and samples. “Perhaps we should wait over by his stateroom—he’s bound to return, don’t you think?”
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