by Lyndon Hardy
Evidently, the exiles were having a budget crunch, Fig thought as he surveyed the freighter, or maybe finding a reputable shipper had been too hard to do. And the second truck? Was it headed to the harbor as well? He felt he had to stay and watch what was happening here. Anxiety began to fester. He needed more eyes right away.
Ashley answered his call on the first ring.
“On it,” she said after he had finished his report. “Maurice is asleep, but I can get Jake there from watching the hut in a minute or two. Move to somewhere secluded, and the portal door will appear right in front of your phone.”
Fig looked about. There were no shadows. The hot sun blazed down on everything. He watched the stevedores for a moment and decided that all their attentions were on the content of the truck. “We will have to chance it,” he said. “Tell Jake to be quick about it when he arrives.”
Fig watched nervously for another minute. Then the air right in front of him shimmered, and he involuntarily took a step back. The portal door materialized in the empty air. It opened, and Jake stepped out, his gaudy Hawaiian shirt almost too vivid to look at.
As rapidly as it had come, the door vanished. Fig looked about again, but no one appeared to have noticed. “We are going to have to figure out a better way to do this,” he said. “But never mind that now. Take the scooter and go back along the path to the warehouse. If you are lucky, you will see a second truck coming with another load. Probably here, but we can’t be too sure.”
“Righto, cocky little man,” Jake said. “Did Ashley abdicate and appoint you the new queen?”
“Get on with it,” Fig said. “No time for any of that stuff now.”
“Yeah, okay,” Jake said. “This is what we have been waiting for.” He climbed on the scooter and putted off.
FIG AND Jake stood at the foot of the exterior stairs leading up to the office of the Hilo Harbormaster. Jake had caught up with the second truck. It had been headed to the harbor as well. But to the other end of the wharf. Fig would never had been able to watch both loading areas by himself.
Nor were either of them able to learn anything about destinations from yelling questions at either of the two crews. “Ask the Harbormaster,” was all they heard after several tries.
Both of them sensed that merely walking in and asking what they wanted to know probably was not going to work, Jake’s shirt notwithstanding. They waited two hours for Briana to appear so she could try.
“Now, no one is looking,” Fig said into his phone.
The air shimmered, and Briana emerged. A fedora with a card labeled ‘Press’ sticking from the brim sat on her head at a snappy angle. She wore a trim vest on top a short-sleeved frilly blouse and clutched a notebook with stenciling reading ‘Hilo High School Viking - Student newspaper’. Screaming-red hot pants swayed from her hips, so short they could not possibly expose any more leg.
Both Fig and Jake goggled at what they saw.
“Wow, Briana, you really must want this,” Jake said. “I remember you blushing when you twirled your dress and a little knee was exposed.”
“To die for,” Fig whispered quietly.
“Focus,” Briana said. “Focus. This is not for you two, but the Harbormaster. I need some help with my homework assignment to find out what he does.”
BRIANA DESCENDED the stairs to where Fig and Jake were waiting. “The second ship, the Oakdale, is headed to Europe through the Panama Canal,” she said. “First stop of Messina, Sicily. And the Mizuno Maru is going to Port Moresby in Papua and New Guinea, but after crossing the Pacific to Japan and then to Taiwan. It might be a coincidence, but they get to their final destinations at about the same time.”
“Any other stops?” Jake asked, glancing down at Briana’s legs. Fig scowled. Evidently, the creep could not stop ogling his queen. There were more important things to worry about now. He closed his eyes and tried to visualize the globe.
“No. No additional stops,” Briana said. “And the Harbormaster thought that was strange, especially for the Oakdale. He explained that ordinarily, these old boats take on cargo from all over. Sometimes spend months at sea, going from port to port. Need to do that to make things profitable enough.”
“The exiles don’t want to make the landfalls public,” Jake said. “I bet that’s it. Distributing the SF6 without anyone being able to connect the dots.”
“Then why didn’t a third ship also get loaded today?” Fig frowned. “The first two were so closely coordinated. Bang. Bang. And the production line has been shut down.”
“There is a website that keeps track of maritime traffic,” Briana said. “For safety reasons, they are broadcasting all the time.” She took off her hat and smiled at it. “I didn’t need to do any of this.”
“Hold on a minute,” Fig said. “Maybe we are making an assumption we don’t have to.” He began to pace, hands folded behind his back like an expectant father. “First, let’s do the math. From the CCTV camera, we know how many empty cylinders were delivered to the warehouse originally — not the ones that brought in the fluorine, but those presumably to be filled with the SF6.”
“We have counted the number loaded on the two ships here,” he continued, “the same number on each one. A second coincidence, like the final port arrival times. So that means… One third of the output to each of the ships and therefore one third remaining back in the warehouse but ready to go.
“I wonder. Three equal portions.” He started speaking more rapidly. “We should monitor for unexpected arrival, certainly, but maybe, just maybe, it might be that there are not hundreds of targets the exiles plan to pollute, but, in fact, only three.”
“What limb are you going out on this time?” Jake asked.
“Hush,” Briana said. “Fig has been right on everything else so far.”
“So maybe there are no more destinations,” Fig said. “No clandestine stops in between. The Oakdale is going to Sicily and nowhere else, and the Japanese and Taipei stops for the Mizuno Maru are for other — ”
“Okay, why?” Jake asked.
“Etna,” Fig said. “Mount Etna on Sicily. Almost perpetually active, and a short distance from Messina. I know because a cousin of mine visited the ‘friendly giant’ a few years ago. And for the South Pacific, I remember something about active volcanoes there too. We can check when we get back to Ashley’s.”
“The final third?” Briana chimed in.
“Kilauea. Right here on the big island,” Fig said. “No need for a boat.”
“So, then what?” Jake asked.
“The good news is that Pollyanna does not need shoes anymore,” Fig said.
“What?” Jake and Briana asked in unison.
“The good news is that there are only three volcanoes that we have to worry about, not hundreds of them all over the world,” Fig explained. “The bad news is that we are going to have to worry about them right away.”
“Okay, I will let Ashley know to return the portal so that we can go back to her place,” Briana said. “Maybe now she will get up off her rump.”
While they waited, Fig shrugged. “This one at a time routine is a drag.”
He looked at Briana but saw that she did not seem to care.
“You know,” she said. “Grandfather types are even easier than page boys.”
“Easier for what?” Jake asked.
“Easier to wrap around one’s little finger.”
Watch and Hurry Up Again
FORTY DAYS. Forty days of following maritime positions. Finally, the wait was over.
Briana paced back and forth in Ashley’s living room, shouldering her pack. It felt unfamiliar, lighter. She was nervous about surrendering the portal setter, but it was a choice she had had to make. They had agreed that, once the two ships started unloading at their destinations, a single person tracking what would happen next would not be enough.
The Oakdale was due to arrive in Messina, Sicily tomorrow — well, in about twelve hours due to the difference in t
ime zones. She and Jake would take the portal there shortly.
Maurice and Fig were already in Port Moresby, New Guinea, but the Mizuno Maru had not shown up there. According to the maritime reports, it instead was heading Northeast in the Solomon Sea toward Bougainville Island.
Ashley would continue monitoring things from her home, keeping her eye on the CCTV in Hilo for any activity. Two more people camped outside the warehouse would be nice, but they did not have that luxury.
Ashley slammed down the lid of her laptop. “Damn! So much for the reputed ‘instant news’ from the internet. The latest postings for Arawa Town and Kieta Port are from 2010. ‘Do not travel to the other wharf area near Loloho. This is under the control of gangs involved in the illegal export of scrap metal…’“
“Right where Fig had predicted,” Briana said. “Mount Bagana is in the center of the island.”
“You’re feeling pretty smug about this, aren’t you?” Ashley said. “Getting us the data we needed to keep track of things.”
“Well, yes, I guess I do,” Briana replied. “The Harbormaster was an accomplishment. Easy, but an accomplishment, none the less.”
Ashley shook her head. “That is not something to be proud of, Briana.”
“Why not?”
“Think, woman. You were using your body, nothing more.”
“How about Fig grinding away without any complaint?” Briana glanced toward the kitchen where Jake was packing some snacks. She lowered her voice. “Getting Jake to vote for the adventure?”
“I said ‘think,’“ Ashley’s tone hardened. “Those aren’t accomplishments, Briana. Only notches on your bedpost. A difference of degree from what Jake always has in mind, but at the core…”
She stared at Briana like a mother lecturing a wayward daughter. “If we are ever going to be judged the equals of men, it will because we used our wits rather than our bodies.”
“So, maybe, you’re a wee bit jealous,” Briana laughed with simple pleasure. The monotony of over a month being together was beginning to wear.
“No, of course not,” Ashley snapped. “For me, your accomplishments, your true accomplishments are how you managed to survive the culture shock of being thrown into our modern society, how you foiled the would-be rapist, deduced that the exiles would try to manipulate the stock market, what you did to save Fig’s life while you waited for the portal to return.”
Briana started to answer with a rebuttal but discovered she did not have one. Notches on a bedpost? Her actions? Of course not? She had done these things, all of them because… because she had to. But the ones Ashley mentioned… What was the older woman’s phrase? Not because of the way she looked or pleasures she promised, but because… because of what was between her ears. She chewed on the words as if they were hard gristle. Yes, even the sagas, she admitted finally. None of the greatest deeds, the ones most heralded, had anything to do with seduction.
So, going forward, how should she —
“I found a small boat willing to take Fig and me to Bougainville.” Maurice’s voice in the external speaker cut off Briana’s thoughts. “Leaving now. Fig and I might even get there before the freighter does.”
“Why not use the portal,” Briana called back. “Just send me… I mean Ashley — the coordinates.”
“Without the ship to center on, not sure what they would be. Going in by boat is the right thing to do.”
“Be careful, Maurice,” Ashley said. “The characters Jake and Briana are likely to encounter in Messina will be bad enough. It doesn’t look like there is any police help where you and Fig are going.”
Jake came from the kitchen to join Ashley and Briana around the speaker. “Don’t worry, pard. Buddha says ‘No matter where you go, there you are.’“
“He does not,” Maurice said. “That’s from an old movie from decades ago.”
Briana marveled at Jake. He was setting the right tone. The long wait had made them sluggish and now perhaps hesitant to act. She reached down and patted the dagger at her side. Soon, she thought. No matter what Ashley might think of her, soon, she would prove herself, and it will be over.
Mount Etna
JAKE BEEPED shut the doors of the rented Maserati as he and Briana rolled their luggage into the lobby. The building was a simple four-story rectangle with ten tiny gables dotting a sloping roof. The name, Riparo Sapienza, in large white letters on an orange background gave no doubt they were in the right place — that and the truck filled with cylinders of gas parked next to the car.
The bare essence of the mountain weighed upon him. Desolate, black, and almost devoid of life. The volcano itself was active, however. From where he stood, he could see the occasional burst of fiery yellow above the crater’s rim and a relentless flow down the mountainside, fortunately some distance away. This was a place perhaps to visit, but too depressing to stay a long while.
He gulped for air. Even though they were not very high up Etna’s southern slope, he could already feel the difference. And it was chilly. They would need their jackets if there was exploring to be done at night.
No matter. His fingers had been tingling with excitement ever since he had spotted the Oakdale unloading in the Messina harbor. Sending word back to Ashley brought Briana under the cover of darkness that very evening. The next day, they had rented the car, bought luggage, and purchased tourist clothing. Then, following the loaded truck to Catania on A18 and up a winding road to this tourist jumping off place had been a snap.
He gulped again. The air was not crisp and clean, but he did not care. All the days of doing nothing but waiting for the Oakdale to get here had given him time to think… to think a lot. The pretending to be a student, surfing on the puny waves at the Rat Beach, that all felt so, well, so shallow now. No purpose. No goal. No ending. What a pitiful existence. Yes, that was all true. He had to admit it.
But this! What he was doing now, it was important! No, better than that. Vitally important. The fate of the entire world depended on it. This was something he could grab ahold of, contribute…
He glanced at Briana strolling beside him. Well, no sense in getting too carried away. The women of his life. They were still important also.
Jake approached the lobby desk. “Do you speak English?” he asked.
“Of course,” the clerk said. “How can I help you?”
“Reservations for Mr. and Mrs. Waverton.” He looked at Briana and smiled. “We’re on our honeymoon.”
“What!” Briana glared as if she were a policewoman about to write a ticket. “Jake, you promised. No crazy business.”
He turned his attention back to the clerk and shook his head with what he hoped was an amused expression. “She is such a kick. You do have us in the bridal suite, right?”
“Of course, sir. It is ready. Here are your keys.”
Jake took the keys in one hand and swooped his arm around Briana with the other. He felt her tense and start to pull away. “Don’t blow our cover,” he whispered in her ear. “A little buss right now is what the audience needs.”
Briana scowl deepened, peeked at the clerk watching them out of the corner of his eye, and then forced her face into a small smile. Standing rigid as a statue, she let Jake pull her tight and get his way. “See, that wasn’t so bad,” he whispered before he let her go.
“Focus,” Briana said quietly as they started looking for their room. “Keep your thoughts on what we have to do here. Find where the exiles are hiding. If Fig is right about a three-way split, there should be around two hundred and fifty of them around. It shouldn’t be hard, if you would only focus.”
“Yes, dear,” Jake said much louder. “Whatever you say.”
THE CLANGING of the gas cylinders woke the pair from a short nap. It was dark. Jake donned the night vision goggles from his suitcase and peered out through a slit in the drawn curtains.
“There are six of them,” he said. “Four are sandwiching themselves onto the truck bed. Two more in the cab. Can’t tell w
ith the glasses but probably the same thugs we saw back in Messina.”
He opened the curtains more and slewed the goggles from side to side. “No sign of any more. Certainly not a couple hundred. They must be meeting the exiles somewhere else.”
“Let’s go!” Briana said. “We have to follow them.”
Who’s the boss here? Jake thought. The man is the one who is supposed to lead, right? He watched Briana hurriedly put on her boots and head for the door. Headstrong. No doubt about it.
He and Briana ran out onto the parking lot barely in time to see the taillights of the truck start on the road leading farther up the mountain.
“It goes to the upper cable car terminus,” Briana said. “I read the trip advisor reports before we came.”
Jake peered at the retreating truck as it bounced up the road. “I don’t like the looks of it.” He shook his head. “The rental place probably will not care for what it will do to the Maserati.”
“There is a trail starting right here,” Briana said. “It follows the course of the cable car. Takes an hour on foot.”
Jake grunted with resignation, and they started striding up the hill with a rapid pace. The path, if it could be called that, was nearly flat but rough and unmarked with many large boulders littering the way. Both of them slipped several times, breaking falls with outstretched arms.
“What is this stuff?” He kicked at one of the small rocks skittering under each of his steps.
“Stones of congealed lava,” Briana said. “From some past eruption.”
“I should use the light on my phone,” Jake said, swinging his pack from his shoulders.