by Jake Bible
“Holy shite and shaboodle,” Popeye said, looking down from a catwalk that ran the length of the bay. “That ain’t something you see every day.”
Boatswain Trevor “Popeye” De Bruhl looked just like the cartoon character he was nicknamed after. Short, thin, bald, with massive forearms that were covered in tattoos. All he needed was the corncob pipe. And a right leg. That he lost to a hunk of metal in the Indian Ocean. In its place was a segmented titanium rod that ended in a splayed piece of heavy-duty rubber. It was his new school, old school peg leg and he was quite proud of it.
The hatch at the end of the catwalk opened and Ballantine walked in with Darren.
“You weren’t kidding,” Ballantine said as he looked at the sub. “You must be Michael Pearlman.”
“Call me Mike,” Mike replied. “And could I get some help? Left my wheels back in Baja.”
“I’ll bet,” Ballantine replied. “And you lost your legs in the Hindu Kush region of Afghanistan.”
“How’d you know that?” Darren asked. “Did you already do your homework on him?”
“I always do my homework,” Ballantine replied. “Especially when dealing with a headache like today. And seeing this submarine means my headache just got considerably larger.”
Ballantine studied the sub for a long time from the catwalk as Mike was helped down and offered a wheelchair that Popeye was able to find in the infirmary.
“Was Dr. Lisa Morganton there with you, Mike?” Ballantine asked.
“Morganton? Yeah, she was,” Mike replied as he was pushed to a hatch in the wall by the bay floor. “She invented these things.”
Ballantine snorted and chuckled lightly. “Is that what she said? She invented the subs? Conniving cunt.”
“Whoa,” Popeye said, looking at Ballantine. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that, boss guy. You must really hate that broad.”
“I only hate three people in this world, Popeye,” Ballantine replied. “Dr. Morganton is not one of them. However, with the amount of hell she has put me through over the years, I would say the name ‘cunt’ is being kind.”
“Oh,” Popeye said. “Wouldn’t want to be her when you two finally get face to face.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Ballantine said. “Please make sure Mr. Pearlman gets nowhere near the briefing room until I speak to him, will you, Popeye? I would appreciate that.”
“Thorne wants him there right away,” Darren said. “Since he has intel on the sharks.”
“Commander Thorne is going to be disappointed,” Ballantine said. “The man doesn’t get near the briefing room until after I speak to him.”
With that, Ballantine stormed out of the bay, the hatch slamming behind him.
“Damn,” Popeye said. “Company man is ticked off.”
“No shit, Pop.”
***
Mike stared at Ballantine. Ballantine stared at Mike. The two men, one in a wheelchair, the other seated behind an ornate wooden desk, refused to yield and speak first. Darby was the one to break the silence.
“They are expecting us,” Darby said. “You are wasting time.”
Ballantine sighed. “What do you know about Dr. Morganton and the program she was working on?”
“Not much,” Mike said.
“Then tell me the much you do know,” Ballantine ordered.
“Just that she developed the subs so they mimicked blue whales and could get past anywhere without detection,” Mike said. “Or at least, if they were detected, they looked like whales.”
“She succeeded in that,” Ballantine nodded.
“Yeah, no shit,” Mike said. “They look so real they were attacked by sharks.”
“It appears that way,” Ballantine said. “Now, tell me about the cocaine. I’ve read your file. You aren’t the type of guy that would get in bed with the cartels. This is out of character for you.”
“Didn’t have much choice,” Mike said. “If we didn’t, then they would kill our family and friends. We had to do what they asked or else.”
“And who did the asking?”
“Um, some guy named Espanoza,” Mike said. “He was scary as hell.”
“Ricardo Espanoza?”
“Yeah, that’s him,” Mike said. “He kinda looked familiar, but I don’t know why.”
“I do,” Ballantine said. He looked over at Darby and sighed. “It’s time. Go get prepped.”
Darby nodded and left the office quickly. Mike watched her go then turned back to Ballantine.
“Who is Espanoza?” Mike asked.
“A complication,” Ballantine replied. “And someone you will not mention to anyone. Not to my Team, not to the crew, and not to Gunnar Peterson. Do you understand me?”
“Why do I have the feeling I’m back in an ‘or else’ situation?” Mike sighed.
“Because you are,” Ballantine said. He stood up, walked around the desk to Mike, and took hold of the man’s wheelchair. “Now, I am going to take you up to the briefing room where you will answer questions with generic answers only.”
“Or you kill me,” Mike said. “I get it.”
Ballantine pushed Mike towards the office hatch. “No, Mr. Pearlman, I’m not that person. I just need your cooperation so others don’t die. This is so much bigger than you. Can you help me with that?”
“Yeah, sure,” Mike said as they left the office. “I just want to be done with all this shit.”
“Soon you will be,” Ballantine said. “And if I can hold things together, then maybe we all will be.”
***
“This ship is huge. Has to be at least 130 meters,” Mike said, sounding as casual as possible as Ballantine wheeled him into the briefing room. “What’s it name again?”
“Beowulf III,” Ballantine said as he parked Mike next to the conference table and then took his own seat. “And it’s 125 meters.”
“What happened to the Beowulf II?” Mike asked.
“We don’t talk about that,” Max and Shane said at the same time then high fived.
“Guys, shut up,” Darren said then looked around. “Where’s Darby?”
“She is handling some company business,” Ballantine said. “Don’t worry about her.”
Darren and Thorne shared a look, not happy about one of the members of Team Grendel absent from the briefing.
“Ugh! This is going to break my brain!” Gunnar shouted. “I’m seeing something here, but I don’t know what. There’s a pattern of behavior with these attacks, but no matter how I analyze it, it’s completely random.”
“I’ve had the company run them through every possible scenario,” Ballantine said. “The report came back as chaos. No true pattern, just frenzied attack after frenzied attack.”
“Doesn’t make sense,” Gunnar said. “Sharks hunt, they don’t go berserk. They are cold and calculating.”
“If they are our monster sharks then they are different,” Thorne said. “Something triggered them to act this way.”
“What can you tell us about the subs?” Gunnar asked, looking at Mike. “Is there anything that the sharks could have come in contact with that would make them freak out?”
“I don’t know anything about sharks,” Mike replied.
“Yes, but you know about the subs,” Gunnar pressed. “What are they made out of? What is that skin? It looks so real. Could it be such a good analog that that is what attracted the sharks? Maybe there’s a compound in there that is pushing the sharks’ aggression centers of their brains.”
“Gunnar, I don’t know,” Mike said.
“There was,” Kinsey laughed.
“How do you mean?” Gunnar asked.
“The two subs that were lost, were they running coke too?” Kinsey asked Mike.
Mike looked at Ballantine briefly before answering. “Uh, yeah, they were. I don’t know if it was the same amount, but it was at least as much as was in mine.”
Gunnar looked at Kinsey then over at Darren then turned and looked back at Mike.
“How’d you get mixed up in all of this, Mike?” Gunnar asked.
Another glance at Ballantine. “Long story,” Mike replied. “We were just pilots. We thought we were testing some secret project. Not running coke. Honestly, I had no idea this would all happen.”
“Shit,” Gunnar said then let out a sad laugh. He glanced at Kinsey. “You don’t actually think…?”
“I don’t know,” Kinsey said as she stepped closer to the monitors.
She studied the gory images for a couple minutes. Every time someone tried to talk, she snapped her fingers and growled. The briefing room remained quiet for a while.
“No fucking way,” Kinsey finally said, laughing and looking at Gunnar. “I’m right.”
“Right?” Ballantine asked. “Fill us in, please.”
“The behavior has no pattern because there isn’t one,” Gunnar said. “It is chaos at its most basic. Except for the obvious pattern of behavior.”
“Dude,” Shane said. “Contradict yourself much?”
“How can there be a pattern and not be a pattern?” Max asked.
“Because they’re fucking high,” Kinsey said, stepping away from the monitors. “I’d know that behavior anywhere. Used to be an apartment of tweakers below me that would just run out into the street and terrorize cars. The fuckers just went nuts. Classic methamphetamine psychosis.”
“This is cocaine, though,” Max replied.
“Oh, right, my bad,” Kinsey laughed. “Then I’m totally wrong. You know, since everyone here is an expert on coked out mega sharks, right?”
“Good point,” Max frowned.
“There is nothing good about this, people,” Gunnar said. “If the sharks attacked the subs, and ruptured the hulls, which we know they have the power to do, then they probably broke open that coke. It mixed with the water and they breathed it through their gills.”
“What the fuck does cocaine do to sharks?” Shane asked.
“That, apparently,” Max said, pointing to the monitors. “They go loco.”
“Say hello to my little fin,” Shane replied in his best Al Pacino as Tony Montoya voice.
“Gold, bro. Solid gold,” Max said. “That was like spot on.” The brothers high fived again.
“Boys?” Thorne asked.
“Yeah, Uncle Vinny?” Max responded.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Right. Sorry,” Shane said.
Ballantine turned his attention to Mike. “And you don’t know where the cocaine came from?”
“No, no,” Mike replied. “Not a clue. All of a sudden we were told we had to move it north or bad things would happen.”
Ballantine took a deep breath. “This twist complicates things. Lord knows what those beasts are capable of while stimulated.”
“Darren?” Lake asked over the com. “You and Ballantine busy?”
“Define busy?” Darren responded.
“We’re about to leave US waters and there are two Mexican patrol vessels steaming towards us on the other side of the boundary. Each has a Panther with rotors active,” Lake replied. “I’d feel better if one or both of you was up here on the bridge with me. The boats are coming in fast.”
“I bet they are,” Ballantine said. He stood up, looked at Thorne, and pointed at Mike. “Get him below. Hide his ass. If any Mexican nationals board the B3, I don’t want them finding him. Are we understood, Commander?”
“Not really, but I’ll make sure he isn’t found,” Thorne said. “I know this boat pretty well.”
“Take him to my lab,” Gunnar said. “We can lock it down tight. No one can get in there if I don’t want them to.”
“What do you mean by you know this boat pretty well?” Kinsey asked her father. “When have you been on the ship?”
“Unlike you, I haven’t been on rehab vacation, Kins,” Thorne said harshly. “I’ve been working all this time since Somalia.”
She watched as her father wheeled Mike out of the briefing room.
“You okay, ‘Sey?” Darren asked, seeing the stricken look on Kinsey’s face.
“Fine,” Kinsey said through gritted teeth. “The asshole just can’t help being…”
“An asshole?” Max finished.
“That’s our uncle, dude,” Shane said, punching him in the shoulder.
“And her dad, dude,” Max replied.
Kinsey gave them a weak smile and walked out of the briefing room.
“Guys? Try to be a little more sensitive, okay?” Darren asked. “She’s been through a lot.”
He exited the room also and Max and Shane were left with Ballantine. The man shook his head and gave the brothers a big grin.
“It can be hard being the one that isn’t batshit insane,” Ballantine said, clapping them on the shoulders as he exited as well.
“Dude, did Ballantine just put us in the non-batshit category with him?” Shane asked.
“Yeah, I think he did,” Max said.
“This place is so fucked.”
“That it is, bro,” Max replied. “Want to get the guns, climb into the crow’s nest, smoke a fatty, and watch it all play out from on high?”
“You know I do,” Shane grinned.
Chapter Four- Conflicts Of Interests
The two Mexican Navy patrol ships flanked the Beowulf III, each taking a side so the “research” vessel was boxed in.
Ballantine could see the impressive figure of Ricardo Espanoza standing on deck of the port side patrol boat, clad in black and dark grey camo fatigues.
“The coke isn’t all that’s going to complicate things,” Darren said from Ballantine’s side. “That guy is Mexican Fuerzas Especiales- Mexican Navy Special Forces. How do we play this?”
“Like always, Captain,” Ballantine smiled big then waved at Espanoza. “Cool. With our fingers on the triggers”
“It would be handy to know where Darby is,” Darren said. “What company business is she handling?”
“Business you don’t need to worry about,” Ballantine said. “So let it go.”
“Fine,” Darren said. “Whatever you say.” He looked over at the other ship. “Are we going to get on with this and do our job? Or is this a game to see who blinks first?”
“It’s always a game of who blinks first, Darren,” Ballantine responded. “That’s what life is. But, to answer your question, we are here to do our job. That job is to kill, or potentially capture, two, maybe three, possibly four, monster sharks. The most expedient way to do that is invite the commander onto the B3. Get everyone on the same page.”
“Fine,” Darren nodded. “I’ll have Lake hail- Wait, a fucking minute!” Ballantine smiled as Darren finally heard what he just said. “Capture? Are you out of your fucking mind? We both know what those fucking things can do sober!”
“You realize you just referred to sharks and sobriety in the same sentence, right Darren?” Ballantine smiled wider. He reached out and gripped Darren’s shoulder. Darren tried to pull away, but Ballantine was having none of that and pulled Darren in closer. “Don’t you just love this job?”
Darren tried to be angry, tried to protest, tried all kinds of emotional indignation, but he just couldn’t. When it came down to it, Darren did love his job.
“Nobody gets killed this time,” Darren said. “We err on the side of caution.”
“Of course,” Ballantine said. “That’s why there’s Team Grendel.”
***
Kinsey watched from the bridge, Gunnar by her side, her father on the other side, as Lake piloted the B3 as close to Espanoza’s ship as possible.
“Anyone else have a bad feeling?” Lake asked.
“I always have a bad feeling,” Thorne said. “That’s why we’re a shoot first kind of Team.”
“Not today,” Lake said. “You shoot first and those patrol ships will open up on us. The B3 will be ripped apart in seconds.”
“Maybe,” Thorne said. “Maybe not.”
“You do see the 76mm on the bow of that ship,
right? How about the M2 turrets?” Kinsey said. “Not impressed? Maybe that 30mm cannon on the stern will change your mind. There’s no maybe not about what those guns can do.”
“If they do fire, they better be lucky,” Thorne replied. “Because this ship won’t go down easily.”
“What do you know that I don’t?” Lake asked, obviously annoyed with Thorne’s attitude.
“Just that I never plan on being on a sinking ship again,” Thorne said. “And I made sure Ballantine knew that.”
Gunnar looked from the commander to the CO and then at Kinsey. “Shouldn’t you guys gear up or something?”
Thorne turned and frowned. “Shouldn’t you be in that fancy lab of yours below deck with your boyfriend?”
“Right,” Gunnar glared. “I probably should. Thanks for reminding me, Commander.”
He gave Kinsey a pissed off frown then turned and left the bridge.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Kinsey snapped.
“Nope, not gonna happen,” Lake said, pointing to the hatchway. “No family drama on the bridge while I pilot between two Mexican naval patrol ships. New rule.”
Kinsey stomped to the hatch and gestured for Thorne to follow. He didn’t budge.
“We’re going to have a chat,” Kinsey said. “Now. Not negotiable.”
Thorne focused on her, his eyes cold and blank. “Fine.”
“Yeah, it’s fucking fine,” Kinsey said as Thorne stepped past her and out into the warm sea air. “Let’s chat.”
Kinsey walked to the aft observation deck and made sure no one was watching then whirled on her father, her fist coming up fast. Thorne took the shot to the jaw and stumbled back a bit. He shook his head, rubbed his jaw, and then smiled.
“This how we’re going to chat?” Thorne asked.
“If it it’ll get through to you, then yeah,” Kinsey said.
“Okay,” Thorne said as he rolled his head on his neck, the sound of vertebrae cracking like gunshots. He put his hands out, fists clenched. “You want to fight then we’ll fight.”