The Stranded Ones

by Jay B. Gaskill

  He knew that within the hour Robertson would rejoin Gael in Australia…the bearer of unpleasant news. This won’t be easy for Jay, Falstaff thought as he stared at the screen. But it would be impossible for me…

  Five hours later, after allowing time for Jay to land in Australia and be debriefed, the moment had arrived. Jack was seated in the Sparrow’s forward observation deck. The enlarged image of a very angry Finnegan Gael glared back from a screen. Finnegan was looking directly into the camera, his eyes fierce. “Jay Robertson has just told me that Torque is in league with a second group of very dangerous aliens. You hinted at that. But you never warned me that they are planning to kill us all! Jay also says that you consider Ruth expendable at this point. That I need to be prepared to evacuate the Lake Disappointment facility on three hours’ notice. And that you have run off with all of the shuttles…” Gale paused, fuming, unable to speak. “Jay has just threatened that he will resign if I even talk to Torque about Ruth’s release. He says that only you can deal with Torque, that I’m too ‘close’ to the situation. Did you put him up to that? What the hell is going on?” Finnegan’s tone was even, but sharp as glass over a flame.

  “Did I put him up to that? Of course.”

  “Because you refused to even talk to Torque!”

  “No. I talked to the little bastard, Finnegan. I just turned him down.”

  “How the hell could you just turn them down without regard to Ruth? Without consulting me? Without thinking about the consequences?”

  “Finnegan, I am helping. Turn them down? They want to dismantle GFE, kill the Little Ones, and eventually take over the earth, reducing the human population to the size of a small zoo.”

  “Of course, I would never agree to that. Why didn’t you clue me in earlier, Jack? Am I some child?”

  “Of course not. Nor am I, my friend. You and I just have different operating styles.”

  “God damn it, Jack…Nothing…” Gael’s voice was choked. “…Nothing better happen to Ruth.”

  “You know I care for Ruth like my own sister,” Falstaff snapped. “And I feel worse than you can ever imagine for letting this situation develop as badly as it did. By God I’m doing everything I can to help.”

  “Just what is that?”

  “Finnegan, I have extracted the truth from that traitorous pilot, Dixon. Now there is at least some hope of rescue.”

  “Dixon? Dixon? Is that why you ran off? You kidnapped Dixon?”

  “I did not ‘run off.’ But yes, I detained Dixon. He was our prisoner from the beginning. As it worked out, we needed to interrogate Dixon with some illegal psychotropic drugs. It was…convenient to leave town.”

  “My God, Jack. You just took the man prisoner on you own?”

  “It was important to do the interrogation outside national boundaries. So I chose to take him here.”

  “WHAT? A kidnapping in orbit? My God, there are rules…”

  “Finnegan, my old friend, you suffer from an excess of virtue…paralytic decency…which is why I respect you.”

  Gael took a deep breath. “Tell me about this rescue plan.”

  “Yes. Let’s do concentrate on the rescue. An alien got through to Donald Wu somehow from Ruth’s location. This alien informant was seeking to save its own miserable skin apparently. At my direction, Donald flew to join me at GFE Australia, bringing Dixon with him. We conferred about everything, including this alien tip; then I asked Donald to stand by for further orders.

  “So we know Ruth’s location?”

  “Unfortunately, our alien tipster is geographically challenged. But under interrogation, Dixon has corroborated and narrowed the location information Donald received from the creature. I’ve just called the Citisle with the new intel we extracted from Dixon. Donald and I both agree that the new information is specific enough to mount a rescue. Robertson has been a long time in the field and you’re going to need him close at hand, especially if you must evacuate GFE. So Donald and I have recruited both McCahan and Springer to lead the rescue team.”

  “But you don’t have her exact location?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Good God, Jack, Torque’s people won’t tolerate any attempted rescue. What if we haven’t plugged the leak? What if Dixon has allies inside GFE? They may well kill her before we can find her.”

  “I realize that, Finnegan. But think it through. They really can’t afford to keep her alive under any circumstances, because she knows too much. So it is only a matter of timing, my friend. It is a question of when they will kill Ruth, not whether. We must go for it, knowing she might already be dead.”

  “That’s cold.”

  “It is cold, but these aren’t warm and fuzzy blokes we’ve been dealin’ with. Mark this, Finnegan: if they so much as harm her fingernail, I will make them pay a price so steep it will be called a war crime. I suppose that is cold, too?”

  Finnegan smiled grimly. “How long are you going to stay up there with two of our ships?”

  “As you and I agreed, I’m responsible for all the shuttles, including the Kiwi. I thought these two would be safer here, in orbit. Were I you, I’d get the Snark launch-ready, in case you need to evacuate.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Good. In any case, I am sending the Kiwi back down under autopilot. You may need a spare.”

  Gael’s expression softened. “Obviously, you think you’re helping…”

  “Thank you for noticing.”

  “Jack, this whole thing was a colossal screw up.”

  “Yes, hindsight is a wonderful teacher, my old friend.” Jack untethered himself from his seat and began floating near the observation window. “We both knew that the meeting in Quebec itself was risky. And we both overrode Jay’s warnings.” The camera followed him, profiled against the crescent earth. “There it is…” Jack said, pointing out the window, “…my own ‘cock up.’” Gael squinted at the image of a distant human form, a miniature frozen doll twisting slowly against the stars, barely visible.

  “My God, Jack, what’s that?”

  Jack turned back to face Finnegan. “The question should be, ‘Who was that?’ A hindsight corpse, as it were, a frozen monument to Murphy’s Law. Things rarely work out perfectly, my friend. Hmmm. I thought his body would have drifted farther by now. Well, no matter…Eventually, the orbit will degrade and it will burn up.”

  Finnegan’s ruddy face turned pale. “My God, is that Dixon?”

  “It was Dixon. He died under the stress of our interrogation probably because his employers had inserted a fatal drug antagonist.”

  “But you killed him.”

  “Yes and no. Defender and I conducted a further, searching interrogation up here. Sadly, Joe Dixon died under the stress.”

  “Defender? Who is that?”

  “Jay Robertson should be with you by now. He can brief you about everything I‘ve forgotten. Finnegan, I can accept my responsibility for what happened to Dixon. But don’t you dare forget this man’s treachery. Dixon lied to us, worked against us, and helped Torque to kill Liz Hoopes and two employees at Toad Hall; as a result they destroyed Toad Hall itself, and ultimately kidnapped Ruth. They still hold her hostage because of Dixon’s treachery. Nothing about that man’s questioning would have killed a normal, healthy adult. His employers had simply made sure that he would die during the process. They inserted an implant to ensure that he wouldn’t talk.”

  “You found the implant?”

  “Post-mortem, yes. It was a good one. Once the psychotropics we used reached a set level in his bloodstream, the implant released a general paralytic. Fortunately, Dixon told me just enough before he died.” There was along silence while Finnegan tried to catch up. “There are always risks,” Jack added softly. He reached out and reattached the tether to his belt, and began reeling himself back to his original seat.

  “I know a bit about risk, Jack.”

  “Good. We must continue to take them, given the goal.”

  “For a
rescue that may not work…”

  “Yes. Finnegan, I know damn well that it may not work.” Jack stared at the screen, studying his partner’s face. “But I’d not get your knickers all in a knot about an accidental death of a spy while attempting to find out where they’ve taken Ruth.”

  “What can we tell the…” Finnegan let the question trail away.

  “The police? They will never ask. So what if they did? Tell the truth. Dixon was last seen with me. Everything else is speculation and hearsay. You are protected. Your friends are protected.”

  “I just care about saving Ruth.”

  “Yes. Stay focused on saving Ruth.”

  “I am.”

  “Good. Finnegan, you know what’s going on, don’t you?” Jack didn’t expect an answer to his question. “All they want from you is surrender - then they will kill Ruth anyway.”

  There was a painful pause. “Just get her back,” Gael said.

  Antigua

  Ruth and Sandy were still unaware of their exact location, a small villa on the island of Antigua, when Sandy interrupted Ruth’s reverie: “Keen is coming to kill you.”

  The comment, coming from behind, startled Ruth Rosenbaum. Having been given more freedom of movement in the compound, she was standing next to a palm tree in the interior garden the late afternoon when the alien’s unexpected information sent a deep chill through her body.

  “Sandy?” She turned uncertainly, squinting as the low sun lanced across the courtyard. The alien was parked in the shade along the walkway that led to the kitchen area. “What did you just say?”

  “Ruth Rosenbaum, Keen claims that GFE absolutely refuses to make any concessions for your release.” Ruth suddenly felt weak in her knees. “But we knew that already, didn’t we?”

  “What happens now?” Ruth was feeling sick.

  “They will have you killed right away…just as soon as Keen arrives.”

  “Dear God. I’ve got to get out of here. How long do I have?”

  “I was finally able to reach someone in GFE named Wu. I gave him our approximate location. I am sorry but I really have little understanding of terrestrial geography. And I have no idea if it is being acted on. I have no idea if he trusted my information, such as it was. Exactly where on this ‘backwater planet’ are we right now? No one tells me anything useful these days!”

  “How long, Sandy?”

  “You have a few hours? A day? Who knows?”

  A bird chirped in a nearby tree. The scent of flowers was borne on a soft breeze. A bee buzzed by the fountain.

  “Tell me everything you do know about where we are, Sandy.”

  “We are on a tiny island somewhere near Antigua. That is in the Atlantic Ocean, I think. I have no address. As you know, I do not drive. Your days are numbered, I think the expression goes.”

  “Damn your expressions.”

  In the Atlantic, one day later

  The Citisle was moored near Florida’s west coast. Donald Wu, McCahan, Springer, and Samantha Delaney sat at the conference table of Robertson’s old office. The mood was black.

  Donald spread his thick hands on the table like fans. “Finnegan and Jack have had a falling out, but Jack says “Go” and that is all I need. An alien of the second group, the so-called Advisors or Others, claims to have changed sides. Based on that, Jack is certain that Ruth Rosenbaum is being detained somewhere in the Leeward Island group,” Wu said. “Until the Dixon interrogation, there was no way to get any corroboration for this alien tip. Now we have that, and we know to start in Antigua.”

  “Well?” Springer said, pausing. “That is not an address. Where in the bloody hell is she?”

  “Hey,” Wu said. “We’ve narrowed it down to one small island in the Pacific. That’s a good start. There will be a trail. There always is.”

  “Gentlemen,” Sam said. “You’re never going to find out sitting here.”

  Gathering the forces

  At an altitude of 120,000 feet, the sun had risen over the shallow curve of the earth as the Lockheed Chrysalis slowed to begin its descent sequence. McCahan squirmed in his seat as he felt the change. Hugh felt Samantha’s hand touch his. He turned. She was looking out the side port at the Atlantic, a living map in blue and white. “There,” she said, pointing. “Old Jamaica, Haiti, Cuba.”

  Sam had agreed to join McCahan and Springer for the set-up phase of the planned rescue. Wu had readily agreed. The whole FGE organization was still roiling with mistrust and suspicion. Trust was at an absolute premium. Hugh leaned as far as the restraints would allow, savoring the scent of Sam’s hair. “For a real challenge,” he said, “see if you can find the Leeward Islands.”

  “Easy,” she said. “Somewhere under all that cloud cover.”

  “Right,” Hugh said, sinking back into his seat.

  “We’ll have to do better than that!” Springer growled from the seat behind them.

  “Don’t you trust your sources, Lew?” Sam asked.

  Time was critical. The three realized that Torque could have Ruth moved or killed at any moment now that Falstaff had overruled Gael about negotiations. After quick research, Hugh concluded that Antigua had been a logical place from Torque’s point of view, because local officials were already in his pocket and the place was out of the mainstream. Using Springer’s connections, some advance work had been done and several small villas were identified. Ruth was surely held captive on one of them.

  “Trust my sources?” Springer growled from behind. “Fully. But they’re only ninety sodding percent certain themselves.”

  One villa. Ninety percent. As good as can be hoped, Hugh mused. They would land at the staging area at a secure location near a San Juan, Puerto Rico airport, within an hour’s flight of the target. There, Sam would set up a com center to monitor success or failure.

  The Antigua landing

  Sam separated immediately on landing in San Juan, heading by car to set up the monitoring system in the safe house there while McCahan and Springer remained supervising the transfer of their special cargo. They had left two hours later, after grabbing snacks and giving their new pilot an opportunity to inspect their chosen aircraft, a modified FedEx carrier. Forty minutes later, their jet rapidly shed altitude, falling from a star-shot night into coastal clouds. Its hold carried Donald Wu’s SkyDragon, supported by three removable floats.

  “Hostile traffic!” The voice belonged to their thirty-something ex-Royal Canadian Air Force pilot, Captain Windling, a woman that Lew Springer had vouched for absolutely. Springer pointed with his huge, blunt forefinger to a pair of jets as they streaked by outside the window barely visible in the night. “Looks like our destination is off limits,” Captain Windling added.

  “The bloody hell,” Springer said.

  “Okay, people,” Hugh intoned. “No time to negotiate. Time for plan two.”

  “On it,” Windling replied as she angled the jet away from the coast, shedding speed and still more altitude.

  “It’s time for that sinister canister, Lew,” Hugh said. Springer moved his massive frame over the tiny seat and crouched in the luggage area. There, a detonator switch had been wired through a hole in the fuselage to a small cylinder that was spot-welded to the left wing. “Now!” Hugh shouted.

  Suddenly, the left wing of the jet gouted thick black smoke, while Windling deftly brought the plane down to within twenty meters of the water. She then slowly brought the jet back into a course that would graze the southern tip of the island in about four minutes at their present speed. Shore lights twinkled and vanished through the gathering fog.

  “Sir,” Windling said, “they’re actually trying to target us.”

  “Ready the raft and weapons pack. I’ll untie the SkyDragon.” Hugh was shouting at Springer. “Captain, it’s time to take her down. Let’s see how close to shore we can ditch. This may be a blessing in disguise.”

  “Bloody good disguise,” Lew grumbled. He was struggling with the emergency harness assembly at the back of the p
assenger compartment while Captain Windling cut speed, taking the plane ever closer to the ghostly whitecaps. Hugh had entered the cargo hold and was untying Wu’s SkyDragon. The jet was dramatically shedding speed. Hugh set the cargo door to blow on impact. In theory, the plane would eject their cargo at the same time that its passengers climbed into the raft. He joined the rest just as the jet’s flaps lowered and the plane was holding precariously just before its stall point. The lights from St. John’s brightened on the horizon and the two hostile jets swooped overhead, too close to civilian traffic to use their missiles.

  “Windling!” Springer shouted. “You ever drive a MitsubiKraft SkyDragon?” Captain Windling, having activated the ditch program, was already making her way to the passenger area. She shook her head. “Well I have arranged a test drive today, assuming we don’t break it.”

  “We’ll make it out of the plane alive. Whether you can swim is the question of the day…” Windling had heard about Springer’s legendary hatred of deep water. She grinned wickedly.

  “Hugh, we do have a boat, don’t we?” Springer bellowed.

  “Stop jabbering, you two, we have to dunk!” Hugh shouted.

  “Captain, after we make it through this,” Springer said, “I’ll see that GFE buys you one of your very own.” Windling grinned again. In two minutes, all three were dressed in reinforced wet suits and helmets and strapped together, their backs pressed against the bulkhead that separated the passenger and cargo areas.

  On command, the engines flamed out, and stalled. A parachute deployed behind it as the jet coasted, drifting the remaining few meters to the dark, choppy water with a rapidly declining speed. Springer braced his feet against the cargo bulkhead and gripped both McCahan and Windling by the arms on either side of him, waiting for the impact when the lower fuselage hit the water.