by Rob Sangster
“So after that, you went straight back to Challenger?” He tried to keep disappointment out of his voice.
“I knew you’d want me to take a look at that mutated drill site and that thing you called an ‘Abrams tank on steroids.’ I thought about going there, but I didn’t. I was too eager to get all the life forms to Challenger. But don’t worry. I’m not finished with Barbas. If I had some armed drones, I’d bomb the crap out of that platform. But I do have torpedoes. He’ll find out how badly his platform floats with holes in its pontoons.”
“You’re still underestimating his defenses, Steve. To get the big-time help we need, I have to get back down there and take pictures of the operations located away from the mining site. As I said before, we need to join forces.”
Long pause, then Drake said, “You admit Barbas was your client. You say he isn’t now, but I have to ask myself whether you and I are really on the same side.”
Chapter 31
July 28
1:00 p.m.
San Francisco
DEBRA KNEW THAT Simms had ordered the hammering, drilling, and sawing next door for the sole purpose of screwing up the work day of every lawyer in her firm. Just after noon, she’d gotten an injunction which Simms was ignoring. She’d been trying to grit it out, because no one in the firm had spare time to go back to court for enforcement.
But when the commotion next door drove swarms of agitated cockroaches into the offices, she had to take action. She called the building management firm and told them to send over whoever did pest control on the double.
For the past two hours, her high-priced, overworked lawyers had been racing from office to office spraying drugstore insecticide on excited hordes. At last, her assistant brought in a man in a lime green uniform that identified him as working for Candlestick Pest Control. He was a round man with slicked-down, thinning black hair, and eyes that looked as if they were permanently stinging from noxious spray.
“Pascal’s my name, ma’am,” he said, touching his name tag. “This here”—he gestured over his shoulder at a man in a Home Hardware cap who looked to be in his mid-thirties—“is Richard. They sent him to join me as a trainee. I’ll have to drill into your walls, do some fumigating. It’ll take a while. I’ll tell your people when they have to leave a space.”
The smell grew foul, and she imagined the air full of chemicals she didn’t want to inhale. When she heard Pascal start working in her hallway, she decided to move to Jack’s office, since he had already left for Astoria.
She walked into his office with an armful of file folders—and stopped cold. Richard, the trainee, was already there. He’d taken off his cap, and she saw that he was older than she’d thought, actually pretty old for a trainee. His hair was stylishly layered, he was freshly-shaven, and looked as if he’d had a recent manicure, all a sharp contrast with Pascal. Seeing her, he grabbed his cap and put it back on.
“I can do this space later, lady,” he said in a gruff voice and picked up a leather satchel he’d set on Jack’s desk.
She sensed something about him. “What were you using? I don’t see any equipment.”
“I was checking it out. Then I was going to tell”—he couldn’t come up with Pascal’s name—“the other guy what I needed.”
That’s when she saw the Stanford ring on his right hand. Her first reaction was that he’d bought or stolen it.
“You’re wearing a Stanford class ring. What year did you graduate?”
His answer was quick. “Class of 1995.”
“Who was the football coach that year?”
“Tyrone Willingham. Played in the Liberty Bowl in Memphis. Lost.”
Correct, but maybe he was just a football fan, so she lobbed another question. “Who was Dean of Students?”
“Chris Griffin.”
Okay, the guy had been a Stanford student who was now groomed like a banker. Her intuition was sounding a loud alarm. Whoever he was, he wasn’t an exterminator.
He frowned. “What’s this about, lady?” When she didn’t answer, he didn’t bother to bluff or even feign anger at her distrust. “I see we have a problem I have to take care of,” he said softly.
He didn’t look like he had a weapon on him, but there could be something in his satchel. He looked at the door behind her. She dropped her armful of file folders.
“All right, smart ass,” he said softly, and lunged for her.
She kicked straight ahead into his shinbone. “Argh.” He bent to grab the pain with both hands. She swung back with her elbow to the side of his head. The contact made a sound like punching a watermelon. When his hands came up, she kicked him in the groin—but missed. She’d gotten too much thigh.
Instead of going down, he clawed up with his right hand and grabbed her shoulder. She brought her hand across fast and clamped onto his wrist. His arm was a bar when she drove into it with her left forearm and rammed him downward, with a classic karate takedown she’d practiced a thousand times. As he hit the hardwood floor face-first, she heard the ulna in his forearm snap. He screamed and writhed on the floor like a catfish out of water. She planted her knee on the back of his shoulder, stretched for the phone, and called 911.
His reaction to her questions told her she hadn’t made a mistake, so she wanted to know why he was there. Keeping him pinned down with her foot, she reached for his satchel and opened it. It was a toolkit full of listening devices. Illegal bugs.
As soon as the cops interrogated him and offered him the traditional implicate-the-bigger-fish deal, she felt sure that Richard, or whatever his real name was, would finger Stan Simms. Then bye-bye baby.
Chapter 32
July 28
2:00 p.m.
Astoria
“SHE’S LIKE A peregrine falcon,” Gano said.
“What are you talking about?” Jack asked.
Patting the instrument panel of his Cessna Skylane, Gano said, “This baby is as fast and maneuverable as a peregrine falcon, which she had to be one time in Nicaragua when—”
Jack saw the runway of the Astoria airport coming up fast. “Just concentrate on landing this thing so we can get in to talk with Molly.”
“Don’t blow your top, Jack-o’-lantern. I could play Foggy Mountain Breakdown on the banjo and land her at the same time.”
Thirty minutes later, they’d secured the plane. Jack picked up a rental and headed for town. “You’re sure she’s going through with this?”
“Without a doubt,” Gano said, “First, she didn’t throw away the business card I left for her the night we met in her tavern. Second, she called me the morning after those four hooligans tried to take us out. Wanted me to know the cops said they had no proof it was set up by Barbas, but nothing like that happened before Barbas took over the town. She believes he turned ordinary locals into would-be assassins. Third, after I gave her a step-by-step on the connection between Barbas and the tsunami, she did her own Internet research. She’s one hundred percent on board.”
“So the silver-tongued bayou man wins again.”
“Wasn’t easy. She’s asking two men to do something that will make some others call them traitors. She’ll have them waiting for us in the tavern.”
“Can we trust them?”
“We’re trusting Molly.”
He parked on the side street near the entrance to Molly’s office. When they went in, Molly’s face was tense as she stood behind her desk.
“Hey, Gano. Hi, Jack.” She nodded to them to seat themselves in chairs to her left, nearest the door. The two men sitting in chairs to her right abruptly stopped talking.
“Jack and Gano are the two I told you guys about,” she said. She jerked her thumb at a rangy man wearing a Portland Winterhawks Hockey Club cap and a sleeveless Gold’s Gym T-shirt. At the end of his sinewy arms, both hands were lightly
closed into fists. His narrow face looked mean, like a guy ready to pick a fight with anyone of any size.
“That’s Pete. He’s an electrician. I’ve known him ever since I moved back here.” Then she looked at the other man, seated farther from her. “I don’t know Heinz, but Pete said he should be here.”
Heinz’s face was purplish-red and his eyes were a little rheumy as if he’d stared too often into the sun or a bottle of Captain Morgan rum. About fifty years old, he wore black Levi’s and a long-sleeved black shirt.
“Heinz is captain of Palinouros, one of Barbas’s bulk carriers that transports ore from the platform to the mill.” She sat and looked at Jack, clearly leaving it to him to make the next move.
“Gentlemen, I have a question. Why are you here?” He looked at Pete. “You, sir?”
“Simple. Molly asked me to be here.” The look he gave Molly left no doubt that he had a crush on her. “She looked after her dad when he was dying, and she pours honest drinks. After she told us this shit, sorry Molly, about Barbas maybe killing Astoria with a tidal wave, I’m damn sure ready to hear about putting him out of business. Anyway, she vouched for you two. That’s good enough for me.”
The ship captain crossed his arms and showed no sign of answering Jack’s question. Jack let the silence continue. Finally, the Palinouros captain said, “I took this job on a rusty old piece of crap going back and forth like a goddamn school bus because it was supposed to be a big payday. Well, it’s not enough. When I told Mr. Barbas I wanted a raise, he just waved me out of his office like I was his room steward. Now Molly tells us you say Mr. Barbas might have caused a tsunami. Makes a good story, but maybe you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
No one moved or spoke until Pete said, “Let’s hear what you have to say.”
“Barbas claims his platform exists only to mine valuable minerals and precious metals,” Jack said. “Have either of you seen evidence he’s doing more than that?”
“I’ve taken tons of equipment out there,” Heinz said, “but I don’t know what it’s used for. All I take off is ore.”
“I’m all over that platform doing electrical work,” Pete said. “It’s like a giant machine shop assembling components from crates of parts. Most of that work is done by Russians and Greeks, not locals. When they finish some contraption, a crane swings it over the side and lowers it to the bottom. Most of that gear is for our mining operation, but I’ve heard guys say that some of the stuff could be used for drilling or something else. They know better than to ask questions.”
“Is anything brought up from the bottom besides the ore slurry?”
“Yeah, about a month ago a separate pipe started bringing up something else that’s directed into a red building on the main deck. They put a guard on that building, a Russian with a face like a Kodiak bear. If I get within ten yards, he waves me away with an AA-12 semi-automatic shotgun. Three hundred rounds per minute pointed at me. I don’t like that shit but . . .” He shrugged. “I’ll see him around here some night when he ain’t got that shotgun.”
“Have you seen anything come out of that red building and go ashore?”
Pete thought for a few seconds. “In the last few weeks they’ve been bringing refrigerated containers from the red building and sending them ashore on the helo. Not many, and they’re different from anything else we send on the helo.”
“What do they look like?”
“Maybe four feet long, stainless steel, not all that heavy. All marked Caution: frozen carbon monoxide.”
It took only a second for Jack to make the connection. “Do you remember a brand name?”
“Mostly Thermo King, but some marked Triton.”
Triton was the name he’d seen on the containers next to Building 3 on Ironbound Island. That connected the Chaos Project to Ironbound, with Renatus on both ends of that link.
“The other day,” Heinz continued, “when the deck hands were loading two of the containers into the helo, I saw Barbas get in the face of his science guy—I never remember his name. Barbas kept pointing at the containers and shouting. Since then, I haven’t seen the science guy at all.”
“Have you asked anyone about him?”
“No one asks anyone anything out there. We used to get along there, maybe even better than on shore. Not anymore. A lot of people are fed up with their jobs, but we don’t talk about that openly, because too many of our mates are what we call ‘platform rats.’ They’re so addicted to the money they’d turn on us in a heartbeat. We also have to watch out for the mercenaries who have worked for Barbas all over the world as personal guards. The Greeks and Russians he brought in as technicians and supervisors never speak English, but some of them seem to understand us pretty good. They’re Barbas’s eyes and ears.” He glanced at Heinz as if maybe he was wondering about him. “A few days ago, I had to go to Command Central, a secure room on the 02 level, to repair a switching station. Three Greeks were watching data flash across monitor screens. While I worked, one got up and stood between me and the monitors, like I might give a shit.”
The bits of information seemed disconnected, but they might fit together later on. “Anything else out of the ordinary?”
“One thing I noticed. Getting gold up used to be Barbas’s number one priority. Now, the only time I see him on deck is when they’re lowering some new piece of equipment to the bottom.”
Jack noticed that Heinz kept shifting in his chair, looking around the room, and paying no attention to Pete. Time to change the subject, try to draw him in.
“You men heard that some guys jumped us near Hotel Elliot and got beaten up. Is that a problem for you?”
Pete said, “It’s obvious you two didn’t start that fight, and those boys never did that shit on their own. Someone sent them to get you. I guess we all got an idea who that was. Makes us think maybe you ain’t the greenhorns we took you for right off.”
“But,” Heinz spoke up, “Barbas has an army on his side. You don’t, so why do you think you can make any difference?”
That was the question he’d hoped wouldn’t come up. “When it’s time to make a move on him, we’ll be ready.” Fact was, he hadn’t figured out the answer himself.
“Damned good,” Pete said immediately. “I’m fed up with that whole crowd of foreigners. I’m ready to go back to fixing equipment at the canneries and drinking with men I know I can trust.”
Jack looked at Heinz.
“Yeah.” He straightened. “I don’t have to stand for no man treating me like dirt. I’m a ship’s captain, by God.”
Molly seemed to sense that the meeting had run its course. “Don’t say a word about this meeting. We’d all be in bad trouble if it got back to Barbas.”
“No worries about that,” Pete said. He looked at Jack. “I guess we’re counting on you.” He nodded to Heinz, smiled at Molly, and left.
Heinz was about to follow when a realization hit Jack like the trumpet call at a racetrack. Heinz was the key.
“Captain, will you hang around for a minute?”
Heinz looked surprised, then reluctant, but he turned back.
“I have a question for you,” Jack said. “Can you transport the two of us on Palinouros to the platform and sneak us aboard?”
“Too risky. Too much could go wrong.”
“Nope. Your ship is the only way we can get aboard that platform.”
Heinz walked across the office and picked a book off a shelf, but didn’t look at it. He was probably thinking that Jack and Gano had no chance. And that when they failed, he’d lose his job, or worse. Maybe much worse.
Molly looked at Jack as though he’d lost his mind to suggest he’d sneak aboard the platform. Then she looked longer at Gano. Her concern for the town won out. “Heinz, you can help save Astoria from another tsunami. If anything goes wrong, you can swear you
were forced at gunpoint. And after you get back, you drink at the tavern free for the rest of your life.”
The sour expression on Heinz’s face didn’t change.
“And,” Molly said, “I’ll throw in food and make it the same for your girlfriend.”
“You can accept that,” Jack said, “or I’ll give you $5,000 instead. Which do you want?”
Heinz didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take both.”
They shook on the deal.
“When we get there, how can you get us onto the platform?” Jack asked.
“The platform uses a Frog Personnel Transfer Capsule. It’s a stainless steel frame cage that’s lowered by a crane to our deck. It has canvas side flaps that roll down for protection in foul weather. But it’s dangerous. We’ve had bones broken when the Frog slammed into the platform, and one rookie fell out and drowned.”
“We’ll take our chances.”
“We have to have men to help us,” Gano said quickly, obviously to keep Heinz from changing his mind. “I know a guy who runs one of those so-called security firms. He’ll rent us a few of his pistoleros. I’ll call—”
“No way,” Heinz said sharply. “I have the same crew every trip. If a bunch of new faces show up, the crew will know something’s wrong. There’s a lot of gold on that platform, so everyone’s uptight about strangers. I can hide you two, but not a gang of outsiders.” His face was set. He wasn’t going to be moved.
“But we need more firepower,” Gano said.
“You’re never going to have enough firepower to take over that platform,” Heinz said.
Jack watched Gano’s face as he thought about Heinz’s refusal of outside guns. Gano put a lot of faith in weapons, so he might push the point. On the other hand, he knew how to listen to the merits of what another man said. He could see it was time to back off and fight another day.
Heinz went on. “I don’t want leaks, so I won’t say a word about this to my crew until we’re out at sea.” He frowned and pulled a small notebook from a pocket of his jacket and scanned a couple of pages. “There’s another problem. You’re in a big rush, but Palinouros isn’t scheduled to sail until three days from now. Once in a while they get overloaded with ore and call us to come out immediately, but I can’t predict that.”