by Rob Sangster
Buck ran his checklist, took off like a pro, and powered the Bonanza up to cruising altitude. Almost immediately after leveling off, it dropped like it was in free-fall.
Jack was thrown hard up against his seat belt. “Son of a bitch.” Then it was over.
Gano looked at Jack. “Easy, compadre. Just a little hole in the sky. Your basic air pocket. You okay?”
“Fine. Surprised me, that’s all.”
Like hell he was fine. Clammy sweat. Heart beating like a snare drum. He knew if he held his hands out in front of him they’d shake like an alcoholic’s. Every system in his body was shot to hell. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
Gano gave him a speculative look. “What you’re feeling is coming from what happened on that platform. You understand that, right?”
Jack swallowed hard. “That’s behind me.”
“Yeah, in about fifty years. What went down out there was rough, even for me. People screaming, scared shitless, blood running through the scuppers. If things had gone a little different, we’d have been dinner for seagulls. With you marching to the beat of the Dalai Lama, of course it got to you.”
Jack had tried to ignore what he was feeling right now and then tried to explain it away. Neither worked. He couldn’t stop picturing dead people sprawled out on the platform. But it went deeper than that. He’d made decisions on Chaos that meant life or death for hundreds of human beings. He’d never been accountable for the lives of so many others up close. Part of him couldn’t believe he’d done it. Part of him understood he couldn’t have done otherwise. And he knew he was a better man for it. Then he noticed Gano waiting for his response.
“It gets to me because I was responsible for a lot of what happened.”
“Other than you’re a guilt-sucking liberal, how do you figure that?”
“It was my decision to attack Chaos. I knew you and Drake wouldn’t go if I refused to allow weapons. I had no chance against Barbas without you, so when Drake started handing out handguns and RPGs, I let it pass. That meant there would be blood for sure.”
“Sounds like we’re singing from the same hymnbook, so to speak?”
“I think violence comes to you more naturally.”
“Pretty damn pious, my friend.” All at once, Gano’s voice wasn’t friendly at all. “I didn’t pop out of the womb wearing six-guns, but I got into a line of work where I had to defend myself. Always did as little damage as I could. But one night on the outskirts of Guanajuato, a drunk got after the woman who was with me pretty hard. I backed him off a couple of times, but he kept coming on. It got ugly. He started to pull a Saturday night special, cheap .25 junk gun. I got my Glock out much faster. Had him cold, but I took it easy on him. Just whacked him alongside his head with the barrel. Knocked him on his ass. I was trying to grab him when he started shooting. Hit my woman twice. Killed her. I swore never to let that happen again.”
“I’m sorry, Gano.” His friend had just peeled off another layer.
“I’m saying that facts on the ground can scramble your values,” Gano said. “That’s what happened to you.” He wasn’t gloating, just stating what was obvious to him. “As long as you wear the cloak of Mr. Fix-It-Man—which, by the way, is who you are—you can’t avoid conflict.” He scooted in his seat to face Jack more directly. “What I’m about to say may sound like I’m your big brother—yes, I’m thirty-nine, two years older than you. When your friend at Greenpeace called, you stepped up. You took on Barbas and the U.S. Air Force when the odds against you were off the books. You had the guts to go down to the bottom of the ocean in a tin can, something I could never do. You swung some good punches in Astoria and didn’t back down when we were on Ironbound and Renatus’s robot had us in its sights. We couldn’t be more different, but I respect you more than any man I’ve ever known. And if that means I’m the one who has to pull a trigger now and then, I’ll be there.”
“Thanks, man, and I have one piece of advice for you: If you’d learn to be a better marksman, you wouldn’t have to fire so many shots.”
Gano grinned. “Let me ask you this, Chief Eagle Scout. Shouldn’t you whistle up a passel of media types and tell ’em about the monster in the deep and where these big ol’ waves came from?”
“No. If I did that, two things could happen. Based on the little hard evidence I have now, they’d ask if I’d also found Moby Dick while I was out there. Or they’d listen to my story, not give a damn whether it was true, and fire off headlines that would panic a few million people. Either way, my credibility would be shot when I am ready to go public. Deep-water drilling companies can get into action fast, but not overnight. Before one of them can set off the next tsunami, I have a little time to line up proof and get some heavy hitters on my side. After that, I’ll bring in the media.”
“Heavy hitters like who?”
“Credible scientists with relevant specialties.”
“And exactly how will you make them into ‘true believers’?”
“The quakes and tsunamis are facts. I have to make the case that Barbas’s drilling was a scientifically plausible cause. To do that, I plan to use Renatus as a secret weapon.”
“You going to blow his cover?”
“Nope. All the data went up in flames, but he has a mass of information in his head that he can feed me. Even if the scientists aren’t 100 percent convinced, they can attest to the probability. If we get that treaty ratified, someone will have to enforce compliance with it. So I’ll have a couple of jut-jawed admirals standing nearby to talk about national security, their new mission, and the need for some new weapons. They’ll love it.”
“Shouldn’t the folks who live on the coasts be warned against this new threat?”
“Of course, but in ways that don’t freak them out or crash property values. So can you think of an organization that would want the chance to protect millions of Americans living on the coast?”
Gano grinned. “I’ll bet the Boy Scouts would jump at it.”
“Maybe, but I’ll give Homeland Security first crack. They’ll produce a swarm of upgraded warning systems, new construction projects, training programs; there’s no end to it. I hope a breakthrough makes the energy from methane hydrate accessible, but right now, my highest priority is getting that treaty ratified in time to prevent a disaster.
“I’m impressed. You’ve really thought this through.”
“My thinking is only about sixty seconds ahead of my mouth. This will be a lot harder than I just made it sound. Whatever politician leads the charge, the opposition party will start throwing up roadblocks. Multinationals will do everything they can to defeat any drilling regulation. But we can make this happen. We have to.”
“I’ve always got your back, but right now you’ve worn me out,” Gano said. He leaned back and closed his eyes. That was fine with Jack. He didn’t want to talk anymore, but he couldn’t shut out one thought he’d suppressed for the last three hours. The captain of Nikita Maru had ordered the attack on Aleutian, forcing it to flee into the path of the methane burp that sucked it, and Katie, under. Watching Nikita Maru escape around a bend in the inlet had squeezed his heart. If he’d had a gun he knew he would have taken a shot at that captain. And he wouldn’t have missed.
As they got close to Sitka, Buck looked back over his shoulder and said, “Glad we made it. Didn’t want to mention it earlier, but leaving sudden like we did, I cut it a little close on gas. If we’d hit a headwind, we’d have been in trouble. Now I think we’re okay—barely.”
He contacted the Sitka Rocky Gutierrez Airport for landing instructions.
“Instructions? Are you shitting me?” the tower operator said. “That damned tsunami left the runway waist deep in trash. Nobody can land here. Our power has been cutting on and off for—”
Sitka tower was dead air.
Chapter 46
July 31
9:00 p.m.
Sitka, Alaska
“HEY, BUCK, SEEING the airport is out of commission and your Bonanza is running on fumes, where do you stash your life jackets?” Gano’s tone was nonchalant.
Jack looked out the window at Sitka below. In the dark, it was hard to make out the extent of the damage, but the waterfront and large patches stretching inland were without lights, not even headlights. Very bad sign. He glanced west at the black, forbidding Gulf of Alaska and felt an autonomic shudder at the thought of being back in the water, assuming they survived a crash landing at sea.
“For God’s sake,” Buck said. “We don’t need life jackets. I’ll just drop in on my friend Peter Pilafian. He’s got a private strip in a ravine around the corner of that bluff up ahead. He usually shoots at trespassers, but he might be more open-minded tonight.” His hands seemed steady on the controls, eyes squinting but alert.
A few minutes later, he turned into the ravine. “He don’t monitor nothing, so no way to check in.” He shed altitude fast and centered on the grass strip lined with small planes and several Army helicopters. “Damn if that ain’t the biggest crowd I ever seen here. Guess Peter ain’t shooting at anyone tonight.” He cackled.
He landed soft, backed off hard, and taxied to the only remaining space to park. As they walked along the strip past an Army helo, Gano flipped a casual salute at a group of enlisted men in camouflage fatigues. “You boys part of an invasion?”
“Naw, we’re a ferry service for the FEMA advance team,” answered a red-faced corporal.
“Those guys over there flew in from Juneau bringing senator somebody.” He turned back to his squad’s bull session.
When they got to the end of the strip, Buck said, “Ain’t nothing for me in town. I’ll just drop in on ol’ Peter, see how he’s been keeping. You look me up when you want to head back.”
Jack hitched a ride in a Jeep FEMA had hired as a shuttle to town. On the ride in, the Jeep driver told them the entire low-lying part of Sitka was so badly damaged it had been cordoned off and was being patrolled by National Guard troops. The rank stench of sewage from ruptured lines was powerful, and Jack saw flames far beyond the ability of the local fire department to fight. He asked the driver about Senator Susan Fisher and learned she’d finished touring the damage. She was at the Sitka Pioneer Home, now an assisted living residence, meeting with constituents who needed immediate help. He asked to be dropped there.
They jumped out of the Jeep as it slowed in front of a V-shaped, four-story building, white with a red roof. Only the center section of the first floor was lighted.
A human chain extended out the door, past the flagpole, and across the lawn. Some in line looked as though they’d been working on fire-fighting or salvage crews. Most were stone-faced, a few sobbed, some dragged a backpack or duffel bag behind them as they inched forward.
Jack walked straight to a card table placed outside the front door and introduced himself to a burly man who looked like a lumberjack. “I’ve just flown hundreds of miles to meet with Senator Fisher. I’m sure she’s busy, but—”
“Please get in line. Drinking water is provided every thirty minutes.” He looked behind Jack. “Next.”
Jack knew there was no point in yelling at him. He’d been hearing that for hours. He looked at the line. Way too long. It was getting late, and Senator Fisher had to get back on the helo to return to Washington. Not seeing her was not an option, so he’d have to reach her through someone else. There must be staffers around. He leaned across the table and spoke quietly, close to the guard’s face.
“I must see Senator Fisher.”
“Like I said before, go to the end of the line.”
“This can’t wait, so I’m going to tell this crowd that another tsunami could hit here and that the senator could prevent it but has refused. You think that’s what she wants?”
“Are you nuts? These people are ready to riot as it is. I’ll get the cops.”
“They’ll be too late. I’m going to do it right now unless . . .”
“Unless what?”
“Unless she sends a senior staff person to meet me inside this door. And if I see a cop coming, I’ll start yelling.”
The guard wiped his forehead. “Like I don’t already have enough trouble. This is an old folks’ home, so I also got a few dozen cranky, hungry residents doing wheelies up and down the halls. Now you just wait here.” He stepped inside.
When he came back, his face was flushed. Still standing, he pointed a finger at Jack. “You are making a big mistake, mister. Rather than let you say nasty things about the senator, or start an uprising, they’re sending a guy to hear your BS. I guarantee he’s going to be one pissed-off dude. I’ll signal you when he gets here. Wait on that bench on the other side of the yard where I can see you.”
When they got to the concrete bench in a far corner of the spacious lawn, he sat at one end, Gano at the other, mute acknowledgement that each needed time to process all this.
He stared back across the lawn at the people in line, every one of them hurting. All he could think of was loss. Much of Sitka had been wiped out. A lot of Astoria townies had died. Survivors had lost friends and jobs.
The line across the lawn grew longer, and there was no signal from the guard, so Gano left to find food.
Jack was half-watching when an elderly woman in line slumped to the ground. An old man next to her dropped his cane, fell to his knees, and lifted her head. Someone handed him a canteen. After a few sips from it, she struggled up and hung on his arm, looking determined to endure until she reached the senator.
That tiny event somehow reminded him that he, too, had to keep fighting, or his law firm would collapse as surely as the platform had. It would lose momentum and its best young lawyers. It would fall from special to ordinary or worse. The Armstrong fee could make a difference at some point, but only if the firm was still in existence.
For the next quarter hour, as if using mental Lego bricks, he built a plan, shaky and ambitious, that depended on two things: speed, and a man he’d never met, Alex Georgiou.
The bars on his cell told him the tsunami hadn’t killed service. It only took a few seconds to get the number of Odyssey Properties, Barbas’s holding company in Athens. Georgiou was Barbas’s second-in-command. Since the time difference between Alaska and Greece was eleven or twelve hours, he might catch Georgiou in the office. He entered the number.
After two transfers, he was connected to Georgiou’s secretary. In response to his request she answered, “Mr. Georgiou is in a meeting.”
“Please tell him Jack Strider is calling with information on a crisis at his mineral mining operation in the northeast Pacific.”
Georgiou came on the line very quickly. “What is it?” His brusque tone couldn’t disguise the need to know that forced him to take the call.
Jack didn’t take the bait. “I’m sure you know who I am and that my law firm was fired by Petros Barbas. Yesterday, I was with him on your platform.”
“I’m very busy, Mr. Strider. You said you have information about our platform . . .” Georgiou managed to sound like Jack had offered to sell him a used toothbrush.
“When was the last time you spoke with Barbas?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“And you haven’t been able to reach anyone since then because late yesterday your platform turned into an inferno and collapsed. Everything on it was destroyed.” He spoke slowly, leaving space between sentences. “All the valuable minerals were dumped back to the bottom. The high-tech equipment on the seabed was ruined. There is nothing to salvage. Your multi-billion dollar project is finished.”
Take that, you SOB. Jack pictured Georgiou in a plush office, stunned into silence, caught between disbelief and despair.
“When word of this get
s out to the public,” Jack said, “which I promise you it will, lenders will demand repayment of loans. Your credit will be shot. Odyssey Properties will be on the fast track to oblivion.” He heard Georgiou mumbling under his breath.
Finally, Georgiou said, “Even if what you said is true, which I doubt, our friends in the big banks would stand by us.”
“Hard to believe you just used ‘friends’ and ‘big banks’ in the same sentence. I don’t have time for your bullshit. Dozens of your employees on the platform were killed. Class action lawyers will be on you like piranhas. Plus, there’s your liability for the damage Barbas did to the towns of Astoria, Sitka, and—look, this is pointless. I’m going to make you an offer. Then you will accept my offer. It’s that simple.”
“I will do nothing until I talk with Mr. Barbas.” His voice was tight. “How can I reach him?”
That was the question he’d been waiting for. Time to deliver the coup de grase. “Barbas was incinerated. If anything was left of him, it’s feeding the sharks.” He made it gross to shock Georgiou even more.
Gano, who had returned and was devouring a fat sandwich, had been listening closely. He pumped a clenched fist up and down in support.
Jack went into his pitch. He laid out what he wanted, careful to use general terms. Then he stated what he would give in return. He listened to Georgiou’s ill-tempered response for almost a full minute and said, “You are hallucinating. Odyssey Properties will never get back into the mineral mining business. Your creditors will freeze your assets down to the paper clips. My offer is good for one hour.” He listened to Georgiou’s reply and clicked off.
“Wow!” Gano said. “You kicked his ass.”
“Not really.” He swallowed hard. “After my tirade, he turned me down and hung up.”
“From your tone, I thought you had him by the short hairs.”
“That’s what I wanted him to feel, but those guys have been riding the crest so long he didn’t spook.”