"Hmm…okay. That my ride?"
Roos referred to a white and gold Bell LongRanger helicopter in front of the hangar.
Hobbs nodded.
Roos walked toward the chopper. The two aliens and Hobbs followed. Roos stopped. He wagged his finger first at Hobbs then the two Witiko. He spoke in a voice that sounded one part friendly, one part friendly warning.
"I’m in charge down here, just so there’s no misunderstandings, see?" He focused on the Witiko. "Besides, you guys do things too subtle-like. Yes you do."
The Witiko glanced at one another. Roos started toward the chopper again, still talking. The Witiko hovered behind, unsure what to do.
"I’m gunna show you my idea of subtle. Yessir."
Roos held one finger up and moved it in a circle.
"Okay now, let’s get this whirlybird in the air, we got work to do."
The sun set over Miami.
---
Gordon finished the top button on a blue silk shirt, thought better, and unclasped it again in deference to June in Miami; despite nightfall the heat showed no sign of abating.
He found a snub-nose .38 revolver in the top drawer of a white oak dresser, thumbed open the chamber, confirmed a round in every hole, and flipped it into place again with a flick of his wrist. The .38 slipped nicely into a small holder at the base of his back.
Gordon stroked his mustache and checked for gray. Nothing but black there.
Satisfied with his appearance, Gordon walked from his master bedroom to the wide and bright white living room. Along the way he wrapped two knuckles on the guest room door.
On the other side of that door Nina finished preparations of her own. As Gordon had suggested, she stowed her combat fatigues to better blend with the night crowd on South Beach. So she traded her combat gear for a basic white sun dress with spaghetti straps.
Nina placed one short-heeled shoe on the bed, grabbed a .380 automatic from atop the mattress, pulled the dress high on her leg revealing a thigh band holster, and eased the pistol into place…
…Gordon’s black BMW 540i sedan made its way through Coral Gables and turned north on Route 1. Nina fidgeted pensively in the passenger’s seat as Gordon pushed hard on the gas pedal, rocketing along the boulevard, switching and swerving between lanes as if purposely adding to her discomfort.
Scattered lights bounced off the windshield, mainly from isolated street lamps, some burning electricity, others from oil. Periodic splashes of pink, yellow, or blue came from neon lights outside trading posts and gathering spots. Of all the cities reborn after Armageddon, Miami felt the most unchanged yet it still seemed strange to her. Yes, mainly empty streets but pockets bursting with color and energy. She wondered, would the old Miami have been even more alien to her?
Prior to the end-of-the-world, the gold coast hosted an eclectic collection of ethnic groups, religions, traditions, and races. The invading aliens turned Miami into a fortress city, in which all those different groups came together for the common defense, joined in that defense by boatloads of Cuban refugees as well as a sizable portion of the Cuban coast guard. The sheer determination of the city’s well-armed residents held the invaders at bay for years until The Empire relieved the pressure.
The gallant fighters of Miami not only embraced The Empire with open arms, they turned their city into one of the largest and most productive in the nation.
Much to her chagrin, Miami also had the distinction of being one of the few metropolitan areas with lots of traffic, a fact emphasized as Gordon swerved along Route 1 at a rapid clip. Not nearly at pre-war levels, of course, but after all the emptiness she had seen around the country, it seemed surreal to pass seven cars in a row.
Truth was, Nina did not like sitting in a car's passenger seat. She could jump out of airplanes, ride in choppers, and fight monsters yet Nina Forest never felt comfortable in a ground vehicle, at least not as a passenger.
The 540i left behind Coral Gables and headed toward Miami proper. As had been the case before Armageddon, the Miami skyline glowed with color; its remaining skyscrapers shined like beacons of steel and light but instead of calling out to tourists and immigrants those lights called out in defiance. This city would not only survive; it refused to lose its identity. But the reminders of battles fought remained.
Nina spied the remains of what a partly shattered sign identified as the "American Airlines Center". While palm trees still lined the sidewalk in front of the modern arena, the circular structure had been torn in two, the front half peeled away like a child’s doll house. The debris from whatever calamity had shredded the facility had long since been hauled away, but squatters lived inside, probably figuring half a house better than none.
Gordon navigated the sedan through a concrete maze of ramps and merges, leaving behind the mainland and rocketing out across Biscayne Bay via the MacArthur Causeway. The lights from downtown shimmied off the water revealing silhouettes of cigarette boats, yachts, and military patrol craft cruising the calm seas.
The causeway ran parallel to the Port of Miami. Most of the port glowed with activity as ships both large and small either arrived from points north or departed from the port to trace the inter-coastal waterway up and down the eastern seaboard.
However, the part of the port that had once been the heart of the cruise industry lay dormant, like a graveyard. The stern of the Norwegian Sun stood in the waters there, its silent turbines pointing toward the stars. The rest of its 78,000 tonnage had long ago splintered and jammed into the harbor depths. The even-larger Royal Caribbean Navigator of the Seas listed to port further long, its windows and hull burnt black.
Nina gaped at the massive ships, once mighty symbols of man’s power to sail the seas, now sitting idle as symbols of the limits to that power.
The 540i followed the causeway as it swooped into Miami Beach…
…High above downtown, a white and gold LongRanger police helicopter flew amidst the skyscrapers unaware of the sedan below.
Ray Roos sat alongside the pilot holding a pen light. He lifted his eyes from a clipboard to survey the city. It felt good to be out on the streets. He had spent too much of his post-Armageddon time listening, snooping, playacting, and waiting. He wanted to be doing; getting things done more directly. And now he had the power to do things how he saw fit.
Being his first visit to Miami, Roos intended to get a feel of the city from above. It did not take him long to dislike the place. Too many people—more so than even post-Armageddon New York or Boston—and they were too laid back. Roos did not like laid back. Laid back people were harder to motivate, even with threats.
Too many lights, too. What were these people thinking? Why not put a big sign out front that said, "Come squash us!"
Roos shook his head disapprovingly.
This city needs an attitude adjustment.
"Uh, Chopper 1 this is downtown, you copy?"
Ray clicked the button on his transmitter.
"Yeah, Hobbs, what you got for me?"
The helicopter banked right and headed east, following the same circle pattern for the last half hour. The entire bird vibrated with the running of the rotors.
"I’ve got Ernie Cordera."
Roos’ discomfort with the city surfaced as agitation in his voice.
"Yeah? So what? What’s his connection to Forest?"
"No connection to Forest."
Ray shook his head in even greater agitation and tapped his thumb impatiently on his leg.
"You know I don’t like to waste time. Yes, you know that."
"The connection is to Gordon Knox. Cordera is an I.S. officer supervising a tambourine monitoring station down here."
Roos stiffened in his seat and growled into the microphone, "Knox has a connection to an I.S. officer and this is the first I’m hearing about it?"
"The connection goes back to before everything went to Hell. In the old world, Knox and Cordera worked CIA Cuban operations out of Miami."
"So what," Roo
s spat. "Half the folks in Dade County used to spook Castro back then."
"Yeah," Hobbs’ voice carried an edge of its own that came through over the crackles of the radio. "Well half of Dade County didn’t get a phone call tonight from an old friend then go running off without telling the wife where he was going. At least, that’s according to the misses. You’d like her, she talks a lot."
Roos chewed on that then transmitted, "Sounds like I would. Yes, I think I’d like to meet her, too. I think I’d like to be there when Ernie gets home tonight. What’s the address?"
"Miami Shores."
Roos turned to the pilot and waved his hand north.
"Miami Shores."
The LongRanger changed course, this time banking hard left and swooping lower as it gained speed…
…The black 540i inched along Ocean Drive carefully picking its way through the throngs of party goers and sight seers who crossed the street between the beach and the strip with drinks in hand and arms around waists. Had it not been for so many holsters and the occasional police officer with battle armor and automatic weapons, it might just be another pre-Armageddon night on Miami Beach.
Music drifted from the glitzy fascias of night clubs, playing an eclectic mix of Latin, Caribbean, Reggae, rock and pop, most from the old world but a few tunes composed in recent times.
Gordon responded to the wave of a young, white-dressed male attendant who wore gold chains that glimmered against his tanned chest. That attendant guarded a prime parking spot.
Knox eased the car into place and killed the engine. The attendant hurried to the passenger side and held the door open with one hand while offering the other to the lady inside. Nina ignored the assistance, swung her legs onto the pavement and stood. She further ignored the young attendant’s leers.
She stopped and surveyed her surroundings. People packed the street, shoulder to shoulder. Nina had not seen so many people so closely grouped outside of military camp.
Gordon motioned toward the brightest and loudest building on the block. Nina furled her brow in displeasure at Gordon’s choice of rendezvous’. She did not understand why a public spot would be preferable to a quiet alleyway or empty parking lot.
She sighed and brushed passed the attendant. As she moved, Nina became aware of eyes studying her.
Her shy temperament surfaced for the first time in years and she felt out of place. She hurried next to Gordon and the two entered a doorway below a logo sporting a red and blue parrot sitting on a green palm tree under the name "Mango’s."
The entrance opened to a rectangular club stretching deep across a two-story hall with banisters and spectators gazing down from above. On the far side a band strummed a methodical Latin beat that made for slow but sharp sways on a dance floor situated between clusters of round-top tables.
The crowded complex bathed in electric blue and pink amidst palm trees, ceiling fans, and walls painted with land and seascapes. Scantily clad waitresses with flowers in their hair shuttled trays of exotic concoctions, somehow managing to balance the glassware while pushing through the gulf of humanity.
Nina found herself drifting in the tide of people. Her eyes darted back and forth. The music drummed in her ears like a hypnotist’s watch, the aroma of cigarettes and perfume and cologne and fading coconut-scented sun lotion swirled together and tickled her nose. The tapestry of people rolled and twisted around her.
She saw a dark black man with three gold loops in each ear swaying alone at the end of the bar; a Hispanic woman with a necklace made from seashells mixed with rubies smiling and talking to a red headed girl sporting a tattoo of a screaming eagle above well-displayed cleavage; a boisterous, sun-burned fat man dancing fluidly with a pair of oriental women hanging on his wide arms who slipped sips from margarita glasses in his mouth one after another; a cluster of young women posed like mannequins eying the dance floor while holding techno-colored drinks to their lips.
Armageddon brought monsters to Earth, yet this room of people felt far more alien to her than anything she had faced on the battlefield.
Suddenly, Gordon’s hand pulled her between dancers and servers and voyeurs. He led her to a table in a shadow below a palm tree. There waited a man with bushy eyebrows and a tight-fitting white shirt over a hairy chest. In one hand he held a short glass with something green inside. The man eyed Gordon until Nina entered his range of vision. Then his eyes switched.
Gordon spoke first, "Ernie, mi amigo, demasiado largo puesto que hablamos."
The man with the bushy eyebrows put aside his drink, rose to his feet, and shook Knox’s outstretched hand while flashing a genuine grin.
"Soy donde he vivido siempre. Usted, Gordon, movido a cosas más grandes."
Gordon’s response came in a grin.
Ernie, motioned for the two to join him. His eyes held on Nina for a long second.
"Usted trae un presente hermoso para mí."
Gordon warned Ernie, "Cuidadoso. La señora rompe más que corazones."
Nina sat and grunted at Gordon.
"It would be best, my friend, if we spoke in English, for the sake of my companion."
The man nodded. "Si. Oh. That means ‘yes.’"
Nina frowned in Ernie’s direction. The men found that funny. Ernie’s good humor lasted only a moment.
"Tell me Gordo, are you serious?"
"Very serious."
"Then what do we know? Hmm? What do we know about the assassination?"
Nina felt uncomfortable discussing the matter in such a public place. However, as she glanced around she realized that the sound of the band and the crowd meant that the only persons in earshot sat at the table.
Gordon stated what he knew: "One ship. A Redcoat shuttle landed at the meeting site, killed Trevor and his bodyguards, wounded Evan and others, then took off. It got blasted out of the air an hour later."
"Yes."
Gordon nodded, "And then our Witiko ‘friends’ gave us the location of the Redcoat base. So we could wipe them out."
"Damn straight," Nina murmured.
Ernie said, "That leaves a lot of questions no one has been asking."
Nina agreed. "Listen, the big question is how they got all the way from Mexico to D.C., without being spotted at one of the radar stations. Especially since the D.C. station is supposed to have all that area covered."
Gordon shook his head.
Nina reacted, "What? I’m just saying, how the Hell did they get all the way up there?"
Ernie offered, "Their ship was painted white, like our Eagles. To most people, it just looked like another one of our shuttles. But the radar stations, your friend is right Gordon, they control air traffic at the Mexican border and in key spots along the way. They should have spotted the flight and known it was unscheduled."
"It’s almost like they had stealth capability, don’t you think?" Gordon considered his words and added, "Wonder who else we know has that kind of ability?"
Nina connected the dots but her conclusion did not come as a shock to the two men.
"The Witiko. I mean, what if they gave the Redcoats a stealth field generator. Something like their Stingrays have?"
"Or what if the Redcoats stole one? You know, the way we stole their shuttles?"
Nina did not get Gordon’s point. Ernie extrapolated: "That could be a believable cover story if they were ever caught. But, their ship was blown from the sky into pieces."
"Leaving no evidence," she finished.
Gordon, however, made a more important point. "You’re both missing the big question. The big question is not how did the Redcoats get all the way from Mexico to D.C., without being spotted. The question is why did they get spotted when they made their getaway? How did the Excalibur catch a sniff of them during their escape?"
Nina tried to follow, "Maybe their stealth field failed?"
"Or maybe," Gordon nearly growled, "they wanted to be found."
The conversation paused for a moment. Music filled the gap.
Gordon continued with a question for Ernie, "And what have you found?"
The man smiled as he answered not to Gordon but to Nina, "Tell me, miss, are you aware of the ‘tambourine’ fence along the eastern seaboard? Hmm?"
Nina took pleasure in showing the scope of her knowledge.
"An early warning system of radar and sonar designed to spot and track anything in the air or sea that gets close to the Atlantic coast. It’s managed by Internal Security."
Ernie leaned forward, took a sip of his drink, and shared much more.
"I am one of the tambourine…drummers, I suppose. Our station in Miami oversees the coastline here, so as to keep us safe from all the bad things in that great big world out there. I have a friend. The way Gordon has me as a friend. You’ll find that we all have many friends in this business, yes, Gordo? This friend of mine works in tambourine central control outside of D.C., where all the data from all the stations is collected and analyzed."
Gordon added, "To coordinate response."
"Si. Oh, um, yes. Anyway, I did what you asked, Gordon. This friend of mine, he is certain—he swears—that a station on Long Island identified an inbound air ship of unknown origin penetrate the tambourine line off the coast of New Jersey, heading southwest."
Nina perked. Gordon kept a poker face and asked, "How long?"
"Less than an hour before the assassination. But there is more, Gordo. Another ship—this time outbound—tripped the electronic fence in the same area not long after."
Beyond Armageddon IV: Schism Page 27