Crescendo Of Fire

by Marc Stiegler

  —H.L. Mencken

  Dash and Chance stepped onto the small-ship dock of the Haven. Dmitri’s yacht was unmistakable. It was, as Dmitri had promised, by far the largest. Dash counted five decks. She suspected the flat empty space at the stern of the top deck was a copter pad.

  But the item that confirmed this was the Buccaneer was the sight of Dmitri himself standing at the stern, a deck above them, waving. He looked quite spiffy in his denim jacket and a Breton Stripe t-shirt.

  Dash waved back. “There he is,” she said, pointing.

  Chance yelled, “Ahoy!” and picked up speed.

  Dmitri met them at the gangway. “Welcome,” he said with delight. He pointed at a box with a couple of pairs of shoes in it. He was barefoot.

  The night before, Dash had read on the web about mega-yacht etiquette, so she slipped off her sandals and dropped them in the box. Chance kicked her flipflops neatly into the zone.

  As they walked up the gangway Dash hitched up her sarong to give her legs more freedom of movement. The sarong had been a clothing choice compromise she’d reached with Chance. Dash had planned to wear blue jeans and a leather jacket. Chance, who’d read the same yacht etiquette pages as she had, said this was not acceptable. They should wear bathing suits, she’d asserted. After all, the yacht had both a hot tub and a swimming pool. Dash countered that she was not about to run around virtually unclothed, wearing nothing but a swimsuit.

  In the end, Dash had worn the swimsuit underneath a sarong tied over her shoulders, covering her from neck to ankle. Chance had conceded and worn a similar sarong, though she draped hers from one shoulder. Chance had gotten a wicked gleam in her eye when she’d told Dash that they’d have to ditch the sarongs to get into the hot tub. Dash had not replied. She had no intention of getting in the pool or the tub or taking off the sarong under any circumstances whatsoever.

  They stepped onto an aft platform with chairs and a table. A small boat sat in a cradle, a dinghy Dash thought, though it was not immediately clear how you would get it into the water.

  The gangway automatically retracted, and Dmitri spoke. “Let me show you around as we get underway.” A bot unhitched the line holding them to the dock, and the ship slipped smoothly away from the Haven.

  Together, the three of them walked into the main body of the ship, to be greeted by two more people. Dmitri spoke, “Dash, I think you already know Gleb and Yefim. Gleb, Yefim, this is Chance.” Gleb and Yefim had not been with Dmitri on the day he showed up on the Chiron and invited the two of them, quite insistently, aboard his mega-yacht. Dash still wasn’t quite sure how she had wound up agreeing to go, though Chance’s enthusiastic acceptance and consequent assistance to Dmitri in his pleadings had much to do with it.

  As greetings went all around the group, Dash noted sourly that Gleb and Yefim had both been allowed to wear deck shoes, jeans, and leather jackets.

  As Dmitri led the way toward the fore of the ship, he showed off the mahogany and gold decor, put together, he explained, by the Pierrejean Design Studio of Paris. The movie theater, with seating for twelve, had lounge recliners for seats. If the movie playing were subpar, Dash suspected you could easily fall asleep there.

  Eventually, they took a staircase up a level and headed aft into a piano bar. “Drinks?” Dmitri asked.

  Dash smiled. “A Coke, please.” She steeled herself for ribbing about her choice of drink, but Dmitri just poured her Coke into a gold-rimmed glass.

  “Chance?”

  “Scotch on the rocks,” she requested.

  Dmitri smiled, “A woman after my own heart,” he said.

  He took them aft once more, and they settled into curved sofas around a coffee table in the salon. Both port and starboard walls held enormous windows. To port, they could see the isle ships, and to starboard they could see the lush green kelp interspersed with an occasional sandy beach that marked the artificial reef encircling the archipelago.

  Dash spoke with joy that surprised her. “It’s beautiful.”

  Dmitri sat a little straighter and prouder. “My yacht, the isle ships, or the reef?”

  “All of them.”

  Yefim and Gleb had settled in opposite corners, and Dash realized they hadn’t seen another soul during the tour. “Where is everyone else? Don’t you have a crew?”

  Dmitri waved the question away. “Not really. Most of the work is done by the general-purpose bots. Illegal in both America and the Russian Union, of course, but not here with the BrainTrust.” He sighed. “Alexei and Vasily, my other two assistants, are around here somewhere, but the only other person on board is my captain, who doubles as a pilot, navigator, and bot wrangler.”

  Chance had been fully absorbed in looking at and touching everything they passed. “Sounds like he has more than a full-time job.”

  Dmitri laughed. “Sometimes.”

  Dash, who had been watching the reef slip past them, frowned. “Dmitri, aren’t we getting awfully close to the reef? Are we going into the channel? Were you planning on taking us outside the reef into the open ocean?”

  Dmitri seemed to tense. “Yes, I thought you’d enjoy a view of the BrainTrust from a little further away. It’s quite a sight.”

  Now Dash pushed herself forward from the excessively comfortable couch. “We cannot do that. Colin says I must never go beyond the reef, or I will be, uh, ‘fair game.’”

  Dmitri cleared his throat. “Not to worry. There’s a Russian cruiser out there too, you know. The Americans can’t get you here.”

  Now Dash rose in alarm. “Do not do this, Dmitri.” She pulled out her tablet and watched as Dmitri stared at it in surprise. She thought smugly that he was wondering, where had she been keeping that? But he should have known she’d never be without it.

  She had no signal. “You’re jamming my wifi!”

  Now Dmitri, Gleb, and Yefim were all on their feet. Dmitri held up his hand. “Just stay calm, everything will be all right.”

  Dash and Chance were also on their feet. While Chance quietly scanned the opposition, Dash cried, “What are you doing!”

  Dmitri winced. “I’m taking you to the Premier. As you may know, he, like the American President, has a rather desperate need for rejuvenation. He’s putting together the finest laboratory in all of Russia for you.” He glanced at Chance. “You too. You’ll both be treated like royalty. You just have to help the Premier with this little problem of aging.”

  Dash stared at him with a mix of bewilderment and rage. “I thought you hated the Premier.”

  Dmitri nodded. “Very much so. But it’s complicated.”

  Toni felt her eyes burning as she peered into the high-resolution hologram of a scramjet engine she and her two partners were designing. It would be fun, she thought idly, to whip up a miniature version on the printers in the Argus just to see if it worked.

  But the BrainTrust would probably frown on testing it any place closer than the Hephaestus. Too much effort.

  She looked up at the wallscreen displaying a view of the ocean from the archipelago out to the reef. Jet skis raced along, leaving foaming white wakes, while a couple of homebrew copters danced above the waves. In the left corner of the screen, she could see the Haven sticking out like a finger from the main body of ships. She recognized Dmitri’s yacht docked there…and she could barely make out Dmitri himself, waving at someone walking down the dock toward him.

  Dash? And Chance! They were too far to recognize their faces, but she could not mistake Chance’s tattoos.

  And they were getting on the yacht! Damnation! Dash still didn’t understand how dangerous the people were who wanted her and her just-telomeres-that-are-not-a-fountain-of-youth therapy.

  And Dash had barely gotten on board when the yacht’s bots tossed away the docking lines, and the Buccaneer accelerated away.

  Toni dropped her holographic editing pen on the bench, muttered an apology, and took off running for the Argus.

  Toni had flown a number of the copters scattered around the
BrainTrust, somewhat sating her urge to fly even if she couldn’t break the sound barrier. Lately, she’d been lusting to try out Matt’s new copter, reputed to be the fastest thing in the fleet. She smiled grimly. It looked like she finally had an excuse to check it out.

  She reached the copter bay on the Argus in record time. Fortunately, the Argus was adjacent to BTU. She hooked her tablet to the public external cameras to see where the Buccaneer was. As she had feared, from the size and direction of the wake it looked like the yacht was steaming full regulation speed toward the southeastern channel through the reef. As she watched, it cleared the area where jet skis roamed and accelerated.

  Tori slewed the display’s view to look beyond the reef. The Russian cruiser that had been shadowing the American ever since Assault Night was breaking away, heading toward the reef. Tori was suddenly quite certain that her worst fears were true. She pounded on her tablet to connect with Dash, but to no avail; Dmitri had undoubtedly jammed the comms. She texted Colin.

  Dash on Dmitri’s yacht. Sailing beyond reef. Russian cruiser coming.

  She ran to the beautifully streamlined silver copter with a cherry red racing stripe. A teenager was polishing it lovingly. “Out of the way,” she demanded. “Emergency.”

  The kid launched himself in front of her. “Wait a minute! It’s my copter!” He looked away, “well, it’s Mr. Toscano’s, but I designed it.”

  Toni changed her plan on the spot. “Great. Get in. We have to rescue Dash.”

  The kid’s eyes widened. “Dr. Dash?”

  “Yes, that Dash. Is there another one?”

  He looked doubtful. “I don’t think Mr. Toscano will be happy if we take his copter.”

  Toni growled, “He’ll be even less happy if Dash, his top tech advisor, gets kidnapped.”

  The teenager’s eyes widened even more. He turned and started to climb into the pilot’s seat.

  “Move over,” Toni commanded. “I’ll be flying.”

  The teenager’s expression turned stubborn, but he was overruled by a hard shove. He yelped and dropped into the passenger’s seat.

  Toni looked over the cockpit. “Dual controls. Good. You’ll be taking over in a bit.”

  This seemed to mollify the boy. Toni lit up the engines, and they shot out of the bay like they were on fire.

  Dash rubbed her arms and paced back and forth in the absurdist ostentation of the lounge, where she was imprisoned in mahogany-and-gold luxury. On top of everything else, she felt naked wearing the sarong instead of her lab coat. Never again, she promised herself. “You cannot get away with this, Dmitri,” she stated again, carefully, as if speaking to a naughty child.

  “It certainly seems like I’ll get away with it at the moment,” he replied with a note of surprise. “Of course, that probably means something is about to go wrong.” He shrugged. “But I’m Russian. We expect things to go wrong.”

  Dash stopped pacing and just stared at him. “Take us home before it is too late.”

  He shook his head. “I fear you couldn’t possibly understand. The only way out of this for me is forward.” He waved his hands at his two goons. “Gleb and Yefim will stay to keep you company. They work for me.” He shuddered. “Unlike Alexei and Vasily, whom I will keep elsewhere.” He turned to Gleb. “Do not let them leave this room. It’s not safe outside.”

  Gleb nodded, and Dmitri departed.

  Chance, meanwhile, seemed to be taking this whole kidnapping with unnatural calm. She tried to stretch her leg up onto the back of a chair. The sarong wrapped around her leg, restraining her motion. “Dash, you were right all along, these sarongs are awfully confining.” She shrugged. “Well, might as well get comfortable.”

  Chance untied her sarong, dropped it casually on the floor, and walked to the refrigerator wearing her bikini. Dash couldn’t understand how she could walk around like that so unselfconsciously. It must have been because of her time as a model. Chance asked, “I don’t suppose we can go to the pool?”

  Yefim was watching her admiringly. “I’m afraid not,” he said, truly remorseful.

  Chance pulled beers from a small refrigerator in the back. “Dash? You want one?” As Dash shook her head, Chance continued, “Of course not. Gleb? Yefim?” She turned from the refrigerator with two beers. Both of the guards shook their heads regretfully. Chance shook her head. “Cowards,” she muttered as she put down one beer, popped the top off the other, and raised it to her lips. She threw her head back and gulped loudly, though it seemed to Dash, scrutinizing her with suspicious astonishment, that she didn’t actually swallow much beer.

  Chance was gliding through the room toward Yefim when they heard gunfire outside. Dash and both guards looked quickly toward the door. Dash saw a flicker of movement where Chance was approaching Yefim, then there was a sharp thump, followed by a much louder thud. Looking toward the sound, she saw Yefim crumpled on the ground.

  Chance shrieked, “Yefim!” and jumped in shock. She knelt next to Yefim, then stood again. “Dash, something’s wrong with Yefim!”

  Dash rushed to them, briefly wondering, not what was wrong with Yefim, but rather what was wrong with Chance. Chance had never been squeamish before, and she certainly had the skills to do a preliminary assessment of an unconscious person and apply first aid.

  Meanwhile, Gleb approached them more slowly as Dash bent over the unconscious man.

  Dash discovered Yefim’s problem with a few seconds of examination. “Severe blunt force trauma to the—”

  Another sharp thump followed again by a much louder thud interrupted her. Dash swallowed a squeak as Gleb’s body hit the floor just behind her. She swiftly inspected the left side of his head. “Severe blunt trauma to the head. Again.” She looked up at Chance with a stern look, as Chance looked back with an expression of beatific innocence.

  Forcing down an expression that tried to turn mirthful, Dash observed, “He seems to be alive, at all events.”

  Chance nodded. “Of course. I used Cro Cop’s head kick. It can kill. But I used my right leg.” When Dash just stared at her, she sighed. “Never mind. It’s an MMA joke.”

  “MMA? The videos you were in?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought they liked your tattoos.”

  “Oh, they did. I had the best tattoos of any of the women fighters.”

  “Aha. So you were a fighter. One of the top three in the world, no doubt.”

  Chance laughed. “Not hardly.” She shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “Fourth in Arizona.” She paused. “I might have made it into the top two, but I didn’t enjoy hurting people.”

  Dash’s eyes widened as she looked meaningfully, first at Gleb, then at Yefim.

  Chance coughed. “I said I didn’t like hurting people. This was different.”

  Dash frowned again, but then a gleam came into her eyes. “Our friends here have undoubtedly experienced concussions.” She pulled off her sarong and used her teeth to rip off several strips of silk. She moved swiftly to tie their hands, gag them, and blindfold them. “The prescribed treatment for concussion is extended bed rest. Avoid both physical and mental exertion.”

  Chance nodded. “I agree with your prescription,” she declared. “I believe the bindings will help them avoid physical agitation, and the blindfolds will assist in keeping their minds calm by reducing sensory input.” She gave Dash a thumbs-up. “Brilliant, Doctor.”

  “We do what we can with the resources available,” Dash offered, as though speaking to a room full of students.

  “May we depart now that their treatment is in place?”

  “I believe so.” Dash grabbed her sadly ripped sarong and wrapped it around her hips. It did not cover her as well as before, but it was better than nothing. “Swiftly.”

  So they trotted toward the door at the far end of the salon, away from whence they had entered, going deeper into the ship.

  Toni struggled for a few moments as the high-power copter tried to get away from her. The kid kept giving her
strangled instructions, knowing not to scream, but desperately wanting to.

  Finally, she had control, and they streaked over the BrainTrust to home in on the Buccaneer. The yacht was already through the channel and outside the reef. In the distance, Toni could see the Russian cruiser cutting the water as it approached. The American cruiser, no doubt mystified by this sudden change in the behavior of a ship that previously paralleled her every move, decided something must be up. So she was charging along behind. The California Coastal Patrol ships, and the two Chinese frigates accompanying them continued to follow their orders and dutifully followed the American.

  Toni muttered, “what a mess,” as she arrowed toward the yacht. She growled at the kid, “What’s your name?”

  “Ted,” he replied, “Ted Simpson.”

  “OK, Ted, here’s how it’s going to go down.” Toni pointed at the yacht. “You see that copter pad on the back there?”

  Ted nodded.

  “We’re going to do a touch and go. But with a twist. I’m going to touch, and jump out, and you’re going to go. Got it?”

  Ted nodded. “Uh, yeah.”

  Somebody trotted out of the cabin onto the deck just forward of the copter pad. He carried an AK-47. Toni veered hard left as the man raised the machine gun to his shoulder and began firing.

  Ted gasped.

  Toni shouted, not meaning to, “You’re buckled in, right?”

  “Uh, right.”

  “OK, new plan. The copter pad has been compromised. That’s the military way of saying, we just got fucked. You with me?”

  Ted nodded.

  “OK, so we’re going to zip around the port side here and do a touch and go on that roof over the second or third deck towards the bow. While we’re zipping, you’re going to keep an eye out for more guys with guns. Got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ted seemed to have steadied himself. He started scanning the ship with new intensity. The man on the copter pad was still shooting, occasionally pausing to pop in a new magazine.

  “When we get to the roof, it’ll be a really touchy touch. I doubt the roof can take the full weight of the copter. We don’t want to crash through the roof, right?”