Once Is Never Enough

by Haris Orkin

“Yes, of course,” Flynn said as he picked up his submersible duffel bag.

  “Just do what I do.”

  They both put on their masks and entered the floodable airlock.

  As Sancho ascended, multiple fears filled his mind. So many he didn’t know which one to focus on first. He dove in Catalina once, but it was nothing like this. So many large fish swam past and around him. Was that a shark? A barracuda?

  Sancho struggled to slow Flynn’s ascent. They both needed to stop and decompress, but Flynn’s submersible duffel bag must have had air in it, because it tugged on him hard, pulling him straight up. Sancho grabbed him by his tank harness and saw Flynn’s eyes through the mask. He wasn’t his usual, confident, devil-may-care self. Instead, Sancho saw someone on the edge of panic.

  In that moment, it occurred to Sancho that he didn’t even know if Flynn could swim. He struggled to hold onto him as Flynn flailed about. Sancho grabbed his leg to keep him from shooting to the surface and in the process pulled off one of his flippers.

  Sancho kicked hard to stay with him. As they rose higher, he marveled at the size of the Argo. From below it looked as big as a cruise ship. Flynn kept rising and Sancho followed close behind until both of them bumped up against the hull. Sancho wanted to use a hand signal to tell Flynn to keep it together, but he couldn’t remember if there was a hand sign for that. So, he used the stop sign, his hand held up in a fist, hoping Flynn would stop moving. But he didn’t. Flynn kicked with one flipper towards some kind of light and Sancho pursued him. Reaching the lighted area, Flynn immediately pulled himself out of the water along with his duffel bag.

  Sancho surfaced to find Flynn sitting on the edge of the Argo’s moon pool next to his bag, taking off his mask and gasping for air. Sancho put a hand on the edge to keep himself afloat and lifted up his mask. “You okay, dude?”

  “Of course, I’m okay,” Flynn said as he stood up and wiggled out of his tank harness. It fell straight back and banged against the floor.

  “Careful with that, amigo. That’s delicate equipment.” Flynn struggled to unzip his wetsuit and nearly tripped on his last remaining flipper.

  A deep voice echoed in the humid air. “Looks like you lost a flipper, Mr. Flynn.”

  Sancho saw Mr. Fergus on the deck just above, flanked by four of his men. All five aimed assault rifles at them. “Saw you boys on the underwater cameras. Not exactly expert divers, are ya?”

  “Shit,” Sancho said.

  “Come on out the water, Mr. Perez.”

  Sancho sighed and clambered out.

  Flynn picked up his scuba tank and swung it in an arc, flinging it at Fergus. It missed him by a good foot and a half, but Flynn tried to make a run for it anyway. He managed a few floppy steps with his single flipper before catching it on something and taking a header. He hit the deck hard, shattering his mask. Before he could stand, two of Fergus’s men grabbed him by either arm. Fergus unzipped Flynn’s submersible duffel bag and found his weapons.

  “Mr. Belenki holds you in high regard as an operator,” Fergus said. “But I must say you have not impressed me today.”

  Sancho wriggled out of his tank harness and set his equipment on the deck. “Don’t hurt him, bro. He’s not in his right mind. You need to call the cops. There’s a 5150 on him.”

  “What’s your excuse, Mr. Perez? Is there a 5150 on you?”

  “I’m just trying to watch out for him, man.”

  “Are you armed as well?”

  “No way.”

  “So, how’d you get here? Who are you working with?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Bullshit, boy. You didn’t swim here from Cocoa Beach.” He turned to his other two operators. “Take ‘em to a secure cabin and lock their asses up. I’m going to go see what Mr. Belenki wants to do with them.”

  Flynn found himself locked inside an opulent cabin with an expansive glass observation window. The décor was classically nautical verging on steampunk; like something out of a Jules Verne novel. Amber-hued lighting from ornamental brass lamps illuminated Victorian-style furniture in oak and mahogany. An ornate four-poster bed filled the space along with an imposing dresser and armoire, all decorated with detailed carvings of mermaids and sirens and other mythical creatures. A leather sofa flanked by two club chairs faced an impressive fireplace with a roaring fire.

  When Flynn picked up the receiver on the vintage wooden and brass rotary phone it had no dial tone. Flynn opened the armoire to find a plasma TV, the only nod to modern technology. He couldn’t find any cameras or listening devices, but assumed they were well-hidden.

  It took some effort to peel his damp wetsuit off, but when he finally did, he took a shower in the spacious bathroom outfitted in the same steampunk-style décor. Copper pipes and fittings adorned the space along with a steel and marble pedestal sink and a claw-footed tub with a brass shower head. The water fell hot and the pressure strong. Flynn let it pound and massage his back. He turned it all the way cold, as he usually did at the end of a shower, and stood in the stream as long as he could. He dried himself off with a thick Turkish bath towel.

  He found a large walk-in closet full of clothing and chose socks and boxers, dark beige chinos, and a navy blue polo shirt. This luxurious room reminded him of another where he was once held prisoner. That time his nemesis was a mad half-Chinese doctor with a metal hand and an ego to match Belenki’s.

  The doctor had been working with the Russians to destroy the U.S. space program by diverting rockets launched from Cape Canaveral. Back then, it was believed that whoever controlled space would ultimately control the Earth. His motive was money and power, while Belenki’s motives were more altruistic, if just as misguided, and, in the end, perhaps not all that different. He too wanted to control space and, in so doing, control the world.

  An exterior deadbolt clicked. A knock at the door came an instant before it opened. Severina stood there wearing linen slacks and a white silk blouse. She looked quite beautiful, but her eyes belied her anxiety. “Mr. Belenki wants a word with you.”

  “Will Sancho be joining us as well?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Wendy?”

  “She’s not here.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “So Belenki didn’t kidnap her?”

  She smiled. “Of course not.”

  “Can I call my people and let them know I’m okay?”

  “Not at the moment. We are incommunicado here.”

  Flynn stared at Severina; she was uncomfortable. “Are we incommunicado because Sergei believes he’s being hunted by a killer AI?”

  “Perhaps you should ask him yourself. He’s waiting for you on the party deck.”

  “Lead the way.”

  She led him through the Argo. Flynn kept a close eye on security cameras and armed operators and the general geography of the ship. He knew he might have to make a fast exit and would need a plan.

  “He’s quite mad, you know,” Flynn said.

  “Who?”

  “You know who.”

  “Mr. Flynn, I’m not sure you’re in any position to assess anyone’s mental fitness.”

  “People like Sergei Belenki are given a lot of leeway. No one wants to tell the emperor he has no clothes. Especially if he’s paying everyone’s salary. But believe me, he is dangerous.”

  “More dangerous than you?”

  “I admire your loyalty and faith, but believe me, he isn’t what he seems.”

  Severina didn’t engage after that and led Flynn up another series of stairs to an upper party deck that adjoined Belenki’s sprawling private quarters. The deck offered a sweeping view over the enormous infinity pool and spa. There were sitting areas with couches and chairs and a large outdoor lounge and cocktail bar. Beyond that, a helicopter rested on a helipad. He also saw Fergus, surveilling the area from a short distance away with three other operators.

  Sancho and Sergei Belenki sat by a fire pit, looking like old
friends. Belenki rose and beckoned Flynn over. He held a cocktail in his hand. “Mr. Flynn!”

  Flynn crossed to him and Sergei held out his hand. Flynn took it, shook it and Sergei Belenki motioned for Flynn to sit. “Would you care for a drink?”

  “I would enjoy that.”

  “A vodka martini?”

  “Please.”

  “Of course,” Belenki said with a smile. He turned to Severina “What about you, my dear?”

  “I’m fine,” Severina said and sat across from Sancho.

  Belenki shouted to the bartender. “Lucas! Did you get that! A vodka martini for Mr. Flynn!”

  “Shaken, not stirred!” Flynn added. Lucas nodded and started mixing.

  “I apologize for the reception you received,” Belenki said. “Mr. Fergus told me you took a nasty fall.”

  “I’m fine,” Flynn replied

  “But then you were trespassing after all.”

  “I was indeed. So why the hospitality? Why haven’t you called the authorities?”

  “Because I owe you my life. You saved it twice and because of that, I’d like to offer you a proposition.”

  “I’d rather you give me an explanation,” Flynn said.

  “For what?”

  “Wendy. You’re holding her against her will, are you not?”

  “Who told you that?” Belenki glanced at Severina.

  “No one told him that,” Severina glared at Flynn. “I told you we have no idea where Wendy is.”

  “What possible reason could I have for kidnapping Ms. Zimmerman?” Belenki asked.

  “Perhaps because she knows that you intend to end the world as we know it.”

  “Wendy is misinformed,” Severina said. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s not real. It’s not happening. Nothing is happening!”

  “Tell her, Sergei,” Flynn prodded. “Don’t leave her in the dark. Unless, of course, you don’t intend to bring her with you.”

  “But I do,” Belenki replied. “Severina is my right hand. I’m bringing Mr. Fergus and his crew with us as well. Security will be paramount in a post-apocalyptic society. Which is why I’d like to offer you and Mr. Perez a place with us too.”

  “Wait? What?” Sancho asked. “You want to hire us?”

  Severina looked pissed “Can we not joke about this, Sergei? Flynn is confused enough as it is. Just tell him the truth!”

  “But I am,” Belenki said.

  “Stop it! I’m serious.”

  “So am I. Tomorrow that rocket will launch and complete my corona of orbiting nuclear devices. We then will fly back to the safety of Wembly Island where I will detonate them in the upper atmosphere and create a cataclysmic electromagnetic pulse.”

  “You’re not being funny.”

  “I’m not trying to be,” Belenki said.

  “You’re scaring me!”

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, my dear. You’ll be safe on Wembly Island and we will have saved humanity from an artificial super intelligence that sees humankind as a plague that must be eradicated.”

  All the color drained from Severina’s face.

  Sancho put down his mimosa. “So, this is really happening?” He pointed to Flynn. “He’s not crazy?”

  “Oh, yes, he’s crazy,” Belenki said. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not happening.”

  Lucas brought Flynn his martini and a chrome cocktail shaker with a refill. Flynn took a sip. “Excellent.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Lucas left the cocktail shaker and retreated back to the bar.

  Severina was on the verge of tears. “You lied to me.”

  “By omission only,” Belenki said.

  “Sergei, you can’t do this.”

  “If you have another suggestion as to how we can defeat an all-knowing all-powerful AI before she enslaves us all, please feel free to share.”

  Sancho looked numb.

  Flynn took another sip of his martini. “I assume there are shielded servers on Wembly Island that have never been connected to the world wide web.”

  “Very good, Mr. Flynn. They are deep underground, protected by the world’s largest Faraday Cage,” Belenki explained.

  “So, you and you alone will be poised to rebuild the world.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Only this time you’ll be the one in charge.”

  “I need to be as I’m the only one who understands the danger of the singularity. The world’s network will be my network and I will make sure that any AI we create will never be self-aware and will always be subservient to humanity.”

  “Every despot believes he is the one destined to lead humanity into a glorious utopian future.”

  “Don’t be so melodramatic, Mr. Flynn. Who else would you put in charge of our future?”

  “Perhaps the question should be left up to the people.”

  “Democracy? Seriously? You know as well as I do that most people aren’t very smart. And the more computers do for people, the stupider they get. They don’t bother learning anything, because they assume all human knowledge is right there at their fingertips. They become more and more ignorant until they lose their ability to reason or understand even the simplest things. Facts become meaningless and they are easily swayed by idiots and their lies. Look who they elect to lead them? The stupid leading the stupid. No, we tried democracy and it was a grand experiment, but look where it led us.”

  Severina began to cry.

  Anika Piscotti, Belenki’s fiancé, did not look happy as she strode out onto the deck in her strappy high heels. “No one told me we were having a party.”

  “It’s not a party, darling,” Belenki said with a smile. “It’s a meeting. A business meeting.”

  “Mr. Flynn!” Anika seemed very happy to see him. “When did you get here?”

  “Just this evening.”

  “Sergei, why didn’t you tell me we had company?” Anika directed her million-dollar smile at Flynn and dialed up the wattage.

  Flynn saw that Fergus and his operators were all focused on Anika’s long shapely legs, her tiny denim shorts and her even tinier tube top.

  “Mr. Flynn will be returning with us to Wembly Island,” Belenki said. “Along with Severina and Mr. Perez.”

  “Well, isn’t that nice,” Anika purred. She focused her considerable sexual magnetism on Flynn, inadvertently catching Sancho, Fergus and his operators in her erotic blast radius. Flynn took notice and decided to take advantage.

  He downed his drink and hit his martini glass against a table, cracking it down to the stem. In one quick motion, he pulled Belenki to his feet and put the jagged edge against his throat. “Make one move, and I will puncture his carotid artery and he will bleed out within seconds.”

  Everyone looked stunned. Everyone but Fergus.

  “It takes longer than that for someone to bleed out,” Fergus shouted, as he moved in Flynn’s direction.

  “No, it doesn’t!” Flynn shouted back.

  “Yeah, it does. I’ve done it. It’s not like in the movies. It can take a good five minutes if not longer. If I shoot you in the head and put compression on the carotid, he’ll probably be fine.”

  “Probably?” Belenki shouted. “What do you mean probably!”

  “Stay where you are. I’m heading for the submarine and I’m taking Belenki with me.”

  “And if I don’t stay where I am?”

  “I’ll kill him.”

  “Bullshit!”

  Belenki struggled and the jagged edge nicked his skin. “Let me go! Let me go!”

  “No,” Flynn said evenly.

  “Fine! That offer I just offered you? It’s off the table!”

  Flynn backed away with Belenki, one arm holding him tight, the other holding the jagged end of the cocktail glass to his now bloody throat.

  Fergus slowly followed, loosely holding his weapon. When he reached the fire pit, he put the barrel of his assault rifle against Sancho’s head. “Let Belenki go or this asshole gets it.” Sancho tried to
get up. Fergus shoved him back down, screwing the gun barrel into his face. “And after I blow his brains out, I’ll put a few into you.”

  Flynn pulled Belenki with him. “Do that and your boss is dead. And so is—”

  Flynn tripped backwards over a railing and flipped ass over teakettle. He lost both the martini stem and his hostage and fell fifteen feet to the deck below. He hit it so hard he bit his tongue and knocked the wind right out of himself. Fergus and his men were on him in seconds.

  Belenki, gazing down from above, touched the cut on his neck and looked at the blood on his fingers. “Lock that crazy son of a bitch up!”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  On February 20, 1962, Friendship 7 rose off the launchpad at Cape Canaveral and former fighter pilot John Glenn became the first U.S. citizen to orbit the Earth. Some were worried he might not make it back alive, and the Pentagon came up with a plan in the event of such a tragedy. They would blame Fidel Castro for Glenn’s death. They called their scheme “Operation Dirty Trick” and planned to provide “proof” that any failure was due to sabotage by the Communists in Cuba.

  Even though Kennedy agreed to the ill-fated “Bay of Pigs” invasion the previous year, this plan he rejected. In the end, Glenn returned safely and became an authentic American hero. Kennedy quietly told NASA that Glenn must never again return to space. He was far too important a symbol of America’s Can-Do Spirit. Glenn wouldn’t ride another rocket for thirty-six years. In 1998 at the age of seventy-seven, he became the oldest astronaut ever when he flew as part of the crew in the Space Shuttle Discovery.

  Sancho was born seven years after the movie, The Right Stuff, was released. He saw it in a science class when he was thirteen and loved it. It told the story of the early Mercury program and the test pilots who became the first astronauts. He learned everything he could about those early astronauts and even did a term paper on Project Mercury and earned himself a B minus from his science teacher, Mrs. Merkin.

  He would have loved to follow in the footsteps of John Glenn, but Mrs. Merkin made it clear to Sancho he didn’t have the “right stuff” to ever become a pilot let alone an astronaut. The best a boy like him could hope for would be to go to trade school and become a car mechanic or a plumber.