Siege at Tiamat Bluff

by David DeLee

  With his eyes still closed, he heard the control room door open.

  He turned and was greeted with the sight of Agent Kate Holloway being forcibly pulled into the room by a maintenance clad member of his team. Lang handed the sat phone to Wilcox. Sucre came into the room behind them.

  “I appreciate you joining me, Agent Holloway,” Lang said, forcing himself to be calm.

  “I had a choice?” Holloway asked.

  Lang smiled. “No. Of course not.”

  “Why am I here?”

  Lang said, “I’ve got a problem.”

  “I’ll say. The full force of the U.S. government is about to reign down on you.” She pointed at a screen displaying the now submerged park. “It started there. It’ll end with you dead.”

  Lang glanced at the screen and dismissed it. “That? That’s a hiccup. An assault was anticipated. And it was responded to. No. My problem is Commander Brice Bannon.”

  “I don’t understand,” Holloway said. “He’s nobody.”

  “Oh, how wrong you are,” Lang said. “I’ve known Elizabeth Grayson a long time now. Have kept tabs on her for years before embarking on this little endeavor here. Did you know Grayson ran a black ops band of stealth commandos? A team led by Commander Brice Bannon.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Well, she does. Bannon is her current golden boy and thus I anticipated he might be a problem. A problem to be dealt with before I made any move against Grayson.”

  Holloway remained silent.

  “I tried to do that at the charity race in New Hampshire yesterday.” He smiled. It was an ugly expression. “Imagine how devastating his death would’ve been to Grayson. I’d have so enjoyed that. But I’m forced to admit I underestimated the resilience the commander and his friends would demonstrate.” He held Holloway with a hard gaze. “Then, imagine my surprise when he very unexpectedly showed up here.”

  Lang smashed his fist into the console shelf. Holloway jumped at the unexpected display of violence. He stared at Sucre with hateful eyes. “Now, to learn he’s escaped. He’s somewhere inside this damn bubble. On the loose and free to cause me even more trouble than he already has.”

  “He’s dead,” Holloway said. “We closed the door before he could make it out.”

  He backhanded her across the face, sending her reeling. “Liar!”

  Lang tapped keys on the keyboard in front of him and replayed the video feed Wilcox had shown him as Holloway gathered herself, rubbing her hand against her bright cheek.

  The screen displayed the submerged park then switched to a newsfeed, one that showed Kingsley, Grayson, and the others gathered in the corridor. The recorded footage played as Bannon raced away from the group, clutching the two stolen machine pistols.

  Lang looked to her for a reaction.

  She said, “Looks like you underestimated him again.”

  Lang glared at her. “You better hope you don’t.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Lang waved for Wilcox to hand over the satellite phone once more. He took it and punched in a phone number. He waited, listening to the ringing of a distant phone before he connected the call through the Ops audio system.

  The phone stopped ringing and a tinny female voice answered, “Yes?”

  “It’s me, Lang.” He tapped the phone keypad, activating the video function. “Put them on.”

  He held the phone out so Holloway could see the small screen. On it were her children; Kacey and Karley. Their cheeks were tear-stained. Behind them was her husband Roger. He was gagged and had a blackened eye. Blood matted the left side of his forehead.

  The girls’ cried out, “Mommy! Mommy!”

  Holloway stepped forward but Lang pulled the phone back.

  She yelled, “Girls!”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. She grabbed for the phone but Lang kept it out of reach.

  “Your family is unharmed.” He stabbed the disconnect button. “For now.”

  “That doesn’t look unharmed!”

  “Roger did step out of line. Sadly, he’s no action hero, I’m afraid. But good for him for trying.”

  “What happened? What did you do?”

  “My people took corrective measures to ensure there’ll be no future heroics. The girls? They’re scared but untouched…for now.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Bannon. Where is he?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You were with him last, along with Grayson and Kingsley. He killed one of my men.”

  “Your man was too slow,” Holloway lied. “The doors closed before he got through.”

  Lang pointed at the frozen video on display showing Bannon running away. He knew the truth. All of it. “He must have told you where he was going. What he was planning. Where is Bannon?”

  “He ran away like a scared little boy,” she said. “Brice Bannon’s nothing but a coward.”

  “Nice try.” Lang backhanded her again. His gloved hand slapped her cheek, sending her reeling across the room again. He advanced on her. She straightened up and took another slap across the face. Hitting her felt good, gave Lang a much-needed release.

  She fell against a console with a grunt, using it to keep from dropping to her knees.

  Lang loomed over her. He held the satellite phone out. “A single call and your family is dead. Is that what you want?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Is it?” he shouted.

  “No!” She pushed off the console. “Damn you, no!”

  Not quite as tall as Lang she was forced to look up at him. They squared off like that for a moment, then Holloway sagged, emotionally and physically drained. “What do you want from me?”

  “Where’s Bannon?”

  “I. Don’t. Know.”

  “Bannon’s no frightened little boy.” Lang made a play at dialing the phone.

  “No.” Hollow cried out. “He ran off. You saw. But you’re right. He’s not frightened. Not scared. He’s determined. He’s armed and he’s going to put an end to this. Put an end to you.”

  “What is he planning?”

  “I don’t know. I swear. He didn’t say. He didn’t trust any of us to tell us. Only that he was going to put a stop to this. “Put a stop to you.” She added, “And I believe him.”

  Lang stared at her, sizing her up, trying to determine if she had the strength, the wherewithal to continue to lie to him. He determined she didn’t. She wasn’t that strong. Like all people with attachments, her family came first, above duty and honor and country.

  Her weakness and he intended to exploit that. He said, “You’re going to find him.”

  “What?”

  “You’re going to find Bannon and you’re going to bring him to me,” Lang said, handing her a walkie-talkie and earpiece. He clarified, “Find Brice Bannon or your family is dead.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Tara, Kayla, and O’Shea stood on his dock, the women about to board Bannon’s Sea Ray for their return trip north to New Hampshire. Daniel O’Shea, a paranoid spook if ever there was one, shared one last piece of intelligence with Tara and Kayla as they climbed into the boat.

  “Either of you ever heard of Leviathan?” he asked.

  “Mythical sea creature from the bible, sure,” Kayla said turning the key and starting the throaty MerCruiser engine.

  “Why?” Tara asked.

  “It’s cropped up over the years in monitored chatter,” O’Shea said, all but admitting since retirement, he’s kept his ear to the ground.

  “Referencing what?” Tara asked.

  “I don’t know.” The not so ex-spy master paused to light a cigar. He puffed a cloud of gray smoke into the air. “Might be the name of a covert op, an operative, or an asset.” He shrugged, speculating, “Codename for a place, a weapon, or a particular piece of equipment. Maybe a target.”

  “Maybe nothing,” Tara said, frustrated.

  He nodded.
“Sure, or maybe the name of a group orchestrating a larger conspiracy. Something so big and widespread it's only spoken about in whispers.”

  “If you know something more, tell us,” Tara said.

  With another puff and a shrug, he said, “Just saying. Food for thought is all.”

  He watched as Kayla backed the Sea Ray from the dock. The water behind the engine bubbly and green. He waved. “Good luck.”

  The Sea Ray sped through the channel, then out over the dark Atlantic Ocean waves. It’s white mast, stern lights, and red and green sidelights glowing. Visible to any ships up to two miles away. With Kayla at the helm, they traveled north, roughly following the shoreline to New Hampshire. She held the boat at a steady but brisk thirty-five knots.

  Overhead the clear skies were bright with stars and a three-quarter moon. Both women had zipped their heavy parkas up to their throats. Kayla wore her dark blue Coast Guard baseball cap mashed down on her head, the brim turned to the back.

  Tara had pulled her black knit cap down over the tips of her ears. Her thick black hair fluttered wildly in the wind from underneath. She placed a call and held the cell phone to her ear, cupping her hand over the other ear against the wind, the roar of the three hundred horsepower MerCruiser engine, and the slapping of the hull against the waves.

  Police Chief Singleton, still at the Keel Haul, picked up.

  She filled him in on what they’d learned from Daniel O’Shea about Chase Edwards. “He’s tried to convince himself all these years that Edwards was dead, ignoring the rumors of an ex-American CIA operative who’d spent the last decade working for any private contractor or mercenary group he could find.”

  “To be fair,” Singleton said. “It does sound more like the plot to a Robert Ludlum novel than real life.”

  Tara thought of her own—very similar—situation. She conceded, “Or maybe it’s more common than we’d like to think. It’s like O’Shea said, Lang’s probably not the only soldier/operative out there who’s gone rogue and turned ghost over the years.”

  “After nearly two decades of war, sure,” Singleton agreed. “You think this clown’s really been operating against the U.S. all these years?”

  “Mostly these guys are only about the money and the thrill of what they do. I’m not sure how much ideology mattered to him,” she said. “Except according to O’Shea, Edwards was the sort to harbor grudges.”

  “Where’s that leave us?” Singleton asked.

  “Try and determine how Edwards fits into this whole thing. Not much more for you to do though.”

  “You’re benching me?”

  “The next steps aren’t really in your wheelhouse, Chief.” His lack of protest told Tara he knew she was right. “We’ll call if there’s anything you can do.”

  “Fine.” He sounded anything but. “What are you two going to do now?”

  “We’re heading back now,” Tara said. “But we need to make a stop along the way.”

  Before they left O’Shea’s house, Captain Tolliver had contacted them from the Putnam. He told them McMurphy was with a Navy SEAL team, having joined them on an insertion mission to Tiamat Bluff. Tolliver had admitted a shared lack of confidence in the mission plan, but considering they had no viable alternatives, the Vice-President had greenlit it, and the team was off.

  Before he left, McMurphy pulled Tolliver aside and asked him to put a few wheels in motion, in case this mission didn’t work. He had a ‘cockamamie scheme of his own,’ he called it. As was typical of one of McMurphy’s hare-brained ideas, he’d been skimpy on the details.

  All Tolliver knew was that he wanted Tara and Kayla to make arrangements to get Flipper, Bannon’s Dolphin-styled submersible hydrofoil, out to the Putnam as soon as was possible.

  “What on Earth for?” Kayla had asked.

  Tolliver didn’t have an answer, and Tara couldn’t guess.

  The marina where Flipper and McMurphy’s wrecked Orca were taken after the race was on their way back to the Keel Haul. Kayla would make the arrangements with the Coast Guard to fly the submersible out to the Putnam as soon as possible.

  “Well, hurry back,” Singleton said. “Otherwise, Bannon’s gonna have a lot of restocking to do after I’m done here.”

  Tara laughed. “Have whatever you want, Chief. It’s on the house. But there’s no need for you to wait around.”

  “You sure?”

  “We’ve got it from here, Chief,” she said. “Lock up and go home.”

  She hung up as Kayla continued to pilot the Sea Ray north. The shoreline passed rapidly on their left. Houses dotting the seacoast. Lights on. Bright cheery squares of glowing yellow. Civilians warm and cuddly inside their homes, blissfully ignorant to the dark danger out in the world. A plane flew overhead, its engines loud in the crisp night air.

  Damp from sea spray and cold, Tara shivered, the cell phone still clutched in her hand. She’d gone over again in her mind what they’d learned about Edwards, and the thing Tara kept coming back to was that whatever he was up to, Chase Edwards was one dangerous man. An angry vet, mad at his country.

  The phone in her hand vibrated with an incoming call.

  Tara answered.

  Richard Diaz was on the other end. He asked if they’d learned anything useful from Daniel O’Shea. Tara had no intention of telling him, her own natural paranoia hyped with the idea some vast conspiracy might be at work. She and Kayla had begun the day with concerns of leaky bureaucracies and planted moles. With O’Shea’s talk of Leviathan fresh on her mind, a potential Washington conspiracy…

  “This is not a secure line,” Tara said, shutting down any further inquiry. “We’ll contact you when we’re back at the Keel Haul.”

  When Secretary Grayson first recruited Bannon for her intimate little secret ops team, she’d ensured the Keel Haul was installed with the highest electronic countersurveillance equipment available. The same measures that were used to protect the White House, CIA, and DoD headquarters protected the Keel Haul as well.

  “Fine.” He seemed angry by her decision but didn’t challenge it. “There’s something else you need to know. A development.”

  “What kind of development?” She looked at Kayla. “Is everything all right?”

  “No. It is decidedly not okay. I’m not sure how to let you know this…”

  “Just say it,” Tara said.

  “John McMurphy, Skyjack. He joined a team of SEALs send by the Vice-President on an insertion and extraction mission to Tiamat Bluff. A rescue mission to get the President back.”

  She didn’t reveal she knew this from her earlier conversation with Tolliver. She didn’t mention Tolliver at all. She simply said, “Go on.”

  “It didn’t go well,” he said.

  With the icy brace of wind and the engine noise, Tara leaned in under the protection of the windshield. She stuck a finger in her other ear. “What do you mean, ‘didn’t go well’?”

  “Two SEAL delivery submersibles were dispatched. Fourteen men, including McMurphy. There was a …incident.” The man’s voice cracked. Tara leaned in, struggling to hear. “It’s all gone horribly wrong. The submersibles. They exploded. We don’t have all the details. But we do know for certain…”

  He said, “The team. Everyone is dead. McMurphy is dead.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Bannon ran.

  Behind him, he heard Sucre’s—Lang’s—men rounding up those he left behind. Shouts of don’t move and raise your hands, get on your knees echoed in the corridor around him. He half expected to hear the clatter of machine pistol fire as the hostages, as the President and Grayson, were mowed down by hundreds of rapid-fire bullets.

  To his great relief, that didn’t happen.

  He closed his mind to the rest, silently praying the hostages would cooperate, comply with the demands made of them. Do what was necessary to stay alive until he could figure out a way to help them. He’d wanted to stay, to fight, to protect them, but every instinct he had told him this was th
e right call. Get away. Remain free. Figure out a way to strike back.

  The corridor was bathed in electric blue light. The curved exterior walls contained a series of transparent panels, providing observers an almost limitless view of the dramatic ocean world outside. Red spotlights picked up schools of fish. A bioluminescent jellyfish floated by. Its vein membranes pulsed a pink strobe of color.

  Any other time and Bannon could’ve spent hours staring out these windows just watching nature’s fascinating show. Like when he was a kid at the giant fish tank at the Boston Aquarium, his hands and face pressed up against the glass. Dreaming about the water, about his future.

  Now he gripped the Steyr TMP machine pistol in his hand and ran. The second weapon strapped across his back. His mind working on a plan.

  The corridor circled the park. He reached the next set of sealed doors. Doors that held the crushing ocean water filling the park at bay. The blue lights embedded in the ceiling and ran along the carpeted floor like runway lights flickered and dimmed. They went out then snapped back on before flickering again.

  Bannon assumed the cause was a diversion of power, reallocation of emergency resources.

  Even though Lang’s men were in control of Ops, if it had been him, he’d have kept some of the Bluff’s technicians at their stations, forcing them to do their jobs at gunpoint. But even then, delays in response would be inevitable. The catastrophic loss of Kanaloa Park was probably contributed to the uneven power drains and surges.

  Depending on the amount of chaos that was being caused, it could be a perfect time for him to strike. But how best to do so, he wondered as he ran. Ops was one level down and north of his current location if he remembered the schematics Dr. Larson had shared with them on the Putnam.

  When was that? Only this morning? It felt like a hundred years ago.

  He looked for a set of stairs, reluctant to let himself get trapped in an elevator car. A thought struck him. Video surveillance. Surely a facility like this would have cameras for the security staff to use, to monitor for unusual activity, yet he hadn’t spotted any.

  Concealed, maybe?

  Lang would have his men monitoring those for sure. As soon as they realized Bannon had slipped away, rather than been crushed and washed away in the doomed park, they’d be using them to find him.