Part 8 (1/2)

17.

The Pacific First Officer Frank Buchanan sat under the halide lights on the rear deck of the Nautilus, with the gearbox from the winch motor in a hundred pieces or more. The way he figured it, the steel hawser that had sheared off when they pulled the last buoy aboard had either cut through the gearing, or damaged the pull through bearings, causing a catastrophic stoppage. Trouble was, now he had the d.a.m.n thing in pieces, it was none to clear how exactly the misalignment in the winch motor had happened. Sure, he could always fit the d.a.m.n thing together again and trust the outcome to dumb luck-but that would never do-he had to figure this thing out, because if the winch fritzed out whilst they were towing one of those garbage can DART buoys aboard alvares. Would get his pants in a bunch and start mouthing off, like he was Captain Bligh or something.

Buchanan angled the Robusto stub in the corner of his mouth and felt the rea.s.suring bitterness of the soft Cuban tobacco flow over his gums. Two weeks, three days, and fourteen hours since he had had a drink, and he was starting to feel the burn. Usually he would be in the clear now, his system flowing free of the poison. But that d.a.m.n Kellerman chick had been eating into him, with her constant bulls.h.i.+t-Always on his case, always mouthing off, always running to the captain with her squealing little complaints, d.a.m.n her-like she was trying to prove she was better than everyone else or something. Why couldn't she just knuckle down and play her part like every other crewman? Buchanan laughed quietly to himself. The Kellerman chick had something to prove-had to make like she was better than everyone else so she could feel she was equal-some kind of messed up feminist logic no doubt. The whole thing was just too crazy to even contemplate-what sort of chick would want to be cooped up for months at a time with a bunch of sea going misfits anyway? The boat was like a floating psych ward for Christ's sake-everyone aboard from the Captain down had their issues. What kind of prima donna would actually chose to work in a nut house like this? It just didn't make sense. It was like the girl was just trying to make trouble for herself, so she could prove some crazy a.s.sed point.

Buchanan felt his flesh crawl, felt the aches and the nausea building. The fear was coming- harder than before, much harder. He wiped off his oil-slick hands on his singlet, feeling the tremors run through him. He paused, not wanting to touch the gearing until the shaking pa.s.sed. All this was down to Kellerman. The woman was a G.o.dd.a.m.n Albatross. Buchanan thought of the bottle of bourbon he had stashed for emergencies in the engineering room storage locker. The dry antic.i.p.ation of possibility ran through him, his pulse building speed until he could hardly bare it. No way he could risk it. Not until the d.a.m.n winch was fixed. The Kellerman chick had a nose on her, like she was a one-woman temperance movement or something. He had seen her twitching about like she was trying to snout out the smell of hard liquor, a regular little sheriff's bloodhound that girl, ever eager to go running to the captain and blab her findings.

Running his tongue across his dry, sea- chapped lips, Buchanan drew a breath and looked down at the mess of gears. He could handle this, handle it like he had done a thousand times before, bolt this baby together and have her spinning cable like she had just sailed out the factory.

On the bridge of the Nautilus ENS Mooney stared with fascination at the Automatic Identification System as the course of the North Korean trawler Wonsungi changed once again, like it was following them. ”I cannot raise them Captain,” said Mooney, ”Perhaps their systems are down, a navigation failure or something. You know what those san-pan sailors are like.”

”Correct terms at all times please Mooney.” ”Sorry sir I mean I just meant to say...” ”I know what you meant to say sailor. As long as we are flying the flag of the Federal phony navy, and I am running the helm, you will keep your salty-seadog expressions in check are we clear?”

”Aye-aye sir.”

”Good. Now alter course by two degrees and keep trying to reach our Korean friends would you?”

Science Officer Kellerman looked up from the radar screen. ”We make a two point alteration it will throw our schedule off by hours. I don't know how much longer we will be able to sustain a signal on the missing buoy. If we add a couple of hours to the schedule the signal could go black before we are in recovery range.”

Captain alvares. Nodded. ”I realize that Science Officer Kellerman, but I am sure you will understand that if we maintain our current course, we will converge with the Wonsungi in slightly less than four hours, so with your permission, it would perhaps be for the best to adjust our course-if we want to avoid having 800 tonnes of rusting North Korean sea junk impacting our starboard beam, right about breakfast time.”

”If we give it two, maybe three hours longer at full speed, we can move into a new sector by dawn, avoid them altogether and still maintain our

course.

”No doubt we could Kellerman, but there are mission parameters to consider. If we were to do as you suggest, the increased fuel burn would force us to cut short our mission. And one thing you will grow to understand about me Science Officer- after you have sailed with me for rather longer than you have to date-is that mission objectives take precedence over everything. You might also know that our new heading will see the prevailing conditions run in our favor-by my calculations we will run down that buoy of yours ahead of time, which is why incidentally I run this G.o.dd.a.m.n s.h.i.+p and you will reserve your expert opinions to matters regarding the technological aspects of our mission. Are we clear?”

”Aye-aye Captain.”

”Splendid.”

As the Nautilus began to change course, the power of the ocean caught hold of the s.h.i.+ps great hull, pitching it violently up then sucking it inexorably downwards into the horrible swirling darkness. Looking out over the ocean, alvares noted that he could no longer see the rea.s.suring sparkle of the distant s.h.i.+pping lanes. All was blackness. Nothing but the undulating night and the hiss of the ocean swell to remind them how very far they were from home. The night took hold of the s.h.i.+p now and with each slow pa.s.sing minute the Nautilus sailed ever farther into the enveloping darkness. It was then that the call came, an automatic signal on the international distress frequency-An SOS.

Somewhere, out there in the endless Pacific night, a dire and unprecedented emergency was taking place.

18.

Oahu, Hawaii Lush, verdant and manicured beyond perfection, The Fountainhead Club was an Eden perched on the very edge of the world. A country club retreat for the super rich, set against an endless panorama of slow rising ocean breakers that reached deep into the night. As Karyn drove the snaking, palm-lined driveway, leading to the clubhouse, a history of Art Deco glamour rose up to greet her. The place was a regular three-reel movie, old Hollywood in a nouveau setting. And yet, as the dark silhouettes of the jungle foliage reached out towards her, there was something more than a latent glamour to the place, something standoffish and unsettling, looming over the island like an ancient affliction.

As she pulled in, under the porte-cochere, an army of valet parkers and white-coated facilitators fussed and scurried, amongst a logjam of high-end automobiles. The Island's glitterati it seemed were out in force. Mixing in with this fevered scene, a posse of photojournalists and TV news people were jostling for position as the famous, the fabulous, and the supremely rich, made a red-carpet entrance to the sw.a.n.kiest social occasion the island had seen in years.

Karyn pulled up short of the press pack. She skirted the monkey suited security crew and made a side door entrance, past a sign marked staff only. She moved fast, with an a.s.surance that said she belonged. In the bustling back corridor, her pa.s.sage drew looks, but no comment and seconds later she was mixing anonymously with hundreds of guests. As the guests moved through the lobby, waiters moved amongst the crowd, offering champagne and canapes. Karen eschewed all offers of food and drink, moving instead to familiarize herself with the floor plan of the building. She began by checking off every pinch-point and exit, every window and backroom door-logging every mundane detail for future reference. There was a security team in attendance, but they were amateur hour sloppy, reject night guards and overweight former cops in the main, the team had a few ringers too, buzz cut bozos straining out of their monkey suit costumes, but these guys had no cause to be worried, they were working an up market home game crowd, what could go wrong at an event like this?

Walking through the lobby, Karyn saw the grand ballroom for the first time. The place was sw.a.n.ky in an old fas.h.i.+oned way, lit by a glittering starscape of chandeliers. Karyn scoped the room. She recognized many of the faces-politicians, celebrities, wealthy industrialists, and financial people. There were others too, aged and vampiric, their faces sucked dry of expression by cruelty of years and the deftness of the surgeon's hand. Karyn skirted the room, soaking in every nuanced detail- a forest of banqueting tables set for a sumptuous feast, glittering with china and gla.s.s. Guests were already thronging to their seats, but Karyn hung back and watched. The scene reminded her of a gala awards night, where glittering trophies are handed to stars of the stage and screen, for their contribution to the world of celebrity consciousness. But this was no awards evening.

The atmosphere was more in line with that of an east coast political fundraiser, with the hard, raw taste of ambition and money cutting the air like electricity. As the guests took their places, Karyn patrolled the periphery, moving to the left of a curved stage, that was hung with heavy golden drapery and adorned by a mysterious Chinese symbol that was underscored with the words, Tao-Power & Freedom. Casting her mind back, Karyn remembered seeing the symbol on the side of the giant golden office building on Highway One, the place the environmental demonstrators had been picketing. This logo was the sign of the Tao Corporation, erstwhile employer of Brad Verner the geostatistical pain in the a.s.s who thought that the world was about to end. It was all too crazy to contemplate. Why would a billionaire moneyman, who could produce limitless free energy want to destroy the planet? It just didn't make sense.

As Karyn pondered the implications of Brad Verner's words of warning, and their connections to this grand event, the lights turned lower, and a pulsing beat began, getting louder and louder until it reached a crescendo that filled the room. Suddenly, the stage came alive with golden light, and a slickly attired figure moved centre stage. The figure paused, adjusted his bow tie and raised a hand to acknowledge the wave of spontaneous applause now sweeping through the room. The man beamed and bowed and brushed off the wave of applause, with the practiced air of a career politician. He looked vaguely familiar to Karyn- oiled hair, Florida tan and a phony grin spread a foot wide across his face. This guy was DC major- league, no doubt about it, playing warm up man for the bottom of the bill intro act. Karyn sniffed, there was some kind of scenario going down on this sunny little Island, but just who exactly was making the plays?

Looking around the room, as the warm up man ran through his routine, Karyn soaked in row upon row of ghastly golden faces, s.h.i.+ning towards the stage-how many of these very same faces had known Senator Tex Johnston? How many had known Governor Geryon? The applause was building again, rising on a wave of throaty approval. The pulsing music began to build once again-only this time the frail figure walking out onto the stage was very familiar.

Calista Johnston.

Karyn drew breath, her brow furrowing, as the tumbling puzzle-pieces locked into place. Calista Johnston had a connection to the Deng Tao Corporation. With all her talk about business and politics, the crazy old broad probably had a seat on the board of directors-Karyn turned implications over in her mind. All at once, the applause died back and Calista Johnston began speaking.

”Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for your kind approval, and thank you for attending tonight's most auspicious gathering. Calista Johnston paused, took a sweeping look around the packed room and raised a frail hand in benediction. Her head dipped low, as though she were about to sob with emotion-finally, after she gathered her thoughts with a series of deep gasping breaths, she said quietly, ”Difficult though it has been for me to appear before you this evening, in this time of great personal grief, I would like to thank you for your loyal and dedicated support.”

A ripple of applause ran through the room.

Calista Johnston nodded graciously. ”Thank you friends. As you know, my n.o.ble and loving husband cannot be with us this evening-cut down in his prime by the dark forces of enslavement and oppression. The very same powers of darkness, who struck down our proud governor, in one cruel and outrageous stroke.” Calista Johnston bowed her head, and held a courageous arm to her breast, as though her heart was about to break.

Again the applause, more rousing this time, mixed with spontaneous calls of support. Karyn couldn't believe what she was hearing-just who exactly was this woman trying to pin her husband's death on?

Calista Johnston sucked up the applause with fragile dignity. ”We have struggled too long under the yolk of Government, with tyranny masquerading as freedom.” The applause came in rolling waves now.

”The time has now come, to free ourselves from the old and oppressive order, to stand tall and proud, and move to a future of unlimited power and freedom.”

A standing ovation now, all over the room, everywhere clapping hands raised up, in an outpouring of spontaneous emotion.

Karyn sank back into the shadows, at the edge of the room, as whoops and whistles rose up.

It was as though the audience were preparing to storm the stage and raise this brave, martyred heroine up on their shoulders and carry her through the streets, so she might carry her sacred message to all of mankind.

As the building euphoria filled the room Karyn realized that she was dealing with more than Calista Johnston and her disingenuous interpretation of her husbands death. The woman was holding cards for sure, but her fan base of big money politico's told of a whole different game, whose players held position and influence at the very highest level. Could it be that this frail, chain- smoking socialite had organized the death of her own husband, so that she could turn him into a political martyr and inherit his billion-dollar business empire, to use for her own twisted ends?

If that was the case, where did Ted Congo and his cadre of corrupt Federales fit in to the picture?