Mosaic (Breakthrough Book 5)

by Michael C. Grumley

  “Yes.”

  Chris read her expression easily. “What happened?”

  “He died,” Alison replied in a shaky voice. “A few days ago. In the attack.”

  Chris dropped his head. “Shit.”

  “That’s not all. So did Lieutenant Tay. And Les Gorski. The man who came to train the whole team. And several crewmembers too.”

  “Oh, God.”

  She bobbed her head, lips pressed firmly together.

  Chris exhaled. He pushed the plate away from himself and raised his good hand, propping it before his mouth. “I knew it was bad, but I didn’t…” Chris stopped, not knowing what to say.

  “They’re arranging the services,” Alison said in a somber voice. “But they haven’t found Mr. Tay’s body yet.”

  Chris shook his head. “I just can’t believe it. Especially Tay. God, he was so nice and so smart.” He peered back at Alison. “What happened?”

  “It’s a long story. But he and Lightfoot were near the alien ship when a torpedo struck. They tried to get out of the way, but there wasn’t enough time.”

  Now Chris leaned back in his chair, a hand still covering his mouth. It was worse than he thought. In a fleeting moment of selfishness, he considered himself lucky to have missed it. Even in a hospital room. Then came the guilt.

  It was all exactly what he had been afraid of. What he and Ali had talked about. Things were getting out of control. This discovery of the plants had a way of turning everyone into monsters. Not to mention what they’d achieved with IMIS. Alison said they were moving the system, but where could it possibly be safe? And what were people going to do when they figured out what IMIS was truly capable of?

  Chris looked back at Alison inquisitively. “Wait. What did you say before?”

  “About what?”

  “About their breeding ground.”

  “The dolphins? I don’t–”

  “You said they showed you the breeding ground for a reason. An exchange of trust.”

  “That’s right.”

  Chris shifted his head. “You said they wanted something.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What did they want?”

  Alison took a deep breath. “Exactly what you’d think they’d want.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Think about it for a moment.”

  Chris blinked, contemplating the question, but finally shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “I’m not even sure we can do it.”

  “What, Ali?!”

  Alison answered with a voice that sounded both excited and nervous. “We’ve seen their world, Chris. Now they want to see ours.”

  4

  Elgin Tay was not dead. But he wasn’t far from it.

  In complete blackness, almost every part of his body screamed in pain. His arms, both legs, his chest, his head. He couldn’t tell whether it was due more to his being forcefully sucked through the small opening into the alien ship or the fall afterward onto what felt like a hard metal surface.

  He was barely able to move or even think. But Tay forced himself to try to remember what had happened. They’d drilled a hole in the alien ship. Just before Will Borger alerted them of the incoming torpedo. Tay remembered the sound of fighting over his headset, from aboard the Pathfinder. Gunshots and yelling. But he and Lightfoot were ordered to stay with the ship, not to leave the drill.

  Then had come Borger’s warning. They had no time to get out of the way. Their only hope was to remove the drill and get themselves through that hole before it started closing again. Before the alien ship healed itself shut.

  Now Tay found himself face down on his stomach, barely able to move, and he inched forward slowly until he found a large puddle of water. Some salty combined with fresh, the mixture seemed to be condensation from the inside of the ship’s walls. It was enough to give him some moisture, but he couldn’t drink it forever. Eventually, the salinity would become counterproductive in his efforts to stay hydrated.

  Tay tried to remember some of his naval training and how long he could drink seawater for. A couple weeks? This water wasn’t that salty. A sickening thought occurred to him. What if it wasn’t saltwater he was tasting? What if there was blood in the water?

  His fingers found an edge, and he forced himself to think of something else. Where was Lightfoot?

  If the enormous pressure of the water had pushed Tay through before the hole closed, then it could have pushed Lightfoot inside too. Which meant he could also be nearby. Still unconscious perhaps, but hopefully not far away. Unless he had tumbled over the edge of the platform Tay was on. But if he did…how far down was it?

  Tay pulled himself closer to the edge. When he reached it, the engineer lowered an arm, searching into nothingness. Pushing through a wave of pain, he pulled his face to the edge of the shelf.

  “Jim!” he shouted. “JIM! Are you there?!”

  There was no response. Only a muffled echo before the silence returned.

  He rolled back onto his right side, peering out into the blackness. He could see something––a faint, indiscernible glow. But he couldn’t make out a shape, or the distance from where he was. He blinked several times, trying to refocus. Christ, he couldn’t even tell whether his eyes were working right.

  He had to find Lightfoot because if he was still unconscious, his injuries might be even worse. But if Tay did find him, how much help could he really provide?

  The thought prompted Tay to roll onto his back, reaching out until he found a wall behind him. He clenched his fist and hit it against the cool metal, where a brief glow spread and promptly disappeared. He repeated the motion again and studied the light. The same effect they’d seen from the outside. But the glow wasn’t bright enough for him to see anything else. Dammit.

  He lay still for several minutes, just breathing. Each gasp painful. Then, with a sudden recollection, he began searching his body with his hands. His scuba gear was gone. He remembered now. They’d abandoned it in an attempt to free themselves from the wall’s magnetism.

  His hands continued down his torso, to his hips and swim trunks, and then further below to his bare legs. Where they suddenly stopped, on the rubberized handle of his dive knife. It was still strapped securely to his right calf.

  Excitedly, he gripped it and pulled it from the hard sheath. The blade felt strong in his hand. Thank God. At least he had something! Tay reached up and scraped the tip of the knife against the wall above him. This time, the brief glow left behind was brighter. Enough to reflect off the sharp blade.

  He did it again and again but couldn’t make the glow bright enough to help him see anything else. Frustrated, Tay closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain, and even more than that, the trembling.

  He could not let his body go into shock.

  5

  There were no sounds above or below him. No movement of any kind that he could detect. It took less than an hour to begin fearing the worst for Lightfoot.

  Tay himself had already drifted in and out of consciousness several times, which meant a day or more could have passed since the explosion. Maybe two, judging from the rumbling in his stomach. Hunger pangs were normally suppressed during serious injuries, at least temporarily, so his growling suggested either he wasn’t as hurt as his body was telling him or he’d been unconscious for a while. And if Lightfoot was still out, it was not a good sign.

  Tay gritted his teeth and eased himself up into a sitting position, trying to think. Trying to remember his training. How long could he survive without food?

  Three. It was the rules of three. Three minutes without air. Three hours without water. No, not water. It was shelter. A person could survive three hours without shelter, in a harsh environment. Then three days without water, and three weeks without food. That was it. Three minutes, three hours, three days, and three weeks.

  He hadn’t thought about the air until that moment. There was oxygen inside the ship. Fortunate, but probably not a huge surpri
se. Most organic life needed oxygen to live, so it wasn’t a stretch that aliens would too. But it meant there must be some organic process occurring inside the ship to maintain the air. Even something small, like algae.

  Nor was the environment harsh. The air was warm and muggy, but breathable, and the metal he lay on felt only slightly cool. More than survivable.

  But he would have to find more water. He had drunk up most of what was around him, which at best would last him a few more hours. Meaning he would have to find a way off the ledge.

  Gravity told him which way was down, but he had no idea what was below him or how far. He scraped his knife along the metal beneath his legs, producing the same familiar glow.

  His shipmates had to know they were in here. They had to know he and Lightfoot had gotten through. Will Borger would have told them. After all, he was the one who’d thought of going through the hole.

  By now everyone had to know both men were trapped inside. That they had survived the explosion. That–

  Tay stopped in mid-thought. The explosion. That explosion had to have been massive. What was the explosive charge of a torpedo? He couldn’t remember, but it was a lot. A hell of a lot. Enough to sink a ship.

  A sense of fear began to well inside Elgin Tay’s chest as he sat thinking. Anything and anyone even close to that warhead would have been obliterated by the blast. What if the crew on the Pathfinder didn’t realize Tay and Lightfoot had made it through the opening?! What if they assumed both men were dead?

  No sooner had he finished the thought when another, even more devastating, possibility emerged. What if…they both didn’t make it? What if Lightfoot hadn’t made it in? He was right behind him, but…God, what if Lightfoot never made it in at all?! If he didn’t, it meant he was…gone. And if they found Lightfoot’s body outside, would they assume Tay’s was still out there too, waiting to be found?

  A wave of panic quickly returned. What if they don’t know I’m in here at all?!

  ***

  Tay had no idea how long he sat there, alone in the blackness, quietly contemplating how bad his situation truly was. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure. If Captain Emerson and his crew found Lightfoot, they would have to assume Tay was dead too. After all, the pair was within arm’s reach of one another in those last moments. And if they could not find any traces of Tay’s body, they could very well conclude that he must have been closer to the explosion, and there simply wasn’t much left to find.

  Even Tay had to admit his own odds of making it through that hole before the torpedo’s impact were remote. Why wouldn’t they think the same thing? Even in his limited mental state, Tay knew it may be unlikely that the Pathfinder crew would consider his presence inside the ship a real possibility. And best case, even if they did, how long would it take to get another drill and make a new hole?

  Cloaked in darkness, Tay’s torturous reality was closing in around him––slowly suffocating any hope he had left.

  The truth was he was alone and blind as a bat. And no one was coming anytime soon.

  6

  Captain Emerson shook his head. “Sorry, Admiral. Still no sign.” The captain sat stoically in his chair with his arms folded on the small table in front of him. Next to Emerson sat his executive officer, Stan Harris. Both men were facing a large monitor affixed to the wall.

  On the monitor, the faces of Admiral Langford and Defense Secretary Miller split each side of the screen, somberly taking everything in.

  “We’ve recovered Lieutenant Lightfoot’s body, as well as Les Gorski’s from the oil rig. Appears he was shot by the Russians at close range. We’re now searching for Lieutenant Tay.”

  Langford and Miller both knew what Emerson’s last sentence meant. A less gruesome way of saying they were searching for Tay’s body, or what remained of it.

  “So, nothing yet.”

  Emerson shook his head. “No. We found Lightfoot not far from his gear. About a hundred feet below. No doubt Lieutenant Tay is down there somewhere.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “We don’t think he made it inside if that’s what you’re asking, Admiral. There wasn’t enough time. Even Borger doesn’t think so.” The captain frowned. “We lost a couple of damn good engineers in that mess.”

  Langford nodded from behind his hands, firmly propped in front of his face. His tone came across slow and frustrated. “And the fire?”

  “The Valant is now out, thanks to a DC-10 tanker out of Guyana. But the wreckage is a real mess. We haven’t told the crews from the new ships anything more than the official story, but they’re getting damn curious why we’re insisting on doing everything ourselves.”

  Langford almost smirked but managed to keep his reaction to himself. The official story. The official story was even thinner than the reason the Valant oil rig was there in the first place. The sooner they got everything out of there the better. They couldn’t keep their warships there much longer without attracting more attention and making the story even thinner. The whole thing was a mess.

  Defense Secretary Miller leaned forward in his video frame with a deep frown. “And how about our Russian friend?”

  “We got nothing out of Belov. He’s now headed for NAS JAX aboard a stealth Black Hawk.”

  Miller nodded silently. The aircraft was one of the same helicopters used to capture Osama bin Laden in 2011, after being retrofitted with some very expensive stealth technology. Not an easy feat for a chopper. If they could manage to get Belov back to Florida without being detected, he would consider it a not-so-small victory. Now if only they could make part of the ocean itself disappear from view.

  “The rest of the Russian crew are still with us on the Pathfinder.”

  “Any of them talking?”

  “No.”

  “What else is new?”

  “As for the alien ship,” Emerson continued, “it appears undamaged. At least from what we can see. In spite of the explosion.”

  Miller nodded onscreen. “Anything else?”

  “Not at the moment. But if we’re going to attempt to turn this into a peacekeeping mission, we’d better hurry.”

  “Agreed.”

  The term peacekeeping was an attempt at humor by Emerson. The truth was there was only one way they could think of to hide the alien ship. To throw off as much attention, or suspicion, as possible while a very small group of individuals tried to quickly figure out what to do next. Before the Russians showed up again, or others.

  By turning the area into a marine reserve, the United States could engage the cooperation of dozens of allied countries. A consortium designed to create a political blockade with enough clout to keep the rest of the international community at bay. At least for the time being. But they would also need to find a way to keep their allies at a healthy distance too.

  Miller checked his watch and looked back at his own screen. “All right. Keep at it and let’s regroup again, D.C. local time, at 1900.”

  “Aye, sir.” Emerson and Harris both nodded and watched as Miller’s image blinked out, followed by Langford’s in quick succession. Captain Emerson then reached for a small remote control and powered off their own screen.

  7

  Three hours later a cell phone rang and was immediately fished out from the front pocket of a pair of extremely dirty khaki pants.

  “This is Borger.”

  “It’s Captain Emerson.”

  Still in their secret maintenance building in Puerto Rico, Will Borger stiffened when he heard the captain’s voice. “Any sign of Tay, sir?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Nothing at all?” Borger asked, glancing solemnly at Lee Kenwood.

  The captain sighed on the other end. “No. So now I have to ask you to reconsider…what do you think our odds are that he’s inside?”

  Borger thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Probably still not good. But if there’s no sign of him…”

  “So, it is possible.”

  “Yes, the
hole should have been big enough. So, what now?”

  Emerson inhaled. “It’s time we find out. We’ve found our drill, and my men think they can have it working again inside of twenty-four hours.”

  “It still works?”

  “It’s banged up pretty good, but they think they can fix it.”

  A faint sound of optimism returned to Borger’s voice. “Do you need us to fly out?”

  “Not yet. Just keep your phone handy. I may need to bring you in on some of our discussions. Until then, keep on your computer problem.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  From the bridge of the Pathfinder, Emerson ended the call and peered out over a sea of emerald water, noting the clock above the giant window. If Tay was inside, he was most likely dead. Which would make their exercise pointless at best.

  8

  Will Borger looked at Lee. “They found the drill. They’re trying to get it running again.”

  “What does he want us to do?”

  “For now, continue working on IMIS. He’ll call us if we’re needed.”

  “Okay.” Lee checked his watch. “We can probably be ready to do some preliminary testing within an hour or so. After that, we’ll need the satellite connection up to test with Alison.”

  Borger sat back down in front of his laptop, still thinking about Tay. The momentary excitement of the drill being repaired had passed, followed immediately by a tsunami of gut-wrenching reality. Even if inside, Lieutenant Tay was almost assuredly dead. Borger was left wondering what Captain Emerson and his crew were intending to do, even if they could drill another hole in the alien ship.

  He shook himself out of his thoughts and looked back at Kenwood. “I’ll get us connected. I just have to do it carefully, so no one else notices the extra load.”

  “You know, we can probably rewrite part of the code to reduce some network traffic.”