Dressed in a light gray uniform with his arms folded across his chest, Palin’s face was expressionless. He stoically watched a bright blue laser suddenly appear against one of many ancient glass columns filled with green liquid.
A dazzling flash from the laser illuminated the room for several long seconds before promptly disappearing again.
One of the half-dozen men near Palin stepped forward and studied the column where the laser had struck. He ran his finger over the curved glass before holding up a small instrument. After a careful examination, he turned to Palin.
“This will take some time.”
“How long?”
“A few days. Perhaps more.”
Palin nodded his bald head and stepped away, turning back to the other men standing behind him, all of whom were watching intently. “We will require more time. Maintain the shield outside and remain alert for any visitors.”
The men nodded in unison and turned as a group toward the exit––a large square opening where a slab of granite had been removed.
Upon their departure, Palin turned back around and continued watching two of his engineers, both hunched over their equipment. They already had a sample of water, which had absorbed some of the energy from the strange green columns. But what they needed was the source liquid itself. Swirling, ever so slowly, inside.
They needed to study the liquid’s properties, identify what compounds were inside, and ultimately obtain a glimpse into how it was created—and what made it so powerful.
Because whatever the substance was, its potency was far beyond the scientific ability of either of their planets. Something Palin and his men had realized immediately. Leaving far more at stake than they wanted to admit.
It was the rapid unraveling of their remaining social fabric that had pitted Palin and Laana against a new regime. Engaging in a desperate fight to keep what was left of their culture together––for both a people and a planet in desperate need of a miracle.
A miracle they prayed resided inside the strange alien tubes.
51
Elgin Tay was going to need a miracle of his own. He now estimated less than three hours until the Pathfinder’s crew would attempt to retrieve him from the ship. And although they had managed to communicate an abbreviated version of their plan, Tay knew more than enough to be worried.
If the drill could once again pierce the alien hull, they would have to use some kind of an underwater skirt to seal the opening, and quickly. Then they would have to try to keep the opening from closing again and try to fish him out at the same time.
Tay’s own problem, of course, was that he was no longer sure precisely which section of the wall he’d originally come through. So, if they dropped a line and harness, which sounded like what they intended, he might have very little time to get to it. And if there was one thing no one could move quickly in, it was water.
He continued running different scenarios through his head, trying to anticipate the unexpected. But each version he thought of, every angle, every variable, did not leave him the least bit optimistic.
It would all have to go right. Everything. And Tay was experienced enough to know…that everything never went right.
52
Unfortunately, one of the most critical variables in Lieutenant Tay’s rescue operation did not have the slightest idea who Tay even was––a point of irritation for the entirety of their trip from Norfolk, Virginia.
Captain Royce Kauffman stood soberly in the control room of the U.S.S. Scranton, wearing a hard, chiseled expression. A Los Angeles-class submarine and the second ship to be named after the city in Northeastern Pennsylvania, the sub was a pioneer in its modular construction. It also served as the docking and transport of the U.S. Navy’s increasingly large unmanned underwater vehicle fleet. A fleet designed specifically for naval research and assistance operations around the globe. Including manned rescues from downed submarines.
If that’s what this was.
Procedurally speaking, Captain Kauffman’s current assignment was the strangest he had ever encountered. Never before had Kauffman been given such precise instructions that ended abruptly with him knowing exactly zero about what the hell was going on.
Their Deep Submergence Rescue Vehicle, or DSRV, was the latest and most advanced unmanned vehicle the Navy had. Suddenly procured and flown directly to Norfolk from San Diego in mere hours, it was then mounted to the top of the U.S.S. Scranton for immediate deployment.
And while there was nothing unusual in the immediacy of the operation, the puzzling lack of information for Kauffman and his crew had left them with absolutely no instructions beyond delivering their rescue vehicle to the Pathfinder at a set of predetermined coordinates. Nothing more. Just deliver the DSRV and wait for further instructions from Naval Command.
Kauffman leaned forward, silently. His hands clasped behind his back, the captain stared almost blankly at one of the dozens of computer screens surrounding him. A mission called up this quickly could only be a live rescue. But if it was, why on Earth weren’t they being told anything?
There were dozens of things they needed to prepare for, but without knowing exactly what they were dealing with, all they could do was make assumptions. In other words, plan for standard prep for unmounting and deploying the DSRV both with and without crewmen from the Scranton. They had no idea how deep the wreckage might be, what kind of vessel it was, or how many men they were hoping to retrieve. Nothing.
The whole thing reeked of political subterfuge as far as Kauffman was concerned. Thirty-eight years old and with a healthy dose of career-based cynicism, he’d seen enough cloak and dagger missions to tell him that whatever they were headed for was not only highly secret but poorly planned. Two elements that often led to undesirable outcomes, but two that also went hand in hand when it came to how most departments in the government operated.
The captain continued to glower, quietly, hoping there would be a lot more information waiting for them when they finally reached the Pathfinder.
Kauffman finally tried to distract himself and glanced around the well-lit control room. His men moved about him quietly and precisely in their tasks. The movement of their sub was virtually undetectable due to their slow speed since the Scranton had been forced to travel completely submerged from Norfolk.
Being underwater with the DSRV mounted on top created enormous drag, and a speed higher than fifteen knots would risk ripping the vehicle right from the sub’s mounting.
To Kauffman, it felt like they had been ordered to rush to an emergency without taking the ambulance out of second gear.
Without a word, he brought his right arm around and checked his watch. Captain Emerson had better have some damn good answers.
53
Captain Emerson burst into the Pathfinder’s engineering control room, inadvertently slamming the metal door hard against the wall behind it. Several of the engineering team were waiting for him, namely Smitty and Odonnell with the ship’s chief engineer Ackerman in front.
“What is it?”
Ackerman frowned. “Sir, we may have a problem.” He turned and motioned to the screen behind him. “With the drill.”
The captain squinted at the picture. “What problem?”
“We’ve found a small crack in the drill bit. It’s not large, microscopic really, but the integrity and strength of the bit may be compromised.”
“So where does that leave us? The Scranton should be here inside of an hour.”
“Uh…we don’t know. Exactly.”
“What do you mean, exactly?”
The engineer shrugged hesitantly. “It’s possible the drill was damaged in the explosion and not by drilling into the alien hull. Which means it may be able to withstand another attempt to pierce it. On the other hand, if it was damaged during the previous drilling attempt, it may fail before we can get through the second time.”
Emerson’s jawline tensed and his eyes remained fixed on the screen. Now displayed was a close-
up spectral image of the bit and a faint line, indicating a crack inside the metal. “Unbelievable.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And our storm is getting worse.”
“Yes, sir.”
Emerson shook his head and muttered under his breath. “Shit.” He straightened and turned back around, walking out through the heavy door and into the fading sunlight. The cloud cover was darkening.
Emerson stared over the railing at the swirling waters below and shook his head again. He then looked over his shoulder to find Ackerman waiting at the door. “Tay knows we’re coming.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Man’s down there, starving in the dark, just trying to keep his damn wits about him.”
“We still have time to tell him we have to wait.”
Emerson took a deep breath and turned around. “No. We’ve come this far. It’s time to go for broke. Let’s go get our man.”
54
Li Na’s eyes opened suddenly and gradually focused on Dr. Tricia Rhoades, approaching with a small needle in her hand. Li Na inhaled through her nose and looked around. There was no one else in the room.
“Look who’s awake.” Tricia smiled. She reached the bed and placed a soft hand on Li Na’s forearm. “How are we feeling?”
The teenager answered apprehensively but politely. “Better. I think.”
“Good.” Tricia tenderly slid her fingers to Li Na’s wrist and checked her pulse. “That was a solid three hours of sleep and very much needed, I think. Any dreams?”
“I don’t think so.” Li Na looked at the needle in Tricia’s hand. “What is that?”
“Just some vitamins. Your blood levels are pretty low on electrolytes. Not surprising given what you’ve been through.”
“What is an electrolyte?”
Tricia set the needle down and examined Li Na’s eyes and face as she spoke. “They’re important minerals that provide nourishment for your cells and tissues. They also help you stay hydrated, which is important for your recovery.”
“Where is Dr. Kanna?”
“He’s still catching up on some sleep. Do you need anything?”
“No. Thank you.” She looked at the needle again, now on the small table. “I…don't like needles.”
Tricia grinned sympathetically. “Most people don’t. Unfortunately, this is the fastest way for your body to absorb the vitamins. But I’ll make you a deal. One last shot for this dose and then just pills after that.”
Further down the hall, Neely watched Steve Caesare enter the wing’s short hallway, unexpectedly carrying a large pack.
“Going somewhere?”
“The Admiral’s sending me out to the Pathfinder to help with Tay.” He grinned at her. “You gonna miss me?”
Neely worked quickly to hide her surprise. “Actually, I am going to miss you. A lot.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Who else is going to get me my lunch every day?”
Caesare’s expression deflated. “Very funny.”
“No, really. Now I’ll actually have to go out and get it myself.”
“Okay, okay.”
She smiled playfully. “Aw, are we being sensitive?”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that men have fragile egos?”
“Uh, yeah. Girls figure that out in like the third grade.”
“We boys start figuring girls out,” Caesare countered, “somewhere around eighty.”
This time Neely laughed out loud, just as John Clay turned the corner.
“Am I interrupting something?”
“Yes, thank God,” said Caesare. “You ready?”
“Yep.” Clay raised a hand and displayed a set of dangling keys. “Borrowed a car from one of the nurses next door.”
“And exactly how hard did you have to ask?” Neely teased.
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind.”
“I’ll be back in about thirty minutes. Tiewater will be here, so you’ll be in good hands until I get back from dropping Steve off.”
Both men had turned toward the door when Caesare stopped again, “Oh, one more thing. The Admiral wants me to find that bacterium sample of yours. Where on the Pathfinder did you hide it?”
Neely folded her arms and glanced over her shoulder, before lowering her voice. “The only place I could think of at the time. And hopefully where no one has thought to look yet.”
55
Opening the large door to the outside, Clay squinted and scanned the area before stepping out into the hot sun. The unfinished wing of the hospital was quiet and void of any activity. Thanks mostly, Clay assumed, to Admiral Langford’s contact on the hospital’s board. Construction appeared to have been temporarily halted.
Still missing its concrete curbs, a black unfinished parking lot separated the new building and a row of short, imported cycad palm trees further out. Beyond the palms, a chain-link fence could be seen running the length of the parking lot. It then connected to the adjacent lot and fencing surrounding the rest of the hospital.
Caesare grinned at the old, green Subaru Forrester waiting nearby. “That must have been some serious sweet talking to land this baby.”
Clay shrugged as he circled to the driver’s side. “Well, I’m no Steve Caesare.”
“Amen to that.” He opened the back door and tossed his bag onto the cloth seat.
Clay settled in and turned the ignition, while Caesare squeezed in next to him. “Tight fit.”
“Or too much corned beef.”
“Hey,” Caesare defended with a pat of his stomach. “All muscle, baby.”
“Right.”
Clay shifted into gear and turned the car around, watching Caesare examine the radio before pushing the eject button on the cassette deck. When the tape appeared, he pulled it from the slot and examined it.
“Barbara Streisand. Just how old was the nurse you borrowed this from?”
“I don’t know. Late sixties maybe.”
“Yeah. That was some real sweet talking all right.”
Clay smiled without taking his eyes off the road. “I don’t know. I’ve met quite a few attractive older women.”
Caesare thought about it and shrugged. “Very true.”
***
Over a half mile away, on the roof of a cheap, sun-faded motel, a wide figure remained motionless in a bent-knee, sitting position. His right eye peered steadily through a scope mounted atop a small tripod. The man waited several seconds before finally leaning back.
With his naked eye, he watched the Subaru wind through the rest of the hospital parking lot before turning onto the main street.
The man seemed unaware of the beads of sweat dotting his tanned shaved head, focusing instead on the wide metal door from which Clay and Caesare had just emerged.
Anvil would not have been the man’s first choice for a nickname, but it was the one that had stuck years ago in the military. Especially given his frame. Thick, wide, and bald, the man closely resembled a walking piece of forged iron. But in this case, it was solid muscle.
After serving for a decade in the Army Special Forces, followed by a short stint as part of Washington D.C.’s S.W.A.T. team, those who knew him were surprised when The Anvil unexpectedly retired and subsequently disappeared from public life. None of his friends would have guessed that he had secretly become a contractor for the Central Intelligence Agency.
After peering through the scope for another full minute, Anvil finally leaned back and quickly collapsed the tripod. With his left hand, he reached down to his feet and lifted up a small radio from the hot roof’s surface.
56
Inside the wing, Neely jumped and tried to grab a nearby towel when, in one sudden and violent movement, Li Na lurched forward and vomited on top of her bed.
But Neely’s reaction wasn’t fast enough, instead bringing the towel up and holding it to the girl’s mouth. “It’s okay, honey. You’re okay.”
Li Na closed her eyes in pain
and promptly heaved again. This time into the towel. Her hand instinctively reached out to grip Neely’s arm.
“It’s okay,” Neely repeated, cupping a free hand behind Li Na’s head. She turned to shout for help and was relieved to see Dr. Kanna entering the room.
“More towels!”
Kanna stopped in his tracks and raced to a shelf to retrieve more. Together they covered the mess on her blanket and quickly stripped it clean, leaving Li Na covered with only the untouched sheet.
Dr. Kanna leaned over Li Na. “Are you okay?” He felt her head and studied her eyes carefully.
The teenager convulsed again briefly through gritted teeth, one hand grasping Neely and the other keeping a white towel to her mouth. She tried to speak but was interrupted by another convulsion.
She closed her eyes again and lowered her head onto the pillow, exhaling hard through her nose. The trembling in her hands faded and her grip relaxed around Neely’s arm.
“Tell me what hurts.”
“M-my stomach.”
Kanna probed carefully around her midsection, dropping toward the diaphragm, then moved higher to her solar plexus. “Any pain here or here?”
She shook her head.
Gently, he moved his fingers back to center. “Just here?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm…just the stomach. Nothing in the nerves.” His hands moved in a small circle around her belly. “Feels a little bloated.”
“Maybe something she ate?” Neely offered.
“Could be. What did she have?”
“Uh…a little salmon. With some rice and steamed leeks.”
“How much salmon?”
“Maybe an ounce.”
Kanna nodded. “Anything in the rice or leeks?”
Mosaic (Breakthrough Book 5) Page 18
