Mark searched day in, day out for the base’s location to tell Heather. When he couldn’t find anything in the base after searching dozens upon dozens of rooms, he figured anything concrete about the location would be hidden under lock and key. As he stood outside on an upper level, admiring the ocean on all sides, his gaze drifted along the waves to the boats docking. The boats carried cargo each day, which meant they would have manifests of their shipments. Including the ports they dock at. He smiled to himself. Bingo.
Three boats in particular departed each day and returned on the next like clockwork. Dingy, dirty small boats with a skeleton crew and light loads. Mark was confident he could sneak aboard them. Each had a schedule to keep, with the first, The Nautical Mile, to leave departing right after lunch, and the others leaving a couple hours afterward. When the crews went to lunch in the base’s cafeteria, they left one crew member behind to guard each boat. The guards followed a routine and never bothered to maintain a vigilant watch. After all, who on the base would sneak aboard their boats?
Starting with The Nautical Mile, Mark crouched behind some of the cargo they had unloaded and waited until lunchtime. The crew left right on the dot, loudly complaining about the heat. “We really need to get some shade. Hang a tarp or something on the deck while we’re working.”
“Quit your whining,” the copper-skinned captain said. They walked by, the crew still grumbling to themselves. When they passed, Mark scurried on board the ship. He nearly slipped on the wet deck and steadied himself against the wall.
“Forget something?” the guard asked from around the corner. Mark opened the nearest door and pulled it to as the guard appeared. “Hello?” He watched the guard through the porthole in the door, willing him to leave. The guard shook his head at the door and pushed it shut. Then he returned to the bow, lounging in a chair and basking in the sun.
The room, not to mention the entire boat, reeked of the ocean, as if Mark had plunged his head beneath the waves and inhaled the salty water. The boat rocked gently, and he stuck to the shadows as he explored the ship.
He had ended up on the bridge of the ship, if it could be called that. It was small, with enough space for two chairs, the helm, and a couple of control panels, which he dared not touch. If there was any indication where the ship had been, this would be it. He rummaged through the drawers near the chairs, thumbing through messy papers. He had to get in and get out. Didn’t want to test his luck on his first visit.
Soon, he came across a manifest of the cargo and a recent schedule of The Nautical Mile’s docking. He scanned the document and found no mention of the oil rig or where it was located. Only the port the ship traveled to each day. “Ensenada, Mexico,” he muttered to himself. He repeated it several times, committing it to memory. Could be useful later.
With not much of the lunch hour left, he escaped the boat and headed for the other two. Thankfully, the second boat, the Rose Araday, was empty. The guard from that one had gone to talk to the guard on the third boat, Little Dipper. Mark located a manifest on the bridge and their port of call in minutes. “Newport, Oregon.” Still nothing on the oil rig.
At the third boat, the two guards leaned over the railing, looking out to the ocean. Mark approached the boarding ramp and waited nearby, pretending be fascinated by some fish in the water. If he crossed the ramp and the guards turned, they would instantly spot him. However, they continued to talk and paid no attention to his side of the ship.
After a few minutes, Mark gathered enough courage and crossed the ramp, stepping on his tiptoes. He hugged the bridge’s wall and slipped through the door, breathing easier and crouch walking through the room. As he moved around, he picked up parts of the guards’ conversation outside.
“Really, I like all the work. More pay for me. All I’m saying is I’d like a week off sometimes to see my kid,” one said.
“Oh, boo-hoo. You got it so rough,” the other said. Mark opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of papers. “You know what we’ve been carrying this month? Bombs.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. One of the crate lids popped open last week. I went to close it and I see DANGER! HIGHLY EXPLOSIVE MATERIALS! in big letters on the boxes inside. You’d think they’d tell us.” Mark pulled out another file and traced the data lines to a city dock. Los Angeles. No oil rig though. “Here we are, rocking back and forth, and one mistake could set these things off. God forbid anyone throw a cigarette down there. We’ve been hauling this stuff nonstop without ever knowing.”
“That’s nothing. I heard a couple of the other ships carry experimental diseases. They create some in the labs here or change up existing ones. Make them deadlier. We were actually carrying one. Called SN91, I think.” Mark froze and cocked an ear. “Heard it’s nasty stuff.”
“Nasty how?”
“Didn’t you hear about Golden Springs? All those people dying?”
“Oh, yeah. That stuff did it?”
“Yeah. And our crates were about falling apart. I tell you, they ain’t packing them up right. One disease actually broke out on a boat, and most of the crew died on their way home. Eyeballs burst out of their skull or something like that.”
“No way.” Mark stayed low and crawled to the door. “What boat was that?”
“Raymond’s.”
“Raymond also claims he’s seen mermaids.”
“Hey, with these BEP freaks, who’s to say there ain’t a BEP mermaid? I tell you one thing though.” The second guard paused. “Whatever all this haul is, bombs, diseases, whatever, they’re shipping them more often. Whyte’s planning something big.” Mark rushed across the ramp as the lunch hour ended and stayed far away from the cargo containers during the rest of his explorations. He didn’t want to imagine blowing up or his head liquefied from some disease, nor Heather suffering the same if Whyte unleashed it all on the BEP Division.
Mark had been unable to talk to Heather alone for the past several days, as Whyte and the others were always there. However, that night provided an opportunity. Heather had called earlier in the week and made a report that she was working on a guard to join her side. “Got a bit of a strong will, but I managed to slip my filter off and gas him a bit. Convinced him to let me see a page from the BEP counselor’s notes on the sessions he’s had with me. A little more and I could get him to let me peek at some more highly classified things.”
Since then, she had nothing new to report each night and tonight was no different. After the call ended, everyone left except for Whyte. He lingered behind and Mark cursed his luck.
Struck by a sudden idea, Mark hurried to one of the other offices. What if Whyte received a call from his other inside person? He felt rather pleased with his idea and placed a call to the base’s operator. “Hello?” the operator said.
Mark whispered into the phone. “This is the BEP Division. It’s urgent. Mask my voice.” He waited until the operator did. “I’m calling to talk to Whyte. Get him now.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine. I have to keep my voice down. The guards here may be listening in. I’ve discovered something big that Whyte needs to hear. Now, get him for me. Hurry up.”
“Please hold.” Mark waited for a moment and then hung up. He raced back downstairs to the lounge and hid in one of the empty rooms nearby. Soon, a man entered the lounge and left with Whyte, and then Mark dashed in. He quickly locked the door and called Heather.
After a few rings, she answered. “Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Mark?” she said. “Are you alone?”
“Yes, but I don’t know for how long,” he said. “I couldn’t find anything to pinpoint where we are.”
“I figured as much.”
“But I did check the manifests of a few ships and where these particular ones go to every day.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pants. “Little Dipper goes to Los Angeles, California; The Nautical Mile to Ensenada, Mexico; and Rose Araday to Newport, Oregon.”
“Any sort of timetable
for all the ports?” she asked. “Or coordinates for where they came from on their way to those ports?”
“No-go on the coordinates. I didn’t see a timetable. Then again, I only had a short time to look. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “How long do you have?”
“Not long. I put in a fake call. Whyte will know soon enough.” He yanked at his collar, his shirt suddenly choking him. “He’ll probably suspect me afterward.”
“Just keep doing what you’re told, keep your head down, and you’ll be fine until you escape.”
“I haven’t done well so far,” he said. He told Heather about the casino incident and the forest. “I know Lionel probably knows something. And I’m rooming with him and Oliver.”
“He is deadly,” she said. “I can’t count how many people he’s killed. Doubt he can either.” Mark gulped. “But I’m more worried about Oliver.”
“Oliver?” he asked. “Why?”
“Surely you’ve noticed that he’s psychotic.”
“As opposed to the guy who chokes people by jumping down their throats?”
“More psychotic than the rest of Whyte’s posse.”
During his stay, Oliver had become more erratic and unhinged as Mark spent time with him. “Yeah?”
“That’s because he wasn’t always blind like he is now.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know the specifics, but I do know that when his power started to manifest as a teenager, he accidentally burned down his house,” she said.
Mark whistled. “That’s rough.”
“Not as much as burning your sister alive,” she said.
His jaw dropped and he hissed, “Burned his sister alive?”
“Yeah. Last clear image he ever saw was her roasting, screaming as the house fell apart around them.” Mark had a sudden flashback to Kirk writhing in terrible pain and agony in his house, reaching, begging for help, but then the man’s voice was replaced with a female’s intense, shrill scream. He shuddered.
“I can see how he’d lose his mind,” he said.
“Not just his mind. His moral fiber. He has a sadistic streak a mile wide that brought him to Whyte.”
“Sounds like Finster.”
“No, Finster was an amoral thug who loved his job. He killed, although he cared about the people at Overwatch.” A smidgen of sadness crept into her voice briefly. “Still, a thug all the same. Oliver got on well with Finster but he is worse. He’s insane. He loves letting loose and killing. He’ll jump into a fight and burn anyone, friend or foe. I once saw him take out a dozen mercenaries to get at one target because he wanted to claim the kill.”
“Then why hasn’t he gone crazy and killed everyone?”
“Whyte keeps him on a tight leash. And he only listens to Whyte.”
Mark nodded. “Everyone does.”
“No, not because he fears him. Because Whyte gives him ‘fun’ contracts. Steer clear of him. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
She sighed. “Speaking of family. How is yours doing? Heard from your parents?”
He shook his head. “Not really. I called my mom a while ago and she sounded fine. Worried, but fine. Can’t really go home now though.” He picked at the expensive carpet. “No real family to go back to, you know?”
“I know,” she said, and her face softened. “Hey.” He looked up. “It won’t get easier, but you’ll get used to it, okay?” She smiled and he wiped his nose. “You’ll get through all this.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“And be careful from now on. Last thing you need to do is to get caught.”
“Don’t worry. I will.”
“Actually, if you can get back on any of those boats, then leave that way. Stay wherever the boat lands. Don’t come back here,” she said.
He pouted. “And if I end up in another country altogether? Can’t speak the language, no money, nowhere to go?”
“Better there than where you are now,” she said. “I only agreed until you found a way off.”
“I still need to help you,” he said. “I’ll find out where this place is. Then I’ll try leaving on a boat.” A boat. Distance. Mark smacked his forehead. The boats! Why didn’t he think of this before? “That’s it!”
“What is?”
“The boats! I didn’t see a timetable, but the ports the three boats go to daily! I could check how far they traveled before they leave and after they come back, too! Then we can figure out how far the base is from the cities!”
“Mark, that’s risky,” she said. “It’s better if you just stowaway on a boat and leave.”
“No. I’m doing this.”
“Mark—”
Footsteps echoed down the hall. Mark stared at the door. The person was coming closer. “Mark!” Heather said, snapping him out of his frozen state.
“Got to go!” he whispered.
“Mark. Leave on the b—” He ended the call before she finished and unlocked the door. He threw himself to the ground, hiding in front of the sofa and holding his breath as the door opened.
“Mr. Whyte?” Dr. Sullivan. She stepped in. “Hello?”
“Yes?” Whyte stood in the doorway behind her. Mark cursed his luck again and wondered how he could get them away from the door. He looked under the sofa and saw that Whyte’s feet were turned toward Sullivan. And toward him, too. But did Whyte see him? Mark curled his legs into his chest and pressed his hand over his mouth and nose. “What is it?”
“I need to talk to you.” They walked into the lounge and Mark crawled to the side of the sofa. “Dr. Yonkers and I have found a way to slow Rooke’s last version of SN91 to an hour now. Within a month, we may have it up to a day.”
“Excellent,” he said. “Let’s see what you have so far.” Mark rolled his body toward the back of the sofa, hoping to bolt for the door.
“Mr. Whyte?”
Oh, come on! Lionel floated in the doorway. The fringes of his wispy body peeked above the sofa’s top. Mark scrambled into hiding on the sofa’s side again, pressing his back against the leather. He shivered, clutching his throat as if that would stop Lionel from hopping into it if he should be spotted.
“Oh, yes. Come in, Lionel,” Whyte said, sitting on the sofa with Sullivan. Lionel drifted by, stopping for a moment on the other side of the sofa. They saw him. Mark knew it. They saw him and any moment they would drag him out and kill him.
However, Lionel continued on and sat in a chair, hovering an inch above it. Mark waited a few seconds that stretched on forever as Sullivan flipped through some papers and handed them to Whyte. Mark crawled as low as he could behind the sofa.
The door was several feet away. They weren’t looking at him at all, but they were sure to turn around and hear him before he reached the exit. However, Whyte sneezed hard a few times and Mark took the opportunity. He crawled faster on each sneeze, leaving the lounge and turning the corner. He rose to his feet and snuck to his room. Oliver was already asleep.
For a long time, Mark sat in the corner of the room, watching his bunkmate and the door, unable to rest easy. No matter how much he told himself they hadn’t seen him, he didn’t believe it. Whyte can see the future. He knows. He’ll be waiting for me. But what if he hadn’t see him? There was a slim chance, since his sneaking around wasn’t directly related to Whyte’s person. Perhaps his power was less than what Oliver believed it to be. After all, he hadn’t picked up on anything else Mark had done.
He shook his head. It was too good to be true. He’d simply prepare for the worst and keep a weather eye.
Two days. Two days to check the distance the ships traveled and inform Heather, and then he would leave this prison. If I can even make it for two more days. Fear gripped his heart and told him otherwise, told him to hightail it out of there now. He refused. He had promised to help Heather take Whyte down, and that was what he was going to do.
Rogues of Overwatch Page 50
