Expedition (The Locus Series Book 2)

by Ralph Kern

  The new chief engineer rolled his eyes. “Yes. But we have to get on top of these problems now. With the best will in the world, the photoelectric cells we have only provide a limited amount of juice and they will degrade by a percentage of efficiency each year. We need to steer our energy production toward sustainable and easily constructed renewable sources.”

  “He does have a point,” Kendricks said.

  “So, what are you asking for?” Reynolds conceded.

  “I want to start building some prototype power generation test articles,” Solberg replied.

  “Wouldn’t that fall under Laurie’s group?” Jack cut in. Reynolds nodded in agreement.

  “She’s research.” Solberg waved his hand dismissively. “This is simple engineering. We build a few different styles of photocells, test a few different materials, and see what generates the most ampage. Hell, we can make them up in one of the galleys with copper, old blu-ray discs, and household chemicals. It’s not exactly worth writing a thesis on, is it? I mean...”

  Solberg’s monolog trailed off as something out the window caught his eye.

  “It’s going again.”

  ***

  “Look, daddy. Another.”

  Grayson frowned, annoyed that his kid was more distracted by what was going on in the distance than his admittedly poor efforts at teaching him the times table.

  “Can you see?”

  He squinted in the direction his son was pointing. Damn, his eyes weren’t as good as they were back in the day, but he could just about make out the sight of another cloud emanating in a lazy spiral from the distant mountain in the early afternoon sun.

  “Yeah. Yeah I can see,” Grayson said. Maybe that helicopter they’d sent out would be getting a close look at whatever the hell that was and get them some answers.

  Although, he hoped for their sake, they weren’t too close.

  Chapter Twenty-Three – The Past

  “This irregular. Highly irregular.”

  Captain Sydney Smith of the Bahamas Defence Force rubbed his clean-shaven chin while reclining back in his creaking leather seat. His threadbare office looked like somewhere he spent minimal time. Clearly he felt an old wooden desk, a PC, and a filing cabinet was all he needed to do his job.

  He had reviewed the executive order which the ambassador had shown him with some interest. Ultimately, the order could only direct her to request aid from the BDF though—it wasn’t as if the BDF, as the military of a foreign power, would be bound by it.

  His eyes flicked up to Monroe. “Madam, if it had been anyone else, I would have just called the police to come take you away. I cannot simply deploy our military on your whim.”

  “Sir, I cannot emphasize the urgency of this request.” Grayson clenched his fists in an attempt to subdue his frustration on just how damn slow everything seemed to move on this island, even a crisis. “Look, if I understand your rank structure right, you’re the duty officer and we’re giving you information about a rogue ship operating in your waters which needs to be seized. You need to act, Captain.”

  “Sid, please,” Monroe urged, taking over the appeal. “We need your ships to pursue the Osiris. The people aboard are criminals, at best. Terrorists at worst.”

  She had changed into a power suit, and Grayson was impressed that the slightly dotty-seeming lady showed she had a hell of a lot of clout just by getting them in with the captain in charge of Nassau’s small fleet.

  “So, you’re saying this could be considered an act of law enforcement rather than war?” Smith pursed his lips. “I can work with that.”

  “You have an obligation to protect your territorial waters, Sid,” Monroe said. “That’s what your bosses pay you to do, after all.”

  “Fine. I can buy that without having to shoot this up to the Prime Minister.” Smith had come to a decision. A decision, Grayson supposed, helped by the fact that it would mean he would get all the glory. “But if she is as heavily armed as you suggest...”

  “Despite her upgrades, she isn’t a warship. She’s a...” Grayson clicked his fingers trying to remember the term.

  “A Q ship,” Dillon finished for him. “She’s camouflaged as a regular civil vessel. Sure, she can kick ass, but her main weapon is surprise and she don’t have that anymore. Plus, we forced her to move, probably before they’re ready. Your ships can intercept her, and if she looks like she’s not taking the hint, track her until we can get our Fourth Fleet deployed.”

  If we can actually get through to them. Grayson felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out, “Home sweet home” showed on the screen.

  He slid the answer bar across his phone’s screen, answering it. “Grayson.”

  “Karl, Lieutenant Colonel Larry McGuire here.”

  “Larry?” Grayson darted a look at Dillon. A perplexed look crossed Dillon’s face. Larry McGuire was Millard’s deputy. A nice guy, competent, but ambitious too. Getting his brigadier’s star was definitely part of his five-year plan and having special ops on his resume was a damn good way of going about that. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve got some bad news for you, Jackal.” McGuire sounded worried. Grayson winced at the use of his nickname; he always found it corny when anyone but his closest teammates called him by it. “We’ve had to arrest Colonel Millard.”

  Shit. He cupped his hand over the receiver. “Millard’s been arrested.”

  Dillon’s eyes widened in response.

  Grayson uncovered the phone receiver. “Can I ask what for?”

  “We found some irregularities in his bank account. Payments coming in, Karl, big ones. We think he’s been on the take.”

  No way. No fucking way, Grayson thought. Millard was a hard ass, but he was as by the book as could be. There was no way in hell he was on the take. His brain whirled. He couldn’t rationalize that Millard was dirty. No, it was far more likely that evidence had been planted by the real culprits.

  “I need you and Max to head back on the next flight.”

  “No problem, sir. Count on it.” He hung up the phone and looked at Dillon for a long moment. The captain and the ambassador watched the exchange, confused about what had just happened—the names meaningless to them.

  “What did he say?” Dillon asked.

  “He told us to bring in the Osiris. ASAP.”

  Dillon’s lips twitched in a smile. He knew they’d been recalled. And what’s more, he knew that Grayson knew he knew.

  And neither cared.

  “You heard the man,” Dillon barked in a voice which must have driven fear into the hearts of his former subordinates in the SEALs. “You want to verify this? It’s got executive-level authority. In other words, you’ll have to explain to your boss why you’ve denied a request for urgent assistance from the White House itself. We need to move now!”

  “Fine,” Smith acquiesced, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Thirty minutes, pier two.”

  ***

  The night had bought a chill to the air as they jogged across the gangplank onto the HMBS Bahamas. The sixty-meter-long maritime patrol ship had a sleek, dagger-like appearance. A large cannon was mounted on the front and 50 caliber machine guns protruded from the sides.

  “Captain.” A young officer saluted as they entered the small bridge. The Bahamas may have been fast and well-armed, but the ship was getting old now, and it looked as if the BDF didn’t have the cash to refit the ship with a modern suite on the bridge.

  “Thomas.” Smith saluted back. “Prepare to depart. Major Grayson? If you’d kindly give my crew an abbreviated brief.”

  Grayson felt a tick of a smile cross his face. It looked like Smith subscribed to the old tradition that there could only be one captain on board ship, and had given him an unofficial promotion.

  “Gentlemen. We are in pursuit of a ship, the Osiris, which we believe may have ill intentions for us or our allies. After we depart, we will rendezvous with HMBS Nassau for additional support.” Grayson pulled out the few
pages of a briefing document he had printed off, and found the image of Wakefield at the table at the Carlton Club and the one Dillon had taken at the hanger. “This is the man we need to speak to, the Osiris’s owner, Conrad Wakefield. We will intercept his vessel and cause her to heave to for boarding. Once we board her, we will detain everyone for interrogation. Questions?”

  The men on the bridge shook their heads.

  “Good. I must tell you, it is believed this vessel is heavily armed and might defend herself with extreme prejudice. I’ll remind you though, she isn’t designed from the keel up as a warship and we suspect we’ve caused her to move before she’s ready. I anticipate we will be able to defeat her if she puts up resistance. Now, time is a ticking. Captain, if you please, take us out.”

  Grayson stuffed the pages back into a plastic waterproof envelope and stuffed it into his smock as the bridge erupted in activity.

  Within moments, Grayson felt the dull throbbing of the engines as the buildings situated on and near the pier began to roll past the windows.

  A thrill of anticipation coursed through his body. This was it, he knew it, they were moving into the end game of this weird-ass situation.

  He watched as Captain Smith stepped out onto the deck and made to join him. The older man leaned against the railing and tapped a cigarette out of its box then noticed Grayson had followed.

  “Want one?” Smith offered the box to Grayson.

  “I don’t smoke.” Grayson gripped the railing, feeling the wind of their travel wash across his face.

  “It helps when I’m nervous,” Smith said quietly as he lit the cigarette with a silver zippo lighter. “And nothing makes me nervous like chasing down something which can bite back.”

  “You can bite harder,” Grayson replied, still gazing over the calm night waters.

  “Maybe.” Smith nodded before taking a long drag on his cigarette.

  Grayson found his attention drawn to the huge, high-tech looking cruise ship in port. It’d be full of vacationers. Mostly they wouldn’t know or care what was happening on this island and stretch of sea. They would feel safe in their staterooms and suites. And they would be safe. He recalled something Millard had told him when he’d been recruited into the SAD, a quote from an old newspaper article:

  “People will sleep soundly in their beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those that will do us harm. You, Karl, are going to be one of those men.”

  He turned to look forward, over the sleek prow of the ship.

  Screw it. I’ve lived like a saint for years. Considering how my week’s gone, I doubt it’ll be the death sticks which get me.

  “You know what, Captain? I think I might try one.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four – The Present

  Slater drummed her fingers on the armrest of her chair. The leather had been crudely patched with gray duct tape and some of the stuffing had leaked, giving the backrest an uneven feel. The bridge was still a mish-mash of repairs after the sabotage—after his sabotage. And likely would never look its pristine finest again.

  Tap, tap, tap. She fought the urge to ask the radio operator whether he’d heard anything yet. He would know to tell her as soon as got a message, any message, from the overdue expedition. To keep asking him would simply show her crew she was anxious and that simply wouldn’t do.

  The clock positioned above the helm station ticked over to 1715 hours.

  Why had she let them go out of radio range? The communications systems were intermittent at best over such a distance. She should have known better than to place her crew and Atlantica’s civilians in such jeopardy. To, as the Navy was fond of saying half jestingly, give them the “opportunity to excel”—to make do with insufficient resources. Yes, they’d done it before, but those times had been under desperate combat conditions whereas now they had a choice.

  Or had they? After all, they needed to know what was going on with that mountain. It could be the most dangerous thing they’d faced in this time... or it could be nothing, but they would have no way of knowing without reconnaissance.

  Coming to a decision, she stood and walked to the seaman standing watch at the radio station. “Get me Atlantica, Mister Thompson.”

  Nodding, he passed her a headset and she slipped it over her ear. “Atlantica, this is Ignatius Actual. Can I speak to Captain Kendricks, please?”

  A moment later. “Hey, Heather. Anything yet?” Kendricks asked without preamble.

  “No, not yet. And that puts them more than two hours overdue,” Slater said, pursing her lips. A lot could happen in that time. “Even if they had put down to explore.”

  “Could something have distracted them?”

  “I don’t think Perry, or Mack for that matter, would lose track of time.” Slater knew her XO and her chief pilot. They were both equally diligent in their own, very different, ways. “They’re losing light, and they know that means I would be declaring them overdue if I hadn’t heard anything.”

  Slater took a deep breath, “No, something’s happened to them.”

  “Okay. What do you need?” Kendricks asked, cutting straight to the point.

  “We need to consider SAR options. And unless Lieutenant Phillips has gotten our other helo running in the last few hours, that means we have to ask Osiris to search with theirs.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to the admiral. He can start buttering up Wakefield. You want them to go now?”

  Slater looked over at the sun, just settling on the horizon. “Just start the conversation. I need to speak to Lieutenant Phillips.”

  ***

  “Understood, ma’am.” Mike Phillip’s leg hung out of the open cockpit door. The Seahawk was still in the field where they had put down, somehow un-looted by the pirate horde surrounding it. “No, it’s looking solvable, but we still need a few hours to get this put back together. No, I’m pretty sure our repairs will hold. It was mainly just a servo cable coming off its track.”

  Hank hopped from one leg to the other, trying to keep warm as the dusk chill set in. Eager to hear what their boss had to say.

  “Yeah. Double-time, Cap’n.” Mike put the headset on the console and looked at the loadmaster. “Mack could be in trouble.”

  “Shit,” Hank muttered. “Stupid idea going out there with only one functioning helo.”

  “Don’t second guess, man,” Phillips admonished. Aircrews were tight knit, and it was sometimes easy to forget that a rank structure still existed, but Phillips couldn’t have Hank second-guessing orders or playing the 9 o’clock jury. “We’ve been pulling ops with a single helo for over a year now and you didn’t complain then.”

  “Yeah, but...” Hank gestured helplessly. “That was when we were with her.”

  Phillips squeezed his loadmaster’s shoulder. He understood how Hank felt. They’d been through some scary times, but they’d always had each other. Now Mack was out there, in the wild, on her own. “We’ll take our learning later, Hank. For now, we need to get this thing moving again.” Phillips looked over at the pirate settlement. “And that means we need to borrow some lighting.”

  “Oh man, they ain’t gonna be happy helping us out.”

  “Nope.” Phillips took a deep breath before beginning to walk toward the settlement. “Just keep working.”

  He reached the central hut where Bautista was presiding over a meeting. Phillips caught his eye and Bautista inclined his head. “Can I help you?”

  Phillips glanced at the hard-looking men and women, some of them bearing the scars of battle. Scars which they’d given them. The look on their faces ranged from unwelcoming to downright hostile. “Sir, we have a situation, and we need your help.”

  One of the women at the table gave a scorn-filled snort. Bautista held his hand up, silencing her before gesturing at a chair. “What kind of help?”

  Phillips settled into the chair. “Our helicopter is overdue from its expedition to the mountain.” He gestured at the setting sun. “We need lighting to cont
inue repairs and we need some brought up.”

  “You think you’ve crashed another one?” A man raised his eyebrow, before waving away his own accusatory comment. Phillips gritted his teeth. It was him. That bastard, Grayson. He almost bit back at him before remembering. No, Mack is who’s important now. Mack and the others, of course. Old grudges needed to be set aside. For the time being, at least.

  “I say we help ’em, Urbano,” Grayson continued.

  It was Bautista’s turn to raise an eyebrow, before giving a nod. “Of course. We will have some flood lights brought over to you.”

  Phillips nodded his thanks. “That would be greatly appreciated.”

  ***

  In the few seconds of the interchange, Grayson’s mind had run through scenarios and possibilities, seeking what potential there was to extract an advantage from the situation.

  “That’s a rather generous offer for people who want your head on a pole, Karl,” Bautista said after Phillips had left them.

  “Big picture.” Grayson looked at the others surrounding the table. “Mind if I have a moment with the boss?”

  The others cleared away with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Once they were out of earshot, Grayson looked Bautista in the eye. “Look, you’re right. They want my head on a pole. Which is why I think we should help them. Or more specifically, I help them.”

  “Go on.” Bautista cocked his head quizzically.

  “Have you ever noticed we never talk much about before?” Grayson said slowly. He had one shot to persuade Bautista to buy into his plan, which was only seconds old. He needed to make it a damn-good pitch. “It’s like it’s considered rude?”

  Bautista returned a thin smile. “Your point?”

  “You must know I have some skills. Those skills I picked up in the army. The unit I was in was pretty hot on fieldcraft and we were involved in a few recovery operations in just about every shithole you can think of. My point,” Grayson leaned forward and tapped the table with a forefinger to punctuate it, “is that I can be of benefit to any rescue operation. I know you’re keen to build up as much good will as possible. Offer my help. Maybe they’ll shut the hell up about putting a noose around my neck.”