Expedition (The Locus Series Book 2)

by Ralph Kern

  Kendricks and Jack exchanged a look as she listened. “Understood. General quarters, no emissions. I’ll be back in ASAP.”

  She put the phone back in her pocket and gave a deep sigh. “The watch officer I had keeping an eye on the Osiris is saying they seem to be—”

  “They’re leaving.” Reynolds looked up. “They’re going to go find the other Loci.”

  “Another thing you and Reynolds have been keeping from us!” Kendricks snapped.

  “They’re prepping to head out.” Slater confirmed before Reynolds could respond. Her anger visibly dissipated and an icy professionalism reasserted itself. “I’m going back to Ignatius. We’re not letting them get away. Jack?”

  “I’ll prep my team,” he replied as he turned to leave the cell. “We’ll see if we can get aboard before she goes.”

  “Good. Any means.” Slater nodded as she began to follow.

  “Grayson?”

  Slater paused. “I said any means. I want that ship impounded and I want Wakefield held to account. I’m beyond caring how.”

  “Aye aye, ma’am.”

  “We still have this goddamn swarm descending on us,” Kendricks said. “I’ll coordinate with Urbano around the evacuation.”

  “Good. And as for you...” Slater pointed an accusing finger at Reynolds. “We’ll finish this conversation later.”

  Chapter Forty – The Present

  “Ready up!” Jack shouted as he burst into the security center. He pulled the two keys from around his neck and unlocked the armory. Grayson sat at the table, his head cocked inquisitively while his two minders stood over him watchfully.

  “You’re deputized.” Jack pointed at Grayson. “I shit you not, though. The second I think you’re going off reservation, I’ll put a bullet in you myself. I’m in no mood for being messed around. Am I understood?”

  “Understood.” Grayson stood with an energy and speed which caused the two security officers to step back. “What’s the brief?”

  Jack hauled the heavy hatch open, revealing the armory. “We’re going to board Osiris. And we don’t have long to do it. They’re getting ready to go.”

  He strapped a holster around his thigh and cleared a gun. He slid a magazine into the handle, and slapped it secure. Grabbing another, he repeated the process, and presented the cleared chamber to Grayson.

  “Clear.” Jack eyed the soldier.

  “Clear,” Grayson confirmed the chamber was empty. He reached for the Heckler & Koch HK-45 and lay his hand over the top.

  “I mean what I said.” Jack kept hold of the weapon, preventing Grayson from taking it. “Is that abundantly clear, too?”

  “Abundantly.”

  Jack released his grip. Grayson took the weapon and slipped a magazine into it.

  More officers came streaming in and Jack handed out rifles and side arms. Within moments, they were armed and ready to go.

  ***

  Slater jogged out into the fresh air of the open cargo hatch which Ignatius lay parallel to, in defiance of the age-old rule a crew should never see their captain running. Gripping the rope railing, she trotted down the gangplank onto the destroyer.

  “Captain on deck!” A sailor called with a salute.

  “Secure the ship. We’re departing,” Slater called, snapping off an automatic salute as she barreled past him, heading toward the hatch leading into the fire-blackened superstructure of the warship.

  She climbed quickly up the stairway, two steps at a time, shouting out, “Gangway!” Crew and officers moved aside to let her past and she emerged onto the bridge.

  “Ma’am.” The watch officer, Lieutenant Ernie Windom rose from the command seat. “They’re trying to be sneaky about it, but they’re definitely almost ready to go. They just have a few odds and ends left on their pier.”

  Slater grabbed the binoculars Windom proffered to her and looked at the distant yacht. She could see the flicker of movement as people scampered over the decks. “What’s our status?”

  “We’re at general quarters, ma’am. We’re not emitting and fire control is now on your authority. We’ll be ready to move as soon as we’ve disconnected from Atlantica and secured.”

  “On the double with that, if you please.” To save fuel, Ignatius was suckling off Atlantica’s solar cell driven auxiliary power system. The downside was that didn’t exactly make them agile for scramble situations.

  “Aye aye, Captain.”

  She reached above her, unhooked the mic which dangled there, and keyed the panel for the 1MC.

  “All hands, this is your captain.” Her voice echoed throughout the ship. She gave the briefest of pauses. How much to say? Everything? No, she had to keep the crew focused. “We have reason to believe that the Osiris is responsible for a devastating terrorist attack in our own time. Let me be clear, there is no statute of limitation for what they have done. Whether ten years have gone by, or ten million, they need to be brought to justice. They are attempting to flee and we are not going to let them. Be clear on that and stay focused. Captain Slater, out.”

  She hooked the mic back over its hook and brought the binoculars back to her eyes. Osiris’s lights were blazing, showing off the beautiful yacht in all its glory. She felt an icy calm descend on her. She knew what she had to do.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” she breathed.

  ***

  “How’re we looking, Richard?” Wakefield tapped his foot as he stood over Hogarth’s command chair. The bridge was a quiet bustle of activity. Crew sat before their touchscreen controls. The ostentatious metalwork and clean lines hid what the Osiris was—a lethal Q ship.

  The flickers of crew darting back and forth across the windows had died down as the superyacht had secured down for departure.

  “Well, I’m taking the learning from this as we should be ready to go on a moment’s notice,” Hogarth said distractedly as he monitored the graphics playing across the black glass of his console.

  In theory, the vessel and most of its systems could be managed from this one station. Hell, it looked so simple that Wakefield reckoned he could give it a fair go.

  But that’s what he had Hogarth for.

  “Noted. Live and learn.”

  “When I light up the radar, we’re gonna be under combat conditions.” Hogarth eyed his boss. “Ignatius will know it’s on.”

  Wakefield nodded and worried at his thumbnail, thinking furiously. This yacht was heavily armed. Wakefield had wanted to ensure that when they came through the Locus, he was the one with a powerful enough vessel behind him he didn’t have to take shit from anyone. But she wasn’t a warship. She couldn’t take the hits Ignatius could. If there was an exchange of fire, then all the destroyer needed to do was land one good blow. He came to a conclusion.

  “We’re gonna need every advantage we can get here.”

  Hogarth paused, his hands hovering over the console. “Your saying you want to use him?”

  “I’m saying he might just give us the edge we need. When we arrived at the Locus, he got the area pacified in record time. And that was against two fleets. I’m sure he could deal with Slater’s tin can on its own.”

  “Okay,” Hogarth said. “But don’t ask me to like it.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like it either.” Wakefield dropped his hand from his mouth and gripped the back of Hogarth’s seat. “He’s been getting pretty damn argumentative lately.”

  Hogarth shrugged. “He ain’t going to want to find himself on a Tomahawk-induced barbeque. How much arguing will he do about that?”

  “Yeah.” Wakefield walked to a vacant console and pressed his finger against the biometrics reader. The screen came alive and he entered in a long, complex password. “The creepy little fellow just better behave himself.”

  ***

  “Urbano, how’s the evacuation going?”

  Bautista had the phone crooked in his neck as he pointed at a man who had dropped a crate, spilling the carrots on to the floor. “Come on, come
on, vamoose.” He switched his attention back to Kendricks. “We are working as fast as we can but we are not going to save everything.”

  The nearer docks were filled with the smaller craft which had come through the Locus, all of which should have been enough to contain everything they had time to load and the near two thousand people ashore. Still it would be tight. And the fact was, he didn’t like words like “should”. “We could do with at least one of those big life boats you have. We can guarantee everyone getting off at once then rather than ferrying people back and forth.”

  “Done. In fact, I’ll send two,” Kendricks responded. “How does that sound?”

  “Perfect.”

  Bautista turned and looked inland. In the bright moonlight, the distant mountain was reflecting bare rock now with black veins reaching stretching down it. They hadn’t stopped pouring out of hours. God only knew how many of them must be spilling into the forests, devouring everything before them as they came toward Anchorage and the fleet.

  ***

  Jack patted down in the air with his hand and they took cover behind the crates lining the entry to the jetty. Roughly three hundred feet away lay the stern of the huge yacht. Jack counted at least five decks, not that anyone had been allowed free access aboard—and he’d heard anecdotally it was more like nine or ten. Until the rescue mission, no one had been allowed on the yacht since it had arrived.

  The vessel had a sleek wedge-type appearance, her pristine lines marred by crudely affixed weapon emplacements.

  The rear dock was still open, a vast cavern within where boats and gigs were being secured down. The space was filled with crates while the center provided a wet dock in which craft could power straight up into.

  Jack felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to see Grayson hunkered next to him and pointed two fingers at his eyes then at the wooden pier leading to the vessel. Jack squinted to see what he was looking at. A man and a woman patrolled, rifles cradled in their arms at the ready. Wakefield had always taken his security seriously, only now he wasn’t putting up any pretense. It was now obvious—no one was welcome aboard.

  Nodding, Jack thought furiously. They hadn’t had time to come up with a plan. Maybe the soft approach would work, but the churning in his stomach told Jack they were in for a fight.

  “Okay, listen up. This is what we’re gonna do...”

  Chapter Forty-One – The Present

  Jack slung the rifle behind him and placed one foot on the creaking wooden decking of the pier. The path was littered with crates and boxes. The flurry of activity to load them was camouflaged by the wilder drive to evacuate the coastal region from the ever-encroaching swarm.

  Things can’t be simple, can they? It wasn’t like anyone had given him any rules of engagement, the laws which governed a battle, but despite Grayson’s attempt at protest, he wasn’t just going to shoot these people in cold blood. No, they had to at least try the peaceful approach first.

  “Hey,” Jack shouted. The pair of guards sporting the rifles turned to look at him. Behind others could be seen hoisting other crates onto a loading platform extending out from Osiris’s flank. “Jack Cohen from the Atlantica. I need to speak to Mr. Wakefield.”

  “Hey. I know who you are, Jacky boy,” the man said in a friendly tone. A warm smile plastered on his relaxed face. “Look, he’s a little busy right now.”

  The rifle gripped in his hands said something else. That he might not be quite as chilled out as his demeanor suggested.

  “It’s pretty urgent.” Jack forced a smile onto his own face. “You may have noticed a whole heap of trouble heading our way and I need to talk to him about it.”

  “Yeah,” the other woman said. She was definitely the straight lady. Her voice was firmer, more insistent. “That’s why he’s busy. Let’s just get going and then I’m sure he’ll chat to you all day when we’ve reached safety.”

  “I kinda need to speak to him now.” Jack let his own brand of insistence creep into his tone. The two guards glanced at each other.

  “Look, friend.” Number two turned fully toward Jack. “We’ve been polite. Now let me make it clear. We’re busy. Get lost.”

  The first one’s rifle muzzle slowly and casually crept around toward Jack. He gritted his teeth, knowing what was going to come if they didn’t back down.

  “Like that, is it?”

  The thin camouflage of friendliness dropped from the first man’s face. The casual motion of the rifle became a decisive movement as he brought it up into his shoulder.

  Two cracks came from behind Jack. Flowers of blood spread across the guards’ chests. Jack twisted around, taking cover behind a crate.

  A third echoing crack came, and Jack glanced over the top of the crate at the stern of the yacht to see a rifleman he hadn’t spotted tumbling down the side of the vessel and landing with a dull thud on the decking.

  Grayson sprinted over and slid behind the crate next to Jack, his M4A1 carbine tucked into his chest. “Goddammit, I told you that wouldn’t work.”

  Jack made to retort, then settled for shaking his head. If the man thought he was just going to out and out kill anyone without giving the chance of a peaceful solution, he had another thing coming. The other security officers ducked into whatever cover they could along the crate-littered pier. The crew still on the pier began ran for the safety of the hatches on the vast yacht.

  “We’ve got to move fast,” Jack finally said. He unslung his rifle, cradling it his arms. He pivoted around the crate and in his limping sprint, made toward the next crate and hunkered behind it.

  He felt a zip whip by him, a split-second later heard the crack of a rifle. He ducked down as a cacophony of gunfire erupted from the stern of the boat. A half dozen staccato lights signaled shooters opening up on their position. Splinters erupted from the jetty as the bullets ripped through the fragile wood.

  The crate he hunkered behind began to disintegrate under the onslaught. He couldn’t stay here. He may have had cover from sight, but it would only be seconds before a lucky round got him.

  Rolling, he slipped over the side of the pier, reaching for the stanchions and swinging onto a crossbeam below the main deck. The flicker of movement from Grayson’s position showing him mirroring his movement on the opposite side.

  Jack fumbled for his radio with one hand and keyed the talk button. “Team one. Fire for effect and advance as able.”

  From both the yacht and the entry to the pier, the rippling roar of gunfire could be heard. The zipping, thudding crack of rounds splintered through the decking and Jack averted his eyes, fearing a splinter would find them. Damn, he should have brought goggles. Basics, Jack.

  There, a powerboat bobbed up and down, moored next to the pier, forgotten or abandoned in Osiris’s crew’s desperation to escape. “Grayson, that’s our ride. Let’s go.”

  Grayson nodded and deftly maneuvered around the crossbeams and slipped into the boat. He lay down, adopting a prone position in the bow, the rifle sighted toward the stern of the yacht—and the still open bay doors. “I’m ready. Punch it.”

  Jack dropped into the rear next to the outboard engine. He pulled his leg in and whipped the chord of the motor. With a splurge of water, the engine erupted to life.

  ***

  “Ma’am, looks like the boarding party is engaging,” the watch officer called. “We’re seeing a heavy exchange of fire.”

  Slater grabbed the binoculars and looked over at the Osiris. She could hear the distant cracks of weapon fire and watched as tracer whipped both ways, slicing from the stern of the yacht down, and back up again from the crates littering the pier. The deluge was fierce, ripping back and forth.

  She frowned; the boarding party looked nowhere near getting onto the yacht. They were going to have to do this themselves.

  She felt a grim sense of enthusiasm at the thought. She was taking her ship into action again, and against the bastard who was probably responsible for killing her family. She swallowed down her pe
rsonal feelings. She couldn’t let them distract her. Instead, she let a cold determination wash through her.

  Dropping the binoculars, she pulled the 1MC mic from above. She took a breath, she had to ensure her voice was clear, decisive. There could be no doubt in it, she needed her crew to act instantly at her command. “All hands. Prepare for maneuvers. We’re going into battle.”

  She hung up and lowered herself into her command chair. She crossed her legs and relaxed her hands on the crudely repaired armrests, composing herself.

  “Helm, one quarter aft and hard starboard. Heading,” Slater glanced at the plot on the laptop duct taped onto the broken console before her, “pre-event 320 and then give me steerageway. CIC, Light it up. Full active radar target acquisition.”

  It was time to see if their repairs after Nest Island were up to snuff.

  The throbbing of the engines increased in tempo as the warship steadily reversed away from the stern of Atlantica and began swinging around to face the Osiris.

  ***

  “We’re getting pinged by an attack radar. Ignatius is gearing up for a fight.”

  Wakefield nodded at Hogarth, forcing himself to maintain his calm demeanor. “Then I suggest it’s time we get hell out of here. Anyone left on the pier?”

  Hogarth gave a shake of his head. The radio coms from the PMCs up on deck had said the last couple of folks on the pier had been taken out by the battle raging there.

  “Then let’s get gone.”

  “Roger that. Anytime your friend wants to pick up fire control,” Hogarth called. “He’s welcome.”

  Hogarth pushed the throttle forward, not even bothering to order his sailors to loose the mooring lines, trusting instead the power of his engines to pull them free.

  With a crashing roar, the pier ripped free from the beach, shredding itself into a rolling mass of timber. Sailors ran over the deck of the Osiris, desperately slicing through the mooring lines even as the mass of debris began to tumble along behind the accelerating vessel like a huge pendulum.