by Cliff Ryder
In other words, if things got out of hand, he would be ordered to kill Tina and anyone with whom she'd possibly spoken. Perfect.
He dressed quickly in heavy, flannel-lined jeans and a wool sweater, then set out to meet Tina at the one little restaurant in town. Most of the locals looked at him with suspicion, but that was the nature of most small native villages the world over. Newcomers were distrusted until they'd proved themselves. Jason knew the dilemma that they faced with strangers. Always at cross-purposes, few that came were interested in accepting the people here for who they were. They were either profiteers looking to exploit the resources of the environment or the people, or protesters looking to stop the profiteers, but often just as unfamiliar or unaccepting of a way of life that had been passed down from family to family for generations. The old Inuit ways were passing, and holding on to those that remained was a grim, desperate task for many of the elders.
The small restaurant had windows overlooking the water, but nothing that could truly show off the spectacular view offered by the nearby cove. Practicality won out over aesthetics, and keeping the heat in and the cold out was more important than showing off the view.
The setup was very like any coffee shop in the lower forty-eight states, a counter in front of the window and booths that lined the walls. The deep-brown wood textures of the booths contrasted oddly with the yellowish-orange fabric that covered the seats, and Jason suspected that rather than pay to have upholstery sent up from Anchorage, the owner of the place had used the fabrics available locally — which meant fewer choices and no sense of aesthetics at all.
Tina was sitting at a booth at the far end, stirring her coffee absently. She didn't look at him as he approached, but he could tell by the tense set of her shoulders that she was aware of his presence. Obviously, the events from the previous night were still weighing heavily on her mind — maybe as much as they were weighing on his. The thought that he might have to kill her was more disturbing to him than he wanted to admit.
She was a study in contradictions — smart, beautiful, well educated, but living the rough life of a guide in the wilds of Alaska. Was she really as unaware of the criminal activities in the area as she claimed, or was she right in the middle of it, trying to keep him off the scent? Despite it not being his primary mission, he would have to find out the truth about the weapons smugglers, and if she was involved, he would have no choice but to bring her down along with the rest of them.
He strolled to the booth and sat down. She didn't bother to look at him, but unfolded a map on the tabletop and pointed out several frails and areas on the map. "If you want to get to the next village to the north, this is probably the best route…"
Jason placed his hand on the map. She looked up at him and then back down at the map. She pushed his hand away and kept talking.
"I'm not sure exactly what information you need," she said quietly. "But I'll help in any way that I can."
She looked him in the eye as she spoke the last. A spark of determination lit up her face, and Jason was more confused by that than ever. So far this woman had seen him kill three men, get rid of dangerous weapons, and now she knew that he was a spy and she was still willing to help him. If he didn't end up killing her, he just might ask her out to dinner. She had guts and intelligence, and that was worth a lot.
"I appreciate your help," he said. "What I really need are lookout points to different harbors that are deep enough for a large submarine to enter or that a large ship could dock in, but that might not be thought of as typical places for seagoing vessels. I also need to meet anyone in town that you think might be involved or could get involved with the weapons smuggling. That needs to stop now, before they find a way to import something truly dangerous."
"Jason, you have to understand that the people here are loyal to the village and each other. We're not part of any country. Not really. This part of Alaska is more like a forgotten borderland. The only way for us to survive is to stay out of the politics and keep our minds focused on our people's survival."
"So what are you saying?" he asked.
"I'm saying that guns from Russia, or submarines, or lots of things that wouldn't normally be seen in the U.S. or in waters near the continental part of the country are more normal here than you might think. We've got more important things to worry about."
"How is that possible? I know that these waters are patrolled."
"Sure, they are, but there is a lot of water and a lot of space and not very many people to patrol it. The coast guard does a lot, but they spend more time and energy on rescues than they do anything else. A major storm that wiped out every village along the coast would probably be a sidebar in National Geographic about how the Inuit culture had finally died off."
Her voice was understandably bitter. This place, these people, mattered to her. Maybe more than anyone or anything had ever mattered to him.
Jason nodded. "I understand what you're saying, Tina. I really do. But here's what I want to know — how involved in the weapons smuggling are you?"
She raised her hands defensively. "I'm not," she said. "I swear it. My grandfather would never tolerate it. But I do know some people who are, and I…"
"You what?" Jason interrupted.
"I just know people that are and I wouldn't betray their trust any more than I would yours."
"Even if it meant saving lives? What if the next thing they decide to import is a nuclear warhead?" he asked.
She started to reply, but he forestalled her answer.
"Listen, I'm not asking you to betray anyone," he said. "But I still have a job to do. All I'm asking is that you introduce me to a few people and let me draw my own conclusions. In the meantime, you can think about what I said. Sometimes the only way to keep people safe is to protect them from the ones they love."
"Well, in any event, you're about to get your wish," she said. "Here comes someone for you to meet right now."
8
Jason turned to see a man walking toward their table. He was tall and lean, and walked with the smooth stride of a predator. His gaze was focused, but he didn't miss anything around him, either. That, however, was where the resemblance ended. From his clothing, he looked more like he should be panhandling for loose change on some dirty street corner rather than living in an Inuit village. His dirty blond hair and blue eyes made him stand out even more in a village filled with dark skin and even darker hair and eyes.
"Tina, my love, you didn't come to see me this morning," he said as he reached them. "I thought you would want to take a trip out to see the pretty new cruise ship that's parked herself in the harbor."
"Sorry, I've been occupying her time this morning," Jason said.
The man ignored Jason and directed his next comment to Tina. "Maybe you have some time this afternoon," he said.
"Chris Marley, this is Jason," Tina said. "I'm afraid that you'll just have to miss out on my company. I'm busy today."
Reading her body language, Jason could tell that she was uncomfortable with the man. She got to her feet and motioned with her hands. "If you'll excuse us."
Jason stood quickly, purposely crowding Chris to make him step back. He wanted to give Tina room to walk by without getting any closer to someone who made her so obviously uncomfortable.
Jason took a cue from Tina's reaction to the man. On a hunch he said, "Excuse us," in Russian.
"No problem," Chris replied in English.
Jason didn't say anything else, but turned and followed Tina outside.
"Who was that guy?" Jason asked.
"One of the local dregs of society," she said. "Just the sort you're looking for."
"He's obviously not Inuit. What's he doing here in the village?"
They walked to a Jeep she had parked outside. Jason didn't realize that it was their mode of transportation until he heard the beep of the alarm being turned off. He looked back at Tina in surprise.
"You did notice that there were other cars here, right?" she asked.<
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"Yeah, I just wasn't sure you owned one."
"Believe me," she said, "when winter hits, no one wants to be stuck with just a snowmobile or an ATV."
She climbed into the Jeep and Jason got in the passenger's side. She started the vehicle and pulled away from the curb, then resumed their conversation.
"Chris showed up here about five years ago. He came in with an oil outfit trying to convince the village to allow exploration drilling. The company did everything right. They promised the town council that if the right amount of oil was found no one in the village would have to work again, while promising the village elders to respect the land and our culture. They drilled two test holes. First one showed nothing, but the other looked like it had struck the mother lode. Chris was on the drilling crew."
She laughed bitterly.
"Anyway, one night he got drunk in the bar and started spouting off how it was all a scam and basically the rights that people were going to give up weren't to have a couple of oil pumps in the backyard, but an open-pit gold mine. The oil test had been rigged to show a large deposit of oil, but there really wasn't any. This village sits on a rich mineral deposit. The company was run out of town and Chris was the hero, even though he didn't really remember it the next day. The company he worked for had brought in a boat to tour their investors around the coastline. Since they were in such a hurry to leave, they left it behind. Chris uses it to fish and on occasion takes out a tour group. No one from the company has ever asked about it and no one out here cares. I suspect that he has nowhere else to go."
"Do you think he uses his boat for other things besides fishing and tourists?" Jason asked.
"You mean like smuggling?" she asked. "I wouldn't doubt it. He's not burdened with a particularly strong moral compass. The only direction his compass in life points is straight to him."
"I know the type," Jason said.
They drove along the coast and Tina pointed out the areas on the map that might be useful. Jason took digital images of the sites they visited and downloaded them. There were several spots he planned to revisit when he didn't have company and had time to explore a little more.
Once they were back in the village, Tina maneuvered the Jeep into a parking spot in front of a small mechanic shop.
"What are we doing here?" Jason asked.
"There's someone else I want you to meet."
They went into the main office and waited for an attendant. The wait wasn't a long one. A man who looked a lot like Jason stepped out of the shop and came to a sudden stop behind the counter.
Jason's sharp indrawn breath was the only sound in the room. He couldn't have been more stunned if he had walked in and seen the president. The man, who had been wiping his greasy hands with a rag, stared at what might as well have been his own reflection.
"Who the hell are you?" he growled.
"Jesse, this is a friend of mine, Jason. I thought you two might want to meet."
"Why would you think that?" Jesse asked.
"Isn't it obvious?" Tina said. "You two look almost identical. You could pass for twins. And you have the same last name."
"Lots of people look the same in the world, Tina," he said. "What is it they say? We're all supposed to have a twin somewhere or another. I guess you found mine. Congratulations." He stuffed the greasy rag into a pocket of his coveralls. "If that's all, I'm busy."
Jesse went back into the garage and left the two of them standing at the counter.
"Come on, Tina, let's go," Jason said.
"Don't you want to know more?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Not right now." He glanced in the direction Jesse had gone. "And even if I did, he clearly isn't interested in finding out more, either."
Tina offered him a look of exasperation and he sighed. The woman could say more with a look than many could with four sentences, he thought.
"Hey," he said, "at least now I know where to go when I have the time to look for answers, okay?"
She nodded once, and he followed her out of the shop.
* * *
Jason sat in his cabin syncing the information stored in his PDA to his computer. The activity in the water for the area all seemed normal, and there were no signs of a submarine showing up on the Scorpion's radar. If the supercavitation specs were accurate, the water displacement alone would set off multiple sensors. He was beginning to feel as if the whole mission was a wild-goose chase. What were the odds that the Russians had actually come up with the money and the technology to pull off something like that anyway?
Plus, the meeting with Jesse had thrown him more than he wanted to admit. The other man really could have been his twin.
He tapped some keys on his PDA and used a Room 59 back-door access to the FBI's computer system. He wanted to look up Jesse and see what he could find out. The files quickly loaded on the small screen and he read the summary notes.
Siku, Jesse. Age: thirty-two. Current state of residence: Alaska. Family history: mother, Cressa Siku, deceased. Father, unknown. Siblings: unknown. Criminal record: misdemeanor possession of a controlled substance, two convictions prior to age eighteen. No other convictions. Alert: current suspect in small-arms smuggling from Russia. Field investigation pending agent availability.
Jason sat back and looked at the computer screen. A copy of his birth certificate held the name of his mother. Cressa Siku. It was the only information he had — the orphanage had given it to him when he turned eighteen — but now that name meant something more. He had a brother. At least by blood. But what did it really mean?
He leaned back in his chair, stretching his back and rubbing a hand over the aching muscles of his neck. The real work of this mission hadn't even begun, and he was already tired. The discovery of a brother he'd never known he had — who happened to be a suspect in the weapons-smuggling operation that Room 59 had just authorized him to take down — was an added complication he didn't need. Brother or not, he had a job to do. The man was a total stranger, so why should he feel anything for him?
He picked up the PDA and looked through the oceanic-activity logs again, comparing them to the map Tina had shown him that morning. There was one area showing some boating activity that she had said was usually pretty dormant. Jason decided to go check it out. At least that way when he reported in to Denny what a dismal failure the mission had been so far, he could show that he'd made a reasonable effort. Plus, he admitted to himself, he was dying to try out the Scorpion.
Jason left the cabin and rode his quad down to the water's edge, then signaled the submersible, which climbed onto shore. The one nice thing so far about being a Room 59 agent was the plethora of cool toys that he had to play with. The Scorpion came to a stop and Jason keyed the entry code on the exterior and climbed on board. He had worked with the controls in a virtual-reality simulation during his training period, but that hadn't really prepared him for the experience of being inside the actual pod. The controls glowed indigo and silver, giving the cockpit an almost supernatural feel.
He closed and locked the hatch, then turned on the air-exchange system, giving it time to engage before he headed for the water. A light flashed on the control panel indicating that the system was ready, and he guided the pod to the water. The way it moved on land reminded him of riding a camel, which he'd done on several occasions in the Middle East. They were temperamental, nasty animals. But once he guided the pod into the water, it suddenly felt as if he'd entered a whole other world. The jerky motion he'd experienced on land completely vanished. The vehicle had been designed to react to both the hand controls and his body movements, which made it much more agile and responsive.
"All right," he said to himself. "Let's see what this baby can do."
Deep enough now to have the guidance lights on along with the radar, Jason sped along the bottom of the ocean floor, disturbing sea creatures as he went. Curving around rocks and using the legs to push off any shoals that were in his way, he was having the time of his life. It was like dri
ving a sports car underwater.
He made the last curve to head into the cove that was supposed to be dormant. His radar showed three boats in the water. He shut down the external lights and switched the view screen to dark mode: a combination of infrared spectrum and night vision that allowed him to steer clear of obstacles while being able to see sources of heat without being seen himself. He approached the shoreline and, using the Scorpion's radar tools, began to assess what was going on.
He quickly discovered there were a number of people on land, which meant that was where he needed to be, as well. Jason quickly moved the Scorpion to an isolated spot and maneuvered it out of the water. He switched from sonar to straight audio pickups, which, along with the night vision, would give him plenty of information.
There were twelve men surrounding several crates. The audio feed could pick out each individual voice and he could tell they were speaking Russian. The infrared scan showed weapons signatures pretty much identical to the ones he and Tina had found in the abandoned village. Although he couldn't see their faces, Jason recognized two of the voices right away — Jesse and Chris.
The conversation moved quickly as they satisfied themselves that the weapons were suitable and arranged to meet the smuggler in the village the next day to deliver his payment. As the meeting wound down and the dealer and his men returned to their boats, Chris's and Jesse's voices died out.
As tempting as it was to take the Scorpion in close and blow up the weapons that were piled on the beach and — presumably — in the nearby boats, Jason needed to know if these guys were just run-of-the-mill smugglers or if their plans included something far more sophisticated and dangerous than rifles. If he took them out now, he'd never find out the whole truth.
A better plan, despite the urge to unleash destruction on the smugglers, was to go back into town and then tomorrow stop by the garage and have a chat his long-lost brother.
At that point, actions would speak much more loudly than any words they could exchange.
