Confident that Doctor Blackwater could do the job, Liam focused his thoughts on a different concern. For just who could have been responsible for shooting his son in the first place?
Sean’s last visit home had been during Christmas. At that time he appeared happy, the picture of a successful city dweller. His job as a construction foreman with Guinness was supposedly going splendidly. He enjoyed living in Dublin, where he had a flat of his own and was saving up for a new car. Surely it sounded as if his future financial security was all but assured. That’s why he seriously doubted that Sean would have had anything to do with a Marxist-oriented terrorist group like the IRB.
From what he understood, the Irish Republican Brotherhood recruited its members from the ranks of the economically downtrodden. They were lazy havenots who were too lazy to work for a living. So they took up arms, and disguising themselves as freedom fighters, stole, maimed, and murdered, all in the name of a united Ireland.
Liam remembered hearing about their latest offensive on the television news only last month. At this time a series of violent incidents wracked the six counties that made up Northern Ireland. Exploding bombs destroyed a number of automobiles, and when one blast went off inside a crowded public bus, over a dozen innocent citizens of Armagh were tragically killed.
Attacks on members of the RUC, Northern Ireland’s police force, were also at an all-time high during this so-called early spring offensive. Several cops were taken down by sniper fire, and during one brash attack, the main Belfast police station was hit by a mortar, resulting in horrific casualties.
The British troops subsequently sent in to quell this senseless violence fared no better. They too came under almost constant attack. Liam remembered hearing about one incident that was particularly heinous. Three off-duty British soldiers were invited by a trio of teenaged girls to join them in the outskirts of Londonderry for a party. The soldiers were not much more than teens themselves, and when they arrived, they found themselves accosted by a large group of masked gunmen.
The next morning all three of the young Brits were found in a dumpster, each sent to meet his maker by a pistol shot to the back of the head.
It was the IRB who proudly claimed responsibility for this atrocity, and other acts of violence as well.
Formed as an alternative to the more moderate IRA, the Brotherhood, as they preferred to be called, publicly declared their desired goal of driving the British out of Northern Ireland, by utilizing whatever force they deemed necessary. And once the English were gone, they would refocus their revolution to the south. The Republic of Ireland would be politically reorganized into a socialist state, and the religious hatred that had ravaged the land for centuries past would be tempered by the establishment of Marxist-inspired agnosticism.
And in such a way the “troubles” between the Protestants and the Catholics would be no more.
Liam was all for the cessation of the idiotic violence between the two religious groups. But he certainly didn’t want to have to become a godless communist to attain this goal. Freedom of choice was one of the basic rights his forefathers had fought for, and the fisherman was surely not about to surrender this privilege to a bunch of bloodthirsty terrorists who would shoot their own mothers if it would better their cause.
With his gaze locked on the twinkling heavens, Liam prayed that his son hadn’t gone and gotten himself mixed up with such a dangerous group. As it turned out, this petition was delivered just as a shooting star soared through the night sky. Liam marveled at this sight, and his thoughts went back in time to the fated night that the entire heavens seemed on fire.
With all the excitement that his homecoming had precipitated, he had completely forgotten about the mysterious object that he had pulled from the seas and stored in the hold of his boat. His son’s struggle with death had altered his priorities. Right now, life was the greatest treasure of all, and Liam would easily exchange the reward that would surely be coming to him for the life of his only child.
Liam made the sign of the cross and was in the midst of a reverent Hail Mary when the bass voice of the doctor boomed out behind him.
“Your boy’s going to be just fine, Liam. The bullet was intact when I pulled it out. I closed the wound, and since Annie shares his blood type, was even able to do a transfusion.”
“Thanks be to God!” said Liam passionately.
“I wouldn’t be so quick to give him all the credit,” countered the physician, who sat down beside Liam.
“Without Annie’s help, he would surely have bled to death. And if it wasn’t for you running over to fetch me as you did, there’s no telling what sort of complications would have set in. How about joining me in a wee sip to properly celebrate?”
The physician pulled a compact pewter flask from the pocket of his jacket and added, “What we’re about to partake of is some of Martin Kelly’s famous sipping whiskey. He gave me a jar when I set his heifer’s leg last week. Here’s to you and your family, Liam Lafferty.”
He swallowed a sip of the powerful potion, winced, and handed the flask to the fisherman.
“And here’s to the best doctor in all of County Louth!” toasted Liam as he took a sip of the home brew himself.
They passed the flask between them two more times before the physician looked up into the sky and commented, “It’s a glorious Irish night, Liam. Can you believe we’ve had a whole three days without a drop of rain?”
“It’s a welcomed miracle, all right. Doc. Especially after that wet spell. Why, I thought that those gales would never stop blowing.”
The physician nodded.
“The next front’s most likely bearing down on us while we speak. But in the meantime, we’ve got to make the most of this respite.” After swallowing down another sip of whiskey, he added, “If it’s okay with you, Liam, I’d like to transfer Sean up to my place in Cootehill as soon as he’s a bit stronger. I’ll be going up there shortly, and would like to be able to monitor him for infection.”
Liam accepted the flask.
“Why, that’s very nice of you. Doc. But you really don’t have to go out of your way like that. You’ve done enough already.”
“Nonsense,” returned the physician.
“The lad’s not out of the woods just yet, and I don’t want him to take any chances. Besides, Sean can keep me company while I work the place.”
“You’re a saint, Doctor Tyronne Blackwater, a blessed, kind-hearted saint.”
The physician laughed.
“Hey, I wouldn’t exactly go that far, Liam. Let’s just say since I’m the one who originally brought him into this world twenty-five years ago, I’d like to protect my investment.”
“I’ll tell you what. Doc… I’ll accept your gracious offer to take in Sean only if you’ll agree to take a load of cod that I just brought in from the sea.”
“It’s a deal,” said the physician.
“So your trip was a successful one?”
“More than you would ever dream. Doc. But I’d be telling you a lie if I led you to believe that it was only fish that my hold is filled with.”
“What do you mean by that, Liam?”
The fisherman turned and looked the physician straight in the eye.
“A wondrous thing happened to me while I was out at sea three nights ago. It was a clear, star-lit evening like this one, and as I was preparing to pull in my lines, the entire heavens exploded in a dazzling fireball of light. I tell you Doc, it was as if the sun had suddenly arisen at midnight. A rumbling blast accompanied this phenomenon, and as the light began to fade, I actually saw something floating down from the heavens above. It took a bit of doing, but I reached this object soon after it hit the sea’s surface. What I found was a massive elongated cannister tangled in the shrouds of a parachute. The cannister had a collar of floats around it to keep it from sinking. But they weren’t adequate for its great weight, and instead of allowing the sea to eventually swallow it, I decided to take the object on board myself.
My guess was that it came from a satellite. And if this is indeed the case, I’d imagine that its owners would probably be willing to pay a pretty substantial amount for its return.”
The physician seemed enthralled by this story.
“Where’s this object now, Liam?”
“Why, locked in the hold of my boat, down at the Dunany leisure pier,” answered Liam.
“Would you mind showing it to me?”
“Why of course not, Doc. But you don’t mean right now, do you?”
The physician nodded.
“I don’t see why not. I don’t know about you, but I seriously doubt if I’d be able to get back to sleep now even if I tried.”
Liam shrugged.
“Then I guess we’ll go down there and take a look at it, Doc. But is it okay to go and leave Sean?”
“I guarantee you the lad will be out soundly for the next ten hours. And besides, Annie will be close by and knows what to do if any complications should arise.”
The fisherman stood and found his legs a little wobbly.
Tyronne Blackwater noticed this.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll do the driving, Liam. It looks like you’re showing the effects of the most potent batch of home brew this county’s seen in over a decade!”
The drive to the pier took less than ten minutes.
Liam had to be awakened when they arrived, and he rather groggily exited the Range Rover and led the way down to the water’s edge. Dr. Blackwater was all eyes as the fisherman escorted him to the transom of the battered boat, pulled a key from his pocket, and inserted it into a rusty iron padlock. After a bit of effort, this lock was triggered, and Liam lifted up the wooden door.
The physician had to keep from gasping as he viewed the fire-charred metallic cannister.
“Why, this is incredible, Liam. Are you certain this was the object that you saw floating down from the skies?”
Fully awake now, the fisherman answered.
“Why of course I am, Doc. I would have hauled in the parachute also, but it sank.”
Hesitant to get too close to the cannister, the doctor cleared his throat and rather forcefully expressed himself.
“It appears that you’ve indeed managed to pull in a piece of a satellite. It must have broken apart while entering the earth’s atmosphere, and you just happened to be at the right place at the right time.”
“Then it’s worth something?”
“You’d better believe it. This kind of equipment costs a fortune to produce, and its owners will be anxious to show their appreciation when it’s returned. So to ensure that they pay you top dollar, here’s what I suggest: since it’s much too dangerous to leave here unprotected, I’ll have several of the lads who do odd jobs for me get down here to transfer it to a safer location. I’d like to do this tonight, before any of the other boat owners arrive. Secrecy is of paramount importance, if I’m to have any success in the negotiation process.”
Liam seemed puzzled.
“Let me get this straight, Doe — you want me to let you take the cannister, store it away, and then handle all the negotiations with its proper owners?”
“You do want the maximum reward possible, don’t you, Liam?”
As the fisherman nodded. Dr. Blackwater continued.
“I thought that was the case. So lock it back up, and give me the key. And I’ll take care of everything from here on. All you have to do is worry about how you’re going to spend that reward money.”
Liam hesitated a moment before relocking the hold and handing over the key.
“Good,” replied the physician as he pocketed it.
“And one more thing, Liam. You’ve got to swear to me that you’ll keep this whole thing an absolute secret. You’re not even to tell Annie about it. Negotiations of this type demand secrecy, and you could spoil everything if word gets out to the wrong person.”
Thankful to have the services of the worldly physician, Liam decided to trust his old friend. After all, what did he know about negotiating with the superpowers?
He was but a humble fisherman whom the hand of providence just happened to pay a visit to on a night he’d long remember.
Chapter Seven
Captain Mikhail Borisov’s gut tightened as his command entered the waters of the Skagerrak. Such tension was always present whenever he prepared to initiate the final phase of a mission. The blond-haired Spetsnaz commando scanned the interior of the mini sub and saw that his crew were perched before their stations, ready for action. At the Sea DeviFs helm, Chief Engineer Yuri Sosnovo gripped the airplane-style steering column that activated both their hydroplane and rudder. The thin, moustached Ukrainian’s glance was riveted on the fathometer, and the captain knew that he was very fortunate to have the services of this hardworking, dedicated sailor.
Beside him, the warrant officer held onto the joystick that controlled their trim. Oleg Zagorsk was a Siberian by birth. He had been born deep in the Taiga, and like the frontiersman that he was raised to be, he was tightlipped and liked his privacy. This was fine with Mikhail Borisov, who felt a bit more confident, knowing that he had the services of one of the Rodina’s best.
At the stern of the fifteen-meter-long vessel, electronics mate Tanya Olovski was busy wiping the condensation off the diving lock’s circuit board. Tanya was their newest crew member, and though she wasn’t much to look at, she performed her demanding tasks most efficiently.
Satisfied that the boat was ready to get on with its mission, Mikhail looked over to the gyro compass and spoke firmly.
“Comrade Zagorsk, bottom us out. Chief Engineer, prepare to activate crawlers.”
The sound of onrushing ballast rose with a roar, and as the tanks filled with seawater, the mini-sub began to sink. At a depth of one-hundred-andfifty-three meters, there was a noticeable bumping sensation as the rounded hull struck the sandy seafloor. This was the sign for Yuri Sosnovo to trigger the battery-operated motor that ran the vessel’s track drive mechanism. Designed much like a tank’s, the dual treads bit into the sand and proceeded to propel them along at a speed of three knots.
The captain double-checked the chart that lay wrapped in oilskin before him. Drawn up by a Spetsnaz intelligence team, the map showed a detailed rendering of this portion of Oslo Harbor. Only minutes before, they had ascended to periscope depth to take a final bearing. After a quick course adjustment, Mikhail ordered them back down to the protective depths, calculating that their goal lay on the seafloor only seven and a half kilometers due west of them.
During this brief periscope sweep, he had spotted several Norwegian naval corvettes on patrol topside.
Such ships were fast and heavily armed, and could be effective ASW platforms if pursuing the right quarry.
But Mikhail knew that the vessel he commanded was not just any ordinary submarine. The mere fact of its condensed size almost guaranteed that the enemy’s sonar would never detect them. Even if such sensors did manage to chance upon them, the Sea Devil’s hull was covered with sonar absorbent, rubberized tiles known as Clusterguard. Since this hull itself was made out of non-magnetic reinforced plexiglass, not even a magnetic ana moly detector would be able to locate the mini sub
“Comrade Olovksi, please join me in the bow turret.
It’s time to ready the articulated manipulator arm,” ordered the captain.
A narrow bench spanned the forwardmost portion of the vessel’s pressure capsule. Mikhail Borisov seated himself on this perch and was soon joined by the boat’s electrician.
“I’ll begin arming the circuitry, Captain,” offered the brawny brunette.
Mikhail watched her efficiently initiate this process.
He had to admit that he had been genuinely upset when he first learned from Admiral Starobin that they would be assigned a female crew member. The interior of Sea Devil was severely cramped, and privacy was at a minimum. Even the crapper was out in the open, set on the metal plates that covered the battery well.
The whitehaire
d admiral countered Mikhail’s protest with an eloquent speech centered around the place of the Motherland’s female citizens in the military. Since Socialism meant that all were equal, it would be against the basic tenets of Marxist ideology to bar women from active combat duty if they so desired.
Tanya Olovski was duly qualified, and the admiral had no choice but to assign her to the Sea Devil when the slot became available.
Mikhail had only to look at the electrician to know that any sexual tension that he might have feared wouldn’t be an issue. The big-boned native of Irkutsk was not the type of woman who turned men on. More mannish than feminine, she had a physique that was firm and muscular. And one didn’t have to look closely to see the black moustache that covered her upper lip.
This was certainly not the type of girl Mikhail Borisov found attractive. He liked his women soft, fair, and busty. Still a bachelor at forty, Mikhail had his fair share of lady friends. Most were attracted to his thick blond hair, steel-grey eyes, and solid build. A jagged scar that extended the length of his left cheek gave his ruggedly handsome face character. This mark was the byproduct of a bar fight in Odessa, and if nothing else, served as an interesting conversation piece.
“We’re approaching the final coordinates, captain,” observed Yuri Sosnovo from behind.
“Very good, Chief Engineer. Bring us down to loiter speed.”
The captain’s instructions were instantly carried out, and the soft hum of the tracked drive system lessened noticeably.
“We should be close,” reflected Mikhail Borisov.
“Comrade Olovski, activate the bow spotlights and open the forward viewing port.”
The electrician addressed the console, and in response, a circular metallic curtain slid back, revealing a clear plexiglass porthole. Mikhail leaned forward to look out this opening. A turbid expanse of seawater met his glance.
“Comrade Olovski, angle those spots down toward the sea bed,” ordered the captain in a bare whisper.
As this directive was carried out, the floor of the harbor came into view. It primarily comprised ridged sand and an occasional clump of swaying sea grass. As the mini-sub slowly crawled over this flat expanse, Mikhail spotted an empty Pepsi can. Strangely enough, he didn’t spot a single fish.
Sea Devil Page 12
