Captain Hawkins (The Jamie Hawkins Saga Book 1)

by H. Alesso

  Sloops were sent out ahead of the frigates. His stealth reconnaissance commenced full sensor sweeps, but it would take time to find rebel needles in an asteroid haystack. He deployed Special Forces. While these had not yet produced Hawkins, many more rebels had been captured and sent to Zeno. Rebel ships and bases were being eliminated faster than the rebels could replace them. Soon their whole operation would fall apart.

  He set up a series of decoy ships with stealthy warships waiting nearby. The search area was now much smaller.

  The net is closing—Hawkins’ options are narrowing. It’s only a matter of time.

  CHAPTER 24

  Tarija

  The diminutive colony of Tarija, in the heart of the asteroid belt, was the ‘Tortuga’ of the Jaxon star system. Ghostly steel husks rose high into space—and dug deep into the bedrock—apparitions of another time. It had once been a thriving mining community, but then the rich vein of mineral ore played out. Left behind were the empty shells of buildings, habitat, and mining shafts which littered the surface. Many of the structures were connected by an intertwined complex of rusted underground tunnels. The forfeiture of prosperous employment and a flourishing environment led to the replacement of miners and their families by gangs of less desirable character. Every cutthroat, villain, brigand, and buccaneer in the system swarmed to its gates to further their ill-gotten gains through illegitimate transactions and prohibited black market deals. The governments of both Jaxon and Hellion turned a blind eye to these activities, each hoping to take advantage of the disorder. As a result, Tarija became the nexus of a thriving spy trade—attracting every subversive, infiltrator, and secret agent in the star system.

  It was only natural, that Hawkins would eventually find his way to this rock.

  “I don’t like it,” said Gunny. “It’s too easy.”

  Hale said, “It’s a honey hole.”

  Hawkins said, “A trap is a wonderful place to find ‘cheese’.”

  “Bah! Don’t be a fool,” said Hale. “The fort’s not manned and there’s no governing authority, no local police. The town is teeming with street gangs and undercover agents. You shouldn’t set foot in this place. It’s got to be a trap,” he scowled. “The cheese may be tempting, but let’s be smarter than a mouse.”

  “If things go badly, we’re too few to rescue you,” said Gunny, looking at the half-dozen crewmen who had come with them in the shuttle.

  Hawkins remained unfazed.“I can bargain with them.”

  “Bargain?”

  “Yes. They’re underworld criminals and gangs. They’ll be afraid of us. They will welcome a chance to get half a loaf easily, rather than having to fight for the whole.”

  “Let me go in your stead,” offered Gunny.

  “They said they would only give the evidence to me personally. And frankly Gunny,” Hawkins laughed, “I don’t think you’d pass.”

  Gunny rose to his full grizzly bear height and chortled.

  “I grant you, you’re clever at getting out of tight spots,” said Hale, shaking his head, “but I fear this escapade will end badly,”

  “Wait here with the shuttle and be ready to flee back to the Indefatigable. I’ll check things out and let you know how to proceed,” said Hawkins, confidently.

  Leaving his frowning shipmates behind him, Hawkins stepped along an enclosed corridor of the main habitat. Encapsulated in an elongated metal tube that was vulnerable to meteor strikes, might have unsettled someone who was not already familiar with living in space, but he didn’t give it a thought. He was too preoccupied with devising tactics to deal with interplanetary desperadoes.

  How should I handle them?

  His mind free-associated images and words, seeking clues from his natural instincts. There was always the danger someone might recognize him, even though he was heavily disguised. He had long floppy hair, a thick beard, and mustache, all dyed jet black. His makeup gave him a swarthy appearance and his false teeth were discolored and gnarly. One added touch was a distinctive limp. Touching his breast pocket, which contained the phony passport and other identity papers he might need if confronted, he felt confident his disguise would hold up under casual scrutiny.

  As he entered the bar, he let the drowsy warmth enfold him like a blanket. With an icy cold stare, his bright blue eyes observed the chamber. The elongated oak-paneled room was filled with small tables and adorned with bootlegged military paraphernalia. The place was crowded; the air hummed with secretive chatter. A few patrons glanced his way, but most studied their drinks, ignoring him.

  On this dismal evening, bustling waiters moved about serving tables.

  He found a seat at the edge of the room and considered each table as a potential amalgamation of enemies. He found the world of secrets to be very different from the real world of military routine.

  VAROOOM!

  A ship taking off from a nearby launch pad caused some glasses to rattle on the saloon bar.

  At a nearby table, six men engaged in a heated discussion over large glasses of liquor, oblivious to everything around them. The remains of their meal littered the table, and one man spit on the floor.

  A waiter approached Hawkins, coughing gruffly while he wiped the tabletop. He said, “It’s good to see you again, sir. It’s been a while.”

  I don’t know you.

  To avoid attracting attention, Hawkins said, “I guess it has. Convoy…, you know,” hoping the allusion would be enough to satisfy the man.

  The waiter said “Of course. We’ve been busy here, too. You’ve a lot to catchup on.”

  “I imagine so.”

  “What’ll you have?”

  “Whiskey.”

  When the waiter returned and placed the drink before him, Hawkins found a small piece of paper under it. Chugging the drink in one gulp, he nearly choked as the bitter, potent liquid burned down his throat.

  Not the good stuff.

  He surreptitiously read the note. “Room 223.”

  He looked up and the waiter nodded with his head toward the stairwell.

  Hawkins went up, prepared for anything. He opened the door and found a man standing in front of him. For several seconds neither spoke. The man was in his fifties with well-groomed long gray hair, a thin aquiline face, and keen brown eyes that examined Hawkins in minute detail.

  The waiter—now this man—knew I was coming and how I would be disguised. How many others are in on the secret?

  “Hawkins?” asked the man.

  “Yes.”

  “Your disguise is effective.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Wyden.”

  “You sent word that you had information vital to the rebellion.”

  “Yes, but I will only give it to Jamie Hawkins. Put your thumb here,” he said, holding out a fingerprint tablet scanner.

  Hawkins complied, never taking his eyes off the man. The tablet went through a recognition procedure. The older man stared intently at Hawkins as the scanner reported a match and displayed Hawkins true face and identity.

  “OK,” said Wyden, still cautious, but visibly more relaxed.

  Hawkins was still uncertain if this was a secret information exchange or a trap set for him personally.

  “All right, who are you and what information do you have?”

  “Everyone here snoops and spies, using either human agents or electronic data thieves. Stealing secrets is big business. Me? I’m a shadow, a ghost; I haunt the most inner sanctums of security and discover valuable gems of information which I sell to the highest bidder, in this case, the rebels. Only I wasn’t going to let this information go to just anyone. I wanted, especially, to give it to Jamie Hawkins,” Wyden smirked. “Meeting you will give me certain respectability for future transactions.”

  “What do you have?”

  “I’m not exaggerating when I say these secrets are essential to the survival of the mining colonies.”

  Hawkins leaned forward and furrowed his brow.

  Wyden
licked his lips several times. He spoke barely above a whisper, “This information will paralyze the Hellion and Jaxon intelligence agencies. They prize their secrecy. Their morale will plummet when they realize this corrosive information had leaked. It will create skepticism about other secrets and deceptions.”

  “How did you obtain it?”

  “Not easily. Not easy at all. Several of my partners died getting this data dump. People think espionage is glamorous and exciting. It’s not, let me tell you. It’s a dangerous business. We had to infiltrate and wiretap the Hellion secret intelligence agency, itself.”

  Hawkins asked skeptically, “How did you accomplish that?”

  “I used what’s referred to as a ‘false flag.’ I used a Hellion military officer who was on my payroll to approach a disgruntled Hellion intelligence officer and make friends. He was a natural. Soon they were sharing little confidences, then little secrets, and before long, great big secrets,” Wyden appeared almost gleeful. “The intelligence officer never suspected he was giving vital information to an enemy agent until it was far too late. Then he had to look the other way, or else turn himself in.”

  “He gave you the information directly?”

  “Some, but the real payoff came when he introduced our Trojan virus into the Hellion secret intelligence computer network.”

  Wyden smiled from ear to ear. “We stole a treasure trove of secrets, much of which is on this memory stick.”

  He held a small electronic chip in his hand. Hawkins looked at it and then back at the older man.

  “I procured the decryption algorithms on the black market. It cost a pretty penny I can tell you.”

  Hawkins waited patiently as Wyden added, “I’ve done all the hard work. You’ll reap the rewards, once you pay up.”

  Hawkins said cautiously, “Secrets must be checked and sources verified, in order to be believed. And even if I believe everything you said, it’s possible this information was planted by the Hellion secret service.”

  He knew that vague or unaccounted for data would be more disturbing and dangerous than none at all.

  Wyden was indignant “This isn’t going to be authenticated, by you, or anyone else, in any timely manner,” he said, raising his voice. “This is hot. It’s hot and needs to be acted on, immediately. Take it! Take it, now.”

  He thrust the memory stick into Hawkins' hand.

  Reluctantly, Hawkins asked, “What exactly is on this?” as he put it into his breast pocket.

  “It’s what the rebellion needs most,” said the man, his voice dropping mysteriously.

  I can’t let this man leave without getting more information.

  “I need to know what’s in these documents before I authorize the transfer of funds.”

  This gave Wyden pause. “I can see you’re not used to dealing with agents,” he said. “I don’t have time to play around.”

  “Are you a rebel sympathizer?”

  “No,” Wyden spat in disgust. “I’m not a champion fighting for freedom.”

  “Then why take this risk?”

  “I’m strictly mercenary and I expect to be well compensated,” he said gruffly.

  “Can you at least give me the gist of what’s on this memory stick?”

  “It includes Hellion state secrets and fleet movements that may produce panic in the colonies,” said Wyden becoming agitated. He handed Hawkins tablet with sections of the documents displayed.

  Hawkins flipped his finger over the table to read through some of the material. It was indeed fleet movement orders for the Hellion Combat Fleet. Hawkins realized that these orders made sense when juxtaposed with Rusk’s ceasefire offer.

  Seeing understanding appear in Hawkins eyes, Wyden said, “Time is precious, pay me. Hurry.”

  Hawkins decided he had learned all he could for now. He took a small electronic chip from his breast pocket and inserted it into Wyden’s computer tablet. It established a link to Tarija’s black market bank. It only took a few minutes to transfer the funds electronically to Wyden’s account.

  Well pleased, Wyden grinned and said, “Good! Good! Now, I’ll do you a good turn.”

  The older man leaned closer to Hawkins, and in a conspiratorial whisper said, “You should be concerned about your own hide.”

  “How’s that?”

  “They’re lying in wait to ambush you—just outside the bar.”

  “Who is?” asked Hawkins taking a careful look at his surroundings.

  “Thugs, one of the nastier gangs, they call themselves the Hellion Brotherhood. They’re supporters of the EMC separatists. They found out—don’t ask me how—that a rebel courier was coming and you fit the description. They claim they had a score to settle with the rebels.”

  Wyden could be double dipping—selling information to me—and me to others.

  “How many?”

  “A dozen, at least.”

  “Is there a way to avoid them?”

  The older man hesitated for a minute, trying to gauge the profit and potential loss.

  “I’ll make it worth your while,” enticed Hawkins.

  A greedy smile spread across Wyden’s face.

  Hawkins transferred additional funds.

  Once more satisfied, Wyden said, “Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “I’ll earn my pay to get you out. If those thugs see me, my life is forfeit as well. Hurry.”

  Again, Hawkins hesitated.

  Can I trust him at all?

  “I can’t be of further help to you, if you don’t trust me.”

  Hawkins mentally visualized the physical layout of Tarija. It was in the shape of a giant wheel, five kilometers in diameter with eight spokes leading from the outer circle to the central hub where he was now. The hub had three stories above ground and two below. There were interconnecting corridors underground between the spokes. He knew there were members from different gangs patrolling and guarding their individual turfs throughout the complex. He mentally ran through a list of gang leaders who might be open to negotiate an arrangement with him, but he knew the Hellion Brotherhood had a wicked reputation that few would challenge.

  Yielding to the pull on his jacket, Hawkins followed the older man, who led him through a corridor to a side door. He opened the hatch and the stench of stale air hit him as he peaked in. The way was clear so they went inside.

  The doors that feed off the corridor led to a plaza with various bankrupt businesses and empty shops creating shadows in the limited light. Wyden knew where to step to avoid the area’s surveillance system. However, farther down, the corridor opened into another plaza with bars and entertainment centers full of unsavory people. The composition of this considerable crowd appeared both strange and menacing. They were a mixture of young trendy hipsters looking for a ‘good time’ and those who would take advantage of the vulnerable unsuspecting drunks that arose as the night advanced.

  As he trudged by, Hawkins came close to a young woman and a younger man. From the strong solid figure, jet-black hair, and oval olive face each possessed, he recognized immediately that they must be brother and sister. Two older men near this couple hovered protectively and looked threatening. Hawkins wondered if the two men were body guards or villains circling their prey.

  Hawkins and Wyden stepped past.

  “There,” said Wyden with a relieved exhale. “The elevator on your left will get to the upper level.” He gave Hawkins a slight push.

  An eerie sense overtook Hawkins—he imagined footsteps coming up behind him—but there was no one there. He looked at his companion and asked, “Are you certain this leads back to my ship?”

  “Nothing is certain, but it’s probable. Have faith.”

  “Faith? You leave much to the imagination,” he replied doubtfully.

  The man went to the elevator and swiped his hand over a security panel. The doors slid open and they stepped in, but instead of going up the elevator dropped. When the doors opened again, all they saw was a square compart
ment with only one door, heavily barred.

  EEERRRRR!

  There were now audio alarms going off.

  “Damn you!” cried Wyden. “You’ve eyes, but you’re blind as a bat. You’ve a head, but you’re dumb as a rock.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The man was strung tight, he raged, “Didn’t you realize there was a security monitor on the elevator. Your gun set off an alarm. So instead of going up to our escape route, we went down to this restricted level where we’ll be confined until thugs from one of the gangs come to interrogate us.”

  I might have guessed, but I didn’t.

  “A warning would have helped.”

  “Are you kidding? This is Tarija. Anyone would have known better than to carry an unshielded gun.”

  Hawkins looked around the holding cell. He couldn’t allow the gangs to get close to him. He knew his disguise wouldn’t hold up to a retina, or fingerprint, scan.

  “We can’t stay here,” said Hawkins.

  “There’s no choice. We’re locked in. We would need a magnesium blowtorch, or some thermite, to blast our way out.”

  Hawkins said nothing, but narrowed his eyes in thought.

  A moment later, Wyden asked, “What are you going to do?” Though he seemed afraid to hear what his companion might propose.

  You never realize how trapped you are until to attempt to break free.

  Hawkins took off a boot and twisted the heel to open a false compartment with a GPS beacon, a communicator, and several other small electronic devices.

  He activated the location beacon first.

  At least Hale and Gunny will know where I am.

  Next, he used another gadget to hack the security door. Wyden looked stunned when the lock clicked open.

  “Let’s go,” said Hawkins, yanking the door open. BAM!

  The steel door slammed behind them, and they ran down the narrow corridor, Hawkins stopped when they came to another hallway.

  “Which way?” he asked.

  “How should I know?” was the immediate disgruntled response.

  Hawkins scanned the corridor: doorways, elevators, and stairs to another level. Trusting his luck, he turned right, but they promptly ran into two gang members responding to the alarm. Without hesitating, Hawkins punched the first man, knocking a communicator out of his hand. The other thug tried to pull out a gun, but Wyden punched him in the jaw.