The Peacemaker

by Schuyler Thorpe

  “My…god!” Mitchell exclaimed—horrified. “One of mine?”

  I shook my head.

  “Noooo…” I said. “Not you. Someone else whom wants to start a war between my country and yours.”

  “For what reason?”

  “I dunno. Most bad guys want to take over the world. I suspect that this one is motivated purely by money. But that’s just a guess.”

  “A man like that is wholly dangerous, Ms. Anderson. You should be well aware of that fact. Never let your guard down.”

  I blushed a little.

  “That’s…a little too late. I was already shanghaied by the man’s good looks and affectionate charms.”

  Mitchell looked up at me—at this point—her eye brows raised a bit.

  “Ah…so I see. Well, no man’s the wiser.” She offered consolingly—then corrected herself. “Or woman in your case.”

  I scratched my head absently, before turning around.

  “Tell me about it.” I muttered. “The man comes in—all pomp and circumstance; totally disarming you see…and then…? Drops a mother load of cash on my work table.”

  “Whatever for?” She asked curiously.

  “I do run a courier service, Captain Mitchell.” I pointed out wryly.

  “Call me Mariah.” The woman countered. “You’re a civilian and not directly attached to Her Majesty’s Royal Navy.”

  “Mine’s Kina. Or Kee as my family and friends call me.”

  “Nice nickname.” The woman said approvingly—making me feel right at home in the woman’s presence.

  “Be back in a jiff, Kee. I’m going to go and change into an off duty jumpsuit. I don’t go back for another 12 hours. Technically…? I’m supposed to be crashed out. But who has time to sleep when you have this much excitement going off around you?”

  “I know the feeling,” I said knowingly—watching as Mariah ducked behind a wooden shelf ledge and vanished into the bathroom. “There have been days when I’m too wired for sound and I can’t close my eyes for an instant.”

  “Plays havoc with your biological clock—that much I know.”

  I chuckled a little. “Sometimes.” I admitted freely. “But I’ve always been a good girl when it comes to getting a good night’s rest.”

  “Come closer to the bathroom—so that we can talk while I get dressed.”

  “Okay,” I said, doing as I was told—holding station about six feet from the door. And out of sight of anything embarrassing.

  “My people tell me that your…jet didn’t appear until you were about a mile and a half off our stern. For a second, I thought you were the enemy and briefly called battle stations. But when we saw your plane hold to and then your voice came on the air—we figured things differently.”

  “I came to talk—because I had some important information to share with you.” I said reflexively and then silently smacked myself for being absolutely dense.

  “Sorry, my bad.” I quickly apologized. “What I said earlier was the information.”

  “Yes, about some bad guy wanting to start a war between our two countries.”

  “And using you as the instrument of assassination against the prince himself. The way it was supposed to work out was that you were supposed to have offed me and the prince—which in turn would’ve heightened tensions considerably between the US and Great Britain.”

  “For profit?” The woman asked—her voice askance.

  “Wars for profit have been started in the past. Like Iraq for example. Our government had its teeth and claws in that oil-rich nation and its politically connected subsidiaries made a killing at the expense of the American taxpayer. Of course, we all knew—back then—that the previous administration had wrongfully abused its power of office for political and monetary gain, but in the end…? Only some of the smaller fish had been prosecuted across the governmental spectrum—leaving the true criminals to get away scot-free.”

  “We know. Blair had his people involved in it as well—according to the Downing Street memos, but…? Even our elected officials managed to escape the hangman’s noose as well. It has not sat well with the Commonwealth—I can tell you that much.”

  “Ironic that we have so much in common. We’re both products of two completely corrupt forms of government—playing patsy to the attraction and allure of great wealth and leaving everyone on the hook for the rest—ruining years of cultural and financial progress in the process.”

  “When the powerful and the wealthy become corrupt—?” Aria answered contritely, leaving little to be said towards the end.

  I nodded—knowing all too well whom I was dealing with.

  “Too true.” I muttered.

  “So what do you want?” Aria inquired.

  “I need the piece of a very confusing puzzle, Captain. And only you can provide that.”

  Mariah took a seat and reclined a little bit.

  “All right. I’m game if you are. You tell me something and I’ll tell you something. Deal?”

  “Okay.” I volunteered gracefully. “Would you like me to start?”

  “That would be nice.” Aria joked—watching me closely for the next second.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE.

  USS Goliath

  Commander Tillman looked ready to throw up—after seeing what happened to the Snohomish and the Rutledge.

  “Gods…” he whispered. “Almost half my squadron is out of action after two missile strikes…”

  Conrad Jones nodded from where he was sitting, but didn’t say anything—except to watch the other man’s reaction.

  It was satisfying—to say the least.

  Then he answered: “Didn’t I tell you she was going to be a plucky little thing?”

  “Yes, but—” he started to say and then stopped. “I never expected this It was like…she was making a mockery of the US Navy.”

  “Had to happen sometime—I wager.” Conrad said easily.

  “W-what?!?” Tillman sputtered. “How dare you say something like that!”

  Conrad took a quiet bite of his apple and then ate it in silence for the next few minutes—staring at one irate Paul Tillman. The man’s flushed cheeks matched his ruddy red hair quite easily enough—but that was all.

  “You shouldn’t be afraid of the truth, Commander. Sooner or later, the big dog always gets taken down hard by a much smaller—and determined—pack.” Then he finished the last of his apple and tossed the spent core into the nearest trash basket next to him.

  “But by a single jet that isn’t a jet?!” The man countered hotly. “That thing has all the earmarks of a space cruiser with missiles than anything else known to man!”

  “You didn’t expect technology to remain…pat—now did you?” Conrad answered.

  “N-no…” Tillman replied woodenly. “I just thought—”

  “And thinking is what gets you killed, my dear man. These days, you’re going to have to anticipate what comes next—rather than wait for it to kick you in the pants when you least expect it.” And nodded towards one of the main screens.

  “Like now—for example.”

  Tillman stared at Conrad for another minute—before his anger cooled off on its own.

  “So what’s the plan now, Mr. Jones? Do we still go ahead, or do we call it off?”

  “No one called off the invasion of Normandy due to bad weather—did they?”

  “No.”

  “So we lost a couple of ships to the Peacemaker. Doesn’t mean that the game has ended, now has it, Commander Tillman?”

  “I don’t know what we can do—with a destroyer, one frigate, and a cruiser.”

  “Plenty.” The man said with bubbling confidence. “Or did you forget the spanking that you gave our resident female fatale a few days ago?”

  “We got…lucky.” The man hesitantly answered.

  “Oh horse shit.” Conrad scolded lightly. “Lucky is when you got your collective asses against the wall and you manage to get off a one in a million shot to do the enemy in. Y
our drones were designed as an added anti-aircraft deterrent against high-altitude enemy fighters and bombers. Nothing more. And they did exactly what they were designed to do. So don‘t think that you‘re suddenly defenseless because you lost a couple of your precious little ships.”

  “But there isn’t much we can do—with the shape my squadron is in.”

  Conrad made a dismissive hand gesture and said, “Posh! There’s always something that you can do—even with depleted resources. The question is how resourceful you are in your ways and thinking processes.”

  Tillman thought that one over and said, “it’s going to take a few minutes to come up with another backup plan. The Lakewood and the Modesto are currently aiding the other two stricken ships.”

  Conrad looked at where the man was pointing, before a light bulb went off inside his head.

  “Two ships—eh?”

  The other man looked at him curiously. “Yes. Why?”

  “I believe you may have stumbled upon something useful, Commander. Something useful indeed…”

  ***

  I sat down and asked straightforwardly—for the second time: “Why did you fire on my jet?”

  Mariah Mitchell looked a little surprised at first by my direct question and then nodded.

  “So that is what you still want to know, huh?”

  “It would be helpful. In all the years that I‘ve used the Mid-Atlantic Corridor, no one has ever had the guts to cross me—let alone take free pot shots at my bird. I think I might‘ve stumbled into something much bigger than either one of us and I want to know why.”

  The woman took a small sip from her hot mug—the alluring scent of lemon and blackberry wafting through the air in front of me.

  Compelling me to go get a cup myself.

  While I poured a generous amount into my cup—from the beverage server situated on the dining room table—I waited for the captain to hand me a plausible explanation.

  “I wasn’t ordered per se—in the common sense of the word—to harass you in any way.” The woman said quietly. “I had some…incentive to do so. Personal incentive you might say.”

  That made sense. But then again, I wasn’t all that surprised. After Conrad Jones—? Money always played a factor in people’s underlying motives these days.

  Especially with the way the recession was going.

  “How much were you paid, Captain?” I asked straightforwardly.

  Aria looked at me—surprised—and then shook her head.

  “I wasn’t paid anything, Kina. My immediate family was taken hostage until I ordered—and carried out—the strike against your jet. Then—once that was done—they were released.”

  My mind went completely blank when I heard that confession. It was nothing which I had first expected—let alone imagined—so it took me a few moments to recover from my own personal shock.

  “Are—are they okay?” I managed to get out haltingly.

  “They’re fine.” The woman told me flat out. “But I made some calls and had them put under protective custody soon after—just to be safe. That way—? I‘m the only visible target for these perps.”

  “And the people responsible Did the police get them?”

  “Vanished before the London Yard came calling.” Aria responded with anger in her voice. “Like they didn’t exist. The government‘s looking into it though.”

  “That wouldn’t surprise me. The bad guys involved always have plans within plans in motion.” I told her—coming back with my cup and sitting down in front of her.

  “That’s how I’ve been able to thwart Conrad Jones so far.”

  “You thwarted him?!” The woman exclaimed with laughter. “How so?”

  “The first attack was supposed to take me out. Harassment or no, I thwarted it. The second attack was made by some unknown drones launched up at me.”

  “The one you said the prince was injured in?”

  “On the heel of some missile explosions,” I shared with her openly. “Bart was tagged with some shrapnel—some of it injuring him pretty badly. My people say he’s going to need at least a couple of weeks to recover.”

  “Bart?” The woman asked curiously.

  My cheeks went red a little. “Bartholomew. Him and I are on…a first-name basis now. It‘s easier that way.”

  The woman nodded sagely—hiding her knowing smile behind her cup of tea.

  “He must think you’re something special then.” Maria commented innocently. “Knowing how the prince acts in public—from media reports and such—he doesn’t befriend that many people. He does have a few close friends though.”

  “He’s…told me that.” I said—feeling a little uncomfortable from being put on the spot so suddenly.

  “That’s news.” Mariah murmured. “He’s not always that talkative, either. Not with people he doesn’t know—at any rate.”

  I took a sip from my cup and then swallowed casually. “He and I didn’t have any problems with normal conversation after we met. He was very…polite about a few things though.”

  The woman got a little comfortable for her own sake. “Like what?”

  I took a deep breath before setting the cup down to my immediate left.

  “Misunderstandings.”

  “Personal?”

  “It’s…not easy when you’re single and he’s—” I started off, but Mariah cut me off.

  “—attractive?” She finished with a bob of her eyebrows.

  “Very!” I blurted out shockingly—then exploded with pure embarrassment after I realized that I just gave myself away a little.

  The captain giggled and reached over to pat me on the knee.

  “It’s okay, love. You’re not the first woman to think that of the prince. I myself wouldn‘t mind a crack at him to be honest. So would every English girl I know.”

  I frowned for a few seconds. But it wasn’t jealousy that I was feeling.

  Just—

  “It’s not that.” I said in a small voice.

  “There’s…more?”

  I nodded.

  The woman leaned in just a bit and whispered, “You didn’t shag him—did you?”

  I blushed something fierce then. I opened my mouth then, but no words could come out on their own.

  Not when I was this dry!

  “You did?!”

  Time seemed to stop on its own as my mind raced to try and come with a plausible explanation.

  I wished! So very much!

  “Lucky…” Mariah said with an envious look on her face—then leaned back.

  But I startled her when I shook my head adamantly—even though I was a beet red tomato with my heart going a mile a minute.

  “You…didn’t?!” She blurted out with shocked amazement.

  “N-n-no.” I stammered out. But my body was tingling and buzzing with desire however.

  “Damn…” The woman said with transparent disappointment—not relief as most would understand it.

  “I don’t mean to be breaking regs here, but any woman would kill to be in your shoes right now, Kina.”

  You have…no idea! I thought to myself.

  “I know.” I told her—before we heard a solid knock on the door.

  Mariah raised a finger for a second—putting our conversation on hold.

  “Yes?”

  The door opened just a crack behind me and a man’s voice called in, “Sorry to interrupt captain. But we seem to have a major problem on our hands.”

  “It’s not the Americans—is it?”

  “No ma’am. Something else.”

  Aria’s rolled her eyes. “Well…spit it out, mister!” she barked.

  The door widened just a little more and a brown-haired man peeked in—first looking at me and then at the captain again.

  “Um…some of our people were on the connecting dock next to us and one of the guys saw what looks like some rather large metal objects attached to the fore quarter of the hull on the port side.”

  Dread filled my stomach then.
“What kind of objects, sailor?”

  “We don’t know that yet, ma’am. Permission to go and investigate?”

  Aria looked at me for a second, but I had my eyes closed at that moment.

  “Permission—” and was cut off when I screamed: “No!”

  “N-no?” Maria echoed with absolute surprise. “What do you mean…no?”

  “I mean—don’t! Not yet!” I answered in a flustered tone—getting up quickly.

  “Why?” The captain wanted to know—not used to having someone question her orders.

  I yanked open the door—pulling the sailor off balance in the process.

  “Sorry!” I told him—before glancing back at Aria.

  “I think we’re in serious danger—if I’m right!”

  The captain rose out of her chair to join me—even though she was still dressed in her robe. She quickly cinched it before the other man could get a good look at her.

  But he stood too and saluted as she passed.

  “As you were.” She said smartly. “Hold on a second, would you?”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  The other woman reached out to grab me as I bolted down the corridor and closing in on the first hatch offered to me.

  “What’s going on?!” she yelled down as loud as she could. “What danger are you talking about?”

  I stopped and popped open the hatch leading down a stairwell.

  And hopefully?

  My jet.

  “Bombs!” I yelled back. “I think someone has planted bombs on your boat!”

  “Wait! Did you say—?”

  “Yes!” I yelled back. “Now hurry! I’m going to my ship!”

  Then all kinds of hell broke loose as alarms started to sound out throughout the ship a minute later—as I tore down the stairs, across the now familiar hall and out the nearest hatch: Running for the Peacemaker as fast as I could.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX.

  Mariah Mitchell stared at a monitor screen on the bridge of her ship—worry and concern eating into her face.

  “What am I looking at here, Paul?” She asked—her lieutenant-commander calling up different shots of the forward hull of the HMS Essex.

  “Battle stations manned and ready.” Someone called off from the side. “Security Level Four has been initiated throughout the ship. All civilians are off the boat—minus the courier pilot whom has now rejoined her craft. Do you want me to clear her for immediate takeoff?”