by Nick Thacker
He didn’t mind. He was good at it, after all. The board had unanimously agreed to put him in charge of fundraising, which gave him even more power than his declared ‘President and CEO’ status already bestowed upon him.
The people in the room smiled back at him, their backs straight as they jostled around one another, trying to make themselves the most noticeable one in the room. To the men in the room it was a competition, to the women an information-gathering session for later gossip and scheming.
Crawford watched it all with mild amusement. These people were fabulously wealthy, each of them in their own right, having accomplished everything in their lives they desired, yet when reduced to their simplest natures they were no different than a set of schoolyard cliques.
“If you’ll please direct your attention to the screens behind me,” he continued, “we will begin the presentation shortly. If you need a drink refill, one of the girls will be around to offer a champagne.”
The group milled around, looking for the screens he’d mentioned. His amusement grew as he watched them squint and frown, trying to understand what he was talking about. He had anticipated their confusion, built it into his presentation. He’d rehearsed it four times, just this morning, and he knew it was a world-class performance. His excitement grew as he awaited the next big reveal.
From behind him, the entire curved back wall of the low-ceilinged room lit up in brilliant 4K color, and the recessed speakers hidden throughout the room swelled to life with the sound of a low, deep rumble. The lights dimmed automatically, and he heard audible gasps and sighs from the group assembled before him. The room was electric, and he almost expected a burst of applause.
That will come later, he knew. All in good time.
He squeezed his smile over to enhance his dimple, widening his eyes and clenching his jaw as he stared at the woman standing in the front row of people, a champagne glass in her hand. She was the daughter of an oil man, and the wife of a Wall Street exec, but he knew she was also a sucker for a good show. A good, expensive show. She also had a reputation in some wealthy circles that he was hoping to exploit a bit, hence his earlier invitation to her to continue a tour of his facility in a more private nature.
She grinned back at him, her lips pushed out like a tiny pout, her eyes narrow but still smiling. He had her, and it was just a matter of time before she threw herself on him. He shifted, feeling the excitement rising inside himself.
He cleared his throat right as the deep rumble subsided and was replaced by a pleasant, gentle string triad, building slowly and rolling over note-by-note in a cascading wave of music. It was programmed to blanket the room in sound from all angles, yet not overwhelm his own voice.
“OceanTech began as a small research firm, of which I was the founding member and lead scientist. We were making progress studying the phenomenal properties of some of the world’s most mysterious creatures. By analyzing and synthesizing some of the chemical and even genetic makeups of some of these specimens, OceanTech was able to bring the world fantastic new treatments for ailments that have continued to plague the human race for centuries.”
The screen behind Crawford wrapped around the room and displayed well-designed graphical representations of everything he was describing. A strand of DNA, exploded, spun around, and then blown up to see the individual chains of amino acids. The amino acids bonded with other materials and chemicals, then morphed into a common pill. On the opposite wall a simple graph detailed the growth and success rates of OceanTech’s medical products and pharmaceuticals.
“Our line of focused chemotherapy has shown a radical increase in the rate of recovery and remission of leukemia patients, for example. And the secret? We found it in the mitochondrial attributes of the common Mako shark.”
The group clapped, a quiet, awkward clap as they realized they were all holding champagne glasses. Adrian Crawford beamed, stretching his arms out in a dramatic flourish of attention, then continued. “But we knew we could do so much more…”
The curved screen fell blank, perfectly timed with Crawford’s speech. The entire room disappeared into darkness, and he waited. Three… two… one…
A tiny pinpoint of light grew in a swirling, spinning orb at the center of the giant curved screen. He had stepped to the side to ensure he wouldn’t block their view, all the while staring straight ahead at the group. He could see the whites of their eyes, the sparkled reflection of the orb in their glasses, but they were otherwise ghosts at the other side of the room.
The orb grew, spinning faster and taking on a blueish hue as it expanded to fill half of the center of the screen. The music picked up, a low cello ostinato with a tremolo violin run over slow, ascending whole notes. It was dramatic, possibly over the top, but Adrian Crawford knew what he was doing.
Selling.
“What you are seeing is a dramatization of the growth of the synthetic cell structures we’ve been working with.” He paused, looking around as the faces came back into view. “A dramatization because there’s usually no music when it happens.”
A spattering of laughter spread throughout the room.
“We are exploring the possibilities of these synthetic cells, now that we have the technology to create them. Think of it as a combination of stem cell research and nanotechnology — a perfect marriage between two cutting-edge — and, I might add — somewhat controversial fields of research. But as we all know, there’s a difference between politically driven controversy and real, tangible, scientific research.”
He watched the man near the back, a wide, pockmarked senator from Illinois. The man was grinning, taking the joke in stride with no sign of offense on his face. These people were all on Crawford’s side — he’d made sure of it long before he’d invited them here to ask for money — and he knew a few jabs toward the media’s side of the fence on the issue would be well-received here.
The video continued, the cell splitting into a pair of blinding-white lights that grew and swelled and throbbed with life. It was masterfully done, and he made a mental note to send a fruit basket to the company they’d hired to put it together. “These synthetic cells will provide the missing link in medicine,” he said. “We hope they will bridge the gap between sections of dormant DNA found in droves inside the nucleus of human cells and modern advances in science.”
The video concluded with cellular mitosis, the tiny orbs splitting and splitting again, until they filled the screen and pressed against one another, causing a bright-white light that completely consumed the curved television display. It lit the room from behind, and Crawford knew he was a silhouette, just the outline of a man.
“But the best part of it all is that we are bridging the gap between science and humanity. For millennia, science has been relegated to the realm of the brilliant, the geniuses and intellectually superior. The general public has been able to benefit from their efforts, but they have not been able to actively take part in those efforts.
“OceanTech Institute is the first of its kind — a park, focused on education through entertainment, a concept that’s been tried before but has always fallen short. The Institute will be a premium, state-of-the-art laboratory, but it will be transparent in every way. The research that happens here will be observable at every level. Families can enjoy the luxurious atmosphere and phenomenal cuisine, and take part in a number of science-based activities that stretch the imagination, foster the childlike wonder we’ve all felt, and, most importantly, introduce questions that must be answered.
“OceanTech is almost complete, and we are almost operating at full capacity. We’re a bit short-staffed, but for that reason you will be our only guests for the next week.”
Adrian Crawford stepped forward, into the down lighting from above and the side-lit alcove lighting that brought him back into focus. His smile waned, a practiced expression of seriousness and intensity. “I want you to enjoy yourselves here. I want you to experience what we’ve truly built — a floating five-star luxury resort
hotel, designed to capture your minds and introduce new ideas that you thought were only dreams.
“Any questions?”
The room exploded in applause.
10
DINNER WAS BLAND, SURPRISINGLY. JULIE had a spread in front of her — lobster tail, sirloin, shallot aioli, and steamed summer vegetables. There were two glasses of wine, as she wasn’t sure if she should go with white or red for the surf and turf dinner, but she hadn’t had a drink of either.
The couples around her had begun to ignore her, intuitively understanding that she was struggling. It was funny to her how people got more awkward by trying not to be awkward. It would have been better for them to simply pretend like she was fine, ask her questions about her day, and be done with it.
But she couldn’t pretend like she was fine. She was mad at Ben, and she was upset that Reggie had thought it wise to find them and approach them about this mission. Mr. E would have understood, and even if he didn’t Mrs. E would have convinced him that it was a bad idea to commandeer a couples’ vacation for work purposes.
She understood the pressure — they were close to Ravenshadow, and their leader. The Hawk, or Vicente Garza, was a ruthless criminal successfully hiding behind the facade of a private mercenary force, operating fully within the bounds of United States law. But he had committed atrocious acts before, and Reggie, who knew the man long before their encounter a couple months ago, had filled them in on his specific grievances against the man.
But that didn’t excuse either Reggie or Ben. It didn’t excuse Mr. and Mrs. E from sending him here.
And it didn’t excuse any of them from forcing Julie to care about it.
She sat at dinner silent, reflecting. They’d played her, all of them, knowing she was almost as stubborn as Ben. She’d spent a month working side-by-side with her fiancé trying to track down The Hawk and his twisted team of killers to no avail, and they’d finally decided to give up until they had a lead. They’d gone on vacation, tried to forget about it, to forget about Joshua Jefferson and his brutal murder, about Julie’s kidnapping and torture, and about their miserable failure back in Philadelphia.
But she still cared. She couldn’t hide it from herself, even if she had effectively hidden it from Ben.
She knew she wanted to find The Hawk, and she knew she would follow Ben wherever he decided to go. He needed her, even if he didn’t realize it. They all needed her, and she needed them. They were a team now, and she was no good to anyone sitting at a dining room table in a massive restaurant at the stern of a cruise liner, facing down a smorgasbord of food.
Julie shook her head. Smiled a little, out of spite. She wasn’t happy about it. Not at all. But it was the truth, and she’d always been one to focus on the truth and what it meant rather than the emotional desire that could successfully fool her into making the wrong decision. The truth was that she wanted to find him, she wanted to be with the team again, and she wanted to stay on the cruise ship and enjoy her vacation.
But that ship had sailed. Neither of them would be able to enjoy anything if they stayed here. Neither of them would be any closer to tracking down Ravenshadow and serving justice to The Hawk, and they would forever regret not taking the opportunity when they had it.
Damn you, Reggie, she thought.
She cleared her throat. The others at the table looked up at her. A couple from Iowa on one side of her, a farmer of some sort and his wife, both thick and muscular and wearing fancy clothes that barely fit over their matching barrel chests. Two men to her right, a couple on their honeymoon from Miami, one an investor and the other a self-declared ‘trophy husband.’ They smiled, the awkward anticipation evident on all four sets of eyes.
“S — sorry,” she said. “I’ve had a rough day. I apologize for not being much a part of the conversation. I’m afraid I need to go.”
The trophy husband smiled at her and placed his hand on hers. “Honey, it’s okay. You go get that hunk of a man back. He’s worth every —“
The man’s husband grunted and cut him off. “We’re with you, Julie. Don’t worry about it — relax and enjoy your trip. We’ll be here tomorrow night, same time. No need to apologize.” He smiled at her, genuine and rich.
She smiled back as she stood up. The barrel-chested farmer stood as well, but was far too late to help her with her chair, so she gave him a polite nod and tucked it back in under the tablecloth. The group watched her collect her clutch and the couple on her right waved as she turned to leave.
Nice people, she thought. Too bad I won’t be joining them tomorrow night.
11
“WE’RE STOPPING OFF IN THE Bahamas first,” Reggie yelled into the headset. The beating of the rotor wash filled every pore, vibrated every bone in his body. “Nassau. It’s not on the way, but that was the cheapest flight, I guess.”
“Cheapest flight for who?” Ben asked. He was seated in the chopper next to Julie, facing forward, directly across from Reggie. The three of them had reached the GPS coordinates after being lowered to the ocean from the top deck of the cruise ship in the inflatable dinghy. Reggie wasn’t afraid of flying, but he would do his best to never have to take a ride on a cruise ship pulley system in a blowup boat ever again.
“We’re meeting up with a doctor. She’s coming along for support.”
“What’s her specialty?”
Reggie shrugged. “Probably doctoring? I didn’t set it up; I’m not sure.”
Julie smiled. “So four of us, total. What’s the mission?”
“Recon, mainly. The park is called OceanTech Institute. Trying to exploit a niche market of nerdy families interested in and rich enough for a luxury vacation of learning and science.”
Ben scrunched his nose. “Sounds awful. Like camping in a children’s museum.”
“I’m not really anticipating much either,” Reggie said. “But E told me they’ve solidified an unbelievable amount of early angel investment, and they’ve got a few venture capital firms standing by for a B-round. Besides that, their CEO and President, Adrian Crawford, has done pretty well for himself in the past. His board is made up of the wealthy elite in the scientific and medical communities as well.”
“So they’ve got money.”
“They’ve got enough. The park itself is a semi-floating structure off the coast of Florida, and its website describes it as an ‘all-inclusive, luxury resort with all the amenities one family could want.’”
“Sounds fancy,” Julie said. Her headset was larger than her head, and she was constantly struggling to keep it balanced between her ears. “Maybe it’ll be as nice as the cruise ship.”
Reggie knew what she was implying. Maybe our vacation won’t be over so soon. Maybe this place will be just as relaxing.
He could only hope.
“We’re supposed to find Ravenshadow, see if we can locate Garza in the park, and take him in.”
“Take him in? We’re not cops, Reggie.”
“We’re also not exactly civilians. I mean we are, but we’ve got backing from military heads. So we’re it — we go in, try to find him, and discreetly get him back out.”
“How?”
“How do we get him?”
“How do we get back out?”
Reggie nodded. “Our chopper is coming back in three days. We’ll get a feel for the layout, enjoy ourselves the first two days, keep our eyes open, and make our move on day three.”
“And if we miss our ride?”
He smiled. “You two know how to swim?”
Julie smirked. “Right. Seriously, our plan hinges on timing? We have to get to Garza at the perfect time to take him down, arrest him, and then get him to the helicopter at the right time? What about his men? What about the fact that Garza himself is a trained killer?”
“It’s — it’s not the most thorough plan, I’ll admit,” Reggie said.
Ben’s eyes widened.
“But we can work it out once we land. Once we get a feel for the park we can make a more solid
plan. Maybe they’ve got a skeleton crew, you know? Mr. E said they’re not at full capacity with staffing and employees just yet, and the only other guests in the park will be a handful of investors, on an extended tour.”
Ben sighed. “There are other civilians there? Reggie, this is already a mess.”
Reggie smiled. “What have we ever done together that hasn’t been a mess? Look, guys, it’s not that big a deal. We try to get The Hawk, or we don’t. This isn’t a long-term planned op, it’s an opportunity. Mr. E wanted to capitalize on our situation. You two were close, I was a flight away, and we can take advantage of timing.”
Ben frowned. “Does that mean they don’t know we’re coming?”
Reggie shook his head. “Not really. The guy running the place, Adrian Crawford, was more than happy to have us — he’s actually planned a bit of a welcoming party, from what I hear. Benefits of being CSO, I guess.”
It was true — they had been in most of the major newspapers across the country lately, on account of their travels and adventures. Most of the reports had been tamed and watered down to give them the plausibility they needed as well as to ensure no explicit details would be revealed, but the effect was the same. They were considered minor-league celebrities at this point. The public loved the idea that ‘normal people’ like them were taking on some of the nation’s challenges. The military was too large, too fragmented, and too disorganized to worry about the smaller issues, and local and regional law enforcement often ran up against budget constraints, resources, and priority conflicts to care.
The CSO had carte blanche to meddle in domestic affairs, as long as it was not a currently active military operation or a state-level operation. The board members of the CSO were from all branches of the military and approved the team’s operations or denied them, giving only enough information to justify their decision.
