by Tony Bulmer
So here they were again, sitting in the reception lobby of Westwood Investments, looking at magazines that featured glossy photo-‐spreads of super yachts and the kind of homes that only movie stars, or billionaire dealmakers lived in. The leather chairs in reception must have cost a mint; but they were very uncomfortable, they were designed to be looked at rather than sat upon. Reed stretched his feet out and layback, while Carly skipped around the lobby, in endless circles, in a vain attempt to vocalize some mindless dance tune she had heard on the radio. The snooty receptionist oozed hatred and all the while, power dressed executives swept by in their pinstriped finery.
None of them were Julia.
When at last she did appear, she was bright and cheerful and full of her usual bluster. Reed gave her a dark look, and accepted her exaggerated cheek kisses reluctantly. Telling her she was a flake would serve no purpose—he had tried it before so many times and she just didn’t get it. Instead he summoned up a smile and said, “So, let’s hit the beach then ladies.” Carly curved in from her circling dance and shouted, “Rayyyyyyy.” The bitter-‐faced receptionist looked on wordlessly.
58
The Pacific As Kellerman sank lower into the cold, black Ocean, her lungs pounded with the pressure of the stale air, compressed within her. Worse, she felt the bite of the dirty saltwater cutting into her eyes; forcing its way into her ears and nostrils. Thoughts circled languidly thought her head—thoughts of the Academy. At fist she didn’t realize the significance, but reaching down now, popping off her shoes and pants and wrenching off her shirt—not even bothering about the buttons, she finally understood what was happening—she was working on autopilot. The long hours of training were finally kicking in—her unconscious mind was moving to save her life.
Free of her clothes, Kellerman felt suddenly alive—a new energy pulsing through her. She looked up—saw the glittering surface of the ocean tempting her towards it. The men with guns would be up there, standing at the rail, looking down into the water for any signs of life—she had to make distance before she surfaced—as much distance as she possibly could.
Looking up, Kellerman saw the black hull of the Nautilus looming over her. Her lungs were burning now. She felt the uncontrollable urge to draw breath welling up within her, the exhausted air in her blood pummeling her brain. The pressure was unbearable. Unless she drew breath soon she would drown for sure. She swam upwards with rapid strokes and impacted the hull of the ship
rather harder than she had planned, the impact almost took her breath. She struggled to swim under the boat, feeling the barnacle encrusted bottom scrape against her bare flesh. She flipped over, pulling herself along, until the curved hull propelled her upwards.
As she broke the glistening surface and drew breath, the ocean swell washed her back against the side of the ship. The salt water engulfed her, choking off her air supply. The words of her instructor at the Academy rushed through her mind—A swim in the open ocean is dangerous, no matter, how light the conditions—a small wave can drown even the strongest of swimmers.
Kellerman burst through the wave, drew breath. But once again, the heavy swell washed her against the side of the ship. She recovered more strongly this time. She was alive, and whilst she was alive, she had a chance, but not if she stayed here. She struck out for the stern. Sheltered by the curvature of the ship, Kellerman knew that she was protected from hostile eyes, but only for the moment. If the pirates suspected that she was down here, they would probably start tossing grenades into the water—there would be no protection from that—she was trapped,
vulnerable—treading water in a bottomless ocean and over a thousand miles from land. Suddenly, the euphoria of life seemed less sweet than it had appeared just moments before. She needed a plan, she needed a break—she needed a long holiday, somewhere safe and dry—the farther from the ocean the better.
Fighting through the waves, Kellerman finally managed to swim around behind the ship.
She swam underneath the stern, where the overhang from the ships superstructure offered more protection. With the engines running this would be a deadly place to hide out, but with the ship becalmed, there were things to hang on to, the rudders and the chains from the buoy winches. Swimming up to one of the giant rudders, Kellerman found a thin shelf of metal on the metal cross tail. After a little experimentation, she found that if she stood on it just right, she could cling on to the rudder and rest up. But she had to stay sharp. As the swell rose it lifted her feet clear of the ledge and engulfed her face in cold salty water. It was hard, dangerous going, the rudder was slimy, and the stench of fuel oil almost overpowering.
“You took your time didn’t you?” Kellerman swiveled around, and almost fell of her perch, as an oversized wave blindsided her. Coughing and choking, she shook the salt water sting from her eyes and saw Buchanan’s head bobbing close to one of the winch chains. She spat water and said, “I thought you had a plan?”
“Listen, snippity-‐snip, you are alive aren’t you?”
“No thanks to you genius. How long do you think it’s going to be before the sharks get here?”
“They are here all ready,” said Buchanan, I have seen dorsals off the starboard bow; I am betting those snappers will be muscling over to play in no time flat. So don’t be handing out no toungy kisses, or you’ll have more new friends than you know what to do with.”
“What is it with you Buchanan? Why have you got to turn everything into some repulsive
gag—I mean look at us—look where we are. Can’t you give that nasty mouth of yours a rest?”
“It’s called a sense of humor sweetheart, you should try it sometime.”
“There is nothing wrong with my sense of humor you knuckle-‐dragger. If you tried being normal for even a minute, you might find that out.”
Buchanan pulled a face, and expelled a long spout of water through his mouth, “Nice to know,” he said. “Now, if the lecture is over, here’s what is going to happen—”
“Happen? This I want to hear. Are you going to swim back to Long Beach, and grab us a couple of cold ones?”
“If I wasn’t on the wagon, I would take you up on that honey,” said Buchanan with a grin. “Now, here’s the thing, we can’t stay here and much as I would like there is no way of climbing back on board. So, we are going to have to swim for it.”
“That has got to be the craziest thing I ever heard.”
“Yeah? Well hear me out,” said Buchanan.
Kellerman hung tight to the slimy rudder. It was as much as she could do to keep her head above water now. The constant attrition of the waves was beginning to wear her down.
Buchanan frowned, “Hey, pull yourself together sailor, we ain’t end of watch yet, not by a long shot. You and me are going to take a little swim over to the Wonsungi. We will haul up onto that low rising net deck of theirs and pull ourselves aboard. Then, just maybe
, we can gain a little time to figure our next move.”
“I don’t know if I can make it,” said Kellerman weakly.
“Hell, yes, you can,” snapped Buchanan. “They will see us from top sides.” said
Kellerman, “They will shoot us, before we get even half way there.”
The Hell they will,” said Buchanan. “We are going to swim underwater.”
59
Hawaiian costal waters As The Fortune headed southeast towards the Big Island, the prevailing trade winds teased back Karyn’s hair and brought with them the malfeasant stench of sulfur dioxide from the black slopes of Kilauea. Grey volcanic gasses snaked over the water, like a warning from the gods of old. Karyn suppressed a shudder. This was a spooky elemental place, where fear loomed like some tribal curse. She gripped her gun tight, ever vigilant as Mālama manned the wheel.
For a long while they travelled in silence, until Donald Mālama blurted, “I only did what I had to. I had no choice Kane. I have a family—do you know what that means?”
Thoughts of Carly came rushing through Karyn’s mind, followed by surreal images of that bitch Julia wrestling on hot sheets with Reed, whilst grim faced Judges and family court lawyers looked on. “Yes, I know what that means Mālama. So tell me, just exactly how you got yourself in this ugly little fix.”
“The Corporation sent people to see me. They wanted me to work in a consultative capacity, as a legal advisor. I was reluctant to take on further commitments at first. But they were very
persuasive and they paid top dollar. What was I going to do, turn that money down?”
“You were a consultant?” “Sure. Tao’s people run things out here
Kane—everybody is involved. You have no idea how
far this reaches—how powerful they are.” “More powerful than the law?”
“More powerful than the government even.
That is why you are here right? Those high-‐handed
lawmakers in Washington are running scared,
aren’t they? They know they are finished, but they
don’t know what to do about it.” Mālama gave
Karyn a misty-‐eyed look, as though he had just
been overcome by some great spiritual truth. “Deng
Tao said it would be this way—he foretold it.” “So you are a convert huh? Just like that
creepy little pal of yours Ted Congo.”
“Congo is a fanatic, but he has power and
influence. His friends walk the high corridors of
government. Only a fool would seek conflict with a
man like that.”
Karyn frowned. She swiveled around in the
copilots chair and said, “And if someone did cross
that weasel-‐faced little pal of yours, what then?” “Congo is an FBI section head. His
jurisdiction is semi-‐autonomous and we are a very,
very long way from the continental United States
out here. I will leave you to join the dots Kane, but I
am guessing you have joined them already.” “You are a smart guy Mālama, what’s your
angle?”
“If you had asked me last year—making a
little extra money to pay my expenses would have
been the thing. More recently I have been thinking
about retirement, making sure I got enough scratch
to see me by, when the Department puts me out to
pasture. This is an expensive hood to live in Kane
and there’s no way I am going to struggle by on
some tight-‐fisted pension plan, while every one of those boys at City Hall have their snouts in the Tao Corporation trough.”
“So you figured you would join the feast Mālama? Stick your greedy little snout into the swine feed, while Tao and his cronies were running roughshod over every local ordinance that was ever written.”
“So what if I did Kane? I got rights too. Who cares if Tao builds power plants and office buildings and what ever else he wants to build. That kind of thing is good for the local economy. The only folks who aren’t happy are those environmentalist whiners who keep blocking our streets and making a big noise about nothing. Half those folks come from out of State and the other half are the kind of bone-‐idle miscreants who would whine and complain if Jesus Christ himself came down from Heaven and started handing out loafs and fishes gratis, to all and sundry.”
“Except your pal Deng Tao is no messiah is he Mālama? They only thing that smooth-‐talking bozo cares about is that precious power station he is about to open.”
“That stuff he says makes a lot of sense if you ask me and that power station is a touch of genius. That place is really going to put these Islands on the map. We are going to be the envy of the world. I mean, what is not to like about free power? I tell you Kane that guy is a genius.”
“Governor Geryon wasn’t such a big fan was he?”
“That greedy fool could have spoiled things for all of us Kane, trying to make trouble so he could line his pockets. You ask me, he got just
exactly what he had coming and if that weeny-‐ wagging pervert Tex Johnston hadn’t put a bullet in that idiot, he would have crashed and burned all by himself, some folks are just weak like that.”
Karyn nodded. “You and your pals have created a regular shit-‐storm out in Washington Mālama and that trouble is heading in like the Kona winds in February, I am talking about a judicial cyclone so high and wide it is going to make a clear sweep of this dirty little world you are running. And in the backwash of devastation it leaves behind, you are going to be lucky if you walk away with a dime to your name. You ever think about that when you were covering up the Johnston murders?”
Mālama’s soft walnut eyes regarded her unflinchingly. “You’ve got no kind of case Kane. You can’t prove a damn thing, and when it comes out that you have been sticking your nose into things that are none of your damn business—you are going to make some bad enemies over on Capitol Hill, the kind of enemies who could crush a woman’s career just as soon as look at her.”
The ocean swell was rising higher now, as The Fortune sailed out towards the Big Island. Karyn gave Mālama a steady look. “You are a real piece of work Mālama —the kind of man who had everything going for him, but you threw it all away didn’t you? Just as surely as Senator Johnston and that prick Governor of yours.” Karyn leveled her gun at Mālama and said, “Now, that little crack you just made sounded as close to a threat as anything I have ever heard. Ordinarily a man like you said something like that to me I would gut them like a fish, and leave the to flop around on the deck a
while by way of a finisher. But, it is your lucky day Mālama, I made a promise before I ever came out here, to keep casualties to a minimum. So guess what? You get the hard time option. I am guessing that by the time Internal Affairs and the IRS are through, you will be heading upstate for a good long time—a
decade or more I shouldn’t wonder. How do you think a stretch of hard time will treat a man like you?”
Mālama’s face twisted into a snarl. “You haven’t the guts to shoot me Kane. If you pop me, there will be so much blowback your dirty government handlers will be fielding Congressional questions for the rest of their short lived careers.”
Karyn gave him a steely look. There was a good chance he was right. Her fingers tightened on the Sig. Her orders had been clear, but the threat vector was changing…
As the conversation died, the sounds of the ocean encroached and so it continued for mile after uncomfortable mile, until without warning, a dark shape came roaring down towards them through the poisonous ocean mist.
The plane came fast and low, like a giant grey demon sweeping out of the east. As it passed, one wing dipped in a half-‐roll, offering a split second view of the pilot; then it was gone, the roar of the planes super-‐powered engines carving a blistering path in the ocean. There was no time for recovery, as almost instantaneously, plane number two cut by on the other side. The fly by was so fast and overwhelming it resounded like an omen from God. Karyn’s heart flipped forwards. This was no wild coincidence—this was a precursor to something big. The buzz past was so fast and
aggressive, there was almost no time to ID the planes, but her best guess was F/A-‐18F Super Hornets. The harbingers of a Nimitz class strike group.
The distraction was unavoidable—the roar of the engines, the blinding glare of jet-‐power afterburners firing on full throttle. It was all Donald Mālama needed. He slid sideways out of his seat and launched himself at Karyn. His fingers found her neck very quickly, pressing in on her carotid artery with steely precision.
