And, more importantly - wishing he could answer Mai’s latest call. He already missed her delicious, cultured tones caressing his eardrums. And the information she might have, of course.
CHAPTER TEN
After leaving the plane, Drake and the others were transported immediately to a small town called Atlantic Beach. It was offshore of this town, near a preserve called Fort Macon, that Blackbeard’s infamous ship lay waiting in shallow water for hundreds of years.
The CIA were pushing this thing hard, Drake thought. By all accounts the so-called ‘device’ was secured aboard a U.S. Destroyer and guarded by a veritable army of marines. At the airfield they had been cautioned to absolute secrecy and bundled into sleek, black vehicles. Drake didn’t mention his recent calls to Wells and Mai, didn’t have to. People of that calibre would already know.
Right now, they were passing Fort Macon, a busy state park that surrounds a coastguard base and, despite its seeming remoteness, claimed over a million visitors per year.
“The operation’s continuing right over there,” Harrison pointed. “We’ll take a quick look and then we’re heading over to the U.S.S. Port Royal, sent over from its homeport, Pearl Harbor, to take part in the operation.”
Kennedy raised an eyebrow at Drake. “By take part, I guess he means commit overkill.”
Drake grinned, not only at the comment, but at the way she looked today. Since the death of Thomas Kaleb, Kennedy had become increasingly more outgoing and accessible. Gone were the body-concealing bland suits. Gone were the torture devices that used to pin her hair back.
Now she sat with her long black hair framing her shoulders, an open smile on her face, and a nice pair of black hipsters that showed off her legs. She sensed Drake staring overlong at her. “What? Seen something ya’ like?”
He shrugged his shoulders and made a rocking motion with his hand. “Meh.”
They stopped parallel to the big salvage project that was underway around where Intersal Inc. had discovered the Queen Anne’s Revenge. It gave Drake a few moments to wonder how to approach the great pair of white elephants: the only things coming between Kennedy and him.
Only things . . . and so far insurmountable.
It had only been six weeks or so, but she hadn’t mentioned Kaleb once. Sometimes, at night, he heard her Skype-ing, or on the phone. He fancied she was still in contact with the serial killer’s victims’ families. Was that a good thing? Would it bring closure?
Or would it bring despair?
His own demons were no less brutal. The memory of Alyson walking out the door, tears in her eyes as she walked to the car. No goodbye. No last wonderful memory. Just those tears, clouding her vision . . . as she drove rapidly towards her fatal accident.
He focused on the present. The salvage crew were aboard a medium-size boat that swayed in choppy seas. There wasn’t a whole lot going on, and after a few minutes everyone just looked at Harrison.
The Secretary’s aid just shrugged. “It’s Blackbeard’s ship.”
Then he spoke into a wrist-mic. “Let’s go.”
They sped off, heading for the U.S.S. Port Royal and its world-shaking cargo.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Forty-five minutes later they were being taken board the U.S.S. Port Royal, a Ticonderoga-class cruiser, something Drake knew to be a part of the Navy’s ballistic missile defence initiatives. These babies had been commissioned to help intercept and shoot down incoming ICBMs. On the water they were a genuine floating fort, 9000 tons and six hundred feet of sensors and processing systems, armaments and even a few Sikorsky helicopters.
A grey billion-dollar monster, a turbine-propelled death and defence machine.
When they hit the deck Harrison was saying: “This thing’s equipped with more sonar and surveillance equipment than anything in the vicinity, even more so than some newer missile cruisers, to be honest. We’re lucky it was so close.”
Drake stared at the cold steel, the cold eyes of the crew watching them, the hard men with their fingers already on triggers.
My God, he thought. They’re acting like we’re at war.
Below decks they were shown to separate, Spartan cabins. Harrison left them with a brief: “Thirty minutes,” and Drake found himself with some alone time, at last, with his friends.
He went to Hayden first. Not that he had to walk far in the cramped confines since Mano Kinimaka took up half the room.
“There is no doubt we will avenge them. Trust me, Hayden. No doubt.”
“Boudreau . . . he’s not only a sadist and a murderer, he’s damn clever too.” Hayden eyes were saturated with pain. “A terrible enemy.”
Drake leaned in close. “We’ll get him. Trust me.”
The words he left unsaid echoed around his brain: I’m a far worse enemy to him than he ever will be to you.
“So what’s the verdict?” Ben was saying. “Something still doesn’t ring true here,” and now he looked at his girlfriend. “They brought all this stuff out of the ocean. Cannons. Anchors. Sounding weights. And nothing happened. Then boom!, they bring up a rusty old box and some mythical monster decides to surface and fight the U.S. military for it who, in turn, decide to guard it with a damned army,” Ben spread his arms. “How did everyone know what it was? And, why not go get it before the salvage operation?”
Drake thought about that for a second. “Toddler Blake’s got a point.”
“Bollocks, crusty.”
Hayden shrugged. “For me, it was just another day, another case I pulled. They told me to investigate, so I did. We don’t question why.”
“And how did Blackbeard, of all people, get involved?” Kinimaka spoke up. “And the alien thing? Bullshit.”
“What did you find out?” Drake asked Hayden. “You said it was the answer to the Bermuda Triangle mystery. What is it?”
“I also just found out the damned thing comes in two parts. Two. We have the first. I don’t think there’s anyone alive who knows where the second part is.”
“But what is it?” Kennedy was getting frustrated. “Maybe you could tell us, Mano?” She turned a sweet smile on the giant. Drake shook his head - bemused.
“Boss did go over it,” Kinimaka admitted. “Most of it skimmed right over the top of my head, to be honest.”
Hayden smiled sweetly. “It’s a time displacement device. And it’s time we went to see it.”
*****
Through the bowels of the great ship they were led. Silent marines with loaded and cocked weapons escorted them front and behind. In Ben’s whispered words it almost felt as if they were captives here. The massive cruiser rocked slightly from side to side, its joints and welds groaning like a host of condemned souls.
At last they reached a nondescript door and were ushered inside. True to form, the soldiers lined up outside.
Harrison was already there, pacing faster than some English footballers cheat on their wives. Watching him with wry amusement was one of the ship’s officers. A third man was further away, bending slightly to study an object placed on a steel table.
“At last. At last,” Harrison beckoned them in, looking sweaty and nervous. “This way. Device is over here.”
Drake frowned hard at the aid. “You got somewhere else to be, Justin?”
The aid blinked. “Umm, no. Why?”
Drake waved him on. Kennedy whispered: “Take it easy. Guy’s weird, but harmless.”
“It’s probably me,” Drake admitted with a glint in his eye. “I just don’t like guys with very small penises.”
Hayden blinked in interest, Ben shook his head, and Kennedy bit. “How’d you know . . . ?”
“Break the name down,” Drake smirked as he strode ahead. “Just. In.”
“Dinosaur,” Ben called after him. “That joke’s older than York Minster.”
Drake approached the metal table. The man next to it straightened and gave him an appraising stare. Soldier, Drake thought. Commander. Probably in charge of the military forces around here.<
br />
“Name’s Drake,” he said holding his hand out. “Matt Drake.”
“As in Bond?” the man let slip a little smile that didn’t grace his eyes. “Jo Bradey. SOG.”
Drake was rocked, despite himself. The SOG were a small elite force within Delta force. A highly secretive group, not too dissimilar from the command he used to be a part of - the English SRT . He hid his surprise by glancing towards the table.
“So that’s the thing that’s got everyone’s knickers in a twist, eh?”
His friends gathered around him. Before them, given pride of place on an otherwise bare table, sat what at first glance appeared to be a rusty metal box. When Drake bent a little closer, unconsciously imitating the SOG commanders’ pose of a minute ago, he was able to distinguish several tiny marks decorating its rough-looking surface.
What at first appeared to be a shabby old hunk of metal was on closer inspection a clever work of art. Indistinct, sweeping whorls covered the entire exterior, each one designed to blend with the next - infinite arches perhaps, or graceful waves of power.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Harrison was still trying to push things along. “This is the device that was hauled up from the bottom of the ocean, from Blackbeard’s own cabin, we think. You can see now why it might be traded back and forth during the pirate days.”
“And you think this thing has been the cause of random occurrences in the Bermuda Triangle?” Kennedy asked sceptically. “A phenomenon which, as you know, has always been denied and disproven. Until now.”
“As it will continue to be,” Bradey said. “Half the aeroplanes landing in Orlando travel through the heart of the Triangle. We wouldn’t wanna panic folk bound for Mickeyland now would we?”
“They do?” Ben asked. “How many of them know that?”
“Surprisingly few,” said Bradey chuckling.
Ben set his jaw. “Look,” he said, “there’s something you people aren’t telling us. How do you know that thing . . . ” he waved at the box, “ . . . is responsible for causing the Bermuda Triangle? How can you? The phenomenon has never been attributed to anything, ever, so how is it possible now to say - ‘oh yeah, this box is the cause.’”
There was a moment’s silence that threatened to stretch into something more uncomfortable. Hayden filled the gap eloquently.
“I can explain how the CIA knew that a crappy looking box suddenly went viral and shocked the underworld to its core.”
Ben pulled a face. “OK.”
“The uplift was filmed on national TV,” she said. “Regretfully. The moment that box broke free of the water, the very second it began to spin slowly with all those cameras focused on it, monitored ‘chatter’ went up five thousand percent.”
“Five thousand?” Drake breathed, and even Bradey looked impressed.
“That’s how we knew it was something special.”
“What type of chatter?” Ben pressed.
“The type that’s attributed to bad people in bad regions. The type that’s filled with flagged code-words. The type that’s passed on through less-than-legal channels. Channels we know about but allow to operate to give us the heads up. Basically, the things the CIA are paid to do.”
“Cool.” Ben nodded. “I get that now. But . . .”
“Yes, yes, I know - the Bermuda Triangle part. Well . . .” Hayden now seemed a little embarrassed. “There are so many things recorded throughout history. We all know this. What many people don’t know is that the CIA employ various people - boffins, super-intellectual geeks, fantasists, professors - just to collect and read all this shit and feed it into a super-computer.” She grinned at Ben’s expression. “For real. We do. And we’re by no means the only U.S. agency or world government that does so.”
“It’s said they hired a bunch of writers to sketch out various scenarios that the government stiffs would never dream of after 9/11,” Kennedy said. “This ain’t so far-fetched.”
“They did,” Hayden said. “We did. The CIA. Anyway, this shit sticks, so to speak, to the grey matter. They found old writings that indicate Blackbeard was in possession of a ‘cheap trinket box that fairly made the ground sway and turned a man’s legs to jelly’. It went on to describe people just vanishing in the pirate-king’s wake, and played a massive part in cementing Blackbeard’s fearsome legend and reputation. It also mentioned a second device, a colourful bit of ‘swag that might fetch more’n a pretty penny’, but no more than that.”
Hayden looked scared. “Boudreau knew this second device was a controller. The CIA did not. Now, if that doesn’t scare any of you, then I suggest you go home now.”
“I get it,” Ben said again. “The cheap box is the hard-drive, the engine. The pretty device controls it. So the man who holds both . . .”
“. . . Manages a portable displacement device,” Drake finished.
“I still don’t know how it’s responsible for the Triangle phenomenon,” Ben stated flatly.
“What we now think is this: that the second device controls the output, the on/off and directionality. But - that the box has juice of its own. And that an unknown chain of events has, quite randomly, set it off several times over the years.”
“You do realise what you’re telling us?” Drake said to her, already utilizing the old SAS brain for weighing and measuring the ship’s defences. “You know what a displacement device is - in plain terms?”
“A time-machine. Yes. And one that can be controlled by the man who acquires both devices.”
“The Blood King?” Kinimaka sounded scared, a sentiment that just didn’t fit him.
“I can see why a thirty-year-old myth would come out of hiding to acquire such a thing,” Bradey said. “For unlimited power. The chance to rule the world through blackmail.”
“It predates all known histories,” Hayden went on. “Within its makeup are certain elements and minerals that haven’t existed since times unknown. So long before the dawn of civilisation it makes the mind boggle.”
Drake wondered about that. Hadn’t Odin’s Shield contained something similar?
Harrison interrupted his thoughts. “It has some of the oldest known constituents ever recorded. We’re talking way over 500 million years.”
“A lost civilisation?” Kennedy tugged at the waistband of her hipsters, still conscious of her figure, despite herself. “Like Atlantis?”
Hayden suddenly looked tired. “Who knows? And, frankly, who cares? Where it came from is not the issue here.”
“Well said,” said Drake nodding. He then looked the SOG commander dead in the eyes. “How good are you and your men, Bradey?”
“We have two full units here, Drake. Plus two hundred marines, Delta Force and other select companies. God couldn’t get into this room.”
“It’s not God I’m worried about. It’s a man who’s managed to convince the entire world for about thirty years that he’s just a myth,” he said, grimacing at Hayden. “And I’m sorry to say, that includes your super-geeks and your ‘chatter-monitors’ and all the rest of it.”
“A goddamn Transformer couldn’t get in here.” Bradey was starting to sound annoyed, but smoothed it over with a little grin. “Though I daresay Megan Fox might sneak through.”
There were a few moments while all the men considered the scenario before conversation caught up again.
“Time travel,” said Kennedy, who was again tugging up her jeans whilst contemplating the box on the table. “Has anyone given this thing a shake?”
Harrison gawped. “Are you kidding?”
Kinimaka looked sick. “Didn’t you see Terra Nova?”
Drake’s mind was still trying to get into sync with his enemies’. “Ok, so the logical next step is to search for the second device. To hold either piece will negate the effect of the other device. To hold both-” he left that hanging, aware that the U.S. government was strongly represented in the room.
“That’s the dilemma. No one knows where to start.” Hayden’s smile was tired and dra
wn. Nightmares of the last few days still moved in her eyes.
Drake said, “You start with the last place they were seen together. And then you follow whatever trail you can.”
“Been there,” Ben smiled. “Done that.”
Hayden gave him a forlorn look. “Is that another Dinorock tune. Don’t tell me they’ve got you doing it too.”
“No!” Ben’s shout was loud enough to make the marines stationed by the door glance around. “I will never join the Dinorock crew, Hey! You know that.”
“Look,” said Bradey as he started to walk away, his motion designed to break up their little party, “you’re not the only people working on this. Gut feeling? Someone’s gonna get lucky. I hope it’s you guys.”
Harrison took the unspoken hint. Quickly he lifted his huge briefcase and, despite its awkward bulk, took off at a fast pace.
Drake blinked at Ben. “I know what I said, mate, but I’m just the muscle here. Where the hell do we start?”
Ben opened his mouth to speak, but before he could express himself there was an explosion so loud they all looked up to see if the roof was caving in on them.
The entire ship shuddered.
Bradey was already on his wrist mic. He looked dumbfounded. “This ship is under attack,” he said in utter disbelief. “Under attack.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
For a long moment Drake and his friends stared at each other. Bradey took his marines and raced off, the shock of it all still apparent in his voice as he barked out orders.
Drake regarded the box. “Last place we wanna be.”
He moved into the passageway. The fading footsteps of the racing marines still echoed from the bland walls.
“Remember the way out?” Kennedy asked.
Drake shot her a ‘don’t be silly’ look and set off. Moving blindly like this and with limited cover and escape routes, he felt extremely uncomfortable. Bradey needed his bollocks tweaking for not leaving them a gun. Harrison was blethering on, only further confusing the ex-SAS man’s radar.
The Blood King Conspiracy (Matt Drake 2) Page 5
