by Karl, Victor
Headed back out into the bay, and on a whim, turned towards an island that had what looked like an old factory on it. I knew this to be the ‘Fish Factory.’ The actual original name of the Crab Island Fish Factory was lesser known. The site of the old place always raised the short hairs on my neck since it looked haunted. Many a day I drift fished in the channel in front of it for Fluke and other fish. It had been a few years since seeing it last and I could not believe how much more dilapidated it was since then. The harsh climate had hastened the breakdown of the buildings and piers as well as what appeared to be fire damage. The old timers around the bay used to talk about how busy this place used to be with fishing boats offloading thousands and thousands of pounds of Moss Bunker to be ground up into fishmeal, fertilizer and fish oil products.
We were just drifting about 50 feet off the shore taking in the site, sort of like watching a car wreck on the side of the road, wondering how things got to the situation we were seeing. A faint sound worked its way in to my consciousness mainly because it was so quiet and tranquil out on the water. Just over the sound of some gulls, I heard a buzzing noise that kept getting louder and louder. Looking to the north, I could see a black helicopter moving our way. This in itself was not a reason of concern since helicopters were a regular presence out here with the EPA copters taking water samples, coast guard choppers and military ones from the nearby bases like McGuire Air Force base and Fort Dix liked to take the scenic route along the water.
I brought the helicopter to Fiona’s attention who redirected her binoculars from the decay of the fish plant on to the oncoming chopper. Fiona said to Rico, “I don’t like the look of the chopper. They’re headed right towards us and if I’m not imaging it there is someone hanging in the right side open door with what appears to be a rifle.” Rico said, “I’m not sure how anyone could know we are out here, but I’m not going to take a chance. Let’s swing outside of the island and see if they change their path.” Opening up the twin engines, we got the boat on plane in seconds and quickly were cruising at about 40 miles per hour. Fiona was giving Rico a play-by-play of what the copper was doing since he now had his back to it. “Rico, it definitely turned to match our path.” “Shit” Rico exclaimed and said “hold on tight” as he turned the wheel hard left and gunned the engines a little harder in an effort to try and use the island for some cover.
By now, the copter was pulling alongside and matching the speed of the Whaler. Just then, Rico saw little plumes of water spout up and stich a path towards the boat. Turning away from what he knew to be a bullet trail, he began to hear the staccato sound of an automatic weapon. He had enough time on the shooting range to recognize the sound. Meanwhile, Fiona had a tight grip around the left side stanchion that held the fixed canopy over their heads. She was also fumbling around with her daypack and produced, to Mike’s surprise, a large handgun. Seeing Mike’s surprise, she simply said, “What, can’t a girl accessorize?” Just then, they heard the sounds tffff tffff tffff as three holes opened in the overhead canopy and daylight shown through. Mike immediately cut right and passed under the helicopter and as the copter changed direction to follow them they were immediately behind the boat, with the pilot clearly visible. Fiona snapped of two quick shots and it was obvious that at least one had found its mark, since the windshield now showed a hole and a spider web of cracks. If that was not a clear enough sign, the pilot banked hard left and moved out of range. “Nice shot Fiona!”
While Fiona and Mike were battling for their lives out in the middle of Barnegat Bay, Mr. William Bates was replaying the last 24-hours in his mind. It started off with waking up and trying to get the lay of the land. He had woken up completely about 24 hours ago, which had started him taking inventory of himself and trying to figure out where he was. As light was falling he figured it was evening wherever he was. He could see and hear the medical gear next to the bed he was in and realized he must have been hurt. He had a vague recollection of nurses and doctors asking him questions with a funny accent. There was just something off about everything he saw. Just then, his eyes settled on a couple of magazines sitting on a chair near the bed and realized that they were not in English. At first, he thought they were Spanish speaking, but then realized they were Italian with the magazine on the top clearly bannered as L’Espresso.
Bill then started to take inventory of his physical state. Reaching up to his head, he could feel that he was missing hair on half of his head and his fingers found some lumpiness on his scalp, which he let his fingers trace. It felt like whatever hit him in the head gave him a wound across three quarters of his scalp. As he tried to sit up higher in the bed, he winced a bit as his ribs cage area reacted to the twisting motion of trying to sit up. Rib damage he mentally acknowledged. Bill started to pull some leads off his chest and arms, which immediately set off beeping and alarms from the equipment connected to him. In about thirty seconds, a woman and a man came rushing into the room. Surmising quickly what their patient was up to, the woman immediately started repeating “Signore, Signore si prega di smettere.” The gentleman in very good English calmly said. “Mr. Bates, we can take care of that if you like.”
Ten minutes later, Bill now knew that he had survived an assassination attack, been gravely wounded and had been shipped to Rome to be under the care of the Catholic Church. This he got from Prefect Father Jovinni. According to Father Jovinni, who looked to Bill like he was 20 years old, he was part for a newly formed team that would be working with Bill and Efficio. When Bill asked a few more questions Father shrugged his shoulders and said he would have to wait until tomorrow morning, when Archbishop Eduardo Cordova will be stopping by. Knock, knock came from the door and a smallish, smiling man with a stethoscope hanging around his neck entered. When I said smallish, he really was only about five foot two and when he stood near the bed, he only had to stoop slightly. He had one of the balding heads where there was no hair in the middle, but plenty on the sides and adorned with his tiny spectacles. He could pass for a circus clown except for the absence of all color since he was dressed in a white doctor’s coat and black pants. He pleasantly shook my hand and introduced himself as Doctor Stamegna in heavily accented English. He listened to my heart, looked in my eyes, probed my rib cage and inspected my scalp. The entire time he would shake his head and say good, good, good.
Finally, the doctor pulled out a sheet of paper and with the help of Father Jovinni, asked me about 25 questions related to my life, current events and even events that happened 10 years ago. I was able to answer all the questions but for about 10 of them, I had to struggle to bring the answers to the surface. That is when I realized he was testing me to see if I had any memory issues. The harder questions for me to answer had been the ones that dealt with things going back up to 2-months prior. Shaking his head up and down the Doctor said “very good Mr. Bates, very good. Except for a scar, as he pointed to my scalp, “your recovery will be full.” With that, he reached down, shook my hand, and left the room.
The sun was shining bright when Bill next woke up. A different nurse brought in a breakfast tray consisting of fruits, yogurt and cheeses. When Bill saw the food, he mouth immediately started to salivate and he realized that he could not remember the last time he had eaten. He had noticed when the doctor was here last night that his ribs were showing clearly. Mental note to him ‘gain some weight.’ After demolishing his breakfast, an orderly, who did not speak English, wheeled me to a room that looked like he could be in the locker room of a professional football team. Bill had never experienced pain like the one he did for the next hour as a group of therapists massaged and stretched his extremities, made him lift weights and put him on a treadmill and just said walk. This might not seem hard, but in the weeks that he was unconscious atrophy of the muscles had occurred and he could not believe how weak he was. By the time they put him back into his wheel chair he was exhausted.
Father Jovinni met the attendant outside of the rehabilitation center and took over for him. "Good aft
ernoon Mr. Bates," Father said. I am going to have you meet Archbishop Eduardo Cordova if you are up to it. He wants to introduce himself and bring you up to speed on some important details that have evolved since Mr. Carter was here. “Well if he doesn’t mind me being dressed like this and covered in sweat I’m cool with it.” "No problem Mr. Bates, the Archbishop if anything is a very pragmatic individual." It seemed we traveled for 15 minutes passing through different buildings and to Bill passing though different periods of history based on the architecture, furnishings and paintings. We eventually ended up in a large conference room with vaulted ceilings. A large mural of the Last Supper took up an entire wall. The picture mesmerized me as I could almost feel myself being a spectator in the scene. Five minutes later Archbishop Eduardo Cordova arrived dressed in what I guessed was business attire for an Archbishop. The Archbishop appeared to be in his early 60’s and with his silvered hair and assured countenance he could have just as easily been the CEO of a Fortune 100 company. His handshake was firm, but it was his eyes that held compassion for his injuries as well as implied trust.
With the Prefect working a laptop PC, the Archbishop directed him to a particular slideshow. As he did this, I worked myself to my feet and took one of the soft leather conference chairs to get a better view. “Mr. Bates,” the Archbishop said, “you may not be aware of just how much excitement you and Mr. Carter kicked off around here when you presented us with an opportunity to provide some stewardship over your invention. At first, we did not know exactly what to expect or what was involved, but as the press about your discovery took off and more and more people weighed in on it, it became even more apparent to us that this is really a gift from above and everyone should be able to benefit by it.
The Archbishop continued by saying, “This does not diminish the fact that the world will change as we know it and there will be those, who in their minds will lose money, power and prestige. These are very powerful people and to ignore them could result in serious tragedy. This is why the church will be providing assistance, but assistance within certain guidelines the church must follow to remain neutral. Using long established areas of which one of them I am responsible for, we are going to combine functions to be able to make the greatest impact on world governments and other religions. Any questions Mr. Bates?” “No sir…err I mean your honor. Sorry but I just do not know how to address you.” At this, the Prefect spoke up and said, “Your Excellency or Archbishop will be fine.” “Thank you” I said “and no questions.”
The Archbishop went through a short presentation in which he broke down the functions of two different areas and explained how he had temporary control over both groups to affect dialog with government entities around the globe as well as with thousands of charitable organizations. The current slide on the screen explained it clearly and showed:
**************************************************************************FUNCTIONS TO BE COMBINED:
Second Section: for Relations with States - The second section of the Secretariat of State handles all matters pertaining to civil governments, fostering diplomatic relations with nations, and maintaining contact with all the diplomatic missions of the Holy See. It also takes care of what concerns the presence and activity of the Holy See in international institutes. Secretary: Archbishop Eduardo Cordova. And;
Pontifical Council "Cor Unum"
This Council shows the solicitude of the Catholic Church toward the needy, in order that human fraternity might be fostered and the charity of Christ be made manifest.
President: Archbishop Victor Merkkur.
**************************************************************************
Our initial plans, the Archbishop continued, is to develop an education program around how Electricus implementation can elevate people and their countries and promote this through our own missionaries as well as let other religions get the word out in whatever format works for them. Our goal is to use education to minimize fear and instability. We will also target governments where we have a presence to let them know that Electricus will be available to those that need it and not a closely guarded secret enjoyed by a privileged few.
Bill was actually speechless and felt overwhelmed that so much had happened in a short period. He had so much to catch up on and was wondering how he could get in touch with Rico. The Archbishop was keenly watching the range of emotions float over this young man’s face and felt compassion for him. Seeing an opportunity, the Archbishop nodded to the Prefect who got up and took a laptop out of a briefcase and placed it in front of Bill. Mr. Bates, the Archbishop spoke, “your friend Mr. Carter knew you would have a million questions about this time, so he shipped your computer to you and said he left a message on this memory stick that he said you must read and in Mr. Carter’s own words he said, “Man up Bill and get to work.” Smiling the Archbishop got up and shook Bill’s hand again. “When you have had a chance to read Mr. Carter’s message we will get together and work on a strategy plan. I do know that he wants you to stay here for the time being and get things organized.”
When Father Jovinni brought him back, he did not return to the same room. They escorted him to a normal looking bedroom with its own bathroom that looked over a courtyard from a third story window. The room was also equipped with a nice desk and a mini refrigerator and coffee maker. “Mr. Bates this is your room for as long as you stay here. If you need anything just pick up the phone and an attendant will help you. They also have my number if you need me. There is a small cafeteria down the hall on the left if you get hungry. Get a good night’s sleep since rehabilitation will start at 8 AM tomorrow sharp and I will escort you there.” “Thanks Father this will do fine. Have a good night,” Bill offered.
As soon as Father was gone, Bill fired up his laptop and luckily, his passphrase came back easily to him. Next, he plugged in the encrypted memory stick and after pondering for a minute, typed in the password he and Mike had used back in California. Success he thought to himself as he browsed a listing of files on the drive. The file labeled “Read This First Dummy,” was obviously the one Mike wanted him to start with. It was a long letter and it read:
Bill,
The good news is that if you are reading this you are no longer goofing off in a coma Seriously buddy, it was killing us (Fiona and I) not being with you, but there was another attempt on your life while you were comatose in the hospital as a result of a rocket attack on our headquarters. Four operatives of Middle Eastern descent tried to shoot rockets into our building from the parking lot. Three were successful and a Clavis guard killed one. I am sad to say that our receptionist Amy lost her life as well as a Clavis guard whose actions probably saved other lives. You and I were the primary targets and for the grace of God, I had bent down to fix a power cable under my Grandfather’s old desk, which most likely saved my life.
You were hustled out of the hospital after the second attack, we (Jeremy, Ty and me) concocted a story that you died in the attack, and Agent Morgan from the FBI played along. Therefore, whatever you do, do not call anyone and let them know you are still alive and kicking. Right now, you are our secret weapon and can accomplish much over there working with the Archbishop. Army business is taking off, Air Force is slow due to engineering and by the way, we turned down a 23 Billion dollar offer from a consortium of US oil and gas companies for Efficio. If you think differently let me know, but I think I know you well enough that I knew the answer. BTW, the Chinese are actively trying to steal the secret of Electricus, but thanks to your visionary thinking (yeah right); they are just drifting in the wind. There are a number of unanswered questions out there so be careful. I have reorganized the company in your absence in an effort to escalate our rollout plan. I will be working with Fiona on building Electricus production plants along the East, West and Louisiana area coastlines. Trying to get our first big license deal in place to pay for everything. Anyway take care and we miss you!
Bill sat back in his chair with tears in his eyes. The
effort his friends had gone through to protect him and the dangers that they had faced every day since his injuries were nothing short of heroic. He certainly would do his part here in Europe and wherever needed. For the next hour, Bill went through each folder on the drive. Whoever had put it together was very thorough. It included police reports from all incidents, an overview of the Chinese connections, up to date reports on the Army’s progress and even engineering reports on the headquarter building. One of the more interesting reports had to do with the all the security changes that Clavis was to implement or maybe had implemented already. Still sitting back, Bill thought to himself it had been a crazy last 24-hours and I wondered if Mike and Fiona were having an easier time.
Back in the US and over Barnegat Bay, the helicopter pilot recovered quickly and lined up the shooter for another attempt and this time the boat was peppered heavily with the spray of bullets just missing Mike and slamming into the center console which caused Fiona to utter a short scream. I made an important decision at that point. Fiona I yelled, “I’m going to run the boat up on that bank over there and we’re going to make a run for that partially collapsed shed by the main building. You give me the gun and grab the 2-way radio and I will cover you. Are you ready?” “Ready” she said as she braced herself for the impact. Mike gunned the engines and roared to the shore. About 15 feet from impact, Mike cut the engines and the boat immediately slowed and pushed a wave out front of the boat. There was some grinding as the boat passed over some cement blocks, but the boat almost gracefully deposited itself on land. The move caught our chopper friends by surprise, but they quickly recovered. Fiona was already over the bow and was sprinting towards the building. I hopped out of the boat, used it as a steadying point, and snapped two shots off at the shooter hanging out of the door. The way he pulled himself back into the chopper meant either we hit him or a shot came to close for comfort. Seeing my opportunity, I took off on Fiona’s trail and just threw myself behind a cinder block wall as the next barrage of shots thudded harmlessly into the wall.
