The smell of the distant sea, the amber light cast by the lanterns in the square and the flow of the two women tangoing together leaped from Ekaterina’s memories then something shattered the pleasant evening. The two young women tangoed in front of the Basilica di San Martino on the cool smoothness of the marble flagstones when confusion and fear took over. Kefira described breaking loose from her partner, Macaulay’s sister, believing her lover dead and chasing the culprit’s footfalls through the streets of the town. Then, in Ekaterina’s thoughts, Kefira described a sensation of weightlessness, then she heard a man’s voice say the word: “release” and felt herself revive in her lover’s arms after floating in a cocoon.
Later that same day in a limestone cave, Macaulay gave Kefira the only existing diamond-based nanosuit without any explanation. When she pressed him as to why, he said that in the whole world he only trusted his sister’s judgement. It was hardly an adequate response. There must be more, thought Thomas.
“I like it better when you talk than when you use telepathy,” said Ekaterina. “I just can’t get used to you being in my head without my being able to push you out.”
“I’ll second that,” Yochana added.
“How can we be sure you didn’t plant this idea in our heads, Thomas?”
“I could have, but why would I? There would be no reason.”
“I’m naturally suspicious,” Ekaterina replied while Yochana nodded her head.
“I asked you outright about Macaulay, remember? There’s no trick.”
“Why do we need him again? Go through the logic once more,” insisted Ekaterina.
Thomas probed in Ekaterina’s and Yochana’s minds and started to lay out the logic behind the idea of contacting Macaulay.
Yochana looked annoyed.
“Not like that. Talk to me,” she said. Ekaterina nodded in agreement as both women recoiled from Thomas’ efficient but disconcerting use of mind talk.
“Alright, alright. I see something in your mind, Ekaterina, that’ll demonstrate my point.”
“Really, what’s that”?
“Remember when you went to Mensa International? Remember how you felt?”
“Jesus, you sure raked the coals to find that one. I felt overwhelmed by the intensity of their exchanges, not a feeling I’ve ever felt before or since,” said Ekaterina.
“You have to acknowledge the results they achieved at that meeting though, don’t you?” asked Thomas.
“Yes, we used their results very successfully. What’s your point?”
“My mind speak is more efficient. You have to adapt.”
“You never told me about the Mensa International,” remarked Yochana.
“Not understanding is not something I choose to brag about.”
“Why d-?”
“Get on with it, ladies. Using Macaulay’s Quantum computer and his linked network, we can disrupt General Chou’s operations.”
“That could buy us some time after the treaty deadline if it succeeds, but we don’t have time to go all the way to his lair in Italy,” said Yochana. She was the more tech-savvy of the two women. Thomas nodded.
“I’ll send a holographic communication. Get Yatsick in here to locate the source of Macaulay’s satellite feed. We’ll break into it and get to him where ever he is in the world. Through his own network. That should get his attention.”
Thomas decided not to reveal to them that his whole body could now travel electronically just as easily as his holograph. I’m just not sure I can fool Yatsick about my ability to reconstitute myself after travelling virtually. Anyway, I need the beefed-up Quantum to be sure my virtual travel leaves me in one piece at the other end, he thought.
Yatsick pulled the laptop towards him on the table. Using a secret military version of Google Maps, he engaged an analyzer of electronic emanations. He worked swiftly and efficiently and after a few minutes Yatsick had located Macaulay’s cave near Locorotondo, Italy.
“Right,” he said with obvious satisfaction. “We have the man. Now we need the technology. We need to go to my control center and the Quantum computer.”
The trio accompanied him to his hive of state-of-the-art technology. Yatsick was proud of this environment; at first, the Israeli government had resisted spending the money to buy the super cooled, minus 270 degree environment, but Kefira’s limited demonstrations of the power of the nanosuit convinced them otherwise. Unlimited monies arrived through a covert channel of financing and Yatsick’s dreams came true.
Yatsick stood in front of a black box, twice his height and six feet wide. Without Yatsick’s knowledge, for the first time Thomas projected his virtual self into the holograph of the three of them on its way to Macaulay’s system. What Thomas didn’t know – and he was surprised by - was that his body would also make the trip, leaving Ekaterina, Yochana and Yatsick at a loss to explain Thomas’ whereabouts.
“He’s gone,” said Ekaterina.
“He is slippery,” added Yochana.
“He must have moved virtually with the holograph. Macaulay’s going to have a surprise visitor,” said Yatsick.
“What’re you going on about, Yatsick?” asked Ekaterina.
“Using the suit’s telepathic mode, I saw some residue of thoughts Thomas believed he’d masked from my view. I just didn’t believe he could do it. Thought it was just plans.”
“You can’t mean he’s traveling on the Internet?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Sometimes I think we should kill him, now before it’s too late and he turns on us,” said Yochana.
“He’ll know you want to destroy him and he’ll stop trusting you,” said Yatsick. “Believe me, that’s not a situation you want to be in.”
“What does it mean when it’s dangerous to even think something bad about him?”
“Ladies, there’s already a transmission coming in from Italy.”
Thomas stood beside Macaulay but there was something odd about the Irishman’s facial expression. Thomas acknowledged it.
“Yes, he’s in pain, a lot of pain,” he said.
“Let him go. I had no choice, Thomas,” said Yatsick. “It was my fault, not Macaulay’s.”
“What exactly have you done?” demanded Thomas.
“When I understood you would be able to move on the Internet and reconstitute yourself in the real world after, I knew I had to act. I pushed you. We just need to set some ground rules,” said Yatsick.
Macaulay’s face muscles relaxed as Thomas let them go. The Irishman staggered to a chair inside the limestone cavern he used as a hideaway, including all the amenities of a normal life, from a coffee maker to a cistern full of fresh water, and lamps connected to solar power on the surface. Macaulay massaged his neck and took deep breaths. Thomas’ anger at Yatsick’s trick subsided.
“It’s an electronic force field,” said Yatsick as Thomas recoiled, unharmed. He had stopped in his tracks after touching the air a few feet from Macaulay’s fully functioning, Quantum computer.
“Simmer down, please. We need to be partners Thomas,” said Ekaterina.
Thomas turned towards the camera Yatsick used to communicate with them. He’d underestimated Yatsick and now he was paying for it. “Looks like I have the sickness of the Greek gods.”
“That’d be ‘hubris’, wouldn’t it?” asked Ekaterina.
“Seems so. Touché, Yatsick.”
“We can only win against Chou if we work together. The Chinese’re the problem. We’re the solution. No more deception, Thomas,” said Ekaterina.
“You’ll never beat the Chinese with me locked up in here with Macaulay.”
“You can both walk out if you leave the suit behind, Thomas. The field only works against the energy in the suit,” said Yatsick.
Macaulay got up, passed through the field, and walked over to his Quantum computer.
“We’ll contain the suit in this apparatus that you can wear on your wrist and then we can both make it back to Israel by mor
e conventional means,” Macaulay offered, showing Thomas a small piece of equipment.
“Not so fast,” Thomas said. As he spoke, Yatsick noticed his suit disintegrating around him. “I put a time limit on your suit’s lifespan. If I am right, your suit just disappeared, Yatsick.”
Yatsick nodded reluctantly as he suddenly felt naked.
Macaulay spoke again.
“We have to study the powers of the suit together, Thomas. As a group we’re more likely to succeed. What would’ve happened if General Chou had developed this force field - instead of Yatsick here - while you were in his power with that reporter?”
“Perhaps you’re right. I guess, I started thinking I was infallible, but not predicting the force field proves me wrong.”
Macaulay tossed the watch to Thomas and the young man turned its knob. His suit vanished into it and Thomas became a normal man for the first time in weeks. Ekaterina noticed he had aged.
“An unmarked Israeli Gulfstream is waiting for you at Bari International Airport. You should be able to get there in about half an hour. You’re doing the right thing, Thomas.”
Macaulay spoke up.
“The watch won’t open without Ekaterina’s thumb print.”
Thomas shook his head
“I’m not happy. But maybe it’s for the best. Let’s get moving.”
“Follow the blue floor lights. They lead to a hermetically sealed exit. Carry those two bags, would you? I’ll protect the system at this end and catch up to you in a few minutes.”
Thomas picked up the cases and walked into the passageway. Macaulay sat at his computer terminal and initiated a code burst, using a unique signal. His satellite system captured it and logged a special sequence that a surfacing rogue Akula attack submarine would receive. After months of planning, it only took him a few seconds to prepare a catastrophe.
A few hours later, in the Gulf of Oman, the lurking Akula popped a communication antenna into the air. The coded burst from Macaulay had all the hallmarks of a message from the Russian oligarch financing the Akula. History would call it ‘Orlov’s Gamble’; few would imagine Macaulay at its root. An oligarch would pay with his life.
Orlov’s Unsuspecting Gambit
Macaulay’s coded message to ‘The Admiral’, Commander aboard the rogue Russian Akula submarine, started the wheels spinning towards a horrific reality. Doing his oligarch’s bidding, whether delivering cocaine from Columbia to Europe or providing clandestine delivery of weapons to despots in Africa since the time of the fall of the Berlin wall, ‘The Admiral’ kept his own council. He despised the man sitting himself down in the minute space opposite him in his sleeping quarters. He did however, respect the man’s engineering skills.
“Klaus, it seems your abilities are in demand again,” he said, looking up from a sea bottom coordinate map on a drop-down shelf between them. “If I read that map correctly from this side, we are in the Gulf of Oman. Are we making for the Persian Gulf?”
“Astute, as usual.”
“We need you to set a more controlled event than the one in Indonesia, Klaus.”
The Admiral turned a folded section the map to face the German. “You’re still using paper. These displays’re all digital now.” The Admiral handed Klaus a magnifying glass and instructed him to look at Qatar.
“Can you build a charge that’ll inundate Qatar but leave Saudi Arabia and Bahrain untouched?”
Klaus played with his goatee between his thumb and forefinger. “I have no-”
“Give it a break, will you? I’ll show you some background to set your Nationalist Socialist heart at ease. The Chinese have played a wild card. They took over the assets of Qatar. We mean to get ’em back.”
“Still doesn’t explain why I should do this for you.”
“You fascist prick. I was a boy in Leningrad, remember.”
“You never let me forget.”
“You’ll do it for the ‘green’, as they say in America. Can you do it or not?”
A bottle of cognac appeared from a space under the Admiral’s seat. “Seal the deal, shall we?”
“Drinking with a fascist?”
“Hitler and Stalin did it.”
“And we both know where that ended up.”
“Look at this,” said the Admiral.
A screen lit up on the wall opposite the men. It displayed pictures of Lake Khanka, covered with Chinese men and satellite images of thousands upon thousands of Chinese men in a place that Klaus recognized as Armageddon Valley. The last sequence of images showed the fall of Qatar taken from Al Jazeera’s report featuring Sue Ann Lee as the reporter.
“How’re they doing it?”
“I’m told they’re using nano technology, but I can’t make heads or tails of the report.”
“That’s nonsense. Nanofog is the stuff of science fiction,” said Klaus.
“They said the same about your tsunami weapon,” retorted the Admiral.
The Admiral placed an enlarged portion of the bigger map between them. He took a marker and covered an area of it with hash marks, then he filled two glasses with the dark liquid and handed one to Klaus. “To successful collaborations.” They drank.
“You really can be sure Riyadh won’t be under water?”
“It’s all speculation at this point in time, but the math looks promising.”
“Arrange it. We have to stop those slant-eyed bastards.”
“Who’s the fascist now?”
“I’ve learned it’s all a matter of perspective. Fill your glass?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” replied Klaus, as he glanced down at the map section.
The Admiral studied the map again. As if reading Klaus’ mind, he said: “I’ll get us in there through those shallows. You get your job done.”
Klaus squinted at the chart through his monocle. He traced a line on the bottom of the sea, leaving the Arabian Basin, then passing over the Owen Fissure Zone and then making its way in to the Persian Gulf.
“A chance flyby’ll see us in those waters. Thirty-four metres only.”
“Where?”
“Only here gives us deniability. Christ, I sound like a politician.”
“Show me.”
“The charge must be placed here in the entrance of the Gulf of Oman on the Owen Fissure.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you there. The rest is up to you.”
“I’m going to hell, anyway,” Klaus said.
The Admiral placed a photograph of a teenage girl on the improvised desk between them. Klaus raised his eyebrows.
“Ha. No need to bring that up. It was a ploy. I never would’ve done it,” said the German.
“I whisked her away anyway. She’s in a fine school under another name. Even your oligarch friend can’t get his paws on her now, you bastard,” said the Admiral, referring to an earlier meeting between the two men. Before the last artificial tsunami, Klaus had dropped the same picture in front of the Admiral to save his skin by threatening the life of the Admiral’s niece.
“Get the fuck out of my space.”
“That sounds more like the Admiral we all know and love,” Klaus said as he executed a smart about face after saluting Nazi-style.
“We’ll be at that coordinate at four bells. You be in the forward torpedo room to supervise.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
Qatar Sinks – 4:13 AM In the Gulf Of Oman
Stopping to wipe their brows, the two sailors inhaled the greasy stench of oil and machinery before returning to the task of wrestling the seismic weapon into the forward number two torpedo tube. Ordinarily a hydraulic lift would accomplish the task but this piece of equipment was a little too wide for the torpedo tray. Klaus piped a video feed directly to the Admiral’s cabin. The men are still wearing tattered Soviet uniforms, he thought.
Klaus’ undoubted genius stemmed from his flexibility. Working for the Russian Oligarch Doctor Rostov, he’d mastered the art of shattering subterranean rock in order to direct t
he flow of gas to migrate towards a designated oil well. His efforts had filled Doctor Rostov’s pockets for years. Rostov had communicated earlier this week with the Admiral asking for another demonstration of the weapon’s feasibility, irking the Admiral. Buyers lining up, but need another demonstration, said Rostov in the coded burst. All those deaths are on my head, but at least Orlov will catch the blame. He never suspected an Irishman’s treachery lurking behind his orders.
Under Klaus’ supervision, a trail of self-destructing, timed and shaped depth charges lay on the upper edge of a thirty-metre deep trench starting at the Oman Peninsula and ending opposite Bahrain. When exploded, the charges created an undersea earthquake by causing a shift in the Qatar South Fars Arch. This major regional anticline ran through the central Persian Gulf.
Precisely as the Admiral’s Akula evaded detection by plunging over the edge of an underwater cliff and into one hundred metres of water, an enormous wall of water rose in the wake of the dishonourable Akula submarine. Klaus had done his job. The crew, Klaus and the Admiral passed concealed as they headed around the Oman Peninsula through the Strait of Hormuz for deeper water.
****
The shimmering reflections on the unique skyscrapers of Doha became agitated in the sheen of the Gulf’s early morning normally mirrored, calm surface.
Unsuspecting migrant workers made their way on foot or in public transport from their overcrowded makeshift sleeping quarters. Shaheen Oil Production’s facilities succumbed first to the onslaught of the growling wave. The effect was instant and devastating. Metal walkways and platforms twisted from their pylons, sinking to the bottom, taking sleeping workers with them. Those who saw the wave didn’t have time to pray. Those who didn’t would never know what hit them. Two of the world’s largest floating storage super tankers rose on the wave and were spat out like toys towards the night skyline of Doha.
Diamond Rain: Adventure Science Fiction Mossad Thriller (The Spy Stories and Tales of Intrigue Series Book 2) Page 13
