‘Well, it was fairly new. He bought it last year sometime, exchanging it for his car. I remember joking with him that he was going through a mid-life crisis.’ Natasha relived the moment. ‘He loved that machine. It wasn’t anything special - not like a Harley Davidson, or anything like that. But he used to drive it all over the county at weekends.’
They were quiet for a moment. ‘Sometimes he would take me for long rides on the bike.’ Natasha reminisced.
‘Do you know what he was doing the night he was killed?’
Natasha shook her head. ‘He left a message on my phone to say he was on his way over. By the time I got back and returned his call, he must have already left.’
Sean thought about the information she had told him. Everything seemed to fit.
‘Listen, I know Ben and you work for some kind of company that’s involved in hush-hush projects. I’m not trying to pry or obtain State secrets, but just to know if he was happy in his work.’
Natasha considered her reply. ‘Yes, I think so. I didn’t often see him there. He had an office on a different floor. But yes, he seemed happy, or at least content. Recently though he was tired. I put it down to the hours he was working.’
Before Sean could reply his mobile rang. He pulled it out and listened a moment, then ended the call and put it away without saying a word.
She glanced at her watch. ‘The police are coming round later to interview me. You said they’d spoken to you at the Hospital?’
Sean made a face. ‘A detective gave me a good grilling. Unfortunately I couldn’t tell him much. I was away from Ben’s room when it all happened. When I came back I saw a man in a white coat leaning over Ben. It didn’t look right. I called out and that’s when he ran off. Later I realised that the guy was trying to murder him. It was the same man we saw earlier - the doctor who said we could go in to see Ben.’
‘What?’ Natasha held her head in her hands. ‘You mean that doctor we met was the same person who tried to kill him?’
‘Not just tried’ said Sean grimly. ‘He succeeded. He was only pretending to be a doctor - but he had me convinced.’
Sean finished his coffee. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got to go.’ He glanced down and saw the listless expression return to her face. He touched her shoulder gently. ‘Will you be OK now?’
Natasha smiled briefly. ‘Yes – thanks for being with me today.’
‘Take care Natasha – I’ll see myself out.’
At the doorway to the apartment Sean looked back at her forlorn figure. He was tempted to stay and console her. Reluctantly he closed the door gently behind him.
Chapter 5
‘Hey, Louis - get your ass down here!’ shouted the supervisor.
Louis gripped the rail firmly until his knuckles showed white. Hardly able to talk, he stared steadfast into the driving wind and spray. The corkscrew motion of the ship set off another bout of sea-sickness and Louis retched over the side.
The supervisor was known to the scientific teams as ‘Long John’ because of his full beard and a slight limp which he claimed was the result of a fight in a Dublin bar. Annoyed, he raised his voice to a shout above the wind. ‘This is the most important test so far and they need you now.’
‘I don’t fucking care!’ Louis uttered through clenched teeth.
Long John lowered his voice to show some sympathy. ‘Best get below Lou before the launch boss comes looking for you. We start the first trial in two hours - you’ll need to get your end sorted out well before then.’
Early in the voyage when the weather started to deteriorate Louis had not known how deeply ill he could feel. The catalogue of misery didn’t end there. Louis discovered that his Rolex watch was missing. A present from his daughter for his 50th birthday, it was his most treasured possession. And when they arrived on station a major system crash had forced him to work solidly for 19 hours when he should have been in bed. Since then, between bouts of sickness and diarrhoea, he had only been able to doze fitfully for a few hours at a time.
As he turned to go the wind whipped at his white coat and spray smacked against his face. He nearly lost his footing and lunged for the rail again, cursing his co-director for falling ill at the last moment. In his absence Louis was the only other person in the company with the skills needed for the job. Even then he had to be coerced to take the trip and offered a bonus for bringing it off. He remembered telling himself at the time that the money would come in useful. But that didn’t seem so important now.
He gritted his teeth and glanced aft at the cause of his misfortune. A long cylindrical shape, held in a cradle, sat shrouded in a tarpaulin. The edges of the cover flapped wildly in the gusts, trapping air underneath. But even the demented wind couldn’t obscure the cold hard lines beneath.
‘Do you need a hand?’
Louis shook his head. He knew this phase was only the beginning. There would be at least two more weeks of trials before they could all head home and the return trip would probably take another week again. With a groan he pushed himself away from the rail towards the companionway.
When he was first shown around the ship he was told that the hull had computer controlled stabilisers that could keep her deck rock steady in all weathers. At least that was what the Steward claimed. Louis had begun to hope he might manage to avoid seasickness. He solemnly promised himself he would never set foot on a ship again after this voyage.
During the tour he was shown the bridge, equipped with the latest navigational radar and communications technology. The steward went into detail about how the project had installed two of the latest and most powerful diesel engines. When Louis queried the rust and dilapidation to the exterior of the ship, the steward gave him a knowing look. ‘She may look like a rusty old tub to you and me, but that’s what the security services wanted – no-one would guess 15 million dollars were spent on her refit.’
How wrong could I be about the stabilisers Louis moaned under his breath. He clutched at every available handhold on his way to Operations. The room consisted of two large holds knocked together to make a cavernous space with a balcony running round the outside at the upper level. As Louis pushed open the safety door, the volume of noise from the thirty engineers working below rose to a dull roar.
He looked down at the hive of activity. Technicians shouted across the racks of equipment and tension was almost palpable as everyone worked frantically to get their systems ready. Maintenance engineers were still connecting power cables to equipment and running tests. Louis noticed the quietest group in the far corner. The computer and weapons specialists from DARPA were huddled around their screens, oblivious to the clamour around them. The armament for Cetus was developed by the team from the American Defence Advanced Research Projects Agency. They had worked for two years to create a sonic cannon, capable of sending out powerful sound waves under water.
At that moment the Mosquito began to climb out of a particularly deep trough and Louis gripped the guard rail tightly. He watched as a monitor slid gracefully along a table top and smashed on the floor. The noise was lost in the sheer hubbub being generated elsewhere within the room. Reluctantly Louis started down the steps and walked unsteadily to his computer bay. Along the way he scowled at the gibes and gestures from colleagues. Apart from feeling lousy he had had to put up with taunts and jokes since the sea-sickness began and his patience had run out long ago. Now he was too weak, tired and ill to feel angry.
When he reached his desk Louis’ eyes were drawn to the central monitor that was counting down the remaining time in big digital figures. At that precise moment the clock showed one hour and 52 minutes remaining.
The launch had been postponed twice. The first time they had attempted to put the cargo overboard, data came through about a rerouted eastern European satellite which was about to over-fly their position. It would pass some 200 miles west of their current location but the top brass had decided on caution and cancelled the launch. The second time rough sea conditions from a lingering wea
ther depression had proved to be too dangerous. Now the swell was subsiding and the skies were free from orbital spies. A green light on Louis’ console showed that the Operations Director had given the signal to proceed.
Louis began to pull up a number of check lists on the main computer. He had to oversee all the communications and computer links with the cargo above; each system had to be checked and doubled checked before launch. As he worked his feelings of sickness and misery began to disappear.
For the next ninety minutes Louis concentrated on the job in hand. Towards the end he became vaguely aware that the winds had abated outside. When all his programs had run their checks and little green confirmation lights showed against each, Louis turned and gave the thumbs up sign to the Launch Manager on the next desk. The manager then began the task of instructing the crew top sides. Lifting a hundred metric tons of tungsten, steel and carbon-fibre into the choppy waters of the southern Atlantic in winter was a manoeuvre they had practised several times before.
Although they were in international waters some two hundred miles east of the coast of Suriname they were well away from major commercial shipping routes. Even so a Boeing 747 AWAC flew constantly overhead, monitoring all movements around and above the Mosquito.
Tod Frazier sat two rows away in the communications bay in constant contact with the aircraft. A high gain radar unit mounted on the bridge fed into Todd’s computer screens. On Louis’ signal he entered the clearance code. Louis now had a twenty minute launch window.
Cables on the upper deck began to creak with the strain as the massive load was hoisted from its cradle. Slowly the crane hauled it above the deck and swung it out over the side. Men on board kept it steady with hawsers at the front and rear.
When everyone was ready the operator lowered the cargo cautiously into the water with the tarpaulin still in place. Cables creaked again with the reduction in strain as it entered the sea, found buoyancy, and eventually rode low in the water. The shroud caught a gust of wind and ballooned out above the massive bulk underneath, still hiding it from view. Divers jumped into the water from two attendant boats and freed all but one of the communications cables. The tarpaulin was untied and drifted away. Already the cargo was beneath the waves, it’s outline obscured in the swell.
In the Operations room Louis adjusted the remote controls to move it a safe distance from the Mosquito. On one of the monitors Louis watched the relative depth and horizon. Figures at the bottom of the screen displayed its depth, speed and direction. Some technicians who had completed their tasks drifted over to stare curiously at the real-time display. Louis continued with the task of uploading the final software packages to the on-board computers. Nearly all of the module transfers went smoothly, denoted by little green ‘traffic lights’ on his monitor.
Abruptly one transfer appeared to hang and it’s orange light refused to turn green. Louis pulled the relevant manual and flipped through it furiously, looking for the appropriate troubleshooting section. He started to follow the suggested procedure to track the fault, all the time keeping an eye on the launch window timer as it counted down remorselessly. He had just over 6 minutes to complete the upload or the launch would have to be aborted again.
Five minutes ticked away while Louis checked circuits but the light stubbornly refused to change from amber. Louis reached for the abort switch. The Launch manager looked concerned - if Louis delayed any longer he would jeopardise the project. He flipped up the safety cover on the switch. One, two... As if the system knew what he was about to do, the light changed colour to show a healthy green.
Louis stared. He’d not made any change to fix the problem - all his efforts were focused on finding where the fault lay. Perhaps it was just a one-off he thought. The remaining transfer went well and the last green light lit up.
Apart from that one blip Louis was happy that everything had gone well. Turning around he looked to the Launch Manager for permission to move to the final phase. The manager indicated agreement and Louis clicked the button which would confirm the mission plan into the computer memory of the submerged vessel. Louis watched the console tensely for the next two minutes as on board computers double-checked the loaded modules and registered them on the system. The green light for phase two appeared and Louis smiled for the first time in a fortnight. All thought of sea sickness vanished as he spoke into the intercom.
‘Houston, we are go!’
Sir Anthony dutifully knocked on the oak door. He wasn’t looking forward to this meeting with the British Prime Minister.
‘Come in’.
Sir Anthony had to strain to hear the voice. As he pushed the door open he saw Prime Minister Terrance Ashdown seated with two other men around the table. He recognised them immediately: Martin Dinsdale, the Prime Minister’s deputy, and Howard Stern the Foreign Secretary. Sir Anthony had caught them in an amiable mood, chuckling over a joke. Dinsdale beckoned Sir Anthony to sit around the table.
‘Morning Anthony, how is the world treating you?’ the Prime Minister enquired lightly.
Sir Anthony brushed back an errant lock of silver hair. ‘Problems, Prime Minister.’ When Sir Anthony was troubled he always came straight to the point. ‘Do you recall a short while ago one of our sleepers in the States asked to return – said he wanted to share some info about a new project?’
The PM shook his head. ‘No, not really. Why?’
Sir Anthony looked down at his notes. ‘We sent a small team to help get him out. He was seriously injured before they arrived and now he’s dead - even though he was being protected at the time. The police are involved.’
‘Do you know if the police are aware of our interests in the matter?’ Howard Stern had a good knowledge of how America’s authorities worked.
‘We’re not sure.’ Sir Anthony was keenly aware of Howard’s dread of mission exposure.
The Prime Minister looked at Howard. Before either could say anything, a red-faced Martin Dinsdale interjected loudly.
‘Get the bloody team out as fast as you can then!’
The computer booted up past the first stage and Sean saw the CD Rom start whirring busily. He had successfully installed the hard drive from Ben’s flat into the laptop he bought from the store. After a minute the screen settled down and a prompt appeared: ‘Insert key.’ Sean had no idea what key was required but he knew that he would get no further with the software he had. He was just about to shut down the computer when he heard the sound of Lomax’s car pull into the drive.
‘Busy day?’ Lomax enquired as he came in.
Sean briefed him on recent events including the murder of Ben at the hospital.
‘You lost an opportunity there’ was Lomax’s glum reply.
Sean gave him a considered look. ‘I was busy trying to resuscitate him!’
‘From what you told me Ben was probably gone anyway.’
‘You would have left him to die, just to get information from his attacker?’
Lomax shrugged. ‘He wasn’t my friend.’
‘But his return to the UK was the whole point of the mission!’ said Sean, annoyed.
Lomax gave Sean an appraising look but remained silent.
Sean shook his head disbelievingly but there was no point in pursing this now. He saw Lomax glance at the laptop. ‘I’ve tried to hack Ben’s machine with the standard tools, but it’s secured to the eyeballs. You were right - we need a geek.’
Lomax grinned. ‘Just as well I insisted – I’ve got a student at MIT on standby. He’s had some basic training.’
‘What’s the quickest we can get him over then?’
‘I suggest we pick him up at Boston airport. It’s only a ten minute drive for him and it’ll give us a chance to check him for tails.’
‘Right let’s do that. Do you have anything else on Ben’s work colleagues?’
‘Yep, I was working on that.’ Lomax handed over a type written sheet. There appeared to be about twenty five or thirty names on the list. Sean saw Natasha’s name
halfway down the page.
‘Who did he report to?’ asked Sean.
Lomax’s mobile sounded and he answered.
Sean didn’t have long to wait. Less than a minute later Lomax ended the call and looked squarely at Sean.
‘What’s up?’
‘Signal from London’ Lomax said slowly. ‘They’re calling it off.’
Chapter 6
Looking through his binoculars across the water Louis could make out the riding lights from the Arabesque, a converted trawler equipped with long range radio and radar. Further away the navigation lights from the Tribune - the group’s refuelling and provisions ship - twinkled in the wintry gloom.
‘Feeling better?’ Long John came to stand next to Louis by the rail.
Louis inhaled the cold salty air deeply. The results of the sea trials in the next few days could be a defining moment in the history of US naval power. Thinking about it this way made his sea sickness seem like a small price to pay.
Louis grimaced. ‘I’ll be really happy when I’m home on dry land.’
Long John gestured towards the spot where the object they had launched rested below the surface. ‘Funny name for the project. Who decided on calling it Cetus?’
‘The guy who should be here - Anthony Tate, my co-director.’
Long John waited for Louis to continue but he wasn’t forthcoming. Long John persisted. ‘How did he come by such an unusual name?’
Reluctantly Louis turned his attention away from the sea. ‘Anthony has a passion for Greek mythology. He named it after a mythical ‘Sea Monster’ called Cetus.’ He wiped some salty spray from his forehead. ‘The monster would carry off those who made their living by the seashore. Some other stories told about a pestilence falling on the people and total destruction of their crops after a visit from Cetus.’
Silent Warpath (Sean Quinlan Book 1) Page 5
