Guardian Ship

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  For a minute, everyone was silent. I was surprised that Hannig had spoken up like that, but was genuinely moved by what he said.

  Gordo finally broke the impasse. “I’ll go with you, brother,” he said, crossing the invisible line and joining us.

  Carlo said, “Sorry boss,” and he too joined our group. Elmo and Matteo each took the two steps to join us. Neither made any apologies. That left Tito Caputo standing alone, looking more than a little perturbed. Finally, breaking the awkward silence, he said, “You get yourself killed, Dommy, how you going to pay back what you owe me? Huh? No, I’m coming along. Gotta keep an eye on you.”

  Italians are huggers. I don’t know what that’s all about, but it’s true. We’re emotional and not afraid to show it. The boys all grabbed each other’s shoulders and patted each other on the back. Hannig, Georgina and Lori seemed just fine keeping their distance.

  “I’m supposing you’re going to need a little extra firepower for this, um, excursion? Am I right, Dommy?” Caputo asked with a crooked smile.

  Chapter 21

  Officer Lori Tedesco

  Lori hadn’t known the extent of Dom’s military heroics. Sure, she knew he’d been wounded over there, that he’d gotten a commendation—but a silver star? She’d had no idea. For such a big guy, he was surprisingly unimposing, and there was an unexpected gentleness about him. But she suspected there was also the reverse of that—perhaps a dormant ferocity that could bring down a house if unduly provoked.

  With the volume turned down low, she’d been listening in one ear to the repeated calls coming in over her radio. Her precinct was concerned for her welfare. They were looking for her, thinking she might possibly be down. She felt guilty for staying quiet. Still not letting dispatch know she’d gone 10-7, Out of Service. Now, she’d been hearing Dispatch request for a 10-2, Return To Your Command, as well as 10-3, Request to Call Dispatcher By Telephone. But what would be her explanation? Sorry, command, I’m taking a break so I can deal with those damn aliens up in space. Back at you when things are all wrapped up. Instead, she brought out her phone and began texting the one person she knew who could buy her some time. The 7th Precinct’s Chief of Police—her father.

  Lori: Dad. Have personal 10-7 emergency. Will explain—honest—when I can. Please tell watch commander.

  Her father would be angry. Maybe go a little ballistic. But he’d do it, just the same. She hit Send and looked up. The men were hugging and kissing each other on the cheek. She was half-Italian herself, but it still fascinated her, the affection Italian men unabashedly bestowed on one another. But these men could also just as easily shoot and kill one another. She was fairly certain that not a one of them hadn’t shot someone, probably killed someone, in the course of their Cosa Nostra duties. On the other hand, she hadn’t even once been in a situation where it was necessary to pull her service weapon until today, let alone shoot at someone. She settled her gaze upon Tito Caputo. Her father had spoken about this man on a number of occasions. A mid-level mob boss for one of the five New York families—although at the moment she couldn’t remember which one. He was well-liked by the locals. But she instinctively didn’t like him, even beyond his career choice. He was handsome in a slick kind of way—he’d clearly had some work done. A nip here, a tuck there. And of course those blazingly white teeth—veneers, no doubt.

  “Before we go, I need to say something important,” Lori said.

  Everyone stopped to look at her. At five-foot-four-and-a-half, and slight of build, she was easily overlooked among larger people. That needed to be dealt with right off the bat. “I’m on board with—with whatever this is, under one condition.”

  “What’s the matter little lady, you feeling left out?” Caputo said in a tone that made her want to shoot him in the face.

  She continued. “There’s just one leader here. And just one second in command.” She looked over to Dom. “Dom’s got real-life military experience. So he’s our leader. Not to mention, he’s the one that brought us all together. And I’m number two, a New York Police Officer; I have training, and a college degree, for whatever that’s worth. I’m smart. The rest of you have your own kind of experience, street smarts, that may end up being invaluable, I get that, but these are my conditions.”

  All eyes went to Dom. Clearly he was the leader. But taking orders, or secondary orders, from a young female cop? Their eyes pleaded for him to rescind what they clearly felt to be a ridiculous request. She hoped Dom would see things her way.

  Caputo finally spoke it aloud. “Dommy? Really?”

  “She makes a good point,” Dominic said. “So yeah, I’m with her on this. Let’s just try to remember we’re all on the same side here. It’s the only way this will work.”

  Gordo looked at Lori. “Fine, 10-4, you’re our big number two.”

  She rolled her eyes. She’d spent her whole life around adolescent-acting males.

  Hannig led the way into the spacecraft, starting his tour once again for the benefit of the mob guys. They all crowded in, but Lori held back to talk to Dom and Georgina.

  “What’s the plan, Dom?” Lori asked, afraid he’d say he didn’t really have one and that she was staking her career—hell, her life—on improvisation, or worse, mob rule.

  “This is beyond cool!” Gordo yelled from somewhere up ahead.

  Dom, taller than anyone else, peered forward, looking concerned. She saw how protective he was of the alien being. Hannig was way too trusting, as far as Lori was concerned. He seemed like he could be easily manipulated or coerced by those with bad intentions. He was fortunate to have met Dom first.

  Georgina echoed her question. “What is your plan, Dommy? Lori’s right. We won’t get any second chances.”

  Dom took a deep breath. He’d clearly been thinking this through for a while, and finally putting it out in the open, he must’ve been wary of what their reactions would be.

  “Number one, we get full intel on the enemy. We don’t set foot inside that alien ship until we know everything about it, and the ones inhabiting it. This little ship, this Watcher Craft, is highly advanced. Apparently far more advanced than that of the enemy. The onboard computer, which Hannig refers to as System, knows everything. Alexa or Siri on steroids.” Dom placed a hand on Georgina’s shoulder. “Can you take charge of that? Confer with Hannig, and use this System to learn all what we’re up against?”

  “What about me? What do you want me to do?” Lori asked.

  “You may not like this, but I think it’ll be best if you work with Caputo’s guys. As an NYPD officer, you’ve had training. Like how to clear a building, things like that, right? I’m betting it’s a lot like what we did in the military. Talk to them, make a plan of attack as a group, figure out our tactics. We need to all be on the same page when we show up on that ship.”

  “What about you, Dommy? What are you going to do?” Georgina asked.

  Dom looked up just as Caputo approached. “Right on time,” Dom said. “I’m hoping you can help. Before, you were asking about weapons? The Khantam Lom are a peaceful, non-violent species. So we won’t find any weapons on this ship. We’re going to have to be creative. Can you help me out with that?”

  Caputo pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. Then came that blazingly too-white smile. “Boy, you’re going to be happy I came along on this little jaunt of yours.” He rubbed his chin and took on a look of fake deep contemplation. “Okay, we’ll need to make a detour.”

  Chapter 22

  Dominic Moretti

  I heard a familiar voice, one that didn’t belong to those of us now onboard Hannig’s Watcher Craft. We all moved into the too-cramped forward control center compartment to listen to General A. E. Wright, the salt-and-pepper-haired Air Force general with all his ribbons and medals. The NASA logo and Kennedy Space Center emblem were proudly displayed on the front of his podium.

  Hannig turned up the volume on the display. The split screen showed the general speaking behind a lectern on the left, and w
hat appeared to be a massive rocket, ready for takeoff, on the right. Small plumes of white steam leeched out from several areas along the sides of the rocket.

  “. . . top secret, until now, the X-37 is a military space-plane . . . yes, it looks similar to the familiar, but now-decommissioned Space Shuttle. Smaller, yet in a number of ways, the X-37 is far more advanced than its elder-cousin spacecraft. As you can see, this spaceplane will be lifted into space via an Atlas V-Class rocket.”

  A question came forth from the cluster of reporters in front of the general. “And this spaceplane will be manned? To date, hasn’t the X-37 been strictly unmanned during its previous test flights?”

  At that, a flurry of other questions bombarded the general. “Please . . . one question at a time, one at a time. First of all, I’m not going to get into any areas still deemed classified. But yes, most of our testing of this craft has been unmanned. But with many thousands of hours orbiting Earth, manned and unmanned, this craft has been thoroughly tested. It is ready.”

  “How many astronauts will crew the spacecraft, General? Who will they be”

  “Three—two men and a woman. I am not at liberty to release their identities, at present.”

  “So they’re just going to drop by that alien ship uninvited? Knock on the ship’s proverbial front door?”

  More questions erupted. The general raised his palms. “Details will be made available at the right time. Leave it to say we feel confident in taking this first step. Let’s call it a goodwill gesture, that will go a long way toward easing tensions. Show these interstellar travelers we mean them no harm.”

  I looked down at Hannig, seated at his console, and locked eyes. “We’re making a big mistake here, sending up that rocket, aren’t we?” I asked.

  “Yes, I am afraid so, Dominic. This encounter may not end well for those three astronauts.”

  “Ah come on, who really knows for sure?” Caputo said a little too loudly.

  No one else spoke as the final seconds were counted down. Suddenly, thunderous blasts of orange fire and billowing smoke erupted outward from the rocket’s five enormous engines. The control room announcer proclaimed, “And we have lift-off! The United States of America, and all the nations on Earth, can take pride in this diplomatic mission into space that has now commenced!”

  “Yeah, I’m with Hannig. I don’t have a real good feeling about this,” Lori said, wearing a pained expression.

  We all watched as the rocket climbed higher and higher in altitude until its first-stage thruster had burned through its rocket fuel propellant. With the first-stage engine’s fuel fully extinguished, the stage quickly dropped away. In a flash, the second-stage engine ignited—propelling the now-smaller rocket higher into the stratosphere. With the news camera lens zoomed to its max, the rocket ship soon appeared as little more than a jittery black speck against a blue-white background.

  “Hannig, can you call up that same view? The one of the alien ship up in space, like you did before?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  The Wikk spacecraft, in all its virtual 3D detail, now hovered above us. A burst of bluish flame, expelled from an aft thruster, revealed that the ship was clearly on the move.

  “That’s one ugly-looking ship,” Carlo said, rubbing the top of his bald head. His younger brother nodded in agreement.

  “So what’s it doing, Hannig?” Elmo asked, looking to the alien for confirmation. He blinked, his eyes looking huge behind the thick lenses.

  “I would guess the Wikk ship detected the launch and the subsequent approach of the rocket. It has altered course, and based on its current vector the Wikk will intersect with the rocket within the next ten or fifteen minutes.”

  We all waited in cramped silence. It took another few minutes, but soon we viewed the Wikk ship, as well as a distant reflective dot, high in Earth’s orbit.

  “That’s our ship! That’s the X-37!” Gordo shouted, his voice full of pride. He turned to me. “I like it that the U.S. flag is prominent on that little ship. Shows that fucking America is in charge here, blazing one more trail ahead of everyone else.”

  I caught Georgina’s eye roll. Gordo really did seem to be missing the big picture here—we humans were all in this together now.

  “Holy shit!” Gordo yelled.

  “Oh my God!” Georgina yelled out at practically the same moment.

  My heart missed a beat in my chest.

  Two incredibly bright beams of blue light streaked across space. The Wikk ship appeared to have fired some kind of energy beam toward the X-37. One second the small spaceplane was there, and the next it was not. No explosion. No nothing. Three lives lost in the blink of an eye.

  I still didn’t believe it. I kept hoping I’d catch another glimmer of light, a momentary reflection, off the spaceplane’s hull.

  “Oh no. They still don’t know,” Lori said, pointing at the view screen and the still-in-progress press briefing, fixed smiles on faces filled with anticipation. The general stood tall and erect, arms crossed over his broad, beribboned chest.

  The other split screen now showed a scene from within the Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center, located in Houston. Several men dressed in shirtsleeves and a woman wearing a uniform abruptly stood up. Staring at the large monitor at the front of the room, she brought her hands up to her mouth. She now knew what the rest of the world did not just yet: that the alien ship had just destroyed the X-37, and its crew.

  No one spoke inside the Watcher Craft for a full minute. Then Caputo spoke up. “You were right, Dommy. You’re smart. I should have believed you. But we are here now, and we’re going to set things right. Along with your alien friend and this spaceship, we’re first going to need some firepower. We need to get over to Brooklyn. You’re the boss, Dommy. If you don’t mind, tell Hannig to head to the West Side. 35th street, but inland from Bella Abzug Park.”

  Hannig looked up at me and I nodded back, though my heart still wasn’t in it. Not after what we’d just witnessed moments before.

  “What’s there?” I asked.

  Caputo smiled. “The cow tunnels.”

  Chapter 23

  Caputo looked concerned. He was leaning forward, his nose nearly touching the Watcher Craft’s large window portal. “Okay, slow down a bit, almost there.” He glanced over to me. “And nobody can see us? You sure about that, Dommy?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” I said.

  “What’s the specific address you’re looking for? Georgina asked, mistrust in her voice.

  There was continued rioting outside. Only now, it seemed as though the crowds had become more unified. More like organized revolutionaries. By now, everyone knew those aliens in space were anything but friendly. The populace feared for their lives.

  He continued to stare out the window. “I don’t remember the exact address. You think I’m a walking talking fucking Thomas Guide?”

  “What’s a Thomas Guide?” Lori asked.

  “I’ve only been there a few times,” Caputo continued. “Maybe twice. And it was a few years back. But I know it’s here on 12th Avenue.”

  I said, “So what’s the story with this place? Why’d we come here?”

  “Hold up!” he said. “This is it . . . I’m pretty sure.” Caputo continued to stare out the portal toward a nondescript, dingy-looking five-story building. “This part of the city, I’m talking like the end of the 1800s on up to the early 1900s, was filled with slaughterhouses. They’d ferry cattle over from New Jersey across the Hudson Bay. They used to herd the cows right up 12th Street. And that was fine when there were just horse-and-buggies on dirt roads around here. But at the turn of the century came the automobile and cobblestoned streets. And traffic. Seems no one had much patience for hundreds of head of cattle moseying by at various city intersections.”

  Georgina let out a sigh. “Is there a point to this trek down memory lane?”

  “Wait, I want to hear this,” Matteo said.

  I was interested myself. “Go on, sir. Y
ou really know your New York trivia,” I said, giving Georgina a just-be-patient expression.

  “No, I know my history, son. Okay, so there was an ingenious solution. Subterranean cow tunnels! They dug them starting from over at the Hudson river docks to here and where other slaughterhouses were located nearby on the West Side. Bovine scooted along beneath the streets, hundreds of them, all without interrupting the traffic up on street level.”

  “How come I’ve never heard of any of this before?” Georgina asked.

  “Look it up. Google it. Lots of folklore about it—the tunnels were even lost for a time. That is until the mid-1920s, when prohibition was going strong. Now, the Gangsters back then weren’t Italians. They were mostly the Irish. Like Waxey Gordon and Big Bill Dwyer. And Owney “The Killer” Madden—he was an Englishman and was the leader of the Gopher Gang.”

  “Seriously? Someone actually named their gang that?” Georgina asked.

  Caputo ignored her. “Madden found the cow tunnels and used the damn things to stash his stock of illegal liquor.”

  “This is leading somewhere, I take it?” I said, noticing a building had caught fire not far down the street. The air outside was getting dark, full of soot. Another mob was forming—everyone seemed to have a fire-lit torch. I had no idea where they’d procured them. It felt like we were suddenly back in the early 1900s—fitting given Caputo’s story.

  “In late 1933, there was the repeal of the 18th amendment. No more prohibition. And by then, the days of the Irish gangs were coming to an end. And the Italians moved in, right?” Caputo splayed his hands. “This building has been owned by one of the five families for close to ninety years.”

  “Doesn’t look like much of a building,” Carlo said.

  “No, it’s a shithole. But what’s under it is . . . well, that’s quite a different story.”

  Caputo placed a hand on Hannig’s shoulder then looked as if he regretted doing so. “Um, can you take us down? Below the street level. Down say a hundred feet or so?”