Numa Files: Ghost Ship Part 32

Kurt stood up, stretched, and glanced back toward Joe. "I'll go wake Joe. I think we'll need some coffee."

Sebastian Brevard, his brother Laurent, and his "sister" Calista stood in the control room surrounded by computers, discussing the situation.

"I've brought all the men in," Laurent said. "We have a total of fifty at this point. But they're sitting around with nothing to do. When do you expect this attack to occur?"

"Sooner or later," Sebastian explained. "I'm monitoring their most important channels. We have nothing to worry about at the moment."

"In the meantime, we're spending a fortune on these hired guns," Laurent said. "I'm sure our regulars would have done just fine."

Sebastian dismissed his brother's whining. "It doesn't matter," he said. "A pittance, compared to what we'll control."

"I don't see why we have to draw them in," Calista said.

Sebastian glanced toward her as he sat at his own workstation. "How many times have I told you, dear sister, a con is never about convincing your mark to do any particular thing. They must convince themselves to take action, firm in their belief that it was their idea all along."

"That, I understand," she said. "But why bring them here?"

"To make this work they must attack with vengeance and retribution in their eyes. The carnage and annihilation it brings will make the world think we're dead. It will make them think this sordid chapter in their pitiful lives is over and the threat effectively neutralized. Only then will we be truly hidden and able to act with impunity. I told you I would give us a new life, one where no one is looking for us, and I shall."

For the first time she could remember, he moved closer to her. Instead of the stern older brother, there was something more in his eyes. It made her uncomfortable in a way she was used to making others uncomfortable.

"What about the hostages?" she asked, pulling back.

He looked at her with disappointment. "For the second time in as many weeks you seem concerned with something other than our family. Are you feeling all right?"

"I just need to know," she snapped.

"They can identify us," Sebastian explained. "To prevent that, they will be destroyed in the conflagration. Their quarters are lined with napalm, much like the explosives that line our home. When the attack comes and the firefight begins, I will detonate the charges and the whole place will go up in flames. Make sure you're on the helicopter with me when it does."

She smiled, the slightly s.a.d.i.s.tic smile he was more used to. "Of course, dear brother. Where else would I be?"

"Good," he said. "Now, bring Sienna Westgate to me. I have at least one last job for her."

Calista nodded and left. With the door shut tight, Laurent reengaged Sebastian.

"She's getting soft," he said.

"Well," Sebastian said, "it's to be expected. She's not really one of us, is she?"

Laurent smiled. Both he and Sebastian had enjoyed taunting her when she was a child; it had been a game. They both knew who and what she was. They were surprised by what she became, how strongly she bought into the family. In many ways she'd always seemed intent on proving herself as if she knew deep down inside that she didn't belong.

"You know her purpose as well as I do," Sebastian continued. "They will find her body and that of two others in the downed helicopter. Burned perhaps, but considering the jewels and treasures they'll discover on board, there will be no choice but to a.s.sume it is the three of us. You and I will escape in the tunnel and destroy it behind us. I have rigged the explosives to go off in an acceptable progression. The outer buildings first, then the wings of the mansion. And finally the control room and the tunnel. It will give us extra time to escape."

Sienna Westgate sat with her children in a one-story windowless lodge that was the communal prison of the hostages and their family members.

In an effort to shield her children from any more pain, Sienna's trip to Iran and then Korea had been called a vacation. She'd promised them she would come back quickly, though she obviously had no control over when or if she would return. And the feeling of her children's tears had remained with her all during her absence.

Her arrival back at the compound was met with smiles and kisses, and she wrapped her arms around them so tightly that she almost squeezed the air out of them. But after a brief moment of euphoria, Sienna began to fall into a pit of despair. She could see that constant fear and stress had already taken its toll on them.

Elise had become withdrawn and quiet, the opposite of her outgoing nature. Her face looked pale and gaunt as if she weren't being fed or was unwilling to eat. Tanner was worse. He had a fever and insect bites all over his legs. He quickly became demanding and angry. He wanted his father. He wanted to go home. He hated it there.

Sienna hated it too, but there was nothing she could do about it. She'd given in to her captors and done everything they'd asked-everything any of them had asked-all to keep the children safe and buy them some time. But now her spirit was beginning to weaken.

Video she'd seen of her husband talking to the press as if she and the kids had drowned was confusing and disheartening to her. He knew she'd been abducted. He was there. He'd seen it with his own eyes. She only hoped it was a ruse and that rescue would eventually come, but she now doubted it. Especially after what she allowed to happen to Kurt and his friend in Korea.

Seeing them appear out of nowhere had been like a dream. But when Calista had gained the upper hand, Sienna had no choice but to obey her.

Her only solace was that, given another chance, she would make the same choice. She couldn't face life knowing she'd chosen freedom and left her children behind. If they were going to die, she wasn't going to let them face it alone.

The door to the room opened. Everyone looked up. Two of Brevard's men stood there. Calista was with them. "Sienna," she said.

Sienna stood, but her children refused to let go, clinging to her hands, gripping her fingers.

"Don't go," Elise cried.

"It's okay," she said, "I'll be right back."

"Mommy!" Tanner was screaming.

Sienna dropped down to their level and squeezed them together. Tanner broke out in tears; Elise looked almost numb at this point. "I'll be right back," she told them. "Take care of each other."

As Sienna stood, another woman, who was married to the hacker named Montresor, came to her a.s.sistance. "I watch them for you," she said.

If there was one positive to this communal prison, it was that they weren't alone. "Thank you."

Sienna left with the guards and followed as they led her along the pathway from what had once been the servants' quarters and up to the main house.

Sienna glared at Calista. "You must have a heart of stone."

"If I have a heart at all," Calista replied proudly.

Sienna dutifully climbed the steps that led to the main compound and from there was led through the security doors to the control room. She began to feel sick as she approached, knowing that Sebastian Brevard would be waiting on the other side, ready to order her to use her skills and the offensive capabilities of Phalanx against a new target, as he'd done each night since her return.

A day would come when he asked her to do something truly evil and she would have to decide between her children's lives and the lives of countless others. She almost prayed he would shoot her before then.

"Tonight's targets are the power plants in California," Sebastian said. "We'll start with the regular ones. I just want a large rolling blackout. Think of all the coal and natural gas that will be saved."

Sienna sat at the console as ordered and began to work. She'd long contemplated hiding a message in the code she was supposed to send. Someone smart enough on the other side might find it, even if it slipped under the noses of Sebastian and Calista. But the only message of any value would be to tell the world where she was and that was something she didn't know.

Considering the climate, the strange birdcalls she heard at night, and some odd trees she'd seen in the distance, she figured they were somewhere in Africa. But that didn't exactly narrow it down.

She settled in and did as she was told. For now, that was all she could do.

At that very moment, five hundred miles north of Madagascar, the USS Bataan, an amphibious a.s.sault ship sometimes referred to as a helicopter carrier, was steaming at flank speed to the south. She was rigged for battle, blacked out and operating under strict radio silence. But while she could not transmit, she was capable of receiving messages.

Late on the second watch, a member of the communications crew overheard several puzzling messages and reported them to the officer in charge.

The officer looked at the messages and then at the radioman. "What's the problem, Charlie?"

"It's these intercepts, sir. Someone is using our call sign. They're transmitting and receiving uncoded messages and giving out our old location."

The communications supervisor studied the transmission sheet. "Yep," he said. "Looks that way."

Without another word, he handed the sheet back to the radioman and turned his attention to other matters. The radioman stared at him dumbfounded.

"You have a post to man, sailor."

"Yes, sir," the radioman said, turning and heading back to his console. Something was obviously going on, but having seen the look on his superior's face, Charlie knew better than to ask.

Meanwhile, down on the hangar deck of the ship, a swarm of mechanics and technicians worked on a group of UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters, making sure all five were in perfect shape for the mission.

In a nearby ready room, forty-six Marines, comprising two Force Recon platoons, were getting briefed on the island compound they were about to attack.

"We go in under cover of darkness," Lieutenant Brooks told the men. "Secure the perimeter and then search the grounds and buildings with the following objectives. First, to rescue Ms. Westgate and her children. Second, to rescue any other civilians found on the site. Third, to capture the individuals responsible. Fourth, to gather any intelligence regarding their activities or a.s.sociates."

"Are we going in as friendlies?" someone asked.

"Negative," Brooks replied. "We have not been invited and we will not be overstaying our welcome. From wheels down to departure, we have no more than forty minutes. So don't get lost in the hedges."

A wave of laughter went around the room.

"How many defenders are we likely to encounter?"

"Based on the two bunkhouses and the size of the main structure, it could be anywhere from thirty to fifty. But not all of those will be armed combatants. Honestly, it should be a walk in the park. Just be ready in case it isn't."

Thirty minutes later, the Force Recon Marines were up on the flight deck and boarding the Black Hawks. A long, grueling stretch awaited them, four hours of flight time that included refueling the helicopters from a tanker aircraft approximately one hundred miles from the target.

a.s.suming they went in and got out in forty minutes, the total trip would be eight hours. At least the journey home would be shorter as the ship would be nearly two hundred miles closer by the time they reached it.

With the pilots going through their preflight checks and the Marines boarding the helicopters and stowing their weapons, the company commander made his way over. He spoke briefly with Lt. Brooks.

"We have the green light to launch, but you won't get attack authorization until we have confirmation that Ms. Westgate and her children are on-site."

"Understood," Brooks said. "Any idea how or when we're going to get that?"

The commander checked his watch. "A two-man team will be making a LAPES insertion several miles from the compound. They should be on the ground anytime now. They'll have a ways to go before they're on-site, but I would expect a go or no-go decision shortly after you refuel."

Brooks nodded. "LAPES insertion? Who'd they sucker into pulling that duty?"

"A couple of guys from NUMA."

Brooks stared at the commander blankly for a moment. "NUMA? Aren't they a bunch of marine biologists or something?"

"They're something, all right," the commander said with a strange look on his face. "Anyway, I'm told these guys are good."

"Right, sir," Brooks said with disdain in his voice. "I'll expect our cover to be blown and to be looking for more hostages or dead bodies when we land."

The commander didn't respond, but he shared the a.s.sessment. "Crack open the operations file once you get airborne. There are photos of the NUMA personnel inside. Make sure you're familiar. Don't want to shoot them if they happen to survive. Good luck."

Brooks offered a salute, received one back from the commander, and then climbed aboard the lead Black Hawk.

As the rotors above him began to turn, he wondered what kind of oceanographer or marine biologist would be up for such a stunt or how such a person would even have the skills to perform what they were being asked to do. With a shrug of his shoulders, Brooks decided they had to be half crazy, whoever they were. At least they had guts, he'd give them that.

Had they overheard Lt. Brooks's candid a.s.sessment of their mental health, Kurt and Joe might have agreed with him. Considering the odds alone, they were at least "half crazy."

Fortunately, the military had brought along a few items that would even the odds a bit.

Kurt and Joe were changing into combat gear that was far more exotic than anything Kurt had ever heard of. The clothing looked more like a two-piece wet suit than standard fatigues. It fit snugly and had some compression to it, bulging only where armored Kevlar pads covered the chest, thighs, and forearms.

"Feel like I'm suiting up for some futuristic sport," Joe said as he pulled the garment tight.

Kurt laughed as he pulled his own suit on and ran his hands over the outer layer. "Odd texture," he said. "It feels like sandpaper."

An Air Force staff sergeant named Connors explained the clothing. "These are what we call infiltration suits," he said. "The guys call them Chameleon Camo, because of the way they work. There are twenty-nine thousand microsensors sewn into the exterior. They detect ambient light in all directions and change the color of the suit to match what is behind and around you. Try them out."

Kurt found a small switch and clicked it to the on position. Then went over and stood by the wall of the aircraft. The suit changed almost instantly from a dark navy blue to battleship gray. Where his right leg crossed in front of a black seat, the suit turned black. And where a yellow cable crossed behind him, a matching yellow strip crossed from his shoulder.

He wasn't exactly invisible, but it looked like he'd been painted over to match the wall. Only his face and hands were obvious and they would be covered by gloves and a hood once he was on-site.

"That's incredible," Joe muttered.

"If you think they work well inside a brightly lit aircraft," the sergeant said, "wait till you get on the ground. If you two aren't careful, you'll lose track of each other from ten feet away."

"What about infrared?" Kurt said.

"The suit has a cooling unit," Connors said. "It will counteract your body heat for about thirty minutes once you switch it on. After that, the exterior of the suit will start to warm up and you'll lose both your thermal protection and your chameleonlike powers. From that point on you're just wearing expensive body armor. And I mean real expensive. Each of these suits costs more than you guys make in a year."

Kurt switched his suit off and watched it return to a dark blue color in the time it takes a lightbulb to dim. From there the sergeant led them over to an equipment table that had been folded down from the wall of the cavernous aircraft.

"You'll breathe through these," he said, picking up two devices that looked much like divers' regulators.

"What's wrong with the air on the ground?" Joe asked.

"We can't have your breath giving you away."

Kurt chuckled. "I told you go easy on the onions."

"What can I say?" Joe replied. "I like a little flavor."

"It's not the odor," Connors explained, "it's the heat. Breathing out vents a lot of hot air into the world, easy to spot on a thermal scope. No sense covering the rest of you in a cool suit if you're going to walk around with a plume of ninety-eightpoint-six-degree vapor coming from your nose or mouth."

He pointed to a lever on the front of the regulators. "Twist this when you're ready to go dark. From then on the regulator will mix cold air with every outgoing breath, effectively cooling it to the ambient air temperature and neutralizing the danger."

"How long will it last?"

"As long as your compressed air holds out. Depends on your level of exertion. The tank is small so you're looking at fifteen, maybe twenty minutes tops. Make sure you're through the outer layer of security by then."

Both Kurt and Joe nodded.