Chapter 29: Back to Sea

Steve’s face was set in a grim expression when he walked back into the room where Mike and Marie waited.

“I just got off the line with my boss—Jameson, the assistant director. Apparently the director has popped his cork. He’s issued a pickup order on us, and on me in particular. He wants both of you alive; me, he doesn’t care either way. He just wants me brought down, and if that means dead, I guess that’s okay with him.”

Marie looked stricken. Mike was frowning, thinking that he’d been harboring a nagging feeling it would come to this. After all, the Agency had been pursuing him all this time, except that Steve’s alignment with their cause had stalemated the hunt for Mike.

“I’m guessing it’s time to get the hell out of Dodge, right?” Mike quipped.

“Hell, yes, the sooner the better. First thing is to check out of this hotel and turn in our rented car. While you two take care of the hotel checkout, I’m going to see if I can locate Corky. There’s a chance he and the Ocean Endeavor are still in the area.

As luck would have it, Corky and the Endeavor were sailing back into port that very weekend. Steve made plans to charter the vessel. The best place to evade Agency trackers would be far offshore. Mike was having more nagging thoughts. With all that was breaking loose at Siple Island between the Masi’shen and the SeaVire expedition, he was beginning to wish they were on the scene. Just how they could help wasn’t clear in his mind, but he had a strong premonition that they needed to be there.

“I want that hole in the ice investigated. If it comes down to it, drop a hundred paratroopers down that hole with automatic weapons and rocket-propelled grenades. Just don’t blow the thing up! We want to know who and what the HELL is going on down there!”

The Director was raging, slamming his fist down on his desk, and shouting. The shocked expressions on the faces of his trusted aides didn’t concern him as he continued his paranoid rant.

“Don’t keep reminding me about that damned Antarctic Treaty no military action bullshit! They didn’t agree to it with alien invasions in mind. This overrules any treaty agreements. Find a way! Find some way to get around it, and start making arrangements. I want some action down there, and I want it now!

“Now get out of my office and start earning your money!”

The Director glared at them until they’d hastily fled through the door.

“SANDY!” he yelled out the door at his secretary. “Tell Jameson I want his ass in my office one minute ago!”

Moments later Alfred Jameson stepped into the Director’s office.

“Don’t sit down, Jameson. You won’t be here that long. I can’t fire you, but as of this moment you are placed on extended leave. If you get within five miles of this facility, I will have you shot down like a dog. Don’t even try to get around it. If one word comes back to me on this from any of your political friends, or from the press, I’ll have a thermite bomb dropped on your house and the fire department won’t find a single ash to sift through for you or your family’s remains. I can’t prove it, but I know damned well that you and your pet agent Barringer have been involved in this alien conspiracy up to your eyeballs. I’m beginning to think that he’s an alien himself, and that you’ve been clearing the way for him.

“Now get the hell out of here before I have you shot! You’ll find a team already at your office clearing out your stuff. Don’t bother going back there; just get out of the building and off the grounds. Once you are clear of the gate, I’ll have ‘shoot to kill’ orders issued to the guards in case you try to come back.

“Just so we understand each other, have I made myself perfectly clear?” the Director glared.

“Yes, you deranged, arrogant son-of-a-bitch! Perfectly clear!” Jameson spun on his heel, glanced at Sandy with a pitying look as he passed her desk, and strode briskly for the elevator and the main entrance on the ground floor. He could feel the security cameras watching his every step. Already he was thinking it was time to get his family to safety, most likely to his wife’s family estate in British Columbia, as far from the Director’s reach as possible. As for himself, he had a few calls to make, but only when he reached a secure location. First he’d have to evade the watchers that he knew the Director would have following him.

As Jameson emerged from the elevator on the ground floor, a pair of security guards fell in beside him and stayed with him every step of the way to his car.

“The Director has ordered that if you stop on your way to the main gate, or even slow down, we are to overtake you and open fire, sir. Mr. Jameson, I hate saying that, but he gave us no options. Please don’t force us to do something we would rather not!”

“It’s alright, men, I understand. You might want to find some way to distance yourselves from things after today, though. I have a feeling that it’s going to get too hot for safety around here, pretty fast!”

“Yes sir, we’ll keep that in mind. Take care of yourself, sir.”

Jameson drove straight to the main gate and waved at the guards. They saluted him as he drove through. When he looked back in his rear view mirror, he saw the guards swing the gate closed and two armed marines take up position behind it.

Jameson moved rapidly to protect his family. Fortunately his children were college age; his two daughters were safely away at university. He kissed his wife at the airport as she readied to board a plane that would see her safely to Sea-Tac airport in Washington State. From there, she would ride the Victoria Clipper, a high speed hydrofoil passenger ferry that would take her directly to Victoria on Vancouver Island, the provincial capitol of British Columbia. Her family’s estate was located up-island in the most beautifully scenic region he’d ever imagined could exist. If things got too insane, he would join her there. They’d live a full and secure life of retirement.

That done, Jameson exercised a bit of evasion in shaking off his followers to escape from the airport. Later that evening he was asleep in a rented RV, parked in a rest area along I-95 in Virginia. He paid cash for rentals, fuel and meals. It is a lovely thing about cash—it cannot be traced. Another bit of trade-craft obscured his appearance. No description issued by the Agency would match what anyone saw of him.

“Hello, Mr. Wapato?” Jameson asked, calling from a prepaid cellphone he’d picked up earlier that day. “I was told by a friend that I could leave a message that would be relayed to your granddaughter?” he asked.

“Yes, I was told that words of warning for the raven spirit would be welcomed,” he added.

“I am a friend of a young man who travels with your granddaughter. Would you please tell them that the young man’s superior has been cast from the center of power, and is now working to prepare safeguards from without. Also tell them that many hostile eyes seek to find them, no matter how remote their location. The man in power at the center is seeking means to deliver ultimate destruction to those on the far continent. He is insane. I will seek ways to stop him.

“Yes, blessings to your and your husband, ma’am. I remember our meeting with respect. Pass my wishes for safety and success to your granddaughter and my young friend. Thank you.”

Jameson hung up. In another half day of travel, he’d reach the small town where a childhood friend and college fraternity brother lived in simple surroundings, despite his wealth and power. He had served many terms of service in the Congress as a Senator; was a ranking member of several committees; and chair of one of the most powerful oversight committees of the nation’s intelligence and security agencies. He knew that his friend would be anxious to stop the insane actions of a rogue Agency director.

“I don’t believe it! Are you certain?” Gunter Hahn stared at Captain Hartmann, who held a crumpled copy of the message in his hand, a message that had just come from the ship’s communications center.

“Quite serious, it appears,” Hartmann replied. “How long will it take to get the helicopter and boat crews ready to resume listening operations?”

“A matter of a few hours, actually, to refuel and launch them, and get the crews back on active rotation. I’ve had them standing down for badly needed rest since the hysteria of the incident.”

The incident was the capture and return of the two crewmen by the aliens. After that encounter, his boat crews were very nervous about operating anywhere near the ice shelf adjoining Siple Island, and the helicopter crews wanted no part of over-flying the island since the ice blow had come so close to taking one of them down.

“I think we can reassure them that there is no real threat to them, considering how well our two men were treated following their capture. And that ice eruption, surely that was just an unfortunate instance of the pilot being in the wrong place at the moment of some freakish venting from a volcanic vent, perhaps? After all, with a volcano as massive as Mount Siple, it must have some lingering vents deep under the ice—it’s not unreasonable to expect that perhaps one chose that very moment to relieve itself of a little pressure?” Hahn surmised.

That, of course, ignored all scientific evidence to the contrary. There had been no evidence of any venting, volcanic or otherwise, in the entire record of Siple Island observations.

“Perhaps,” Hartmann agreed. “I will reply that we are resuming hydrophone and sonobuoy monitoring activity around the clock, as ordered. Now, what do you suggest we do to prepare ourselves to support the drilling mission that has been ordered?”

“Whatever we can, I suppose, Captain. The message says the drilling equipment and support materials, including porta-huts, will be dropped on the island by an American air transport. A fast ship is already underway with the drilling crew and an armed force to assault the breach in the ice. Our mission is to transport and support them with our helicopters. They will join the two helicopters on the other ship.”

“Insanity! Pure insanity. Think, Gunter. Just the expense of the military air transport, and the mid-air fueling required, all the men and equipment, and the potential political exposure of it ... to drill into and attack an unknown entity on that god-forsaken island? It is the work of a madman, Gunter.

“But we have our duty. We will resume listening for underwater activity, and our men and equipment will be ready to assist whatever is required on the island. But I fear, my friend, that we are about to stir into action whatever it is that’s just under the surface of the island’s ice mantle—something we would prefer to remain undisturbed.”

“Pietor, I should tell you that when I am gone, you will take my place. The responsibility will be yours. The power will be yours. My friend, you have become like a son to me. I ask, no, I beg of you, never fall onto the evil path that hatred led me to take. You are a good man, Pietor. I trust that you know my heart, that it has changed. I have faith that your heart will continue what we have begun together in this new direction, this new stewardship for our city and our nation. I have shared with you the vision that I was granted, and I know that you believe. Tell me, Pietor, that I am right to have this faith and trust in you?” Viktor Lucenkovich asked of his aide.