Ghost in the deep, p.11
Ghost in the Deep, page 11
“Whatever we do, we need to do it quietly and without being noticed. If we make a scene—”
I nodded. “Yeah. Paxomar, are you there?”
I am. Perry linked me in so I know what’s going on.
“My gun, The Drop, is in the arms locker. Grab it and bring it to a place Perry’s going to guide you to. Perry, I need you to pick a spot for us to meet Paxomar, somewhere this side of the Frankie.”
Gotcha. Just past Zehnder’s, where we had dinner, there’s that green space where we parked the Frankie. If he meets up at this end of it, it should be nice and secluded among those trees.
I acknowledged and we continued our unhurried way south. I quietly asked everyone except Torina to slowly fall back. By the time we passed Zehnder’s, which was across Main Street from the Bavarian Inn, there was a good six or seven meter gap between us and them.
It meant that we reached the trees before they did. Paxomar waited in the gloom pooled beneath them. I whispered for Icky and Gabby to spark up a loud conversation as distraction while he handed The Drop off to me, then Torina and I hurried into the cover of the trees. I checked to make sure the weapon was set to its human-stun setting. It was late enough that Zehnder’s was closed, and there were only a few people outside the Bavarian Inn watching the extraterrestrial commotion across the street. Immediately south of us was nothing but the Cass River, so there wasn’t much other foot traffic around.
“Okay, guys, bring ’em this way,” I whispered into the comm. As Icky and company resumed their way toward us, I spoke to Perry, still circling unseen above. “Any other players in this game?”
None that I can see. Looks like it’s just the two.
I waited as Icky, Gabby, Funboy, and Rab passed us, doing my best to blend into the gloom. Paxomar had pulled back. Torina—
Grabbed me and started kissing me passionately.
“What are you doing—?” I hissed, but she cut me off, whispering into my ear.
“Giving you a reason to be hiding in the shadows.”
“Ah. Well, carry on then,” I whispered back and resumed kissing her.
“Okay, Van, almost time,” she said, pulling back again.
“No it isn’t. I can go longer—oh, right. The bad guys.”
They’d done us a favor, closing up with one another, so that only a few meters separated them. I whispered for the others to keep going, hoping to pull both of them in among the trees. One of them did follow, but the other hung back, keeping to the sidewalk.
“Now or never,” I said, moving away from Torina, who immediately went off to my right in a crouch. I aimed The Drop at the one on the sidewalk and fired a stun pulse with a dull thump. The man dropped, fortunately onto the grass beside the sidewalk and not smacking his head into concrete. The other one stopped and turned, and I stunned him, too. By then, Icky had hurried over, scooped the first one up, and pulled him back under the trees.
I braced myself for shouts or other signs of alarm from the street, but there were none. Paxomar hefted the second one I’d dropped, and we all rushed back to the Frankie.
“Morning, sunshine,” I said, smiling at the gruff man as he came to.
He blinked at me, then he looked around, taking in the interior of the Frankie. I had Torina, Icky, and Gabby with me, while the others kept watch outside, Perry still aloft. The man turned back to me.
“Where am I?”
“Aboard an alien spaceship—”
“Where you’re gonna be prooooobed!” Icky said, making a spooky voice.
I shot her a glare. “Icky, play nice. I just want some answers from these gentlemen, then they can be on their way.”
By now, the other one was waking up. When they both finally managed to push their thoughts back out of the stun fog clouding their brains, they immediately spoke—a familiar refrain.
“Roja, Jason, Warrant Officer,” he snapped, followed by his service number.
The other immediately followed suit, declaring himself, “Craft, Jason, Warrant Officer,” followed by his own service number, along with a sneer..
“You’re both named Jason?” Torina asked, smiling. Roja looked at her.
“Yeah. What about it?”
“I don’t know, it’s just sort of—” She shrugged. “Funny.”
Roja tried to glare, but she just kept smiling back.
We spent the next twenty minutes or so trying to dig some answers out of the two Jasons, but they were determined to give nothing but name, rank, and service number, like good prisoners of war. I finally gave up, left Icky watching them, and retreated outside of the Frankie to confer with the others.
“They’re not going to talk. And I’m not really in the mood to play subtle mind games to try and wiggle anything out of them, or lean on them because I don’t think that’s going to work, either. So—suggestions for what to do with these guys?” I asked at large.
“Van, I have a thought. I once idly speculated that a micro-comm bug intended for use in the aural canal could be adapted into a surreptitious listening device. I further speculated that, based on my recent research into details of human anatomy, such a device could be inserted into a nasal cavity, where it should be undetectable if implanted correctly,” Funboy said.
I stared at him. “You’ve been idly speculating about how to implant covert bugs into human beings?”
“Among other things, yes.”
“Among other—” I shook my head. “What other things—no, wait, I’m sure I don’t want to know. How reliable would this be? Is it going to be easy to dislodge or cause sinus infections, anything like that?”
“Unless they were to sneeze with a vigor similar to that of Icky, the chances of becoming dislodged are minimal. And I can treat them to prevent them from becoming a locus of infection. The subject may experience occasional, slight discomfort in the form of a mild headache, but that would be all.”
“It would be a way of gaining information we’re not otherwise going to get,” Torina said.
“And then some, if these hidden bugs let us hear everything they not only say, but that’s said to or around them,” Rab put in.
I thought about it a moment, then nodded. “Okay. As long as it won’t do any harm to them, let’s give it a try. Worst case scenario, if the scheme gets discovered, it might make the bad guys more wary about getting too close to us. Speaking of which—Netty-P, what’s going on with that other ship?”
“Still just keeping its distance, no active scanners.”
“Okay, let us know if anything changes.” I turned to Funboy. “How long do you need to get things ready?”
“With Perry’s assistance, perhaps an hour,” he replied.
“Well, I’ll take another stab at getting these guys to talk the old-fashioned way in the meantime. And when you’re ready”—I touched The Drop in its holster—“we’ll make them go nighty night again.”
Sure enough, the two Jasons spilled nothing more than their basic personal data. That didn’t mean we weren’t able to learn anything more about them, though. Netty-P scoured open sources, then dug into the Army’s information systems, hunting for anything else useful about them. What she found was both surprising and a little mystifying.
Jason Rojas, age thirty-two, and Jason Craft, age thirty-four, had been born in Flagstaff, Arizona and Albany, New York respectively. Both had had distinguished military careers as Army helicopter pilots—Rojas flying AH-64 Apache attack helicopters, with a secondment to the Royal Netherlands Air Force to help them train pilots on their own Apaches, while Craft had flown UH-60 Blackhawks, including some very high-level VIP flight ops. Both had subsequently ended up flying more esoteric aircraft in the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (Airborne), also known as the Night Stalkers, the outfit that supports Army spec ops missions. At that point, information became scant—not surprisingly, since anything related to spec ops was generally highly classified and kept in pretty secure places. I had an idea where I could find it if we really wanted it, but I decided to leave it for now.
Instead, we now stared at two unconscious men, into whose nasal cavities Funboy was inserting the tiny bugs he and Perry had modified from standard comm ear bugs. He was also going to administer a mnemonic inhibitor, a drug that would turn their memories of the last six to eight hours or so to fuzz—basically, the blackout part of getting really, really drunk, but with none of the other effects.
“Their skills seem kind of—I don’t know, specialized, I guess, to be tailing people in Frankenmuth,” Torina noted.
“No, it’s not really up their alley, is it? They’re both obviously skilled helicopter pilots, but that doesn’t make them good spies,” I agreed.
“It must be something about their background in spec ops. I doubt that tailing us has anything to do with Army special operations, so they must have been recruited into it by someone else—someone like Manon Clemenceau,” Perry said.
I frowned and nodded. No matter how we looked at it, it seemed strange. Why helicopter pilots? Why were helicopter pilots even interested in… well, not flying helicopters? They were obviously good at it. Of course, a warrant officer’s pay wasn’t going to make them rich, so that left the obvious angle of money. Maybe someone had made them an offer they couldn’t refuse, and that someone had been more interested in their involvement in the spooky world of spec ops, not their ability to fly helicopters.
Still, it didn’t quite add up. But since they weren’t going to talk, and I wasn’t going to try to be coercive, the bugs seemed our best way of finding out more.
Funboy stepped back and nodded. “There. Both devices are implanted. Again, short of serious head trauma or the sort of sneeze only a Wu’tzur is likely to manage, they—”
“Um, excuse me, but if you’re referring to that time I sneezed back at the farm, it was because of all that dust in the barn,” Icky grated.
I chuckled. “That sneeze rated a hurricane warning to boats, big girl, and Iowa’s nowhere near the ocean.”
“As I recall, I was carrying a drink and didn’t even spill it, so it couldn’t have been that bad—”
“You know what? Let’s leave this fascinating discussion for another time. I want to get these two somewhere where they’re going to wake up away from prying eyes—probably among those trees down by the riverbank.
“Besides, I’ve got enough mucus in my life these days, what with the—”
“Fren-Okun? Boss, it’s like you’re a psychic,” Netty-P said over the comm.
I glanced at him as Icky and Paxomar moved in to pick up our two sleeping beauties in order to lug them out of the Frankie. “What do you mean?”
“Guess who just linked to that bug we left hot on the Fafnir.”
“Is it someone who says moist a lot?”
“Got it in one. The skies up here are getting a bit crowded. I think we better have an exit strategy in case—”
Perry cut her off. “Van, you’ve got an incoming message on a secure comm channel. It’s our friend and mysterious benefactor Colonel Burton.”
I blinked a couple of times. Burton—?
Oh, right. The Colonel who’d literally dropped out of the sky and saved the farm—or brought the orders from the Pentagon that saved the farm, at least temporarily, anyway. But we’d never given him a comm. It meant he’d gotten one from somewhere else and knew how to use it, and he also knew how to use it to get ahold of us specifically.
“Okay—put him on.”
Perry nodded.
“Van Tudor here.”
“Tudor? Burton here. You’ve been compromised. You need to get the hell away from Earth.”
Icky gave me a questioning look and pointed at our two unconscious helicopter pilots. I nodded, and she and Paxomar hefted them in turn and carted them away. I crossed my arms.
“No, Colonel, I’m not going to do that.”
“No? But—”
“No. We’d be in no more or less danger up there than down here. Probably less, since I doubt any bad guy is going to want to engage in open hostilities down here on Earth—that would serve me better than them, in fact, since it would discredit the efforts of people like the Equal Grasp. They want to portray extraterrestrials as kind and wonderful, not dangerous and violent, remember?”
“But, Tudor, you and your people are in danger—”
“I’ve got two ships that aren’t just popguns. Between them, they could destroy a carrier group without breaking a sweat. And my crew and I are battle-hardened and heavily armed. So, no, I’m not leaving. Now, if you’ve got information to share—and I’m assuming you do, hence you feeling the need to warn us like this—we’re listening.”
Silence for a moment, then a laugh. “Have to admit, Mr. Tudor—”
“Call me Van.”
“Okay, Van. I’m Frank. Anyway, Van, you’ve definitely got some big brass ones, I’ll give you that.”
“Having all sorts of powerful alien tech definitely helps brass ’em up, I’ll admit. Anyway, you were about to tell me what this is all about.”
“I know about the project that was being done by”—there was a pause, as he apparently consulted something—“Sere? Do I have that name right?”
I glanced at Torina, who frowned back at me. “What about it?” I asked.
“I know who wants her work, and what they’re willing to do to get it.”
“Yeah, let me guess—every narcissistic multibillionaire with delusions of godhood, and they’re willing to do anything. Absolutely anything.”
“Okay, so maybe it’s not that big a mystery after all.”
“It’s not. The nature of power and greed is as constant as the speed of light. Only the species changes. Oh, I don’t think humans are particularly evil or anything, but the bigger the prize, the higher the climb. Although this does tell me one thing useful.”
“What’s that?”
“That Sere’s research wasn’t as incomplete or inconclusive as I was led to believe. Even the mega-rich assholes don’t throw money and influence at something without having a pretty good expectation of a return on their investment.”
Burton sighed. “You seem to have a knack for being right—and notably ethical. Well, I tried. Can’t say you weren’t warned, Van.”
“I’ve been doing this for a while now, Frank. I’ve learned some things—one of which is that if you want to accomplish anything in this universe, you have to make it happen. So the level of shit I’m willing to tolerate is pretty much zero. I thought you should know that in case you’d like to pass that information along.”
I glanced at my crew, at Torina. I got looks of approval back. I smiled.
“Oh, and Frank? Just in case any of the people you happen to be talking to are on my side, make sure they get this message, too—things are different now. We won’t have a repeat of Helem Gauss. Ever.”
11
And—
Nothing happened.
We were on guard, prepared for—something, a confrontation, a war of words, more bluster and threats, even an outright attack. But we left Frankenmuth, heading for the farm, my thinking that if somewhere were going to blow up, it was better for it to do it in rural Iowa than in or near Frankenmuth. But checking in with Miryam, she just emphasized the lack of anything going on.
“I’m actually getting caught up on a bunch of work, even took on a couple of new cases as an adjunct advisor. Hell, I’ve even given a couple of online lectures on property law at a community college in Dubuque.”
“That must have had them on the edge of their seats,” Perry put in. “Will the easement extend all the way to the edge of the property, or will there be a setback? Stay tuned to our next exciting—” He started making a snoring sound.
Miryam tapped his beak. “Shush you. The grown-ups are talking.”
“Hey, I’m older than you and Van put together—”
“Only by the calendar, dear.” Miryam turned back to me and gestured around the house. “Anyway, I’m working remotely, I get all my groceries delivered, and aside from the occasional helicopter or drone buzzing overhead, it’s as quiet as a church.” She smiled. “I think I could get used to a hermetic existence like this. For that matter—I am!”
I checked in with Clinton Barnes, the Sheriff, and got a similar story. He’d stayed at his job, roaming the county on calls and working out of his office, daring the feds to come after him. But they hadn’t. Even Kyle and Derek, the two ambitious young men who I’d caught snooping around the farm, had come and gone a couple of times. Between them, they’d concocted an actual business plan for an off-world trading post based on the farm, a copy of which they’d left with Miryam. I glanced over it and shook my head.
“This is”—I flipped the page—“amazing. Miryam, send the bird a copy—”
“She already did. And I agree. They might have only just lately come through this side of puberty, but they’re sharp—they’ve done good work for you. I think this would make money and do it in an ethical way, and do it only dealing in relatively innocuous or beneficial goods. The only thing now is to implement it.”
I finished reading their executive summary, then nodded. “Yeah. And the only thing standing in the way of that is our good friend Colonel Mandeville.”
“And Constance Plowitz, and Manon Clemenceau, and the Equal Grasp—”
I held up a hand. “Fair enough. Still, I’d like to keep these two engaged, let them get a little back. Bird, who do we know who’s off-world that we trust, that’s familiar with Earth and well-connected enough that if we hook them up with Kyle and Derek, that—”
“That’s easy. Skrilla.”
I just frowned at him for a moment. “Skrilla? Really?”
“Do you trust him?”
“I do.”
“Well, he’s well-connected, and he’s from Earth—he even comes back here from time to time. And my chemical discriminators sensed more than a little residue of whacky t’backy wafting off those two—along with a few other teenaged emanations that don’t bear thinking about. Now, it’s nothing compared to the pea soup of marijuana fog that rolls off Skrilla, but still—it gives them a bit of common ground.”
