“Wise move,” Drake said. “From all I’ve heard.”
“I want your input,” Gates said. “I do. Not the United States government, me. There are too many bureaucrats clinging on to this Blackbeard thing right now, and not enough real men. I’ll authorise your access and give you what you need to investigate where you see fit. We… we all owe you a huge debt of gratitude for the ‘Odin thing’.”
Drake was fascinated how even a United States senator referred to their previous world-saving quest as the ‘Odin thing’. He also concealed a large slice of respect for this man. “We’ll start as soon as we land, sir.”
The aeroplane started to lose altitude. Drake felt his ears pop.
Jonathan Gates said: “Take a look around the salvage area. Then, we’ll transport you to the highly secure area where the device is being overhauled. Let’s see what you can do.”
Gates smiled. Harrison’s return smile would have scared off a T-Rex. Drake sat there, wishing he could answer Wells’ most recent call but wary of American ears until he reached the safety of solid ground. A soldier’s obstinate principle — and not easily overcome.
And, more importantly — wishing he could answer Mai’s latest call. He already missed her delicious, cultured tones caressing his eardrums. And the information she might have, of course.
CHAPTER TEN
After leaving the plane, Drake and the others were transported immediately to a small town called Atlantic Beach. It was offshore of this town, near a preserve called Fort Macon, that Blackbeard’s infamous ship lay waiting in shallow water for hundreds of years.
The CIA were pushing this thing hard, Drake thought. By all accounts the so-called ‘device’ was secured aboard a U.S. Destroyer and guarded by a veritable army of marines. At the airfield they had been cautioned to absolute secrecy and bundled into sleek, black vehicles. Drake didn’t mention his recent calls to Wells and Mai, didn’t have to. People of that calibre would already know.
Right now, they were passing Fort Macon, a busy state park that surrounds a coastguard base and, despite its seeming remoteness, claimed over a million visitors per year.
“The operation’s continuing right over there,” Harrison pointed. “We’ll take a quick look and then we’re heading over to the U.S.S. Port Royal, sent over from its homeport, Pearl Harbor, to take part in the operation.”
Kennedy raised an eyebrow at Drake. “By take part, I guess he means commit overkill.”
Drake grinned, not only at the comment, but at the way she looked today. Since the death of Thomas Kaleb, Kennedy had become increasingly more outgoing and accessible. Gone were the body-concealing bland suits. Gone were the torture devices that used to pin her hair back.
Now she sat with her long black hair framing her shoulders, an open smile on her face, and a nice pair of black hipsters that showed off her legs. She sensed Drake staring overlong at her. “What? Seen something ya’ like?”
He shrugged his shoulders and made a rocking motion with his hand. “Meh.”
They stopped parallel to the big salvage project that was underway around where Intersal Inc. had discovered the Queen Anne’s Revenge. It gave Drake a few moments to wonder how to approach the great pair of white elephants: the only things coming between Kennedy and him.
Only things… and so far insurmountable.
It had only been six weeks or so, but she hadn’t mentioned Kaleb once. Sometimes, at night, he heard her Skype-ing, or on the phone. He fancied she was still in contact with the serial killer’s victims’ families. Was that a good thing? Would it bring closure?
Or would it bring despair?
His own demons were no less brutal. The memory of Alyson walking out the door, tears in her eyes as she walked to the car. No goodbye. No last wonderful memory. Just those tears, clouding her vision… as she drove rapidly towards her fatal accident.
He focused on the present. The salvage crew were aboard a medium-size boat that swayed in choppy seas. There wasn’t a whole lot going on, and after a few minutes everyone just looked at Harrison.
The Secretary’s aid just shrugged. “It’s Blackbeard’s ship.”
Then he spoke into a wrist-mic. “Let’s go.”
They sped off, heading for the U.S.S. Port Royal and its world-shaking cargo.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Forty-five minutes later they were being taken board the U.S.S. Port Royal, a Ticonderoga-class cruiser, something Drake knew to be a part of the Navy’s ballistic missile defence initiatives. These babies had been commissioned to help intercept and shoot down incoming ICBMs. On the water they were a genuine floating fort, 9000 tons and six hundred feet of sensors and processing systems, armaments and even a few Sikorsky helicopters.
A grey billion-dollar monster, a turbine-propelled death and defence machine.
When they hit the deck Harrison was saying: “This thing’s equipped with more sonar and surveillance equipment than anything in the vicinity, even more so than some newer missile cruisers, to be honest. We’re lucky it was so close.”
Drake stared at the cold steel, the cold eyes of the crew watching them, the hard men with their fingers already on triggers.
My God, he thought. They’re acting like we’re at war.
Below decks they were shown to separate, Spartan cabins. Harrison left them with a brief: “Thirty minutes,” and Drake found himself with some alone time, at last, with his friends.
He went to Hayden first. Not that he had to walk far in the cramped confines since Mano Kinimaka took up half the room.
“There is no doubt we will avenge them. Trust me, Hayden. No doubt.”
“Boudreau… he’s not only a sadist and a murderer, he’s damn clever too.” Hayden eyes were saturated with pain. “A terrible enemy.”
Drake leaned in close. “We’ll get him. Trust me.”
The words he left unsaid echoed around his brain: I’m a far worse enemy to him than he ever will be to you.
“So what’s the verdict?” Ben was saying. “Something still doesn’t ring true here,” and now he looked at his girlfriend. “They brought all this stuff out of the ocean. Cannons. Anchors. Sounding weights. And nothing happened. Then boom!, they bring up a rusty old box and some mythical monster decides to surface and fight the U.S. military for it who, in turn, decide to guard it with a damned army,” Ben spread his arms. “How did everyone know what it was? And, why not go get it before the salvage operation?”
Drake thought about that for a second. “Toddler Blake’s got a point.”
“Bollocks, crusty.”
Hayden shrugged. “For me, it was just another day, another case I pulled. They told me to investigate, so I did. We don’t question why.”
“And how did Blackbeard, of all people, get involved?” Kinimaka spoke up. “And the alien thing? Bullshit.”
“What did you find out?” Drake asked Hayden. “You said it was the answer to the Bermuda Triangle mystery. What is it?”
“I also just found out the damned thing comes in two parts. Two. We have the first. I don’t think there’s anyone alive who knows where the second part is.”
“But what is it?” Kennedy was getting frustrated. “Maybe you could tell us, Mano?” She turned a sweet smile on the giant. Drake shook his head — bemused.
“Boss did go over it,” Kinimaka admitted. “Most of it skimmed right over the top of my head, to be honest.”