It was clear that the Osprey returning to her operational altitude hadn’t been noticed by the radar operators aboard the ship.
“Half hour?” Book asked.
“If we’re not done by then, we’ve screwed the pooch. So yeah.”
They had borrowed a waterproof tablet computer from the America’s XO that had an alarm clock app that lit up the screen and played Sousa marches. Sykes slid it from the pouch along with some other gear. Once he’d set the alarm, he duct-taped the tablet to the Jet Ski’s steering column. With no way to secure the little machine to the towering side of the ship so that it wouldn’t bang against the hull, they would have to let it float free. They would be able to find it easily after they were finished with their mission and the alarm had gone off.
They closed the last few yards by using their legs to flutter-kick the Jet Ski across the surface. Mercer put out a hand so they didn’t ram into the steel side of the Nikolay Zhukovsky. He held them steady while Booker laced special pads over his dive booties and then fitted his hands into oddly shaped paddle gloves that were the size of cookie sheets. He placed a palm on the side of the ship and it stuck fast.
He whispered, “Those DARPA weenies never disappoint.”
DARPA was the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, the U.S. military’s very real version of the fictional Q Branch from the James Bond movies. They are credited, among other things, with creating the Internet, building the predecessor to the GPS system, aiding in the development of driverless cars, and running the secret X-37B space plane program.
This latest toy was called Geckskin. DARPA-funded engineers had studied how it was possible for geckos and other lizards to support their weight while climbing up walls and across ceilings. Eventually they’d cracked the interplay of tendons and muscles and hit on the right combination of stiffness for strength and softness for maximum surface contact. The result was an adhesive that could hold a large amount of weight for its size while also being very easy to peel back off again and reuse an infinite number of times. Their goal all along had been for a man to be able to perform one of Spider-Man’s greatest feats, and they had more than succeeded.
Once Mercer had slid into his own set of Geckskin pads, Book unstuck his hand, reached a little higher, and restuck the pad to the ship. He did the same with his feet, and just like that he was stuck to the side of the ship, perched like a housefly on a smooth wall. They’d received some instruction on using the Geckskin from the DARPA rep who was field-testing it with some Marines aboard the America, so Mercer and Book knew how to properly peel off the adhesive pads, reach slightly higher, and reattach. They’d originally planned to use good old-fashioned rope and hooks to reach the deck, but the Geckskin method eliminated virtually any chance of being detected.
Mercer followed the ex — Delta raider and was soon fifteen feet above the abandoned Jet Ski drifting below his feet. The sensation was a little different from traditional rock climbing, but no more stressful on the body. It was even easier in that you made your own handholds and didn’t have to expend energy looking for them.
The Zhukovsky’s main deck towered twenty feet above the waterline, and the two men climbed it in just a couple of minutes. Even where the hull plates were wet, the Geckskin stuck as surely as a magnet.
Mercer noted something anomalous as he climbed. Half-inch-thick braided wire had been welded to the hull in parallel rows about five feet apart. The wire ran from below the waterline up to the deck and then continued onward until it vanished into the darkness surrounding the main dish antenna. He couldn’t tell if the wire was a recent addition or had been added years earlier, but it certainly appeared to be some sort of retrofit.
They stopped climbing just below the ship’s rail, listening hard for a few seconds. They heard nothing but the lapping of waves and the hum of auxiliary equipment and other electrical gear on board the ship. They rose a little higher and peered onto the deck. As before, there was no movement.
Mercer and Book completed the climb up and over the rail, huddling in the shadow under a lifeboat to remove the pads and stow them where they wouldn’t be found.
“Too quiet,” Booker whispered as he pulled the Kriss off his shoulder.
Mercer agreed. These guys had been in possession of the crystals for almost a full day. They should be getting ready to use them, but there was no indication anything was happening. He removed the antique .45 from its pouch, cocked it quietly, and lowered the hammer.
“I don’t get it,” Mercer said. “It’s a perfectly clear night — why aren’t they at least running a test on their gear?”
Book shrugged, and they pressed in tighter beneath the lifeboat. Other than the sound of an occasional door closing within the hull of the ship, there was no movement on deck.
A lyrical ping broke the silence, and a moment later a voice erupted from the vessel’s integrated PA system. “Votre attention s’il vous plaît,” a male voice intoned in French.
Because he had spent the first twelve years of his life in West Africa, French was the only foreign language Mercer spoke comfortably, even if actual Frenchmen thought his accent atrocious.
The message continued and he translated for Booker. “This is it…they started a ten-minute countdown for their first experimental test with the actual stones. All personnel who have not cleared the decks must do so immediately. All nonessential electric equipment must be powered down. All reactor technicians must be at their stations.”
The message ended and Mercer said to Book, “You had to jinx it by saying things were too quiet, didn’t you? We could have just snuck aboard, stolen the stones, and been done with this.”
The big man shrugged. “You know I like things dramatic…with lethal countdowns and shit.”
28
There hadn’t been time to find design schematics of the Akademik Zhukovsky, but they had studied plans for the general cargo ship on which she’d been based. They knew in which hold the original control room had most likely been constructed, and they figured in this latest incarnation it would be where the ship’s nuclear power plant’s output would be directed and converted to some form of emitted radiation. Jason believed it was the likeliest spot where the crystals would be stored so the energy could be channeled through them and finally beamed into the atmosphere.
Booker led Mercer through the door where the cigarette smoker had stood earlier. The interior of the ship was dimmed down to red battle lights to conserve energy, and even as they stood waiting to hear any movement, the air-conditioning system shut down with a sigh of slowing fans. The other thing they didn’t know is how well protected the ship would be. Just because they saw no guards on deck didn’t mean there weren’t any aboard.
They started down the dull-green-painted hall. They weren’t interested in sweeping the entire ship, so they ignored any closed doors they passed, only checking the rooms they could look into. They found one person on the main deck, a ship’s maintenance specialist who was working in a bathroom. He was on his knees surrounded by plumber’s tools torquing on an open pipe fitting. He turned in time to see the men loom up behind him but never got a word out before Booker clocked him on the back of the head with the Kriss’s retractable stock. It was a well-measured blow that rolled the plumber’s eyes into his skull and collapsed him over his wrenches.