Vitaly looked around and cleared his throat. “This based on talk with captain,” he said. “We think Bettencorps jettison chemical weapons in water, this is source of red tide. Source of problem Fatima find. Problem she die for.”
“He’s turned the Arabian Sea into a sacrifice zone,” said Hassan. “Killing nearly all multicellular sea life in the dumping grounds and harming coastal peoples, as you witnessed.”
“My mother came to believe Bettencorp was dumping illegal germs and chemicals from a long-defunct Soviet weapons program. Something she called the Dead Hand.”
“Somebody’s certainly dumping seriously bad shit in the area,” said Jonah. “Not run of the mill industrial waste. The leaky barrels on the beach and sick people I heard about from Burhaan, the fisherman who rescued Klea and me, also seem to confirm it.” He gestured toward the computer screen. “Vitaly and I have been analyzing the Scorpion’s computer systems And while they don’t directly confirm the dumping activities, it turns out the computers reveal a lot more about Anconia Island and her operations than would first appear.”
“Like what?” asked Alexis.
“You look now.” The Russian flicked open a menu, displaying a rotating 3D display of Anconia Island. He zoomed in on a massive support pillar at the end of the floating runway. The virtual camera broke through the pillar’s skin, revealing a massive high-security server farm within.
“If dumping records anywhere, it here,” said Vitaly.
“So we need to steal the records. Without that data, anything we say will be unfounded,” Hassan mumbled.
“How does this work?” asked Alexis. “How do we even find what we’re looking for? What are we supposed to do when we find it, carry the servers out by hand? There must be two hundred!”
“You think analog,” said Vitaly with a smile. “We live in digital world. This is clever bit. In examination, I come across many orphan algorithms. I believe Scorpion software basically same as Anconia Island.”
“So we have a stripped down version of the same operational software,” said Jonah. “Rather than taking the useless code out, the original designers just disabled the unused sections.”
“That’s where I find heel of Achilles.” Vitaly looked up, beaming.
“The thermal exhaust port,” Dalmar boomed again. “Key to destroying the Death Star.”
Vitaly nodded at Dalmar and went on. “Key to everything is catastrophic power loss event,” continued Vitaly. “Or if computer system think Anconia Island has catastrophic power loss event. All of island will shut off computer terminals and switch to emergency battery backup. Then island uses dedicated satellite system to copy all data to remote server farm.”
“For backup and safekeeping,” added Jonah.
“So?” said Alexis.
“Weak point!”Vitaly exclaimed. “I know all confusing — all talk of thermal port, heels of Achilles.”
“Jonah, spell it out for us,” Hassan said.
“Okay.” Jonah took a deep breath. “I sneak aboard Anconia Island. I break into the server room. I tell the computer system that there is a catastrophic power loss. But when the servers back themselves up at the remote site, we will divert the data stream to servers of our choosing.”
“We have servers?” asked Hassan.
“We don’t need servers of our own,” said Jonah, grinning. “This is where it gets good. Activist and environmental organizations have established drop-box servers for corporate and governmental whistleblowers. Anyone can dump data into these, but nobody can access the information but the recipient. Not all of them will be able to process a high-speed mega-data-dump like this, but all it takes is one. So a bunch of Greenpeace types pick through the data, find the disposal records, and the secret goes worldwide. We can provide a little hand holding if necessary, but believe me — the data dump will arouse curiosity. I’m sure many have their suspicions about Anconia Island already.”
“I’m stuck on the part where we go back to Anconia Island,” said Alexis. “Aren’t we running from those guys?”
“That’s the easy part,” said Jonah. “We follow a resupply ship straight in. It will completely mask our signature. Vitaly, you think you can handle that?”
“Is no problem,” said Vitaly with a smirk. “Easy peasy for number one pilot Vitaly.”
“Good, I like easy peasy,” said Jonah. “We’ll briefly surface next to the jetway a couple of hours before sunrise. I’ll wear mercenary clothes and use our dead sub captain’s security badge to let myself into the server farm. With a little luck, it’ll just be a matter of walking in, loading Vitaly’s hack and walking right back out again.”
“You won’t be alone,” Hassan said. “I’m coming with you.”
“I hate to be the one who keeps pointing out all the obvious flaws in this amazing plan,” said Alexis. “But what if the security badge doesn’t work? Or if Vitaly’s code doesn’t work?”
“I don’t know,” said Jonah with a shrug. “We’ll probably end up getting shot.”
“Great back-up plan.” She looked at Hassan and back to Jonah. “Okay, let’s go expose this bastard,” said Alexis. “Or get Jonah and Hassan shot.”
“Or both,” Vitaly said with a grim laugh. “Both always possibility. Doctor save my life, but Jonah worst captain ever.”
Jonah stood on the deck of the surfaced Scorpion with Dalmar and his crew, watching as a rusted-out pirate mothership drifted closer. The approaching vessel was in bad shape. Maybe a lifetime ago it was a pleasure yacht, but now it was a chopped-down, welded-over Frankenstein with years of rust running down every scupper. How the pirates even kept it running was beyond Jonah’s imagination.
The maroon waters around them stank of death. Pools of blood-red algae bloomed, discoloring the sea itself. Poisons had leached into the schools of fish, suffocating them. Their silvery, bloated corpses dotted the water like stars in an endless sky. Jonah coughed and his eyes watered — the smell was unbearable.
Beside him lay three black body bags filled with frozen corpses and the sheet-wrapped body of Professor Fatima Nassiri. Hassan knelt down beside the cotton-encased body, placing a hand on his mother’s shrouded shoulder.
“I’m impressed you didn’t need a radio to find your fighters,” Jonah said to Dalmar as he pointed towards the fishing boat.
“A radio is not necessary,” replied Dalmar. “Not when you know the ways of the sea and the ways of men.”
The pirate ship gently bumped against the hull of the submarine as dozens of unsmiling men leaned over the railings, ancient rifles and RPG’s sloppily slung over shoulders.
Dalmar waved and greeted them in the local language, then pointed to the stitched up wound on his neck. Several men nodded and then tossed bow and stern mooring lines to Alexis and Vitaly, who secured the pirate vessel alongside.
“I regret I will not accompany you on your infiltration,” said Dalmar, watching as a boy rolled a boarding ladder over the side.
“Me too,” said Jonah. “What do you think of our odds of survival?”
Dalmar’s eyes flickered over Jonah’s crew and landed on Vitaly, locking their gazes long enough for the Russian to blush and answer with a sly smile.
Did I miss something between those two? Jonah thought.
The pirate turned his gaze back to Jonah. “When you fight such men, you must welcome death.”
Shit. He’s not giving us even odds. Jonah sighed and nodded, acknowledging the grim appraisal.
Two pirates dropped down the boarding ladder, shirtless men holding the aluminum-and-wood frame in place with their own body weight. One of the men against the railing waved his arms and started speaking the rapid-fire local dialect. Dalmar responded in kind, and for the first time, the pirates at the railing broke out into smiles and uneasy chuckles.