Pulling The Dragon's Tail (50 page)

She found her legs carrying her swiftly toward
him across the gigantic room. She knelt beside him, grasped his
hands. “Grandpa!”

He brought her hands to his roughhewn stubbled
face. “Campbell, my dear Campbell, I’m so glad you’re here!”

She smiled at the man she had spent a lifetime
dreaming about, wanting desperately to hug him, but hesitant
because of the paraphernalia adorning his head. “You look
malnourished— and this helmet—the others didn’t have a helmet.”

“Hush, I’m fine!” he scolded. “For a man of 113
I’m in a fine state of health.” His eyes searched in vain for her
loving gaze.

Chairs and tables were strewn about, filing
cabinets and desks were knocked over with contents in disarray.
“Was somebody re-decorating in here?” asked Ryker. His gun was
drawn and ready for action. He slung the gun on his back and
quickly helped push the furniture out of the way.

Thatcher, still at the door, glanced up and down
the hallway. “We have to hurry!”

Campbell acknowledged the plea with a nod of her
head. “Now Grandpa, you can’t see me, can you?”

“No, my dear. When they yanked the cords off my
head, my vision went with it. Plug me back into my port.”

She untied him. “Which console?”

“It’s marked with my name.”

“Found it!” said Ryker.

Campbell rolled Hilliard’s chair into the center
of the VR console. Immediately, the feeble man was transformed. The
console conformed to his body; sensors contacted his skin, a
mask-like apparatus automatically lowered and fit congruently over
his head. The bulky helmet had three protrusions; now each was
re-connected into the computer console chamber. Campbell noticed a
joystick in his hand. With nearly imperceptible movements, he
operated the massive machine.

Matter-of-factly, Hilliard said, “This is my
life, plugged into MAGNUM. Right now I’m trying to call up the
program that will allow me

to see all around this vessel.”

Campbell looked up at the others. Ryker stood
there with mouth agape while Thatcher rolled his eyes and silently
mouthed ‘hurry up!’

“Grandpa, we’re in a lot of danger. So what’s
the plan?”

“I’m trying to override the security firewalls
that Beckett installed into the system—the system I had entrusted
him with. Because I can’t see, I’ve put the computer on voice
command too. But it’s slowing me down. Damn! He changed the codes!
If I can override them, then we can quickly dispense with Beckett
and Herschel.

“You’re ‘seeing’ around the ship like virtual
reality?” asked Thatcher.

“Sort of. It’s complicated. I’ll try to explain
later. You were smart to create a diversion,” Hilliard observed,
now deftly working his way manually on a computer keyboard.

“Beckett Reese! Damn him! He’s installed some
kind of virus. I’ve managed to view the ship utilizing VR. But I
don’t think I can restore my vision after I uncouple from
MAGNUM.”

“Can’t you just use your implanted monitor
glasses like us?” asked a confused Campbell.

“It’s a bit more involved than that,” said
Hilliard. “We’ve recently begun a new experiment with MAGNUM using
our visual cortex. My vision’s currently off-line.”

“Off-line?” Thatcher couldn’t believe his
ears.

“You gave your vision over?—to a computer?”
Ryker was incredulous as well.

“I’m afraid so. At the time it seemed a wise
decision. I foolishly never saw, pardon the pun, that Beckett would
turn on me and interfere with MAGNUM”

“So Beckett installed a virus into MAGNUM?”
asked Campbell.

Ever the optimist, the doctor still found good
news. “But, I was able to have MAGNUM restore oxygen to my
colleagues. They’re breathing easier now.”

“Look! Our fire!” Ryker pointed to a bank of
security cameras in the corner of the room. On it, Beckett and
Herschel sprayed a fire extinguisher to put out the lab fire which
had been set as a diversion. Beckett could be seen punching a code
into a wall computer.

“Yes,” continued the doctor, “MAGNUM reports
that the fire you set is now con—Damn! Beckett’s just noticed I’ve
plugged back into the system.”

“Did you know he could detect you?” wondered
Thatcher.

“It’s a chance I had to take. This time I
failed. But life is all about risk and opportunity,” answered
Hilliard philosophically.

“I guess you’ve seen all of those in spades,
Grandpa.”

“Yes, I guess I have.” He leaned back,
stretching his neck. “Sweetheart, could you massage right back
here?

He winced in pain as Campbell gently rubbed the
back of his neck. “Sorry, Grandpa! Are you sure you’re okay?”

Ryker interjected, “How long till they get back
up here?”

“No more than five minutes.”

“Is this the best place to battle ‘em?”

“It’s as good as any,” replied Hilliard. “It
will take me just a moment to disengage from the computer.” And he
went back to work on MAGNUM’s console.

“Then I say we put your grandpa in the back
corner and surprise ‘em,” said Ryker.

“Good, good,” replied Hilliard, sighing. “I’m
not a vindictive man, but in this case Herschel Hatton deserves to
die. If Es coached you, you’re well supplied with weaponry.”

* * * * * *

Herschel sniffed the air when he and Beckett
reached the top level.

“What’s up now?” asked Beckett, growing weary of
Herschel’s incessant demands.

Herschel sneered, “It only confirms my
suspicion. That fire was set.”

“How’d you arrive at that
?”
asked
Beckett.
This may confirm your paranoia too.

“Someone else is here,” he said forcefully. “I
can smell it. I can pick out scents of 900 plants. My nose doesn’t
lie. The woman who was accompanying Skip is here. It’s her
perfume.”

Beckett was amazed. “You sure?”

“Damn positive.”

“Well,” Beckett responded, flustered, “Nate
Kristopher is dead. How did she get in here?”

“You idiot! If I knew that, I wouldn’t be in
this predicament, would I?”

“Sorry. Of course not,” apologized Beckett.

“Don’t panic, old boy,” said Herschel. He noted
a look of reticence in Beckett’s demeanor. Slapping him hard on the
back, he encouraged, “We’re still in charge. I’m still getting
locations of all remaining Alpha Group members, and you’re still
getting all the bank codes.”

Herschel continued his pep talk. “Hey, I’ve
killed before. The first one’s the toughest. The man who gave you
life is in there. But you owe him nothing anymore. If it comes to
killing him to achieve your objectives, then kill him you must!
You’ll kowtow to him no more. You’re not his clone! You’re Beckett
Reese, the man who deserves to get out of this slavery!”

The pep talk worked. Ready to do battle, he tore
the gun out of his holster.

Beckett ran down the hallway, peered around the
open doorway. Bullets from the control room flew past him. He
turned to Herschel. “There’s at least one guy in there.”

“This should be easy,” said Herschel, donning a
gas mask. He reached around the doorway and threw a gas canister
into the room.

“Masks!” yelled Thatcher. “Tear gas!”

Beckett leaped back in front of the door,
sprayed some bullets inside, and deftly leaped away.

Ryker, positioned behind some filing cabinets,
fired his laser gun. It nicked Beckett in the shoulder, knocking
him down.

“Damn! I’m not used to the recoil on this
thing!” Ryker cursed himself, seeing the man pull himself out of
harm’s way.

“I saw a tall man in the room this time,” puffed
Beckett, scooting away from the doorway. He felt his arm. The
bullet had only grazed his shoulder.

“Then,” asserted Herschel, “that means there are
four. Do they have masks?”

“Not sure,” moaned Beckett in pain. “But they’re
better prepared than we think.”

Sirens sounded throughout the entire floating
complex.

“What’s that?” grumbled Herschel. “Another
fire?”

Listening for a second longer, Beckett answered,
“No, it’s a different code. Let’s see …which one? Wait? It can’t
be!”

* * * * * *

“Grandpa, what’s happening?”

“We need to get off this ship!” Hilliard said
urgently.

“Why?” asked Campbell.

Before Hilliard could answer, the vessel’s early
warning computer system answered for him. “TSUNAMI ALERT! PREDICTED
ARRIVAL IN TWENTY MINUTES!”

Herschel Hatton shook his head, his ears still
numb from the overhead warning. “Where the hell did it come from?
But didn’t Hilliard build this contraption to withstand a tidal
wave?”

With his left hand, Beckett Reese, gingerly
touched the wound on his other arm. “We’re getting out of here
while we can. I don’t want to stick around and find out. The
coptor’s in for repair. That leaves the mini-sub.” Beckett turned
around and ran, quickly rounding a corner.

Herschel took off after him. “What about the
data we need?” he said, catching up to Beckett at a stairwell.

“Not a problem,” Beckett assured him. “We’ll
download it to the sub’s computers if we can’t return. I’ve got
most of it with me on a disk anyway.”

Ryker fired the gun around the corner then
sneaked a peek out into the hallway. “No one’s there.”

“They’re headed for the sub,” said Dr.
Hilliard.

Thatcher and Campbell looked knowingly at each
other.

Thatcher was the first to acknowledge the truth,
“If the tsunami’s coming, then they failed to stop Red Dawn.”

Campbell tried to call Es. There was no
answer.

“I’m sure they’re okay,” said Ryker
reassuringly. “All it means is that they didn’t stop the
explosion.”

And then with dark humor, Thatcher added “And
there’s only a large tsunami heading for us and the east coast.
That’s all.”

Ryker was all business, returning his attention
to the doctor. “So what are our options?”

“We at least have to get as low in the water as
possible,” responded Hilliard. “This complex is designed with storm
specifications to withstand tidal waves up to a thirty-meter
height.”

“Not very convincing,” moaned Thatcher.

“We’ll never beat them to the sub,” said a
chagrined Hilliard.
That leaves the robo-glider
, he
thought.

“This place doesn’t have a ‘copter?” asked
Ryker.

“In for repair,” reported Hilliard. “It’s my
fault we haven’t kept everything in tip top shape here. You know,
the absent-minded professor thing. Campbell, push me back into the
console.”

A moment later, Dr. Hilliard cursed again. “Damn
that Beckett! He’s set charges to detonate this place! We’re not
safe
anywhere
onboard. He’s just gone mad!”

“When will they detonate?”

“I don’t know, Thatcher.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” said Ryker, furrowing
his brow. “So what’s the next option?”

“I like that; an optimist. Are you my Morse code
interpreter?”

“Yeah, the name is Ryker Tobias. Pleased to meet
you, Dr. Hilliard.”

“Our next option is another sub, a
robo-glider.”

“Time’s a wasting then,” prodded a nervous
Thatcher. “ I must have been a fish in another life.”

“I haven’t felt this alive in years!” Ryker’s
face lit up in a big smile. “A bit of practice with that laser gun
and that guy would be dead.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it for a second,” remarked
Campbell.

“I must have my stem patch,” insisted the
doctor. “A small, square grayish package a bit larger than a fist.”
They tore up the room, searching for the small pack of vital
nutrients. Hilliard tried in vain to contact his colleagues via an
emergency walkie talkie imbedded next to a fire extinguisher.

“It’s not here,” said an out of breath
Thatcher.

Hilliard scowled. “Try the infirmary, two doors
down, on your left. Campbell, roll me down there.”

The infirmary was a spacious room with two
hospital beds in the middle. Seven built-in lockers sat on a wall
to the left, each labeled with the name of one of a scientist.

“Try my locker,” said Hilliard.

“It won’t budge,” said Thatcher, trying to pry
open the door.

“Try code 31425.”

Thatcher input the numbers on the small keypad
at the top of the locker. “Nothing.”

“Beckett! He changed the stem cell locker codes
too! And they might not even be in there,” moaned the doctor.

“Let’s find out,” said Ryker. His large black
boots pounded into the steel locker door, bending it severely. With
his gigantic hands, he ripped open the door and extracted the
square plastic bag labeled “JH.”

Hilliard’s face lit up. That’s it! Can you see
if the others’ packs are in their lockers?”

As Ryker banged in three lockers, Hilliard’s
disgust grew. Each of the other stem cell packs was useless. Their
tabs were broken; the nutrients compromised.

“TSUNAMI ALERT! FIFTEEN MINUTES TO IMPACT!”

“Grandpa, we still have time to get to the
mini-sub, right?”

Hilliard was focused on opening the other
lockers in hopes of obtaining other nutrient patches to save his
stranded colleagues.

An explosion rocked the floating vessel,
knocking them off their fee. Dust and debris flew by the open door
to the hallway.

Ryker peered out. “Looks like it came from the
control room.”

Hilliard sighed mightily. Okay! We must leave
now.”

Through choking dust, they hurried down the
hallway. Dr. Hilliard, clutching the precious stem cell pack,
carefully directed them downward in the vessel.

At each doorway, Ryker kicked it in, waiting for
another deadly explosive to detonate.

Seven minutes later, they arrived at the docking
stations for the mini-subs at the bottom level. Hilliard had
finally gotten through to Cheops on the walkie talkie.