The Poseidon Initiative (23 page)

Tanner nodded his understanding and they jumped the wake of a passing motorboat. He was glad to see they weren’t they only jet-skis out on the water. They continued to ride out toward the harbor mouth. The sun was out, but the water that sprayed them wasn’t warm, and a light wind added to that chill factor. Still, the adrenaline pumping through Tanner’s system kept him from noticing. They looked around in all directions as they jetted toward the president’s yacht.

For all the pandemonium on land, out here there still seemed to be a lot of people having fun. They passed a pontoon boat filled with elderly people drinking wine and listening to Frank Sinatra doing it his way. Not far away a young woman wakeboarded behind a small boat, the occupants videotaping her and cheering her on. Beyond it all President Carmichael’s vessel still floated serenely at anchor, and still Tanner and Liam detected no threats.

As they pushed further out into the harbor, Tanner began to wonder if maybe they were making a mistake by coming out here. There was an actual attack, after all, right behind them on the waterfront. They were in fact running away from it. But years as a counter-terror agent had imbued him with a sort of sixth sense that told him when things weren’t quite right, and right now that sense bristled. The first attack was a distraction. It had to be. The logistics involved in transporting even a small amount of STX across state lines, the agents, the boat…it all seemed like way too much to do and far too much risk to assume not to try and hit Carmichael’s boat. He was the very man, after all, who had refused to grant their demands. The U.S. embassy in The Hague was still operational. And he floated right over there…Even an unsuccessful attempt of some kind on the yacht would generate international headlines for Hofstad, something that the low-key terror organization apparently desired, seeking to up their visibility.

They heard the blast of a large boat horn — low in pitch — carry across the water and tensed, white-knuckling the waverunner handlebars. Looking to their left they saw a ferry carrying passengers toward the dock. Tanner slowed to get a good look; it was only the captain being cautious, warning the small craft in its path that it was coming through.

Tanner resumed cruising speed and the pair of OUTCASTs plowed across the harbor. Before long the
Lincoln
loomed, and Tanner knew that at least one of the dozen or so vessels anchored within one hundred yards of it had to be Secret Service, watching for any vessel to breach an invisible perimeter. Get too close to the
Lincoln
, and action would be taken. He motioned to Liam that they should take an outer perimeter approach. They knew better than to take a direct route.

They fell into a long oval pattern that took them around the yacht. During the first trip around Tanner scouted the presidential asset for signs of trouble and saw none — no evidence of terrorism, and no indication that he and Liam had aroused sufficient suspicion to warrant action against them. That didn’t mean that they hadn’t been noticed, of course. There could well be a pair of marine binoculars focused on them now, not to mention video surveillance, and possibly even firearms. Tanner put on his best tourist-having-the-time-of-his-life grin as he banked into a sharp turn out in front of the yacht’s bow. The truth was that he disliked waverunners and jet-skis — the motorcycles of the sea, as he thought of them. They were loud and obnoxious, just large enough to sit on but not really relax. He’d much rather be on a boat, even a small one. But the skis were very fast and could fit into tight quarters if necessary.

After yet another circuit around the target, Tanner was about to suggest they break off — the same repetitive pattern for too long would also trigger increased scrutiny — when he caught a flash of something far out to sea. A glint of sunlight off glass, perhaps. He wasn’t sure, but once the flash attracted his eye, he could pick out the outline of a slow-moving vessel of some kind. He couldn’t yet discern its direction. It could be heading out to sea, or straight past the harbor. He couldn’t be sure, but since it was possible it could be headed their way, he decided to keep an eye on it. It did come from a somewhat unusual angle of approach, he noted — threading between the outlines of two distant islands, which kept it somewhat hidden from direct line-of-sight to the harbor. He gripped his handlebars as he rounded the yacht’s stern.

Liam waved to get his attention, wisely reminding him that they needed to break out of the pattern they’d been holding. Tanner looked out toward the bay and Liam aimed his craft in that direction. Time to leave the harbor for open water. They could check out the big, incoming vessel.

The mouth of the harbor was choppy where the bay water slacked out with the tide, and they had a bumpy ride through the chop out into the bay. They dodged a pair of racing sailboats before pointing their waverunners toward the slow craft Tanner had noticed.

Liam ramped off a sloppy swell made unpredictable by a passing boat wake and slammed head-on through another wave, his entire ski and body submerging for a few seconds as he passed through the swell. He shook his head like a dog shedding water after getting out of a pool and kept going, looking over at Tanner and giving him a thumbs up sign. A small crowd of people on a passing boat whooped and hollered, loving the show.
Now that’s good tradecraft
, Tanner thought, maintaining course with the mystery ship.

As they neared their vessel of interest Tanner could see that it was some kind of barge. Not rusty and decrepit looking, but simply a Spartan workhorse, plowing through the waves as if it had all day to get wherever it was going but would definitely get there. It wasn’t easy to tell for sure, bouncing around as he was on the ski, but he could see no persons aboard from this distance. He signaled to Liam to loop around the back of the ship, so that they could follow it from behind. Liam nodded and they raced out to sea.

Overhead, the sky buzzed with activity as Coast Guard choppers patrolled the skies, vying for airspace with media helicopters and police aircraft. Tanner knew that an SR-71 Blackbird fighter jet squadron was lurking in the clouds, ready to strike on a moment’s notice should an aerial threat to Carmichael’s yacht materialize. He and Liam could make a difference out here on the water, though, should danger rear its ugly head. At least he hoped so, as he led Liam into an arcing turn far behind the barge’s broad stern.

The number of boats thinned out here, but there were still large sailboats visible plying the island waters in the distance. Tanner scanned the waters to make sure he wasn’t ignoring some other suspicious vessel or even aircraft, but saw none. He wished the whine of the waverunner engines wasn’t so deafening, but there was nothing he could do about that other than to stop, which could also arouse suspicion.

He and Liam began following the barge in toward the harbor. Although the workboat kept a straight-as-an-arrow path, they were sure to keep up a series of carving, swerving turns as they followed the boat, so that to anyone watching they would look like a couple of guys having fun on their toys.

Before long they entered the harbor, by now having gotten used to the skis, Liam in particular really putting on a show, ramping off boat wakes in spectacular aerial displays, while Tanner tried some trick-riding of his own, standing with one hand on the handlebars while circling, having a good time for the benefit of all who might be watching.

Still, he couldn’t help but notice that the plodding barge inexorably continued its course toward the
Lincoln
, while the brunt of law enforcement was centered on the waterfront walkway, containing the fire, treating victims and bracing for possible further attacks. He waved an arm at Liam, indicating that they should close the distance to the barge. The two riders veered away from one another in a V pattern, into the harbor, closer to the barge. And the president’s yacht.

As Tanner passed by the starboard side of the barge’s stern, with the yacht in front of him and to his right, maybe an eighth of a mile, a blur of movement caught his left eye.

He eased back on the waverunner’s throttle just a bit in order to get a better look.

There!

What was a black streak had temporarily steadied before setting into motion again off the barge’s rail.

A tiny helicopter…but of course to Tanner, coming from a barge in close proximity to the President of the United States of America, this was no remote controlled kid’s toy.

It was a drone. A quadracopter — a simple helicopter consisting of a basic circular frame containing four rotors, the entire craft no more than a foot in diameter. He knew they could either be pre-programmed to follow a particular route, or remote controlled by a human operator. He also knew that they could carry specialized payloads, such as cameras, bombs
…STX misters
?!

A micro-drone.

Royal Netherlands Institute for Sea Research, Den Hoorn, Netherlands

“It’s been five minutes now and I’m still getting worse.” Jasmijn sat on a stool in front of the lab bench, watching the clock on the wall tick away her final remaining minutes. Her legs suddenly felt rubbery. She would have fallen from the stool if not for Dante and Stephen who moved quickly to hold her up.

“It just needs a little more time to take effect,” Naomi offered. She of course had no idea if this was true, but didn’t want Jasmijn to give up hope.

“No.” The scientist held her head in her hands. “Oh God, no. I remember now. It’s not going to work.”

The battle-hardened trio of operatives were taken aback to see Jasmijn so distraught.

“What is it?” Naomi put a hand on her shoulder.

“No,” she said, lifting her head and wiping away a string of tears. “It
can’t
work the way I did this last iteration. I realize now what I did wrong but I don’t have time to explain it to you.”

Stephen got down on one knee so that he could level his gaze right into her eyes.” Then don’t explain. Just do it. Make the next iteration.”

Jasmijn took a very deep breath and looked at the ceiling for a second. “I can prepare it. I can set it up and leave instructions to you as to how to complete it…”

She started to cry. “…but there won’t be enough time for me to use it. There are multiple stages — mix these two samples together, autoclave for twenty minutes, chill in the fridge for thirty minutes and so on. Over an hour prep time altogether. By then, I’ll be…” She broke down again.

“Stay with us, Jasmijn,” Nay said. “There’s no time to feel sorry for yourself.”

“Or to kick yourself for mistakes you might have made,” Dante added.

The scientist took another deep breath — or was it just a normal breath that was more labored than usual? “You’re right. Let me get to work. I’ll write out the instructions so that you will be able to cookbook it to completion. Then you just need to test it on a rat. Be extremely careful handling the STX–I’m spending my last remaining minutes trying to save people, not get more of them killed.”

“Don’t worry, Jasmijn, we’ll be careful. Please, document the procedure.”

“Help me over to the sample ‘fridge.”

Dante and Stephen carried her over. “She shook her head and mumbled to herself as she worked, no doubt chastising herself for sticking herself with the STX needle, or for not getting the antidote right last time, which would have saved her. Or both. But she worked, pausing after a major step to think, to make certain she was getting it right this time.

Dante also noticed that her movements were becoming more labored, more difficult. “If you need us to do anything for you, don’t hesitate.” She nodded in response, lost in thoughts that he couldn’t even imagine. Meanwhile, Stephen was on the other side of the room softly reporting to Danielle over the comm system, and receiving an update from her on the Boothbay status. Naomi stood next to Jasmijn, physically supporting her on the stool so that she wouldn’t fall off.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before,” Jasmijn said, staring into a fluid-filled test-tube. Then she placed the tube into a rack and looked up at her three guardians. “I’ve gone as far as I can go. I feel extremely weak.”

Dante came and gently held the arm that Naomi didn’t have. “I need you to put this tube in the autoclave for twenty minutes. After that…” She picked up a pen and began to write in a lab notebook, but frowned when she looked down at what she had written.

“Jesus. I’m sorry, this chicken-scratch won’t be legible. My hand — it’s shaking…” Her voice cracked with the realization that her body was rapidly breaking down.

“I’ll write for you.” Stephen ran to the lab bench and picked up the notepad and pen.

Jasmijn proceeded to dictate the remaining procedures to him while Naomi steadied her on the stool. Dante would move to the different apparatus and specialized machines she talked about, clarifying the specifics of their use, including the computer programs. When she had finished, Jasmijn had Stephen read the notes back to her while she listened, now being propped up almost exclusively by Naomi.

“Good. You got it.” Her voice had lost much of its tone and sounded like a wheezy rasp. “I need to lay down,” she told Naomi, who eased her on to the floor.

“Jasmijn, do you want me to take you to the hospital? You’d be more comfortable…”

“No. There’s nothing they can do for me. By the time I even explained what was wrong, I’d be…gone.” She closed her eyes.

“Jasmijn!” Naomi pleaded with her to open her eyes. A few seconds later, she did.