Karyn Kane: Conspiracy of Fire Part 6

"What the h.e.l.l do you think I am doing?"

"I think you are missing a h.e.l.l of a ride, cowering in the foot well like that. Why don't you grow a pair and strap yourself into your seat? We take a roll right now and your head will get splattered all over the upholstery-I don't think your insurance people would approve."

"You are crazy! You work for the government don't you? The d.a.m.n government, that's what all this is about isn't it?"

"Hey, relax Verner, the Department of Justice believes in giving the tax payer value for money. So sit back and enjoy the ride."

"The DOJ? I don't believe that for a moment.

You are some kind of crazy killer out to kidnap me aren't you?"

Bullets impacted the trunk of the car now- a h.e.l.lish noise, like some giant unseen devil was chiseling holes in the fabric of the car with a pointed stair rod. The pa.s.senger side wing-mirror exploded, carved off by a hail of tracer rounds. A violent cascade of flames and wreckage bounced away with frightening speed into the roadway behind them.

Karyn swerved violently. Slammed the brakes on, and pulled a furious handbrake turn that sent every car in their wake into a demolition- derby style crunch up. The wheels on the Prius never stopped turning-even as the car reached the zenith of its peeling arc. The h.e.l.lish, imploding forces took hold of them pressing them deep in their seats, as the burning tires finally caught the road and sent the Prius accelerating away. The traffic on the other carriage way was already backing up, trapped in a logjam of total carnage. Karyn moderated her speed, flipping turn after turn now, disappearing in the maze of streetlamp avenues that stretched away to the glittering skysc.r.a.per towers of downtown

Honolulu.

"I want to go home," said Verner weakly. "That will not be possible," said Karyn her voice quiet, her eyes on the road.

"Where the h.e.l.l are we going then?" Karyn smiled-business. Government

business."

13.

Captain Pedro alvares stood watch, on the bridge of the Nautilus, as the darkness of the ocean night closed in. As the captain of a science s.h.i.+p with a small crew of nineteen, there was much to oversee and do, especially during the night watch. The Pacific s.h.i.+pping lanes were some of the busiest in the world and in these gently undulating waters danger was ever present. alvares watched, all his senses on heightened alert, as a parade ocean going giants crossed the distant horizon monstrous s.h.i.+ps bigger than the New York Chrysler building cutting through the ocean mist, like giant sparkling monuments to a distant civilization.

During the hours of night, the control lights on the bridge of the Nautilus were set to a subdued setting, so that the navigation instruments could be viewed more easily. The result was an eerie electronic glow that pulsed with living energy. The computerized systems on the bridge controlled all functions of the s.h.i.+p, reducing the need for humans to a supervisory role. Modern seamans.h.i.+p required few of the dead reckoning skills that alvares had learned, during his long years as a hard-bitten veteran of the US Navy and Merchant marine. In the modern world, computers and technology were the new kings of the sea. The navigation screens on the Nautilus provided global positioning information for every s.h.i.+p within a thousand miles-a simple search and scroll operation could provide an even greater field of information, stretching to the far sh.o.r.es of Asia or the southern tip of Tierra del Fuego to the South. It was also possible to narrow the search field and focus in on any s.h.i.+p in the world, then find its course, tonnage, and flag of convenience so that it might be logged and identified. The computer systems offered a navigational safety net that, in theory, eliminated human error from all operational activities.

But alvares could never rest easy knowing the fate of his crew and s.h.i.+p dangled in hands of technology. He was a man of traditional skills, a hands-on sailor from the old school. He prided himself in the long hours he worked, keeping watch, giving orders and holding tight control of all the s.h.i.+ps functions.

But long years of service were taking their toll on Captain Pedro alvares. Standing watch now, he felt the bile rising from his gut-his cursed stomach. The doctor had said it was gastric reflux, or some d.a.m.n thing. Told him to take a bunch of pills, like that would do any good. Maybe the smart- a.s.sed doctor could give the d.a.m.n world some pills, to counteract the sickening spread of modernity and all its a.s.sociated techno twaddle? There just wasn't a place for old-school sailors anymore-all the new crew members were so young, they probably couldn't remember what it was like to sail across the world in the days before computers- scary d.a.m.n scary-and that was just on the American s.h.i.+ps. The foreign s.h.i.+ps were worse-all of them crewed by half-educated Third-Worlder's who barely knew port from starboard. You got one of those johnnies heading your way in a tanker weighing in at 500 thousand dead weight tonnes, and you had to pray they had some half-literate, quarter-sober supervising officer in charge, or they would plough you into the ocean bed without a second thought-not even realize it either, until they reached portside and some company blowhard complained about scratches to the hull.

alvares scowled. Looking out to the star filled horizon, he said, "You got a fix on the buoy yet Kellerman?"

"Affirmative, Captain. It is drifting south on the current. But the signal is still cutting in and out. I estimate we will rendezvous within the next 15 hours given present conditions."

"That the best guess you got Science Officer?"

"The tracker beacon is malfunctioning. It must have gotten damaged when the buoy became detached. If I could get a constant fix we would be able to make time on it. As it is, we will be playing catch up for the next few hours at least. Maybe it will give Buchanan time to fix that winch motor, he has been toying with?"

"I don't want to be chasing that thing all the way to the South Pole. We are talking a quarter- million dollars of Federal Government property, and that isn't the kind of bounty that is going to slip through our fingers. Do you read me Kellerman?" "Loud and clear Captain."

alvares put his night gla.s.ses to his eyes and surveyed the horizon, "Furthermore, your comments concerning First Officer Buchanan's winch operations have been duly noted."

"Yes Sir, but it is vital that we have the winch functional before we catch up with the buoy.

I haven't been able to download a full status report, because of the damage to the buoy's Satcom System. But from the initial data it looks like the buoy took a direct hit from a s.h.i.+p, and you know what that means."

alvares breathed deep. If the DART buoy had been hit, it could be badly damaged. If they were lucky Kellerman would be able to repair the damage on board; if not, they would have to s.h.i.+p the d.a.m.n thing back to base in Long Beach, which would mean a long and unwelcome extension to their mission-days, maybe even weeks longer, and that was always a.s.suming the fritzing electronics on the buoy stayed live until they caught up with it. If the buoy's COM systems went black, who knew how long they would have to spend looking for it.

"Keep on it Kellerman," said alvares. "You lose that d.a.m.n thing and it is coming out of your paycheck."

Kellerman wasn't amused. She gave that Captain a sharp look. Like she gave a d.a.m.n what the barnacle encrusted boss thought of her attempts to rein in the wayward technology.

A bleeping alert on the automatic s.h.i.+p identification system suddenly filled the bridge. A pulsing amber light, warning that somewhere, out in the endless darkness of the Pacific, a s.h.i.+p had set a course that would intersect with that of the Nautilus.

alvares knew the exact implications of the alert, but that didn't stop him from snapping, "What is that infernal racket Mooney?"

"We got an incoming signal, maybe a hundred nautical miles out."

"Virtually the other side of the world. I remember a time when you didn't change course until you got so close to their starboard bow you could see what brand of tobacco the wheelman was smoking."

Mooney's eyes glistened wide in the half- light. alvares gave a laugh, "That's right, back in the day you could smoke in the wheel-house. Matter of fact, it was considered disrespectful if you didn't. What do you think of that?"

Mooney blinked, like he had been caught in the headlights of an ancient logic he neither understood, or very much cared for. "The AIS signature says he is North Korean, Captain," Mooney swallowed hard. "A trawler called Wonsungi out of Chongjin."

"Chongjin eh? He's a long way out of his bailiwick, why don't you give him a blow on the s.h.i.+p to s.h.i.+p and see what he's got on the breakfast menu?"

"Should we change course Captain?" "Not unless you want to help Science Officer Kellerman here pay for that missing buoy when it drops off the edge of the earth," said alvares. "Now get back to those d.a.m.n monitors and let me know when there is an event worth knowing about, and turn off that d.a.m.n alert while you are about it would you."

Mooney turned back to his instruments, sweat beading on his forehead, every s.h.i.+ft was the same, the captain could be a real p.r.i.c.k when he wanted to be, so full of homespun advice from the old days, and yet he rarely if ever followed regulations by the book, it was almost as though the old man had written the book himself-and yet the captain's book was far different from the ones Mooney had learned at the Academy. Mooney watched the signature of the North Korean vessel cutting towards them, wondering how he could reconcile the conflicting words of his boss and those of his teachers at the Naval Academy.

14.

"My car! Have you seen the damage? There isn't a body-shop in the world who will be able to put this right." Brad Verner was upset, and justifiably so, his pristine car was peppered with bullet holes.

"Relax Verner. You fill enough forms, you can get anything fixed in this life." Karyn Kane sat in the driver's seat, looking over the report she had gotten from HPD Chief Donald Mlama. She turned the page and said, "Get back in the car Verner, think how lucky you are, rather than focusing on that gla.s.s half empty bulls.h.i.+t all the time."

"Lucky? I don't know what you mean by that exactly, but this is where I get off. I want you out of my car and out of my life. Nothing is worth being murdered for."

"Stop being so dramatic Verner, you are alive aren't you?"

"Alive for now, but who knows how long that will last with you around-you are insane. You just shot two guys. Not only that, you a.s.saulted a cop and you drive like a maniac too."

"Anyone ever tell you Verner, you got yourself a real drip-drip voice that is borderline whiney?"

"I don't have to take to that from you," snapped Verner.

Karyn looked up from the police file, the low burning lights of underground car park casting a menacing glow across her face as she said, "No, you are quite right Verner, you don't have to take it do you?"

"What?"

"You could head on out of town, take the first flight to the mainland and hole up somewhere cozy until this all blows over couldn't you?" "I could go to Seattle to my parents house,"

said Brad Verner defiantly. "There wouldn't be a d.a.m.n thing you could do to stop me. This is still a free country. I got rights."

Karyn folded away the Police report into her handbag. "You are absolutely right Verner. You are a const.i.tutionally protected citizen of the United States of America you got every right in the world to do whatever the h.e.l.l you want, but before you make any hasty decisions, I want to show you

something."

"You do? What?"

Karyn gave him a tight earnest look, "Step out of the car for a second would you?"

"Hey, you just told me to get back in, this better not be a trick or something."

"You don't trust me?"

"Of course I don't trust you, a least I want to trust you-but-"

Karyn nodded, "I understand Verner. It has been a h.e.l.l of a day for you hasn't it? You got up this morning thinking you were going to set the world to rights and yet now, here you are a fugitive from justice," Karyn got out the car, paused then leaned back in.

Verner said, "What? No I am not, I..." "Just get out of the d.a.m.n car would you Verner, I got a short fuse when it comes to patience, if you know what I mean."

Brad Verner opened the door and sprang out of his seat, a petulant scowl creasing his face, "There is nothing that you can say that will make the slightest bit of difference. My mind is made up."

Karyn nodded, "I thought it might be," she said beckoning him around towards the back of the car. She gave a sharp intake of breath, "You were right about those bullet holes."

"I am glad you agree, but..." Karyn held up her hand, "I got to tell you something Verner, those people who were after us, they are not going to stop. You won't be able to hide, and you certainly won't be able to run. You are a civilian. You haven't got the skills and that means that when you try to make a break for it you will be dead before you get to the airport check in desk."

Brad Verner stared at Karyn his dark eyes betraying a building sense of horror.

Karyn popped the trunk. It was empty. "You see what I mean," she said.

Brad Verner looked down into the chasming trunk. As he opened his mouth to speak, a cold hard realization suddenly hit. Fractions of a second later, the brutal impact came, a pressure in his neck so overwhelming that he couldn't even gasp, only fall forwards into the dark confines of the yawning trunk.

15.

It was just as the Police report said. The Penthouse suite to the Royal Anolani Hotel had its own exclusive elevator. Riding upwards in its mirrored confines, the uniformed attendant gave Karyn the look. His cologne grabbed viscerally at her, while he made chit-chat about the weather, like she was some kind of tourist. Karyn stared at him. The chat shut down and quick, replaced by the quiet hum of the ascent, as cologne guy brushed down the front of his brocade tunic with a white-gloved hand and forced out a nervous smile.

Stepping out into the sumptuous Penthouse lobby, Karyn came face to face with a trolley-cart packed high with monogrammed designer luggage. Someone was going somewhere soon, with no plans to return. Karyn's heels sounded out against the cold marble floor. The place was pretty Ritzy, even by luxury hotel standards-gilt furniture, European antiques, and a collection of eye-ache modern-art paintings that had to be worth a million dollars a pop. The whole place stank of big money; not even the monstrous collection of fragrant blooms crowding every available surface could hide that.

Karyn sniffed, nodded, figured that yes, hotel living was definitely the way to go for smart singles of substance.

"Ms. Kane, how thoughtful of you to drop by."

Karyn paused, turned, and saw an older woman heading towards her, arms outstretched, the woman was wearing a diaphanous gown in this seasons colors. As she tottered forward, the clank of jewelry followed her, like a jangling leitmotif. Calista Johnston, wife of recently deceased Senator Tex Johnston, even sounded rich thought Karyn, as she offered her hand. But the senator's wife simply drifted past her hand and closed in for an embrace, pressing ever so lightly against her in the European style. Karyn couldn't help but noticing how painfully thin she was, as though she might be blown away at any moment by a sudden breeze.

I am sorry to intrude on your private grief, in what must be a very difficult time for you." Karyn paused, a.s.sessing Calista Johnston's face for any signs of emotion, found none and continued, "I would like to offer you my condolences and those of the United States Justice Department..."

Calista Johnston gave a musical laugh, "Oh, please. Give me a break. My husband was a world- cla.s.s a.s.shole and we both know it. So there is no need to feed me that grieving widow bulls.h.i.+t, because quite frankly honey, I couldn't be happier." Calista Johnston looked at Karyn for a long moment, her eyes hidden behind a pair of voluminous designer sungla.s.ses. Her tight, pale face betraying no sign of emotion. Suddenly she cracked a smile. "Throwing himself out that G.o.dd.a.m.n widow was the best thing that little weasel ever did."

Karyn gave her a concerned look, "See, that is what I wanted to talk to you Mrs. Johnston. Do you have any idea why your husband would do such a thing?"'

Again the musical laugh, "Please, darling, call me Calista." Making a flamboyant and dismissive gesture with the back of her hand now, Calista Johnston said, "I have already told those p.r.i.c.ks from the FBI and the HPD everything I know darling, which doesn't amount to much. Perhaps you should compare notes?" She broke a grin now, displaying a too perfect collection of sun bleached ivory spreading around to her diamond covered ears. "When you asked me why Tex would do such a thing, did you want to know why he would shoot that p.r.i.c.k governor like that-or why he would want to throw his own gutless carca.s.s off the top of his wh.o.r.e palace at the Pacifica Towers?"