“Has anyone ever escaped?”
“I doubt it. The Netas have electric planes, but, as far as I know, they’re shot down by the drones as soon as they’re airborne.”
“Where’d they get the planes?”
“I’m not sure, but they used to smuggle drugs to the US with electric planes, so I’m assuming they stored their planes at the military base. Before the army evacuated, they built an earth-sheltered complex to withstand hurricanes.”
Derek and Roger walked through the lower section of the fort, the morning sun filtering through the gun ports. Fred and Willow were installing the snorkels on the sub.
“How’s it coming?” Roger asked.
Fred and Willow looked up from their work. Willow continued to work, but Fred approached.
“We’ll have the snorkels installed today,” Fred said, wiping his hands on his shorts. “After that, we still have some work on the ballast, but I’m hopin’ she’ll be ready for a test run in three or four days. Of course, we still need the batteries.”
“Do the Aryan’s have lithium ion batteries?” Roger asked Derek.
“I don’t know,” Derek replied. “Wade has solar panels on his roof, and they do have some lights inside, so they must have some type of battery to store the power.”
Roger shook his head. “They’re probably lead acid. Houses with a battery backup usually use lead acid because they’re cheaper and weight’s not an issue.”
“If they’re lead acid, they’re prob’ly in bad shape anyway,” Fred said. “You need distilled water to maintain ’em in proper workin’ condition. To get to where we need to go, we need small lightweight, but powerful batteries. Solid state lithium ion is our only chance of gettin’ off this island.”
Willow turned from the pontoon, a wrench in hand. “You workin’ or flappin’ your gums?”
“Flappin’ my gums,” Fred replied with a crooked grin.
She frowned and went back to her work.
“What about the blockade?” Derek asked. “I know this is a submarine, but I’m sure those naval ships have sonar.”
Roger said, “We think the blockade leaves when there’s a hurricane. If we can follow in the wake of the hurricane, as soon as it’s safe, the sub might make it to the Virgin Islands.”
“How far is it to the Virgin Islands?”
“About seventy miles.”
Derek let out a low whistle. “And this thing can go seventy miles?”
Roger nodded, almost imperceptibly. “With a full charge and the right batteries, we’re hopeful. We’ve done quite a bit of research and calculations to make our best estimation. Ocean currents. Prevailing winds. Distance. Likely power and speed of the sub at full throttle.”
“But you still don’t know for sure?”
Fred chuckled. “Ain’t nothin’ for sure in this place.”
“Why not use a boat? It would be faster, and I bet it would use a lot less battery power.”
“Because the satellite imaging will catch us,” Roger said. “The drones will make it back before the ships, and they’d shoot us right out of the water.”
“What if we stole one of those electric planes?” Derek asked.
Fred howled with laughter. “You must have a death wish.”
Roger gave Fred a disapproving look. “Let’s say for the sake of argument that we could successfully steal a plane from the Netas, and we had a clear runway to take off. We’d probably run into the same problem as a boat. The drones would shoot us down.”
“But a plane would be a lot faster,” Derek said. “The drones have to clear out in a hurricane too. We’d probably make it to the Virgin Islands before the drones made it back from the hurricane.”
“The drones do better in inclement weather than those little Cessnas,” Roger continued, “and they’re much faster. By the time it’s safe to fly, the drones would probably be back or at least close by.”
Fred said, “I tell you what. If I was runnin’ the Netas, and I didn’t care about my people dyin’, I’d paint one of them planes flat black. Then I’d take off after a hurricane with a bunch of white planes. I’d fly the black plane real low and have the white planes flyin’ over top so they could be my shields. No way the drones get ’em all.”
94
Jacob and the Drones
The men of Project Freedom had launched two drones a few hours after Jacob and Rebecca had arrived at their bunker complex. Jacob and Rebecca were now in the Project Freedom command center, watching the drone footage along with Cesar and two of his underlings. The drones were on autopilot, crisscrossing the ruins of the Virgin Islands. They saw primitive farms, people gathering wild food, people hunting. Most had tan or dark skin, with rags for clothing, or little clothing at all.
The cameras mounted on the underside of the drones zoomed in on the faces of the islanders, comparing their features with Derek’s. The drones had scanned hundreds of people on the sparsely populated island with no matches. But mostly they saw acres and acres of jungle wilderness and empty beaches.
Of course, Rebecca thought the drones were in Puerto Rico aka the United States Penal Colony East. Rebecca had given Cesar digital pictures of Derek to upload into the facial recognition software. The drones were capable of recognizing a face from two hundred feet in the air. The most exciting event of the day was when an islander shot one of the drones with a shotgun. The drone had been hit but not fatally. Cesar recalled the drone. The damage had been superficial, just some birdshot.
After four hours of scouring the countryside through the eyes of the drones, Jacob said, “Maybe we should take a break.”
“Not until we find him,” Rebecca said, her eyes glued to the screen.
Jacob didn’t like her watching the footage. He worried that she might suspect that the footage wasn’t from Puerto Rico. At one point she had said, “This isn’t what I pictured.”
“It doesn’t matter if we watch or not. We won’t find him. The drone will,” Jacob said.
“He’s right,” Cesar said, interjecting. “Why don’t you two take a walk on the beach?”
“Is it safe?” Rebecca asked.
“If you take your friends.”
Rob and Billy accompanied Jacob and Rebecca to the beach, wearing full battle-rattle. As Jacob and Rebecca walked on the white sandy beach, Rob and Billy followed at a polite distance, their rifles pointed at the sand. Rebecca stopped and gazed out over the bright blue water. Tiny waves lapped the shoreline.
“He’s only seventy miles away, but he might as well be on another planet,” Rebecca said.
Jacob took her hand. “We’ll find him.” Dead.
95
Summer and 1776
Summer stood on the lower wall of the fort, forty feet up, looking at the white caps and the waves crashing against the shoreline. The ocean wind whipped through her hair. The sun was an orange orb, hanging low on the horizon. Black clouds approached from the east.
She thought about Conner and her baby, Byron. She thought about her father. He’d disappeared, leaving only a note. She wondered if her arrest was somehow connected. She wondered if her father knew what had happened to her. Maybe Roger’s right. He’ll pilot the sub to the Virgin Islands with the video and blow the lid off this place. Maybe they’ll admit that the tests were forged. Maybe they’ll rescue us and take us home.
“You all right?”
Summer turned from the sunset, toward the voice. Speak of the devil. “Hi, Roger.”
He sidled up to her and looked out over the ocean. “Beautiful.”
“It is.”
“Storm’s coming. You can feel it in the air. Might be a hurricane.”
Summer’s heart rate increased. “Will we be safe here?”