“All right,” Danny told him. “In the meantime, get somebody up to the radio room and send video back to the Cube. We’re looking for something capable of controlling the UAVs.”
“Probably in one of those locked-down areas,” suggested Achmoody.
“Agreed — but let’s eliminate the other possibilities.”
Danny checked the communications space on the cargo vessel himself. Outfitted with the latest satellite communications and a 4K high-definition television screen that had to be at least seven feet in diagonal, it was big enough to host a sports bar. But the room was almost entirely empty except for a few office chairs and the radio equipment. There were no joysticks or the dedicated consoles that typically were used to control UAVs, let alone the array of servers and other computer gear ground stations generally needed.
Danny sent video back to the Cube, then went up to the bridge to talk to the ship’s captain. Fortine was sitting on a chair at the side of the bridge, face pale but with his arms crossed, and even before he answered Danny’s questions it was clear he wasn’t going to be very cooperative.
“So you’re French?” asked Danny. “You served in the French navy?”
“I’m sure you know my entire background,” said Fortine.
“Why did you join Kallipolis?” Danny asked.
“I didn’t join — I started it.”
“I thought Lloyd Braxton started it.”
“There were several of us — hundreds,” added Fortine, continuing in an accent that sounded more British than French. The movement was one of historical proportions, he claimed; from the small seed he and the others planted, a massive movement would grow.
“You’re a military person,” said Danny. “Usually anarchy doesn’t sit well.”
“We don’t believe in anarchy,” said Fortine.
“What do you believe in?”
“Freedom.”
“From everything?”
Fortine gave him a sarcastic grin. “If you are willing to open your mind, I will be happy to debate the matter with you. But not at the point of a gun.”
“I’m not pointing a gun at you.”
“But you are armed, and you clearly intend me harm. You attacked my ship—”
“Your ship attacked my aircraft,” answered Danny. “You were warned not to resist. You are in violation of several international laws. Smuggling weapons and providing assistance to rebels and terrorists,” Danny added quickly, seeing that Fortine was about to object. “Your own country voted for the UN resolution forbidding that, and in fact has its own laws—”
“I have no country,” said Fortine. “I have renounced my citizenship. And I am in violation of no laws.”
“Firing on aircraft is certainly against international law,” said Danny.
“Defending my vessel and my crew against pirates is my right, and my duty.”
“What other arms are you carrying?” Danny asked. “Where is your cargo manifest?”
“I showed that to the first officer who entered the bridge.”
“Where’s the real manifest?”
Fortine smirked. “Always the government goons play their games and word tricks.”
“You can help us save your vessel from sinking,” suggested Danny, “by telling us what else we have to worry about.”
“I will not assist you in any way,” said Fortine. “You can’t hold me. You have no authority.”
“I have plenty of authority,” said Danny.
“Guns, yes.”
“And those, too.”
Danny decided not to bother wasting any more time. Thomas met him on the external ladder as he was going off the bridge.
“We’ve searched the engine room,” said the captain. “No contraband so far. Nothing that looks out of place.”
Several of the crewmen were eager to talk, but to a man they insisted they were merely hired hands, paid nearly four times the going rate and treated far better than they would have fared ordinarily. They knew nothing of Kallipolis, and while they thought it was “beyond odd” that they had spent the last several weeks sailing in the same waters, none had seen any UAVs or heard of any plans to attack anyone, let alone Americans. All were shocked when the containers were opened to reveal the launchers.
“What about the guys who tried to shoot down our planes from the stern?” Danny asked.
“They say they were the mates in charge,” explained the Marine who’d taken charge of the interrogation. It happened that his mother was Filipino, and he spoke Spanish with an accent similar to theirs. “I don’t know how much to believe them, but none of the dead guys look Filipino. They’re all dressed differently, with button-down shirts. For what that’s worth.”
“A shirt makes them an officer?” Danny glanced at Thomas, who shrugged. “Any of the wounded talking?” he asked.
“Not about anything important,” answered the interpreter. “Most of them are pretty messed up.”
“See if you can get any information about the tug, about people coming and going, where they’ve been, that sort of thing.”
“Questioning them that extensively is going to take time, Colonel,” said Thomas. “Much better off bringing them back ashore.”
“As soon as we do that, we have to alert their embassy,” said Danny. “Besides, we’re going to be out here for a while longer. How many EOD guys you got with you?”
The unit had four men with explosives or EOD training and experience, though none were technically considered specialists. Danny decided to leave two aboard the cargo ship in case the search there turned up anything; the other two came back to the tug with him.
He was just hopping off the Osprey when Turk’s voice, high-pitched with excitement, came over the Whiplash circuit, breaking through the chatter of the search team.
“Whiplash leader, we have company,” warned Turk. “I have eight Chinese fighters on long-range radar. And they are trying to set a new world’s speed record getting here.”
15
Braxton Led Wen-lo down the concrete steps to the bunker where the Kallipolis tech room was hidden. While not as expansive as the one at Gried that he had blown up, it was nonetheless well equipped — and perfectly positioned for what he needed to do.
Wen-lo’s greed and hubris would help.
The lights automatically turned on as he approached the door to the bunker. Laser beams scanned his face; once his identity was verified, the door would be unlocked unless he said anything — a precaution against his being forced at gunpoint to let anyone in.
He remained silent until they were inside.
“We have launch facilities on the south side of the island,” he told Wen-lo, steering him down the corridor from the small foyer. “I can activate them from here. And then your men must carry the UAVs into position.”
“Of course.”
The quickness of the answer told Braxton that Wen-lo didn’t intend that he would get that far. He adjusted his plan accordingly.
Most of the crew of both boats had come ashore with them. All heavily armed, they followed quietly but quickly, stepping in unison at times so that they reminded him of the storm troopers in the Star Wars series. It made for quite a crowd in the narrow hall.
“I have to ask your men to step back,” Braxton told Wen-lo. “If the computer sees weapons, it won’t open.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Computer, open,” said Braxton.
The door stayed shut.
Wen-lo reached beneath his shirt and took out a 9mm pistol. It was a Chinese knockoff of a Glock, one Braxton had never seen before.
“Open the door,” said Wen-lo, raising the barrel of the gun so it pointed toward Braxton’s head.