“Beats me what the hell it’s doing down here, but it’s definitely the Texas.” Tom held out the binoculars. “Here, have a look for yourself.”
Veyron snatched the binoculars from him and studied the battleship as it crept towards them at full steam. “That’s either the USS Texas, or a very good replica, but only a madman would try to bring it down here.”
Tom recalled the USS Texas BB-35 was the last of the Dreadnought era, steam-powered battleships in existence. Her twin coal boilers had been retrofitted with six oil burners in the late twenties to increase speed, but otherwise, she’d remained true to her original form. Two years ago the USS Texas had been moved from Texas, where she was permanently displayed as a National Monument and moved to dry dock under the auspice of ongoing maintenance. If it really was the same battleship, Tom guessed someone had spent that time returning her to a state of battle readiness — although why someone would go to the length of doing so without upgrading and modernizing the weapons systems flummoxed him.
It slowed and pulled up alongside the Antarctic Solace until the towered bridge dwarfed them by thirty feet. A multitude of hand fed machineguns lined its decks. American sailors manned every one of them as though waiting for an imminent attack. Smoke billowed from the three separate towers as the battleship’s screw was thrown into reverse and the ship was brought to a standstill. Navy SEALs, armed with assault weapons, secured the ship, while several sailors tied off alongside the Antarctic Solace.
No one spoke and Tom just grinned as a single woman climbed down a rope ladder and on to the deck of the Antarctic Solace. She looked like she was in her early forties, but Tom knew she was closer to fifty. Wearing a military dress uniform littered with medals, her dark red hair was tied back in a bun without a single strand of hair out of place. She had an angular, almost permanent scowl to her face — yet there was something undefinably exquisite and beautiful about it also.
Tom grinned. “Madam Secretary. I’m surprised to see you here in person.”
A smile opened and replaced her scowl. She was definitely beautiful. “Tom Bower, I babysat you when you were still trying to work out how to walk — I think you can call me Margaret out here.”
“Okay, Ma’am.”
Margaret ignored him and looked up at Veyron. “Hello, Veyron. I hope you’ve got things under control.”
“Trying to, Ma’am.”
Tom stared at the massive battleship. “Can I ask a question, Ma’am?”
“Shoot,” she replied.
“What the hell is the USS Texas doing in the Antarctic?”
She smiled. “It’s here on a hunting expedition.”
“For what?”
“I’ll explain shortly. First, tell me what you have here? Is the Antarctic Solace secure? How many people have you found aboard? And where the hell’s Sam Reilly — he should have been the first to meet me here.”
Tom sighed. “Sam’s in East Antarctica at the moment trying to…”
“I thought I made it clear to him that his only priority was securing the Antarctic Solace until reinforcements arrived?”
“Yes, well…”
Margaret interrupted Tom before he could finish his sentence. “I’ll deal with him later. Tell me what do you know so far? Is anyone else aboard?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Tom replied. “We found twenty people inside — all of them prisoners of some sort. They appear drug affected and no one’s awake yet. Elise is currently inside keeping an eye on them.”
“But are they secure?”
“Definitely. They’re all sedated, actually.”
Margaret’s scowl returned. “How many people do you have guarding them right now?”
“Just Elise — but she can take care of herself. Besides, like I said — we’ve done bloods. They all have high levels of drugs in their systems.”
“Let me guess — with morphine, midazolam and trace amounts of LSD.”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“Because Robert Cassidy experimented with just such a concoction to make people work for him. Opioid based drug addicts are the easiest people of all to control if you own the drugs.”
“Who’s Robert Cassidy?”
She ignored his question. “Do you have a picture of them?”
“Who?” Tom asked.
“The drug affected survivors!”
Tom handed the Secretary of Defense his smartphone with the picture of the twenty drug affected people. “This is all of them. We’ve done blood tests — they’ve all been sedated.”
She turned to face one of the Navy SEALs behind her. “Major — I want your Delta and Echo teams to follow me immediately! We’re about to have a hostage situation included in this royal fucking disaster!”
“What is it?” Tom asked.
“We need to get to them immediately!” Margaret spoke in short, curt words.
“Follow me.” Tom started moving down the length of the ship. “Elise has them secured mid ship in the main dining area. It’s all right, they’re all sedated and Elise is armed.”
“No. It’s not all right. They’re not secure at all. They may all have drugs in their system — but one of them has been using for years and built up a tolerance to the drugs. One of them is conscious and in control of the situation.”
“Who?” Tom asked.
Margaret pointed to the person in the picture at the end of the third row. “This one!”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Elise blinked and the big guy in the recliner chair moved again. It might have been another automatic reflex, or he was starting to wake up — then again, there was always the possibility he’d been awake all along. Either way, Elise wasn’t going to wait to find out. She used her right thumb and flicked the three positioned ARS lever on her open-bolt Uzi two notches to the left, and it changed from safe to automatic mode. She watched as the giant moved both his hands. First they were twitches in his left hand, followed by his right. She wasn’t even certain they were accidental or intentional movements. Each one started to look more like a spasm and the cable ties no longer seemed sufficient as he clenched his fists and tested their resistance.
Elise grinned. So the blood tests were right, this was the person who was responsible. He must have taken a smaller dose in the hope he could pretend to be one of the prisoners and not the captor.
“I know you’re waking up. I suggest you open your eyes and talk to me.”
The fidgeting stopped, but the man said nothing.
“Last chance,” she said. “Open your eyes and talk to me.”
Still nothing.
Elise gently squeezed the trigger with the required four pounds of pressure. A short burst of 9mm Perabellums was released.
Three bullets whipped past the big guys head. He opened his eyes instantly. “What the hell is wrong with you? What have you done to me? I did everything you asked — you said you’d let us go.”
“Good morning,” Elise said. “Decide to take some of the same stuff you were giving to your patients?”
“What?” He looked drowsy but instantly angry. “Who are you? What have you done to me?”
He tightened his grip and the muscles in his forearms bulged. For an instant, she thought he might actually snap the cable ties just by flexing. At a glance she guessed he was six foot four and somewhere in the vicinity of three hundred pounds. Some of his muscles had turned to fat, but there was no doubting the strength beneath it.
She stepped back, just in case he broke free. “My name’s Elise. I’m here to rescue these people. What’s your name?”