Karyn Kane: Conspiracy of Fire Part 8

17.

The Pacific First Officer Frank Buchanan sat under the halide lights on the rear deck of the Nautilus, with the gearbox from the winch motor in a hundred pieces or more. The way he figured it, the steel hawser that had sheared off when they pulled the last buoy aboard had either cut through the gearing, or damaged the pull through bearings, causing a catastrophic stoppage. Trouble was, now he had the d.a.m.n thing in pieces, it was none to clear how exactly the misalignment in the winch motor had happened. Sure, he could always fit the d.a.m.n thing together again and trust the outcome to dumb luck-but that would never do-he had to figure this thing out, because if the winch fritzed out whilst they were towing one of those garbage can DART buoys aboard alvares. Would get his pants in a bunch and start mouthing off, like he was Captain Bligh or something.

Buchanan angled the Robusto stub in the corner of his mouth and felt the rea.s.suring bitterness of the soft Cuban tobacco flow over his gums. Two weeks, three days, and fourteen hours since he had had a drink, and he was starting to feel the burn. Usually he would be in the clear now, his system flowing free of the poison. But that d.a.m.n Kellerman chick had been eating into him, with her constant bulls.h.i.+t-Always on his case, always mouthing off, always running to the captain with her squealing little complaints, d.a.m.n her-like she was trying to prove she was better than everyone else or something. Why couldn't she just knuckle down and play her part like every other crewman? Buchanan laughed quietly to himself. The Kellerman chick had something to prove-had to make like she was better than everyone else so she could feel she was equal-some kind of messed up feminist logic no doubt. The whole thing was just too crazy to even contemplate-what sort of chick would want to be cooped up for months at a time with a bunch of sea going misfits anyway? The boat was like a floating psych ward for Christ's sake-everyone aboard from the Captain down had their issues. What kind of prima donna would actually chose to work in a nut house like this? It just didn't make sense. It was like the girl was just trying to make trouble for herself, so she could prove some crazy a.s.sed point.

Buchanan felt his flesh crawl, felt the aches and the nausea building. The fear was coming- harder than before, much harder. He wiped off his oil-slick hands on his singlet, feeling the tremors run through him. He paused, not wanting to touch the gearing until the shaking pa.s.sed. All this was down to Kellerman. The woman was a G.o.dd.a.m.n Albatross. Buchanan thought of the bottle of bourbon he had stashed for emergencies in the engineering room storage locker. The dry antic.i.p.ation of possibility ran through him, his pulse building speed until he could hardly bare it. No way he could risk it. Not until the d.a.m.n winch was fixed. The Kellerman chick had a nose on her, like she was a one-woman temperance movement or something. He had seen her twitching about like she was trying to snout out the smell of hard liquor, a regular little sheriff's bloodhound that girl, ever eager to go running to the captain and blab her findings.

Running his tongue across his dry, sea- chapped lips, Buchanan drew a breath and looked down at the mess of gears. He could handle this, handle it like he had done a thousand times before, bolt this baby together and have her spinning cable like she had just sailed out the factory.

On the bridge of the Nautilus ENS Mooney stared with fascination at the Automatic Identification System as the course of the North Korean trawler Wonsungi changed once again, like it was following them. "I cannot raise them Captain," said Mooney, "Perhaps their systems are down, a navigation failure or something. You know what those san-pan sailors are like."

"Correct terms at all times please Mooney." "Sorry sir I mean I just meant to say..." "I know what you meant to say sailor. As long as we are flying the flag of the Federal phony navy, and I am running the helm, you will keep your salty-seadog expressions in check are we clear?"

"Aye-aye sir."

"Good. Now alter course by two degrees and keep trying to reach our Korean friends would you?"

Science Officer Kellerman looked up from the radar screen. "We make a two point alteration it will throw our schedule off by hours. I don't know how much longer we will be able to sustain a signal on the missing buoy. If we add a couple of hours to the schedule the signal could go black before we are in recovery range."

Captain alvares. Nodded. "I realize that Science Officer Kellerman, but I am sure you will understand that if we maintain our current course, we will converge with the Wonsungi in slightly less than four hours, so with your permission, it would perhaps be for the best to adjust our course-if we want to avoid having 800 tonnes of rusting North Korean sea junk impacting our starboard beam, right about breakfast time."

"If we give it two, maybe three hours longer at full speed, we can move into a new sector by dawn, avoid them altogether and still maintain our

course.

"No doubt we could Kellerman, but there are mission parameters to consider. If we were to do as you suggest, the increased fuel burn would force us to cut short our mission. And one thing you will grow to understand about me Science Officer- after you have sailed with me for rather longer than you have to date-is that mission objectives take precedence over everything. You might also know that our new heading will see the prevailing conditions run in our favor-by my calculations we will run down that buoy of yours ahead of time, which is why incidentally I run this G.o.dd.a.m.n s.h.i.+p and you will reserve your expert opinions to matters regarding the technological aspects of our mission. Are we clear?"

"Aye-aye Captain."

"Splendid."

As the Nautilus began to change course, the power of the ocean caught hold of the s.h.i.+ps great hull, pitching it violently up then sucking it inexorably downwards into the horrible swirling darkness. Looking out over the ocean, alvares noted that he could no longer see the rea.s.suring sparkle of the distant s.h.i.+pping lanes. All was blackness. Nothing but the undulating night and the hiss of the ocean swell to remind them how very far they were from home. The night took hold of the s.h.i.+p now and with each slow pa.s.sing minute the Nautilus sailed ever farther into the enveloping darkness. It was then that the call came, an automatic signal on the international distress frequency-An SOS.

Somewhere, out there in the endless Pacific night, a dire and unprecedented emergency was taking place.

18.

Oahu, Hawaii Lush, verdant and manicured beyond perfection, The Fountainhead Club was an Eden perched on the very edge of the world. A country club retreat for the super rich, set against an endless panorama of slow rising ocean breakers that reached deep into the night. As Karyn drove the snaking, palm-lined driveway, leading to the clubhouse, a history of Art Deco glamour rose up to greet her. The place was a regular three-reel movie, old Hollywood in a nouveau setting. And yet, as the dark silhouettes of the jungle foliage reached out towards her, there was something more than a latent glamour to the place, something standoffish and unsettling, looming over the island like an ancient affliction.

As she pulled in, under the porte-cochere, an army of valet parkers and white-coated facilitators fussed and scurried, amongst a logjam of high-end automobiles. The Island's glitterati it seemed were out in force. Mixing in with this fevered scene, a posse of photojournalists and TV news people were jostling for position as the famous, the fabulous, and the supremely rich, made a red-carpet entrance to the sw.a.n.kiest social occasion the island had seen in years.

Karyn pulled up short of the press pack. She skirted the monkey suited security crew and made a side door entrance, past a sign marked staff only. She moved fast, with an a.s.surance that said she belonged. In the bustling back corridor, her pa.s.sage drew looks, but no comment and seconds later she was mixing anonymously with hundreds of guests. As the guests moved through the lobby, waiters moved amongst the crowd, offering champagne and canapes. Karen eschewed all offers of food and drink, moving instead to familiarize herself with the floor plan of the building. She began by checking off every pinch-point and exit, every window and backroom door-logging every mundane detail for future reference. There was a security team in attendance, but they were amateur hour sloppy, reject night guards and overweight former cops in the main, the team had a few ringers too, buzz cut bozos straining out of their monkey suit costumes, but these guys had no cause to be worried, they were working an up market home game crowd, what could go wrong at an event like this?

Walking through the lobby, Karyn saw the grand ballroom for the first time. The place was sw.a.n.ky in an old fas.h.i.+oned way, lit by a glittering starscape of chandeliers. Karyn scoped the room. She recognized many of the faces-politicians, celebrities, wealthy industrialists, and financial people. There were others too, aged and vampiric, their faces sucked dry of expression by cruelty of years and the deftness of the surgeon's hand. Karyn skirted the room, soaking in every nuanced detail- a forest of banqueting tables set for a sumptuous feast, glittering with china and gla.s.s. Guests were already thronging to their seats, but Karyn hung back and watched. The scene reminded her of a gala awards night, where glittering trophies are handed to stars of the stage and screen, for their contribution to the world of celebrity consciousness. But this was no awards evening.

The atmosphere was more in line with that of an east coast political fundraiser, with the hard, raw taste of ambition and money cutting the air like electricity. As the guests took their places, Karyn patrolled the periphery, moving to the left of a curved stage, that was hung with heavy golden drapery and adorned by a mysterious Chinese symbol that was underscored with the words, Tao-Power & Freedom. Casting her mind back, Karyn remembered seeing the symbol on the side of the giant golden office building on Highway One, the place the environmental demonstrators had been picketing. This logo was the sign of the Tao Corporation, erstwhile employer of Brad Verner the geostatistical pain in the a.s.s who thought that the world was about to end. It was all too crazy to contemplate. Why would a billionaire moneyman, who could produce limitless free energy want to destroy the planet? It just didn't make sense.

As Karyn pondered the implications of Brad Verner's words of warning, and their connections to this grand event, the lights turned lower, and a pulsing beat began, getting louder and louder until it reached a crescendo that filled the room. Suddenly, the stage came alive with golden light, and a slickly attired figure moved centre stage. The figure paused, adjusted his bow tie and raised a hand to acknowledge the wave of spontaneous applause now sweeping through the room. The man beamed and bowed and brushed off the wave of applause, with the practiced air of a career politician. He looked vaguely familiar to Karyn- oiled hair, Florida tan and a phony grin spread a foot wide across his face. This guy was DC major- league, no doubt about it, playing warm up man for the bottom of the bill intro act. Karyn sniffed, there was some kind of scenario going down on this sunny little Island, but just who exactly was making the plays?

Looking around the room, as the warm up man ran through his routine, Karyn soaked in row upon row of ghastly golden faces, s.h.i.+ning towards the stage-how many of these very same faces had known Senator Tex Johnston? How many had known Governor Geryon? The applause was building again, rising on a wave of throaty approval. The pulsing music began to build once again-only this time the frail figure walking out onto the stage was very familiar.

Calista Johnston.

Karyn drew breath, her brow furrowing, as the tumbling puzzle-pieces locked into place. Calista Johnston had a connection to the Deng Tao Corporation. With all her talk about business and politics, the crazy old broad probably had a seat on the board of directors-Karyn turned implications over in her mind. All at once, the applause died back and Calista Johnston began speaking.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for your kind approval, and thank you for attending tonight's most auspicious gathering. Calista Johnston paused, took a sweeping look around the packed room and raised a frail hand in benediction. Her head dipped low, as though she were about to sob with emotion-finally, after she gathered her thoughts with a series of deep gasping breaths, she said quietly, "Difficult though it has been for me to appear before you this evening, in this time of great personal grief, I would like to thank you for your loyal and dedicated support."

A ripple of applause ran through the room.

Calista Johnston nodded graciously. "Thank you friends. As you know, my n.o.ble and loving husband cannot be with us this evening-cut down in his prime by the dark forces of enslavement and oppression. The very same powers of darkness, who struck down our proud governor, in one cruel and outrageous stroke." Calista Johnston bowed her head, and held a courageous arm to her breast, as though her heart was about to break.

Again the applause, more rousing this time, mixed with spontaneous calls of support. Karyn couldn't believe what she was hearing-just who exactly was this woman trying to pin her husband's death on?

Calista Johnston sucked up the applause with fragile dignity. "We have struggled too long under the yolk of Government, with tyranny masquerading as freedom." The applause came in rolling waves now.

"The time has now come, to free ourselves from the old and oppressive order, to stand tall and proud, and move to a future of unlimited power and freedom."

A standing ovation now, all over the room, everywhere clapping hands raised up, in an outpouring of spontaneous emotion.

Karyn sank back into the shadows, at the edge of the room, as whoops and whistles rose up.

It was as though the audience were preparing to storm the stage and raise this brave, martyred heroine up on their shoulders and carry her through the streets, so she might carry her sacred message to all of mankind.

As the building euphoria filled the room Karyn realized that she was dealing with more than Calista Johnston and her disingenuous interpretation of her husbands death. The woman was holding cards for sure, but her fan base of big money politico's told of a whole different game, whose players held position and influence at the very highest level. Could it be that this frail, chain- smoking socialite had organized the death of her own husband, so that she could turn him into a political martyr and inherit his billion-dollar business empire, to use for her own twisted ends?

If that was the case, where did Ted Congo and his cadre of corrupt Federales fit in to the picture?

Could it be that Johnston had them on the payroll?

If so, where did the dead governor fit into this deck of dirty cards?

The only thing Karyn could figure for sure was the nature of the evenings headline act. Calista Johnston wasn't pulling her best Magda Goebbels act for no good reason. She was playing warm up for the main event, the big money man of the hour... Karyn edged closer to the stage, so she might get a better view, as she did so, she had a sudden sensation of unease, as though the icy hand of fate had thrown down a fist-full of face cards. She took a glance to the left, keeping her movements as casual as possible, and there, amongst the enraptured golden faces, stood Ted Congo of the FBI, looking like a 300lb gorilla poured into a $200 dinner jacket. Congo was scowling, his sweat- covered face glistening cold silver, as once again the pounding beat filled the ballroom. He had seen her, recognized her, and now, as the stage lights flashed in time to the thrumming beat, he came lumbering her way. As he came, Congo raged into his headset mic' and signaled furiously with a giant paw, to other members of the sumo-sized security crew. The local muscle locked in and headed her way. Karyn cracked her knuckles. Bench press boys were always blunt instrument bad when it came to bar fights. But Congo was a real piece of work- roid-rage stupid, with a vengeful streak painted wide across his ugly looking face. Chances were she would have to hurt him bad, see how a spell in the emergency room affected his manners.

Karyn melted back into the crown, moving ever closer to the stage, as the capacity crowd pressed forward to see the man they had all paid so much to see, billionaire business leader, innovator and Humanistian leader, Deng Tao, head of the sprawling and omnipotent organization known as the Tao Corporation.

19.

The Pacific Buchanan sat in the very back of the engineering room storage locker. It was more cramped than a bunkhouse in a Nimitz cla.s.s aircraft carrier, but Buchanan liked the oppressive and claustrophobic air. The storage locker was womb-like, comforting, a tight little world that provided an antidote to the endless Pacific Ocean. No one could touch him here, no one. Everyone knew this was this private domain, from Captain alvares on down to the lowliest rating.

Wiping off his hands now on an oily rag, Buchanan felt real good. He had fixed the winch motor to a place it would be good for another thousand hours or more. He snorked phlegm, adjusted his cigar to the other side of his mouth, and turned over the cool amber bottle in his filthy machine shop fingers. The bourbon sure looked good, swimming around the bottle like that, with those spirit level air bubbles popping through the booze. h.e.l.l, it probably tasted good too, hotter than a Habanero chile dinner, sweeter than a honey skinned lap dancer from South Beach Miami, by way of San Jose de las Lajas, Cuba. No man could avoid that kind of temptation, not even those twelve-stepping proselytizers Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob, and their holy-rolling church friends included. Looking down at that s.h.i.+mmering golden liquid, it was almost like it could talk-not talk for real of course, more a whisper, insistent and endlessly persuasive. It almost didn't matter what you said to counter the arguments, the booze had an answer for everything.

Buchanan lifted his booted feet and jammed them into one of the storage racks. He had to be going crazy or something, hiding out with his sour- mashed stow away friend, rather than scarfing down a galley dinner and fleecing the ratings at Texas hold 'em. But Kellerman would be up there, giving her unsolicited opinions on just about anything you could name. He turned the bottle of bourbon over in his hands, feeling the cool rea.s.suring gla.s.s, like silk beneath his fingers. He put the bottle to his ear and tilted his head listening for the gurgle as the hot whiskey displaced the scented air inside. Buchanan breathed deep, imagining the perfumed aroma floating over him. It wasn't right that he was down here, forced to live a troll like existence and for why-because some smart-mouthed woman had laid claim to his former domain? Buchanan caressed the cap of the bottle, imagining the satisfying crunch of metal as the seal broke and the black metal cap screwed slowly off. He licked his broken lips, imagining the first pa.s.s of whiskey, as it rolled over his tongue, full of glorious napalm energy. He sniffed, examining the label for the thousandth time as he imagined the whiskey burning inside him, filling his mind with a glorious and overwhelming sense of comfort. He screwed his eyes tight, as an inner voice taunted him, hiding, hiding, hiding from the whole G.o.dd.a.m.n world. Was he going to puss out on the promise he had made to himself? His resolution to stay clean and sober for the whole voyage? Was he going to let some Ivy League skirt have him running scared on his own s.h.i.+p? Buchanan sniffed, trying in vain to rationalize the overwhelming internal conflict. Resentment that is what it was. He resented the Kellerman woman, because her very presence had forced him to come to terms with the fact he could no longer hide in a floating cubbyhole. He had to take big steps, move out into the world, face the painful necessity of relations.h.i.+ps and the tortuous consequences of the horrible booze-addled choices he had been making in these long years of solitude.

Buchanan wrapped the bottle of bourbon up in the oily rag he had used to clean off his hands. He tucked the bottle up, lovingly as though it were a child he was preparing for bed. He opened one of the lower draws at the very back of the locker, the one where he kept all the myriad pieces of machine junk that no one aboard would ever want or need. He rifled through a bed of sprockets and cogs and bolts and washers and laid the boozy stow away inside. As he did so, he caught sight of the gun, his old Colt 1911 service piece. You never knew when you would need a gun. You had yourself a .45 caliber friend like that, you had the answers to just about any questions a man was willing to ask and a few he wasn't besides. Buchanan smiled to himself and headed upstairs to the chow hall.

20.

Oahu, Hawaii Inside the Fountainhead Club the hypnotic beat grew louder, building in volume until it seemed that the whole room was pulsing in time to the power of the Deng Tao mind set. The capacity crowd inside the Deco ballroom waited expectantly, a thousand faces all turned with glowing expectation towards the s.h.i.+mmering golden stage where Deng Tao would soon appear to dispense word of his grand philosophy.

Karyn stood transfixed, at the side of the stage, absorbing every carefully stage-managed second of the messianic build-up. Special Agent Ted Congo of the FBI, was only yards away now, suddenly aware that he was up front of a captive audience, he pulled up slowly, reluctantly, and made as though he too was looking towards the stage, antic.i.p.ating the appearance of the great G.o.d of new money. Karyn turned her head-shot Congo a smile and a gentle nod. He didn't look happy about that, far from it. In fact, his face was bulging with latent rage. It was clear that he wanted to a.s.suage his hatred the only way he knew how- through bone crunching conflict. And yet, he was prevented from meeting this urge, by the presence of every crooked officials most hated enemy- witnesses, and lots of them. It didn't stop him from marshalling his troops however, and as Karyn stood before the stage, she peripheralized the stomp-squad lumbering into position, presumably so they could make a move the next time the lights went down.

But the lights in the room burned ever brighter, glowing silver and gold for Deng Tao, the billion-dollar G.o.d of the new money economy. Karyn struggled to picture his face, her mind flipping back to newsstand copies of Time magazine and late-night cable news shows. As her mind turned over the puzzle, she came up with the face of a slick, nondescript Asian guy, possibly Chinese or Korean, who looked more "Wall Street" than the New York Stock Exchange. But as the pumping music subsided, and a diminutive figure walked out onto the golden stage, Karyn was surprised.

This was Deng Tao?

How could it be so?

For a start, he was dressed in smart casual khakis and a b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt, in a washed out prison blue, like he didn't give a d.a.m.n about social convention, or the thousand plus paying guests decked out in full-blown black-tie eveningwear. Not only that, he was wearing boating loafers-without socks, and he had a pastel colored designer golfing sweater thrown across his shoulders, like he had just walked off the 18th fairway and didn't give a d.a.m.n who knew about it. But more surprising than all of this, was Deng Tao's face-he was young- much younger than Karyn had pictured-early twenties at the most and short with it. The guy looked like an overgrown college kid, fresh of Harvard or some other Ivy League den of haut monde elitism.

A thunderous ovation sounded out. Everyone on their feet now, applauding the triumphant arrival of Deng Tao. As the rapturous applause continued, Karyn looked beyond the circle of security guards, pressing in around her, and marveled at the pa.s.sion and enthusiasm of this welcome. It was as though this young and diminutive figure was going to enn.o.ble each member of the audience individually, with gifts of unlimited wealth and power. The wild enthusiasm spread, until it seemed that the whole world was rising up. Deng Tao moved center stage, gave a smile and an almost humble nod to acknowledge the rapturous greeting, then he raised his hands in silent benediction; that he might launch into his speech.

As the applause finally subsided, Deng Tao, spoke for the first time, "Friends, I thank you for coming this evening,"-wow, even his voice was quiet and una.s.suming thought Karyn and he had an accent, although very slight, that betrayed an impediment of speech, like he was straining to lisp, but couldn't quite make it-either through a gargantuan level of self control-or more likely, a long a.s.sociation with the best speech therapists and language experts that money, could buy. Jeez, this guy was something. Not only did he look like a Silicon Valley super nerd, he sounded like one too.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for a new business model."

Whoops and cheers-a burst of excited applause. Karyn rolled her eyes. Deng Tao tilted his head, raised his hands slightly, as though he were trying to hold back a surge of uncontrolled ecstasy.

"For too long, world government has enslaved us, held us back in a cycle of depravation-held us prisoner to their demands- strip-mined our precious resources-"

Karyn looked up at the stage, through narrow eyes. It was hard to tell where this cut-off little kook was going with this slice of all encompa.s.sing wisdom, but dollars to donuts there would be some kind of cash-pledge pay off at the end of this little soliloquy.

Deng Tao paused, gave a blissful smile, as though he were party to a great secret that would change the world forever. "Those of you are here this evening, are believers, investors and facilitators of the new future, and I am here to tell you that you are all at the very forefront of the monumental and historic changes we are about to witness in world events."

Karyn frowned. She never much cared for politicians of any description; their snake-oil promises and self-serving policies always fell short of changing anything, anywhere. It seemed like the world turned around, no matter what the folks in government did. And here was a private sector politico, promising the very same things others had been promising since the dawn of organized government. Such promises just didn't make sense. This Deng Tao guy was obviously a dead-beat huckster, making ready to work a long-con on his adoring public.

"The Tao Corporation is world leader in cutting edge technologies-computing, aeros.p.a.ce, automotive. We are also experts in mining and advanced logistical solutions. Our biotechnology division has of course been responsible for many of the latest innovations and patents in the fields of medical research and food-based innovation. But, it is our world changing discoveries, in the field of power generation that I would like to focus on this evening, because thanks to the Tao Corporation, we are about to herald in a new era of unlimited free power."

Once again, the audience were on their feet, cheering on their messiah with almost boundless enthusiasm.

Karyn folded her arms and sucked back her skepticism. Free power? What kind of planet was this guy from? He had to be nuts if he thought that the big-money boys behind oil, gas and nuclear were just going to step aside and take a hit from eco-weenie energy. There was just no way that little scenario was going to come to pa.s.s-unless...

Karyn became suddenly aware of a slim figure, pulling close along side her.

Calista Johnston looked at her, with hollow- eyed intensity, devoid of her all encompa.s.sing sungla.s.ses, her face looked almost skeletal. "Impressive isn't he? I am glad you could come my dear, I was hoping that you would find time in your schedule, so that you might bear witness to the cause."

"And what cause is that exactly?"

Calista Johnston smiled, but it was a smile without humor. "The need for a new and more human future, of course. Something very many of us-the people who matter-subscribe to all ready." A thin boney arm coiled around Karyn's waist, "Come with me my dear. We can watch from an altogether more comfortable vantage point, and afterwards, when the speech is over, I will introduce you to Mr. Tao."

"And if I choose not to?"

Calista Johnston laughed, there was humor there now, but it was cruel ironic humor, that drew back the covers on a deeply and unpleasant subtext. "Don't be silly my dear. Everybody wants to meet Mr. Tao. And besides, you have no choice in the matter."

Karyn raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Tao insists that he meet you my dear, a most uncommon privilege."

"I am flattered."

The dark skeletal eyes stared into her, for a long moment, then Calista Johnston said, "You should be flattered my dear," the thin arm wrapped tighter around Karyn's waist. "Come this way." Calista Johnston's voice was hard and final, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

As they walked, Congo and his monkey- suited goons closed about them-so close now you could smell the 'roid-rage oozing, out of every muscle-bound pore.