Chapter 57
Aboard the Baktun
Amador Fierro piloted the large seaplane onto a splashy landing in the choppy Pacific some hundred yards away from the Baktun.
It was a skillful maneuver even for an experienced pilot, and though Fierro was an excellent aviator he hadn’t put much time in behind the yoke of his most recently purchased airplane.
A low, heavy cloud layer hung above the ship like a lingering umbrella of cabin smoke in a cold mountain valley.
Fierro feathered the four Rolls-Royce turboprops to a standstill before pulling off his headset and turning the controls over to the plane’s regular pilot, who immediately began his preflight checklist. The plane was still well within its certified range of twenty-nine hundred miles and the fuel tanks were just over half full.
A refueling from the Baktun was possible, but neither desirable nor necessary in the suboptimal conditions.
An inflatable from the Baktun pulled alongside the fuselage cargo door just as Fierro’s supersized bodyguard yanked it open.
The two men leaped into the bobbing boat and the helmsman rocketed away.
Moments later, the inflatable pulled up next to the pilot’s boarding door near the waterline.
Despite his sleepless exhaustion, Fierro grabbed the interior handles and easily pulled himself up, brushing away the assistance offered by the two burly crewmen nearby. His gunman followed suit.
“Welcome aboard, sir,” the Brazilian first officer said. “I hope the boat ride wasn’t too unpleasant.”
“Where’s Stokes?”
“The captain is waiting for you in the CIC.”
Fierro grunted his disapproval. It wasn’t as if Fierro were a mere passenger. Did Stokes forget who owned this boat?
“Take me to him.”
“Yes, sir. Follow me.”
The Brazilian led Fierro and his bodyguard to an armored compartment located one deck below the amidships superstructure.
Stokes and Bose were inside amid the glowing LCD monitors and flashing electronics.
The techs in the darkly chilled room were all former military, but no one shouted, Attention on deck!
or snapped to attention when Fierro, a civilian, entered.
They all turned around to catch a glimpse of the man with the inexhaustible bankroll who paid their lavish salaries.
The few women in the room were instantly attracted to his smoldering good looks. The men envied his wealth and power.
“You can all return to your duties,” Fierro said. The techs turned back around to their monitors, keyboards, and joysticks.
Stokes flashed a pleasant smile and extended his hand, noting the drug lord’s grim and tired face. He avoided the soul-snatching stare of Fierro’s muscular goon, scanning the room for threats against his patrón.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Fierro. I’m glad you made it safely.”
Fierro ignored the handshake. “I almost flew past you beneath that cloud cover. Why didn’t you answer my radio call?”
“As I informed you before, we’re on complete radio and electromagnetic silence.”
Fierro pointed at the techs and their stations. “Then what are they doing?”
“Passive sensors only. Optical and electromagnetic invisibility is our best protection. Nobody can shoot at us if they can’t find us.”
“And the artificial cloud cover?”
“We’ve been dispersing micron-size metallic nanoparticles to obscure high-altitude satellite imagery, along with a thermal-blocking silica-based aerogel mist that disrupts infrared sensors.”
Fierro gave a begrudging nod to the ingenuity.
“Lucky for you I’m an excellent pilot. Otherwise, you might have missed your next paycheck.”
“You pay me to keep the Baktun safe, Mr. Fierro, not run a taxi service.”
“How was your flight, Mr. Fierro? Uneventful, I trust?” Bose asked as she approached. She smiled pleasantly, trying to smooth the turbulent waters threatening to overwhelm the two alpha males.
“It was a very long and very loud helicopter ride from Colombia to Nicaragua with a refueling stop in Panama,” Fierro said. “And an equally long flight from Nicaragua to here.”
“You mentioned in your radio message that you had been attacked?”
“By the Americans, I’m sure of it.”
“How did they find you?” Stokes asked.
“A leak in Colombian intelligence most likely.”
“Terrible,” Bose offered.
“And how can you be sure they don’t know you’re here?” Stokes asked.
“I took precautions, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Fierro said.
Stokes frowned. “You may have put us all in the crosshairs.”
“That’s also what I pay you for.” Fierro turned to Bose. “Where are we on the AGI launch? Still on time?”
Bose turned to a newly installed digital countdown clock.
“Forty-seven hours and twenty-one minutes from now, we will change history.”
“And if I recall, that means we can’t fire up the engines for forty-seven hours and…twenty-two minutes. Is that correct?”
Bose nodded. “Correct.”
“Unless the Americans show up,” Stokes said. “We may need to evade or maneuver.”
“Do that and you’ll destroy the AGI,” Bose protested.
“We won’t move a millimeter until Project Q has launched,” Fierro said. “Our lives depend on it.”
“Sir?” Bose asked.
“My La Liga colleagues will murder us most cruelly if we fail this mission. I’ve spent billions of La Liga dollars to make this happen.” He turned to Stokes. “That’s why we won’t engage the engines until the AGI comes online.”
“If we’re sunk, the AGI will never come online.”
“If we’re sunk, then it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“It matters to me,” Bose said.
“Then make sure it launches on time.” Fierro pointed at the clock.
“And not one second longer.” He turned back to Stokes.
“Once that clock hits zero, the engines are all yours. But if Project Q fails to launch, you better find us a place where La Liga can never find us—and on this side of hell, I don’t know where that is. ”
“It will be online and on time,” Bose said. “You have my word.”
“If La Liga isn’t bad enough, the Americans are hunting me now as well. With AGI online, we’ll seize the American energy grid, and drive them to their knees.”
Stokes nodded. “Pride cometh before a fall, and the damned Yanks are long due for one.”
“And did I mention that both of you will receive five percent of Project Q profits once it launches?”
Stokes and Bose exchanged a surprised glance.
Fierro smiled for the first time. “You’ll both be richer than gods.” He glanced down at his flight suit and sniffed the air. “I need a shower. I’m heading to my stateroom. Is it ready?”
“It hasn’t been touched since you were here last,” Stokes said. “Silk sheets and sweet-smelling soaps fit for a king, I’m told.”
“I’ll be back in an hour. Have coffee sent to my suite. Food, too. And contact me immediately if anything changes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fierro turned on his heel and sped out of the compartment. His gunman scanned the room one more time, then laid his eyes on Stokes. The old English war fighter didn’t flinch, but he breathed a sigh of relief when the killer left the room.
Stokes waited a few moments, then motioned to Bose. “Come with me.”
★
Stokes shut the door to his spartan cabin and motioned Bose into a chair. His cramped little room was only slightly larger than the Indian doctor’s own quarters.
“Five percent, and richer than gods? That’s a bit of a twist, isn’t it?” Stokes asked.
“A ridiculous attempt to cement our loyalties. He must be concerned.”
“He should be. He’s obviously losing control, and the forces around him are closing in.”
“That makes him especially dangerous.”
“Indeed, it does. To you and me most of all. He’ll blame us for his own incompetence.”
“His thug terrifies me. What happened to his man Vargas?”
“No idea.”
“What are your thoughts on our situation?”
“I think that Colombian idiot will lead the Americans to us. Unfortunately, we’re blind and deaf out here on electromagnetic silence.”
“Can’t you turn on the radar for just a brief moment to catch a glimpse of things? Get an early warning? And then shut it down?”
“I could, but even a momentary burst of energy can be detected and triangulated. It’s not worth the risk for what little information we may or may not get. Though truthfully, there’s nothing I relish more than a chance to sink the Agua Linda.”
“Don’t let your vanity endanger the project.”
Stokes laid a hand on her shoulder. They had become intimate in the last few days, surrendering themselves to their smoldering desires. If any of the crew suspected the mating of the two lonely scorpions, they wisely hid their views.
“Of course not. I know how important Project Q is to you.”
“And to the world.”
“Once you bring the AGI online, Fierro will become the most powerful man in the world.”
“Then we need to stay in his good graces.”
Stokes nodded thoughtfully. “In his good graces, most assuredly. But we must also survive.”
“We’re all counting on you, my sweet. You are our chosen warrior.”
“A warrior with one arm tied behind his back, and his best shield left hanging on the wall.”
“You will find a way to prevail against the Americans—or anyone else who threatens us.”
“Threats come in many forms.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Sometimes fate makes the wrong man king.”
Bose smiled. “I’ve thought the same thing myself. It occurs to me that at this moment, Fierro needs us more than we need him.”
“I promise to do everything in my power to see this thing through.”
“I know you will.”
They both turned their heads toward the sound of the seaplane’s big turboprops suddenly roaring to life beyond the ship’s hull as it raced along the surface of the sea for takeoff. Fierro’s copilot had strict orders to keep his GPS beacon turned off until he reached the coast of Nicaragua.
Stokes straightened his posture, reasserting his military bearing.
“I need to get back to the CIC. I can’t have Fierro mucking about unattended.”