Task Force (9 page)

She swore under her breath and began to run toward the dome. There was nothing more she could do, except get on with her own job. Whatever happened at the wharf was up to Chisnall.

She reached the door with seconds to spare, dropped to the ground, and rolled underneath, her silenced pistol ready in her hand as the door slammed shut behind her.

A Bzadian standing behind a control desk glanced at her in confusion.

“What did you shut the door for?” Price asked.

“But …”

“And what are you still doing here?” Price asked, taking a few steps closer to the guard. “You’re supposed to be at the front entrance.”

“No, my orders are to …” He stopped, seeming to sense that something, somehow, was very wrong. He reached for a button on the wall.

A puff of smoke exploded from his chest and his voice gagged in his throat. He slumped forward onto the desk and then slid unconscious to the floor.

Price holstered her pistol and trotted through the vehicle garage. The open garage door had been a stroke of luck. She opened the door to the large tube that led to the central building. It was lit by long strips of fluorescent lights. A door at the far end led into the main dome. She stepped inside.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” the Tsar said. He was on the small deck at the rear of the bridge, watching the island through binoculars. “Two vehicles approaching the wharf.”

The wharf was a long strip that ran out from the end of the island. It was a basic wooden construction, empty except for a speedboat about halfway along—the boat that brought the change of shift to the island. That meant both the previous security detail and the new shift were still on the island. But Chisnall could not wait for them to leave. There simply was no time. He switched his attention to the vehicles, two Land Rovers that were hurrying down the winding road from the top of the island.

“We’re not going to take any chances,” he said. “What’s your status, Wilton?”

“Angel Four in position,” Wilton reported in. He was lying
on the roof of the bridge, in a shadow by the radar mast. His coil-gun might have been loaded with only puffers, but at that range Wilton would be able to put one on the breastbone of any enemy soldier he wanted.

“Tsar, Barnard, keep your weapons out of sight but within easy reach,” Chisnall said. “I’ll play captain and talk to the Pukes when we dock.”

“I’ll talk to them,” the Tsar said. “I kind of have a knack for this stuff. Then if it starts getting hairy, I can say I have to check with my captain.”

Chisnall hesitated. He wasn’t sure he trusted the Tsar. But he also didn’t want the Tsar to know that.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Too easy,” the Tsar said. “I once …”

He launched into a story about a past mission. A perilous trek through the Chukchi Peninsula, evaluating the military buildup there, right under the noses of the Bzadians. Chisnall smiled in all the right places, but he wasn’t really listening. He was watching the Tsar. Evaluating
him
.

He seems confident
—too
confident
, Chisnall thought.

Monster noticed it, too, and caught Chisnall’s eye. Not for the first time, Chisnall wondered about Hokkaido. The details of the mission were sealed. But they were about to find out what the Tsar was really like when bullets started flying.

“Okay, do it,” Chisnall said.

Barnard stood on the rear deck, pretending to inspect some equipment. She seemed calm and collected. If one of them was a traitor, they would have to show their stripes soon.

Chisnall went inside and sat at the controls of the Bushmaster. He used a joystick to position a target indicator on the first Land Rover and locked it in as “Target A.” The second Land Rover became “Target B.” The weapon station would hold those targets even if they moved.

Monster, true to his word, brought the ship close up alongside the jetty. He ran the engines in reverse until the ship came to a complete halt a few yards away.

“A little closer might be better,” Chisnall murmured.

“Not finished yet,” Monster said, and pressed a few buttons on the controls.

A mild humming sound came from somewhere belowdecks and the ship began to drift closer to the wharf.

Chisnall raised an eyebrow.

“Magnetic mooring,” Monster said. The ship came to a halt with a small thud that vibrated through the deck.

“Smooth as baby’s bottom,” Monster said with a grin.

Chisnall nodded. “Okay, what happens when you want to leave?”

“Reverse polarity of magnetic field, and it push you away,” Monster said. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then asked, “How is Price doing?”

“I’ll find out,” Chisnall murmured, and keyed his comm. “Price, how are you doing?” There was no answer. He tried again. “Price?” Still nothing. He said, “Tsar, delay them as long as you can.”

The Tsar, wearing the first mate’s uniform, was still out on
the small top deck, his coil-gun concealed beneath a canvas tarpaulin by his feet.

Ten soldiers were standing on the wharf, while two more manned the heavy machine guns on the Land Rovers. Along with the drivers, that made fourteen. There were sixteen more guards somewhere on the island.

The Tsar saluted the waiting soldiers in the Bzadian way, with a clenched fist to his shoulder. He flashed his award-winning smile. “Thank you for allowing us to land.”

He seemed relaxed but not too much. Just about right for the first mate of a boat that had been through an accidental explosion and was putting in for emergency repairs. His accent was perfect, and he leaned on the side rail like someone who had been around ships all his life.

A sergeant stepped forward and returned the salute. “We heard about the explosion. Everybody okay?”

“Apart from a few concussions and ruptured eardrums, all is good,” the Tsar replied. “We were lucky.”

“Do you require medical assistance?”

“Thank you, but no—our medics have everything under control.”

“Our own medics are here and waiting to assist,” the sergeant said.

“A kind offer, but not necessary, thanks,” the Tsar said, with just the right mixture of charm and condescension.
A natural actor
, Chisnall thought. Completely convincing. That worried him a little.

“Then you will permit me to come on board and have a look around,” the sergeant said.

There was a silence.

“For what reason, Sergeant? We are simply resting here till first light, while we try and repair some of our equipment,” the Tsar said.

“This is a secure area,” the sergeant said. “We cannot allow you to land here without a security inspection.”

“Delay him,” Chisnall whispered on the comm, thinking of the twenty or so Bzadian crew members tied up belowdecks. “Everyone be on your toes. When the brown stuff hits the fan, it’s going to fly everywhere.”

They had to wait for Price. When she took out the power, it would cut communications to the island. They couldn’t take a chance that someone on the island would alert the Coastal Defense Command.

On the deck, the Tsar straightened his back and glared down at the sergeant on the wharf below. “Sergeant, this is a secure ship. We cannot allow you on board without explicit authority. We have highly sensitive information and equipment.”

“I am afraid I must insist, sir,” the sergeant said, making the Bzadian gesture of apology, covering his face with both hands. “Please lower your gangway and allow us to board.”

“On whose authority, Sergeant?” the Tsar asked.

“On the authority of Coastal Defense Command.”

“This is going to go south real fast,” Chisnall murmured into the comm.

“I will have to check with my captain,” the Tsar said. He turned and walked, as slowly as he could without seeming suspicious, to the door that led into the bridge. He opened it and stuck his head inside, winking at Chisnall.

Chisnall followed him out onto the deck.

“What is the problem?” he asked.

“The sergeant would like to inspect us,” the Tsar said, nodding down at the wharf.

Chisnall gripped the handrail with both hands and leaned down. “Good evening, Sergeant.”

“Good evening, sir,” the sergeant said.

“Please repeat that, a little louder if you will,” Chisnall said, tapping an ear with a finger. “I cannot hear too well. Ruptured eardrums.”

“I said good evening, sir,” the sergeant said loudly.

Chisnall nodded. “Please explain your request.”

“We wish to board and inspect your vessel, sir.”

“Would you mind repeating that slowly?” Chisnall said.

“We request to board and inspect your vessel. Sir.”

“Yes, we will be inspecting the vessel for damage at first light,” Chisnall said.

“You misheard me, sir,” the sergeant said. “We wish to inspect your vessel.”

“You wish to inspect it for us?” Chisnall asked. “Why? Are you naval engineers?”

Next to him, the Tsar had to stifle a smile.

The sergeant wasn’t smiling. “Coastal Defense Command has requested a security inspection of this ship.”

“A what inspection?” Chisnall said, aware that he was pushing the difficulty-hearing thing a bit too far.

“A security inspection.”

“Security? Not really necessary, I can assure you, but of course, if those are your orders, we would be happy to oblige.”

“Thank you, sir,” the sergeant said, looking relieved.

Chisnall turned to the Tsar.

“Please organize the gangway for these soldiers.”

“I’m afraid it’s out of action, sir,” the Tsar said.

Chisnall feigned surprise. “Well, get it working.”

“That won’t be necessary, sir,” the sergeant said. “We have a ladder.”

How convenient!
Chisnall thought.

“I can have the gangway working in a couple of minutes,” the Tsar said.

“Thank you, but we will board now, under direct orders from the Coastal Defense Command,” the sergeant said.

“Could you please repeat that?” Chisnall said, floundering for any further way to delay them. The lights on the hill remained resolutely on. Had Price been captured or killed? He had sent her in there alone. Had he sent her to her death?

“No, sir, I can’t,” the sergeant said. “Please instruct your crew not to interfere with our inspection.”

A short folding plastic ladder was brought out from the rear of one of the Land Rovers, unfolded, and placed against the side of the ship.

Chisnall said, “Of course, Sergeant, and welcome aboard.”
Under his breath on the comm he said, “Monster, the magnetic mooring.”

“Way ahead of you,” Monster said.

Two soldiers moved to the ladder. One steadied it while the other began to climb. On the wharf the remainder of the soldiers watched the proceedings. Their weapons were holstered on their backs, but only a click away.

The first soldier arrived at the top of the ladder and reached out for the deck railing.

“Now,” Chisnall said quietly.

There was a loud humming from below him as the magnetic polarity of the mooring device reversed. The ship eased away from the wharf. The ladder slipped, twisted, then toppled into the sea. The soldier managed to get a hand to the railing but lost his grip and fell, arms flailing into the water.

On the wharf the coil-guns of the other soldiers were now in their hands, and most of the barrels seemed to be aimed at Chisnall.

“It was an accident,” Chisnall shouted. “An accident!”

Price strode to the next leg of the turtle, the power plant. An outer passageway ringed the dome, and a series of doors led to rooms in the interior. Some were open, others closed. A few eyes glanced up at her incuriously from within some of the rooms.

She grinned a little inwardly. Here she was, right in the
heart of the enemy, on her own, without backup or support. Yet here she felt the most at home. Relying on no one but herself. Wandering amid the enemy as if she owned the place.

A door appeared on the outer wall of the dome. It opened into another of the plastic walk-tubes.

She closed the door behind her and locked it, sprinting down the short circular corridor to the next door. It slid open with a sound like a loud, deep breath.

A flashing blue light filled the corridor and a siren began to wail. It was so loud that it was painful. It seared her ears and filled her head. Even the air she breathed seemed heavy, full of the sound. Price felt a moment of panic but forced it from her mind and pushed the door shut.

The power plant master switch was clearly marked, as were the controls for the backup power supply. She pressed them both and the siren and the flashing blue light cut off as the complex plunged into darkness.

“Hit them!” Chisnall yelled as the glowing radar antennae on the island blinked into darkness. The lights on the wharf also shut off, and Monster cut the ship’s lights a fraction of a second later.

Chisnall had dived for the door to the bridge. The troops on the wharf, well trained and edgy, had reacted instantly. Bullets crackled through the air where he had been standing.

On the roof, Wilton’s coil-gun boomed, then boomed
again. There was no need for quiet, and he had cranked the speed dial back up to full, for distance and accuracy.

The Tsar and Barnard were spraying puffer rounds at the soldiers below.

The Angels had been prepared for the sudden loss of light. The Bzadians had not. But it didn’t take them long to switch to NV, and then came the staccato thunder of the machine guns from the Land Rovers.

“Get down!” Chisnall yelled, and threw himself to the floor as a series of fist-sized holes stitched a line through the wall by his head. The thin metal plating on the bridge was no match for the fifty-caliber bullets.

On the video screens he saw Barnard and the Tsar lying prone, covering their heads with their hands as the heavy machine gun chewed up the decks around them. A row of bullets splintered the deck right in front of the Tsar’s face and he panicked. The Hero of Hokkaido started to get up, right in the line of fire of the fifty-cal. Chisnall knew he was dead. But Barnard’s hand reached up and grabbed him by the chinstrap of his helmet, thudding his face back down onto the deck. Alive, for the moment—but not for long, the way the fifty-cal was chewing up the side of the ship.