Land of the Blind (Chapter 15)

Land of the Blind

Chapter 15

“Are you sure about this, Steve?” Mavromichalis asked as she chewed nervously on the nib of an electronic pen.

“It's a little premature at this point, but I have found indications that Chiang has a lot of pans in the fire,” the holographic image of CID agent Steve Nguyen replied, his face a mask of deep concern.  “So far, I've found that meetings of most of South America's criminal cartels with Chiagas have always coincided with a visit from Peter Donat.  Donat, as you've told me, is also point man in Panama, with the PDF and we both know something's rotten with them, as far as that mess with Fox.”

Mavromichalis realized she was damaging an expensive piece of equipment with the pen and tossed it aside.  She chewed on her lip instead as she contemplated the information she'd just received.  So far, it seemed as if Chiang was trying to use underworld connections to pull off a continent-wide coup in South America.  She couldn't imagine that going over well with all the democracies down there.  Especially not countries that held long-simmering hatred for Yankee interference dating back to the 19th century.

“What’s the next step then?” she asked.  “I know I’ve put you in a precarious position.  Don’t get yourself in trouble with this.”

“It’s okay, Nia,” Steve replied, with a shrug.  “The CID would need to know this anyway.  The next step is to take a fact-finding team down to Managua.  There’s a Federation monitoring station that I can use to get some leads.  And I’ll need some more before I can take it to my bosses for a wider investigation.”

Mavromichalis desperately wanted to say no to the idea.  She knew Chiang was sending Praetorians to Nicaragua.  She also knew there was no guarantee that sending Anna and her people in as backup would be able to protect him if Chiang, Paulius or Donat got wind of his real mission.  Yet, she couldn’t keep her lover from doing his job, even if it meant confronting Chiang.

“Take care of yourself, Steve,” she said, with some lament.  “And get back here as fast as you can.”

“I will, Love,” he replied, with a wink of his eye.  “I will.”

She watched the hologram disappear and only then did she take a deep breath and a heavy sigh.  She was still worried about him.  She knew the things Chiang was capable of and the fact that she knew of no times that he had done anything to high-ranking Federation personnel did nothing to relieve her misery.  Just because she was not aware of any nefarious things didn't mean that Chiang hadn't done them. 

“Command center, has Colonel Velasquez taken off yet for Nicaragua?” she asked after keying her implant.

“Not yet, Colonel,” the duty officer’s voice replied through the AI.  “Mister Wojonowski reports that they have just finished loading and are preparing to take off.  However, there is a violent thunderstorm system moving right into the flight path.  Wojonowski wants to delay lift-off until after it passes.  That would mean a three-hour delay.  Shall I have him keep the takeoff on time, ma’am?”

“No, better safe than sorry, Captain,” Mavromichalis replied before cutting the connection.

As far as she knew, a T-180 jet transport could handle almost any sort of weather, though that was mostly while in flight.  Landing and taking off during bad weather could still be tricky with wind shear and microbursts, even with modern technology.  She just resigned herself to having to wait for good news from Nguyen.

#

Paulius took a deep breath, held it and then exhaled, enjoying the feel the salt air.  He’d been in Cape Town, South Africa for the past few days, mostly in one of the most secure buildings in the world.  Today, however, he was on the beach, watching a fantastic sight about a mile offshore.

“A most dramatic battle, wouldn’t you say, my dear Major,” Onyedele Adewale commented as he walked up. 

Paulius nodded in agreement.  He continued to watch the huge spouts of water rising out of the ocean as a massive sperm whale fought for its very life.  The giant squid that had wrapped its tentacles around the sea mammal was determined to drag it down and drown it.

“How long do these battles last?” he asked his African contact.

“Nobody knows,” Adewale replied, with a shrug.  “Such battles this close to shore are extremely rare.  I’ve only heard of three such fights and nobody won.  The whale usually drowns, but the squid’s head almost always ends up in the whale’s stomach.  Come, sir, the others are waiting to sign the agreement.”

Paulius sighed and looked back over his shoulder.  Behind him, a large red tent sat upon the beach.  Inside, he knew the other people that Chiang had wanted him to contact were waiting, most likely, very impatiently.  He wanted to see the battle at sea a little longer, but knew he was pressing his luck.  He’d finally been able to come up with a way – courtesy of Donat, of all people – to get them onboard with the general’s plan and he knew he couldn’t waste the opportunity.

Already, he’d learned that Donat had been successful in using his new strategy to gain an agreement with Angella Vashon in Montego Bay, Jamaica.  Almost immediately after that, he’d heard from Rickholts.  The sycophantic captain had made the same deal as Donat, but with Michele Pernier, the arms manufacturer, down in Antarctica.  It seemed that he was the only one now holding up the process.

“Is the food still warm?” he asked Adewale.

“Do not worry, my friend,” Adewale replied, with a mischievous grin.  “Warm or cold, it will still taste the same.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Paulius said, sullenly, as he turned towards the tent.

#

Maria glanced over at Anna, watching her boss’ hands grip the arm rests so tightly that her hands were turning white.  She knew that it wasn’t from the rough take-off from Area 51 in the aftermath of a violent thunderstorm cell.  She had to find a way to get through to Anna about the potential alterations done in her head and she had to do it subtly, lest she tip off whoever might be monitoring her boss.

As soon as the T-180 gained enough altitude to get above the last of the storm cell, Maria undid her seat harness.  She wanted to talk to Anna, but decided it was best to occupy her mind with something else.  She walked toward the rear of the plane, looking for Hasagawa.  She found the woman – as expected – by one of the computer consoles, working feverishly.

“Where is Mr. Fuller?” Maria asked.

“He’s in the next plane, with Warrant Officer Cobra,” Hasagawa replied.  “Which is good.  He’s been getting moodier lately.”

“He’s not the only one,” Maria murmured.  “So, what are you working on so feverishly?”

“Something I found on my last pass through the computers at Area 51,” Hasagawa replied, nonchalantly.  “Something is really wrong here.”

“What do you mean?” Maria queried.  “We’ve already had enough surprises from the base’s computer servers.”

Maria leaned down and looked at the computer screen.  She studied the information and scrunched her face as she tried to figure out what Hasagawa was working on.  She couldn't figure it out.

“I give up,” she said.  “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“There is information that Engleborg was working on some pretty serious weapons systems,” Hasagawa answered.  “Including something marked Geistiger Vorschlag.  Translates into 'mental suggestion' or something like that.”

Maria’s eyes lit up, but, fortunately, Hasagawa did not see it.  Her breathing quickened as her heart raced.  She stared hard at the computer screen again and now she could understand what she was seeing.  She read that Engleborg had been working hard on devices to manipulate thoughts without detection.  She also saw something else that was strange.

“What is this notation here?” she asked, pointing at a certain part of the screen.

“Hmm, seems someone was looking at this file before me,” Hasagawa replied, staring at the code with more than a little curiosity.  “Someone tried to erase it, but didn’t do a good job.”

“Well, we did have about fifty people working at the site, not to mention Ski’s people,” Maria suggested.

“No, that wouldn’t explain this, ma’am,” Hasagawa countered, biting her lip.  “Someone accessed this about eight years ago.  Looks like only six months after the Fort Worth massacre.  You know, ma’am, it could have been some earlier Praetorian group.  I can only imagine that the effort to kill Fox was really amped up then.”

Maria mulled it over and still couldn’t digest it.  No, she remembered Anna telling her that no one had visited Area 51 other than Wojonowski in more than a decade.  Previous research teams had merely tried to access the base’s computers from outside agencies.  If she was reading the situation right, someone had gotten into the system as smoothly as Hasagawa, had retrieved some potentially vital information and had tried to erase it to cover his tracks.  That the item was something involving Engleborg was especially worrisome to her.

“You’re right,” Maria finally said.  “That was probably it.  Send the report to me and I’ll include it in the daily report to Colonel Mavromichalis.  While you’re at it, send along every kind of weapon Engleborg was working on that you found.  We can at least catalog it.  Maybe revise his already lengthy biography.”

She clapped Hasagawa on the shoulder and then turned to head back up front.  As she did, she thought more about the specific item Hasagawa had mentioned.  She made a point to find out as much as possible before she tackled whether or not to tell Anna about it.

#

The surveillance ship had been anchored off the coast of Costa Rica since the attack on the cruise ship.  With the Panama Canal blocked for the foreseeable future, it had no option other than a slow crawl around Tierra del Fuego on the tip of Chile.  However, doing so would take it out of range of its normal operating area.  Since it could not monitor events off Cuba or Venezuela, it had been targeting all Russian and Occidental ships approaching the Pacific coast of Panama.

Captain Janice Guvrasch sipped her coffee and winced.  Setting it down on the bridge control console so hard that half of the liquid sloshed over the edge, she turned to the boatswain and curse him out for letting the coffee get cold.  The man took the tongue-lashing without showing any emotion.  He was on edge just like everyone else since the attack on the canal, but he still needed a paycheck to support his new wife and daughter.

“I will get you a hot cup immediately, ma’am,” he said, obediently.

Guvrasch watched him leave and then turned back to look towards the bow.  She could see the ships that still waited for the canal to clear, a number that was dwindling by the hour now.  She then checked the ship’s AI for the latest surveillance information.  As expected, half of the remaining ships were still scrambling their communications, meaning they belonged to the Russians or Occidentals.

“Damn you, Chiang,” she cursed under her breath.  “Why’d you push it?  Why not let the attack wait until the ship cleared the locks?”

A mug of steaming hot coffee slid onto the console.  She looked down at it and smiled.  A quick sip told her it was the best cup of coffee she’d ever had.  At least, she mused, someone finally knew how to make a good cup of coffee.

“I think we may have finally found something you’re good at,” she commented right before she spun around and looked dead into the face of Devereaux Marshall Fox.

“You’re ship’s sinking, Captain,” Fox said, with a slight smile.  “Let’s find some dry land and talk.”

“H-how the hell did you get aboard?’ she demanded in a voice filled with fear.  “The AI shows not a single boat close enough to us and you’re not even wet.  And what makes you think that my ship...holy mother of God.  It’s...it’s you!”

Just then, the ship lurched violently to starboard.  A moment later, the crewman who had rushed to get a fresh cup of coffee stumbled up the ladder from the main deck.  He pulled himself into the bridge.

“Captain, the ship’s sinking!” he cried out.  “Something blew out the keel.  Captain?”

The bridge was empty.

#

As far as CID special agent Steve Nguyen could tell, things were going to hell in a hand basket a lot faster than he had anticipated.  Cooler heads within the United Nations had managed to get the superpowers to back off with the accusations of espionage and trying to start a war.  Then, twelve hours after Nguyen had arrived in Nicaragua, a freighter that doubled as a surveillance ship for parties unknown had been sunk off the Pacific coast of Panama.  A military force had cut a hole right through it’s keel so neatly and quietly that not a single crew member was aware of it until a major bulkhead gave way from the water pressure.

So, the Russians, Occidentals, CubanZuelans and the Federation were trading accusations once again.  He knew that Kober Chiang was somehow deeply involved in the mess and he had to find out how as soon as possible.  Not only was the safety of his beloved Federation at stake, but that of his true love.  She and the Federation deserved better than a megalomaniac like Kober Chiang, no matter how good he thought his intentions – whatever those were.

That was why he stood upon the deck of a houseboat in the middle of Lake Nicaragua.  It was an old-fashioned boat, run by an old petrol motor.  He had ridden to this point in silence, aware that his three companions still had not decided to talk.  He had no choice but to wait it out, so he peered over the railing at the tranquil waters, wondering if there were still any freshwater bull sharks living in the lake.

#

Nguyen’s was not the only boat on the lake that day.  Three miles away, cloaked in one of the Federation’s newest stealth shields, a 200-foot yacht monitored the houseboat.  At the bow and on the bridge, eyes with the latest binoculars kept close watch.  Down below, men and women in black cleaned and loaded heavy machines guns and sniper rifles.

Second Lieutenant Esmeralda Cordoba spoke to several of the assassins in Spanish.  They all nodded.  Behind her, Ensign Michael Greenberg communicated with the remaining gunmen.  He then went up to the main deck where an older, bearded man waited at the stern. 

“Please tell the general that I appreciate the chance to be a part of this operation,” Achmed Beiji said as he stood to his feet.

“No, the general thanks you,” Greenberg retorted.  “It was your intelligence that learned of the secret meeting with the CID traitor.  One day, I hope to have such a network as you.”

“It is not as difficult as you might expect,” Beiji said, sheepishly.  “Whores in Managua are as loose with their secrets as anywhere else in the world.  Just ask Major Donat’s so-called highly-placed contacts.  So, what is the plan?”

“Simple.  We edge up on the boat and take everyone out.  Then, leave the destruction of the boat to Lieutenant Cordoba and myself.”

“I have always wanted to see the Special Elites in action,” Beiji commented.  “However, my goal today is to test out my newest potential additions.  Sseko Komo, Phan Le, Alice Jardeau and Walter Gurgin all come highly recommended by the general’s, ahem, allies.”

Cordoba stepped topside and joined the two men.  She leaned on the railing and began fixing her hair into a ponytail.  Both men admired how her muscles moved so effortlessly beneath her uniform, though they knew much of her body was as heavily-augmented as Greenberg's.  Still, in Beiji’s eyes, beauty was beauty.

“Had enough of my body?” she asked coyly.  “I just wish I could have sampled it with Marshall Fox.”

“You do have a death wish, my dear,” Beiji commented, coldly.  “Even in death, people fear to whisper his name, especially with how he was killed.  Alive, he would have taken care of you just like he took care of your predecessors in Fort Worth.”

“Okay, no need to trade fighting words,” Greenberg interrupted.  “Tell us what you know of the people Nguyen is about to talk to.”

“Desiree Kamfer works for the Russian embassy in Panama City,” Beiji said after a moment.  “Angel Hermido has his ear to the street in just about every major city in Central and South America.  Journey Wilbon covers Cuba, Venezuela and most of the Caribbean.  What works for us is that all three tend to sell their information to the highest bidder.  In this case, it was me.  Otherwise, they could have exposed enough pieces for anyone with the right intelligence-gathering equipment to expose us all.”

Greenberg was quick to note that Beiji used the word “us” in his sentence.  He knew Beiji was a man who could be trusted, at least as long as the money was right.  He nodded and then motioned for Cordoba to follow him the portside railing.

“Do we take the mission to level one or take them all out afterwards?” she asked in a whisper.

“I say we keep them,” Greenberg replied.  “Well, at least Beiji.  We’ll see how the others do.  And not just the four new guys, but the rest of his crew as well.  Just remember the main target.”

“How are we supposed to spin this then?” Cordoba queried.  “We were supposed to take out any reps from the other superpowers to keep them distracted.  How does expanding the mission without direct authorization help us?”

“The general said to make sure no enemy agents interfere,” Greenberg answered, with little emotion.  “Telling important information that could harm the Federation is interference.  A CID agent talking to the enemy is a traitor.  Traitors get executed.  Plain and simple, as Major Robinson would say.”

Cordoba thought about it for a moment and then agreed. 

“Adios, Senor Nguyen.”

#

The residents of Altamira and Uruara had a rude wake-up call.  They were shocked out of bed by the constant roar of jets over their Amazon River neighborhoods.  Most of the residents watched the action all morning instead of going to work or school.  It wasn’t hard to miss the thick plumes of smoke as the jets dropped bombs, fired missiles or strafed unseen targets.

No one said anything in protest.  The region the jets were attacking belonged to the Paras, the residents of Para Province.  They knew that the residents of the numerous small villages there had once led a particularly bloody uprising against the Brazilian government that had lasted twelve long, hard years.  The Paras had been fighting for preservation of the Amazon rain forest, but their methods had garnered no support from the surrounding populace, thanks to "collateral damage."  Of course, the rest of the Brazilian population was unaware that their own government had done the awful deeds and had attributed them to the Paras to turn public opinion against the rebels.

After a new president finally put down the rebellion, life had returned to normal.  Sort of.  The Paras had become second-class citizens, forced into submission by the constant threat of jets and tanks.  Despite this, the remnants of the rebel units known as "Free Paras" had tried to resurrect themselves as a political force.  The residents of Altamira and Uruara could see how the Brazilian government felt about it.

Northwest of Uruara, in an office building in Santorem, Martin Delmonico cut the comm link.  He had a huge smile on his face.  He turned around and looked toward a man seated at a desk by the beveled window.  The man in question sat in a high-back leather chair, hiding his face.

“It is done,” Delmonico reported.  “The villages have been wiped out.  Anyone who stayed beyond the government’s vacate order is dead.  Those who listened are being forcefully evacuated.  The deaths will be blamed on a leak of deadly, but natural Palathon gas from a mine the Paras themselves reopened to great fanfare last month.”

“Good, very good,” Lee Chiang said as he swiveled his chair around to look at his primary foreman.

“Excuse me, sir,” Delmonico said.  “But, this is a very serious step.  I realize that it is necessary to eliminate opposition to the drilling site, but what if someone finds out.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Lee answered, smugly.  “I have it on good authority that anyone with the vaguest notion of what’s really going on will not be alive to reveal it to anyone else.  After that, you can rest easy.  After all, who could possibly stop us?”