Jack Coughlin - An Act of Treason

The sailors were emerging from belowdecks and reporting nothing unusual. The cabins and workspaces were all clear; the engine room, galley, and communications shack were in order. All personnel on the bridge had proper identification and valid passports, and there was no evidence that Kyle Swanson had been aboard.

“I can have my captain show you the Bird and Snake setup we have below, if you wish. Our computer hard drives contain proprietary data that I should not release to you without a proper court order. Nevertheless, we would welcome an electronics technician with proper security clearances to come aboard and review the contents, should you so desire. He would have to sign a separate and stringent government nondisclosure form, of course.”

Commander Thomas checked his men. All five were ready to return to the Iron Duke. “No, Sir Geoffrey, that will not be necessary,” he said. “The Americans are running this manhunt, not us. I imagine we were tasked to this irksome duty just as a warning that they are covering all angles.”

“Naturally,” said Sir Jeff. “Well, then, sir, it was nice to meet you and watch your team work. I always enjoy seeing the operations of a well-trained unit.” He smiled. “Have a pleasant voyage, and do not hesitate to notify us if you need us again. We remain at the queen’s service.”

“Thank you, sir,” Thomas said, giving another salute. “Good day, Lady Patricia.” The boarding team returned down the side staircase to the inflatable speedboat and shoved off as soon as Thomas was seated.

“Nice enough chap,” observed Jeff as the boat sped away. He stayed at the table with Pat, drinking tea and nibbling an apple pastry as they watched the big frigate haul the inflatable boat back aboard, then slowly pull away, gaining speed as it went. He turned to the Vagabond ’s captain, William Styles, and said, “Bring them up.”

T WO FIGURES WITH UNDERWATERbreathing gear treaded water in the silent twilight world about twenty feet directly below the hull of the Vagabond, their rising air bubbles unnoticeable at the bow, where the water was rippled by gentle swells moving against the boat. For Kyle and Lauren, swimming together, the grumpy loud noise of the British frigate getting under way meant their watery exile was about over, unless some Royal Navy sailors had been left on board, which was very unlikely.

Treading water for thirty minutes, with weight belts and big flippers, was easy for both of them. Lauren Carson had been diving for years on vacations and had been on a swim team as a kid, and she held her position with no trouble. She looked through her face mask at Kyle, about ten feet away. His military training in underwater warfare and his passion for surfing had left him with an effortless stroke, and he appeared as a virtually stationary silhouette in the water, breathing easily. She thought about how normal people paid good money for scuba diving trips in the sunny Med.

As the noisy engines of the frigate faded, Kyle held up two fingers, estimating they would remain down for only about two more minutes. For security, they had not carried radios when they had changed quickly and gone into the water at the approach of the naval vessel. All signals were made by hand.

She could see the plain, bright surface above, and the dark sleek shadow of the yacht that had been her home for the past two days. Kyle had arrived yesterday. Two international fugitives from justice, hunted by every intelligence service in the world, and they were catching tans and eating well. It was not like she had imagined.

Another sound reached her, a sudden dull thunk, as a set of doors in the bottom of the Vagabond opened. Kyle immediately kicked toward the new rectangle of light, Lauren followed, and they broke the surface in the oblong launching well of a weapon she had never before seen, something called a Snake. Crewmen helped them up and took off the vests, tanks, and other gear and handed them big towels. “Sir Geoffrey asks that you join him in the main salon as soon as you have changed,” said a young woman, trying not to stare at their bodies. Miss Carson was perfectly shaped and toned, while Mr. Swanson bore numerous scars. She had heard tales about this American, a familiar figure aboard the vessel who was a business associate and close friend of Sir Jeff and a deadly sniper for the United States Marines. As he stood nearly naked in his baggy shorts, the jagged marks on his flesh bore out the truth of those stories.

Lauren, in a T-shirt and blue shorts, was already with Pat and Jeff in the spacious cabin when Kyle joined them. He flopped into a chair and popped open a chilled bottle of water. “Man, it’s good to be here. Even dodging the Royal Navy is a lot more fun than being locked in that damned cell.”

“I dare say,” agreed Jeff. “Keeping you out of another prison is going to be difficult.” Reading glasses were balanced precariously on his nose. “The visit by that frigate was a close-run thing. Next time, we might not have the advantage of seeing them coming twenty miles off.”

“They won’t give up, will they?” Lauren’s voice was low. Her legs were crossed, and a sandal dangled from her toes.

“No, they won’t,” said Kyle.

“So, what do we do? Just keep running?” Her eyes were bright and watery as she considered the enormity of the opposing forces. Navy ships? Satellites? Paratroopers?

Lady Pat went to the bar, poured a stiff dose of whisky, and handed her the glass. “Drink up, Lauren. It will steady you a bit. It is understandable for you to be nervous.”

Lauren tasted the amber liquid and then drank deeply. “I’m a wreck, and the rest of you don’t even look very concerned.”

“Well, dear, we’ve been through much worse,” Pat said, getting a drink for herself.

“Lauren, there is a big difference,” Kyle said, “between running away from something and running toward something. There is absolutely no way that we can evade capture for any extended length of time. Sooner or later, the odds will catch up with us. So we cannot just remain static. We have to be aggressive, and careful.”

“True.” Jeff rolled his wheelchair closer to her and leaned forward, resting on his elbows. “Never you fear, young lady. We will get you out of this jam.”

Kyle locked his hands behind his head and worked his neck muscles around.

Lauren thought that he looked incredibly fit after such a short recuperation time. A bit of freedom and sunshine and getting out of prison was all he had really needed. Now he was eating like a horse and sleeping soundly. He showed no sign of being worried. “Do you have more magic up your sleeve, Jeff?” she asked. “Like bribing Kyle’s way out of prison?”

“Ha! I didn’t use my money. I used his!”

“But Pat said that you paid a half million dollars.”

“Came right out of Kyle’s shares. A little accounting sleight-of-hand, but any trace will indicate that he arranged the deal himself.”

“You have that kind of money?” Lauren stared at Swanson.

“I guess. Never use it.”

“So we aren’t totally broke when we have to run?”

“No,” said Pat. “He is a major shareholder and will be a part owner of our entire business some day when he leaves the Marines. Meanwhile, his earnings are secured away in trust accounts and other financial vehicles. But quite a bit of it has been made liquid and available at the moment.”

Jeff rolled over and tossed some loose papers into Kyle’s lap. “The CIA is being clumsy with their internal communications. Lieutenant Commander Freedman in Trident is keeping tabs on them. First, he discovered that Jim Hall is still alive, and now he can confirm that Hall is making a very strange deal. The Agency will leave him alone and he will leave them alone. Slaughtered a poor woman in Dubai and took down an important network there, and yet they have agreed.”