Mark Young - Off the grid

Gerrit smiled and looked over at Alena.

She did not return his smile. “Gerrit, I’m not sure about this person you called. Can you trust him?”

He met her stare for a moment before turning his attention back to the road. “With my life.” He gripped the steering wheel. “He’ll have our backs.”

As they continued down I-5 heading toward Seattle, he thought about the last month and how everything in his life had been turned upside down. Redneck had been the latest surprise. Since that betrayal, they all seemed to be on edge. He needed to chill out and focus on what needed to be done. He hoped there were no further surprises as they moved ahead. They just needed to find Joe and get him back alive. Everything else dimmed in comparison.

Elliot Bay Marina lay straight ahead. The salt air seemed to cleanse his lungs as Gerrit stepped from the van into the parking lot. He stretched his legs as a familiar figure worked his way through parked cars, waving to get Gerrit’s attention.

“There he is. Stan Cromwell. My old boss.” Gerrit waited until the police lieutenant drew close, thrusting out his hand.

“Man, talk about rising from the grave.” Cromwell vigorously shook his hand and pounded Gerrit on the back. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see your ugly face again.”

“Likewise, Lieutenant.”

“I’m so glad you survived.” Cromwell glanced at the other two standing a few feet away. “And who are they?”

“Let’s just say they’re friends and leave it at that.” Gerrit said. “The less you know, the better it will be for you and your retirement.”

“My ex is taking my retirement, so I don’t have a whole lot to lose.” The lieutenant tried to treat his last statement as a joke, but Gerrit could see the words only covered up deep emotional wounds. Cromwell was like a man set adrift without an anchor. “Anything I can do to help, just let me know. I got everything you asked for set up on my end. You want to see her?”

“Yeah. That’d be great.” Gerrit motioned for the others to follow as he and the lieutenant made their way toward the marina. “Another friend of mine will be sending over some supplies by courier. I’ll need to keep an eye on the parking lot. They should be here within the hour.”

Cromwell nodded. “When do you want to shove off?”

“In a few hours or as soon as it gets dark.”

Looking back, the lieutenant said, “Are you sure? Those waters-particularly as you head out toward open sea-can get pretty tricky at night.”

“Darkness works for us. Less likely to see us coming. We can look like another leisure craft as far as they’re concerned. Until we get in close. Buy us some time.”

“Whatever you say. Here she is,” Cromwell said. “A 53-foot Navigator Pilothouse, with a 370 horsepower Volvo engine, 600 gallons of fuel, and a draft of 4 feet, 5 inches. You can practically drive this baby to their front door before they see you coming.”

Gerrit studied the boat’s contours, pleased that Cromwell came up with this so quickly. “Who is it registered to in case the Coast Guard or crooks run it?”

The lieutenant smiled. “To your deceased friend Nico. Listed under one of his holding companies. We seized it after you-”

“After I died?” Gerrit smiled. “Doesn’t a drug seizure take longer before it can be turned over to local PD?”

“I just cut through some red tape. What the bean counters don’t know, won’t hurt ’em. Just don’t run this boat onto the rocks, or I will have a major problem.”

“I’ll do my best to get this back to you in one piece.”

“And no bullet holes. Right?”

“Can’t make any promises.”

“Don’t get yourself dead again, son. This old heart just can’t take any more losses.”

Gerrit placed a hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder. “Sir, I intend to survive. I might ask the same about you. Aren’t too many good guys left.”

Cromwell walked away with saying another word.

As promised, about an hour later another van entered the parking lot, compliments of Jack Thompson. Gerrit and the others struggled to get the wooden crate on board after the van left. Concealed in a large fish locker, they found enough weapons, explosives, and gear to wage a small war-which is what Gerrit suspected they might face as they continued to hunt for Richard Kane and Joe O’Rourke.

Richard followed a shale-strewn path leading from his compound-built on the crest of a cliff overlooking the Strait of Juan De Fuca-to the shoreline below. In a rare occurrence, the day’s fog had lifted in the late afternoon to allow him to see all the way to the Canadian shoreline. A ship bound for open water slowly navigated through the strait about half distance between shorelines.

A Brandt’s Cormorant with dark plumage dived into the water a few hundred yards offshore. A pair of seagulls, perched on top of a large boulder, squawked at each other as if they’d been married for years. Richard made his way along the rocky shorelines, taking in the sounds and smells of the sea. The cool air cleared his mind, and he took a moment to relax.

In spite of some setbacks, things were now starting to come together. He just gave Stuart an update on the incident in Harrogate after Collette texted him that the mission had been successful. In spite of having to move his headquarters to another continent, Richard felt a glow of satisfaction that Gerrit and his crew were no longer a threat. Finally, something positive to share with that overbearing man who held Richard’s future in those gnarly hands of his.

Stuart was getting old. Maybe it was time for younger blood to step up and take over the reins of power. Those-like himself-who were more in tune with the times. Old warriors like Stuart seemed to be losing their touch, losing their ability to handle all the complexities of this movement. Globalization and world control were not for those who could no longer fight the fight, whose minds were living in the past, minds still resisting change.

Project Megiddo had been Richard’s baby, his idea. It had taken everything he had and all the contacts he could muster to get Stuart and the others on board. If Project Megiddo succeeded- when Project Megiddo succeeded-Richard would be in line to be elevated to that highest sanctum of power. He would be one of the gods.

He could almost taste the triumph. It was only a matter of time. He glanced at his watch. It was only hours away. At 10 p.m. Pacific Standard Time, Project Megiddo’s first assault would be launched. Two banking systems, nine nations known or suspected of possessing nuclear weapons, and one nation with massive intelligence capabilities-the United States-would all fall victim to cyber penetration.

Once Project Megiddo’s system infiltrated those systems, Richard and his group would be able to control all those instrumental in each of these critical areas. Weaknesses and vulnerabilities of each of these powerful individuals had been identified. Richard’s people, already briefed, stood poised to act upon his command. Financial, military, and intelligence capabilities would be at his fingertips. Their system would soon be able to trigger a financial collapse anywhere in the world, launch nuclear missiles upon command, and tap into any intelligence asset anywhere in the world.

A month ago, they tested the system on one individual who thought himself well insulated inside the White House. Megiddo’s technology worked its way into the target’s computer systems, meanwhile reaching out to an incalculable number of databases, drawing information specific to the man’s life. Using quantum computer technology-thought to be years away from reality-Megiddo’s calculations and multisystem access worked at speeds most scientists thought impossible. Every secret, every hidden sin this idiot thought covered up became known to them in a flash, including photos, videotapes, and captured voice messages that clearly made the target vulnerable-and in one instance, eligible for a long term in prison.