CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 

 

Seated in the conference room at PMSC, Jack tapped his thumbs on the mahogany table top. Across from him his uncle slouched with a Pennington Marine Science Center baseball cap on. The bruising had faded, but his face was thinner than the robust figure that paced this room like a caged animal, waiting for an opportunity to be out at sea. The doctors said the appetite would return slowly and that he would soon make a full recovery.

Joining them was Special Agent Cowler, his expression dour as he stared at the console in the center of the table.

“Thank you for taking my call, Agent Cowler,” a feminine voice filled the room.

“As if I had a choice,” Cowler murmured, settling back in his chair and steepling his fingers.

It was true. Amanda Newton had persistently contacted Cowler’s office as well as Jack for the past three days knowing that Warren Pennington had been found. What she didn’t realize was that the man was sitting in the room right now.

“You seem to have some very high connections, Miss Newton,” Cowler grumbled.

“Many governments feel that a favorable review from BLUE-LINK will aid their economy.”

“Right.” He flipped open his pad and skimmed his pen down it. “Your global risk assessment rankings are esteemed, but you’re trying to prevent that lauded reputation from being tarnished by a lawsuit from the Eclipse Container line, correct?”

“Indeed,” came the tight response.

“Well, I can’t give you the concrete feedback that you desire, but rest assured there is enough evidence to suspect a conspiracy in the demise of the Eclipse ship. There will be an official investigation, and when the appropriate information becomes available it will be shared with your law firm, which is equally tenacious in contacting us.”

Jack swiped a hand over his mouth to conceal a grin.

“And Jack, your uncle−” she was not put out by Cowler’s derision, “−is he feeling better?”

Warren snorted and waved a hand at the tabletop speaker.

“Yes, he is. He asked that I convey his gratitude for your part in rescuing me and Miss McKay.”

Warren raised a thumb and flashed his teeth. Jack had to struggle not to laugh.

“Yes,” she cleared her throat, “well, your support was very valuable to me.”

“Aww shucks, and here I thought you really cared,” Jack chuckled.

Silence loomed across the sea. Humor was something that was lost on this woman. “Indeed,” was her trite response.

“Very well, gentlemen. We will definitely be in touch. Jack, if you or your uncle should ever find yourself in London, please do stop by my office.”

Jack struggled not to reply, indeed.

“Good day, Miss Newton,” Warren said, making a severing motion across his neck as Cowler aptly reached forward and disconnected.

For a moment the three men silently eyed each other, and then Agent Cowler emitted a husky laugh. Jack’s grin spilled into similar mirth. Warren’s baseball hat bobbed up and down as his shoulders quivered with his chuckle.

“You ever see her picture?” Cowler asked.

“Yeah,” Jack nodded.

“She’s a looker. You didn’t see her inviting me to her office.” He picked up his pad and slipped back into business mode. “Speaking of lookers,” he glanced at Jack, “I thought Olivia was going to be here?”

Glancing at his watch, Jack frowned. “She had a maintenance run on one of the boats, but she said she’d finish up in time to meet with you.”

Outside, a mix of rain and snow had started up. Before the sun rose Jack had poured over the weather satellite images with Olivia, trying his best to dissuade her from going out. One look at her face and he knew it was a fruitless debate. The season was ending. She wanted to get this maintenance done and secure the boat for the winter.

A week had passed since they first found Warren in that Nova Scotia hospital. He came home two days later, and his bruises had cleared up even quicker than Olivia’s shiner. Jack and Olivia spent every moment they could together, and every night he was a steady fixture in the seaside bungalow. There was no greater peace than when they lay in bed, Olivia ensconced in his arms. The rush of the tide pulsed through the house, lulling them into a deep sleep filled with the promise of waking to a morning round of lovemaking.

This morning, still misted from the shower, Olivia had placed a long kiss on his lips, smiling as she vowed to be to PMSC on time.

On-time was fifteen minutes ago. That was not considerable tardiness, but when it came to Olivia, he was a little over the top.

One more glimpse at his watch and he announced, “Let me call her.”

Stepping out into the hall he waited anxiously for her to answer. One more unsuccessful attempt and he stuck his head into the conference room.

“Can you guys take an early lunch or something? I’m just going to go check on Olivia. Hopefully we’ll both be back here shortly.”

Trying not to notice their concerned expressions, Jack was out the door before they could respond.

***

Livvy hurled the corded rope onto the dock and leaped off the boat, skidding across the slick wood when she landed. Securing the lasso around a pylon, her hands felt raw from handling the wet, bristled cord. After the meeting she would come out here and properly lock down the lobster boat. A glance at her watch had her cursing. She was soaked and she needed to be to PMSC in less than a half-hour.

Jogging up the hill, she slipped a couple of times on the frosted grass. At the bottom of the back porch stairs she glimpsed back at the pier, a habitual analysis to make sure the boat had remained secured. Never once had one let loose, but she always checked.

The wintry mix was now turning into a steady snowfall making it difficult to see. But three bulky contours bobbed against the dock, tucked in for the day. Satisfied, she was about to climb the stairs when a shadow emerged from the precipitation.

Hoisting a hand over her eyes did little to bring the figure into clarity. “Jack?” she called out.

Fear clamped around her heart. No.

“Hello, Olivia.”

The ghostly visage emerged from the snow like an unraveling mummy. She stood rooted as Hawkins climbed the hill.

Had she frozen? Snowflakes dusted her eyes and cheeks. Her hands were numb. Dammit, run!

Shock had rendered her immobile for a moment, but Livvy spun and sprinted up the porch stairs. Rushed footfalls sounded behind her.

As she hauled open the screen door a hand landed on her shoulder. She yelped in panic. In reflex her booted foot lashed out behind her. There was a sense of gratification when she felt it connect. His grunt confirmed the mark.

Still arrested by that grasp, Livvy started flailing fists, but the blunt muzzle of a gun jabbed through her coat and into her ribcage, deflating her.

“Why?” she cried into the wind. “I have nothing that you want. Nothing. The government took it all away. Go after them.”

A desperate scan produced no weapons−no tools at her disposal. The garbage can was out front.

“Let’s go inside and talk,” the gruff voice reasoned.

Inside. Yes, inside. Inside there was a host of items she could use to assault this man.

Livvy nodded, tucking her face away from the snow. Blindly she reached for the kitchen doorknob. Even with her life on the line she reflexively kicked her boots against the doorframe before entering.

In a surreal twist, she heard him mimic the action before he stepped into the kitchen.

It felt like the talons of a pterodactyl were clamped around her shoulder. She didn’t recall Hawkins being overly powerful. Of course she didn’t−because he used his goons all the time. Where were the goons now? Waiting in the hall to punch her again?

She squirmed for freedom, but he used his grip and the barrel of the gun to urge her into the kitchen chair.

“Stay there and I won’t tie you up,” he ordered. “Move and I’ll shoot you, or hurt you. I haven’t decided which.”

“Like hell you will.” She immediately began to rise.

“I mean it.”

It wasn’t the gun. It wasn’t the curled up fist or the maniacal glean in the icy eyes. It wasn’t the rain-plastered hair against a pale forehead woven with erratic blue veins.

It was the voice. From that voice she could tell this man had crossed a plane. On the surface he might look like a staid businessman. His demeanor and vernacular appeared civilized−maybe even sophisticated.

But that command just came from a different realm−a different man. And she realized now that rationalization was a pipedream.

Livvy carefully settled back onto the chair. Her eyes jumped to the clock.

Reading that glance, Hawkins said, “It will take him at least a half-hour to get here once he establishes that you are late.”

As if on cue, the cell phone she had forgotten on the kitchen counter began to vibrate.

“Well,” he chuckled hollowly, “since you didn’t take that call, I’m guessing we have a half-hour to chat.”

The phone had been on the counter the whole time she was gone. It could have been ringing for quite some time now. Jack could be on his way already. That was wishful thinking, though. He was busy. The meeting was important, and she wasn’t that late yet.

Hawkins stood in the middle of the kitchen with a handgun pointed at her. Snowflakes faded into the shoulders of his navy peacoat. The face of it was black with moisture. His black pants bore splotches of dampness across the thighs. She dared to raise her eyes and meet his. Controlled chaos. That’s what she saw there.

“I really wanted to talk with Warren Pennington, but you and your boyfriend made it extremely difficult for me to find alone time with him. When I didn’t get a chance in the hospital, I thought surely I’d be able to corner him at home considering he lives alone. But no, your boyfriend has seen to it that he has two live-in nurses−and for the past few nights there has been an agent parked on the street. Unmarked, of course, but he stuck out like a sore thumb.”

Hawkins paced, pausing every few steps to make sure the gun stayed leveled on her.

“Hurting those nurses would draw unwanted attention. My plan is to leave this area far behind me−but not before I glean a little intel.”

Kitchen floorboards creaked under his black shoes. Water dripped down the side of his neck from his hairline. “So, although you weren’t my first choice, you are the only person I’ve been able to corner alone. And you just may do.”

“Go fu−”

Hawkins took two steps and lifted the gun to her forehead. “Don’t make me angry.”

His tone was soft. It was eerily calm, like the eye of a maelstrom.

Hauling a chair out from the table, he twisted it about with one hand and straddled it with his arms resting atop the seatback. He kept the gun trained on her. Now that their eyes were level she was finding it hard to meet his gaze. If she looked into it too long it would singe her brain.

Instead her glimpse traveled over the kitchen table. Her laptop sat on the far end along with a wireless mouse. Jack’s coffee cup was still on the table. Only a few short hours ago he was sitting here sipping it, telling her how much he wished she wouldn’t take the boat out today. He wanted to come with her, but he couldn’t get out of the appointment with Agent Cowler.

Livvy tried to caution that he couldn’t watch over her every minute of the day. They had to start back into their normal routines. Their relationship deserved to be tested at a natural pace and not the breakneck action that it was born in. He conceded that she was right, but had held her so tightly after she kissed him.

If only those arms were around me right now. I’d never let go.

“You had a valid point earlier,” Hawkins mentioned, his face looking gaunt. “I am fully aware CGIS has become involved and has taken possession of the remains from the Eclipse ship. I’m also aware that no further cargo has washed up on shore, and the likelihood of it doing so is minimal. Thanks to your boyfriend’s uncle, I have the location of the debris field from the Pembrook. It was achingly close to the area we had been combing. Of course, the Coast Guard has the same coordinates now, which dismays me.”

Damn shame.

“We knew when we scuttled the Eclipse ship that this was a possibility. But we couldn’t do something as dramatic as blow the ship up. We had to make it appear as if nature had brought on the tragedy.”

“What were you hiding?” Livvy asked. “For all that you have done, for all the crimes you have committed…it was all pointless because I still have no clue what you were trying to conceal.”

A ghostly smirk tugged at his lips. It looked more like a muscle spasm.

“Glad to hear that. But again, this is why you were my third choice for a private conversation. Warren Pennington witnessed enough to know what we were doing out there. He is our major threat. Perhaps now he will come out of hiding and cooperate.”

“What is he going to confess to, locating your metal skeleton? The umbrella thing? That blew up with the Algonquin. For a man who went through so much trouble to make a ship’s demise appear as an accident, you had no problem publically blowing up two research vessels this past week.”

One of Hawkins’ glacial eyes twinged as if he suffered from pain−or was aggravated by the light. “I am under pressure to make this situation vanish.” His head bobbed. “Immense pressure. I’m not a bad man. You will notice that there have been no deaths. When my team boarded the Algonquin we corralled the minimal crew and gave them a little memory-tampering cocktail and set them afloat with a bit of headache. We would have done the same with Warren Pennington had he not scurried away. You’ll also recall that I didn’t kill you and Jack when I had you. Although I confess the order to do so came just before you jumped ship. Personally, I wanted to keep you as collateral to get to Warren.”

“Oh, you’re a goddamn saint,” Livvy scoffed. “What about the crew of the Pembrook?”

He shrugged. “In order for that accident to appear authentic there had to be casualties. I was not the decision-maker for that event. I was more of a project manager.”

Livvy’s mouth gaped open. “Seriously, are you waiting for me to say, oh, okay, it’s all cool then?”

Hawkins’ upper eyelid pulsed. His lips thinned. The nose of the gun regained its accuracy.

“No. I suppose not.”

It had been impetuous on her part to poke the snake, but at that moment anger won out over fear. Now the voice was back, and his glare lacked humanity.

“Why are you here?” Livvy asked tremulously. “You claim you are chivalrous−so why are you holding a gun at my head? I should be free to go, right?”

The lust of her anger faded and now she began to fear for her life. This man was slipping. And when he hit the bottom, whoever was near him was doomed.

“You missed that opportunity, Miss McKay. I have lost my graciousness. Right now, I’d like to know how much Warren Pennington has told the authorities.”

Stay strong. Keep him talking. Maybe that last missed phone call was Jack and he was on his way.

“I can give you Agent Cowler’s number and he can share that information with you. He is the one that Warren spoke to.”

“Don’t play games, Miss McKay. I’m sure your uncle has talked to your boyfriend. And I know your boyfriend has spent every night here.”

“I don’t appreciate you watching us.”

Hawkins chuckled. “Seriously?” he mimicked. “That’s too damn bad.”

Livvy’s fists curled around the edge of her seat. Her eyes swept the room again, desperately seeking something−anything to use.

“You’re wasting my time. You can talk now and if you answer adequately, I will just leave. If you don’t−”

Livvy studied the fingers wrapped around the grip of the gun. She had learned enough from Jack to realize that his finger was in a position to flip the safety and shoot her in a split second.

“Fine. Yes. Warren recognized the apparatus. He said it was one of several they located on the ocean floor, though they only pulled up one. It’s some sort of weather-altering device. He said he had heard rumors of their existence but had never actually seen one, and did not know the extent with which the device could be applied. He said that it was rumored that the military used weather altering devices to aid in warfare. As a meteorologist he still believed it was−what was the word he used−bullshit.”

Hawkins winced and his lips twisted. “Is that so? Bullshit, huh? Did anyone notice where the Eclipse ship began its journey? Puerto Rico. Where did Hurricane Beatrice initially gain its strength?”

Livvy stared at him blankly. Acid ate at her stomach. She heard each tick of the grandfather clock in the foyer.

“Everyone was concerned with its last leg in the North Atlantic. They didn’t notice that the ship stayed just ahead of the hurricane up the entire coast until the Halifax route.”

Remembering Jack’s interpretation of the phone call from Amanda Newton at BLUE-LINK, she asked, “Why would the Eclipse line set sail knowing they were heading into a hurricane, one that I believe you’re eluding you had something to do with−which is just absurd.”

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Oh, please. I’m not a moron. Perhaps I am not the head of a marine science center, but I know the ocean. I study the weather religiously because it directly impacts my source of revenue. I would not chance embarking with hurricane warnings in effect.”

“The Pembrook was structurally sound. It was approved for the run. They were going to beat the hurricane. They had no idea that the device aboard could call upon the weather at will.”

“So you’re saying you played God with that device?” she gaped in horror.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Weather modification has been used for quite some time, even by the common farmer.”

“This is not crop seeding we’re talking about. You claim that you created a hurricane!”

“No,” he barked and the gun jolted. “We enhanced a hurricane.” His delirious smile was another sign that he’d left the real world behind. “But we’re not far away from that.”

“You say, we. Who are we?”

“A non-military faction comprised of some ex-service members who were frustrated that their projects were shelved. Time after time we saw our research−our hard work shut down from lack of funding−waiting on contractors that never showed. The public is aware of HAARP in Alaska. They shut that down. We were similar.”

Livvy massaged the patch below her left eye. It no longer pained her, but the gesture was a reminder.

“I still don’t understand. What does this have to do with the Pembrook? Why was that device on it?”

Hawkins scratched the side of his head. A tuft a moist brown hair stuck out above his ear−a physical indication of his collapse. “We were privately funded. We were actually using the ship for its intended purpose. Shipping our cargo north. I won’t mention the planned destination. A few rogue engineers traveling with our cargo saw the burgeoning hurricane as too tempting an opportunity. Tests were supposed to be held in a private location up north. But they took it upon themselves to conduct a trial on board the ship. And yes, their test was successful. Beatrice would have faded into a tropical storm without the high frequency electromagnetic waves emitted into the ionosphere. What made our device so attractive to lucrative buyers was the size and portability of it. Any predecessor of its kind was huge and static.”

“So they took it upon themselves to run this test. I have to imagine that didn’t go over well with whoever is in charge.”

“No,” Hawkins hesitated. “But the truth was that we had proved it would work. I became involved because I’m the clean-up man. Because of that unplanned test, the heads of this project basically had the marketing material they needed to present to buyers. They had the schematics and could rebuild it at will. They couldn’t chance that someone had seen the experiment being conducted. When they learned that the crew would not be changing in New York, they sent out instruction to the engineers aboard to repeat the test. The engineers warned that it could be dangerous for them−that the experiment worked better than they expected. They were reprimanded for having screwed up already, and told to carry on with the trial, or else…

“And, as far as the captain and the crew of the Eclipse ship were concerned, they were far ahead of the hurricane. They had no idea that the storm would be manipulated.”

Wet drops clung to the window, but outside the snowfall was steady, beginning to dust the ground. Damn, she had wanted to throw tarps down on the boats before the weather kicked in.

Livvy glanced at the gun pointed at her, and the disturbing eyes of the man holding it.

No tarps would be thrown down today.

***

Jack pulled into the circular drive and noticed the thin coat of snow on Livvy’s windshield. The driveway was void of tracks−human or automobile. Around the corner of the house, the soft glow of a lamp poured from the kitchen window onto the pale blanket of earth.

She’s still home. She’s safe.

The assurances fell flat.

Why hadn’t she answered his call? Why hadn’t she warned she’d be late?

Overly cautious, he opted to circle the bungalow rather than walk up to the front door. Maybe something had happened to Olivia down at the docks. Maybe she was hurt. Hers was a rugged business−anything could arise.

A shadow passed by the kitchen light, stretching long and distorted across the snow. Jack moved in tight against the wood tiling until he reached the edge of the window. Voices could be heard inside.

Voices. Plural.

George. It had to be George.

But his truck was not here.

The back of the house was elevated atop a cement foundation placing the kitchen window even with the top of his head. Jack leveled a hand against the cold façade for balance and hefted onto his toes to peer inside. Snow was caked to the bottom of the frame, marring his view, but he clearly detected the silhouette of a man seated sideways at the table. He could not see Olivia.

The man rose suddenly and Jack’s hand curled into a fist.

No!

He reached behind his back to extract the Glock he had grabbed as a last-minute consideration.

Peering up again he now glimpsed Olivia. Her face was wan, her eyes wide−focused on the gun aimed at her. Rage at that sight caused his hands to tremble.

Jack wanted to reach for his cellphone. He needed to call in for support, but dared not risk being detected. Besides, it appeared they were on the move.

The screen door opened, the keening wind catching it and slamming it shut. Once more the door cracked open and this time it was secured in the hand of a man Jack recognized all too well.

With Hawkins possessing a gun, Jack couldn’t charge him and risk Olivia getting hurt. He saw her hunched figure being hauled out into the snow. Hawkins’ hand was cupped around her arm, the other swinging the gun for balance as he slid on the icy grass.

Olivia tugged against his restraint, but the muzzle reclaimed its target and forced her into compliance.

Anger spiked Jack’s core. He no longer felt the cold. The snow pelted his face but he was oblivious. His sole focus was to reach Hawkins and disable him without Olivia being harmed. Hanging back enough of a distance that the weather would obscure him, he followed their awkward tandem down to the dock.

Olivia’s protests drifted across the wind−verbal darts of motivation. It helped him to gauge their progress, which was hampered by her resistance.

As they made their way down the wooden steps to the pier, Olivia stumbled, setting Hawkins off-balance.

Jack made his move.

Traction on the slick surface was difficult, but he managed a sprint from their blind side and leapt to the bottom of the stairs, catching Hawkins shoulder just as the man righted himself.

“Olivia, run!” Jack shouted, wanting her out of range.

“Jack!”

Hawkins stumbled under Jack’s weight. In the process of catching himself he latched onto Jack’s jacket and they both skidded across the slick wooden boards, landing on their knees inches from the frigid gray swells that lashed the pylons.

Dropping to his hands, Jack hastened upright as he saw Hawkins raise his gun. Executing a hasty side kick, Jack’s boot connected with the man’s arm, but Hawkins retained his grip on the weapon as he grappled to aim it. The delay afforded Jack enough time to gain his footing and his target.

“Drop it.”

Crouched like a savage animal, Hawkins snarled but did not raise his hands in submission.

“You don’t want to test me,” Jack warned.

He dared not turn his head to see where Olivia was. That split second could prove his demise. Each rushed breath brought a deluge of snow and brine to his lungs. He stepped in closer, aiming his Glock at the cleft between Hawkins’ thin eyebrows. The man grinned up at him.

“Do it and your girlfriend is dead.”

Jack launched to block the shot, and realized too late that Olivia wasn’t nearby. Hawkins’ ploy paid off as the sharp clap of gunfire clashed with the wind and the surf.

“Jack!” The call echoed from behind the curtain of snow.

Blood pumped in his ears. Pain lanced his shoulder. Out of the melee a shadow emerged. Olivia−holding aloft a fishing net. The webbed blanket launched through the bleary sky as the crack of a gun filled the air.

Jack struggled to lift his weapon. There was no strength in his limb. No sensation. The shot was not from him.

Hawkins lashed his arm out at the net that landed squarely on top of him. Again his gun fired as Jack reflexively crouched.

“Olivia, get out of here,” he cried, not even sure where she was now.

Had the last round struck her?

God, no.

Rage empowered him. Pain blinded him.

Struggling to focus, he glimpsed Hawkins trying to shrug off the tangle of net. As he did so the man wildly fired off another round. The sound that ricocheted off the dock was nothing more than a dull echo over the throbbing in Jack’s ears.

Each one of those reflexive shots could find a mark on Olivia, though. Jack had to stop him. Unable to raise his arm enough to fire the Glock, he instead dropped the gun and launched at the man.

Growling out vengeance, Jack charged and struck the cluster of limbs and netting. The impetus sent them both tumbling forward as his feet left the ground with a sickening sense of weightlessness.

Frigid water engulfed him. It clasped his breath in its icy fist. Booted feet felt like cement blocks as he struggled to kick. Clawing at the surf, he broke the surface and gulped in brackish air. Salt stung his eyes as he tried to tread water with one arm.

“Jack!”

Not Olivia. It was a male voice.

Blindly paddling, he felt a tug at the back of his collar. He tried to whirl and strike out, but his right arm was useless.

“Easy, son. We’ve got you.”

More hands were on him as he felt himself being lifted, hauled from the rolling breakers that sought to retain their clutch. From this odd lofted perspective he could see Hawkins still snared by the net as a wave crashed over his head. The crest of the man’s skull broke free. A pale hand lifted out of the sea, the fingers snared by rope. Another wave claimed the crown of Hawkins head and then Jack saw no more. He was on his back staring up at anxious faces—one so beautiful it stole his breath. He locked onto those eyes. In them the ocean was blue and warm, and he swam freely with his face up to the sun.