38 Recovery

 

Queen Charlotte Strait. August 24 2033

52°20'32.5"N 129°33'34.3"W

 

“I don’t believe this is what this aircraft was designed for, Kai,” Adili muttered as he reached for the grab-rail above his shoulder.

“Are you kidding me? This is exactly the kind of thing these birds were made to do—just ask HighTower’s guy in the back there. Hey, Ashfield—you awake?”

Failing to hear a response, Adili turned to check on the prisoner. His cold stare was met by a disinterested nod from Trip, who then returned his gaze out the side window. Kai sent the helo into another sideways dive. “Man, I miss flying these things. I almost wish we weren’t so close to our destination. I don’t want to give this baby up.” Adili frowned and shook his head. He didn’t share Kai’s enthusiasm for the whirling helicopter and would be glad to put his feet back on solid ground again—even if was to be enemy soil.

 

It had been 24 hours since Kai piloted HighTower’s helo away from Haida Gwaii, leaving Mike’s corpse on the ground. Since then, Adili spent much of his time staring out of the copilot’s window in a brooding silence. The combat and its aftermath had taken a heavy toll on the Kenyan and he was haunted by unbidden memories. Kai looked over at his sullen friend. He could only guess at what was troubling him, as they’d never spoken of Adili’s life back in Kenya. A fuel alarm beeped on the instrument panel. Kai tapped the readout. “Shit.”

“What—what’s wrong?” Adili asked.

“Petrol. That kerosene we used from Eli’s stock isn’t as efficient. Damn.”

Adili watched nervously as his partner scanned the GPS screen. “Now what do we do? Will we crash into the—the…?”

“I reckon we can make it to Campbell Island… I’ll put her down in Bella Bella.” With that, Kai turned the controls and the helo tilted shoreward, heading toward the coastal islands.

 

They touched down on the outskirts of Main Street and Trip recognized the run-down store instantly. Kai jumped out of the cockpit and tossed the headset on the seat. “What shall we do about him?” he mused, gesturing to their prisoner.

Adili shrugged, “I’ll stay here with him.”

“Nah mate, I’ll need a hand with the jerry-cans.”

Adili walked back to the passenger compartment and unlatched Trip’s harness. Without a word, he hauled him to the ground. Trip winced as his wounded leg folded beneath his weight. “Can you walk?”

“Gee, I don’t know, what do you think, Kunta Kinte?”

Adili pulled Trip to his feet and, wrapping his arm around his waist, leveraged Trip’s weight onto his hip. Following slowly behind Kai, the two of them made their ungainly way to the store. Opening the screen door, Kai nodded at Adili. “Wait out here, I’ll ask where we can find some petrol.”

Adili deposited Trip into a folding chair and stood beside him, arms folded, eyes fixed straight ahead. Trip straightened his leg and adjusted his position. He looked up at the big man next to him, studying Adili’s expression, then stared across the road. Eventually, Trip cleared his throat and chuckled, “So, are you always the farmer’s dog?”

Adili looked down. “What do you mean?”

Trip stretched and looked down the empty street. “Nothing really—just observing, that’s all… I see you always at the beck and call of these people. You fight their battles for them, carry their cargo…” gesturing toward himself, “You’re their boy. I’m rather surprised that you’re fine with that.” Picking a stem of dried grass off his trousers, Trip waited for his words to take effect.

Adili’s expression and focus remained unchanged. “I do what I want for my friends—my people. Tell me, Mr. Ashfield, why did you fly this helicopter all the way up to these islands? Under who’s orders did you attack villagers? Who is really the boy, here?”

Kai pushed the creaky screen door open. “They’ll send a boat over to Shearwater for fuel. I told ‘em we can’t go there ourselves—too dodgy.” He tossed a package of jerky at Trip and handed Adili a bag of groceries. “Let’s get back to the bird, we may be here for a while.”

As they spoke, a young woman climbed the stairs. She glanced at Trip as she pulled the door open. “Hey, I remember you—you’re the one who gave me all that money for the salmon. You almost got me fired, mister.” Trip gave her a cursory wave and she asked, “So, did you ever find your friend—the one hanging out with Ooligan?”

“Nope, I never found him,” Trip muttered.

“Huh, too bad.” She walked into the store, letting the screen door slam behind her.

“Let’s go,” Kai said. He helped Trip to his feet and motioned for Adili to lead the way, saying, “I got him this time.” As they stumbled back towards the helicopter, Kai said, “You know mate, we’re not you’re enemy.” He paused to get a better grip around Trip’s waist. “These people here, and in Old Massett—they’re all just trying to live their lives. What have they done to HighTower—other than exist? Why is it we’re all so damned expendable? We’re all in this together, ay. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Trip gritted his teeth as he hobbled across the meadow. With some effort, he managed a terse smile and said, “I’m just working for a paycheck, my naïve Kiwi friend.”

“Trust me, bro, there’s better ways to earn a buck.”

An elderly Heiltsuk couple met them at the helicopter and introduced themselves to Kai as friends—code speakers. They brought news from family members in Tsawwassen who saw a baidarka stopped by the Coast Guard a few day’s back—a baidarka resembling the one that had recently been seen in Bella Bella. Adili waited beside Trip as Kai spoke with the couple. When Kai returned, he announced that they would stay overnight on Campbell Island to learn more regarding the fate of their friends.

They unrolled their blankets underneath the helicopter and ate a frugal dinner of jerky and flat bread. The sun sank behind the hills as Kai rose to leave. “I’m going back into town; the code speakers might have heard more news by now. Keep an eye on ‘im.” Adili nodded and lashed Trip’s wrists to the skids. Satisfied that his prisoner was restrained, Adili moved his bedroll farther away and, settling back, closed one eye. Trip rolled onto his side and stared at August’s ice moon.

An hour later, Kai returned to camp with news: The paddlers had not been detained. He had asked the code speakers to send word throughout the lower islands—should anyone encounter their companions, assistance would be offered and news sent back to The Greenwood at once. Adili nodded in silence, pleased with the update. Kai crawled underneath his blankets, but sleep was soon interrupted by the buzzing of Trip’s mobile. The device vibrated until it fell off the helo’s dash, landing on the footboard above Kai’s head. He grabbed the mobile and read an urgent text from Director Terrance requiring Trip’s response. Despite several attempts at unlocking the device, Kai was unable to send a reply. After his last attempt, the screen went black. The threesome spent a troubled night underneath the helicopter; each pondering what the message foretold.

 

Fuel arrived the next morning and, once inside the helo’s tank, it was time for them to depart. Adili secured Trip in the back and climbed into the co-pilot’s seat. Before starting the helicopter, Kai turned to address their hostage; the look on his face was grave. “Alright Ashfield, I can’t think of any other way to say this: You’re going to have to cooperate. There’s only one way.”

With his hands tied together, Trip scratched the stubble under his cheekbone. He raised one eyebrow, smiled and said, “Ah, but Kai, don’t you see? It always comes down to ‘only one way’.”

“Look, I don’t give a shit about your loyalty to your craft—or HighTower, or whatever-the-fuck it is you hold dear. We need you in order to locate our mates. The fact is, you’ll either help or you won’t. But if you decide not to, I plan to lighten the load in this bird by about 185 pounds right over the Pacific.”

“I believe you, Kai. And I’ve no doubt that your friend here wouldn’t hesitate to do the same thing to me that he did to the merc.” Adili looked back over his shoulder with a scowl as Trip continued, “You’re in a tight spot. There’s nothing more difficult than maneuvering for advantageous positions.”

“I see.” Kai pushed the ignition button and the rotors hummed. The helo rose slowly, parting the grass into miniature furrows. Before long, they were over Queen Charlotte Sound, making top speed. Trip’s mobile buzzed again with a flurry of HighTower messages. Trip studied Kai’s reflection in the pilot’s mirror; his captor wore a strange expression—as if puzzling over a riddle. Several minutes later, Kai said, “Hey cuz, grab that mobile, will ya’? OK, right. Now punch in the word ‘Sun Tzu’, all together in lower case.”

Adili entered the six characters and the screen flashed back to life. “It is telling me that it needs a fingerprint,” he muttered and grabbed Trip’s hand, pressing the stunned hostage’s thumb onto the screen. “Got it.” Adili looked up and grinned.

“Chur, cuz! Good on ya’,” Kai declared, shaking his head. Then, to himself whispered, “Atamai raweni-wahine.”

Bolting forward as far as his restraints allowed, Trip demanded, “How in the hell did you get my password?”

“You’ve gotta be careful what you divulge when sparring with my wife, mate. She’s quite a fan of The Art of War as well—and from what I hear, you two traded a few of ol’ Sun Tzu’s quotes during your little yack, ay?”

Trip raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it and collapsed back in his seat. “I’ll be goddamned,” he mumbled.

Wasting no time, Kai accessed the HSA texts and learned that the scientist had been flagged in old Seattle around one AM that morning. Kai replied that Trip on his way and would check in upon arrival. Before long, another message flashed across the screen. “Ashfield—this is Banks. Get your ass to the compound. I want Chen’s family and the journalist ‘disappeared’ ASAP.”

“What’s this about?” Adili asked. “Who is ‘Banks’?”

Trip shut his eyes, rolling his head toward the window. “Guys, I have no problem telling you who Nelson Banks is—look him up for Chrissake. But you’re in way over your heads right now. There’s no way out of this.”

Kai grinned and sent the helicopter into a sudden side-slip toward the ocean. “Hell, that’s just one more reason to go big or go home!” he yelled over the roar of the turbos. “It’s now or never, Ashfield. Do you want to stay or are you ready to swim?” Adili leaned back and made to unfasten the restraint harness.

Trip clutched the grab-rail above his head as the helicopter continued to plummet. “In! Goddamn it—I’m in!” The helo levelled off and ran parallel with the ocean’s surface as Trip closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath. Looking down at the water to confirm that he was still above it, he said, “Alright—alright. We’ll try it your way... We’re dead men either way, so I’ll hedge my bets with you for now.”

 

A plan began to take shape; as the helo flew over the Canadian Gulf Islands, Kai outlined their individual roles. His attempt at enthusiasm was somewhat lost on Adili, who stared glumly out the window, nodding his agreement. Trip listened passively to the instructions with a cynical expression. Nevertheless, Kai remained optimistic. “If we just stick to the basics—get in and then gap it quick-like, I reckon we stand a fighting chance… Beyond that, we’ll have to wing it.” The others looked at him doubtfully.

 

They’d been in the air for nearly three hours when Adili asked, “How much longer?” Kai checked the computer on his instrument panel and held up one hand.

“Only five minutes?” Adili mumbled and looked out the window as they neared the shoreline. “I hope this plan of yours will work, Kai.”

Trip muttered, “You’ll need a lot more than just hope.” Adili turned, glaring at the cleaner with the look he used when hunting lions in the savannah. Trip cleared his throat, “Alright, it might work—just don’t overreact like you tend to do.”

 

A few miles ahead, a red navigation buoy signaling the entrance to the Ballard Locks bounced in the current. Kai spotted it and grinned mischievously. Rolling the bird sideways, he dove toward the water, shouting, “Hang on!” At the last second, he evened their trajectory. The helo buzzed the locks tower as they headed for old Seattle’s Space Needle.

 

 

Old Seattle WA. Aug 25. 2033

47°37'18.4"N 122°20'55.6"W

 

Garance lay on her back and picked at the battleship-grey paint covering the walls of her cell. She kept her other hand protectively over her chest, the bandages barely concealed burn marks on her fingers. The sound of footsteps alarmed her as the door latch clanged open. She moved to the corner of her cot and huddled against the wall. A guard entered the cell, followed closely by two strangers. Walking over to where she cowered, he yanked Garance up by her elbow. She dangled like a rag doll beside him as he addressed the others. “This one’s the journalist—she’s a real hellcat,” he commented, carelessly shaking her arm. Garance kept her head low and peered at the newcomers from underneath her lashes. She could make out a tall black man with extremely broad shoulders. His expression was severe, although his eyes were shielded by the same mirrored sunglasses that all the guards wore. Standing next to him was a slim, blonde-haired man. Garance could tell by the way he leaned upon the other that he was injured in some way. Instinctively, she appraised his appearance: He wore a gold watch, designer shoes, an upscale tailored shirt—and yet, it looked as if he’d worn them for several days. What’s going on here? These two aren’t my regular interrogators. She shuddered at the thought of more questioning.

“Here—take her and good riddance,” the guard muttered as he shoved Garance toward the men. “She’s a feisty bitch. Very uncooperative, aren’t you Frenchie?” The big man caught her and with one arm, lifted her effortlessly over his shoulder. Using his other arm to support his injured companion, he stepped out into the hallway, waiting for the guard to lock the door. From her awkward viewpoint, Garance could see two Asian women standing beside another guard. As she was carried past them, the younger woman looked at Garance and bowed her head. The prison guards escorted the entire group down the lengthy corridor. Metal doors slid open and a cool breeze brushed past them—clean air, unsullied by the damp mustiness of the cells.

As they approached the staircase, a uniformed administrator stepped out of the security kiosk. “Stop please! Mr. Ashfield, shouldn’t I get an authorization? I am not supposed to release these prisoners without documentation.”

Garance felt the big man’s hold on his injured companion tighten. She heard a sharp exhale from the man before he replied, “Don’t be an idiot. Banks orders are that these three are disappeared. That means ‘no trace’ doesn’t it? Go ahead, take a look at the message here on my mobile.”

“But, I must insist… Sir, protocol strictly states that…”

The injured one interjected. “As of right now, there mustn’t be any record of these prisoners—believe me when I say this.” Garance held her breath, straining to hear everything he said. “Listen here, Poindexter. There’s obviously no protocol for what happens when HighTower erases prisoners. You don’t want to be the one summoned to testify at a congressional investigation, do you?” He continued, his voice straining the longer he spoke, “As you no doubt see, my leg is killing me. Help us get this cargo to the helo or I’ll call Mr. Banks myself.”

“Very well, Mr. Ashfield. I’ll override the protocol.” With a curt nod the administrator waved his hand and the guards pushed their prisoners forward. The elderly woman moaned as she fell onto her daughter. Garance felt a lump in the pit of her stomach. Is this it then—we’re to disappear now? She remembered finding Callum and didn’t want it to end the same way. I hope it’s quick. The big man repositioned her weight on his shoulders as he stepped onto the stairs. Garance looked backwards as they ascended, watching the doors to her prison grow smaller and farther away.

Once they reached the rooftop, Adili set Garance down and barred the door. Now that she could see the big man in a better light, Garance amended her first impression: his features weren’t as brutal as she’d thought. She imagined that he might have been kind if it were not for their circumstances. I hope it’s him that does it—ends me. I think he’d be the less cruel of the pair. She heard the big man tell the guard, “This is where you stop.”

The HighTower guard scoffed and reached for the door. “Yeah right, pal”

Adili grabbed the guard’s forearm and raised it. They faced each other for a tense moment before Trip interceded. “That’s enough. Look, we need to keep this particular job off the radar—that’s why I’m using the merc here; if I’m caught, there’s still some plausible deniability. But if you walk out there in that uniform, the game’s up. Do you understand?”

The guard’s eyes remained fixed on Adili’s as Trip spoke. Finally, he stepped back and muttered, “Understood, Mr. Ashfield.”

A blast of hot air assaulted the prisoners as the door opened. Garance shielded her eyes from the bright light. The big man leaned Garance against the wall next to his injured companion, then carried the elderly woman across the tarmac as her daughter followed. He returned and helped Garance limp to the waiting helicopter. As she climbed into the cabin, she noticed an unconscious guard slumped on the floor. “Merde,” she whispered, looking at the pilot, “What happened?”

Kai looked over his shoulder and smiled. “That bloke? He asked too many questions of your new mate Adili, right there.” He reached for his headset and adjusted the mic. Once the prisoners were onboard, Kai called back, “Aye, you lot—got your buckles fastened? Because we’re about to get aeronautical.” Garance fumbled with her harness as the bird ascended. Adili buckled his restraints and turned to check on the other passengers, his eyes met Garance’s and he smiled.

They were now several hundred feet above the old city, heading toward Puget Sound. Garance silently observed Trip, staring out the window. At last she leaned over and asked, “Who are you? What are you all about?” she asked.

“What are we about?” Trip turned and focused his icy blue his eyes on Garance. With a bitter smile, he replied, “We are all about to meet a Mossie packing Hellfires once HighTower gets word of this escape. So, like the Kiwi said, ‘buckle up.’”

Garance closed her eyes. Out of the frying pan and into the hellfire.