From the Blue Page 17

  Marcus glanced over at the prince and hesitated, which only intrigued Jaron more. He sat up a little straighter in his seat.

  “Your father asked that you be kept in the dark on certain things.” Marcus’ voice trembled slightly with uncertainty.

  “I don’t think Father meant for you to bring me into a potentially dangerous situation without knowing what I was getting into either.” He quipped back, not willing to settle for some cryptic deflection. Still, his argument seemed not to sway the older guardian.

  “Listen.” Calmer this time. “I’ve gone through the rites. I’m an adult now and have come into my royal heritage, as you like to remind me. I have the right to know.”

  Another sidelong glance and a longer silence from the man. Jaron could see the confused introspection on his mentor’s face as he debated his course of action. His loyalties were being challenged unfairly and he sincerely hoped that the man would forgive him for putting him in this position, but he needed to know.

  “There’s been a…movement on the island and colonies of late.” Marcus finally began. “Ever since the Marianas tragedy, many of our people have been disgruntled with your father’s adherence to our isolationist policies.”

  His voice took on a decidedly darker tone. “Really, I don’t blame any of them for their opinions. The States’ government allowed that oil spill to go on unimpeded for months. Ecosystems were destroyed. The seas polluted because of their inactivity. Our countrymen lost their homes and some their lives.”

  Marcus shook his head as if he still couldn’t quite believe it had happened. “But your father was right in his decision. Our ancestors were exiled because of their beliefs and we’ve kept our society out of global affairs as our forefathers wanted us to.”

  “Still, there was a vocal faction at home that called out for an end to our seclusion. They argued that taking our place among the world powers would end, what they called, crimes against nature. We should use our technological superiority to force change. King Augustin ignored them. They eventually died down, but it seems that the fires of their rage did not completely extinguish.”

  “In the last six months, this movement has reared its head again and gained momentum and popular support, even calling themselves Rising Tide. It’s been mostly prevalent in the smaller, more outlying colonies, but it is spreading. There has even been talk of secession among some of them.”

  Jaron knew some of this. As soon as the Marianas refugees had flooded into the city, the talk about town had turned decidedly against his father’s inaction. Someone needed to be held accountable for the colony’s destruction. But as with everything, the swell had subsided quickly.

  “What does this have to do with Arden?” he asked.

  “Rumors began to fly about that members of this group were coming here and exacting their own revenge. They were leaving a trail of bodies behind them and risking unwanted exposure. The king sent Arden to ferret out who they were and cover up their tracks if necessary. Obviously, he found out more than he bargained for.”

  Marcus’ tone became a bit wistful. He’d never been great friends with the advisor, but he was still a colleague. Yet, even as his words left his lips, Jaron stared at the man and sensed there was still more that he was not being told.

  “And that’s it?” he asked, curiously.

  “Yes. Your father wants to find the truth that got Arden killed.”

  As well as his mentor knew him, Jaron knew Marcus just as well. He was certain that more was being kept from him. He was about to inquire further when the car slowed and turned on to a dirt road tucked in between two borders of high thrushes. Marcus pulled in just beyond sight of the main road and stopped. Digging more information out of the man would have to wait.

  “We’re here.” Marcus said simply and shoved the gear into park.

  “And where is here? There’s nothing here.”

  “Arden’s notes gave directions to a structure at the end of this road. He suspected that Rising Tide has been using it. It’s probably best if we go the rest of the way on foot.”

  Both of them got out of the car and began to walk along the curved drive.

  The winding devolved from patches of broken asphalt into loose gravel, sand and hard packed dirt as they continued farther into its curves and turns. Silently, Jaron followed in his guard’s footsteps until Marcus raised an open hand.

  Both men came to a halt and knelt into a crouch at the final bend. Over the older man’s shoulder, Jaron could see the narrow path widened into a circular clearing with a dilapidated, yet solid-looking, cabin at the opposite end. Its aluminum roof glared brightly under the Florida sun. The windows were darkened and the porch looked as though it would collapse with the slightest provocation.

  It also looked deserted.

  Jaron moved to stand and Marcus’ hand grabbed him to lower him back down.

  “Wha…?”

  “Look.” Marcus whispered just above the wind. He pointed at the twin grooves of wide tire tracks. “See those. They’re fresh, only a day, maybe a few days at most, or the wind and rain would’ve washed them away.”

  The young prince could see the tracks clearly and nodded at the guard’s assertion. Yielding to the man’s expertise, Jaron knelt back down and continued to watch the vacant structure from over his shoulder. He trusted his trainer’s instincts and caution, even though he thought this entire exercise was a bit over-dramatic. Whatever was going on at home, he just didn’t believe it posed this much of a threat, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t follow his mentor’s orders to the letter.

  Several minutes passed and the pair remained motionless. Nothing moved but the grasses in the wind. The cabin remained quiet. His calves began to cramp and Jaron became restless with inactivity. He was about to interject, argue the futility of waiting here, when his mentor abruptly stood and motioned for him to follow.

  He slipped into the tall grass to his left behind Marcus. Even at a crouch, the stalks offered only partial concealment, but some was better than none. They circled the clearing, keeping to the side of the cabin that abutted the thick grasses. It took only a minute to traverse the distance and still no one had challenged their progress. Seemed as though the place was deserted.

  They paused for a moment next to the blotted, faded siding of the cabin. Marcus cocked his head slightly as if listening for something. Jaron listened, too, but heard nothing but the wind, the birds overhead and the distant splash of waves. Obviously satisfied that they were unnoticed, the royal guard stepped out of hiding and on to the rickety, wooden planks of the porch. Jaron followed, keeping flush with the wall.

  Cautiously stepping sideways, they both moved in unison until the door was directly beside Marcus. Another pause, more listening. Jaron could still hear nothing from inside the structure. Even though he doubted anyone was at home, he nevertheless clenched his hands into fists and readied himself for a confrontation.

  Marcus raised his hand again, his fingers counting down from three. Abruptly, he gripped the wooden handle of the door and twisted it savagely until it splintered loose. With one hand, he pushed it open and quickly stepped inside, his free hand hovering over his side where he kept his dagger.

  Jaron dipped in behind him and quickly scanned the room. The back window was cracked and dirty. Muddy footprints criss-crossed the floor, which was littered with bits of wire and metal that he couldn’t identify. There were a few metal tables with tools and instruments on them. In the corner was a short, squat machine that he didn’t recognize either, next to a metal box that looked like a refrigerator. While he looked over the main room, Marcus moved off to the two doorways in the space, ducking into both of them swiftly.

  “They were definitely here.” Marcus’ deep voice penetrated the gloom of the cabin when he showed back up.

  “What is all this stuff and what are they doing with it?” Jaron asked as he perused the objects on the nearest tray. Nothing he saw gave him a clue.

  Marcus didn’t imme
diately answer. Instead, he walked over to the shorter, square machine and ran his fingers over the worn characters carved into the side. “Whatever it was, they brought this from home.”

  Jaron read the runes that his mentor was so interested in. He didn’t know what the writing meant or what the machine did, but it seemed to be confirmation that this Rising Tide had been here.

  “So what now?” he asked.

  “Now we go back, report in and dispatch a security team to erase any footprints that these renegades left behind.”

  Marcus made one more circuit through the house. “Come on.” He called out as he headed for the broken door. Jaron followed, taking one more glance at the room before he joined his mentor outside.

  “What exactly is going on?” he wondered quietly and turned to walk out into the bright sunlight.

  He ran to catch up to the older man who was already halfway to the narrow ribbon of road that would lead them back to their car..

  Something flashed just outside his periphery, something deep in the wild grasses that surrounded them.

  Jaron stopped suddenly. His eyes searched the scrubland for the source of the flicker, but it had disappeared. All he saw now were the swaying stalks of tall grasses, bending in obeisance to the wind.

  For half a moment he stared until he finally dismissed it. Nothing was there. He shrugged to himself and followed Marcus around the bend to the parked car. Whatever it was, he had either imagined it or the sun had glinted off some piece of trash that had been discarded.

  Neither of which happened to be true.

  Chapter 15 – The Fox and the Hound

  By the beginning of the afternoon, the first four houses in the new search area had already been checked out and been found empty. The canvassing team was approaching the fifth on the list while their counterparts on the other field team were busy on a city grid. Neither agent was particularly enthused about being out in the middle of BFE, but orders were orders. They followed them diligently without question.

  At their makeshift headquarters, the four agents in residence watched the largest computer screen in the living room, which had been relegated to providing real time GPS locations for both field teams. Intently, they observed the green dot of Field Team 1 as it travelled down the winding road towards the red, blinking dot of the fifth house.

  “Where are they going?” Mark’s voice broke the tense silence as he watched the agents’ flashing dot pass by their target on the virtual map and stop along the main road. He looked at Wilkinson’s face, who seemed to be just as mystified. Without an answer, Mark crossed his arms and waited. Surveilling houses as out of the way as these always heightened the danger of being discovered and there were any manner of obstacles that the field agents could have run into. So, as curious as he was, he waited for them to check in.

  When the secure line did beep at them and interrupted the stillness of the house, it seemed unexpected and made all four agents jump. Wilkinson hit a switch and opened the line, transmitting it through the computer’s speakers. The first thing they heard was the static backlash of a heavy wind and then the field agent’s voice cut in.

  “Nest, do you copy? This is Eagle One.”

  “Nest here and online. Report.” Mark responded as he was the lead agent in the investigation. With field agents that were possibly going into a dangerous situation, he would be the one to issue any orders to engage or disengage and also the one to take responsibility if anything untoward should happen.

  “We’re within half a click of the fifth house. Unknown vehicle parked in the drive. We’ll have to approach on foot.”

  The voice calling forth from the speakers sounded spectral with the howling wind as a backdrop, almost like they were talking from beyond the grave.

  “Understood.” Mark said. “Do you have transmitters?

  “Yes, sir. We have full surveillance gear.”

  “All right. Tag the vehicle and then proceed as planned. Be careful. Use extreme prejudice only if necessary.”

  “Copy.” The ghostly voice answered.

  The speakers went dark as the agents did also. Mark stared at the small boxes intently with his arms crossed and a tight expression. The next few minutes would be slow going as the agents made their way to the abandoned house. He knew what the protocols were and could almost see in his mind every inch they moved, but the knowing didn’t relieve the tension he felt all over his body. The field agents were heading into a potentially dangerous unknown and absolutely anything could happen. So, when the speakers crackled to life again and heard their voices, he could feel the stress drain out of his limbs.

  “Nest, we are within sight of the structure. Line of sight is inhibited. We can get about a hundred meters closer without being compromised, but then the land slopes downward and the scrub becomes much sparser.”

  “Proceed at your discretion. Activate RTD and keep the line open from here on out.”

  The RTD was an acronym for Real Time Display, a tool of all surveillance packages to transmit video from the field agents’ headsets. Mark nodded at the teenaged computer expert. Cooper tapped a few keys and one of the video monitors switched on. A grainy image began to coalesce on the screen as the computer decoded the signal.

  With high definition clarity, the screen snapped to life. The assembled agents were now looking at the aforementioned cabin through the same grasses that the field agent saw. The image was shaky as the man moved closer and the only sounds issuing from the speakers were the roar of the wind and the rustling of movement. None of them would admit to it, but they were all on the edge of their seats.

  “In position.” The voice over the speakers was barely audible as the field agent tried to whisper, but still be heard over the gale. Mark waved his hand in a circle at Cooper to have him boost the gain and try to eliminate the background noises.

  “There is definitely movement inside. Unknown number of subjects. No vehicles evident at target, but it looks like the jamb of the front door has been jimmied open. Holding position.”

  With some of the background clutter gone now, the speakers grew ominously still, which was almost worse than the constant static. Seconds seemed like minutes as they waited for the field agent to speak again. No one listening dared to move or speak.

  “They’re coming out. I see one, no, two of them.” The voice over the speakers grew confused as he counted off.

  “What’s wrong, agent?” Mark asked out loud.

  “The second suspect is a kid. Maybe 17, 18. The other one is a hulking linebacker, big and mean-looking, but the other one is definitely a kid. They seem to be having a conversation at the front of the house. No indication that they’ve noticed us.”

  Mark and Angelo glanced at each other and Angelo mouthed the word ‘kid’ to his partner. Mark just shrugged and turned his attention back to the speakers. He’d read reports of Middle Eastern terrorist groups using kids before, sometimes as young as 8 or 9, but this wasn’t the Middle East.

  Standard protocol was to record any video feed and, with a tap on Cooper’s shoulder, Mark said, “Enhance subjects and run through facial recognition.”

  “Yes, sir.” came the response and two faces popped up on the smaller, secondary screens. Algorithms began to analyze the photos.

  “They’re walking off down the drive. Possibly headed towards the car we saw.” The voice on the speakers announced quietly.

  The second agent’s voice broke in then. “Sir, I have a clear shot. Orders?”

  “No. Belay that.” Mark blurted out. This was their first lead and they needed to follow it, not eliminate it or alert any others that may be out there. Plus, something about a kid being involved just didn’t seem to fit into the puzzle. “I repeat, do not take out targets. Can you get back to your vehicle before they reach the main road?”

  “Easily.”

  “Does there appear to be anyone left in the house?”

  “Not that we can see, sir.”

  “OK. One of you go back to t
he car and tail them discretely.” He looked at the screen map and saw the flashing yellow dot of the tracker. “Do not engage. I want to see where they go. The other keep the house under watch and wait for backup.”

  “Acknowledged, sir.”

  The line went dead and Mark turned to Wilkinson and said, “Patch me in to Team Two. Angelo, get the Melbourne office on the line for me.”

  For the next hour, Mark Fitzsimmons arranged for Team Two to alter their position and set up surveillance on the house. He ordered an assault team to meet up with them and transmitted what data they had to them. Whatever it was in that house, they were going to have it in their possession before evening.

  By the time Mark was finished, Agent Cooper had downloaded the data files from the field team, blowing them up on the video screens. Pictures of the house and surrounding area were transmitted to the assault team and on-site agents, which left their two unnamed suspects looking at them from the monitors. So far, they remained anonymous, not being in any federal databases.

  He inched closer to the biggest screen and stared into the high definition eyes looking back at him. Neither looked like killers. The kid was just that, a kid, younger than Cooper here. The guy with him was a bit more daunting, a muscled powerhouse for sure, but was he a killer?

  It didn’t matter. If they were murderers, they’d catch them. If they were only connected, they’d find out.

  “Run these guys through every state and local database you can think of. Run them through Interpol. Use facial recognition software. Whatever you got. I want to find out who these guys are.” Mark’s voice was authoritative and his orders were followed without question. Somehow, he doubted they would get any hits. Still, it was always better to proceed with one’s bases covered.

  By the end of the second hour, Mark and Angelo had geared up and left the rented condo. They had left Wilkinson and Cooper to coordinate the tail and database searches. So far, the facial recognition had come up with nothing, not even a school picture. Not surprised at the lack of results, Mark was fervently hoping that something more tangible would show up at the house. A nice set of fingerprints would be nice.