"The guy that was with me last time we were here had a life's ambition to rid the world of space aliens he thought were hiding in humans on Earth." Darkh rolled his eyes. "Clyde Books. Certifiable nutcase."
"You think so?"
"Well, I did. He was trying to find out if those Daniels brothers were harboring space aliens. Personally, I find ghosts a bit more likely, but us nutcases like to hang out together sometimes, if only to have someone to talk to who won't laugh at them."
"Go on." Barb crossed her arms.
"I got a call from Clyde early this morning. It appears he and the Daniels brothers are camped on an island near Brighton, and they're hiding from somebody or other."
"I'd think they'd be hiding from him."
"Apparently, he's helping them, right now." Darkh shrugged. "Beats me." He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out his phone. "I'll call him; I think he wants to talk to you." He made the call, then put the phone onto the middle of the table. Clyde's face appeared. "Hi, Clyde," Darkh said, "What's up?" Everyone except Olnya stared at the phone.
"I'm on High Bluff Island in Lake Ontario with the Daniels brothers, sort of, and there are boats gathering in the bay. I don't know why, but today's the day Jim wants to get away to his spaceship, so he's getting nervous."
"What about Jack? " Barb wanted to know.
"Jack's got a broken arm, and his space-alien rider got transferred to another guy, who left. He's sulking right now."
"Who's sulking? The other guy?"
"No. Jack Daniels. He's not fond of the thing he had inside him all those years."
"I can understand that," Darkh said. "Any idea why the boats are there?"
"Not a clue, but, holy crap, I just saw a American Cobra helicopter go over!"
****
Popham Bay
Three days after Button Day
Clyde and Jim watched Jack, who was cradling his broken arm, sitting apart from them, looking moodily out over the water. "Is he likely to be dangerous?" Clyde asked.
Jim shrugged. "Probably not; he'll be hurting too much from the arm to do anything. If he had a rider in him, he'd be in no pain, but that's the price you pay for not sharing your body."
"Any idea what all those boats are doing out there?" Clyde had assembled his rifle and was watching the bay through the scope. "The one by the shore is flying a Canadian flag, but the other two are American."
"Beats me," Jim said. "The plan was simply to get the eleven of us aliens together and get the hell out of here and never come back. Makes me nervous seeing boats out there. This bay is normally deserted except on a good sailing day, and even then most sailboats are on the other side of the peninsula."
"That's a sailboat down by the park beach. Might be Tom and Laura coming back?"
"Seems unlikely, unless the motor they took didn't work. Probably just someone taking advantage of the calm morning to get some sailing in."
Clyde focused the scope. "The boat by the shore, the Canadian one, has a 'WTF' logo on it. That's the wind farm people, isn't it? They planning on putting a bunch of windmills around here."
"I think I read something about it."
"Can I ask a few questions?"
"As long as you don't let that human over there get hold of your taser. You did bring a taser, I presume?"
"Brought the cattle prod. Can't see as I'll need it, now. Okay, here's question number one. The wind turbine people probably used sonar to check the bottom. Is there any chance they found your ship?"
Jim pondered the question. " They didn't have sonar that good when we landed. And we buried it in mud at the bottom. Although that could have changed over the years."
"So they might have seen the ship." Clyde waved at the boats. "Wouldn't that bring a crowd?"
Jim shook his head. "We disguised it."
"Disguised it?"
"After a couple of years here, we… shapeshifted it, you might call it. We can shift the outside pretty much as we want."
"So it looks like a sunken ship or something?"
"We thought that might get scuba divers coming down, if the mud blew off it. We saw a few items about the right size, nice and flat so it wouldn't snag fishing nets. Over on the other side of the lake. We just imitated those." Jim drew a shape in the air. "Figured they were water-quality monitors or industrial surplus. Seemed like a safe choice."
Clyde tilted his head at Jim's description. "Means nothing to me. So we're waiting for Tom and Laura and that gizmo that looks like a stone. A key or something."
"Well, we want to take it home, but we don't really need it to get out of here. We just don't want it found by humans."
"Would give us a technological edge?"
"No doubt, but mostly it'll be too dangerous for you."
"Think we can't be trusted?"
"The principles in that thing would give any religious nut the potential to end your civilization. If, for example, he wanted to bring on some end-times Valhalla. Would you want that posted on the Web?"
"You've got a point." Clyde scoped to the west. Here comes another boat."
"Bigger sailboat?"
"Looks like it."
"Probably the rest of us alien monsters coming to catch a ride home."
"Getting crowded out here. Let me know if I can do anything. Here comes that Cobra gunship again."
"Can you tell anything more about it?"
Clyde gave him a look. "You think I'm going to point a rifle at a gunship?"
"Now you got a point there."
Clyde scanned the far shore. "I think I see Tom and Laura coming off from the shore."
"Any chance I can use your boat? I can meet them out there."
Clyde pondered this. "I sort of promised not to let other people handle it."
"Did the guy who loaned it to you mention space aliens?"
You've got a point there."
Together they dragged the canoe over the island. Clyde showed Jim how to start the motor and helped him push off.
***
The smaller sailboat that Clyde saw wasn't just out for a pleasant sail on a quiet morning. John Height had been following the Malifactor from along the shore. He'd planned to watch it round Presqu'ile Point, but when he'd seen it coming into Popham Bay, he'd gone down to the beach. There he'd found a bald guy with a beard dragging a small aluminum sailboat, apparently named Poem, over the sand. The fellow had got only halfway there and was red-faced and puffing.
"Tell you what," Height said. "I'll help you launch this sucker if you'll take me out to meet a friend of mine. See that sailboat in the distance? That's him, coming in."
"I'll take you up on that," the bald guy said. "You can handle the jib; I'm still trying to figure out how to do that by myself." He held out his hand. "I'm Lenny Everson."
"John Height," John Height said. "Let's get this puppy down to the water. I've got a boat to meet."
***
Malifactor had sailed all night. Damon had eventually locked himself into his cabin and got a couple of hours sleep. He'd lowered the mainsail and put Kristof, who didn't seem tired, onto the rudder. "Just keep any lights on the shore the same distance away from us. If you see any lights on the water coming your way, it's a lake freighter; wake me up."
At dawn, Damon, happy that no one had chucked him overboard in the night, had checked the GPS; they were going to make Popham Bay in an hour or so. After that, he assumed they'd be met by a fast boat full of guys with automatic weapons who would shoot him full of holes and drink the six bottles of Pusser's rum he had stashed away. He hoped his last words would be “Some of it's magic, some of its -tragic…but I had a good life all the way” before sinking to the bottom. He wondered where his former first mate, John Height was. Probably in Kingston having a party, he figured.
A nasty-looking helicopter went overhead. He took out his binoculars and followed it to the bay. There seemed to be a number of boats already there. That was odd, he thought. Popham Bay's usually pretty quiet.
&n
bsp; ***
Aboard Serentity, Sammy greeted the dawn with a breakfast of coffee, goat cheese, cold sausage, and a couple of chocolate donuts. He didn't drink coffee, because it hurt his stomach. There was a slow swell to the water, coming from the lake, but Sammy got sick only in cars, so he enjoyed it.
There were a couple of sailboats on the water, another cabin cruiser, apparently belonging to some corporation, closer to shore, and, next to Serenity, a slightly larger boat that Sammy had been told had a sonar unit and a couple of divers, among other crew. The Seas the Day had the outward appearance of a rich man's pleasure boat, but there was something about it that Sammy recognized and serious business about it. In a moment or two, the Seas the Day edged over until it was close. Side thrusters, Sammy guessed. A muscular man leaned towards Sammy. He was wearing Maui Jim sunglasses, so Sammy knew he was a fellow SEAL.
"You're Sammy," the guy noted. Sammy just nodded. He'd seen the guy a couple of times before, but couldn't remember his name.
"I am. What's the plan?"
"Well, we're supposed to find some equipment the air force lost, and get pictures. That's what we were told, so we know that's absolute bullshit. But that's why we're here."
"Problems?" Sammy offered a chocolate donut, which the other guy accepted.
"We're trying to get a sonar picture of the bottom."
"But?"
"Someone – presumably that boat over there – is swamping our signals with their own. Can't do a thing."
"Wish I could help." Sammy went below and called up the old guy named, "John Smith" on the encrypted line. Nothing like ship-to-ship communications, Sammy thought. "Good morning, sir," he said.
"Ah, Sammy! Good to hear from you. How are things going?"
"Interesting, anyway. Right now I'm on the boat close to the area you were interested in. There's a sonar boat from our side next to me, with a couple of SEALs ready to dive. Across the way there's a Canadian sonar boat. It's got a corporate logo from Canada, but who knows?" Sammy paused. "A cobra went over a couple of minutes ago, and I can see a Canadian Coast Guard helicopter coming in from Trenton."
"Where's Lester?"
"He was checking out the cottages on the north side last night when I lost contact with him. The Canadians might have neutralized him."
"Hell in a handbasket, Sammy. The whole point of this thing was to find out what's down there without causing a fuss. Well, we still don't know what that thing is, and now we might have Canadians all over it."
"You're right, sir."
"You can stop calling me 'sir', Sammy. It's not like we're in the service any more. Well, yesterday, I got a complete copy of the report from the Canadian company. It looks like they did more than a sonar check. There's a note that there's no magnetic signature to the object."
"What does that mean, sir."
"It can't be one of ours. Can't be. We never got rid of all the steel in those things."
"A coincidence?"
"Can't be. There are some things that positively identify it. It's gotta be a copy, made out of wood or plastic or something. Or a legendary UFO chameleon."
"Why would anyone do that?" Sammy reached for another donut, then changed his mind.
"Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe the whole thing was a Canadian set up to see what we'd do in the event of a crisis in the lake. Or maybe it was a joke. Canadians have a bizarre sense of humor. I wonder if there's anything down there at all."
"What would you like me to do, sir?"
"Put your feet up. Pretend you're fishing or something. And just watch. Get the boat over to Rochester if there's any more trouble. I just hope if we started something we can keep our asses covered. This is starting to look like a big mistake just getting worse."
Sammy scratched his head; he knew a hint when he heard one. "Right now there's a – let me see – a motorized canoe coming off the island. And, ah, a small motorboat coming from the north shore. Maybe they've got Lester tied to an anchor to sacrifice to the waves." Pause. "Just a joke, sir."
"Figured that. Call me if anything happens in the next day or so."
***
On Seas the Day, two SEAL divers and three tight-lipped men were holding a conference. "Any word from higher up?" one man asked.
Another guy shook his head. "They've left us on our own. Deniable, disposable, deletable."
One of the SEAL divers looked concerned. "I don't like the thought of going down there without anything to defend myself with."
"Sorry," said another man. "but the Canadian fishing laws don't allow spearguns, and we can't take a chance on you two ending up in jail on a fishing violation." He started to laugh, when another man poked his head in. "What's up?"
"Boats heading for the target area."
"Canadian navy?"
"A canoe, a fishing boat, a little sailboat, a bigger sailboat."
"Okay. Half the Canadian navy."
'What do we do?"
"Intercept to keep the target area clear. Make it look accidental."
"How the hell do we do that?"
"We'll figure something out."
"And there's adventure in the air."
"What now?"
"A helicopter's coming in from Trenton. And a drone's spotted a guy with a rifle on the island."
"That's news, now."
"Judging by the parachutes, I think somebody's sending in a couple of HALO guys to take care of the guy with the rifle."
"Sounds like a promisingly stupid idea."
"Got that one right."
***
Cope got onto the CH-146 Griffon helicopter at 8 Wing/CFB Trenton, with a scowl. He hadn't liked the Griffon in Afghanistan, which troops had derided as "just a civilian helicopter with a coat of green paint." Even a gatling gun, kludged onto it, at least in battle zones, didn't help it a lot.
But Cope climbed on. Politics was politics. The pilot kept a straight face for what he assumed was another Ottawa bigwig wanting to look at his cottage on the taxpayer's ticket. At least it would be a short trip to Brighton and the pilot hoped no real search and rescue call came in while he was flying this dude around.
Cope watched out the window as the copter followed the Bay of Quinte, circled out over Weller's Bay, and came over Lake Ontario. As they approached High Bluff Island, Cope spotted another helicopter passing through. "What's a Cobra doing here?" he asked the pilot.
"Rumor says it's coming in for a meeting at the base. Probably just a beerfest tonight for Afghan vets."
"Could be," Cope said. "I didn't get invited. Of course, maybe they found out I shot at them a few times."
"Don't approve of shooting at helicopters," the pilot said.
"When you're in a compound with a couple of Taliban shooting at you, you don't really want to see a Cobra. They're more likely to kill you than the enemy are. Can you do a loop around Popham Bay?
"No problem."
Cope noted three cabin cruisers parked there, and four boats heading for the middle of the bay. These, he thought, were standing by for some reason. It was the four little boats moving towards the centre of the bay that were probably where the action was. And maybe the larger sailboat resolutely tacking towards the same area. That's when he spotted a couple of parachutes opening just above High Bluff Island. He tapped the pilot and pointed. The pilot tipped the Griffon over a bit to circle around again.
***
The crew on the Wind Turbines Foundation sonar ship Trantor were tired. They should have been, after a night of partying. The limnologist with the pony tail was running the sonar, mostly by herself. She'd had an hour's sleep before dawn, and with the help of two cups of coffee was more or less awake. She needed to go pee, but there was work to do. Every time she got the sonar signal from the boat across the way, she'd flood the area with her own sonar signals. The other boat changed frequencies a couple of times, but she followed that pretty quickly.
Not that she knew why this was happening, but she suspected someone in the provincia
l or federal governments was leaning on the WTF to do this little chore. With all the permits the WTF needed, it was a good idea to do governments as many favors as you could.
***
Damon Conch watched his nine passengers as they entered Popham Bay. He 'd figured out that these people – six women and five men – were going somewhere, and the collection of boats in the bay seemed to clinch the argument. The flyby of the Cobra helicopter gunship made him wonder if the Americans were planning on heading off any attempt by the passengers to get to the U.S. by boat. Or, he suddenly thought, maybe the gunship is protecting them from something.
Then he realized that the helicopter had a clear view of Malifactor and was ignoring it. For a moment he felt a bit miffed.
Each passenger had a small suitcase or bag. Damon would have liked to know what was in those, but finally decided that at least he could plead ignorance if asked later.
***
Clyde was getting uncomfortable, lying in the ruins of the old farm, his scope following Jim and the canoe puttering steadily out towards the centre of the bay. He turned the scope to follow a motorboat coming from the far shore. It was obvious that even as the motorboat moved across the bay, probably with Tom and Laura, headed at a higher speed, Jim would be first to the middle of the bay.
Or would have been, if one of the American boats hadn't started up, with what looked like an attempt to keep Jim away from the center of the bay. The bigger boat accelerated quickly and turned from facing into the wind to facing an intersection point for the canoe.
"What the hell?" said a voice beside Clyde. Clyde looked up to see Jack. "That canoe's too damn small for that bay as it is. Jim could be swamped and drown." Jack added.
Clyde followed the American boat, apparently called Seas the Day, with the scope, and jacked a cartridge into the barrel of the gun. Leading the boat a bit, and making a guess as to distance and wind drift, he started firing at the one window of the American boat that had nobody showing in it.
He had finished five shots when several things happened, almost at once. The first thing was that the American boat did a quick turn, heading straight towards High Bluff Island. The second thing that happened was that the wake of the boat rolled the canoe over.
And the third thing was that a foot kicked the rifle away from Clyde and a knee was placed against his back. He was called some unkind names by the individual who was on him and was slapped, hard, several times across his head. Then he was rolled over, to find himself looking at a guy in full camouflage dress, face paint and all. A similar guy was holding Jack to the ground. "Hey," Clyde yelled, "careful with that guy; he's got a broken arm!"