CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
The Saint Lawrence River
THE BLACKED OUT, double-hulled vessel moved slowly, silently through the water. It was larger than Simon realized and was more than capable of handling a six-man crew. Sims piloted the boat in stealth mode; its electric driveline was so quiet the only discernable sounds were those of an otherwise uneventful summer night: water gently lapping onto a shoreline, music accompanied by the odd premature 4th of July firework in the distance, the familiar slow engine rumble of a cruiser looking for a place to drop anchor and spend the night.
It was the better part of ten-thirty when Simon, Lionel, and Decker’s men readied themselves for their imminent siege of Little Shield Island. Only the Inspector remained at Simon’s residence. Several constables had already secured the location from which the stolen boat originated. An elderly couple were fortunately found alive. They were in rough shape, however, having been bound and gagged for more than twenty-four hours. The small Rockport community seemed completely unaware of the Mounties’ covert intrusion.
Inspector Hansen thought it was a good sign that the older couple was allowed to survive. He suggested to Simon that the lack of violence boded well for his daughter’s condition. A heavy sigh of relief was drawn by all from that revelation, but when the Inspector was informed that the island in question sat just inside American waters, he, in particular, was relieved by the fact that it provided him with a measure of plausible deniability; he could plead ignorance to what may or may not be transpiring beyond his jurisdiction.
The RCMP Inspector knew he could never sanction the type operation on which Simon was now embarking. Decker and his crew were, after all, hired operatives. And while they came across as being the freelance equivalent of a Special Forces unit, it was obvious the one advantage they possessed was their access to prototype technology. Everyone involved understood the degree to which state of the art gear provided its possessor with a tactical advantage. How long would it take for these designs to make it to the production floor, let alone into the hands of the JTF2 would depend on how long Gen Tech could deny their existence.
Decker’s team didn’t officially exist either. They were often deployed on behalf of Gen Tech’s best clients, prospective, as well. Having put them to use on one occasion himself, Christian Saunders believed the corporate world sometimes needed things to be resolved quickly and quietly, without the media sensation that frequently accompanied the involvement of traditional authorities. Gen Tech CEOs, past and present, also appreciated that operations such as these were the perfect proving ground for pre-production trials.
Moments earlier, Connor had been putting on something that was nearly ready for commercial deployment. It was a specialized suit of some sort, which first drew the attention of the Inspector. When Decker pulled another from the same backpack, Lionel found the garb too intriguing not to inquire: “Hey, have you got any more of those?” he asked, with youthful enthusiasm.
Decker retrieved two more rolled up suits from his pack. “They’re a Nano-fibre composite.”
Lionel unfurled his. It was an incredibly lightweight, sheer-like black material. “This is amazing.”
“It has the ability to enhance your movements,” Decker instructed. “Nerve impulse sensors are woven right into the fabric. The subtlest muscle movement will trigger an amplifying response in the appropriate part of the suit. If you have to lift something, for example, your legs will find it easier.”
“And if I have to hit someone?” Lionel asked, stretching his arm out as if he were backhanding an aggressor.
“It’ll take a few moments to get used to, so be careful,” Decker stated.
While Simon dawned his own suit, Lionel continued to be in awe of the muscular upgrade. “This would be amazing in a bar fight.”
Inspector Hansen looked on with a healthy measure of trepidation as Simon was the last of the four men to get his thoughts into mission ready status. “You have one hour, Mr. Taylor,” the Inspector stated. Simon was in the process of leaving, but stopped just short of the doorway leading to the back yard. Lionel was outside on the lawn, eagerly awaiting his brother. Decker and his crew were already boarding their specialized craft.
Inspector Hansen repeated himself. “One hour is all I can offer you, Simon. Beyond that I’ll have to involve my counterpart at the FBI.” Hansen had already put the American authorities on alert. With nothing concrete to go on, though, there was little the FBI could do but wait for an actionable lead.
Simon could feel the sympathy in Hansen’s eyes, that quality that distinguishes a father from any previous masculine incarnation. Simon’s voice almost cracked. “All I can say … is thank you, Inspector. If you don’t hear from me before then, Sophia will know how to find me.”
What followed was a blur to Simon. Although every gesture, every motion seemed strangely mechanical, Simon’s enhanced physical prowess blended into a backdrop of simmering anxiety. He wondered what type of individuals they would encounter on the island. Who would undertake such an audacious criminal act in order to get their hands on the super genome? Despite the uncertainty associated with whom they were dealing, Simon knew that the technology to carry out serious gene manipulation had been commonly available for some time.
Although pet clones were just one example of back alley, garage type genetic engineering, they were not, unfortunately, the worst to date. Three-and-a-half billion years of evolution seemed at risk of being swept aside by irreverent hands.
Inspector Hansen had to agree that Jennifer’s captors fit a non-professional criminal profile; that they may have indeed factored the ransom into an enterprise of their own making. But what if they wanted to sell Sophia’s creation on the black market? Undoubtedly, they would make millions from flipping the super genome to a larger, clandestine entity. The endless possibilities only added to the night’s mounting tension.
Fortunately for Simon, the struggle to set those concerns aside was hastened by Sims bringing the craft to a complete stop.
Sims stood before his navigation console and motioned for Decker to take a look at the computer screen concealed within its cowling. Sophia was providing a real-time video composite from all of the birds present. Again, swarming intelligence enabled the mini-drones to congregate in the vicinity of the target. The fact that the starlings’ and grackles’ natural counterparts frequently flew in swarm formations only aided in their ability to blend in with their environment. Bat-like echolocation sonar supplemented their visual navigation at close range, enabling them to disperse discreetly throughout the island.
A Point Cloud representation of the small sized island appeared on Sims’s monitor. Simon and Lionel joined Decker, looking over his shoulder. The target in question was dead ahead, some two dozen metres away.
Sims rotated the high-resolution scan. The island was relatively small, approximately two acres in size. Elms, poplars, cedars, and spruce trees surrounded the otherwise rocky outcropping. They concealed more than the perched drone birds and hawks. A very modest wood-clad cottage was situated near the island’s centre. Its features were common to most summer residences, but the one item that Sims wanted to bring to everyone’s attention was the sentry sitting quietly outside the dwelling’s front door.
Decker nodded. “Go to the Micros,” he ordered.
The Micros? Simon and Lionel wondered, sharing a look.
With a few typed in commands, Sims caused four cylinders to rise out of the forward deck of their boat, just in front of where the two hover-speeders were presently harnessed. When the tubes each rotated in turn, hundreds of micro drones were released into the air. Simon and Lionel were as astonished to see the small, wasp-like devices speed toward the island in front of them.
Back at the house, Inspector Hansen was no less amazed. Sophia offered a rendition of the micro drones both on Sims console as well as her own holographic display. “Vespula pensylvanica,” she stated, as an image of the yellow jacket wasp rotated in front of the Insp
ector. Further schematic images showed the wasps’ measurements ranging from fifteen to twenty millimetres.
“I thought I’d seen it all,” the Inspector said, shaking his head.
Simon and Lionel were equally taken aback as they watched. When the full complement of some two-hundred micro drones left their cylindrical nests, they offered the definite appearance of flying a prearranged route.
“The heat signature of an infrared laser will guide them into position,” Decker stated.
The laser, which originated from the boat, was aimed through a break in the trees at a staging area on the cottage’s rooftop. The bulk of the wasps landed at the base of the building’s only chimney. There, they huddled in standby mode, awaiting further instructions. A small cadre of yellow jackets wasted little time departing into the chimney. Their orders: map out the inside of the house. The assigned micros soon took up positions in the room’s four corners, where each intersected with the ceiling.
A three-dimensional image of the cottage’s main room appeared in front of Simon and the Inspector at the same time. The space measure approximately twenty by eighteen feet. It included a kitchen and eating area, as well as a couch on which one of the captors was found to be lying. The light provided by oil lanterns suggested the lone female occupant was listening to some music on a set of ear buds. A further drone landed inconspicuously nearby. The young woman’s eyes were closed. Her head bobbed, slightly, to an almost imperceptible audio rhythm.
Finding the room otherwise silent, Sophia detected the main room could not account for the building’s exterior dimensions. Another set of yellow jackets were deployed from the rooftop. In mere seconds, this group found their way under a couple of doorways, which obviously led to two adjacent rooms. After entering, both spaces were found to be dark.
“Switching to infrared,” Sims stated.
When two separate images shared Sims’s computer screen, Simon gasped. A single occupant defined one of the rooms.
“Jennifer,” Simon whispered. Adrenaline surged within his veins. The desire to abandon all reason to his protective instinct was becoming too much to suppress.
“Easy, Mr. Taylor,” Decker said, quietly. “When we’ve confirmed it’s her, we’ll move in.”
The lone adult-sized subject, presumed to be Jennifer, was in the room on the left of the fireplace. In the other room, on the right side of the hearth, a male and female seemed to be fully immersed in the act of having sex. Their bodies were easily illuminated through infrared detection. “Perfect,” Decker stated, knowing in his mind how the takedown would unfold.
“Alright, let’s confirm our subject’s identity,” Decker ordered.
A specialized micro drone was dispatched to the room in question. It landed on Jennifer’s exposed arm. Half asleep, she only flinched. When the yellow jacket stung her, and took with it a sample of her DNA, the only reply she could offer was a frustrated whimper. Simon’s heart sank at the prospect of his daughter being so weak, possibly drugged. His spirits were quickly buoyed, though, by the fact that Sophia quickly verified the DNA in question. It was Jennifer.
Simon turned to Decker. “Alright, how are we going to do this?”
“We’ll need to take the four targets out at the same time,” Decker responded.
“Sophia?” Simon queried.
Sophia easily detected an elevated stress level in Simon’s voice. “I concur,” she replied. “That scenario minimizes the risk to Jennifer. I suggest approaching from the west. That area of the island offers the nearest tree cover to the house. ”
Decker prepared to put his plan into motion. “Alright, Sims, move us in closer. After you drop us off on the island, I need you to stay with the boat. Resume a position some twenty metres offshore.”
The boat drifted toward the island and then made contact with a stony section of shoreline. A thick covering of trees concealed their approach. In almost total darkness, Decker turned again to Sims. “Your targets are identified?”
“They are,” Sims responded.
Decker continued with his instructions as Connor, Lionel and Simon went ashore. “Wait for my command,” he ordered, quietly. “When I give the word, put all the micros into motion, understand?”
Connor seemed confident, to the point of being cocky. “It’ll all be over in a matter of minutes.”
Several moments later, the four men were peering through the trees at the male sentry sitting just outside the cottage’s front door. A lantern burned beside him, faintly illuminating the scene. Simon wanted to bolt right in. It took everything he had to maintain his composure. Lionel sensed the subtle agitation in his brother’s demeanour. He put his hand on Simon’s shoulder. “Try to control your breathing. It’ll help calm your nerves,” he said, quietly. Lionel was beginning to feel in his element again.
“Connor, you take the sentry,” Decker ordered. “Lionel, the female on the couch is yours.” Lionel’s thoughts turned to his target. He was eager to see the look on her face after recognizing him from this morning.
“I’ll take the two in the adjacent room,” Decker continued, “Simon, your job is to get your daughter to the boat.” Decker tapped the slim pack secured to the front of each of them. “We each have everything we need to secure our objectives.” Decker was referring to the zip ties, gags, hoods, and, of course, duct tape enclosed in each pack. “Is everyone ready?” he whispered.
The three men nodded.
“Sims, are you in position?”
“Ready for the order, Sir.”
“Alright, we’re a go for the micros.”
Sims entered the command on his console. “Micros away. I repeat, micros away.”
The remaining drones near the chimney instantly became animated.
The four men watched from approximately twenty metres away. They were crouched at a distance that wouldn’t allow them to see the onslaught themselves, but Decker and Connor knew what to expect.
“Ow! … Shit!” the sentry complained. He smacked his neck and then stood up. The young man could see several yellow jackets swarming around him. “Get lost, you little fuckers!” he barked, realizing he had just been stung. His tank top and baggy shorts offered little protection from the ensuing onslaught. “Damn it!” he cursed, after a second and third sting. The wasps were obviously targeting his neck. He readied himself from the next attack, but soon found his legs wobbly. These stingers were anything but ordinary.
Again, he slapped the back of his head. “Got ya, you little bugger!” Then looking into his hand, he was startled by what he found: the mechanical remnants of his winged attacker. The shattered wings fluttered, the microelectronics sparked.
“What the …?” he said, before his vision went blurry. Succumbing to the attack, he couldn’t help falling to his knees. Accumulating doses of a sedating neurotoxin were taking effect.
At the same time, the occupants of the cottage were falling victim to a similar swarm. The girl lying on the couch was quickly overwhelmed by dozens of wasps targeting her neck and head area. They offered little time to think, even less to react. She screamed loudly, while attempting to defend herself. Her flailing and swatting had little effect, however. She shrieked the name of the man outside. “Josh, help!” But her screams went unanswered.
Josh got up, staggered then fell to his knees in front of the cottage. Help was not available, not from Josh nor the couple in the other room. The yellow jacket stingers continued their work, streaming under the door to the bedroom.
The second female had already collapsed on top of her partner. The room was dark, except for a small offering of moonlight. The wasps’ hyper infrared detectors allowed them to zoom in on their victims pulsating blood, specifically the carotid artery in their targets’ necks.
Other wasps provided Sophia with a real-time video of what was taking place in and outside the cottage.
The naked man managed to push his girlfriend onto the other side of the bed. Another frantic call was made to Josh.
No reply. Although Josh seemed to be made of sturdier stuff, he was in no condition to offer a reply, let alone help. He stumbled toward an open section of shoreline, some twenty-five metres away from the cottage. With an equal measure of desperation, his accomplice in the bedroom reached for the door, but collapsed before grasping it. He was the third victim to fall unconscious.
“The dwelling is secured,” Sophia announced.
“Alright, let’s move in,” Decker ordered. “Sims, I need support on the north side of the island. Sims immediately answered the order. He released his hover-speeder and lifted off.
As the men left the cover of the trees, Decker continued to issue orders. “The sentry is still in play. I repeat, the sentry is still in play.”
Connor ran for the only target still struggling to stay conscious. At the same time, Sims’ aerial support came into view. When the sentry’s feet stumbled into the water, he stopped and looked up. A blinding light hovered over him. His last thoughts must have entertained the idea of an alien invasion just before Connor tackled the man into the water. Little effort was required to subdue the semi-conscious man.
Simon was the first to reach the cottage, but Lionel was quick to take control. “I’ve got the door,” he hollered, before smashing it open with his prosthetic leg. Lionel and Decker knew which rooms to secure, Simon as well. The silence of Jennifer’s room only amplified her father’s pounding heart. Finding the door was locked, Simon used his shoulder to burst in. He heard a moan. In a split second he was at his daughter’s side. “Jennifer, it’s me,” he whispered.
He tried to straighten her up, but she resisted. She was obviously weak and was not fully aware of what was transpiring. “Baby, it’s me.”
He straightened her up and began to loosen the string around her neck. “Daddy,” she whimpered. “Is that you?”
The bag over her head was gently pulled off. Simon allowed his daughter to squint several times. “I’m here, Jennifer,” Simon said, his voice cracking.
“Daddy,” Jennifer repeated, not believing her eyes.
Simon was clearly overwhelmed. His voice still shuddered with emotion. “You’re safe now, Jenny. You’re safe!”
A jubilant father worked quickly to release his daughter’s hands. Jennifer felt the moment overtake her. Sobs accompanied the realization that her ordeal might finally be over. When her hands were freed, Simon gently pulled Jennifer toward him. Each fell tearfully into the others’ embrace. “Please take me home, Dad!” Jennifer pleaded.
“Right away, Baby. Right away.”
“Good God,” was all the Inspector could say. He could hardly believe what he had just witnessed. The whole undertaking had unfolded on Sophia’s holographic display in real time. He continued to watch as Simon helped Jennifer onto the awaiting boat. With all accounted for, it sped for home.
Then Hansen was surprised by the image of the cottage being replaced by a bust of Sophia. She appeared right in front of him. A hint of a smile seemed to belie the importance of what just took place.
“Sophia?” Hansen asked.
Sophia struggled to suppress her sense of accomplishment, the joy of seeing Jennifer being reunited with Simon. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Inspector,” she proudly announced.