Pulling The Dragon's Tail (51 page)

Campbell had a sinking feeling in her stomach.
She watched through a porthole as the mini-sub departed. Then she
noticed a body stuffed partway into a closet. She nodded to
Thatcher and Ryker, pointed to the body, and mouthed the words,
Must be Beckett. Don’t say anything yet.

Another explosion rocked the entire complex,
throwing them all to the ground. Dr. Hilliard was thrown out of his
chair. As Ryker and Thatcher pulled him back up, Hilliard said, “I
think that was the engine room. The power may soon go.”

Thatcher found the walkie talkie and handed it
to Hilliard.

“Damn it all! This thing won’t work!” cursed
Hilliard.

Thatcher sensed Hilliard’s terrible dilemma.
“Dr. Hilliard, I don’t think, um.”

Campbell finished his sentiment. “Grandpa,
there’s nothing more we can do for your colleagues. We’ve got to
escape. Maybe they can use our scuba gear.”

Ryker looked out the porthole at the remaining
docked sub. “Whoo-boy! Ya sure we can all fit in that thing?”

Hilliard hesitated. His mind scanned through the
ship. Something else was wrong, but he just couldn’t place exactly
what it was.

“Grandpa, we have to leave!”

Next to where the mini-sub had been docked sat
the robo-glider, a cylindrical object with the main body two meters
in diameter and about four meters in length. Two three-meter-long
wings were attached on either side. A two-meter long airlock
occupied the back of the glider.

“Similar to the ones at Poseidon City,” observed
Thatcher.

“How much longer till the tsunami hits?” asked
Hilliard. He silently hoped that his maniac son hadn’t disabled the
robo-glider.

“Five, maybe six minutes, if we’re lucky,”
answered Campbell.

Reluctantly, Dr. Hilliard entered the
robo-glider. He instructed them on the operation of the craft,
which was only designed for a crew of one along with two
passengers.

Campbell looked around, then wondered why Ryker
wasn’t yet aboard. She looked back and saw him organizing the cache
of weapons and ammunition. He tossed it on the floor in front of
her. She silently gave thanks to have him along. Ryker was an
astute planner and, above all, loyal and brave. No wonder Es had
developed an immediate affinity for him.

Another explosion rocked the floating city. The
force knocked Ryker away from the entrance. Fire alarms sounded and
water from hidden sprinklers doused him.

As the entire complex began tipping over
sideways, Ryker lost his footing and began to slide away.

“We must disembark now!” sputtered the
Doctor.

Campbell climbed back through the entrance and
reached out her hand to Ryker. He grabbed it and clambered aboard.
In his haste he hit his head on the overhead bulk.

“Dad gum fucking ceiling! Holy Jesus Mary and
Joseph! Shit! That hurts!” Ryker exclaimed, rubbing his head. He
closed and locked the external door and secondly, the inside door.
His knees reached uncomfortably across to the other side of the
small compartment, brushing up against Campbell.

“Sorry about the cramped quarters,” said
Hilliard.

“Better that than to go down with the ship.”
Ryker nodded toward the gigantic complex, which was still listing
badly.

“Is that standard issue twentieth century
profanity?” asked a grinning Thatcher.

“No, that’s my own. A native American friend
called it, Tall Man Curse.”

“Thatcher,” said the doctor in a weakened voice,
“you’ll have to manually release the glider. I’m sure all computer
communication with the ship’s broken.”

Thatcher found the switch and pulled it.

Hilliard looked ready to cry. “I’m glad I can’t
literally see the complex disintegrate,” he moaned. “My life and my
friends are back there.”

“I’m so sorry Grandpa. “ Campbell lovingly found
his hands and gently caressed them in hers. She produced a bottle
of water and helped him drink it. Worry lines furrowed her brow.
He looks even more sluggish and torpid. What was that he said
about the immune system being compromised? I hope the nutrient
patch works, whenever we can get him on it.

The robo-glider began floating away from the
complex. Thatcher switched on overhead lights. Windows arched above
them for a 180 degree view of the ocean’s wonders.

“Years of hard work, ruined. My friends—Jen,
Jonas, Karl—all possibly dead or dying. I’ll miss—” Sobs rocked his
body as Campbell attempted to comfort him.

He gathered himself together. “I managed to send
a substantial part of MAGNUM’s programming onshore.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but if you want me to run
this little vessel, then how the hell do you do it?” said a
frustrated Thatcher.

“You can use the Tall Man Curse words, if it’ll
help,” offered Ryker.

“The control console is just below the front
window. It has monitors for oxygen, speed, hull integrity, and so
forth. To the right of the monitors is a small key pad and a couple
of buttons. Punch code one-two-three into the keypad and hit
start.”

“Okay, got it.” Thatcher did as told. The
engines purred to life. Thatcher had an uncanny impression that,
even though blind, Hilliard still could see what was happening
inside the robo-glider. “But what’s this in front of me then?”
Thatcher stared downward at a small panel with a tiny button beside
it.

“The panel pops out with a joystick to manually
run the glider. Right now, I think all you need to punch in a
pre-set travel course,” Hilliard continued. “First off, which
direction did the other sub head? ”
They don’t need to know
about the other sub’s firepower.

The others all peered out into the murky ocean.
“Can’t see ‘em anywhere,” concluded Ryker.

“Right now,” interrupted Thatcher, “we just
gotta get away from your ship before it falls on us.”

“Options,” muttered the Doctor. “Push
seven-two-four and hit enter. That’ll take us down and
southeastward, away from the complex and hopefully from the
mini-sub.”

Thatcher quickly engaged the pre-set course. The
glider began the steady deliberate course that Hilliard
predicted.

“What about the tsunami?” voiced Campbell.

“Won’t that thing just pass right over us?”
asked Ryker.

“Quite possibly,” answered Hilliard, “but
because our craft is so small any turbulence above may still reach
a considerable distance below and any explosions might …How long
till the tsunami hits?”

“About two minutes.” Thatcher looked eastward
into the ocean. Without warning, a tempestuous angry blackness
invaded the deep blue calm ahead of them.

“Hold on!” yelled Thatcher.

The front of the glider began to flail
violently.

“What’s going on?” yelled Campbell, holding onto
Hilliard.

“I was off!” replied Thatcher. “Tsunami’s
here!”

The water’s turbulence increased to a frenzied
boil, shaking the vessel violently around, pulling it steadily back
in the wrong direction.

“Look!” said Ryker, “we’re being sucked right
back where we came from. It’s like we’re caught in a net.”

“This could be close,” intoned Hilliard. “I hope
we’ve put enough distance between us and my ship.”

Another explosion from the ship lit up the ocean
behind them. The tiny craft was pummeled by that impact and rolled
over and over like a cat batting a mouse back and forth between its
paws.

“Oh my God!” screamed Campbell as she tried to
stabilize herself. Her grandfather’s helmet smashed into the
window.

“Grandpa, are you okay?” she asked with a
quaking voice.

“Yes,” he said in a hoarse whisper, nodding his
head.

The tsunami wave brushed them ever closer to the
floating complex that the doctor once called home.

Another explosion ripped into the complex,
rending it in two. In a surreal slow-motion dance, part of the ship
began toppling over, pushing ever closer to them. They watched
helplessly as they were dragged along by the invisible hand of
water, inexorably guiding them toward the crumpling complex.

“Please, God, let it miss us! Damn it, I don’t
want to die like this!” moaned an angry Thatcher.

“Are we going to make it?” asked Hilliard.

Campbell squeezed his hand. “Like you said,
it’ll be close.”

The pull of the current slowed, as the tsunami
passed them by. Its fury also slowed the floating headquarters
eastward tumble in the water toward them.

A moment later the ship’s remains toppled over
completely. It hit the seafloor, stirring up massive clouds of silt
and sand over the ocean floor.

Thatcher could feel his body tighten, willing
the glider to slow down. “We’re gonna make it!” he exclaimed a
minute later.

The robo-glider passed just underneath a railing
from the top of the ship.

“Wait!” yelled Ryker, “we’re still gonna hit the
hull!”

A moment later, the glider popped against the
deck of the complex, now lying on its side on the ocean floor.
Thatcher’s head slammed into the control panel.

The impact bounced the glider away from the
larger vessel. The glider shuddered and shook, tipped sideways, but
stayed in one piece.

Campbell breathed a sigh of relief as she looked
around her.

“You having fun yet?” she asked Ryker.

“I’ve had better times,” he guffawed, trying to
stop from smashing his body into Campbell and the doctor. “At least
we’re in one piece.”

“Look at the monitors, Thatcher,” said Hilliard.
“Any indicators off-line?”

Thatcher held his breath and read, “Oxygen,
ninety-nine percent; hull integrity, ninety-seven percent; engine,
okay; wings, okay. It all checks out. Whew! But I imagine we’ll
have no choice but to fly this thing manually now.”

“Try it out,” encouraged Hilliard. “Push the
override button to the right of the keypad. The joystick controller
will pop out down below, and all you do is guide it like an
airplane.”

Thatcher pushed the button; the controller stick
popped out. Just as Thatcher grabbed it, all cabin lights
immediately went off. The low hum of the engine stopped. “Shit!
What’d I do?”

“Calm down! It happens all the time,” said
Hilliard. “Seems there’s a mis-wiring somewhere.”

“Okay, so what do I do?” said Thatcher. He
gulped for air, forcing it into his lungs with short, wheezing
sounds.

“Wait a minute, and then push start. It always
fires right back up.”

The glider drifted slowly along, rudderless and
with no engine power. Finally it righted itself, and landed with a
soft bump on the ocean floor.

The eerie unbounded stillness of the ocean
enveloped them. Hilliard muttered what sounded like a prayer,
silently intoning each of his colleague’s names. He ended by saying
“Rest in peace, my friends. I will carry on your work, I
swear.”

Thatcher held his finger over the start button,
hesitating. “Well, beggars can’t be choosers. We gotta go dance
with the one who brung us. It’s now or never. Into every life a
little rain—”

“Push the damn button,” Hilliard wearily
ordered.

The low hum of the engines whirred to life.

“Now I’m having fun again,” bellowed Ryker. “No
Davy Jones locker for us! No sirree! So what’s next, Dr.
Hilliard?”

Hilliard smiled slightly, but it was more a
grimace of a man in pain. “Well, the first order of business is to
avoid the other sub if at all possible.”

“I’d be glad to stare ‘em down with my gun. I’m
ready and raring to go, doctor!”

“I appreciate your sentiments, Ryker, but we’re
no match for the mini-sub’s torpedoes.”

Ryker’ enigmatic smile quickly was erased.
“Torpedoes!”

“Grandpa!” Campbell was taken aback, as the
Ryker and Thatcher gaped open-mouthed at this new development.

“Now, if I’d told you that while on board ship,
would you’ve gotten in the glider?”

Ryker was the quickest to integrate the new
reality. “How many and what kind?”

“Gotta know your options, right, Ryker? Two
torpedoes. They’re both motion and heat seeking. That means they
target both movement and heat.”

“So, all we need to do to stay safe is to shut
our mouths and lay still?” inquired Thatcher.

“That’s basically correct.”

Ryker smiled broadly. “It just keeps getting
better and better!”

Thatcher was still worried. “Wouldn’t it be
better to stay pretty close to the big ship? Maybe we can hide near
some of the wreckage.”

“You might be right,” said the doctor
reassuringly, “Beckett and Herschel probably aren’t even giving us
an afterthought. We’re probably worrying for nothing. My advice is
to head for Bermuda.”

As Thatcher steered the vessel toward the
gigantic wrecked hull that had been the doctor’s home, he kept an
eye out for trouble. Having dry land under his feet once again
couldn’t happen fast enough.

Ryker stared at Campbell, who was lovingly
stroking Dr. Hilliard’s arm. She looked up and smiled.

“Now let me get this straight. Dr. Hilliard here
is, what, 113 years old. You’re his grand-daughter. And Dr.
Hilliard, you began some kind of anti-aging experiments some sixty
years ago?” Amazement filled his face.

“And,” continued Thatcher, “Es and Nate are
recipients of the anti-aging formula. They’re almost a hundred
years old.”

“Gosh!”

Hilliard smiled. “Don’t think I’d be here either
if I hadn’t taken the formula; my only transgression as an
experimental scientist. Don’t you think I still look twenty-one?”
he smiled ingeniously.

“Okay,” continued Ryker, “and you thought your
grandfather was dead for all these years?”

“Since I was nine. It was about a month ago that
Nate—um, found me—that’s a story unto itself. But I had no idea he
was alive, and that he looked twenty-one.”

Ryker’ smile broadened. “Now I think I recall
this stuff in history class about Dr. Hilliard. So then,” he said,
turning to Thatcher, “who are you?”