Pulling The Dragon's Tail (55 page)

“Yes,” said Sheridan triumphantly, “it’s
unbelievable what several well placed bombs can do. I set off a
fucking tsunami!”

A rope was tossed from the hovering ‘copter.
People frantically implored the pilot to come towards them. Two
young men grabbed hold of the rope while a small girl, with matted
hair and bloodied face, grabbed the running board of the
helicopter.

In the next instant, the waters rose several
meters higher, coming dangerously close to the helicopter. The
pilot lifted the craft up higher as the little girl hung
tentatively onto the running board. A hand from inside the craft
was seen reaching out for her.

Her grip began slowly slipping. The other
hand strained to reach ever closer. For a split second, wide-eyed,
the girl realized her fate and lunged in vain for the rescuer’s
hand. She missed, screaming, as a second later she splashed into
the churning water below, as the reporter yelled and sobbed
hysterically. The cameraman scanned desperately to locate her, but
she did not resurface.

The camera then caught a mother and father
desperately trying to keep their infant from drowning. The father
careened into a tree and lost his grip on his child. The mother
screamed and left the safety of a piece of flotsam to dive into the
water to rescue them.

The screams of the reporter were reduced to
sobbing and laments. No words sufficed to describe the death and
destruction. An ominous silence passed for several seconds. The
camera panned up and down the black water. Mother and child did not
emerge from the boiling black cauldron of death.

“Serves’em right,” sneered Sheridan. “They
should’ve never lived so close to the sea.”

Nate fought through the horror he’d just
witnessed. “Sheridan! You’ve lost every shred of decency if you can
gloat over that.”

Es whispered, “Continent of Africa.”

“I’m trying to work with people and you’re
trying to kill them!” Nate screamed.

“And where’s it gotten you, Skip?” Sheridan
bellowed right back. “You get locked up in a mental hospital
because the world tried to destroy you. You’ve failed miserably to
make a difference! I’m not blaming you. Lord knows you’ve tried.
Humans are just incorrigible, pathetic beings who are destroying
our planet!”

“But that’s what you’re doing! Don’t you get
your hypocrisy!” spat back an incensed Nate. His voice quivered as
anger built up inside him. “And you’re absolutely insane if you
think you’re supportive of my goals.”

“Careful!” whispered Es in his ear. “Engage,
don’t enrage.”

Nate ignored her. His muscles tightened into
fists. He lowered his voice and through tight lips said, “I’m
trying to push the End-Date away, Sheridan, while you’re trying to
bring it to pass. Do you realize how long a global ice age might
last, how many millions or billions might die?”

Es whispered, “Northern Africa.”

As all terrorists do, Sheridan had a ready
answer to justify his actions. “Humans are going to suffer until
they stop their insanity of pillaging the environment!”

“Thousands of innocents are dying right now
because of you!” replied an enraged Nate. “You …son of a
bitch…you’re not going to win. Living on a planet that you rule is
truly hell on earth. You may have won the battle but not the
war.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared, my wimpy pacifist friend.
Like you said earlier, you’re not interested in ruling any real
estate. Now you’re trying to intimidate me with your half-cocked
war talk.” Sheridan yelled to one of his assistants, “Get me off
this fucking line!”

Nate smiled. “The fight for the soul of humanity
is a fight
I’m
ready for. I’m warning you, I’m awake now
and—”

Es was zeroing in on Sheridan’s location.
“Tibesti Mountains of—”

Dugan interrupted her. “Incoming message from
Dr. Hilliard.”

Hilliard!
Nate’s heart quickened. He
looked over at Es. What do we do? he mouthed to her. Then he heard
Sheridan say, “Ha! Found the goddamn override code! Pulling the
plug on you, Skip. Bye.” The connection was severed.

“We almost had him down to the square
kilometer,” said Es. “Dugan relay the information we’ve gathered
and send it to UN Security. Dugan, tell us about Dr. Hilliard.”

“Dr. Hilliard sent a Morse coded distress
message:
Captured by Herschel, homing beacon intact. Please
assist.
And the message ends,” Dugan concluded.

“Do you have his coordinates, Dugan?” asked
Es.

“Yes,” replied the CCR. “It is a beach on the
southeastern shore of Bermuda, about five kilometers from where Dr.
Hilliard’s headquarters had been.”

“When can we get there?” asked Nate. His body
shook with rage. With eyes tightly closed, he tried to make the
sign of CHOFA, but his fingers refused to uncurl.

“At our present course and speed, about eleven
minutes.”

Es looked over at Nate. “Can you fly this
plane?”

* * * * * *

A silent, hooded figure, dressed in black from
head to toe, lurked behind the mini-sub holding a gun. An
air-breather was pulled over the person’s forehead. The figure wore
flippers that had enabled them to quickly traverse the thirty meter
distance from where they had splashed into the water moments
before.

The figure peered around the corner of the
mini-sub and saw Herschel threatening Thatcher. They clicked the
laser gun to the on position. But Herschel alertly heard the
distinctive
ping
from the laser gun.

The lurking figure aimed and squeezed the
trigger, but the lightning quick Herschel dove into the water ahead
of the blast.

Thatcher turned around. “Holy cripes! Es?”

“Help me look for him!” screamed Nate. “He’s got
to surface sometime!” He clambered on top of the mini-sub, and
peered into the water.

“Nate? I can’t believe you’re—” Then Thatcher
turned his head in the direction that Herschel had jumped into the
water. He spied the robo-glider. The incoming tide had swept the
glider out to sea, and now floated about twenty meters off shore.
“I think I saw—over there! He’s heading toward the
robo-glider!”

Nate pulled the air-breather over his mouth and
dove into the water. The specially equipped fins sped him under the
surface of the cold water at an astonishing rate of speed.

Herschel surfaced, kicked his shoes off, and
swam on top of the water. He looked back but couldn’t see his
pursuer.

Nate continued to close the gap.

“Get the bastard,” Thatcher yelled. Then he
noticed sharks a bit farther off shore.

With a big breath, Herschel dove downward once
more. He was in about five meters of water. He spied a large piece
of coral at the bottom, and hid behind it. To his right, he saw the
underside of the robo-glider. Then he saw his pursuer pass
overhead.

Waiting for another few seconds until the
pursuer had passed him, Herschel struck. He pushed up powerfully
with his legs, hands at his side to speed his ascent. Just below
the surface, he grabbed Nate’s legs from behind.

Nate flailed in the water, struggling to turn
over and loosen Herschel’s maddening grip. Nate grabbed a tiny
underwater spear gun from a small pocket on his hip. Herschel drew
closer, and grabbed Nate by the waist and punched him in the
stomach.

Nate gasped from the punch, and nearly lost his
grip on the gun. Herschel lunged for the weapon but Nate pulled his
arm away. With his left leg, he kicked Herschel on the side of the
head.

Nate steadied the gun.

Herschel’s lungs were bursting. With one more
effort, he wrestled Nate for the gun. They turned over and over in
the water.

Finally, Herschel succeeded in knocking the gun
out of Nate’s hand. The gun floated lazily downward. With a kick to
Nate’s head, the air-breather fell off his face.

Herschel, with his oxygen supply gone, strained
for the surface. Nate groped for his air-breather floating away
from him, and spied the gun spinning down below. He caught the
air-breather, and tried to place it back on his face, but the strap
which held it against the back of his head had snapped.

Suddenly, Herschel grabbed him from behind. Nate
felt Herschel’s powerful forearm crushing his windpipe. Herschel
dug into his own hip pocket and extracted a switchblade.

Nate struggled to stop Herschel’s stranglehold
on him, tearing at the stronger man’s arm around his throat. He saw
the gleaming blade of the knife pop open and glide through the
water.

Herschel plunged the blade into Nate’s
mid-section. But instead of cutting his adversary through, the
blade slipped and slid against the super-light, super-strong
nano-fibers of Nate’s wetsuit.

The blade bounced off Nate and twisted sideways.
The cold, cruel steel cut into Herschel’s wrist instead. Blood
spurted into the water. Herschel winced in pain. Immediately he let
go of his death grip on Nate as the knife slipped from his grip and
spun lazily downward.

Nate placed the air-breather back on, but his
black mask sat awry on his head. He pulled the mask off, quickly
placing the air-breather over his mouth and nose, and holding it
there with his left hand.

Nate looked up toward the surface. Herschel, in
an effort to stem the blood loss, had slipped his right wrist
inside his left armpit. With his left arm, he swam toward the
knife, which was tumbling downward toward the sea floor.

But Nate was quicker. In an instant he retrieved
the knife.

Herschel, in obvious pain, stopped short in the
water, hovering next to Nate. Even through his pain, he clearly saw
the identity of his pursuer. Frantically, Herschel headed toward
the surface.

I’ve got to finish this
, thought Nate.
With one kick he was alongside Herschel. In his weakened state,
Herschel tried to swat the knife away. But Nate was too strong for
him.

The knife’s steel found the soft skin of
Herschel’s belly, slicing it open. Nate twisted it in and pulled it
out.

Herschel Hatton stopped his desperate attempt to
surface. His own blood now dripped into the vastness of the ocean’s
domain. He lost consciousness as his lungs gulped in sea water. His
body floated gruesomely downward past Nate, the vanquished one’s
eyes still open, staring mindlessly at the victor.

And then Nate saw the sharks circling in. The
knife was still in his hand. He let it go, and swam swiftly toward
the surface.

Several moments later, he lie panting in the
raft next to Thatcher. He gazed wordlessly up at the sky.

Thatcher stared wide-eyed at him. “You didn’t
let him get away, did you?”

“He’s dead,” replied a numb and exhausted Nate,
contemplating his deed. “I did what had to be done. Es said
killing’s never a good thing. It’s a horrible thing to do, but, you
know… I just couldn’t let Herschel get away any longer.”

Thatcher looked earnestly into Nate’s face. “You
da’ man. Keep that same attitude when you find Sheridan.” Never
prouder, Thatcher rowed the raft to shore.

“They’re alive!” Thatcher gasped as Es lifted up
the edge of the fallen house. Thatcher and Nate pulled Dr. Hilliard
and Campbell out. The doctor was groggy but conscious. Campbell,
however, was unconscious, but still had a pulse and was
breathing.

Thatcher ran back to the hyperjet, parked about
a half-kilometer away, to retrieve emergency supplies.

A fire was built close to the fallen house. Es
huddled over the. She stroked his face, taking great care to not
disturb his helmet. She visually examined him from head to toe, her
robotic eye scanning for broken bones and bleeding. As she gently
washed his face, he stirred.

Next to them, Nate cradled Campbell’s head in
his lap. Thatcher handed him a wet cloth and Nate washed her face.
Nate noticed a strange sensation of warmth. His hand was full of
blood. “Oh my God! There’s a huge gash in the back of her
head!”

Hilliard turned his head. He spoke in a frail
voice. “Campbell tried to shield me as the house caved in and she
bore the brunt of the collapse.”

Es opened the small leather case of medical
supplies that Thatcher had retrieved, locating a square hand-sized
gauze compress. Nate opened its sterile wrapper, and applied steady
pressure to the wound. But internally, he was dealing with his own
pressurized emotions. Fighting back tears, he said, “Campbell, I
will not let you die!” With a trembling hand, he brushed back the
sweaty, matted hair from her dirt-stained face. He resolutely
refused to look up at the sky
. You let Herschel kill! You let
Sheridan devastate the world! I’ve tried to follow your plan. But
it hasn’t done me or the world any good. Dammit! Let
me
make
a difference.
But the only thing he heard in response was the
sea breeze whistling in his ears.
Do not take Campbell from
me!

The doctor began to stir.

“Dr. Hilliard, it’s me, Es.”

“My dear daughter, can you help Campbell?”

Nate looked up helplessly. “She needs medical
attention.”

Dugan’s voice spoke up, communicating through
each person’s dataport. “I am accessing Campbell’s COMP-MD
programming now. I am also downloading medical knowledge into
Es.”

“Okay,” replied an incredulous Thatcher, who was
still trying to fathom how the CCR’s programming could be operable
at any level inside Es’s circuitry. “Dugan takes a licking and
keeps on ticking. Now he’s playing doctor?”

“What have you found, Dugan?” asked Es.

“Her COMP-MD nano-bots indicate she has lost
over a half-liter of blood. Her body temperature is ninety-five
degrees and her blood pressure is 95/52. COMP-MD also reports a
sharp problematic increase in intracranial pressure.”