The Olympus Device: Book Three (35 page)

Dusty and Grace were somewhat disappointed in the ceremony surrounding their departure. The entire affair involved a small crew of line handlers, three tired-looking managers from the shipyard, and a single, large tugboat.

“I was kind of expecting a band… or ticker tape… or fireboats shooting arches of water as we passed under,” Dusty teased.

“They could have at least had the Blue Angels fly over or something,” Grace responded.

The show was over in less than 20 minutes, the tug blowing its horn as it steamed away, turning back toward the port to help the next big ship heading out to sea.

Dusty turned to Grace suggesting, “Let’s head up to the bridge and see how our illustrious captain is doing. He’s got a whole console of fancy do-dads and whiz-bangs up there, and I’m dying to know what they all do.”

Grace shook her head, indicating she didn’t like the idea. “It’s a new ship for him and the crew, Dusty. The last thing they need is to have nosey passengers getting underfoot. I’m sure by the end of this cruise, you’ll have wormed your way in and be spinning us all around the Pacific Ocean. But not yet. Give the man some space to do his job.”

Dusty nodded, “You’re right, of course. But I do intend on figuring out how everything works. It’ll help me pass the time.”

“Right now, just stay here with me and enjoy the ride. This is such beautiful country, and it’s not raining. Hold me, relax, and enjoy, ‘Mr. I’m Bored Already.’”

Grunting, the Texan decided she was right, satisfied with wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close.

The couple found themselves enjoying the simple pleasures that they had been denied for so long – gawking at the surrounding scenery, pointing toward the snowcapped mountains in the distance, and occasionally observing some wildlife. Before long, they were moving into the open ocean, majestic forests replaced with dark blue waters and an endless horizon.

“Come on,” Grace said. “Let’s go figure out the do-dads and whiz-bangs in our kitchen. I’ll see if I can scramble us an omelet.”

Dusty rubbed his stomach, “The way to a man’s heart
is
through his stomach, ya know,” he teased.

Grace laughed, “That’s BS, and we both know it. The way to a man’s heart is to keep him out of federal prison and negotiate a private, luxury ship instead.”

Senator Hughes disconnected the call and sat motionless for a moment, his mind processing the information he’d just received.

Finally he turned, making eye contact with the man posted nearby.

At first, the ex-Special Forces soldier didn’t acknowledge the Senator’s attention. He was manning his post, on the lookout for any law enforcement activity or other threats to their hideout. Finally, he noticed the politician’s gaze.

“Is the admiral awake?” Hughes inquired.

“Yes, sir. I stopped by to check on his progress this morning. He was preparing for physical therapy.”

The politician rubbed his chin, “And his mood?”

The question seemed to take the stoic, military-type off guard. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

Hughes waved off the topic, regretting the attempt to make conversation with the man. Most of the coup survivors that had managed to escape Washington were the same way. Armstrong, severely injured during the attempt, had fallen into the same melancholy persona.

The senator rose from his perch, stepping to the sliding glass doors that led to the yacht’s rear deck. He paused there for a moment, gazing across the water at the distant mountains.

After a minute, Hughes seemed to reach a conclusion. Pivoting with purpose, he proceeded to the stairwell leading to the vessel’s internal spaces.

Their hideout was actually a private yacht, moored behind a private, seaside estate. At nearly 100 feet in length,
Gabby’s
Girl
was the property of a reclusive, eccentric millionaire who was in the later stages of Alzheimer’s.

Sensing a long-term, potentially lucrative, campaign contributor, Hughes had interceded with the IRS on the patron’s behalf several years prior. Use of the wealthy man’s yacht and private aircraft had been part of the repayment.
Besides
, mused the senator,
he can’t remember his own name most days
.
He thinks I’m his son.

After loading up their supplies and the wounded, the ex-Navy men under the admiral’s command had no trouble taking the big boat out into a secluded anchorage in the Columbia River basin. They’d remained there for 10 days, hoping to avoid law enforcement’s nationwide manhunt. It had worked.

Needing food, medical supplies, and fuel, they’d returned to the estate and had remained tied up at the private dock ever since.

Meandering through the expansive salon on his way to the section of the boat that housed the vessel’s many staterooms, Hughes reflected on the past few months.

Despite the plush surroundings and relative comfort offered by the yacht, being a fugitive had taken a serious toll on the senator. For a man accustomed to being in the public eye, the lifestyle of a recluse was complicated at best, pure torture on average. More than once, he’d considered surrendering to the authorities and facing the music, but the thought of rotting away in a federal prison had allowed him to endure the current circumstances, as troubling as they may be.

He continued his way forward, entering a passage lined with several ornate, wooden doors. Hesitating for a moment, he finally knocked lightly on the frame.

“Who is it?” Armstrong’s voice boomed through the bulkhead.

“It’s me. We need to talk.”

“Enter,” came the single word response.

He stepped into the private cabin to find the admiral lying in the berth, reading something on a laptop computer. Armstrong looked like shit.

When the revolution attempt had failed, a dozen of the admiral’s men had shown up at the Virginia estate where the senator had been lying low. Bloodied, battered, and defeated, the small group of survivors had carried their half-dead leader off the battlefield in a heroic display of loyalty. For weeks, Armstrong’s survival had been touch and go, severe internal injuries and infection an ongoing threat to the man’s life. Two of the other wounded rebels hadn’t survived.

Hughes, along with that small group of survivors, had flown with their wounded comrades across the country, finally landing on the West Coast and hiding out on the yacht.

At first, they had only intended to stay a few days, biding time until they could develop a more tenable escape. But Armstrong’s injuries were too severe, and the Army medic had advised that the patient not be moved.

Armstrong had been slowly recovering ever since.

“How are you feeling, Admiral?” the senator greeted.

“I think I am ready to step up my game, Richard. Today, I’m going to give jogging a shot,” he explained. “In another six months, if the FBI doesn’t shoot me on sight, I should be back to normal.”

“I received an interesting phone call this morning, and I wanted to share the details with you. It seems that a well-secured freighter not far from here has been the benefactor of an incredibly expensive refurbishment, including the creation of an expansive master suite and the installation of some pretty sophisticated lab equipment.”

“Go on.”

“I was also informed that the captain of this floating fortress was in charge of the destroyer that fired the cruise missiles against St. Louis.”

Armstrong’s eyes squinted in slow recognition, his mind rapidly connecting the dots. “So that’s how they’re going to do it. I’ve been wondering about that. It all makes sense.”

“I don’t get it? What makes sense?”

“They aren’t going to take any chances with that damned rail gun. There’s no military base, research lab, or government facility in the world where they can feel safe stashing that thing away. I would’ve put it on some desolate island and kept the location secret, but this is even better. They’ve talked Weathers into using a mobile research lab that would be next to impossible to capture.”

Hughes nodded, his mind already running down the same route.

The admiral began typing on the laptop’s keyboard. Without peering up, he said, “I’m doing a search on every freighter sold since our attack on Washington.”

A few moments later, he twisted the screen around so the senator could see for himself. “There have been just six sales since our failed attempt. Only one of them was in Seattle.”

A few more inquiries told the two men the name of the ship. Armstrong actually laughed, “There has been only one vessel of that size recently reflagged.
The
S.S.
Parthenon
? Now, isn’t that rich? I can see someone in Washington still has a sense of humor.”

It took Armstrong a bit longer to gain access to the U.S. Coast Guard’s mandatory inspection report. Even the richest men in the world wouldn’t sail a large boat without insurance, and that meant an inspection by the “Coasties.”

Armstrong whistled, scanning the multi-page document filed for disclosure. “They have done a significant amount of work on that ship in a very short amount of time. The refit includes an electrically operated vault that required a special marine certification. Now, why would someone want such secure storage on a freighter?”

“To store a rail gun,” Hughes whispered.

“Exactly. And I see here they’ve filed a plan for Pearl Harbor. Conducting sea trials no doubt. They’re leaving…. Today!”

Armstrong almost knocked Hughes to the ground, so rapid was his rush to get out of the bed. “We’ve got to move and move right now. Get my men together, Senator. We’re going to get off this tub and into some larger accommodations, complete with the world’s most powerful weapon. Our dreams of changing America might not have completely evaporated just yet.”

“Hold on a second, Ted. Just what the hell do you intend to do?”

“We’re going to execute what the boys and I call a Somalian Pirate Special. We’re going to hijack that ship, and then we’ll see if the FBI is so eager to bring us to justice.”

According to Captain Bard, it was going to take a just over three days to reach Pearl Harbor. Fair weather and calm seas were predicted for the maiden voyage of
Parthenon
.

“We’re going to hug the coast to the south for a bit and then turn west. I’ve got brand new engines, controls, and electronics onboard. It there’s any trouble, I would like to be able to reach a port or call for help. We’ll take it nice and slow to break in this new gear properly.”

Dusty and Grace spent the rest of the day touring the ship’s facilities, the Texan curious about every nook and cranny of his new home. The ship’s second in command conducted the tour while Bard monitored the boat’s systems from the bridge.

Lunch was excellent, the salt air relaxing. The few crewmembers they did encounter were professional and polite, if not a bit standoffish.

“Most of these men are like Captain Bard and myself,” the first officer explained after Grace commented on the professional and positive attitudes. “Good men who ran into circumstances beyond their control. We all see this job as a second chance. You’ll not find a better, more experienced crew anywhere.”

Late in the day, Dusty and Grace were enjoying the view from their stateroom. The Pacific sun, low on the western horizon, was turning the endless waters a spectacular shade of blue.

Grace nuzzled her head against the Texan’s shoulder, the couple holding hands and recalling their busy, first day.

“So this is what a date is like for regular people,” Dusty commented. “I wondered what we would do without all the drama associated with the Olympus Device.”

Grace swatted him playfully on the arm. “Durham Weathers! We have endured incarcerations and murder attempts and federal investigations. I am looking forward to some ‘regular people’ days.” The rural attorney smiled at her companion, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “I can think of nothing better than sharing my days with you, sleeping in your arms, and waking up beside you with every sunrise,” she declared.

The genuineness of her speech prompted Dusty’s introspection. A cool, evening breeze caught them both by surprise, and the attorney shivered in the cold. The tall Texan moved closer to her, wrapping her in his oversized jacket. “You know, I can’t imagine anyone else I would rather have had by my side during this entire ordeal, Grace.”

She turned her face toward his neck and kissed him lightly. “I feel the same way, darlin’,” she whispered in his ear. “But as adorable as you are, don’t expect any discount on my billable hours,” she teased.

“Hey, Counselor…. I’m being serious. The one thing this whole episode has shown me is that life is too short for the folks you care about to wonder where they stand with you.”

“Oh, no doubt,” the attorney replied, her eyes now fully mesmerized by the evolving sunset before them. 

Dusty could see that his companion was enamored with the twilight color brushed across the sky – so much so that she didn’t seem fully vested in the conversation at hand. Determined to command her full attention, the Texan continued, drawing her face close to his, allowing him to peer directly into her eyes. “I love you, Grace. You know that, right?”

“I know you had
better
,” she teased as the sun’s rim began to slip over the horizon.

“Grace, I’ve got an idea,” Dusty announced.

“Oh, no. Not another invention. I’ll not have it,” she responded, maneuvering for a better view of nature’s final splendor for the day.

“No, no,” he grinned. “Not anything like that. Something much more important.”

Without warning, he turned to face her, taking both of her hands in his, and then dropping to one knee. For a brief second, the attorney thought something was wrong with him. She’d never seen such a look in his eyes, the expression on his face unreadable. “Grace Kennedy, will you marry me?”

Despite being a toughened lawyer, veteran of government prosecution, and able-bodied outlaw, Grace was stunned. She shook loose from Dusty’s gentle grip, raising both of her hands to her cheeks in surprise. “Why… why… Durham Weathers… I… I….”

“Well, you want to get hitched or not? I could ask the captain to turn this boat around if you’re sick of me already.”

“Oh, yes! Yes! I do want to spend the rest of my life with you. Yes, I will marry you.”

Smiling, Dusty rose from his knee, taking her in a strong embrace and kissing her passionately.

“Do you think we’ll be able to find a preacher in Hawaii?”

“I was going to ask the captain to perform the ceremony. I think he can still marry people at sea.”

“But it’s all so sudden. Shouldn’t we wait until we meet up with Mitch and Andy in Hawaii? Won’t they be disappointed in not having been a part of it?”

The Texan considered her objection but shook his head. “Andy might be uncomfortable in watching us walk down the aisle anyway. And believe me, Mitch won’t care. My gut says our time at Pearl is going to be a rushed madhouse anyway, so our throwing a wedding into the mix is just going to put more stress on everybody. Let’s go ahead and do it. Out here where it’s just you and me. A private ceremony. We can celebrate with friends and family later.”

“Oh, Dusty! You’re right. Let’s go ask the captain to perform the ceremony before you change your mind,” she teased.

They found Captain Bard on the bridge, sitting in his center-mounted chair with a fresh cup of coffee in his hand.

After acknowledging the visitors to his domain, Dusty got right down to business. “We’d like for you to marry us, sir. A captain can still do that, right?”

Christopher laughed, “No, not really. That’s an urban legend. As a matter of fact, the U.S. Navy has regulations strictly forbidding it.”

“Oh to hell with those stuffy old naval regulations. You’re not in the service anymore,” Grace countered.

“I’d be happy to perform the ceremony, but there’s not any country that will recognize the legality,” the skipper grinned.

“And?” Grace questioned. “Technically and legally, we don’t exist any more, so what’s the harm?”

“It’s not like we’re going to be applying for social security or life insurance,” Dusty added.

The captain thought it through, a huge grin donning his face. “Why the hell not? It will be a first for me, and I can tell you two are hell bent on being man and wife. When do you want to do the dirty deed?”

Grace and Dusty looked at each other, both shrugging their shoulders at the same instant. “Why not now? That is if your duties permit?” Dusty added.

Bard looked around the bridge, the navigator and first officer grinning from ear to ear. “I suppose we’ll need a witness. How about my second in command?”

“Sounds good,” Grace replied. Let’s do it on the deck outside our quarters in about an hour. I want to freshen up.”

Dusty appeared deep in thought, something troubling the Texan. “Let’s make it two hours. I’ve got a few things I need to take care of before the ceremony.”

“It will be dark by then,” Bard noted. “A wedding under the stars of the Pacific Ocean. Sounds very romantic.”

Dusty walked Grace back to the cabin door but didn’t follow her inside. “I’ve got to take care of something real quick. I promise not to be late.”

“What’s wrong, Dusty?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he replied with a grin. “There’s just a personal matter I need to attend to.”

Sensing innocent mischief, Grace nodded her approval. “You better not leave me at the altar, Durham Weathers. Hell hath no fury….”

Dusty waved off the tease. “Like there’s anywhere I could run off to,” he responded, hand sweeping the surrounding ocean.

He made his way down into the machinery spaces, having noted a well-equipped workshop during their tour. He was met by the chief engineer.

“I need to borrow your lathe,” the Texan announced. “I have no time for long, detailed explanations. But I’ve got to make a wedding ring, and like I need it yesterday.”

The ship’s head mechanic and all-around craftsman rubbed his chin for a moment. “I think I’ve got just the thing,” he announced. “Would some titanium rod stock do the trick?”

Ten minutes later, the gunsmith and the engineer were at the lathe, watching the die shave off thin swaths of the silver-colored metal. “Any idea what size her finger is?”

“Shit,” Dusty responded. “No idea. You’ve seen her onboard. What do you think?”

“Well, not that I have noticed or anything,” the sailor hem hawed, “but I did spot a pretty, little filly by your side earlier today. I remember because she was about the size of my ex-wife,” the old salt dog replied. “I think she wore a size six.”

“How big is that?” Dusty asked. “I don’t have a clue.”

“Don’t worry about it; I’ll look it up on the internet. You can find just about anything there.”

“There she is,” the admiral said, lowering the binoculars. “Right about where I thought she would be.”

“Thank God,” replied the man at the helm. “We’re getting low on fuel. Much longer, and I don’t think we could have made it back.”

They had been chasing radar signals all afternoon, even the sea-savvy admiral surprised at the number of freighters moving along the West Coast.

Finally, they’d found
Parthenon
, making 8 knots just 200 nautical miles from the Oregon shore. “We’re not going back,” Armstrong informed the helmsmen. “We never were. Hang back until darkness falls. We will go alongside then and board her under cover of night. I’ll tell the men to get ready.”

Armstrong almost knocked Senator Hughes over, the two meeting on the stairway leading down from the bridge. “We found her,” the admiral informed his partner in crime. “In a few hours, we’ll be stretching our legs on a much bigger boat.”

“I want to talk to you about that. I’m having second thoughts. What if they have a well-armed crew? What happens if your boarding party fails? Hell, I’m not even sure I can climb up the side of an enormous ship. I’m not just exactly a spring chicken anymore.”