The Olympus Device: Book Three (31 page)

The two men standing by Dusty’s driveway looked uncomfortable in their dark suits and sunglasses. Like hundreds of times before, the Texan pulled up beside his front porch, scanning the property he’d missed so dearly.

“I’m still shocked they’re letting us stay here,” Mitch grinned after the SUV rolled to a stop. “I wonder if they’re going to let Dusty experiment in his workshop?”

Grace eyed the two strangers, something about them seeming familiar. “Everything okay, Grace?” Dusty asked, sensing her unease.

“Those two must be from our FBI protection detail… but something looks… not those two again!”

“You’re right,” Mitch said from the back. “It’s Shultz and Monroe. Those two are like bad pennies – they keep coming back. What are they doing here?”

As the pair strolled closer, bad memories welled up inside Grace. “From College Station to Austin, and all points in between. It’s like they’re family or something,” she barked. “Why in the hell would they assign….”

Dusty flashed a sly grin. Reaching for the rail gun, he said, “Want me to take care of them, once and for all?”

Grace stopped him with a hand on his arm. “You’re funny, and I’m tempted. But seriously, I suppose if you think about it, it makes sense in a sick sort of way. Knowing how the government works, they probably assigned those two because they’re familiar with our story.”

“And I thought the feds didn’t have any sense of humor,” Dusty grunted.

The stiff passengers exited their vehicle and began stretching the circulation back into their frames. What seemed like a lifetime of travel crammed into just a few weeks was taking its toll. Despite all that had happened, it was exciting to be back home.

Dusty took the jubilation a step further, walking a few steps away and holding his arms wide as if hugging the land. “I’m home, Mom,” he said. “Your wayward son has returned to your loving embrace.”

The two government types approached, nodding stoically at the trio of travelers. “Good afternoon, folks. We’ve been assigned to head up the protection detail while you’re staying in Texas. Miss Kennedy, there is a team at your property as well. I’m sure you’ll be wanting to check out your homestead soon. We’ve even arranged for your dog to be returned.”

“Roscoe!” she smiled with glee. “Oh, how I’ve missed that worthless fleabag.”

Monroe continued, “We’re simply here to make sure no one bothers you until Washington finalizes the details. Hopefully, you won’t notice my teams. We only require that you remain here or at Miss Kennedy’s property, and that no outside contact is initiated. Please provide as much warning regarding any activities outside the usual routine, and I’ll do my best to accommodate you.”

“Are my wife and children being relocated from College Station?” Mitch inquired.

“Yes, they should be arriving tomorrow at the latest. A moving van with your household contents is in Austin, awaiting instructions.”

Turning to his brother, Mitch said, “I’m so looking forward to that reunion, and I know the kids are anxious to see Uncle Dusty.”

“What about my son?” Dusty asked.

“He’ll be arriving from Houston in a few days. There is a team observing your ex-wife’s home while he mends from the explosion at Lake Travis,” Shultz answered.

“Good. It all sounds like it’s coming together. Now if you all don’t mind, I’d like to go inside. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in my own house,” Dusty nodded.

Captain Bard, formerly of the USS
Gravely
, stood at attention. His starch-stiff, brilliant white uniform a model of perfection down to the highly polished shoes and regulation length hem.

The display of military precision and discipline did little to offset the dark, melancholy atmosphere that commanded the room.

He’d been unexpectedly summoned by the vice admiral, a man who controlled the young officer’s destiny. Acting as the chief magistrate of the highest-ranking board of inquiry ever formed by the U.S. Navy, the three Silver Stars on the older man’s shoulder board were an indication of how seriously the Navy was taking what had become known in the civilian press as the “
Gravely
Matter.”

Never in the proud history of the United States Navy had such an incident occurred.  

Captain Bard stood in front of
the man
, facing the seated officer with square shoulders and a still spine.

“At ease, Captain,” ordered the admiral. “I wish to have an off the record conversation between two sailors, not a formal meeting between a fleet officer and a captain.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, before we have our little chat, I want your word as an officer and a gentleman that anything said in this room will remain confidential… just between two men who love and serve their country. Is that acceptable, Captain?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Good. After an extensive investigation, over 100 hours of testimony, and a detailed review of the facts, the board of inquiry will find no criminal fault against you or your officers. Formal charges will not be brought.”

Bard started to smile but caught himself. “At ease,” meant he could soften his stance, not be relaxed or casual. “Thank you, sir.”

“Oh, don’t thank me just yet, young man. There’s more. The other boot is about to drop.”

Sighing deeply, the seated admiral seemed to be picking his next words carefully.

The senior officer continued, “It is the opinion of the board that the actions of
Gravely
on the day in question represent the darkest of times for the United States Navy and the U.S. military in general. From the perspective of both the public and civilian political authority, poor judgment was demonstrated at several points throughout the chain of command. For those who haven’t served, which includes most of Congress, it appears as though your strict adherence to regulation is an indication of a much larger problem within our protocols and procedures. I can’t say that I disagree.”

Pausing to shuffle the documents in front of him, the admiral continued. “In your own testimony, Captain, you stated that you knew the order wasn’t, and I quote, ‘right.’ Other members of the crew testified they suffered similar doubts. Yet, despite all of these reservations,
Gravely
fired on the United States of America. Not once, but twice. Technically, her Captain and crew followed orders. Morally, there is a higher standard at play.”

The judge peered over the top of his glasses, glaring at Bard as if he was expecting some sort of reaction. His gaze was met with a stoic, expressionless face that provided no clue as to what the man before him was thinking. After a brief consideration, the admiral decided he really shouldn’t have expected anything less and returned to reading his document.

“So, Captain, we now find ourselves in the midst of a very complex situation, or as the president put it just a short time ago, ‘one hell of a pickle.’ For the first time in the proud history of the U.S. Armed Forces, a coup has been attempted. Willing, or unwillingly, my beloved Navy has played a role is this unfortunate event. One of our own flag officers went rogue. One of our own ships attacked the very country she served. These are dark shadows that will loom for years over our branch. Do you understand, son?”

“Yes, sir, I believe so,” Bard responded, not liking where the conversation was going.

“So my dilemma is quite simple really. Most of Congress as well as the American public want somebody’s head. They are demanding accountability. It’s only human nature, I suppose. And yet, on the other hand, I have an outstanding young naval officer who technically didn’t do anything wrong. Follow me so far, Captain?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So let’s get right down to the brass tax. Your naval career is over. Most likely, so are most of the opportunities typically afforded a private citizen. You will be facing numerous civilian lawsuits, your face is well known, and I doubt many defense contractors or other private firms will be anxious to hire someone carrying your level of negative notoriety. Doesn’t seem like you’re getting a fair shake, does it son?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s exactly what I told the two visitors I had just a short time ago. I informed them that I thought a tremendous injustice was being leveled against one of my officers… a man who loves his country and has served her well. And you know what? They agreed. With your permission, Captain, I’d like to introduce them to you. I think you’ll want to hear what they have to say.”

Bard didn’t know what to make of it all. When he’d risen this morning, he was a man under arrest, confined to quarters with two robust Marine guards stationed outside his door, his repeating nightmare of spending the rest of his natural life behind bars a stark reality.

Then the odd summons, followed by what has so far been a roller coaster of a conversation with the vice admiral. He wasn’t going to be charged. His career was over. Life after the Navy was going to suck.

It was all so much, so fast, Bard felt as if he had nothing to lose at this point. His gut read of the admiral was that the old man was trying to help him, so he agreed. “Of course, Admiral, I would like to meet your guests if you believe they might be able to better my situation.”

Nodding, the admiral rose and walked to a door that led to a small waiting room off his office. Waving his hand informally, he said, “Come on in folks. I’d like to introduce you to the captain.”

Bard watched as a man and woman entered the office, the friendly looking fellow extending his hand. “Captain, my name is Evan Tomkins, and this is my associated, Miss Kingsley.”

After the introductions were complete, Evan got right to the point. “Captain, we would like to present you with a very special opportunity that I believe you’ll find interesting.”

“Go on, sir.”

Two hours later, Bard left the admiral’s office, his uniform now missing the insignias of rank, a satchel of very special letters under his arm.

The former naval officer was smiling as he bid good-bye to his life as a squid.  

The dry dock facilities outside of Seattle, Washington had received the contract to refurbish the freighter shortly after Tohoku Earthquake and subsequent tsunami in 2011.

With her keel laid in 1999 at the Koyagi Worksoutside o
f
Nagasak
i
, the Tsuyoi Maru was long overdue for an extensive series of upgrades and exterior refinishing.

With over 5,000 shipyards on the island nation’s shores, Japan was the dominant player in the construction and maintenance of oceangoing vessels. With over 35% of the global market, her efficient yards and shops had all but eliminated the competition in many other nations, including the United States.

In normal times, it would have been blasphemy for any Japanese built ship to see a dry dock outside of Nippon. The devastating tsunami that ravaged large swaths of the industrialized coast had changed all that, limiting capacity and crippling segments of the industry.

The Tsuyoi Maru was a general purpose, mid-sized cargo ship that could claim no notable features or unique capabilities. At 312 feet in length, with an 80-foot beam, she was neither large nor small in the universe of seaworthy tonnage.

Her massive engines generated over 80,000 brake horsepower, allowing Tsuyoi to make 18 knots with a full load.

With her refit nearing completion, the Venezuelan firm that owned the vessel had fallen victim to the change in that country’s government, eventually going bankrupt. The shipyard was left no option but to halt work and eventually apply for ownership. She was listed for sale just over a year later.

Christopher Bard stood on the pier, scanning the Tsuyoi’s lines. His first job was to oversee her newly revitalized refurbishment. After she was seaworthy, he would be her captain.

“You’re definitely not a warship,” he informed his new command. “But you’re not butt ugly either.”

The former naval officer understood what the Tsuyoi Maru was to become, and why such a thing was necessary. “Sure beats unemployment and fighting lawsuits,” he whispered. “Besides, if this Olympus Device works the way the scientists think, I’ll be contributing to a greater cause.”

But most importantly to Bard, he would be at sea.

His introspection was interrupted by the voices of two men approaching from the yard’s main offices. Both were wearing hardhats, the older man carrying rolled up blueprints under one arm. “Captain Bard?”

“Yes, I’m Chris Bard.”

“I’m Frank Pulaski, foreman of the yard. This is Dr. Mitch Weathers; he’ll be working with you on the project.”

After a round of handshakes, Pulaski nodded toward the gangplank and said, “Let’s go take a look at your new ship. I understand this is going to be a rushed, custom job, so there’s no time like right now to get started.”

The trio spent over an hour touring the various decks, machinery spaces, and crew quarters. Finally completing their tour on the bridge, Pulaski went to the chart table and unrolled his drawings.

“These are my preliminary ideas as to how we’re going to convert this old workhorse into a combination research lab, luxury yacht, and floating city. Dr. Weathers will be in charge of procuring the lab equipment. His wife will be ramrodding the design and remodeling of the living quarters. My job is to make her seaworthy and install state of the art equipment and systems. Captain, you, of course, will be overseeing the entire project.”

“What is the project’s budget?”

Pulaski laughed, “You know, I asked that very question last week when the contract was being negotiated. I was told that this ship had to be ready in three months and that my priority was to be completing that task in a timely manner. Cost was not my concern.”

“And security?” Bard questioned.

“I was also told that if I wanted to be paid, I had to treat this project as if were a classified military contract. My team won’t know who Mr. Weathers and you are. Their deliverables will be compartmentalized, just like when this yard refurbishes a submarine or destroyer.  We know how to keep our mouth shut, sir.”

“Good,” Mitch added, liking what he was hearing. “The main reason why we’re building this floating city is because of security. There’s no country, island, or town that can be protected. But a ship, moving unnoticed from port to port, should be able to remain independent and safe.”

“When I heard about the concept, my first thought was that it would be a floating prison,” Bard offered.

“But that’s not the case at all. We can move from Hong Kong to Sidney to Los Angeles as we please. Feel like sushi? Set sail for Tokyo harbor. Want to get a little sun? Let’s establish a course for the French Riviera. No one will notice a ship like this one. There are thousands of them plying the sea-lanes all over the planet. We would be nearly impossible to track or attack.”

The three men spent the rest of the day finalizing plans, setting up a project schedule, and becoming familiar with each other’s work habits.