The Olympus Device: Book Three (33 page)

Grace thought Dusty’s old high school yearbooks were hysterical, while the few baby pictures in the Texan’s possession tugged at her heart.

Dusty found a box of her old cassette tapes in a closet, the two spending several hours reminiscing about where she was when a certain song was playing. Having met later in life, both relished the opportunity to learn about the other’s developing years. 

And then one morning, Agent Monroe showed up on the back porch. “It’s time, Mr. Weathers. I answered a call this morning that
Parthenon
was finally ready to receive both you and Miss Kennedy… and the rail gun. We’ll be ready for the first leg tomorrow, sir.”

The news hit Dusty harder than he’d expected. While the Texan had known it was coming, somehow the reality had never quite sunk in. Grace detected his mood instantly.

“Penny for your thoughts,” she inquired. “I can tell there are plenty of them rolling around in that thick skull of yours.”

“I don’t know,” he responded sadly. “I’m having second thoughts. I’ve never backed out of an agreement in my life, but this all seems so harsh and permanent. It’s like I’m being sentenced to prison for the rest of my days.”

“I know. Even a private yacht can seem like a jail if you can’t leave. But it’s not forever, Dusty. Mitch thinks you’ll be able to safely come back home after the technology has been developed and distributed. It won’t be a threat then, and everyone will welcome you like the great man you are.”

Smirking, Dusty replied, “Yes, he did say that. He also estimated that would take over a decade. So I’ve not been handed a life sentence, just 10 to 15 years with good behavior.”

Grace winked, “With conjugal visits, I’d like to note.”

Her comment made the Texan chuckle, a needed relief. “About the best conjugal a man could ask for, by the way.”

They embraced, each seeming to gain strength from the hug. “Let’s get this dog and pony show on the road,” Dusty finally said. “We’ve got a long trip ahead of us.”

They drove in a convoy to El Paso, Dusty carrying the rail gun on his lap as he rode in the back of the government SUV. “Did you notice all the macho FBI types spent more time protecting this weapon than they did us? We could have wandered off into the mountains, and they never would’ve have noticed, but they knew where this damned gun was every second of every day,” he whispered to Grace.

Grace laughed, “Yeah, I noticed that. How many times did Agent Monroe ask you to open the case so he could double-check what was inside? I think they’re nervous because Senator Hughes has never been captured.”

“You would have thought we were transporting a nuclear weapon or something. As far as the good senator goes, that old man is hiding out in a campground somewhere. I know; I’ve been there.”

They arrived at the El Paso airport well after the last normally scheduled commercial flight had landed. After passing through the after-hours security, the parade of nondescript, everyone-knows-they’re-feds, vehicles arrived beside the Air Force VIP transport jet idling on the tarmac.

Dusty exited with Grace, carrying only a small bag and the rail gun. Everyone was efficiently polite, including the Air Force steward who showed them to a pair of comfortable seats and provided basic instructions on how to operate the safety belts.

A minor issue occurred when the flight attendant reached for the rail gun’s case, thinking to put the loose luggage into an overhead bin. Dusty’s arm shot out, blocking the nice fellow’s effort. “I need to keep that here with me, sir.”

“But, sir, it’s against regulations for.…”

Agent Monroe appeared next to the bewildered airman. “It’s okay,” the FBI agent stated. “He needs to keep that on his person.”

For a moment, Dusty and Grace thought they were going to see an inter-department spat, the steward obviously not accustomed to people giving him orders on his own aircraft. But it passed without further friction.

And then they were flying west, Seattle their destination.

Neither Dusty nor Grace had ever been to the northwestern city, but both knew there wouldn’t be any time for tourist activities.

“I’ve wanted to see the Olympic Mountains ever since I was a little girl,” Grace commented, watching the fading lights of El Paso out the window. “I thought it rained all the time there. It wasn’t until I was older that I found it was a very nice place to live.”

Dusty smiled.

The couple spent the remainder of the short flight exchanging memories and perceptions of the territory below the plane. It seemed like little time had passed before they felt the aircraft start to descend. The steward appeared, informing his two passengers that they would be landing soon and to please remain buckled up and seated.

A similar convoy of dark vehicles met them at what appeared to be a military airfield. Dusty realized he had no idea where he was and didn’t feel comfortable with it. “They could be leading us into a trap, and there wouldn’t be a thing we could do.”

“You’ve got to start trusting sometime, Dusty. Really, we’ve got no choice.”

They drove through Seattle in the wee hours, both of the Texans gawking out the window at a new place. When their driver finally slowed down, it was at the gates of the port facility.

Shortly after passing through the entrance, they stopped in an empty lot where three unmarked cars waited. Alongside each stood a very serious-looking man, idling patiently while waiting for the passengers to arrive. Shultz and Monroe appeared at Dusty’s SUV, opening the door for the couple to exit.

“This is where we leave you in the fine hands of your private security,” Monroe stated without emotion. “They escort you the rest of the way to the ship.”

The FBI man then handed Dusty two thick envelopes, each officially sealed and marked, “Confidential property of the U.S. Marshal Service.”

“What’s this?” Dusty asked.

“Those are the new lives for both Miss Kennedy and you,” he answered. “There are Canadian passports, birth certificates, credit cards, and driver’s licenses. You’re now both officially Canucks.”

Ignoring his partner’s comment, Monroe elaborated, trying to make the news as palatable as possible. “We ran you both through an extreme version of the witness protection program. These folks are experts at establishing new identities. Those documents are real, and even include a complete credit history and background. They’ll pass any scrutiny.”

“Who am I now?” Grace asked, reaching to tear open her package.

Monroe’s hand shot out, halting her action. “Ma’am, I don’t want to know. This is all done by computer. No one knows, and you’ll want to keep it that way. There are instructions inside that will advise you destroy all existing documents and identification, as well as some exercises that will help you adopt the new identity.”

Dusty extended his hand, not really knowing what else to do. “Thank you,” the Texan said softly.

The senior FBI agent hesitated and then accepted the offered handshake. “Good luck,” he half-heartedly replied.

Monroe started to turn away but then stopped, pivoting to face Dusty. “I feel like I need to tell you something. I want you to know that I’m glad you and that damned rail gun are off my plate. But… after getting to know Miss Kennedy and you, I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re good people. I sincerely wish you the best and hope all we’ve been through results in a better world for all mankind.”

Dusty managed to mumble, “Thanks,” trying to think of something else to add, the disclosure having caught him off-guard. But Monroe didn’t give him time, abruptly turning away and briskly filing back to his ride.

The men chauffeuring them along the massive docks and piers fell silent, their only words uttered when the entourage stopped in front of a mammoth ship.

Dusty and Grace were met at the gangplank by two men in casual dress, one of them wearing a hat that said, “Captain.” He introduced himself as Christopher Bard. His companion, Mr. Montgomery was the second in command, coming across to Dusty as a quiet fellow who was happy remaining in Bard’s shadow.

“Welcome to the
Parthenon
, Mr. Weathers. Your belongings arrived earlier today. I took the liberty of having the crew store them down in the hold until such time as you wish to unpack. Your clothing is in your stateroom,” Bard announced. “Dr. Weathers and his family are aboard.”

“Who are the armed men?” Dusty asked, a little surprised by the presence of so much security.

Bard grinned, “I was a naval officer for several years, sir. During that time, I came to know and trust several United States Marines. While
Parthenon
’s refit was underway, I hired several of them to be our shipboard security and a few to supplement the crew. I think you’ll find them trustworthy and efficient employees, Mr. Weathers.”

Grace was staring at the ship, trying to take it all in. “I had no idea it would be so huge,” she breathed to Dusty. “This really is a floating city.”

“She’s really not that significant or noticeable as far as ocean-going vessels are concerned, ma’am. But, I think you will find the amenities suitable, and there’s plenty of room for Dr. Weathers’ lab equipment and machinery. We can cruise almost 4,000 miles without refueling. A blind trust has been established with several million dollars of funds available for provisions, fuel, payroll, and any additional items necessary. Let’s just say we won’t be running short on milk in the middle of the ocean,” he added with a grin.

After a second round of polite handshakes and introductions, Dusty and Grace were escorted to their quarters.

After Bard opened a heavy-looking steel door, Grace entered and stopped so suddenly Dusty almost bowled her over. “What’s wrong…” he started, but then he spied what had frozen Grace mid-stride.

The space was beyond unexpectedly vast.

“This is your main salon,” Bard stated with pride, enjoying the couple’s shocked faces. “The master stateroom is further on back. Those doors over there lead to the private galley, owner’s dining room, media room, gym, and studies. We still have about two thousand square feet of space available if you have additional needs.”

Grace was speechless, taking a few steps here and there, trying to take it all in. “This is bigger than my entire home,” Dusty whispered.

“It’s like a palace,” Grace finally stated. “I was expecting a cramped little stateroom with low ceilings.”

“Do you like it?” sounded Mitch’s voice, the professor coming up from behind. “My bride was so worried you wouldn’t like it, she’s hiding down in the bowels of the ship somewhere.”

“Oh, Mitch! It’s perfect! I had no idea,” Grace gushed.

“Good, she’ll be relieved.”

The tour continued, Dusty and Grace amazed at the luxury and opulence of their new digs. The kitchen had every imaginable appliance and amenity. Including granite counter tops, stainless steel dishwasher, and a huge, commercial refrigerator, it might have served as a set staged for a cooking show.

But it was the master stateroom that really inspired awe. One entire wall comprised of deck-to-deck windows provided a view of the ocean several stories below. “We had those specially installed so you would have plenty of light. They are one-way hurricane glass, so no one can see in.”

Dusty opened another doorway, locating the master closet. “This is the size of a bowling alley,” he remarked. His few items of clothing packed for the adventure were already hanging, barely taking up a tenth of the available space. Grace’s wardrobe looked somewhat less miniscule, but still took up very little of the area.

Grace, peering over his shoulder, announced, “Look at all that available hanger space. I can see several shopping trips in my immediate future!”

The “head” sported an oversized shower by anyone’s standards. But the fireplace and sunken tub, complete with Jacuzzi jets could inspire romance in any couple. Grace’s body language communicated her satisfaction with the space, running her fingers over the side of the oversized marble tub and chancing a somewhat provocative glance at the lanky Texan complete with a slightly seductive smile.