Return to The Deep (From The Deep Book 2) (6 page)

"Why don’t we do it for them?"

It was the first thing Jim had said since Tom had come home. They looked at him, pretending not to notice the fresh bruise under his eye, which everyone knew had come at the hands of his father.

"What do you mean?" Fernando asked.

"You're all keen to see this thing freed. Why don’t you take matters into your own hands?"

"I don’t see how we can do anything about it," Clayton said, his usual self-confidence surprisingly absent. “Besides, I thought you were trying to keep out of trouble?”

Jim didn’t reply to Clayton. Instead, he looked directly at Tom. "You seem pretty certain they plan to move this thing sometime soon, right?"

"Yeah, it looked that way,” Tom replied, not liking where the conversation was going.

"Then, why don’t we wait until it's in transit, intercept the transport, and get this fish back in the water where it belongs."

"That’s insane," Tom said, hoping Jim was joking. "As much as I'm against animal cruelty, I'm not about to go to jail over it. What you're talking about is not only dumb, it’s also highly illegal."

"Come on," Jim said, the glimmer in his eyes telling the rest of the group just how serious he was, "you've seen those video clips of Greenpeace protesters fucking with the Japs about the whaling they do. All they ever get is a slap on the wrists because the governments know it would look bad to prosecute someone for doing the right thing."

"This is different to spraying a whaler with a hose," Tom countered. "You're taking about stealing a truck, and then the logistics of trying actually to get the whale back in the water without killing or hurting it. It would be impossible.”

"No, I’m talking about borrowing a truck for a few minutes. I don’t deny it would be hard, but I still think we could do it.”

"Come on," Tom said to the rest of the group. "Will one of you help me out here? Have you heard this crap?”

"Let's hear him out," Fernando said.

"Are you crazy?"

"I wanna hear it too," Joanne said, holding Toms hand.

"You're all insane," Tom muttered, pulling his hand away and sitting back in his seat, arms folded.

Jim waited for a few seconds, and then went on. "Chances are, they will need a big ass flatbed to transport this thing. According to those photos, this thing is 90 feet long. That means they will need a specialist truck driver to drive this whale wherever they intend to take it. All we need to do is pull him over, and convince him to get out, and then take over the vehicle."

"And who do you think will drive it?" Tom said.

"I will," Jim fired back with a grin. "I'll also convince the driver that it’s in his interest to just jump out and let us get on with what we need to do."

"This won’t work," Marie said, her brow furrowed, "it's too risky."

"Finally, a voice of reason," Tom said.

"Not really," Clayton cut in. "It seems risky because it’s an extreme move, but imagine the public response if we pull this off. How the hell could they arrest us? What would we have done wrong?"

"They would lock us up and throw away the key," Tom grunted. “I can’t believe you’re all even discussing this.”

"No, they wouldn’t."

"How do you reach that conclusion?"

"Think about it," Jim said with a grin, "you're seeing things from a ‘them and us’ perspective. Look at it how the media will see it. To them, we will have bravely liberated a fully-grown blue whale and returned it to the ocean, free from a life of misery and darkness at the hands of the government. We’ll be heroes. Public pressure will make all the difference."

"You know, he's right," Fernando said, "I think we could do this."

"For God's sake, listen to what you're saying. This is insane."

"Actually, I agree," Joanne said, looking at Tom. "We can’t just sit and watch this happen."

"I can’t believe this from you of all people. This isn’t just a game. People could be hurt."

"This animal is already hurt. I thought you knew me well enough to know how strongly I feel about things like this."

"I know you feel strongly, baby, I really do, it’s just this is too much. It's a bad idea."

"You know, it's attitudes like that which stops change from happening in this world. Too many people are willing to sit back and let somebody else make the big decisions that really make a difference."

"I don’t want to see you get hurt, any of you," Tom said.

"It will hurt me more if we don’t do anything about this," Joanne replied.

"You can’t put me in this kind of a position. You can’t expect me just to go along with this."

"Do you love me?" She asked.

"Of course I do. You know I do."

"And I love you too. Because of that, I'd never force you to do something you don’t want to do. At the same time, I don’t expect you to try to stop me from doing something I really believe in."

"You see the position I’m in here? This is impossible. Can’t you see the risk? Can’t you understand the trouble you’ll be in if this goes wrong?"

"Sometimes, risk is worthwhile. Sometimes, those who risk really make the difference. I won’t force you to do anything," she said, reaching out and again taking his hands in hers. "I would rather do something like this with you, than without you."

Tom looked at the others, who apart from Marie, seemed just as determined. "You understand that if you do this, it could change things forever. We don’t know the whole story here. We don’t know why they have that thing held."

"It's not their right to keep it. Whatever reason they think they have, it's unjustified. That poor whale belongs in the ocean. It deserves to be free."

"What if it costs us our freedom? What if we all end up in jail?" He replied.

"That’s a risk I’m prepared to take," Joanne replied. "Will you help us?"

Tom looked at them all, wondering just how things had managed to escalate into madness so quickly. For as much as he was sure it was a mistake, he hated the idea of letting Joanne down more than listening to his own rationale, which was telling him that nothing good could come from Jim’s plan. On the other side of the coin, he felt betrayed by his employers, people he had worked for without complaint for a long time, and who had seen fit to sweep him aside without a second thought. It was this and his love for Joanne that made him ignore his better judgement and agree to help.

III

Cutlery clanked against plates as people made polite chat over dinner. Neil Barker squirmed in his seat and adjusted his tie, then checked his watch again. His host was now twenty minutes late, and Barker was starting to get agitated. He looked around the room as he sat alone at his table and tried to estimate how much wealth was sitting around him. He wouldn’t be surprised if many of the dishes served here would cost the equivalent of a month’s wages for him. At least the water was free though. He picked up his glass and took a sip as one of the ever present waiters hovered nearby like an agitated fly, wondering why this man who was clearly too poor to eat in such an establishment was sitting and taking up valuable table space. It was only the name the reservation was booked under that stopped the inevitable questioning and pestering to leave, because as unable to afford to dine in such a restaurant as Neil was, the man he was meeting was more than able to.

Someone approached his table, a dark skinned man in a sharp black suit and impeccably parted hair of the same colour. Neil suspected he might have been wrong, and this was the restaurant manager approaching to tell him the restaurant was getting full and was incredibly busy, and that he might like to consider moving on and allowing someone else to be seated. To Neil’s surprise, the man said none of these things. Instead, he took a seat at the opposite side of the table.

“Can I help you?” Barker said.

“We had an appointment.”

“My appointment wasn’t with you.”

“Mr Decker sent me,” the man said.

“And you are?”

“My name doesn’t matter, Mr Barker.”

“Still, I was supposed to meet Mr Decker. This is highly unusual.”

“Mr Decker is in Dubai on business. He sends his apologies,” the man said, just about managing an almost sincere smile.

“This is a sensitive subject, I need to speak to him personally.”

“I’m fully aware of the creature, Mr Barker. I’m also fully aware of the agreement in place between yourself and the Decker foundation. What I, and Mr Decker don’t understand, is why it is taking so long to achieve the results you promised.”

“Look,” Barker said, lowering his voice, “it’s not that easy. You think I want to delay this?”

“No, Mr Decker knows you’re trying your best. He also knows that you are more than interested in securing your fee. I believe it was ten million?”

Barker squirmed and looked around the restaurant. Nobody was paying the slightest bit of attention. “Look, I was hoping to speak directly to Mr Decker, but as it seems you know all about this, you’ll have to do.”

“Go on,” the man said, folding his hands on the desk.

“They’re moving the creature.”

For the first time, the mystery man seemed rattled. It only lasted for a second, but Barker  saw the shadow of uncertainty pass over his face. “What exactly do you mean?”

“I mean what I said. Some stupid kids broke into the facility. They didn’t see anything and security chased them off. Either way, my bosses are spooked. I tried to buy more time to complete the cloning process, but they’re going ahead with moving it.”

“When?” The man said, now all business and leaning slightly closer to Barker.

“A couple of days. A week maximum. Government is shipping it out to some top secret facility.”

“I hope for your sake you have a backup plan.”

“Of course,” Barker said, ignoring the veiled threat. “I have the next best thing. I’ll even drop my fee by fifty percent for the inconvenience caused.”

The man smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Go on.”

“No,” Barker said. “The rest I speak directly to Mr Decker about. No offence.”

“Mr Decker is a very busy man.”

“I’m sure he’ll find time. Tell him to call me if he wants to know what my offer is. It will only stay open for a limited time. As soon as the creature is relocated, I’ll be moving onto a new project.”

“Nothing as exciting as this I expect.”

“It might be, actually. Some military genetics program called Project Apex. Either way, I’m booked in to fly over to Washington to be briefed on this at the weekend. This is a time critical situation.”

“I’ll make sure Mr Decker is made aware of the urgency. I also need to know if your counter proposal is worth his while. As you know, Mr Decker is incredibly passionate about this.”

“But not enough to come here and meet me himself,” Barker grunted as he took a drink of his water.

“Touché.”

Barker stood and loosened his tie. “Have him call me. Trust me, it will be worth his while.”

“The limo,” the man said as Barker walked past him.

“Say again?”

“Go to the limo outside. Mr Decker is in it.”

“Then why the hell didn’t he come in and meet me?”

“He doesn’t like to eat here. Go to him now. Give him your proposal.”

Barker nodded. Ignoring the butterflies swirling in his stomach, he made his way outside.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sam Bolton had always wanted to be a truck driver. Ever since his father gave him his first toy big rig as a child, he knew driving one was what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Unlike most childhood dreams, it was one, which didn’t fade. Now with over thirty years’ experience behind him, he was a long haul veteran. He had done it all. Ice road trucking in Canada, which involved transporting goods across frozen lakes to remote locations in sub-zero conditions, to navigating the Yungas Road in Bolivia, which was a real test of guts or insanity. With a cliff face on one side and a sheer three hundred foot drop to certain death on the other, it took both nerves and accuracy to navigate. Even so, every once in a while, something new and unexpected came up such as this most recent job. He had done a little animal transportation before, but that was mostly sheep or other livestock, certainly nothing of this scale. He was driving a customised flatbed rig with a 100 foot long trailer. With two extra axles to help drive the vehicle along, it boasted twenty six wheels and twelve foot side fences down the full length of the bed, which were covered by a hard plastic shell. Heavy and cumbersome even without cargo, it required a deft hand to pilot. Bolton reversed the trailer down the loading bay of the ocean world aquarium, guided in by men in high visibility jackets. Once inside, he shut off the engine, tied his long grey hair into a ponytail, slipped on his tattered green baseball cap, and climbed out of the cab, grateful to be able to stretch his legs.

"Who's in charge here?" He grunted to one of the men who had guided him in.

"I am," Andrews replied, striding to meet Bolton.

Sam handed over the paperwork and looked at the immense bowl like aquarium. "So, what exactly is the cargo?"

"Marine life. Whale to be precise. For transportation down to Tampa."

"Whale huh," Bolton said, taking another look at the aquarium holding tank. "You know, I just drive the thing. I ain't responsible for makin' sure it survives the trip."

"There will be a team riding along with the creature in the back, hence the side fences."

"How many?"

“Just four."

"Same story with them. I drive the truck. If their ass falls out because they ain't paying attention, it ain’t my fault."

"We understand that," Andrews snapped. "Just make sure you arrive safely in Tampa. This cargo is incredibly valuable."

"Your fish will be safe enough. Pretty straight shot all the way from here to Tampa. Good thing too. Turning this rig is a bitch. If I were you, I'd be more worried about this heat."

"The whale will be covered in a wet wrap. My team also have water tanks which will be loaded on to the truck. They'll keep the animal cool and moist."

Bolton nodded. "How much does she weigh?"

"She's big. Around two hundred and twenty thousand pounds."

Bolton whistled through his teeth. "What’s that, a hundred tons or more?"

"Around one-ten."

"With all that weight, you sure this fish of yours will survive the trip?"

"We have a harness. It’s supported and reinforced to take the weight off her in transit. We're confident she will survive the move."

"That’s all up to you," Bolton said with a half-smile. "All I get paid to do is drive the truck. Is there somewhere I can grab a bite to eat till' you load her up?"

"Staff restaurant. I'll show you where it is." Andrews replied, finally giving in to the nerves at what they were about to do. As he led the truck driver towards the public area of the aquarium, he gave a glance to the cranes, which had been shipped in overnight, already modified to handle the bulk of the creature. If there had been any doubt before, Andrews knew for certain that Tomlinson had been planning to move the animal, and was just waiting for the first chance to justify it. There was no other explanation as to how they had managed to deliver the required equipment so quickly. Not unlike his many dealings with Russo when they first captured the creature, Andrews couldn’t shake the feeling in his gut that something was going to happen. It was the same thing police officers called their sixth sense, an absolute knowledge that the shit was about to hit the fan, and when it did, it would lead to nothing but trouble for everyone.

II

Clara's apartment was lavish and decadent, which was something the version of herself from five years earlier, would have scoffed and shaken her head at. This Clara though, had buried the old version of herself in the past and had grown content to live in a world of polished marble and overpriced furniture. As far as masks went, she wore it well. One thing she couldn’t hide behind her expensive makeup, designer clothes, and bleach whitened teeth, was her creativity, or in this case, lack of. She was sitting at her desk, staring at the blinking cursor with no clue of what to write or how to do it.

Writing the first book had been easy, almost a therapeutic exercise as she recounted what had happened to her in real life, and changing just enough to push it into the realms of fiction. She had changed names but not characters, locations but not events. Of course, the government got wind of what she was doing and did everything they could to stop her. She had, however, gambled (rightly) on the fact that they would stop short of actually taking action for the simple reason that it was in their best interests not to have the general public digging into why they were so interested in the story. As far as burials go, the actual facts about what happened five years earlier had been expertly covered up. Dexter’s murder had been turned into an accidental death at sea. Russo's existence had been deleted completely, which to her was frustrating as it meant that the slimy, jittery government agent had gotten away with his crimes even in death. Without warning, she saw him in her mind’s eye, those deep, penetrating eyes, which felt as if they were staring straight through you. Even though he was long dead, the thought of him was still frightening, so much so that in her fictional retelling of the story, Russo had been replaced by a much tamer, less intensely cruel man. Her agent had suggested as a villain he was perhaps too nice, and even though there were numerous requests to beef up the evil scale, Clara had refused. She couldn’t tell her agent why, but even in the realms of fiction, Russo was too far off the scale to justify bringing back to life in print.

There was never any expectation from the book, no real plans to try to sell it at first. She had written it mostly as a means to cope, to get the events out of her mind and onto paper in the hope of exorcising the demons. For the most part, it had worked, and had allowed her to resume some sense of normality. It was only when she showed a few pages to a friend that things changed. Blown away by the opening chapters, Clara’s friend had pressed her to send a copy to a literary agent friend of hers. Again, with no expectation of anything, Clara went along with it, posting a copy of the manuscript and promptly forgetting all about it. A month or so later, she received a call back from the agent with news that if she signed with them, they could secure a lucrative contract with a publisher who was interested in publishing the book.

Had she known the attention it would get, she might have declined. Now though, it was too late to turn back, and although it had made her an incredibly wealthy woman, it still hadn’t made her happy.

Turning away from the blinking cursor on screen, she picked up her phone and navigated to the address book, scrolling to Rainwater’s number and hesitating, wondering why she still had it after all this time. Her thumb hovered over the dial button, wishing she could just speak to him to ask his advice.

No.

Not after what happened. Those bridges are long burned, and the modern day versions of Rainwater and herself were worlds apart from the ones that met five years earlier. With a sigh, she put the phone on the desk and returned her attention to the screen.