The Storm (34 page)

“Tell me how?”

“I will ask you some questions,” he said. “If you answer as an American would, we will believe your story. If you speak wrongly, you will be held guilty.”

“Go ahead,” Kurt said confidently, “ask away.”

“What is the capital of New York State?” the judge asked.

“Albany,” Kurt said.

“Very good. But that was an easy one.”

“So ask a harder one.”

The judge knitted his dark brows together, squinting at Kurt, before asking the next question. “What is meant by the term
the pitcher balked
?”

Kurt was surprised. He’d expected another geography question or a history question, but in retrospect it made sense. History and geography were easy to learn, obscure rules of national sports were not. As it happened, Kurt had played baseball all his young life.

“A balk occurs many different ways,” he said, “but usually it’s when the pitcher doesn’t come to a complete stop before throwing the pitch to home base.”

The judges nodded in unison.

“Correct,” one said.

“Yes, yes,” another said, still nodding.

“Third question: Who was the sixteenth Roosevelt of the United States?”

Kurt assumed he meant the sixteenth President. “Abraham Lincoln.”

“And where was he born?”

Another good question, Lincoln so widely known as being from Illinois that most assumed he was born there. “Lincoln was born in Kentucky,” Kurt replied. “In a cabin made of logs.”

The judges nodded to one another. It seemed he was making progress.

“I feel like we’re on a bad game show,” Leilani mumbled.

“Too bad we don’t get any lifelines,” Kurt said, “I’d love to make a call right about now.”

“One more question,” the eighteenth Roosevelt said. “Tell us what is meant by The House That Ruth Built?”

Kurt smiled. His eyes fell on the old-style Yankees cap. Someone who’d influenced these men had loved baseball and had obviously been from New York.

“The House That Ruth Built is Yankee Stadium. It’s in the Bronx,” he said, and then added, to the judges hearty approval, “It was named for Babe Ruth, the greatest baseball player of all time.”

“He is correct,” the eighteenth Roosevelt said excitedly. “Only a true American would know these things.”

“Yes, yes,” the others agreed. “Now, what about the woman?”

“She’s with me,” Kurt said.

“And the man?”

Kurt hesitated. “He’s my prisoner.”

“Then he will be our prisoner,” one of the judges said.

“Our first prisoner,” the eighteenth Roosevelt proclaimed to the great excitement of those around the room. “Take him away.”

Ishmael looked shocked as two men with carbines rushed forward and grabbed him.

“He must be treated according to the Geneva convention,” Kurt said sternly.

“Yes, of course. He will be cared for. But he will be guarded night and day. We have never lost a prisoner on Pickett’s Island. Then again, we have never had one before. He will not escape.”

Without a chance to defend himself, Ishmael was dragged off. Kurt figured he would be okay. As the room emptied around him, he approached the bench.

The eighteenth Roosevelt extended a hand. “My apologies for your treatment,” he said. “I had to be sure.”

Kurt shook the hand. “Understandable,” he said. “May I ask your name?”

“I’m Tautog,” the judge said.

“And you’re the eighteenth Roosevelt of the island,” Kurt confirmed.

“Yes,” Tautog said. “Every four years, a new leader is chosen. I am the eighteenth. I have served for two years, defending the island and the Constitution of the United States of America.”

Kurt calculated backward. If each term lasted four years and Tautog had only served for two, that meant the first Roosevelt was chosen seventy years ago, in 1942.

World War Two. These islanders had come into contact with someone during World War Two and been turned into a small fighting force. It seemed like no one had bothered to tell them the war was over.

Kurt’s eyes traveled over the nautical equipment and the life vest. A faded name on it was impossible to read. “A ship landed here?” he said.

“Yes,” Tautog said. “A great ship of fire and steel. The S.S.
John Bury.
”

“What happened to it?” Kurt asked.

“The keel is buried in the sand on the east side of the island. The rest we took apart and used to build shelters and defenses.”

“Defenses?” Leilani asked. “Against what?”

“Against the Imperial Japanese Navy and the banzai charge,” Tautog said as if it were obvious.

Kurt caught her before she spoke. Tautog and his fellow islanders were extremely isolated and not just geographically. He didn’t know how they would respond to hearing that the war they and their fathers and their grandfathers had been hunkering down to fight had been over for six and a half decades.

“Who trained you?” Kurt asked.

“Captain Pickett and Sergeant First Class Arthur Watkins of the United States Marine Corps. They taught us the drills, how to fight, how to hide, how to spot the enemy.”

“Who was the Yankees fan?” Kurt asked.

“Captain Pickett loved the Yankees. He called them the Bronx Bombers.”

Kurt nodded. “And what happened when they left?”

Tautog looked as if he didn’t understand the question. “They did not leave,” he said. “Both men are buried here along with their crew.”

“They died here?”

“Captain Pickett died from his injuries eight months after the
John Bury
ran aground. The sergeant was badly injured as well. He could not walk, but he survived for eleven months and taught us how to fight.”

Kurt found the story amazing and intriguing. He’d never heard of a cargo cult where the Americans had stayed behind. He only wished he could reach St. Julien Perlmutter and access his extensive history of naval warfare. The cargo ship had to be listed somewhere, probably labeled
missing and presumed
sunk
, just another footnote to the huge war.

“I don’t understand,” Leilani said. “Why would you need to fight? I understand about the war and the Japanese, but this island is so small. It’s so far out of the way. I don’t think the Japanese were—I mean are—interested in taking it over.”

“It is not the island itself that we protect,” Tautog said. “It is the machine Captain Pickett entrusted to us.”

Kurt’s eyebrows went up. “The machine?”

“Yes,” Tautog said. “The great machine. The Pain Maker.”

CHAPTER 48

KURT AUSTIN HAD NO IDEA WHAT THE PAIN MAKER WAS, but with a name like that he had to find out. But first he had to deal with being a celebrity.

In a far cry from their initial reception, he and Leilani had become honored guests on Pickett’s Island. The fact that he was their first American visitor in seventy years was one thing, the fact that he knew the current Harry Truman had the tribesmen in their military fatigues treating him like MacArthur returning to the Philippines.

After giving Leilani and him fresh water to drink and allowing them to shower and change into fatigues like the other islanders wore, the men of Pickett’s Island treated them to a meal of fresh-caught fish along with mangoes, bananas and coconut milk from the trees that grew in abundance on the island.

While they ate, Tautog and three others regaled them with stories, explaining how all that they had and all that they knew had come from Captain Pickett and Sergeant Watkins. They didn’t say it in so many words, but it seemed like Pickett and Watkins had created their civilization out of thin air and were regarded almost like mythical spirits.

With dinner finished, Kurt and Leilani were taken on a tour of the island.

Kurt saw remarkable ingenuity in the setup. Structures built of rusting steel plate hid everywhere among the trees. Trenches and tunnels linked the supply-filled cave, lookout posts and areas with cisterns dug to catch rainwater. He saw material from every part of the ship in use somewhere: old boilers, piping and steel beams. Even the
John Bury
’s bell had been moved to a high point on the island where it could be rung to warn others of an emergency or in case of attack by the Japanese.

“I can’t believe no one’s told them,” Leilani whispered as they walked beneath the palm trees a few paces behind their guides.

“I don’t think they get a lot of visitors,” Kurt said.

“Shouldn’t
we
say something?”

Kurt shook his head. “I think they don’t want to know.”

“How could they not want to know?”

“They’re hiding from the world,” Kurt said. “It must have been part of Pickett’s strategy to keep this Pain Maker machine safe.”

She nodded, seeming to understand that. “How about we get out of here and let them keep hiding,” she said. “This is an island, after all. These people have to have boats. Maybe we could borrow one.”

Kurt knew they had boats because Tautog had said the camp actually included two other islands, which could be seen only from the high point of the central peak. He figured that meant a range of at least fifteen, maybe twenty miles. If a boat could handle that, it could get to the shipping lanes. If that’s where one planned to go.

“They do have boats,” Kurt said. “But
we’re
not going anywhere, just me.”

Leilani looked as though she’d been jabbed with a pin or something, her eyebrows shot up, her posture stiffened, she stopped in her tracks. “Excuse me?”

“You’re safe here,” he said.

“That doesn’t mean I want to stay. This place is the bizarro version of
Gilligan’s Island
and I’m not about to become Ginger.”

“Trust me,” Kurt said, “you’re more of a Mary Ann. But that’s not why you’re sticking around. I need you out of harm’s way while I try to reach Aqua-Terra.”

Now she paused as if trying to process what he’d said. “You’re going back? Didn’t we almost drown trying to get away from there?”

“And we landed here,” Kurt said. “Things are looking up.”

“Don’t you think going back to the floating island controlled by terrorists will reverse that trend?”

“Not if I go with rifles and the element of surprise.”

She studied him for a second, seeming to pick up on his thoughts. “Your friends on the island?”

He nodded.

“Not only that,” Kurt said, “Jinn is there. And he’s up to something bigger than terrorism or gunrunning or money laundering.”

“Like what?”

“This whole thing started with an investigation of the water temps. The weather pattern over India has become unstable. They’re dealing with two years of decreasing rains, and this year’s looking to be the driest yet. Your brother was studying the current and temperature patterns because we believed the cause might lie there, in a previously undiscovered El Niño/La Niña effect.”

She nodded. “And he found those little machines of Jinn’s spread out through the ocean.”

“Exactly,” Kurt said. “And when they started reflecting the sunlight, I could feel heat coming off the water. The two things have to be connected. I’m not sure why but Jinn’s messing around with the temperature gradient, and the butterfly effect is producing horrible results down the road.”

By now they’d arrived at the eastern side of the island on a low bluff no more than twenty feet high. Ahead of them was a wide stretch of sand with a far more accommodating approach through the reef than the one Kurt had taken from the north.

He hoped they’d finally arrived at the one thing he wanted to see.

Tautog waved his hand across the open beach. “Captain Pickett told us if the Japs come, they would attack here.”

That made sense to Kurt. It looked like an easy beach to hit.

“So he had us bring the Pain Maker to this side of the island.”

Tautog motioned to a group of his men and they moved a fence made of thatch to one side. Behind it, recessed into a cave, was a strange-looking device. It reminded Kurt of a speaker system. Four feet wide and perhaps a foot tall, the rectangular shape was divided into rows of hexagonal pods, four rows of ten. There was a ceramic quality to the pods.

“Apply the power,” Tautog said. Behind him two of his men started pulling back and forth on a lever-type system. They looked like lumberjacks working a log with a large two-handed saw, but they were actually accelerating a flywheel. The flywheel was attached to generator coils, and in a few seconds both the wheel and the dynamo in the generator were spinning rapidly.

A crackling buzz began to emanate from hexagonal pods in the speaker box. Out on the water, a hundred feet away, a ripple began to form, and in moments a fifty-foot swath of water was shaking and splattering as if it was being boiled or agitated somehow.

Tautog waved another hand. Along the wall of the bluff seven additional fences of the camouflaging material were removed. As the generators in these units were cranked up, the whole beachfront entered a similar state of agitation.

Kurt noticed fish fleeing the onslaught, launching themselves over one another like salmon racing up a ladder. A pair of night birds dove after them, thinking them easy prey, but turned away suddenly as if they’d hit a force field.

Some kind of vibration was definitely issuing from the speaker boxes, though all Kurt heard was a crackling buzz like high-voltage lines carrying too much power. “Sound waves.”

“Yes,” Tautog said. “If the Japanese come, they will never get off the beach.”

Kurt noticed the birds and fish were okay. “It doesn’t appear to be lethal.”

“No. But the causing of pain will bring them to their knees. They will make easy targets.”

“A weapon made out of sound,” Leilani said. “It almost seems crazy, but you see it in nature already. On dives with Kimo I’ve seen dolphins use their echo-location to stun fish into a stupor before snatching them in their jaws.”

Kurt had heard of that but never witnessed it. He knew of sound weapons from another angle. “The military has been working on systems like this over the past few decades. The plan is to use them as nonlethal crowd-control devices, saving the need for all those rubber bullets and tear gas canisters. But I didn’t know the concept went as far back as the Second World War.”