Chapter Six
Somewhere between Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico...
"Convenient. We won't even have to worry about jurisdiction. Soon as they cross into Puerto Rican territorial waters, they're within U.S. territory. We can pick and choose when to drop in on 'em." - Michael Zelazny murmured, studying the holographic map, with the projected course of Sirine Queen. Then he looked up, through the viewport, at the distant running lights of the ship they were shadowing.
"Aren't we supposed to wait for confirmation from our assets aboard? Time the whole thing in sync with the rebels' sabotage attempt?" - one of the team asked.
The sleek, black, fast-looking catamaran looked like an indistinct shape, between the moonlit waters, and clear starry sky. Without either running or signal lights, the corvette-sized boat may as well be an apparition, and it's stealth-coated hull and near-silent caterpillar-drive engines, made it virtually undetectable on radar. Especially civilian-grade radar, like the one on the Sirine Queen.
"Time to cross?" - Zelazny ignored the question, reaching out to hit a button on his armrest, addressing the captain on comms.
~"Eighteen minutes. If their projected course doesn't change, they will remain within U.S. territory for the next four and a half hours."~ - came the intercom reply. Nodding, Zelazny addressed the question.
"That's still plan A. But we need to start considering plan B's. There's been no reports from our assets aboard for the last day and a half. My gut tells me something's gone wrong..." - he pointed out, accessing his HUD to run a quick diagnostic of his onboard systems. Recently, he was fitted with nanoforming blade-launchers in his forearms, capable of gauss-firing solid, sharpened slugs of molybdenum-reinforced alloy. That, alongside his Smart Vision and sonic-dampening field projectors, would hopefully give him an edge.
The short-range radar/Lidar array he was equipped with however, didn't quite provide the level of situational awareness it was cracked up to do. No elevation-indicators, no precise spatial location of the threats, and it was susceptible to electronic jamming. Frankly, he would've preferred echo-location and ultrasonic amplifiers in place of it. Relying on sound, rather then radar. Like cochlear implants, more common on the older-style architecture. However, the two were mutually incompatible, at least on a human-augmentation level, since radar waves interfered with echo-location, and ultrasonic reception was inhibited by radar waves. The human-machine interface couldn't process both, at the same time, which meant one couldn't have both active. True, the radar had it's advantages, including giving him an approximate, real-time map of likely enemy contacts within a fifty-metre radius, as well as being unobstructed by environmental conditions, but the keyword here was – approximate. It wasn't precise enough, and it didn't account for elevation of said threats, within a three-dimensional space.
Worse yet – radar waves did not penetrate water. And there was plenty of water around. Which meant potential blind-spots.
He spent the past month, during the initial prep stages of this operation, studying the opposition they would face. Despite ostensibly timing this operation to catch them off guard, Zelazny was under no illusion that someone like Yelena Fedorova, would be easy to get the better of. The intel files included Jensen's confrontation with her in Montreal, as well as a number of the earlier Tyrant ops she was a part of. Stealth and ambush-tactics were the woman's favourite MO, but she also had a tendency to think outside the box. And by all accounts, she was a master of misdirection and concealment.
And then of course... there was Irwine. That elusive, deadly Sons' scout, a former Squalnomie Ranger, that gave his BT unit so much trouble six years ago near Seattle. Eleven confirmed kills on his men, five of them from extreme range. They did win that battle, but... the cost was high. At least on the ship, he would have precious few opportunities to ply his trade... but the man was also an ex-Marine. Trained to improvise and adapt. The two of them combined, were a formidable threat.
"We should hit them now! The sooner, the better. Especially now that the waters are favourable to us. Besides, I hate the sea! Sooner we're done with them, the sooner I can get back on solid ground." - a heavily Dutch-accented female tone growled, coming from a masked, solidly built female shape, fingering an NRG plasma rifle in her hands.
"And I am looking forward to bringing some actual terrorists to justice! The old-fashioned way. My sister's biggest mistake, was signing on with the TF29, thinking that those rule-bound by-the-book idiots, would have the steel required to act with extreme prejudice. And look what it got her... dying in a train sabotage, of all things?! She never even faced the bastards who killed her! That sneaky klootzak Jensen and his terrorist buddies, planting bombs and slinking around shadows! Verdomme! How the fuck, does someone like that get into TF29, is a disgrace! They never even suspected him...! They're as bad as the Collective, if you ask me! Recruiting terrorists..." - she snarled.
"Take it easy, Vande! And you don't know that Jensen did that, either! I've met the guy. He's not the sabotage type." - Zelazny countered sharply.
"Really?! Then how come he was the only survivor?! How very fucking convenient, that out of literally everyone on that train, Raye included, he happens to be the only one to get out alive! Almost like... oh, I don't know... he planned it?!" - the young woman shot back.
Zelazny grimaced. It was a good point... but from his own experience with Adam Jensen three years ago, it just didn't fit the man's character.
"All I'm saying is, cool your jets. And that's an order! When we deploy, I don't want you taking stupid chances and ending up like your big sister. We're not hunting Jensen, we're hunting a completely different kind of prey. Keep that in mind."
"Yes... sir." - the woman replied sullenly.
"Hey, look on the bright side, Ena! You get to maybe compare notes with the only bitch who ever survived a one-on-one with Jensen! Maybe she'll give you a few pointers, if you ever do get your shot a him!" - one of the others chuckled, then quickly looked away as Zelazny shot him a glare.
"Shut up... she should've KILLED him! Then Raye would still be alive..." - the woman shook her head, not even looking at him, then focused on Zelazny... with some hesitation.
"Sir... if opportunity allows, any chance of capturing Fedorova alive? She may have useful intel for us, especially under enhanced interrogation." - leadingly.
But Zelazny shook his head adamantly.
"Get that notion out of your head right now, sargeant! Mister Rand's orders are quite clear, and I agree with him, having read her file. You don't go for a non-lethal option with an ex-Tyrant. That's like trying to capture a black mamba with your bare hands! Plus, I doubt we'll get the chance anyway. Operators like her ain't in the habit of surrendering."
She nodded, but didn't meet his eyes. Clearly not at all dissuaded, as she moved off, to pull out a composite, ultrasonic-powered mid length one handed sword from it's nanopolymer sheath, checking the edge alignment.
Each member of the squad carried one, in lieu of a close-combat weapon. Over the past half a decade, the proliferation of various types of adaptive ballistic plating, whether piezoelectric or nanoform-based, both in armour suits and augmetic integration, made blades and piercing weapons once more a necessary tactical option, being better able to deal with those kinds of barriers, then bullets or even energy weapons.
The recent advent of powered blades in particular, with their high-frequency ultrasonic vibrating edges, made for an especially lethal counter to adaptive plating, since they could simply slice through an adaptive surface, rather then having to break through it, like a non-powered blade.
Aboard the Siren's Call...
"I'm in. Full access to the ship's comms and radar array. Server-trace blocked. Tunneler holding... we'll be fine for ten or so minutes. I can hook up this PDA to output the radar readout, and I'll link the comms traffic directly to your phone. Just dial #33137, to get the feed." - Jamella reported, with a self-satisfied smirk, fingers flying over a terminal, as she connected a PDA to it.
Ostensibly locked with a level 4 access code; for the young hacker, it may as well have been wide open.
She and Irwine were skulking around the auxilliary comms antenna room, where a backdoor access could be made. Normally vacant, except in case of emergency, it wasn't likely that any member of the ship's crew would come by. Especially middle of the night. Nevertheless, Irwine kept one eye out the access corridor, and his own Buzzkill stun gun read.
"Nice job. Let's hear it..." - he murmured.
With his free hand, he typed in the number on his phone, and began hearing the ship's captain getting a weather update from what he assumed was a local maritime weather buoy, judging by the AI-generated voice on the other end.
Apparently a stormfront was due to intersect the Siren's course within the next hour. Irwine could've guessed as much himself, just looking up at the low clouds on the horizon, and the increasingly unpredictable gusts of wind, sweeping the deck. He shook his head to himself, cutting off the feed.
"Nothing on comms... but we're gonna have ourselves a little weather pretty soon. What about the radar? Anything?" - he looked back inside. The young hacker shrugged.
"Doesn't look like it, but I don't exactly know how to read this. How about you?" - she showed him the PDA's screen.
"I was given the basics on how to read radar output in the Marine Corps. Let's see here – oh, watch the hallway." - he pointed back out, as he took the PDA.
"Right. By the way, there's a crawlway leading out of here, right behind that console. In case we need to get out of here quietly." - Jamella nodded, also pointing it out, before she took up a spot near the door, with an eye outside.
"Let's hope we won't... crawlways and me aren't on the first name basis. Not since I had to spend an hour crawling through one with a hole through my shoulder, back in Mayrhofen." - Irwine resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
While he didn't suffer from claustrophobia before that little experience, and he... technically... still didn't suffer from one; that experience has certainly lowered his tolerance level towards tight spaces.
Eh, look on the bright side, man... at least you won't be drippin' blood if you do it this time! Hopefully.
He smirked to himself with gallows humour, studying the readout.
"Over here?" - the mohawked thug asked dubiously, pointing at a recessed patch of deck plating behind one of the lifeboat racks on the upper deck.
"Yes. Make sure it is hidden well." - Yelena nodded, glancing in the direction of the last hiding place they put a microwave jammer in. Roughly 35-40 metres apart, she wanted the devices to have the full coverage of the ship, if and when they'd need to trigger them.
The jammers themselves were Jamella's creation; modified phones, pocket secretaries, PDAs, and various other small electronic devices that the trio of thugs managed to lift from various passengers and crewmen, over the past day and a half. What they lacked in surveillance ability and subtlety, the three Cartel members made up for in sleight-of-hand and petty thievery. And on a ship with close to eight hundred passengers and crew, things... could get lost.
Once obtained, the young hacker had spent a couple of hours programming each of them, to emit a specific kind of interference signal, once triggered via remote command, that would hopefully interfere with small-scale radar operation – sort of like miniature EW units. They wouldn't be powerful enough to affect the ship's radar or dedicated comms, and therefore alert the crew to anything amiss, but they would likely make any personal-grade radar systems at the very least unreliable, at most – inoperative. Coupled with the number of people aboard, it would make that kind of spatial detection almost completely useless.
And Yelena knew that modern mil-grade augmentation setups relied mostly on radar, rather then ultrasonic detection like hers. Namir's latest batch of upgrades, a month before his end came, included a radar-mapper array, fully replacing his cochlear implants. The rest of them were scheduled to upgrade within the following months.
So, assuming the team contained any augmented operatives, it was a safe bet to assume they would be relying mainly on radar, for personal detection. In the current environment, that could be made to work against them.
The drawback was, that the jammers would also interfere with civilian GSM signals, so Yelena only planned to have them activated, when and if they knew for sure they'd be boarded. And once they were active, it wouldn't be long before everyone aboard realised something was wrong.
"So who you expectin' to come, anyway? Some black ops team or somethin'? Seal Team Six or... whatever?" - the black thug grumbled, taking another one of the improvised jammers.
"Over... mmm... over there! Tape it behind that soda machine." - Yelena pointed, pulling out a wide ducttape out of her purse and handing it to him. Down the walkway about 30 metres, leading to the front upper deck lounge and disco hall, the machine could just be seen. She ignored the question for the moment.
As they walked that way, she shook her head.
"No. Too above-board. The... individuals... we are dealing with, do not like to get entangled with national governments. Too much potential for exposure. They like to manipulate them, but not directly. Certainly not make use of government special forces. Private sector ones... yes. Like PMCs. Corporate security. That kind of thing." - she explained, her eyes flashing with memories briefly.
The three gangsters looked at each other unconvincedly.
"Sounds like you're just guessin', lady. Jumping at damn shadows..." - the third one muttered under his breath. The aquiline woman grimaced.
"Maybe. Maybe you found that proprietary one-way Infolink transmitter in a dumpster somewhere. Maybe you were sent to watch us, and provide precise reports on us, just for fun. Maybe that is that fat sweaty pig-eyed freak's idea of a practical joke." - deadpan. At this, the mohawk-haired one had to stifle a laugh, as she continued, "...but I'm not laughing at it. I have seen this pattern before." - she gave all three of them a direct look.
"And I like to prepare for the worst outcome." - before she smirked.
"Still, I have to thank him for one thing. Sending you three. If you weren't so obvious about it, we'd never have suspected anything amiss!"
"What's that supposed to mean... ?" - the mohawk one blinked in confusion. The other two looked like they were still trying to parse what exactly she was saying. Yelena resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
I wonder if all three of you combined have an IQ above room temperature... ? It's almost... charming... in a dumb way. But that is useful too. It means that if and when we resolve this situation, I might actually let you boys live. You are too stupid to be a loose end. Which is a lot more then I can say about your boss. He will pay for this.
She thought, darkly. Out loud, she just motioned for them to keep going.
"Nevermind. We've almost covered the upper deck. And I have to say, you guys did a great job getting these!" - she smiled, covering up any indication of what she was thinking.
"Yeah... there's gonna be a few things Lost and Found's gonna have to explain to the nice people aboard, ey chica? But hey... that's part of the cruise experience 'round here!" - the mohawk one grinned evilly.
An hour later, back in their cabin suite...
Jamella almost sputtered her coffee back into the cup, as Yelena suggested they put on a movie, to relax and unwind before trying to get some sleep for the rest of the night.
She rose and padded over to the TV, just in a pair of slacks over her cybernetic legs, and an upper part of a bikini. The room's lighting accentuated the subtly raised rectangular sections over her spine, just under the taut, tanned skin.
The young hacker coughed violently, wiping the fluid from her mouth, before she finally managed to speak.
"How can you... relax... at a time like this?! I mean, I've been a nervous wreck for the past day, expecting black-ops killers to drop on this ship; we've spent most of that time scrounging-up tech and circuitry to program into shortwave radar jammers, and breaking into restricted areas all over this boat. Not to mention having to tunnel-in a link to the ship's radar and comms! If we're discovered..." - she trailed off, taking a shuddering breath...
"Oh, and relying on those three guys NOT to mess it all up and get made while planting the jammers! They're not exactly subtle... And here you are, cool as a cucumber, about to zone out to a movie...?! I... I don't get you, Yelena!" - the girl looked bewildered.
Irwine had to stifle a chuckle, shaking his head slightly, still studying the radar readout on the padd, while the aquiline woman shrugged, briefly glancing at her with a quizzical expression, as she was about to pick a channel on the TV.
"Just an idea... if you like, you can be a nervous wreck for all three of us." - raising an eyebrow, with a microscopic smile, before she raised a hand, cutting the young hacker's angry rejoinder:
"Trick of the trade, Jamella! We've done all that we can to prepare. Agonising over what comes next, when it comes, is pointless. And will simply make us jumpy for nothing. If, and when they come, they'll come, and hopefully our preparations will alert us in advance. Trust me – there is a fine line between being prepared, and being anxious." - she peered at the coffee cup.
"And do yourself a favour, make that your last for the night... Or all that caffeine in your system will have you jumping out of your skin!" - she admonished gently.
The girl glared, but nodded reluctantly...
"Yeah... I guess it's not helping... better lay off this stuff." - setting the cup down with a sigh, trying to calm down. She noticed her hand was shaking slightly.
"Good. Now come here and help me pick!" - Yelena smiled, beckoning her over, as she put up a channel menu on-screen. Out of 71 channels currently available, eight of them were running one movie or another. Another four were adult channels.
"I vote Blackstar 3!" - Irwine peered at the screen, focusing on one of the channels, as he momentarily lifted his gaze from the PDA.
"NO!" - the two women growled, almost in unison. He help up his hands.
"Just a thought..."
"Yeah, right! A sci-fi action thriller is the LAST thing I need right now...!" - Jamella rolled her eyes in exasperation, while the aquiline woman pointed at another channel.
"Something retro, maybe? Casablanca?" - with a wink at the girl.
"Now we're talking! I never realised you were a closet romantic!" - Jamella giggled.
At this, Yelena had to laugh.
"Sometimes! And besides... someone here needs to learn to appreciate the golden age of cinema. Not this contemporary CGI trash. Am I right?" - winking at the girl, as she nodded her head in Irwine's direction.
He adopted a long-suffering look.
"Outflanked. Not fair!" - with a theatrical sigh.
"I promise – you will love it!" - Yelena purred, padding back to cosy-up to him, giving him a hooded gaze, after she picked the channel.
Midway through the transit of Puerto Rican waters...
The downpour of rain was so thick over the bridge viewports, that the nigh-shift duty officer couldn't see thirty metres ahead of the conning tower. Lightning and thunder flashed across the leaden sky, every minute or so, as the ship throd it's way through the tropical storm. Navigating mostly by instrumentation, there was little for the bridge crew to do, but pass the time however they saw fit, and try not to let the steady droning of the rain, to lull them to sleep.
Suddenly, a radio crackled to life.
~"Sirine Queen, esta es la autoridad marítima de Puerto Rico. Cambie su rumbo a 121 marca 12 y prepárese para recibir un equipo de inspección. Tenemos motivos para sospechar que puede llevar contrabando a bordo."~ - a bored-sounding tone echoed through the sleepy bridge.
The duty officer perked up, as the comms officer shot him a 'what the hell' look, with a frown. The man just shook his head with a shrug, and reached for an intra-ship phone to the captain's quarters, to summon him to the bridge. Nodding, the comms officer opened a channel.
"¿Está seguro? No hubo aviso previo cuando salimos del puerto... tendrás que hablar con el capitán. Espere por favor." - he replied dubiously.
The request repeated, more annoyed-sounding, and the crewmen on the bridge gave each other knowing looks. Those maritime control types and their impatient, bossy attitude... the comms officer grimaced.
"Como dije, ¡el capitán está en camino! Tendrás que hablar con él." - raising his voice a touch, before he put the channel on standby.
What a way to ruin a perfectly lazy night shift... assholes. Now we'll have to play host to those port authority jackboots chasing some bullshit rumour, in the middle of a fuckin' storm!
The man thought in annoyance, slumping back in his seat.
"Hijo de puta..." - he growled under his breath, as he observed the duty officer's face, after that man got off the line with the captain. From the amount of swearing audible over the phone, he could guess the captain wasn't too happy being woken up like this.