Poseidon's Arrow

3

THE CUSTOMARY SOUTHERN CALIFORNIAN EARLY-MORNING gloom hung over the marina, the air damp with a misty drizzle. Joe Eberson hoisted himself from behind the wheel of a rental car and eyed the parking lot, then moved to the trunk, retrieving a tackle box and fishing rod. Both had been purchased the night before, shortly after his flight from the East Coast landed at San Diego’s Lindbergh Field. Flipping on a battered bucket hat, he ambled into the sprawling marina at Shelter Island.

Eberson ignored the buzz of an E-2 Hawkeye surveillance plane taking off from the Coronado Naval Air Station across the harbor as he made his way past dozens of small sailboats and powerboats. The playthings of weekend hobbyists, Eberson rightly suspected, most of these pleasure boats seldom left their slips. Spotting a forty-foot cabin cruiser with a large open rear deck, he stepped alongside. The boat was pushing its fifth decade, but its gleaming white hull and polished brightwork revealed an owner who had long provided it loving care. A gurgle from the stern indicated the engine was already warming at idle.

“Joe, there you are,” said a man who stepped from the cabin. “We were almost ready to leave without you.”

With his slight build, thick glasses, and white hair worn in a flattop, Dr. Carl Heiland looked every bit the electrical engineer. His eyes danced and he grinned easily, exhibiting a near-constant state of high energy even at six in the morning.

Short on sleep and exhausted from his cross-country flight, Eberson oozed the opposite sentiment. He gingerly climbed aboard and shook hands.

“Sorry I’m late, doctor,” Eberson said, suppressing a yawn. “I took a wrong turn out of the hotel and didn’t realize it until I pulled up to SeaWorld. I think even Shamu was still asleep.”

“It gave me time to get everything aboard.” Heiland nodded toward a mixed box of crates strapped to the bulwarks. “Here, let’s stow your tackle next to our gear.” He reached for Eberson’s fishing rod, then caught a glimpse of his hat. He burst out laughing.

“You angling for brook trout today?”

Eberson pulled off his hat and examined the worn crown. A scattered band of brightly colored freshwater fishing flies encircled it. “You did say fishing attire.”

“I doubt anybody else noticed,” Heiland snorted, then called into the cabin, “Manny, go ahead and take us out.”

A dark-skinned man in cutoffs appeared and untied the deck lines. Moments later, he was behind the wheel, piloting the boat into horseshoe-shaped San Diego Harbor. They dodged an incoming Navy amphibious ship before clearing the channel and entering the Pacific. Manny kicked up the throttle and set a course to the southwest, rolling through a light swell stirred by an onshore breeze. Soon Eberson begin to feel queasy, and he ducked past Manny to grab a seat in the main cabin.

Heiland poured him a mug of coffee and joined him at the galley table. “So tell me, Joe, how are things back in Arlington?”

“As you know, we just spilled the beans to the President. Nevertheless, we’re under the usual squeeze of trying to accomplish more with fewer resources. We’ll be lucky to avoid a big budget reduction next year, I’m afraid.”

“I figured it was only a matter of time before the ax fell in our direction. Glad I’ve got five years’ worth of work under contract.”

“You needn’t worry, Carl. Your firm’s work is of utmost importance. As a matter of fact, I’ve got approval to proceed with the Block Two retroactive upgrade—if you can prove operational ability. I assume that’s why you called me out here on short notice?”

Heiland gave him a cagey look. “That’s some riverboat gambling on your part. You haven’t even field-tested the Block One system yet.”

Eberson shook off a bout of nausea to return Heiland’s smile. “Carl, we both know it’s going to work.”

“Did you source the propulsion components?”

“Yes, though there are some material issues going forward.” He looked at Heiland with an expectant gaze. “But we’re more interested in the Block Two mods.”

“We’ve had some similar materials issues, but I think we’ve made the breakthrough that we’ve been chasing after.”

Eberson smiled broadly. “That’s why I jumped on the first plane from Washington. I know you like to keep things light and tight.”

“Given the secure nature of the project, I don’t like to draw attention to our field tests. Seemed to work for Block One, so that’s why we’re just keeping it to a little fishing trip today.” He looked again at Eberson’s hat and smiled.

“We’ve done our best to keep a lid on things at our end. Of course, you haven’t exactly given us much in the way of specs.”

“The fewer eyes around, the better.”

Eberson took a swallow of coffee, then leaned across the table.

“Do you think we can really get to the theoretically predicted levels?”

Heiland nodded, his eyes sparkling. “We’ll find out shortly.”

A few minutes later, Manny cut the motor, signaling they had arrived at their test site. They had crossed into Mexican waters, almost twenty miles from shore and well off the path of the average San Diego day sailor. The water was too deep to anchor, so the boat drifted while Heiland went to work.

Ignoring a long rectangular case strapped to the bulwarks, he opened several smaller cases that contained a pair of laptops, some cabling, and connectors. Setting the computers on a low bench, he knelt and began configuring them.

Manny poked his head out from the wheelhouse. “Doc, there’s a freighter coming up on us.”

Heiland glanced over his shoulder. “She’ll be well past us by the time we’re ready to go.” He returned his attention to the computers.

Eberson took a seat on the large crate and watched the ship approach. A midsized freighter, it seemed of recent build, by its streamlined design and lack of rust. Dark gray in color, the ship almost had a Navy look about it. The bridge windows caught Eberson’s attention. Tinted black, they gave off an odd, almost menacing look.

A few crewmen in coveralls on the main deck worked behind a large container. As the ship drew closer, he could see they were adjusting a large dish-shaped object mounted on a platform amidships. The dish was painted a drab green and turned toward the sea, rising several feet into the air like a hardened sail. The men on deck soon disappeared, and Eberson noted the ship seemed to be slowing.

“Carl, I’m not sure about this ship.” He rose uncomfortably to his feet.

“We’ve got nothing for them to see,” Heiland said. “Why don’t you pick up a rod and make like you’re here to catch a tuna.”

Eberson grabbed one of the boat’s rods from a rack and cast a weighted hook over the side, not bothering with any bait lest he actually have to fight a beast from the deep. As the freighter pulled alongside a short distance away, he tossed a friendly wave toward the blacked-out bridge.

A burning pain shot through his hand, quickly tracking down his arm to his torso. He dropped his arm and shook it, but the sensation was already spreading across his body. In seconds, it felt like a thousand red ants were biting his flesh. The fire shot to his head, where his eyes seemed to boil in their sockets.

“Carl—” he cried. The words came out in a raspy gurgle.

Heiland felt the same burning sensation on his back. Spinning around, he processed two scenes at once. One was the dying Joe Eberson, still clutching the fishing rod as he fell to the deck, his skin glowing scarlet. The other was the freighter’s shield-like device, directed at him from a few dozen yards away.

Ignoring the burning that seared through his body, he staggered to the cabin. Manny was already on the deck, gasping a last breath as blood dribbled from his nose and ears. Heiland stepped past his longtime friend as his own pain became amplified. His entire body felt inflamed. Somewhere in his consciousness, he wondered why his skin wasn’t falling off in chunks. A single urge drove him forward as he lurched to the pilot’s seat. His head felt like it was going to explode as he reached under the console, his burning fingers grasping a pair of hidden toggles. He tripped them both, then took his last breath.