Underground_A Merfolk Secret Page 18

  Strangely enough, the whole incident had one silver lining: The deep diving suits had passed their tests with flying colors, shattering all expectations to the delight of a few. Armstrong guessed Major White would be happy to have something to show for the effort, along with the Navy’s bill for that submarine.

  At least no one had died.

  “We’re getting ready to meet the Institute’s research boat, Captain,” his navigation officer said, while the sound of helicopters in the distance attracted his attention. Nobody wanted to lose their prized possession.

  “Get her in position. I’ll breathe easier once we deliver our cargo.”

  “We all will, Captain.”

  Once the Honos was nice and steady, Armstrong came down to the main deck, where the tank with the merman inside waited to be moved to the much smaller boat. Dr. Greensburg wasn’t happy with how long the operation would last, and occupied himself by taking the unconscious merman’s pulse with his hand. They had detached all medical equipment in order to make the transfer, and would reattach smaller equipment once Drake was on the new transport.

  This close, Armstrong took one last look at the merman. Dark blue scales ran along the spine and shoulder blades, while the sight of the gills breathing still made him uneasy.

  “Captain, we’re ready for transfer,” a marine told them, and Armstrong nodded in acknowledgement.

  For all the trouble Drake had caused him and his crew, Armstrong had to admit he was curious. He moved closer for one last inspection, and noticed that something about the merman looked off. “How is he?”

  “His vitals have been steady for the past four hours,” Greensburg answered. “I’m still worried about his lack of breathing reflex, but there’s no reason why he shouldn’t wake up any moment now.”

  Armstrong narrowed his eyes, trying to put his finger on what was wrong. The scales followed an intricate pattern from Drake’s collarbone to his chin, and then framed the face all the way to the pointy ears.

  “I read the abbreviated reports on Ray, and the smaller one. Scott?” Armstrong said, turning to look at Greensburg. “They seemed to have been cooperative to a point. You think it will be different with this one?”

  “Well, from what we know,” the doctor said as he stood beside the captain, “they were children. Drake is at the highest level of their society, so I wouldn’t be surprised if we can learn far more from him than the others.”

  Armstrong looked closely as Drake’s chest expanded, but then, it stopped moving, as if Drake were holding his breath. The muscles of his arms tensed, and Armstrong absolutely knew that Drake was no longer unconscious.

  * * *

  It was now or never.

  If Greensburg had one thing right, it was that they weren’t dealing with children anymore. Drake reached out with one hand towards the closest person and grabbed their shirt by the neck. He pulled Captain Armstrong down with enough force to shatter half the tank with the impact of his body. Water rushed out as Drake’s tail shifted into legs, while all his skin shifted into hard scales to avoid cutting himself as he rolled out of the broken tank.

  The scales partially worked, but with adrenaline fueling his veins, he hardly felt the sting of glass as he fought the stiffness in his legs and back. Warned that his lungs might have problems, he held his breath as he assessed the situation, looking for the closest escape route. Even on his worst day, he was still faster than humans. Half the marines plain stared at his dark-scaled body, while the others shouted to catch him. Someone pointed a gun at him, someone else shouted at him to stop. All Drake saw was the sun rising over a glorious ocean, and ran.

  He jumped off the deck in a perfect arch, and entered the water already in merform. His tail felt sluggish, and the pain at the base of his back returned. He ignored them both, and forced himself to swim faster away from the Honos, and away from the coast. He had to put enough distance between them until he felt safe to come out on land. From there, he would find a phone, somewhere, and would call Julian.

  The bay where the ship was anchored was not deep, so the sounds of helicopters in pursuit easily reached his ears. He changed directions in a zigzag pattern, his body slowing down as the initial adrenaline rush abated. The helicopters were relentless, somehow being able to keep up with his changing direction.

  It took only minutes before divers were coming into the water, dangerously close to his location. He had no idea how much time had passed—Ten minutes? Twenty?—but he couldn’t keep up with this speed.

  He went as deep as the bay allowed him, and then decided to swim a few miles into open sea. As tired as he was, as heavy as his whole body felt, he could just let himself drift into the coast later, under the cover of the night. With renewed energy, he launched himself in a straight line into the Atlantic Ocean, only to have the darn helicopters right at his back.

  He didn’t understand it. He was deep enough to be virtually invisible to human eyes, and close enough to the floor that sonar wouldn’t pick him up. And then he remembered: This year alone we’ve managed to place trackers in two different shark species, which will help us in saving them from the endangered species list.

  He stopped dead in his tracks, and started searching through his body. Somewhere, they had placed a tracker. It was the only thing that made sense. In the semi-darkness of the water, he went from the point of his tail, all the way to his arms, cringing as the sting of several cuts met him. He’d paid a high price to free himself from that tank, but that was a thought for later.

  In the distance, he heard divers coming, and he rushed to move again. The sharp pain in his back returned, and Drake placed his hands on the exact point. The tracker. If they had implanted it too deep into his body, he wouldn’t be able to take it out, especially not underwater. He still moved a few feet more before stopping altogether. No matter how fast or how far he tried to go, he wouldn’t be able to lose them.

  Even if he were in the middle of the ocean, Drake had virtually no escape.

  22

  Connections

  “What do you mean we’re not leaving?” Scott asked, pretty much echoing his brothers’ thoughts. Julian had gathered the four of them in his study before breakfast. He hadn’t slept at all waiting for news on Drake, and it was time for the family to know where things stood.

  “We’re not leaving yet,” Julian clarified. “We have a deal with the Pentagon, and as long as we can honor it, we will.”

  “But they have Drake,” Matthew said. “Wait, are you going to leave him there to die, too?”

  “Matt!” Chris chastised him.

  “We’re not leaving anyone,” Julian said, swallowing the bitter pill. “That’s part of the reason why we’re not leaving. At this point, we don’t know where Drake is, or if he’s injured. We do know another merman attacked him, and that’s a problem by itself. Our only contact with the military is Major White, and he’s only going to keep us updated if we stay here.”

  “Who’s searching for Drake, then?” Matt asked, anxious for knowing things were moving.

  “Aurel has people looking into this,” Julian answered.

  “So, what do we do?” Matt asked. “How do we help?”

  “You are still going to school.” A chorus of groans unsurprisingly met Julian’s words. “We have to act as if everything’s okay. The moment we stop is the moment the Pentagon gets nervous about us. And they are already nervous enough. Expect their surveillance to increase, too. Don’t say anything out loud that you don’t want on record somewhere.”

  “That’s easy for you to say…” Scott muttered, dejected.

  “It’s only for a few days. Either Drake is injured and they let us see him, or he’s no longer alive. Either way, we’ll have an answer soon, and then we’ll decide our next steps. And yes, that means we do have to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. You’ll carry an emergency bag with you at all times.”

  “What do you think is the most likely scenario?” Christopher asked, serious. “Do yo
u honestly think Drake died?”

  “It’s possible. Major White still wants us to stay, especially since the attacker wasn’t human. They still want us to participate in the upcoming UN talks, or at the very least, to keep cooperating with the Pentagon. Right now, I have no answer for you beyond the fact that I want you safe. Both Aurel and Mireya are ready to receive you if we have no options.”

  “I don’t want to leave you,” Matthew said, offended. “None of us want that.”

  “I know you don’t,” Julian said with a sad smile. “You’re in a position no merman should be in, and I’m so sorry for that, kids. But your safety comes first, and these people are not joking. If it comes down to it, I’ll move you as soon as it’s safe. No buts.”

  “But—!” Matt started, and was silenced by Julian’s eyes.

  “Now, it’s getting late. I’ll drop you off at school, so get ready to leave in ten minutes.” All moved to get out, and Julian placed a hand on Matt’s shoulder before he could leave.

  “I talked to Adrian earlier,” he said, and Matthew automatically stiffened.

  “He left already, I bet.”

  “Actually, he doesn’t seem overly concerned about it. He said he’ll pick you up after class today as you had arranged.”

  Anger flared in Matt’s eyes for a moment, followed by guilt. “Okay,” he said with a shrug.

  “Matt, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

  “Yeah, I do. He’s my brother, right? That makes us family. So I’ll stick to that.”

  Julian always marveled at Matt’s high sense of loyalty when it came to family, even when that family was a stranger. “All I’m saying is that you have a choice. And that includes not wanting to be with him.”

  “Got it,” was all Matt said before leaving Julian alone.

  * * *

  Higgs went through a lengthy process of having his fingertips scanned, his photo taken, and a hundred legal confidential documents placed in front of him along with a pen to sign them. As much as he’d had clearance to work with Major White, he needed a new set of credentials to work with the Navy.

  No one mentioned merfolk. The two officers at his apartment invoked some National Security secrecy laws, and asked him to not leave his home or contact anyone for the time being. It was fine by him. The main question here was if he was being cleared to help treat Drake, or to help dissect his body. Either way, he was eager to know what had happened to the merman.

  At first light, he was woken up by a call on his cell phone, and twenty minutes later, he was put on a helicopter, where a very polite marine apologized for the abrupt ways of the Navy, especially when Higgs confided he hadn’t had breakfast yet.

  Two hours later, after more signatures and a parade of officers, Higgs arrived at the Institute of Marine Life Research, and started to breathe easier. If Drake was dead, they would have taken him to a morgue.

  Several universities’ names were stenciled into several doors, and as Higgs walked through the clean, blue halls, he wondered where he was going to end up today.

  “Thank God you’re here!” a man said as Higgs was being led into a room. Dr. Greensburg met him with relief written all over his face. Up until now, the two men had only ever spoken over video calls, and Higgs found it funny that the man was so short.

  “Dr. Greensburg. It’s nice to see a familiar face around.”

  “That’s exactly what we need. We have a problem.”

  “A merman problem, I assume?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “A live merman problem?” Higgs pressed, as his guards followed them to where Greensburg was leading.

  “You have no idea. Major White told me that you’re aware of the diving project?”

  “Yes, the initial deal was actually made at my dining table, if you can believe that.”

  “Mermaids swim in our oceans, doctor. I’d believe anything.”

  They walked through brightly illuminated corridors, where sunlight entered through a long glass wall. Down they went through a stairwell with a beautiful sight of the ocean.

  “So, what happened? Is Drake okay?”

  “There was an attack, and we think it led to a major problem with the suit Drake was wearing. A short circuit of some sort. It basically electrocuted him.”

  “Jesus. They’re extremely sensitive to electricity.”

  “It put him out for close to twenty hours. We didn’t even have a means to diagnose the extent of the damage, so we brought him here.”

  Greensburg opened a door into an observation room, where a floor-to-ceiling glass wall met them. Sunlight played with the water behind the glass, giving the room a bluish tint. Nothing seemed to be inside the pool, but Higgs had the idea that it was big enough to house a killer whale.

  “So, he’s not awake?”

  “Oh, he’s awake, all right. He just can’t talk to us.”

  “The silent treatment? Again?” Higgs asked, completely aghast. He understood why Ray had done that when he’d first woken up at ORCAS last year. But Drake had to know better than to stick to their “don’t say a word” code.

  Greensburg blinked, clearly not following. “No, he can’t talk. He can’t shift into breathing air. He’s stuck with his mer-lungs, if you like. Plus…there are other issues.”

  “Oh, do tell.”

  “What would you like to hear first? How he’s the subject of an investigation into merfolk terrorism, or how he attacked a captain and left him with a broken arm and nineteen stitches?”

  * * *

  White was back at a desk in the Pentagon, a thick pile of papers waiting for him. His temporary reassignment to Washington was meant as a catch-up, so he could brief a dozen senators and other officers on what had transpired on board the Honos. Most people in the know only had access to Drake’s deal and the specs on the diving suit. The Brookses’ identity, on the other hand, was a precious secret that few knew. It was too easy to try to blackmail Julian Brooks for anyone to feel comfortable spreading such information.

  Julian’s identity was the least of his worries, though. He sighed in relief when Dr. Greensburg told him Drake had woken up, and started breathing easier when Dr. Higgs had arrived. Just because White wasn’t in Massachusetts overlooking the operation the same way he’d done at ORCAS, it didn’t mean he didn’t have the clearance to be updated.

  Now, as he was reading the latest news, he uncharacteristically cursed at Drake’s antics to escape a boat where he technically hadn’t been a prisoner. How am I going to clean up this mess? he wondered, even if he wasn’t sure it was going to fall into his lap to try to repair the relationship between the Navy and the merfolk.

  If they loved that diving suit as much as I think they did, there might be nothing to be worried about in the long term. He just had to prevent Drake from acting up. Somehow. Soon.

  Frustrated with how things were turning out, he started to jot down a list of things he needed to know before calling Julian with the good news that Drake was alive, but no, he didn’t know where. He had no authorization to reveal that fact, and honestly, telling Julian where Drake was being detained was akin to sending Julian to the same prison.

  As he wrote down find out Drake’s medical condition, his eyes caught a few words of the report beside his laptop.

  —clandestine activity was traced back to Brazil—

  The Brazil incident was not really part of White’s jurisdiction, but the Navy’s. Since it remotely related to merfolk, White received a copy of the advances done during the investigation. He hadn’t read the last two weeks of updates, as he’d been first too busy preparing for the mission on board the U.S.S. Honos, and then because he’d been supervising it.

  Now, he closed the laptop as he started reading the report he’d set aside a few hours ago when he’d been sorting his mail pile into important, urgent, and trash.

  Half an hour later, he walked down the Pentagon halls, searching for one Admiral Woodland, who was overseeing this particular investigation. H
e was also the senior officer supervising the initial list Admiral Coleman had given him last week. Of the forty incidents, four Navy vessels and seventeen commercial ships had been sabotaged one way or another in the past two years, under extremely difficult conditions. They thought other navies around the world had experienced the same, maybe even for a longer period of time, but until merfolk had been proven real seven months ago, they had had no suspects and plenty of crazy, improbable ideas.

  “Admiral Woodland?” White asked as he found the office. A man with white hair and a white mustache turned to look at him as he was pouring a cup of coffee. “I’m Major White.”

  “Major White,” the admiral said, as if recalling his name from somewhere. “From the New York merfolk project?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I was wondering when you were going to cross my path. I admit I can’t compete against watching live subjects when all I have are conjectures and plenty of ideas, but I’d love to compare notes with you.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’m here because of the Brazil incident. I read there’s a video of the suspect?”

  “Well, there’s a video, and we might have a suspect, but we’re not sure the suspect is in this particular video. You have to understand, many of us don’t think much of the Brazil incident in terms of having to do with merfolk. We were tracking an unrelated investigation related to smuggling, but suddenly we started finding a pattern between the sabotages and the smugglers.”

  “So you planted bait,” White said, sitting in front of the desk as the admiral sat on his chair.