Incarna

15 - Episode 4 Slavic Revenge

George nodded his agreement. Aubrey was well aware of George’s plans for Deepwater, but George hadn’t realised that Jager Security was so well advanced in its own research and development programs. “Well I’d better get some contacts into Jager asap. We might be able to utilise our current situation to broaden our operative network.” He turned to Aub. “Do you have any one that might be suitable?”

Aub squinted. “We’ve plenty of people with German and a few with Australian experience, but the problem is Jager is very tight. Harold Parrish is no slouch. He is a very, ‘cluey bloke’, as they say down under! His son is probably one of the top programmers we know of. I couldn’t list the number of hackers or net scammers he has burned as part of Jager security contracts. It may be well worth our while just asking Harold for a cooperation agreement. We could do with everyone on the same side!”

George shook his head. “Sorry, but no! I’m not touching Private. We keep this in-house as long as possible. As soon as Private is involved we’ll have to share data and allow them the option to commoditise anything uncovered.” George chewed his upper lip, a habit he usually had under control, but not in private with Aub. It was a Tell that would undo any poker player in an instant, and he used the same tactics during his daily dealings  in NSA operations.

The Wolf banked and they both looked out their windows as the Maine coast wheeled below them and Rogue Island came into view. “Still the best deal you ever did George?” asked Aub as the Wolf slowed its approach to the Cruiser moored off the south east facing white sands of Great Beach. George nodded and allowed himself a self satisfying smile, “yes my friend my best purchase ever,” and he overly emphasised chase to further the point. They had both been involved in that particular wheeling and dealing and now both used it as a weekend fortress when the weather was kind and the tides not too ferocious.

“Ah I can see Susan on the deck of the Forest!” Aub said solicitously. George didn’t rise to the quip and merely chuckled. He loved Susan and he loved his yacht. He had acquired a few hundred acres of Panamanian Rain forest and rehabilitated it. Of course the species used were very select and were to replace the old, old trees he had already chosen. The best boat timber trees these were and had been hand cut in the forest and milled on site and his ideal yacht built from those select timbers. Hence the name of his yacht. George would often sit and stroke some part of Forest, and could tell anyone the history of that particular piece of timber.

Obsessive, arrogant, yes; but he wasn’t selfish with his wealth and shared it with his friends unquestioningly. Cross him though, and one could find the rest of their lives more than difficult!

As the Wolf hovered to land the intercom sounded, “sir you need to see this immediately!” Petersen, his private secretaries refined nordic lilt did not hide the strain in his voice. Aub reached across before George, and touched the screen. A view of burning vehicles and screaming people shocked them out of their reverie. As they watched there was a silver flash followed by a sonic boom and shock wave. A Russian t84 tank that was rushing past the column of burning trucks careered to a stop, its engine compartment wrecked and flames starting to flicker out from the torn metal.

The translation at the bottom of the screen told them it was a russian aid convoy making it’s way to Independence fighters near Mariupol in south Donetsk. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!” Whispered George as the Wolf touched down and the cabin door slid open. Security agents were already in place and Petersen stood there with phone in hand, “the office,” he said simply, meaning the White House.

“What have we got,” George said and listened to his liaison officer describe everything they new. Petersen was holding an ePad on which was playing the video from the scene. George watched and listened at the same time  while a part of his mind also listened to Aub and the briefing he was receiving. So entangled and connected, they walked across the cruisers helideck and onto the receiving deck then straight up the stair well to the next deck and the onboard office. Screens were up showing various views and Petersen directed them to a medium sized one, “the best translation,” he said simply.

“What is this siren they’re yelling about?” asked George. Aubrey turned to him, “it’s Sirin, a mythical creature that sings evil doers to their death!” Aub spoke fluent russian and was completely immersed in russian culture and history. Russia may no longer be a super power, but they still weren’t a team player.

“Tracking, Intel, what have we got?” said George firmly. “Nothing yet sir!” “Come on people, this is our chance to nail these bastards!” He never yelled, that was unprofessional and his team knew never to raise their voices above normal tones. That way George could keep track of nearly everything happening in the room. That was his skill, and sifting the grain from the chaff was what had got him to where he was today.

“Up to our necks eh George?” said Aub from beside him, as he checked over the data links and feeds. George scoffed, “that’s for …”

“Nothing reading sir, we’re blind. We’ve no coverage so close to Russian territory!” came the Intel officers salutary report. George’s shoulders slumped. “The clever bastards have used an area we can’t track in,” added Aub. George just stood there shaking his head as he watched people shooting at hallucinations and often hitting each other! “This is bad, very very bad,” he said coldly as most of the room came to a standstill and watched as people began killing each other. The camera fell into blood soaked dirt and slowly sank into the grime.