Chapter 11

Freehold

Rowen Dalgliesh took a moment to adjust his collar, before grabbing onto the utility vehicle's frame once again. Waylon glanced at the man, trying to gauge how their conversation was going to go. He eased the vehicle to a stop.

"Let's talk here," Waylon said.

They were north of the port, on the windward side of the island. It was undeveloped land, except for the small cart path.

"What's on your mind, Mr. Dalgliesh?"

"Mrs. Truong ... Deni ... asked that I speak to you, Mr. Eckermann. Hell, I feel like a teenager asking if I can take a bird to the pictures for the first time."

"Call me Waylon, if I can call you Rowen. You're old enough to be my father and it feels pretty damn silly to have you all calling me mister anything."

Rowen laughed. "Arman and Felix say it because they know it irritates you, and Deni would be all over them if they didn't. You know how it works from your time in the service. If they didn't like you they'd say it much differently."

Waylon did. There was a trick to addressing your superiors. With the right intonation, a military rank could be turned into a curse word, let alone a loaded word like 'mister.'

"I doubt Deni will ever call you anything else. She thinks the sun shines from your ass."

This was apparently going to be one of those 'all cards down on the table' kind of conversations.

"And you?"

Rowen sighed, "Damned if I can figure you out. You didn't do all this yourself. That much is obvious, and there's a lot you're not telling us. I can rationalize most of it away. But, and this is important, I don't think you're up to anything nefarious. How am I doing? Am I right, or is this the point where you dump my body in a hole somewhere?"

"No body dumping today. Of course if you mistreat Mrs. Truong, her boys might go chumming for bigger sharks."

Rowen held his hands up in mock surrender.

"I do like my privacy," Waylon said. "However, I'd never do anything to put the rest of you in legal jeopardy. What I can't promise you is a life free of risk. If you stay, what would you see your role as?"

Mr. Dalgliesh looked out over the ocean before replying, "Deni is a good woman, and she's good for me. I'd like to grow fond of semi-retirement. Arman is a good manager, and I won't entertain any notion of taking his place. I wouldn't mind being in charge of boat operations, and I might have a thought or two about island security."

"Tell me more about that."

"I think it would be smart for the residents to receive some basic firearms training. You mentioned risk. You have things here that I imagine other people would like to take, and there has been trouble in these waters before."

"Be prepared to repel boarders, or something of that nature?" Waylon asked.

"Something like that," Rowen agreed. "Besides, you're a fair shot with a firearm yourself."

"Oh?"

"The internet, Mr. Waylon Eckermann, formerly of North Texas State University, is a great resource."

"That damned video," Waylon said.

"Very instructional, it was."

"I don't suppose we'll have to build new quarters for you?" Waylon asked.

Mr. Dalgliesh shook his head and smiled. "I think we'll manage, but that brings up another point. Deni would like you to say a few words at a ceremony. Make it official like."

"I'm not a minister or anything."

"It's your island, Waylon. I think you can do about anything you damn well please. Besides, she doesn't want a church ceremony, just something official from her new chief."

"I suppose this is one of those things where it's better to get out of the way and the women will let us know where to stand?"

"I think so," Rowen said with a smile.

"In that case, welcome aboard," Waylon said, as he extended his hand.

The two men shook hands, sealing the deal.

"So, what do you think of this area," Waylon asked. "With a little work, it could be a good location for a shooting range."

"I'm tempted to say that you planned this entire thing," Rowen said, as he examined the terrain. "It would make an excellent firing range. There's enough level ground and a perfect natural backdrop."

Waylon shrugged as his phone blared a vaguely familiar tune.

"Yes? Where? Well it was bound to happen sometime ... can you send that to my phone?"

"What's going on?" Rowen asked.

Waylon held up a finger as he examined his phone. He found what he was looking for and turned it around for Mr. Dalgliesh to see.

"It looks like the French might be dropping by for lunch tomorrow."

Arman and Waylon held the big monitor as Felix guided it onto the wall bracket. Once in place Waylon gave it a few firm tugs to make sure it was staying put. He connected a cable to his tablet and checked that he had the inputs set correctly.

Chairs had been gathered for the impromptu meeting, but it looked like the participants were more interested in the snacks that Rava was serving from the kitchen.

"Will this TV stay in the community center?" Deni asked.

"It will. If all goes well, we might even have satellite TV sooner than planned."

"We have a DVD player, we could have movie night."

"That would be nice," Waylon said.

"Ready to get started?" Rowen asked from the other side of the room.

"Sure, let's get everybody seated."

Six people managed to make a fair amount of noise as they tried to find their seats. Rava made the rounds, making sure everybody had something to drink or eat if they wanted before finding her own seat next to Arman.

Waylon waited patiently until everyone settled down.

"It's been an interesting week," Waylon said by way of introduction. "I think it's likely that we'll be able to offer international calling on a regular basis as well as a satellite television feed for you much sooner than anticipated."

Rava clapped.

"It also looks like Mr. Dalgliesh will be staying on with us for a while longer."

There were knowing grins all around.

"Omo, you are welcome to stay as well, if you would like."

The elderly Tahitian leaned over and whispered in Felix's ear. Felix squinted as he listened.

"Omo says that he does not wish to stay permanently," Felix relayed. "Although, he thinks it may take him, twenty? Yes, twenty years before he's finished with his landscaping plans."

Waylon coughed. "Perhaps we can find some better quarters for him."

Omo nodded slowly when Felix translated for him.

"Okay, anything else before—"

"Flags," Deni said.

"—flags, of course. Felix, would you run out to my vehicle and grab the package from the backseat?"

Felix was back quickly.

"Help me with this," Waylon said, as he started to unfold the flag.

Felix took a corner while Waylon held the other.

"This is the design we came up with. It uses the same red and blue as the French or American flag. The field is blue, representing the ocean. The single white star on the right side represents the island. The white isosceles triangle superimposed over the larger red triangle, based on the hoist side, points toward the star. It's a bold statement about the values we treasure, life and liberty. At least that's the best I could come up with for the official description. What does everybody think?"

There were mumbles and shrugs.

"Well, it may take some getting used to. I've got decals for the boats, and we'll get them put on the plane. I'll see if the ... manufacturing shop, can come up with a flag pole."

"I like it very much," Deni said.

"Says the woman who insisted that we have a flag," Waylon said to general laughter. "Now, onto more pressing business."

Waylon turned the monitor on and pressed an icon on his tablet. He had their complete attention.

"Le Suroît II, French flagged. A hundred and eighty-four feet in length, or fifty-six meters if you prefer. Crew complement is around fifteen. It's an oceanographic research vessel. I'm not sure what exactly they're studying, but by tomorrow afternoon they should be knocking at our door."

"How are you getting these pictures?" asked Rowen.

"We've got a drone overhead."

"You have your own drone. So, what are we going to do?"

"Excellent question, Mr. Dalgliesh," Waylon replied. "If they get within thirty miles, there's no way they're going to miss spotting our little peak. My primary concern is that they'll focus on the island and overlook the barrier ring and the deep water buoys we have positioned for just this reason. My intention is to have you, and your able boat crew, intercept them and make sure they don't sail into trouble."

"Where do you want us to do this?"

Waylon switched to a chart showing the northwestern quadrant of ocean from the island.

"Their track is taking them right between the northwestern and northern buoys. The big speedboat has the fuel range, so I'd like you to intercept them well away from the barrier ring. The French are towing some sort of array. They can't stop or turn on a dime without serious damage to their instrumentation."

"I didn't think you were much of a blue water sailor?"

"I was definitely a landlubber," Waylon replied, "Any more questions?"

"Only one," Rowen said. "What kind of posture do you want us to take with them?"

"Friendly, but firm. The French are our closest neighbors and good relations, particularly with the authorities back in Papeete, are crucial."

"And if they want to make a port call?"

Waylon thought about it. The AIs had mentioned that it could be a possibility. "Maybe next time. I don't think we're quite ready. We'll need to establish some procedures first."

Rowen nodded. It was the right answer.

Aboard Le Suroît II

The captain was in his day cabin with the first officer as they scoured the available charts trying to figure out the puzzle they were facing. Time was critical, the electronic charts on the bridge insisted there was a large navigation hazard in the middle of their intended course. It made no sense. In four hundred years of exploration, there had never been anything previously noted in this part of the South Pacific.

"Captain," the word crackled over the cabin speaker.

"Yes?"

"Sir, a large powerboat is closing on us," was the reply from the ship's third officer.

The captain walked immediately to the bridge. That was the advantage of his day cabin, close proximity to the bridge.

The watch officer handed the captain a pair of binoculars and pointed toward the incoming vessel.

"Hail them."

The junior officer hailed the powerboat on the common frequency and received a quick response.

The craft matched their course and speed, at a respectful distance. The captain had seen the same type of boat in western ports. It was a type used by coastal patrol or law enforcement. He handed the binoculars back to his first officer.

The message from the powerboat was short and to the point.

"Call the control shack and tell them to suspend operations. Begin retrieving the array."

"His highness will not like it," the first officer replied, as he turned to pick up the bridge phone.

As predicted, they were joined minutes later by the breathless leader of their expedition.

"Why are you retrieving the array!" the scientist asked, as he tried to catch his breath. "We only have limited to time to gather data, this is unacceptable!"

"There's a hazard ahead and I don't want to risk the array," the captain replied.

"Well, of course I defer to your judgment in these matters. What sort of hazard?"

"It's uncertain," the captain said. "The footnote for the update says the hazard is surrounded by a barrier. Local reports appear to back up that claim."

The scientist looked at the captain, "That's ludicrous. We are in the middle of the open ocean."

"Our visitors were very convincing and the radar says there's something there. I for one would hate to run aground on preposterous."

"What visitors?"

The captain pointed silently off the port beam.

The expedition leader walked to the bridge window for a better look. "Who are they? What flag do they sail under?"

It was a good question. The captain instructed the officer of the deck to relay the question to the powerboat.

The answer echoed over the bridge speakers and concluded with the word, "Freehold."

The men looked at each other. The first officer pecked the word into the bridge computer but came up with nothing that explained who or what it referenced.

"They are French at least," the captain said.

"This word, 'Freehold.' It is English," the scientist said as he stared at the boat and its mysterious occupants. "How far are we from the Pitcairn Islands?"

The officers checked their position and without needing to run the numbers replied, "At least sixteen hundred kilometers."

A couple of hours later, the towed array had been safely stowed and the French oceanographic vessel was barely making enough speed to maintain headway. Nearly the entire crew was lining the rails. Pictures and video were being recorded from several different positions as the ship sailed parallel to the barrier.

On the bridge the captain was waiting for his first officer to report on the calculations. The expedition head hovered over the officer's shoulder as they worked the numbers out with a pencil and calculator.

"If our friends are correct, about the barrier circle being complete, it is sixty kilometers across and nearly a hundred and ninety kilometers in circumference. That means it covers an ocean area of some twenty-eight hundred square kilometers."

"Fantastic," the captain replied. "What about that peak? How long as it been there?"

"Obviously new volcanic activity," the expedition leader said. "I've already emailed our colleagues to begin reviewing regional seismic data. But who would be insane enough to live on it?"

"Our visitors say it is man made," the first officer said.

"Preposterous!" the scientist said.

The arguments would rage for weeks, but the ship had a schedule to keep and it was soon forced to depart the area to return to its scientific survey mission. Not even the French would jeopardize their research grant money.

Freehold

Waylon barely beat Deni and Rowen to the terminal at the airfield. Deni wheeled her electrically powered utility vehicle with ruthless efficiency. Rowen grabbed his small bag and kissed Deni on the cheek.

"Doesn't he look handsome, Mr. Waylon?" Deni asked.

The dark blue flight suits were new. Like Waylon, Rowen's had a Freehold flag patch sewn on the shoulder in addition to his name tag over the breast pocket.

"You did a great job with the patches."

"You will keep him out of trouble?" she asked.

"Of course, and I'll even try to have him back before dawn."

Deni gave Rowen a stern look, and with the whine of the electric motor, her vehicle quickly disappeared from sight.

"I feel like a Rupert in this thing," Rowen said.

Waylon smiled at the British slang he hadn't heard in years. "Good, because I need a first officer on this flight."

"Why am I here, and not Arman or Felix. Felix likes this kind of thing."

"You wanted to know some of what went on around here, and I need security for this flight."

Waylon dug a shoulder holster and pistol out of his bag and handed it to the former Royal Marine.

"This is legal?" the man asked, as he checked that the weapon was loaded and ready to fire.

"Yes. The gun is mostly for show. If you have to draw it, we're screwed anyway."

Rowen fumbled with the adjusting strap as he tried to keep up with Waylon. "What exactly are we doing? Do we even have enough time this afternoon?"

"We're going to do a little bartering and we have plenty of time."

Waylon showed Rowen where to store his travel bag and how the door hatch was secured.

"What are we carrying?" Rowen asked.

The main cabin had been changed over to the cargo configuration. The cabin furnishing and flooring had been removed. The bare deck had cargo rollers installed to make it easier to move bulky items in an out. There were four low pallets placed carefully down the length of the cabin. They were secured with straps and each was covered with a tarp. It wasn't clear what the cargo was, but it wasn't very large.

Waylon shrugged, "Take a look for yourself."

Rowen Dalgliesh complained about his knees and squatted down so he could pull one of the tarps aside.

"Holy hell!" he scrambled to his feet and looked at the cargo and then back at Waylon. "It's real?"

Waylon nodded.

"How much is there?"

"Today's load is a ton and a half of gold bullion."

"My stars," Rowen said. "Dare I ask what it's worth?"

"Roughly eighty million."

Rowen leaned against the bulkhead and looked a little pale.

"You okay?"

"I think I need a bigger gun, and a raise!"

Waylon was still laughing as he helped the older man get strapped into the copilot's seat. Rowen took the tablet that was handed to him.

"What's this?"

"The checklist," Waylon replied, as he strapped himself in. "There's a printed backup in the side pocket if the tablet crashes. My instructor says it's always good to have a backup. So, if something happens to me it's up to you land this sucker."

"Very funny," Rowen muttered.

"Waylon, the man is nervous enough, stop teasing him," AI Barry said in Waylon's ear.

He told Rowen to put his headset on and they ran through the rest of the checklist together. Waylon taxied to the runway and told Rowen to tighten his belts.

"So, what's our destination anyway?"

Waylon pointed toward the sky, "Hold on."

The aircraft accelerated down the runway and was quickly airborne. His copilot had just started to relax when Waylon pulled the aircraft into a steeper angle and punched the throttle.

Rowen cursed the entire climb to their thirty mile cruising altitude. Waylon took notes. The man had a way with words.

"You're a right bastard, you know that?" Rowen said once he had his breath back.

"Come on, how else are you going to get this kind of view?"

"How high are we?"

Waylon checked his instruments and set the 'autopilot' before loosening his straps. He leaned over and pointed at the altimeter on Rowen's set of instruments.

"Shit," the man replied, putting his hand over the glass. "I didn't want to know that."

Waylon took the tablet from Rowen and showed him the information he had put together for the upcoming meeting. The first document was a dossier on Fu Wei, who preferred to go by James, a casino owner in Macau.

"Macau, today?" Rowen asked.

"We'll be on the ground in Macau in less than an hour and a half."

"Freehold to Macau in less than two hours, that's insane."

Rowen needed to digest a lot of information, so Waylon let him read the rest of the material.

Macau was a unique protectorate that thrived in the shadow of the Chinese dragon thanks to its economic policy. Macau had a modest tax system and a government that operated on a balanced budget tied to the growth rate of GDP. As a result, Macau was an economic powerhouse and a tax haven. It was also a famous gambling center with yearly revenues greater than Las Vegas.

"This James Wei is buying the gold," Rowen said, "Sounds simple enough."

"Well—"

"I knew it was too easy, what's the problem?"

"—he's paying with cash, which we're going to transfer to our bank in Singapore. And I do mean cash, a pallet of it. Since we have to fly there anyway, we're also going to help the buyer move a few assets."

"You're going to tell me that's legal too?"

"It was our bank in Singapore that put us on to this character in the first place. He's another client of theirs. It's perfectly legal under both Macau and Singapore law."

"If Macau is such a great place for economic freedom, why is he moving assets out?"

"That's the question isn't it? I'd say 'diversification, ' but I don't think that really covers it."

It was mostly a quiet flight. Rowen reviewed the material on the tablet or spent time looking at the tremendous view. Waylon kept an eye in the instruments and listened to the voices in his head.

He was thinking about taking the aircraft off autopilot when Rowen caught his attention.

"What do the blinking lights mean?"

Waylon touched an icon and checked the new screen, "We're being painted by several different radars. It looks like we caught the attention of U.S. military on Guam."

"They are extremely interested," Chief, the Security AI, said in Waylon's ear. "There's a Navy cruiser down there trying to lock us up with its targeting radar."

"Does this happen often?" Rowen asked.

"I'm sure they don't get too many chances to track a flight like this. We're probably good practice for them."

The remainder of the flight was uneventful. Over the Luzon strait, Waylon started a gentle descent so that they would be at a standard flight level midway over the South China Sea. Both men were struck by the thick brown haze they could see over the Chinese mainland. It marred what would have been a beautiful morning.

Waylon concentrated as hard as he ever had on final approach. He was doing okay for his first solo flight. Of course the AIs could take over, and had while the aircraft was on 'autopilot' but he still felt a great deal of pressure. He had practiced the approach in the simulator, but the real world was always more challenging. He couldn't help but notice Rowen's white knuckles out of the corner of his eye.

The rear landing gear chirped as they touched down. Both men released tightly held breaths as the nose rotated down. The front gear made contact with the runway and the aircraft began to slow.

Macau International's runway was on built on artificial land and was surrounded on all sides by the waters of the Zhujiang River estuary. Two long taxiways stretched over the water like bridges connecting the runway to the airport.

"Better now?" Waylon asked as their aircraft taxied past the half dozen airliners parked in front of the main terminal.

"I swear I thought you were going to put us down in the water."

"That's generally not recommended," Waylon said as he looked for the destination the tower had directed him to.

He spotted the scissor lift truck first. It was parked next to a black Mercedes and there were a couple of local police cars stationed not far away. It wasn't exactly subtle, but it didn't scream anything unusual either.

"Time to get our game faces on," Waylon said.

"What do you want me to do?" Rowen asked.

"How's your acting? Go for the bored, but competent security type. Like you've forgotten you were even armed."

"Can do, boss."

"Alright, it's show time."

Waylon brought the aircraft to a halt and sped through the checklist. The Macau air was thick when he opened the hatch minutes later. The local customs official was quick and efficient, and entirely uninterested in their cargo.

The customs man departed and two men emerged from the back of the car. They were both wearing immaculate suits, and Waylon felt momentarily underdressed in his flight gear.

"Welcome to Macau, Mr. Eckermann," the lead man called. "James Wei at your service."

"A pleasure to finally meet you. Would you care to come aboard?"

Wei quickly ascended the stairs, "May my man inspect the cargo while we have a private word?"

"Certainly."

The two men walked to the rear galley. Wei's man removed the tarps from the pallets and began taking readings with a handheld analyzer placed against random bars of gold.

After a brief, but eye opening, conversation, James Wei and Waylon reached an agreement on future transactions. They may have come from vastly different backgrounds and cultures, but Waylon took an instant liking to Wei and Wei appeared to reciprocate.

"You don't mind giving my man a lift to Singapore?" Wei asked.

"We're headed there anyway, it's no problem."

The jet's stairs were retracted so that the scissor lift truck could be backed up against the fuselage. It took careful coordination to get the truck body level with the aircraft.

Waylon left Wei and Rowen to supervise the transfer of cargo when his phone buzzed insistently. He went to the cockpit and sat in the jump seat.

Chief, the Security AI said it was important.

Mindful of the ears around him, Waylon tried to keep his end of the conversation as innocuous as possible. "Hello?"

"Waylon, we should probably not stay here much longer," Chief said.

"You don't say?"

"There is a large white panel truck parked not far away. There is a Chinese technical team inside and they are not being subtle."

"I'm afraid I don't follow you."

"They are taking high resolution images of the aircraft and measuring it with lasers. They are also trying to probe our data systems. Obviously, they will not succeed with your phone or the aircraft's systems, but Mr. Dalgliesh's phone has been compromised. Our guests' phones are already open to them."

"That is unfortunate."

"Not only that," the AI said, "but there is a ground crewman messing around with the rear gear. We think he is trying to plant something."

"Well, I can't say I care for that at all. Get it taken care of."

Waylon hung up and considered the implications of what the AI had been telling him.

The cargo transfer was nearly complete. Three of the four gold pallets had been removed. Wei's work crew was in the process of wrestling two large pallets of bundled cash into the aircraft. Both were heavily wrapped in plastic. The large one was for Waylon. The smaller pallet and the remaining gold were Wei's, to be deposited in Singapore.

"The money is good and the count is accurate," Waylon heard in his ear.

"Important call?" Wei asked.

"Business never ends. There are always details to take care of."

"Yes, it is the same for me," Wei replied. "I have a small token of my appreciation."

Wei handed him a small black bag. Waylon checked the contents with a raised eyebrow.

"You are a thoughtful man. Shall we get this show on the road?"

The truck pulled away with its precious cargo and the aircraft's stairs were extended once again. Wei gave his man a few final instructions and departed with a handshake.

Waylon stowed the bag with the others, and did a walk around to make sure everyone was clear of the aircraft. He made a perfunctory inspection of the landing gear, but didn't spot what had been planted.

He re-boarded and checked on their passenger, "Would you care to sit in the jump seat in the cockpit? We'll be in the air for less than an hour."

The man shook his head. He had one of the front bulkhead seats pulled down and apparently intended to keep his bosses' cargo in sight at all times.

Waylon returned to the cockpit and motioned for Rowen to get strapped in.

After a brief delay, the Macau tower cleared him to the active runway. As the aircraft lifted off, Chief announced in Waylon's ear that the unwanted tracking device had fallen off the aircraft and into the water below. The AIs had also neutralized the virus that had been forced onto Rowen's phone, although they left the software bugs in their Macau partner's phones.

It was only fifteen hundred miles from Macau to Singapore, so the flight profile was simple. They flew at an altitude of fifty thousand feet and at only supersonic speeds as opposed to hypersonic. Even at that leisurely pace, they were on the ground at Changi Airport in Singapore only forty minutes later.

Despite Singapore's small size, Changi was the largest airport Waylon had seen from a cockpit.

It felt like they taxied forever. The tower's clear instructions, and the AI's help, kept Waylon from becoming confused. It was a new experience to be held at a runway cross over while a giant Airbus 360 taxied past.

Eventually, they were directed to a holding area where a large armored truck waited for them. Since they weren't deplaning, customs was a simple formality. A bank representative boarded the aircraft and papers were signed. They had to wait thirty minutes before a scissor lift could be found and brought to the aircraft. The covered cargo was unloaded and transferred to the armored truck. Mr. Wei's representative left and Waylon and Rowen were finally alone.