Tsunami Connection by Michael James Gallagher Page A

Fish, stretching his accent to return Aden's earlier
mockery.
    "Really, it's just a bad habit. Sorry again."
    "I guess I'll forgive ya, since you're such a willing
whisky drinker. Anyway," said Fish, opening a map on the table between
them. "Look here. This is an English map," he said, as he pointed to
a spot on a detailed laminated topographical map of the area. Fish spoke with
or without his audience's attention. He was often in soliloquy.
    ″I never seen the likes o' this, though. The lake
without ice in February. There's something afoot I can't grasp, 'iffen′
you know what I mean. I'm actually considering believing some 'o those
scientific types about global what-cha-me-call-it,″ spouted Fish.
    Their breakfast done, the threesome left the restaurant of
the Ripplecove Inn and headed for the boat dock. Aden ran back to the car and
brought out a large, black carryall the size of a hockey goalie's equipment
bag. He was strong, but the weight of the contents, including two Heckler and
Koch MP5SD suppressed submachine guns and ample rounds, had him stiff-legging
one side of his gait. His kit also included some flash bang grenades for
surprise attacks, but he doubted he would need them today as they would be
approaching as friends in a local boat. He had slipped his Glock-17 into the
holster at the small of his back and checked the belt of his ultrathin Kevlar
inner tactical vest. He was glad he had insisted on wearing the vests from the
morning despite the discomfort. Adrenalin pumped through his veins, making it
easier to carry the bag.
    In the car, he had texted Kefira and Zak as they sat in the
woods near the location they believed was the MacAuley place. Aden gave Kefira
the map coordinates and said Sarah and he were coming in by boat. It was 10:05
in the morning on February 27, 2012. The weather was unseasonably warm, more
like May than the last days of winter. There was no snow left on the ground,
just crisp soil or mud, depending upon the strength of the sun.
    The aluminum fishing boat listed to one side as Aden boarded
with his gear. Fish cocked a leery eye at the bag and started wondering if he
had made the right choice by helping these people. Sarah sensed his inquietude
and flashed him a happy smile while she helped Aden stow the heavy sack
amidships where it would not unbalance the small 19-foot boat.
    "Staying awhile, are ya?"
    "Never know. Better prepared than not, I always
say," said Aden, extending his hand for the flask again.
    "Cures what ails ya, don'it?″
    'That it does. That it does,″ piped in Aden, hoping
for another swig.
    'We'll be bee lining from point-to-point, passing Round Bay,
Bacon Bay and little Turner Bay, and then it's hard to starboard into Murray
Bay. The old MacAuley place is just around what we call the Murray 'nipple',
but that's a long story better not told in present company. He's got one of the
safest moorings in the whole lake. Can't see it ′til you're on it.
Someone from away might pass it right by. You're some lush when you're not
paying. Gimme back that flask, son."
    Kefira and Zak crept toward the back of the house, ever
vigilant for counter measures and security pads or cameras. Camouflaged in
black and green, they blended well into the old-growth evergreen forest near
the lake. At five hundred meters inland, Zak's thermal registering glasses
caught a swiveling metal object in a tree about twenty meters in front of them.
He signaled an attention halt with a raised left hand and bunched fist.
Kefira's eyewear had found the same heat signature. She returned a movie camera
signal that they always used in this circumstance.
    Both of them reached down for their cloaking devices and
pressed the cloak mechanism and the comms-off button, to stop the possibility
of an accidental uncloaking incident due to a software glitch in their
experimental invisibility software. When comms made digital contact with a
cloaked operative, it uncloaked him for an instant while the comms