“You think getting us into more trouble would take my mind off the trouble we’re already in?”
“What trouble, Mo? We got away clean. The perfect crime. We stole something that no one knew existed from people who died when elephants were still native to America. And they weren’t even people in the strictest sense. Now we can do whatever we want. Explore whatever area of science we want.”
“But, Carrie—”
“Do you have to be such a pussy?”
“I see Mr. Roenbach has had an influence on you,” Morris sniffed.
“I wonder what Dwayne’s doing?” She plucked her cell phone from her tote and hit speed dial. She lay back and watched the surf as the speaker in her ear rang on the other end.
Dwayne didn’t really need his arm twisted to fly to St. Thomas. He’d been a multimillionaire only two weeks and was already bored out of his mind. He didn’t know what to do with himself. The fact that Caroline was the one who made the invitation didn’t hurt.
There was a limo waiting for him at the airport that took him to the Ritz-Carlton on Big Bay. His room was waiting for him under his cover name of John Henry Dent, and it turned out to be a suite. There was a fruit basket on the dinette table, and a note with only a suite number written on it. The mini-fridge was loaded with Coors long-necks. She remembered his brand.
It was raining by the time Dwayne showered and changed. He met Morris and Caroline at a private cabana at the edge of the beach off the pool area. There was chilled crab and fruit salad waiting for them, and a pitcher of margaritas with three glasses. Morris had a cola. The hiss of the rain would drown their conversation and keep anyone curious away.
“You’re never going to get clearance to set up on the island,” Dwayne said. “Even if there was property available, buying land overseas raises all kinds of red flags. And that’s without all the crazy EU regulations about building any kind of structure.”
“You have a Greek real estate license now?” Caroline said.
“It’s all there on the internet.”
“So, you’re saying that the Greeks may object to the installation of a stolen nuclear reactor on one of their island paradises?” Morris said.
“Yeah, there’s that, too.”
“There has to be a way,” Caroline said.
“It’s all right to admit defeat, Caroline,” Morris said. “The island is small and remote and surrounded by smaller islands. There’s nowhere to set up. And we can’t build the plant on the African mainland because it would make for too much travel time to the site. Too much exposure and too many variables.”
“And the coast of North Africa is no place to be these days anyway,” Dwayne put in.
“Shit,” Caroline said and swirled her margarita. The men sat without speaking. Caroline sat looking out at the sea as the rain died away. Broad streaks of sunlight broke through the clouds, illuminating a gleaming white shape out on the water. It was one of the many party boats that sailed out of Long Bay packed with seniors by day and hipsters by night.
“A boat,” Caroline said.
“What?” Morris said.
“Let’s buy a boat,” Caroline said.
Morris was relieved. He thought his little sister was finally changing the subject.
15
To Sea
Caroline had not changed the subject. “We manifest at sea,” she said.
“We what now?” Dwayne said.
“Manifest. It’s the term Mo and I have decided on for the exit phase of traveling through the Tauber Tube.”
“Oh.”
“We build the new Tube in the hold of a ship, right?” she continued like she was only warming up. They were back in her suite now. Morris sat channel-surfing in silence. Dwayne had switched back to beer. Caroline sat at an imitation Queen Anne desk with her fingers flying over the keyboard of a laptop.
“Impractical,” Morris said without looking away from the big flat-screen on the wall of the common room.
“Really?” Caroline’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Think about it. The Aegean is full of ship traffic. We could hide in plain sight. And the Mediterranean is a constant. Open water presents far less risk than manifesting on land. The ocean levels are relatively constant give or take a few feet. We’d be portable and on international water. It’s an elegant solution.”
“What about the Tesla Tower?” Morris said, turning from the TV to take an interest. “The nuke charges the tower and gives us the jolt of electromagnetic energy to power the Tube array. I need terra firma for the tower.”
“So, build your tower on the boat,” Caroline said. “You can’t buy a boat,” Dwayne said.
“The hell I can’t,” she said and dipped her head at her monitor. “We can pick up a container ship for a couple million. Peanuts.”
“Ship owners get looked into. At purchase time. Each time they enter port. Each time they depart. There’s paper at every step from customs, immigration, local coast guards, environmental agencies, anti-terror agencies, and any official looking for a handout. Our IDs are number one, but they won’t stand up to that level of scrutiny,” Dwayne said.
Caroline pressed her lips together and tapped furiously on her Alienware. Morris settled on NFL cheer-leader tryouts on ESPN 3, and Dwayne turned his chair to watch as well.
The Patriots were down to the final twenty and the boys were admiring the pompom work of a stunning redhead when Caroline slammed a hand down on the desk.
“We charter!” she said.
The Ocean Raj was a container ship registered in Sri Lanka and berthed at Alexandria on the coast of Egypt and available for charter. A hundred and ninety meters in length and thirty-two meters abeam. The owners, Sea-Globe International LTD, with offices in London, Mumbai, and Trincomalee, were anxious to see their vessel put to sea from the Egyptian port. They offered the bargain rate of a bareboat charter at ten thousand dollars a day on a
