The Antiterrorist: A Jake Corby Sci-Fi Thriller (Mysterious Events Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

and ran my hand over my face. “So, not a big believer in population control.”
    “Catherine Pettit got engaged just before she left on the mission. Her fiancé is about the nicest—”
    “She’s not pregnant, too, is she?” I looked at Hallstrom with mock alarm. Despite the obviousness of his effort to over-personalize the astronauts, he was getting through to me.
    “Jake, I wouldn’t have come unless I felt you were the best man for the job.” He took a napkin from the holder and wiped some donut powder off his chin. “You’ll be well-supported. All we need is for you to point us in the right direction. I’m sure you want to get these terrorists as much as we do.”
    He knew which buttons to press. I said, “Not that I’m accepting, but where is it?”
    A smile appeared on Hallstrom’s face. “Based on the Hubble and ISS orbital paths, and by working out the angle of the beam in the video McGraw showed you, we think the weapon is on the coast of California, up toward Oregon. Some of our calculations even suggest it’s offshore, but those don’t seem reliable. I know you can look around without any danger.”
    Mary sat on my left, so I noticed her little eye-roll. I agreed with her. There was no way I’d do this, right?
    * * *
    The military jet dropped me off at dawn on an airfield north of Eureka, California. The deadline was eighteen hours away.
    Mary had given my mission her reluctant blessing. She’s strict about never interfering in my decisions, and I couldn’t resist one more shot at these homegrown terrorists. I’d reaffirmed my pledge to do nothing heroic.
    On the plane ride, I’d read the briefing papers on Humboldt County. It had a reputation as the dope-growing capital of the country. A quarter of its economy was based on legal and illegal sales of marijuana, but that wasn’t saying much. The lumber and fishing industries were crumbling, and Eureka’s one remaining pulp mill had shut down.
    I spent the day searching for things that were out of place. People in camo outfits despite the lack of a nearby military base, new activity in an abandoned building, anything that didn’t look right. All I learned was that I wasn’t a very good detective.
    I passed the old freighter on the wharf three times before the dim bulb in my head flickered on. The vessel wasn’t huge like a container ship but still towered over the crab boats surrounding it. Rust bled down from every rivet, and it listed to one side. It didn’t fit in, and that’s what I was after. One worker pulling a handcart up the gangplank wore camo pants. Could it be a front, with a gleaming high-tech interior hiding in the rusty shell?
    I pulled out my cell phone and put my finger on the speed-dial for Hallstrom and then stopped. I had nothing to go on other than a hunch. A closer look wouldn’t hurt.
    I wandered out onto the dock as if I were just killing time. My worn denim jacket made me look like a local stoner.
    The temperature had dropped to fifty degrees with a bone-chilling humidity that made me want to move to Arizona. I wished I had the down parka from D.C.. The sun was going down, the seagulls were screaming, and the low-tide smell was past quaint. Nothing suggested that this boat was anything but a down-on-its-luck workhorse of a ship. I’m wasting my time—glad I didn’t call it in.
    “Hey, you.” The yell came from the mizzenmast, or the poop deck, or the scuppers; I’m not up on my nautical terms. “Get back to work.” A ruddy-faced sailor hung over the side jabbing his cigar toward the last four boxes on the wharf. “Now.”
    I raised my hands up, putting an appropriate amount of insolence into the gesture, but thinking, Thanks for the invite. I’ll get a quick peek inside the ship, confirm that it’s a red herring, and be on my way. Nothing heroic here. I picked up a box and started toward the gangplank.
    “What, are you fucking kidding me?” Big-cigar man seemed ready to have a heart attack. “One