The Myriad Resistance (25 page)

We took the first group of Impals at six o'clock. There were ten crammed into each SUV and I drove the second vehicle on the first trip while Danny drove in the lead. The truck was waiting as promised in the clearing beside the road. It was an inconspicuous vehicle with a solid white cab and navy-blue trailer. The truck and trailer displayed no discernible markings except for a Department of Transportation registration number.

Chuck Connelly was a middle-aged man of average height and build. His dark-brown hair, as well as his untidy goatee, was beginning to show the first signs of gray. He possessed a weathered appearance, a man's man who had spent an abundant amount of his life outdoors. As I reached out my hand to shake his, I involuntarily recoiled as I found myself grasping a steel hook. Chuck laughed.

“The crocodile got it!” he proclaimed as he let out a boisterous laugh, referring to Captain Hook.

I laughed uneasily for a few moments until he stopped with a serious expression on his face.

“No, about five years ago I was wading out in the Chesapeake Bay doing a little surf fishing. I just cast a line when the God awfullest ugly bull shark you ever saw swam up and snapped it off clean,” he said holding his hook up and making a motion with his other hand like his fingers were teeth biting at the end of his stump.

I tried not to react to a shiver that went up my spine. That was the last piece of information I needed tonight. I was about to be bobbing about in a small boat in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay like a fishing cork.

The back of the truck contained two twelve-foot aluminum flat-bottomed boats, no motor. The boats were stacked on top of each other. The top one contained a number of iron chains and restraints. A couple of large black canvas tarps covered the boats. This concealed the restraints from the Impals riding back there. The tarps would also provide us a degree of cover over the boats while on the dark water.

When we got the last of the Impals loaded in the truck, it had been dark over an hour. So far, we were right on schedule. To my relief, we did not encounter a single vehicle or person during our hour and a half evacuation. No, it was more than surprising, it was eerie and it made me uncomfortable.

I leaned against the back of the truck once we shut the doors to a trailer packed tighter than a can of sardines. If stopped and searched, we were screwed. There would be no hiding any of them. In the event of something like that happening, the Impals orders were to pass through the walls and floor then run away as fast as possible. Some would be caught. The hope was at least most would get away.

As I leaned against the cool metal surface of the trailer doors, my mind was miles away. I heard the noise of Danny's voice, the sound of the cicadas in the surrounding woods saying farewell to the day and the summer. I stared in awe at the ultraviolet spectacle of the nighttime. I heard and saw all of this, yet my mind didn't comprehend any of it. My thoughts dwelled on my girls. I was scared, scared much more than I believed I would be. I wanted nothing more than for this night to be over with as soon as possible. When Danny asked if anyone had questions, I shook my head ‘no' like the rest of our group. The truth is, I had a ton of questions. Unfortunately, these questions Danny could not answer. No one could. The night would have to play itself out, good or bad.

Danny and Andrews in the other SUV would be leading our small convoy. The eighteen-wheeler would follow, where Derek would ride shotgun with Chuck, both in the literal and figurative sense. Burt and I would bring up the rear in the other SUV. We all pulled out at thirty-second intervals. We tried to keep each other in sight while trying to keep enough space between us. We didn't want it to appear as if we were travelling together. We would not stop again until reaching Grandview Natural Preserve, a couple of miles north of the tunnel.

The drive took almost three hours as we took a number of back roads to get there. Thankfully, there were no problems. We experienced a few tense moments when we met a military convoy. They were transporting Impals to one of the Shredder camps. They didn't even blink at us.

Shortly before midnight, we pulled into a large gravel parking lot made for vehicles towing boat trailers. A large boat ramp at the far end disappeared into the murky waters of the Chesapeake Bay like a dark path to Hell.

I got out and inhaled the cool salty breeze. I usually enjoyed that smell because it reminded me of vacations, beaches and seafood. Tonight it was no more appealing than the acrid scent of death.

The other groups had not arrived, so we took a moment to walk the perimeter of the parking lot to make sure we were alone. There didn't seem to be a soul for miles. The only sound was the occasional fire or ambulance siren and the distant drone of traffic on nearby Interstate 64. As we headed back to the vehicles, we took cover behind a garbage bin as a bright spotlight scanned the parking lot. I peeked my head out far enough to see a Navy Cyclone Class Coastal Patrol boat slowly passing our position, a few yards out from the boat ramp. It was a small boat by Navy standards. It contained a minimal crew compliment of only twenty to thirty men. It was capable of bringing down a world of hurt on us with both its armament and its ability to call in reinforcements.

As it lumbered past and disappeared around a bend in the coast, we cautiously stood up and scanned the water. A mile or two north we could see the spotlight of another patrol boat panning the shoreline. The Navy was conducting a methodical search of the coast; tonight would be tricky. It soon became evident tonight was not only going to be about stealth and a well-executed plan, it was going to require timing as well. We would have to send the Impals and the boats out in between patrols. We would have to observe the boats for a while before we knew how great of a window we might have. This night is going to be later than we planned. We went back to the SUVs to sit, wait and watch.

About ten minutes later, the patrol boat we spotted to the north came by on the same trajectory as the first boat. They also performed a perfunctory search of the shoreline and moved on. The moment we spotted another boat in the distance, bright lights from behind us flooded the parking lot. We all jumped in unison, ready to fight, until Danny held up his hand.

“It's okay, I think it's the group from the New Jersey camp,” he said.

A small box truck used for furniture deliveries pulled into the lot as Danny got out to direct traffic. A single full-sized pickup truck followed them. He sent them to park on the far side of our eighteen-wheeler where they would be out of view from the water. Both trucks pulled out of sight then shut their lights and engines off. A few minutes later the next patrol boat passed on the same course, only this time there was a fifteen-minute interval.

Danny came back to the vehicle a few minutes later with a grim expression on his face.

“I just heard the convoy from North Carolina got stopped at the state line; they aren't going to make it,” he said, averting his eyes from us. He stared at the boat ramp and into the darkness beyond.

He took a deep breath and glanced at us before returning his stare to the water.

“Pennsylvania should be here soon … God willing,” he said. He sounded far away.

“How many were coming from North Carolina?” Burt asked.

Danny shook his head and spoke in a whisper.

“Enough.”

Twenty minutes later another patrol boat passed. Its movements and direction were identical to the other two. So far, we could determine that patrols were coming every ten to twenty minutes. This was not a big window to carry out such an elaborate, unrehearsed operation. The third patrol boat no sooner disappeared from view when we spotted another one in the distance. We were all thankful Pennsylvania showed up then. They also drove a dark black eighteen-wheeler escorted by a Jeep and a small four-door sedan.

Danny got out and directed them to park between our truck and the water. He hoped the dark color would be less conspicuous. He came back and took a seat as we waited for another patrol boat to pass; the next one ended up being at another twenty-minute interval. We felt certain once we spotted one of these craft approaching from the north, we had about ten minutes before it reached our position. We decided to put things in place so we could get a quick start. Andrews, Danny, Derek, a slender fortysomething man from New Jersey and I quickly unloaded the boats and other materials from the back of our truck. The Impals watched us with nervous anticipation. Some asked what was happening.

“It's okay,” Danny assured them. “Sit tight and we'll be ready to move soon.”

I saw the man from New Jersey glancing with intense curiosity into the group of Impals. His eyes widened with recognition as we shut the door to the trailer.

“My God … you've got the president in there and … and …” he stammered.

“And Abraham Lincoln?” I finished for him.

He stared in astonishment as I took one end of the boat and he grasped the opposite end facing me. He walked backwards as we carried the boat to the water. I was afraid that he was so distracted, he might trip and bring the boat down on top of him. He managed to remain sure-footed until we got to the water's edge.

“I take it you don't have any celebrities in your group?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Yeah, we have one. Not the same caliber as the president or of Lincoln.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Why, the very creator of the Shredder himself … Nikola Tesla.”

CHAPTER 23

TERROR

“No mercy, no power but its own controls it. Panting and snorting like a mad battle steed that has lost its rider, the masterless ocean overruns the globe.”

~Herman Melville

My heart jolted as if I received an electrical shock. Not because I believed Nikola Tesla was the creator of the Godforsaken invention, which now bore his name. I knew better. I was one of the few people around who had knowledge of the origins of the Tesla Gate. The reason this excited me was Nikola Tesla was one of my heroes growing up. This was unusual since every American schoolkid was taught since kindergarten that Thomas Edison was the greatest inventor who ever lived. I felt I knew better. While Edison was a shrewd businessman, Tesla was much more selfless.

“Can I meet Lincoln?” the New Jersey man asked.

I heard someone clear their throat and I turned to see Danny watching us, his arms folded and one eyebrow raised. After several long moments, he shrugged.

“I suppose it will be okay, Tony,” he said, addressing the New Jersey man. “Be cautious and discreet about it,” he continued, turning his attention back to me.

I knew it was now or never so, I belted out the question eating away at me.

“Can I meet Tesla?”

Danny motioned with his thumb over his shoulder. “Make it quick. There will be another patrol along in a few minutes.”

We helped cover the boats with the black tarp and then used dark colored duct tape to adhere a few limbs and branches to it. This gave it an extra layer of camouflage. If I didn't know there were a couple of boats there, I would have thought it was an old brush pile.

Danny tied a long rope to a small metal loop on the front of each boat. He took the loose end of the massive coil and stuck it up under the tarp where it would be out of sight until ready to use it. A shiver ran down my spine. I knew it was the towline extending dozens of feet under the water to the Impals. They would be leading us across the dark surface of the bay like some ghoulish kite.

Tony and I turned and began walking briskly toward the trucks. I shook my head when I realized how much we sounded like a couple of pleading children who wanted to visit the candy store.

“Oh, well,” I thought to myself. “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

How many people can say they have met Abraham Lincoln, Chief Powhatan, the current President and Nikola Tesla all in less than a week's time? Probably not much more than those who knew the origins of the Tesla Gates.

We went to the New Jersey truck first since it was the farthest from the water and the most concealed. The next patrol boat passed a few minutes later and we waited on the far side until it passed.

Tony went to the rear of the truck and lifted the door a few feet. I could see the legs of several Impals milling about.

“Mr. Tesla!” Tony called. “Mr. Tesla, there is someone who wants to meet you!”

A few moments later, I saw a pair of shimmering wingtips walking towards us. When they reached the opening, the owner of these shoes knelt down and peered under the low hanging door. I recognized the dark hair parted in the middle and the long sharp nose above an immaculately groomed moustache. It was a young Nikola Tesla. I was glad Impals appeared as they did at a prime point in their lives. I saw photos of Tesla taken a short time before his death and he was almost unrecognizable as his younger self.

“Yes?” he said, looking from me to Tony. He didn't have as much of an Eastern European accent as I expected. It was there, faint and in the background. On first impression, most people might presume him to be from Canada.

Tony stepped back a few steps and held both hands out to me like a game-show host presenting a prize.

Tesla focused his gaze on me and raised his eyebrows with great expectation.

I felt like an eight-year-old kid meeting his baseball hero for the first time. All I could do was stand there like a deer in headlights. Finally, Tesla broke the ice. “Hello Mr.…” he said, addressing me.

“Major,” I said, finally coming to my senses. In all fairness, Tony threw me off by his uncouth introduction. I was cautious to not let the Impals know my true name. “Cecil Major,” I said. “It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Tesla.”

“Call me Nikola,” He said, passing through the bottom of the truck and then through the back bumper until he was a few feet in front of me.

He made no move to extend his hand in greeting and so I followed his lead. I read one time that Tesla was somewhat quirky about physical contact. No one was sure if it was because he was a germaphobe or very shy. Judging by his demeanor and his soft-spoken personality, he definitely wasn't an outgoing person.