Free The Menagerie 2 (Eden) by Rick Jones Page A

quick escape, should the tremors prove too volatile for the marine terrace to handle.
    You son of a bitch , he thought.  
    McCord wasn’t sending the sub for him. He was sending it for the Tally-Whackers. And since this particular sub sat eight, it was enough to hold Whitaker’s entire team. Everyone else was apparently expendable, guaranteeing that there would be no misappropriation of data when the intel was delivered directly into McCord’s hand by Whitaker and not by him. When it was delivered , the U.S. would hold a prime advantage over world powers with no competition in sight.
    O’Connell shook his head. Over a lifetime of twenty-plus years he had served the DOD well. And then he sighed. I guess you’re only as good as your last mission.
    He leaned over, switched off the PC’s, and grabbed the flash drive. Although information was stark and minimal at best—at least until Alyssa provides them with an opening—he had choices to make, morally. People, innocent people, who believed that they were working on behalf of a government that supported and protected them, was also a government that would betray them for the sake of remaining on top of the world’s pinnacle.
    O’Connell continued to stare at the flash drive. Brilliant minds, he considered. Good people—their lives coming to a close. And there was no doubt in his mind that the staging area would be made to look like an accident, and the Mexican government would besummarily informed that all data was lost during the catastrophe, the ship now gone, perhaps by the errant hand of a scientist who inadvertently set off a chain reaction of destruction.
    Deception was the key to success here. It was done all the time. Even with our own allies.
    Son of a bitch , he thought once more. But this time the voice in his head was far angrier.
    McCord, it seemed, was against him. Not personally, but on a level strictly based on national security when lives meant little.
    Now that he was caught within the crosshairs he began to consider his options. No doubt Whitaker would be watching him like the proverbial hawk. So he had to be careful. But somehow, some way, he needed to get to John Savage and commit to an alliance.
    He stood and looked around at the corrugated walls and ceiling. And he listened to the stress of the water that continuously pressed against them. When he walked out of his chamber and into the sub’s bay area, he stared at the opening, at the surface of the water. No sub—at least not yet. In his discussion with McCord, the defense secretary promised him a sub, and a sub he’ll get, but only until Whitaker had firm control of the data. Only then would it be sent.
    O’Connell closed his eyes and chastised himself: You stupid son of a bitch . You, of all people, should have known better.
    When he entered the Umbilical and made his way along the walkway with every intention to create an unlikely alliance, his mind clung to a couple of points.
    First: Where are you, John Savage?
    Secondly, but with much graver importance : Beware the Tally-Whackers.
    #
     
    After his talk with O’Connell, Whitaker made his way back to a sequestered area set aside just for the Tally-Whackers. The room was small and spartan, the only amenities being a desk, a PC, and a bank of monitors that watched certain areas of the ship.
    After removing his helmet and unslinging his assault weapon, he placed them next to the desk and took a seat, his hand reaching out and turning on the main monitor, a 21” screen. After typing in a series of commands, he was finally connected to the Deputy Secretary of Defense, Daniel McCord.
    “It’s about time,” he said. “You’re late.”
    Whitaker sat back in his chair and allowed his shoulders to slump in leisure. “I’m here, ain’t I?”
    “What’ve you got?”
    “I just spoke with O’Connell,” he said. “According to him, he has next to nothing.”
    McCord could be seen chewing on his lower lip, the man obviously musing.