Project Aura Read Online Free Page A
paused as something else touched his mind. Marie, once more. He was puzzled for a moment not quite understanding.
Treachery.
He stood still for several minutes, hoping there would be more, but all he felt was the wind. He shivered, then pulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck and headed toward his Jeep.
*****
It was already dark over the East Coast of the United States while the sun set on Jimmy Dalton as he drove down from the mountains. The deep blue of the water off Florida's east coast was far removed from the white snow of the Rocky Mountains.
Slicing through that water, the United States Coast Guard cutter Warde kicked up a phosphorescent wake. With a ten-person crew and a length of eighty-two feet, it was one of the Guard's smallest patrol boats, but more than adequate to handle the tasks that confronted it. The crew was experienced at their job and knew the waters between Florida and the islands off its east coast quite well. There were two main types of incidents they dealt with: refugees from Cuba and drug runners from South America and the islands in the Caribbean.
In the small bridge set back from the ship's main armament-- a twenty-five-millimeter cannon-- Lieutenant JG Mike Foster stood just behind the helmsman, scanning the surrounding ocean through night vision goggles. The lights on the control panels were dimmed so that they wouldn't interfere. He turned as a bright green glow almost overloaded the light enhanced in the goggles. His radar operator, Rating Second Class Lisa Caprice, lifted her head up from the eyepiece.
"Target bearing two eight zero degrees, range five thousand meters, sir."
"Size?"
"Looks like a forty footer. No beacon." She put her head back down and peered into the eyepiece.
Foster shifted the goggles in the direction she had indicated. "Heading?"
"Also along the coast, heading north, sir."
There was nothing out there that he could see. At five thousand meters he should be able to easily pick up the ship's lights with the goggles, which amplified ambient light.
"She's running dark," Foster informed his bridge crew. "Wake up the off-shift. I want everyone on station." He ordered the helmsman to make for the other ship.
Foster grabbed the radio handset "Unidentified vessel, this is the United States Coast Guard cutter Warde . Please stand by and prepare to be boarded. Over."
He waited but there was no response.
"Range four thousand meters," Caprice said.
Foster could see the other ship now, a darker object against the black ocean. An expensive pleasure yacht with sleek lines, cutting through the water, all running lights out. He picked up the handset but as soon as he clicked the Send button, a burst of static came out of the speakers.
"What the hell," Foster muttered. He switched frequencies, then moved to another radio and picked up the handset for the satellite radio.
"Key West CG station, this is the Warde . Over."
" Warde , this is Key West. Over."
"We are in pursuit of an unidentified vessel that refuses to respond to our hails." He then gave his location and heading, and his headquarters in Key West acknowledged. "We seem to have strong interference on our FM bands," he added.
He picked up the other handset and tried once more, but the result was the same. He tried to raise his headquarters in Key West again, but the radio couldn't break through the wall of static that had descended upon them.
"Could they be jamming us?" he asked his electronics specialist.
"I haven't heard of anyone doing that" Caprice said. "But you never know what these people will come up with next."
Foster could see two of his crew manning the forward twenty-five millimeter. "What they're going to get next is a boot up their ass."
He didn't like the idea of a confrontation. This was their last day on a weeklong patrol. The boat was due for overhaul and the crew would have a well deserved month off. Caprice was getting married on Saturday and the entire crew would be
Treachery.
He stood still for several minutes, hoping there would be more, but all he felt was the wind. He shivered, then pulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck and headed toward his Jeep.
*****
It was already dark over the East Coast of the United States while the sun set on Jimmy Dalton as he drove down from the mountains. The deep blue of the water off Florida's east coast was far removed from the white snow of the Rocky Mountains.
Slicing through that water, the United States Coast Guard cutter Warde kicked up a phosphorescent wake. With a ten-person crew and a length of eighty-two feet, it was one of the Guard's smallest patrol boats, but more than adequate to handle the tasks that confronted it. The crew was experienced at their job and knew the waters between Florida and the islands off its east coast quite well. There were two main types of incidents they dealt with: refugees from Cuba and drug runners from South America and the islands in the Caribbean.
In the small bridge set back from the ship's main armament-- a twenty-five-millimeter cannon-- Lieutenant JG Mike Foster stood just behind the helmsman, scanning the surrounding ocean through night vision goggles. The lights on the control panels were dimmed so that they wouldn't interfere. He turned as a bright green glow almost overloaded the light enhanced in the goggles. His radar operator, Rating Second Class Lisa Caprice, lifted her head up from the eyepiece.
"Target bearing two eight zero degrees, range five thousand meters, sir."
"Size?"
"Looks like a forty footer. No beacon." She put her head back down and peered into the eyepiece.
Foster shifted the goggles in the direction she had indicated. "Heading?"
"Also along the coast, heading north, sir."
There was nothing out there that he could see. At five thousand meters he should be able to easily pick up the ship's lights with the goggles, which amplified ambient light.
"She's running dark," Foster informed his bridge crew. "Wake up the off-shift. I want everyone on station." He ordered the helmsman to make for the other ship.
Foster grabbed the radio handset "Unidentified vessel, this is the United States Coast Guard cutter Warde . Please stand by and prepare to be boarded. Over."
He waited but there was no response.
"Range four thousand meters," Caprice said.
Foster could see the other ship now, a darker object against the black ocean. An expensive pleasure yacht with sleek lines, cutting through the water, all running lights out. He picked up the handset but as soon as he clicked the Send button, a burst of static came out of the speakers.
"What the hell," Foster muttered. He switched frequencies, then moved to another radio and picked up the handset for the satellite radio.
"Key West CG station, this is the Warde . Over."
" Warde , this is Key West. Over."
"We are in pursuit of an unidentified vessel that refuses to respond to our hails." He then gave his location and heading, and his headquarters in Key West acknowledged. "We seem to have strong interference on our FM bands," he added.
He picked up the other handset and tried once more, but the result was the same. He tried to raise his headquarters in Key West again, but the radio couldn't break through the wall of static that had descended upon them.
"Could they be jamming us?" he asked his electronics specialist.
"I haven't heard of anyone doing that" Caprice said. "But you never know what these people will come up with next."
Foster could see two of his crew manning the forward twenty-five millimeter. "What they're going to get next is a boot up their ass."
He didn't like the idea of a confrontation. This was their last day on a weeklong patrol. The boat was due for overhaul and the crew would have a well deserved month off. Caprice was getting married on Saturday and the entire crew would be
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