Marauder (Oregon Files 15)

“You, too.”

Rahal replaced the handset and watched the cargo carrier with a puzzled look as it passed by. He didn’t know how this miracle could have happened, but he couldn’t shake the sensation that they’d been saved by a guardian angel.

EIGHT

THE TIMOR SEA

Standing on the highest deck of the U.S. research ship Namaka, Sylvia Chang shielded her eyes from the midmorning sun to focus on the sea-based drone that looked like an unmanned Jet Ski. It was approaching her 300-foot-long ship from the east, where the similarly sized Australian research vessel Empiric idled a mile away, ready to record the data that would decide if her brainchild was a success or a failure.

Sylvia gripped the railing so tightly her hand was going numb, and she struggled to control her breathing. Since she was the chief physicist on the project, her career was riding on the experiment’s outcome. This test would prove whether a plasma shield worked on the open ocean.

Ever since the USS Cole was nearly sunk in a Yemen harbor by suicide bombers in a small boat, the U.S. Navy had been searching for a way to protect its ships from small-craft attacks. Once the technology was perfected, it could also be used by civilian vessels to ward off hijacking attempts. The report of a foiled attack on the tanker Dahar just two days ago in the Strait of Malacca only reinforced for Sylvia that her creation—code-named Rhino for the animal’s protective hide—was urgently needed.

In principle, the idea was fairly simple. Rhino used lasers to project a dense shield of tiny plasma explosions, each equivalent to the power of a firecracker, in front of an approaching vessel or drone. Vessels would have to turn back so their crews would not be burned, and drones would be disabled because their electronics would fry.

At least that was the theory.

The tests on dry land had achieved the benchmarks required, but the most important test was on a ship at sea where the environment was less controlled. If she could show that Rhino worked in a real world situation, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency would fund her project for the next five years. If not, she’d risk being washed up before she was thirty.

Because the Defence Science and Technology Agency, DSTA, Australia’s DARPA analogue, had technical expertise on important elements of the design, Sylvia joined forces with them on the project. They had suggested conducting the test in the open ocean two hundred miles west of Darwin, far away from all the main shipping lanes. The isolated location south of Indonesia meant they could do the experiments out of view of prying eyes.

She shifted her gaze to the Empiric, plucked the radio from her hip, and pressed the TALK button. “Mark, are you ready over there?”

“Does Crocodile Dundee carry a knife?”

Sylvia rolled her eyes, imagining Mark Murphy as she’d last seen him this morning: lounging in his chair at a computer terminal, drinking a Red Bull, and wearing a black T-shirt that read “And yet, despite the look on my face, you’re still talking.”

“I’m sure the Australians over there are loving your sense of humor,” she said.

“That’s what they’re all saying. ‘Murph may be a whinging yobbo, but he’s no drongo.’ I haven’t looked those words up yet, but I can only guess that it’s a compliment.”

With multiple Ph.D.s, Murph was by far the most brilliant man on the Empiric even though he was also just in his twenties, so she had no doubt he knew that the phrase meant he was whiny and obnoxious but no dummy. She was also sure that nobody over there had said any such thing.

Murph was on loan to DARPA from his real job. No matter how much she pried, she couldn’t get much out of him about what that real job was, but his prior expertise had been designing weapons for the U.S. military. She’d requested him specifically for this project because his creative and analytical skills were unparalleled. To consult on the job, Murph had required only one condition, that DARPA supply key technology for the organization that he worked for. After some haggling, he joined the Rhino project, and his presence had proved invaluable.

“Let’s get started with the test,” Sylvia said.

“You’re the boss

,” Murph said.

She turned to her research assistant, Kelly, and said, “Fire up the lasers.”

Kelly called on her own radio, then replied, “Lasers are prepped, and the automated sensors are activated.”

“Good.” She called back to Murph. “Send in the drone.”

“It’s on the way.” The drone, which had been making lazy circles, suddenly bolted toward them. “Don’t worry, Sylvia. I’ve checked your math. This will work.”

“Thanks, Mark. You’re a sweetie.”

“Hey, you’ll ruin my reputation as a yobbo.”

“Sorry.”

This was the moment of truth. Sylvia’s heart was hammering in her chest. She lifted the tablet hanging from her shoulder and saw that all the readouts from the Rhino equipment were normal. There was nothing else for her to do. All she could do was wait and watch.

When the drone was within three hundred yards, she heard the hum of the lasers charging in anticipation of a nearby threat. When the drone reached the two-hundred-yard mark, the lasers crackled to life.