Read Online The Tesla Legacy by Robert G. Barrett - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert G. Barrett
Tags: Fiction
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dry boardshorts from the sundeck and walked out to the van. His mat and fins still sitting in the back, he drove down to the beach, parking in the same spot as the day before. In no time Mick was out the back picking up his first wave of the day.
While Mick was enjoying the surf at Bar Beach, Agent Moharic was on his way to Australia in a Gulfstream jet with two younger agents, neither of them quite as tall as him: Orrin Coleborne and Steve Niland. Due to a sudden storm front moving in from Boston, Washington airport had been temporarily closed and their departure had been set back three hours. After stopping to refuel in Hawaii, they now expected to arrive at Williamtown late Thursday night, Australian time. As it was a covert mission, all three men were happily wearing windcheaters, jeans or cotton trousers and trainers and glad to be getting a breakfrom snow-bound Washington. None of the agents had been to Australia before and were to be met at Williamtown Air Force Base by a senior NSA agent stationed in Australia: Zimmer Sierota. Each man knew the importance of the mission and they’d been given three days to complete their task. Their terminological inexactitude was that they were checking security in Newcastle Harbour pending a visit from two ships of the United States Seventh Fleet.
Forty-five minutes out of Honolulu, the three agents were finishing a meal of sandwiches and talking easily amongst themselves before they settled down for the remainder of the flight. Like all NSA agents, the men took their careers seriously and would never question orders. Nevertheless, any agent who had spent time working in Room 90 couldn’t sometimes help taking an ambivalent or derisive attitude to the job. Agent Coleborne washed down the last of a ham and cheese sandwich with a carton of pineapple juice and turned to the others.
‘Honest, guys,’ he said. ‘Popping some sucker don’t bother me. But how can I take something called Project Piggie seriously? I mean, what are we talking here? Miss Piggy out of the Muppets? Porky P-p-pig? Come on.’
‘Hey,’ said Agent Moharic. ‘I was there when it came up on the screen. Bousseal carried on like it was an incoming nuclear strike.’
‘Does anybody know what it is we’re looking for?’ said Agent Niland. ‘I mean, what…?’
Agent Moharic shook his head. ‘Steve, we were told we’re not looking for anything. We’re just taking a guy out. An electrician. And Bousseal emphasised to get the job done and don’t screw up. You guys were at the last briefing.’
‘Yeah. But why all the cloak and dagger crap?’ Agent Niland affected a Texan accent, ‘Why not just plug the critter and mosey on out of Dodge?’
‘Evidently Sierota’s got a plan,’ said Agent Moharic.
‘Hey,’ said Agent Coleborne, ‘what’s our chances of spinning this out a few extra days? It’s eighty degrees where we’re going. Australia’s supposed to have great beaches. And we got a kick-ass expense account.’
‘Yeah. And you know where our asses’ll finish if we screw up,’ said Agent Moharic.
Agent Coleborne quickly changed his mind. ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he conceded.
‘What did you have to find the thing for anyway, Floyd?’ said Agent Niland. ‘Room 90 was a good gig. I got my tax returns done last week.’
Agent Moharic shook his head as he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. ‘Guys, I’m going to read for a while then put my head down. Wake me when we get to Australia.’
Mick kept surfing till the wind swung round to the east and several bluebottles began to appear amongst the swells. He got out, had a shower and a talk to a friend in the fire brigade, then drove home. After a bottle of water and some fruit, Mick changed into an old T-shirt and shorts and got the whipper-snipper out of the garage. He did both yards, back and front, and while he was on a roll did a bit of a spring-clean round the house and cleaned out the van. When Mick had finished, an old
While Mick was enjoying the surf at Bar Beach, Agent Moharic was on his way to Australia in a Gulfstream jet with two younger agents, neither of them quite as tall as him: Orrin Coleborne and Steve Niland. Due to a sudden storm front moving in from Boston, Washington airport had been temporarily closed and their departure had been set back three hours. After stopping to refuel in Hawaii, they now expected to arrive at Williamtown late Thursday night, Australian time. As it was a covert mission, all three men were happily wearing windcheaters, jeans or cotton trousers and trainers and glad to be getting a breakfrom snow-bound Washington. None of the agents had been to Australia before and were to be met at Williamtown Air Force Base by a senior NSA agent stationed in Australia: Zimmer Sierota. Each man knew the importance of the mission and they’d been given three days to complete their task. Their terminological inexactitude was that they were checking security in Newcastle Harbour pending a visit from two ships of the United States Seventh Fleet.
Forty-five minutes out of Honolulu, the three agents were finishing a meal of sandwiches and talking easily amongst themselves before they settled down for the remainder of the flight. Like all NSA agents, the men took their careers seriously and would never question orders. Nevertheless, any agent who had spent time working in Room 90 couldn’t sometimes help taking an ambivalent or derisive attitude to the job. Agent Coleborne washed down the last of a ham and cheese sandwich with a carton of pineapple juice and turned to the others.
‘Honest, guys,’ he said. ‘Popping some sucker don’t bother me. But how can I take something called Project Piggie seriously? I mean, what are we talking here? Miss Piggy out of the Muppets? Porky P-p-pig? Come on.’
‘Hey,’ said Agent Moharic. ‘I was there when it came up on the screen. Bousseal carried on like it was an incoming nuclear strike.’
‘Does anybody know what it is we’re looking for?’ said Agent Niland. ‘I mean, what…?’
Agent Moharic shook his head. ‘Steve, we were told we’re not looking for anything. We’re just taking a guy out. An electrician. And Bousseal emphasised to get the job done and don’t screw up. You guys were at the last briefing.’
‘Yeah. But why all the cloak and dagger crap?’ Agent Niland affected a Texan accent, ‘Why not just plug the critter and mosey on out of Dodge?’
‘Evidently Sierota’s got a plan,’ said Agent Moharic.
‘Hey,’ said Agent Coleborne, ‘what’s our chances of spinning this out a few extra days? It’s eighty degrees where we’re going. Australia’s supposed to have great beaches. And we got a kick-ass expense account.’
‘Yeah. And you know where our asses’ll finish if we screw up,’ said Agent Moharic.
Agent Coleborne quickly changed his mind. ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he conceded.
‘What did you have to find the thing for anyway, Floyd?’ said Agent Niland. ‘Room 90 was a good gig. I got my tax returns done last week.’
Agent Moharic shook his head as he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. ‘Guys, I’m going to read for a while then put my head down. Wake me when we get to Australia.’
Mick kept surfing till the wind swung round to the east and several bluebottles began to appear amongst the swells. He got out, had a shower and a talk to a friend in the fire brigade, then drove home. After a bottle of water and some fruit, Mick changed into an old T-shirt and shorts and got the whipper-snipper out of the garage. He did both yards, back and front, and while he was on a roll did a bit of a spring-clean round the house and cleaned out the van. When Mick had finished, an old
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