AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Juan slowly stood up. “You were declared dead.”
“So you do remember me!”
“Zachariah Tate.”
“If that’s what you want to call me.” Tate lounged in his own command chair, rotating side to side like a hyperactive child. Now that Juan knew who the impostor was, it was even more revolting to see his face plastered on Tate’s body.
“By the way,” Tate went on, “I know yo
u’re recording this call. But if you were stupid enough to send a plainly faked video to the CIA to exonerate yourself, they’d never take you seriously again. You realize, of course, that there are no recordings of Tate’s voice to compare the audio to. So, for all they’d know, you hired one of those guys from Saturday Night Live to do an impression.”
“We got your message,” Juan said. “We heard about the Mantícora and the Avignon.”
“Not very subtle, I know, but it got your attention, didn’t it? Now I have an important task for you. Two tasks, actually.”
“Why would I do anything for you?”
“You don’t have to, but I think you will. The first item on your to-do list has to do with a Los Angeles–class nuclear sub called the Kansas City. I’m putting a bomb on its hull, and you have to disarm it before it goes off. It’s in two hundred fifty feet of water, but that should be well within your abilities. Fun challenge, huh? But, then again, you guys specialize in that kind of fun.”
“You could be sending us on a wild-goose chase,” Juan said. “How do I know you had anything to do with its sinking?”
Tate motioned to the side, and someone handed him a three-foot-long tube. “Do you know what this is?”
Juan nodded. “It’s a SEPIRB. It stands for ‘Submarine Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon.’ It’s ejected from the hull when a sub goes down and floats to the surface to broadcast its location.”
“Exactly.” Tate held the SEPIRB closer to the camera. It had the name KANSAS CITY stenciled on the side. Although it could have been a fake, there was also a serial number printed on it. He would have Murph and Eric check Navy databases to make sure it was authentic, but Juan had to assume it was the real thing.
“Are you going to tell me where the KC is?”
“Well, not its exact location,” Tate said. “Not right now. That would be too easy. How about this? I’ll tell you the precise coordinates an hour before the bomb goes off, which means that fancy ship of yours needs to be in a spot a hundred miles southeast of Montevideo ready to deactivate the explosives.” He read off the latitude and longitude coordinates.
“What’s the catch?” Juan asked.
“You knew there’d be one,” Tate said, wagging a finger. “You always were smart. It’s actually more like a dilemma. Is that the right word? Anyway, I expect you personally to be in Buenos Aires at the exact same time.”
“Why would I do that?”
“To save this guy.” Tate pointed to his right, and the camera slewed around.
It was Langston Overholt, gagged and strapped to a chair. His eyes smoldered with defiance.
Tate continued. “I’m going to sink him in a diving bell somewhere in Buenos Aires Harbor, and you’ll have to get him out before he suffocates. At the appropriate time, I’ll start sending you live video from the bell and all you have to do is just find it. Piece of cake.”
It made Juan sick how much Tate was enjoying this. “How do I know this isn’t a trap?”
Tate rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s a trap! That’s part of the challenge. I just don’t see how you have much choice but to go along with it.”
He was right. There was no choice.
“We’ll be ready.”
“I would expect nothing less. Oh, and I shouldn’t have to say it, but if I see anyone but you and your people trying to save either this guy or the ship, the game is over. Ciao for now!”
Before the screen went blank, it flickered.
“Put up that last frame,” Juan said.
In that last split second, the deepfake software turned off before the feed did. The image was a bit fuzzy from motion blur, but Juan recognized the older, more worn version of Zachariah Tate.
