Mako (The Mako Saga: Book 1) Read online

  Lee flashed a tenuous smile. “With respect, sport, I can promise you he’s not. Anyway, tell Zeus there’s a secondary function in the computer core’s primary security mainframe that’ll allow him to trip an installation-wide lockdown. Mind you, that won’t buy much time—only 60 seconds or so—but it oughta be enough for you to make a break for your ship. He can access the command with the authorization code Alpha-Zulu-6-4-Charlie.”

  Utterly beside himself, the boy sank back in his chair and rubbed his eyes to process what’d been said.

  “Hey Dr. Summerston?” he wondered aloud. “You said your team used a different strategy to get out of the bunker, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, if you didn’t use the lockdown, how did you guys get out?”

  Lee shrugged, having waited for this exact question. “I did a case study once about a small unit of British soldiers in World War II who found themselves in a similar situation. They were pinned down by the Nazis in a small village just outside of Vienna, and they were carryin’ intel that was absolutely vital to the Allies. Needless to say, they got out and I modeled a lot of my workup for E-9 off of their ideas.”

  “And what did they do?”

  Lee’s smile widened. “You can read about it for yourself. It’s on page 297 of that textbook you were just usin’ as a cover for your mag.”

  ****

  The boy’s jaw dropped in amazement. It wasn’t like he’d never been called out by an instructor before, but never like this. Not only had this guy just busted him for reading a gaming mag in class, but then he’d completely trumped him on its contents? In what crazy parallel world does that even happen? Truth be told, his clan had been stumped on E-9 for nearly three weeks now, and here he was being walked through the solution by—of all people—his history professor?

  Then again, the boy thought, the man’s outward appearance alone should’ve indicated that he wasn’t a total academic stiff. Fairly tall, with a stocky, medium build and slightly rugged features, he couldn’t be any more than 32 or 33 years old, tops. Plus from the looks of things, he was no stranger to a gym, or the beach for that matter, judging by his copper skin tone and the sun-streaks in his shaggy brown hair. Add all that to the mild southern accent in his husky voice, and whoever he was, he was a far cry from his fellow faculty members here at Layne, with their horn-rimmed glasses, tweed coats, and tobacco-stained teeth. On a related note, if the looks of the other students around him were any indication—particularly the huddle of girls down front who hadn’t stopped giggling since he walked in this morning—they apparently thought so too. Bottom line: this guy was alright and maybe because of that, this class wouldn’t suck so bad after all.

  “So where are you?” the boy asked, unable to help himself.

  “I’m sorry?” Lee replied, re-opening his lecture notes to continue.

  “Which environment? I know you’re at least on E-15, which is definitely impressive. But where, exactly, are you in the game? E-21? 22?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “C’mon, sir” the boy persisted. “You just called me out in front of the entire class. At least throw me one bone for my troubles. Seriously—gamer to gamer—where are you?”

  Lee rolled his eyes and tossed his pen onto the podium. “We’ll begin E-42 tonight.”

  With one sudden look at the garnet-stoned Florida State University class ring on his instructor’s right hand, the boy’s deep brown eyes went wide with complete and total disbelief as the revelation of his professor’s identity sank in.

  Rocketing forward in his seat, the words shot like rapid fire from his mouth. “No freakin’ way! You’re—”

  “Okay class, if you’ll turn to the third page of the syllabus, you’ll find…”

  Chapter 2: Echoes

  Fifty-five obnoxious minutes later, having answered six questions about the final, four about the term paper, two about attendance, and another three about his grading system—as if none of this had been covered in the slides—Lee crammed his thumb drive and leftover syllabus materials back into his briefcase for the return trek up to his office.

  “So much for thirty-five minutes,” he grumbled, offering a halfhearted wave goodbye to the boy in the brown ballcap who’d all but bumrushed him after class with a not-so-quick round of Twenty Questions: Mako Assault edition.

  “What did you do on E-4?” he’d insisted. “How did you get past the second wave on E-8? Is the rumored ambush on E-16 legit? Do you ever square off with Commandant Masterson before the game ends?” Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

  Of course, Lee couldn’t really hold it against the kid. After all, he’d been every bit as exuberant once he’d gotten hooked six months ago—still was. Hence why he’d shirked pretty much every responsibility he had this weekend to run back through his workup for E-42. Laundry, lawn work, cleaning the war zone that was his kitchen; it all paled in importance of what lay ahead tonight. To his knowledge, only a handful of clans had made it this deeply into the game; and at present, out of an estimated 18.5 million users worldwide, his was the only active clan even close to the end.

  Naturally, this fact had drawn them a moderate amount of celebrity status in gamer circles online, hence the boy’s animated response in class. As such, Lee’s pulse quickened with the thought of what tonight could mean. True, there was no monetary reward for beating the game—although given last month’s utility bill; that would’ve been nice. There was no earth-shattering praise or prestige—no tickertape parade. Just the knowledge and personal reward that went with doing something that literally, no one else in the world had done, and in the case of Lee Summerston, whose ramen noodle budget and borderline manic-depressive state allowed him the ability to do little else, it was everything. It was the chance to finish something—to do something that no one else had. Ultimately though, it was a chance to be proud of something again, a feeling he hadn’t known in a very, very long time.

  Yep. Tonight would be a good night—it had to be.

  Jingling his keys into the lock beneath the smoky glass pane of his office door, Lee pushed through the opening and tossed his briefcase down beside the hand-me-down desk he’d called dibs on last spring when most of the tenured faculty had received new office furniture. Granted, this one wasn’t in much better shape than the rickety excuse for a workstation that’d occupied the space before, but at least it wasn’t in danger of collapsing on him at any given time, and that alone was a much-welcomed upgrade.

  Rolling up his squeaky office chair and taking a seat, Lee hunched over to the ancient computer tower beside the desk and pressed the power button on its scratched faceplate. As it buzzed and sputtered to life, he began sifting through the mail he’d retrieved from his faculty box in the supply room, sorting out the things he’d actually need (early semester memos, faculty messages, orientation fliers—that sort of thing) and lobbing the rest through the basketball hoop over his trashcan. That was when his eyes locked on a large yellow envelope at the base of the pile, marked “Clerk of the Court: Leon County, FL.”

  Staring at it for a long moment, Lee pondered the implications of its contents. He’d waited eight long months to receive this package, far longer than it should’ve ever taken. Had he actually bothered to show up at the court date when all of this had become final, he’d have had them there on the spot but he wanted no part of that. There had been nothing left to say, nothing left to divvy up, and in the end, nothing left to fight about. So the notion of standing in front of a judge just to hash it out all over again had seemed like little more than a painful exercise in futility. He’d done and said all he’d planned to by that point, and bottom line: he just wanted it over. True, everything had been made official at the drop of the gavel on that early February morning back in Tallahassee, but now—after all the clerical screw-ups, mailing mishaps, and address changes—the physical proof of the closure he’d so desperately longed for had finally arrived.

  Shooting a thoughtful gaze to
the picture of his parents on the wall, Lee billowed a hard sigh as his fingers ripped through the envelope’s gluey seal to remove the documents inside. Slowly sliding them out into view, he followed the list of names and dates down the top page—past the judge’s stamp and docket number—until his eyes eventually found the only three words that meant anything to him; “Dissolution of Marriage.”

  Taking a quick pass through the forms to make sure everything was in order, Lee tossed them onto the desktop and sank back into the chair, which let out an eerie creak with his shifting weight. Now and forever, it was officially over.

  “I’m a cowboy… on a steel horse I ride,” Jon Bon Jovi’s muffled voice wailed from Lee’s jeans, snapping him from his reflective trance. “And I’m wanted… wanted… dead or alive!”

  Retrieving the phone from his pocket, Lee slid his finger straight to the “answer” button, without so much as a glance at the Caller ID.

  “What’s up, Dic?”

  “Oh look, a cop joke,” Danny Tucker moaned at the other end of the line. “How wonderfully original.”

  “If the gumshoe fits,” Lee cackled again.

  “Wow, you’re just full of zingers today, aren’t you?”

  Lee shook his head and smiled. “How ya doin’, Danny?”

  “Just another gorgeous day in food stamp paradise, bro. How about you?”

  “‘Bout the same,” Lee muttered back. “How’s the job search goin’, anyway?”

  “It’s going,” Danny balked. “Not nearly as fast as I’d like, but it’s going.”

  “Any new leads?”

  “Maybe. I got a line on some stuff down south earlier this week, but it’ll be a while before I know anything. Also, a buddy of mine at Atlanta PD says he might know of some stuff up there, but beyond that… nada.”

  “How about the feds thing?”

  “Which one?” Danny asked.

  “The one in Quantico,” said Lee. “You told me about it a few weeks back.”

  “Eh, we’ll see,” Danny huffed. “I’m supposed to hear something later this week, but I’m not exactly holding my breath.”

  “Yeah well, fingers crossed anyway,” said Lee. “In the meantime, any chance you could pick up some reserve duty hours with the Sheriff’s Office in Tally? I mean, you got let go because of budget cuts, so it’s not like you left there on bad terms or anything. Tell ‘em you’ll work the State Fair, for cryin’ out loud. Everybody hates that detail, right?”

  “My old sergeant is keeping his ear to the ground for me, but there’s just no money, man. Everybody’s tightening their belts right now and there’s barely enough money to pay the guys they’ve got, much less bring on anyone else—reserve hours or otherwise. As for off-duty details, those are being snapped up like hotcakes by the people on staff, whether they want to work them or not, simply because opportunities to make a few extra bucks are so few and far between these days, especially with Christmas right around the corner and most of those guys having families.” Danny sighed hard. “I’d be screwed right now if it weren’t for my unemployment benefits, and those run out in March. I kid you not, bro, it sucks up here right now.”

  “Well, I’ve got a futon that’s all yours if you decide you need a change of scenery. Just say the word.”

  This drew a chuckle from Danny. “As much as I appreciate the offer, amigo, I’ve been shot at before, and frankly… it kinda sucks.”

  “Oh, gimme a break; it ain’t that bad.”

  “Not that bad? Lee, I’ve got friends at Jax SO who work that zone, and you know what the guys on shift call your neighborhood? The Demilitarized Zone!”

  “Whatever,” Lee scoffed. “It’s a two-bedroom place for five-fifty a month, and on what I make, I’ll take it—lights and sirens or not.”

  “Anyway,” Danny shifted. “Speaking of the money front, you manage to pick up any extra hours this semester?”

  “No,” Lee grumbled. “I’ve got four other adjuncts to contend with for classes, all of us scratchin’ and clawin’ to get everything we can. So with me still bein’ the new guy, I get trumped every time.”

  “And nothing on the full-time radar?”

  “Nope. I put in for an associate’s position at North Carolina State a while back, but got the thanks for playin’ letter three weeks ago, and that was the first legit possibility I’ve seen in months. The fact is, full-time instructors just aren’t in high demand right now, which makes sense, I guess. I mean, when your history department is borderline broke as it is… why hire a full-time prof—with all those retirement and healthcare expenses—when you can just hire an adjunct for pennies on the dollar to help cover the courseload? But…” Lee paused—his tone turning morose. “It goes beyond the money, ya know? Danny, I chose this field because I love history and I wanted to study it in the field, doin’ research on military bases or in war museums, and learnin’ about it from the people who were there. Instead, I’m hangin’ out in decrepit old classrooms, talkin’ to a bunch of hung-over freshmen about the Civil War and extra credit! Hell man, I’ve got a naval base right down the road from me in Mayport, plus a slew of stuff in Brunswick, Canaveral, and Orlando, but I don’t have the funding, much less the time to work with any of it because I stay so bogged down with administrative crap!” Lee ruffled his hair in frustration. “This ain’t what I signed up for, brother, and what’s worse? The longer I waste away in this program, not publishing, the further away I get from that career—from that life.”

  “Hey, I get it,” Danny admitted. “Believe me, I didn’t put myself through the academy to work in a mall, and yet I’d take a rental cop gig today if they’d give it to me. That said,” he added, “and I know this doesn’t come as any consolation, but be thankful you have a job at this point. Yeah, it sucks for now, but at least you’ve got the option to float it out until you can find something better.”

  “Somethin’ better,” Lee huffed indignantly. “I’m in debt up to my eyeballs with student loans because I believed in somethin’ better, and boy, didn’t that turn out great.”

  “I know,” Danny conceded. “Anyway, as much as I wouldn’t mind hanging out on a beach with you and all the impressionable young minds of tomorrow, I’m gonna stick it out for now and see what breaks loose. If the new year rolls around and I’m still in limbo, I might take you up on that ghetto-fabulous futon of yours.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Offer stands,” Lee grunted.

  “So enough about our respective tales of financial woe,” Danny shifted again. “What else is up with you?”

  Lee was silent as his gaze returned to the envelope.

  “That can’t be good,” Danny noted.

  “It’s nothin’ Danny, don’t worry about it.”

  “No, no, pal. There is ‘quiet’ with you and then there’s ‘silent.’ The second generally means something’s up; so dish… What? You get caught in a broom closet with a sorority girl or something?”

  Lee snorted. “No moron. Just because I’m single doesn’t mean I’m supposed to tap everything with a pulse… unlike some people I know.”

  Danny snickered at this. “C’mon, bro. Gimme at least a little credit. I’m kinda picky… sometimes.”

  “Danny, we’ve been friends for almost 20 years, so I think I’m pretty qualified to say this… there are fat kids at all-you-can-eat chocolate buffets who are pickier than you.”

  “My boy Lee Summerston,” he laughed, “always the hopeless romantic. You’re a man of a different era, my friend.”

  “Yeah, well the papers on my desk say I’m a failure of a husband and a human being, but what can ya do?”

  Danny’s jovial tone vanished. “Whoa, they finally came?”

  “In my box when I got in today.”

  “Good grief, took ‘em long enough.”

  “That was my thought,” Lee agreed.

  “So,” Danny treaded. “How do you feel about that?”

  Lee fell silent again. “Mixed, I guess. Don’t get me wrong, it was officially
over months ago but now… finally havin’ these…” His voice trailed off. “I dunno, Danny, I guess it just makes it all real, ya know? Final.”

  Danny gave an audible grunt. “Newsflash bro, that whole thing was over long before she ever went in front of a judge. Hell, if she hadn’t been such a raving, sadistic lunatic about everything and tried to take the shirt off your back, it would’ve ended a lot sooner than it did. That alone oughta tell you you’re better off without her.”

  “I know, Danny. It just sucks… the whole thing.”

  “Tell me about it,” he cackled. “Face it, Lee, nobody, and I mean nobody, gets to be as cynical as I am about relationships without having gone through ‘The Big D’ at least once in their life. But regardless of how clean-cut these decisions can sometimes be—and let’s face it, your case was about as no-brainer as they come—they’re never easy. That’s why I ask the question… You okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just…. glad it’s all over.”

  “Damn straight,” declared Danny. “Remember, she’s the one who stepped out of bounds, not you. Don’t you ever forget that… and just so we’re clear, there was no going back once she crossed that line. I know how hard that call was for you to make, but you made the right one, and no amount of counseling or marital head-shrinking would’ve ever changed what happened. Screw anyone who says otherwise.”

  “Thanks Danny, seriously. Were it not for you guys, I doubt I’d have survived that whole thing—not with any amount of sanity anyway.”

  “Sure you would’ve, bro,” he said, a hint of sarcasm resurfacing. “You might’ve come out of it with a slight drinking problem and a massive inferiority complex, but you’d have made it.”

  Lee grinned and slid back in his chair—happy to not have the drinking problem, anyway.

  “Okay, so back to the matter at hand,” Danny continued. “How are we standing for tonight? I’ve already talked to Hamish, Link and Mac and they’re all set to go, which just leaves you, professor. You’re not gonna bail on us for your snooty-pretentious, high-society crowd again, are you?”