Genetica Read online

  Genetica

  A DUKE FLETCHER THRILLER

  TOM HART

  The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.

  SUN TZU

  CONTENTS

  MARTINI

  DRAKE

  FORTUNE

  BATTLESHIP

  PROXIMA CORPORATION

  LORD AKEMI

  WAR

  BLIND

  CABINET

  HMAS COLLINS

  PERTH

  RANGER

  THE TITAN

  CASINO

  SNIPER

  AMBASSADOR

  POLAND

  MERCURY

  SPEAK

  CONTACT

  ROADBLOCK

  SUPERSTAR

  WHITE BUSES

  THE UNION

  MARINES

  RUSSIANS

  TRIGLESIUM

  DUKE

  AREA 51

  HYDRA

  POLAND

  SHADOW WEAVERS

  INCURSION

  BOOM TIME

  RED BEAR

  EVICTION

  MAURITIUS

  LEVERAGE

  EXECUTION

  SCRUB

  ALICE SPRINGS

  ARMOUR

  NOWRA

  ZHANG

  PATROL

  WELCOME

  ULURU

  WHITE HOUSE

  RESORT

  ESCAPE

  LUNAR ARRAY

  PAYBACK

  MINCEMEAT

  CHAPTER ONE

  MARTINI

  Tahiti

  South Pacific

  Present Day

  The Martini was a little sweeter than it should have been but Duke was sympathetic to the pretty young cocktail waitress. It was her first week on the job. Besides, alcoholic beverages were complimentary. No point being rude about it.

  Duke knew his fondness for alcohol rather than the demanding nature of his job were the reason he was at the resort alone. His ex-wife had been patient for longer than he deserved.

  Being a hostage negotiator was tough. Get it wrong and people died. A lot of people.

  The divorce had been smooth enough. He let her have everything. She deserved it.

  This holiday was his first in six years. Each time he’d tried to take a break the terrorists of the world decided it was time for another good old fashioned kidnapping. But it wasn’t all bad. He was on a first name basis with every Western ambassador in the Middle East. They always had a well-stocked drinks cabinet waiting for him.

  The waitress reappeared. ‘Would you like another drink sir?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ replied Duke. He’d resolved to give up drinking when he arrived. That was five days ago. He shrugged. So he wasn’t going too well on that front.

  ‘What’s the Wagyu burger like?’

  ‘Um, it’s meant to be delicious. It’s from Australia you know.’

  Duke smiled. He was Australian but the staff thought anyone who spoke English was American.

  ‘I’ll have one of those, with extra fries.’

  Giving up drinking didn’t mean he had to embark on a complete health kick all at once.

  The waitress hesitated. He noticed her staring at his right shoulder.

  ‘If you don’t mind me asking sir, what does your tattoo say?’

  Duke glanced at his arm. The tattoo was so old and faded he’d practically forgotten about it. ‘Something I got when I was young and stupid. Can’t say I’ve overcome the stupid bit, even at my age.’

  The girl giggled. ‘I like it,’ she said softly before curling her mouth to form a naughty smile.

  Duke wasn’t going to tell her what his French Legionnaire’s tattoo meant. He smiled back.

  ‘I finish my shift at six,’ she whispered. Meet me at the jetty.’

  Duke sat alone by the pool as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. He glanced at his watch. It was almost seven. The girl would be wondering where he was. She’d get over it.

  ‘You stood me up!’

  He didn’t bother to turn around.

  ‘Not my type honey’.

  The waitress was blonde and tanned with a gymnast’s body. She glared at him as if he were mad. She was everyone’s type.

  ‘What is your type then?’ she demanded.

  Duke didn’t answer.

  ‘Are you a monk?’

  He laughed.

  ‘I’m cursed sweetheart. That’s what my tattoo says. I’m bad news. Don’t want to see you get hurt.’

  The girl frowned.

  ‘I’m not a fragile little flower old man.’

  She made it sound like an insult as much as an invitation.

  Duke was only fifty-two so he took it as more of an insult.

  ‘Tell your bosses I’m not interested in working for them okay.’

  The girl frowned.

  ‘They won’t like that answer.’

  ‘The CIA never did like anything much I had to say. Damned if I know why they keep trying to recruit me?’

  ‘Other than the fact you are the most decorated hostage negotiator in the world?’ she said in frustration.

  ‘Why don’t you go back to Langley and tell Director Yates to leave me alone. I don’t work for spies, they have problems with moral boundaries. I’m a policeman not a spook.’

  She looked miserable. She’d probably never failed a mission before.

  ‘Tell you what,’ Duke said kindly. ‘You say I might consider contract work in the future, once I’m done with the Australian Federal Police. Say I’m damaged after my divorce or something and am taking a sabbatical for the year.’

  She nodded gratefully. Her career wouldn’t be ruined now.

  ‘I’ve still got a full week before I have to file my report. Would be a shame to waste it,’ she said softly before brushing her arm against his.

  ‘I suppose now we’ve cleared the air,’ said Duke with a smile.

  CHAPTER TWO

  DRAKE

  Raven System

  300 light years from Vofurion Prime

  Lieutenant Drake Ryker reached for the flask tucked inside his jacket. The two ensigns sharing the watch glared at him but dare not say anything. He was their superior officer even if they despised him.

  Drake was not one to follow rules. This made his decision to join the Navy all the more baffling to friends and family alike.

  Miraculously such an attitude had no effect on his rapid promotion to date. His record of valour and rugged good looks made him the perfect poster boy for a Confederate Navy looking for any public relations advantage after a series of devastating defeats at the hands of the Union. Not many could claim to have captured a squadron of Union cruisers without firing a shot.

  Drake couldn't care less what the crew thought. He resented being posted to this backwater of a system. He could understand his affair with the Governor’s wife might be taken the wrong way by some in the naval establishment, but this posting was unjust for the most decorated officer in the Navy. ‘Shut off that alarm, it's giving me a headache,’ he barked at the nearest ensign.

  He returned the flask to his jacket. The most dangerous thing out here was death by boredom. Even pirates bypassed this worthless sector. Nothing but dust and asteroids with a carbon content so high even the most desperate mining company wouldn't bother.

  ‘Sir, it's not an asteroid this time.’

  Drake rolled his eyes in the direction of the ensign.

  ‘There's nothing else out here except for the vacuum of space, much like the interior of your skull ensign.’

  ‘But, sir, it's too large to be an asteroid.’

  Drake clenched his fist.

  ‘Too large to be an asteroid!’

  Nothing other than a moon or planet could be larger than a
n asteroid.

  ‘Can you not distinguish between an asteroid and a planet ensign?’

  ‘It is not shaped like a planet or an asteroid sir.’

  Drake hated strange readings. It meant paperwork.

  ‘Well stop sitting around and deploy the array. Do I have to tell you to do everything?’

  The ensign glared back but did as ordered.

  There was a slight hiss as the antennae unfurled.

  ‘It's a ship, sir.’

  ‘Classification?’ Drake asked, feigning interest. He decided it was a good time to light another cigar. It was a breach of at least five Navy regulations but regulations were for the weak minded.

  ‘Shall we wake the Captain,’ the other ensign asked quietly.

  Drake raised an eyebrow then shook his head at the idiot. The Captain would not take kindly to being woken for yet another convoy of drone freighters hauling their worthless load of base metals between scavenger outposts. The paperwork would be insufferable.

  The nearest ensign grew excited. ‘I don’t think it’s another convoy.’

  The man’s fingers raced across his screen before he turned to Drake with a look of confusion.

  ‘Well spit it out man,’ said Drake.

  ‘It’s jamming us.’

  Drake masked his delight with a casual drag on his cigar. Jamming a Confederate warship was a sure sign of hostile intent. Finally, here was a chance to shoot at something.

  The nearest ensign’s fingers danced across his screen. ‘It’s transmitting a signal. Hold on I think I’ve got a lock on it.’

  A series of characters scrolled across the central viewfinder. Drake dropped his cigar.

  ‘Hell’s bells, you don’t see that every day.’

  The ensigns frowned. The curved script was incomprehensible.

  ‘Is that middle Vofurion?’ the youngest ensign volunteered. Drake decided not to berate the man. Few would recognise the script. It was hardly known outside the aristocracy.

  ‘Much older than that,’ said Drake ‘It’s Titan.’

  The ensigns grew still. They had heard the stories as children.

  ‘What does it say sir?’

  Drake’s smile grew wider. As a child he’d resisted his father’s wish that he learn the language of the old empire. What was the point learning a language no longer spoken by the living? Well it was paying off now.

  ‘It is an invitation ensign. Switch to a plasma probe. That should overcome the jamming and give us some nice close ups.’

  Neither ensign moved. A plasma probe could only be launched from within a hundred kilometres.

  ‘Would you both prefer I order you to suit up and take a maintenance tug to examine the ship in person?’ asked Drake.

  The feed from the probe was heavily distorted but there was no mistaking the enormity of the vessel. Drake could tell it was a battleship of some kind, but the design was like nothing he’d seen before. Was it a new Union design? Perhaps it was a secret prototype hidden in deep space for testing?

  Drake frowned as the probe began to transmit readings on hull thickness and composition. He knew of only one battleship built with a hull that thick. This was crazy. It had to be thousands of years old!

  Realising the ensigns were watching him for a reaction he waved a hand dismissively as if unconcerned.

  His mind raced as he read more data from the probe. No one had seen a Titan ship for centuries.

  If the probe was to be believed there were no life signs on-board the mysterious vessel. Who would abandon a prized battleship in the middle of no-where?

  Drake looked at the electronic warfare station. The vessel was tracking his tiny Confederate frigate with narrowband search radar. So far it had made no attempt to lock onto the frigate. It was most likely operating in auto-defence mode. It would not attack unless it was attacked first.

  Drake licked his lips. The salvage value alone would be enough for him to buy a small planet. Maybe this mission hadn’t been a waste of time?

  ‘Sir, you should see this,’ the shorter ensign said, barely masking the admiration in his voice.

  Leaning over the man’s shoulder Drake examined the feed from the probe.

  The ensign’s hands began to shake. ‘Is it really the Emperor’s flagship?’

  Drake shot the ensign a look. He’d been hoping no one else would realise who the ship belonged to. He often forgot Vofurions were in awe of the royal family. He found the propaganda of the ruling House of Elara ridiculous but it seemed highly effective on their own people.

  He traced his finger on the screen over the decaying paint on the Battleship’s hull. The gold nameplate sparkled, showing remarkable resilience in the face of the destructive forces of deep space. The name Arcanum stood proudly above the founding Emperor’s coat of arms as if the ship had been launched only yesterday.

  ‘It must be over 3,000 years old,’ the taller ensign volunteered.

  Drake knew for a fact it was far older but then again no one had seen it for over five centuries.

  ‘Prepare a shuttle,’ Drake ordered.

  ‘Ah, shouldn’t we wait for the Captain?’

  Drake drew his pistol and shot the shorter ensign in the head. The taller ensign suffered the same fate, a look of astonishment still etched on his face as he slumped to the deck.

  After stepping carefully over the brain splatter Drake keyed in the codes for the self-destruct and triggered a distress beacon. For dramatic effect he adopted a panicked tone and recorded a short message about being ambushed by a pirate fleet of Shadow Weavers. Then he left the bridge and walked casually to the shuttle bay.

  Telling the hanger crew he was taking the shuttle to inspect a report of a damaged stabiliser he pushed the throttle to maximum to escape the blast.

  A minute and a half later the frigate exploded. Drake looked over his shoulder with a sense of satisfaction. He wasn’t sharing this discovery with anyone.

  CHAPTER THREE

  FORTUNE

  Townsville

  Australia

  While he longed for the thrill of combat a man of his rank was expected to focus on the intellectual and organisational aspects of war, not the bloodletting on the ground. Trading his rifle and bayonet to fight the enemy from within a command bunker was something he’d never been comfortable with.

  Everything was digitised now. It hardly seemed fair. General Zhang of the People’s Liberation Army glanced again at the giant screens showing the position of his entire force, down to the location of each infantryman. His operations officer had a look of euphoria on his youthful face. Zhang didn’t share the feeling. War had become a videogame whose most dramatic action was to press a button to launch a stand-off munition.

  Zhang sighed. Most of his men would never see an Australian soldier. The invasion would be over before his beloved infantry got close to the enemy. He shook his head. Mopping up tiny bands of survivors was hardly the job for the highly trained men of the Chinese Army. He’d have to keep a close eye on morale. An army sitting still was a pressure cooker waiting to explode. It would be likely to get heavy handed in the occupation, treating civilians and prisoners poorly out of sheer boredom. He’d seen it in Tibet and again in Mongolia. His orders from the Politburo were clear. Keep the Australian population on side no matter the cost.

  He left the confines of the bunker and its stale air and stepped outside into the glare. Without his sunglasses he wouldn’t be able to see anything. Australians must have a special tolerance for bright light.

  The ground was a rich red, so deep in colour it seemed to pulsate with the rising sun. He found the colours of the landscape unnatural despite his advisers telling him the area hadn't changed since the age of the Dinosaurs.

  He snarled as another blowfly bit his neck. He swiped at the critter with a free hand. The fly evaded the strike with ease and settled on his forehead.

  He’d spent two years planning the invasion and everything was proceeding like clockwork. He knew every stage by heart
so watching it on screen was like being forced to read the same book over and over.

  His bodyguards were fidgeting in the heat. They glanced around nervously as if expecting a sniper attack. He smiled unconcerned. It would be a miracle if an Australian soldier survived the bombardment.

  According to his Army surveyors this area wasn't even a desert, it was semi-arid farmland. His meteorology team told him forty degrees celsius was a relatively cool day for the region. Who would want to live here?

  But the region was home to 3 Brigade, one of the Australian Army’s largest mechanised brigades. Or it had been. Their base and vehicles were now a smoking ruin.

  Zhang looked to the creek bed a half mile away. A long line of Australian prisoners was being herded into Chinese trucks for transport to the massive detention facility under construction near Brisbane. He felt sorry for them. With their primitive weaponry and lack of air support they hadn’t stood a chance.

  ‘General, your helicopter is five minutes away,’ his Adjutant whispered.

  ‘Good, make sure we get plenty of photos for my Facebook account when we overfly what’s left of the base.’

  ‘Yes sir,’ his Adjutant replied. He had the Army photographers ready. They were sweating profusely under the burden of the state of the art Japanese cameras their General insisted they use.

  Zhang cared little for the digital age but he knew the value of good old fashioned self-promotion. He was the youngest four-star General in the Chinese military for that reason. Footage of the smoking base should bump his followers above twenty million.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  BATTLESHIP

  Drake focused on the symbols etched on the airlock. Unlike most students at the naval academy he’d found the courses on linguistics fascinating.

  The typical Vofurion suffered from an overwhelming sense of cultural superiority so few bothered to learn a language other than their own. But not Drake. Why wouldn’t you want to learn the language of your enemies? How else could you trade on the black market with them?