Sea of Greed

Placing the strangely dense power pack underneath the scanning beam, Misty changed the magnification. At a power of 100, the battery pack looked like a collection of silica dust. At a power of 1,000, they began to see a structure to the arrangement. At a power of 2,500, they could see individual cells in a honeycomb formation and a thin barrier in the center of each tube.

“It’s a combo unit,” Misty said. “Part battery, part fuel cell.”

“Fuel cell?”

“Takes hydrogen, mixes it with oxygen and creates electricity and freshwater. Although this may use other chemicals as well.”

“I know what a fuel cell is,” Joe said. “But there is a stored electrical charge in there.”

“That’s unusual for sure,” Misty said.

She ran a couple of additional tests, checking the load-generating and electrical charge capacity of the unit. “Based on how tightly this design is packed and depending on the fuel source, I’d say this small unit would produce a lot more power than your average cell. In fact, the battery portion alone would be enough to power a car for several hundred miles.”

“Car battery packs weigh hundreds of pounds,” Joe pointed out.

“This one wouldn’t,” she said. “Then again, it might cost more than a Rolls-Royce to build this thing. I’ve never seen anything like it, even on the NASA probes.”

Kurt asked the important question. “Any idea who might be working on something like this?”

“My first thought would be government, NASA or DoD,” she replied. “But if that was the case, you guys would know about it, wouldn’t you?” She turned to Joe. “Did you liberate this from somewhere overseas?”

“Under the sea,” Joe corrected. “We tore it off a submersible that attacked us.”

“That’s the Joe I know,” she said. “Always in one scrape or another. Apparently, not much has changed.”

Joe couldn’t deny that. “We want to find out who built this power pack and, if possible, who built the sub that attacked us. And, we’re hoping you can point us in the right direction.”

“It’ll cost you dinner and a movie,” she said. “Plus, flowers — I’m still a girl.”

“He’ll pick you up in a limo,” Kurt said, accepting on Joe’s behalf.

She grinned and looked at the design again, studying different parts of the fuel cell itself and then the connectors and even the type of wiring. “These connectors are pure gold, the type used in high-end electric cars. This type of wiring is often used in high-performance aircraft. The fuel cell itself would probably be a prototype. I can’t tell you who built it, but I can tell you where you might look next.”

“All ears,” Joe said.

“And Redfish thinks you’re all hands.”

“That was you,” Joe said. “And you should have told him the truth before he attacked me.”

“And ruin the fun of watching him chase you?”

Kurt coughed loudly. “Hate to break up this love connection, but you were going to suggest a place we might look for answers.”

Misty grinned. “Sorry. There’s a big conference going on in Bermuda. It starts tomorrow. It’s called the R3 Conference, Renewables, Redesign and Reward. It’s an engineering conference where cutting-edge designers take their ideas, prototypes and finished products to get venture capital. You’ll find hundreds of brilliant nerds there, most of them looking for handouts from millionaires and billionaires looking to put their excess cash to work. Someone there will recognize this design, I can almost guarantee it.”

“R3,” Joe said.

“Sounds like the place to start,” Kurt said.

Before another word was spoken, the dogs started barking outside. All of them at once. Several gunshots followed and the barking turned to the sound of yelping dogs running from danger.

Misty got up and sprinted for the front of the building, Joe chased her down, tackling her to the ground just as a shotgun blast exploded through the thin front door.

17

JOE AND MISTY hit the ground as the front door swung in from the impact of the buckshot. It slammed against the wall and rebounded to a closed position. The barking and yelping continued outside, accompanied by the sound of heavy boots charging up the wooden ramp to the front door.

“Let me go,” Misty shouted. “I have to get to Dad.”

“Redfish can take care of himself,” Joe said, pulling her to her feet. “We need to get out of here.”

As Joe dragged a reluctant Misty back toward the workroom, the door was kicked open. A large-framed man pushed into the doorway with a pump-action shotgun in his hand. He spotted Joe and Misty and turned toward them, but before he could level the shotgun, the wheeled mechanic’s stool came flying down the concrete floor and slammed into his shins, courtesy of a mighty shove from Kurt.

The impact buckled his legs and he stumbled forward, discharging the shotgun into the floor at point-blank range. The barrel of the shotgun blew apart, spraying shrapnel everywhere.

Bleeding, stunned and grasping his numb right arm, the intruder crawled backward and out through the door.

Joe gave Misty a gentle shove in Kurt’s direction and then sprinted forward to grab the damaged shotgun.