Radiant Angel (John Corey Book 7)

by Nelson DeMille

  Gorsky’s firing stopped and I lay motionless, listening for Tess, hoping she was alive and Gorsky was dead. I called out softly, “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” She suggested, “Use the MP5.”

  They tell you never to reveal the automatic weapon until you see the target, then you surprise the guy. Gorsky was using his, but it was silenced and he probably had lots of ammo, and I did not.

  While I was weighing the pros and cons of bringing out the big gun, another burst of rounds cut through the darkness and I could hear them buzzing over my head. A round smashed into the glass door behind us, confirming that even pros tend to fire high in the dark.

  Okay, so Gorsky was obviously alive and not leaving. But if he intended to escape the explosion, he had to leave at some point. But if he was on a suicide mission, then we’d all share the one-time experience of nuclear oblivion. But I didn’t come this far and get this close to the nuke to have it blow up in my face. All I had to do was get to it. Which meant getting to the catwalk and pumping the water out of the garage. Which meant getting rid of Gorsky and his automatic weapon.

  And then what? Well, I took a Bomb Squad class on how to disarm a conventional bomb. There are three components you look for when faced with an unknown explosive device: the power source; the explosive charge; and the detonator.

  How much different could a nuclear bomb be?

  Most sophisticated explosive devices have a collapsible circuit. If you cut one wire leading to the charge, it collapses the other circuit, setting off the charge. But if you can remove any one of the three components…

  Right. Easier said than done. Gorsky had this entire open area covered by a silenced automatic weapon, and the nuke itself was covered with water. We had come to a standoff, and in this case with the timer ticking, a standoff was as good as a win for Gorsky and Petrov.

  But Vasily Petrov was an impatient and impulsive man and he did not see it that way, because I heard his voice boom out over a speaker, “Kill them!”

  Gorsky, who understood that he’d checkmated the intruders, did not fire, and Petrov yelled again, “Kill them!”

  It’s not a happy occasion when someone is yelling, “Kill them!” and you see muzzle flashes followed by the sound of bullets impacting around you. I mean, this asshole couldn’t see us, but if you spray enough bullets downrange, eventually you’re going to hit your target. Time to get out of here.

  I retrieved the Halligan tool and whispered to Tess, “We have to get around this guy. We split up and take the staircases. Meet you on the main deck.”

  “Okay…”

  “On three. One, two”—I tossed the Halligan tool into the air over the water—“three!” I heard the Halligan hit the opposite dock, followed by rounds impacting far behind us as we sprinted toward the left and right staircases.

  I reached the top of the stairs in about three seconds and saw Tess already there, gun drawn covering the rear deck.

  There was some moonlight left, and some illumination came from the Brooklyn waterfront, which was sliding by on our right. I figured we’d be out of the channel and near the tip of Manhattan in about fifteen minutes—or less if this ship picked up speed when it cleared the channel.

  There was a helicopter overhead, so we weren’t alone, but we were as good as alone until someone made the decision to board The Hana. Conte and Andersson had by now transmitted a sit-rep, but bureaucracy and chain of command being what they were, the order to commence a combat boarding could take ten or fifteen minutes, followed by a detailed plan of operation, and by that time the show would be over.

  Tess asked, “What now?”

  “If we can’t get to the nuke, we have to get to the asshole who controls the nuke and the other asshole who’s steering this ship, and one or both of them will be on the bridge.”

  I got rid of my heavy float coat and moved quickly to the doors that according to the deck plans led to the bar and dining room. I held my Glock in my right hand and the MP5 in my left, and motioned to the door, which Tess threw open. I burst inside the barroom, but before I had a chance to shoulder-roll, I tripped over something on the floor and found myself staring into the face of someone with a third eye in his forehead.

  Vasily Petrov turned away from the image on the video monitor. Even in the dim underwater lights of the garage, he recognized the man and the woman. Viktor was right; he should have killed them at Tamorov’s house.

  Gleb said, “It appears that we have been boarded, Colonel.”

  “Viktor will kill them.”

  “He has not killed them. He has only managed to kill Arkady, who was not a moving target with a gun.”

  Petrov ignored the sarcasm and stared through the windshield, fixated on the lighted skyline of Lower Manhattan. He would have enjoyed seeing the post-apocalyptic photographs and news footage of the nuclear wasteland, but that was not to be, though his father would see them and be proud of his son’s sacrifice.

  Gleb had set the autopilot on a course to bring The Hana to the ferry terminal at the tip of Manhattan, so Gleb was no longer needed. But Petrov wanted more speed, so he said, “Full speed, Captain.”

  “How do we get off this ship?”

  Petrov was prepared for the question and replied, “We don life vests and jump.” He added, “When we come ashore, we will go to our car—or find a taxi to take us to the diplomatic residential complex in the Bronx, where we will be safe.” He glanced at Gleb to see if he was believing any of that.

  Gleb pointed out, “We will not get far in the water before the Americans capture us, or the explosion kills us.”

  “I know what I am doing, Captain.”

  “And I know what you are doing.”

  Gleb turned on the radar and looked at the screen. There were now four craft within a few hundred meters of The Hana, and overhead he could hear a helicopter. He said to Petrov, “We are surrounded by hostile craft, and there are at least two Americans with weapons onboard.” He looked at Petrov. “It is over.”

  Petrov stared at the Manhattan skyline.

  “It is over, Colonel.”

  “It is within reach, Captain.” He took the arming device from his pocket.

  “Yes, if we intend to die in a nuclear explosion. I do not.” He said to Petrov, “Give me that thing in your hand.”

  Petrov looked at Gleb and saw that Gleb had his pistol pointed at him.

  Gleb repeated, “Give me that thing in your hand.”

  Petrov held out the arming device. “Do you mean this thing? Or…” Petrov drew his Makarov from his pocket. “… this one?”

  Gleb pulled the trigger on his pistol and was surprised to hear a dull thud.

  Petrov said, “We seem to have a problem today with malfunctioning guns.” He aimed at Gleb’s face and fired a bullet between his eyes. Gleb’s head snapped back and he fell to the deck.

  Petrov pocketed his pistol and took Gleb’s place at the helm. He looked at the autopilot light. The ship’s speed and course were set, and if he did nothing, The Hana would continue toward the tip of Manhattan Island at ten knots. But if he pushed the throttles forward for more speed, the autopilot would disengage and he would have to steer the ship himself. He wanted more speed, but he didn’t want to cancel Gleb’s pre-set course, in case he had to leave the bridge—or if he was killed. All he had to do now was reset the timer on the nuclear device.

  The autopilot display showed that The Hana at this speed would be close to the tip of Manhattan in less than fifteen minutes. He looked at the clock on the dashboard: 06:11. He reset the detonation time on the arming device to 06:27, then did the same with the backup device. He dropped the two arming devices on the deck and put a bullet into each one, sealing not only his own fate but the fate of the City of New York. He would have also put a bullet into his own head, so he didn’t have to wait for death, but he wanted to watch the skyline getting closer as the minutes ticked off. Perhaps, he thought, there would be a moment of incandescent beauty at the instant of nuclear
fission. This was the way to die.

  Well, I thought, if you gotta die, it’s good to die in a bar.

  I didn’t know who these people were, but I knew they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  With Tess close behind, I led the way into the dining room, and I saw two more bodies on the floor. I also noticed that the table was set for ten, but the guests were still lingering over cocktails.

  I pulled the deck plans from my pocket and Tess shone her penlight on them. I could see an area marked VESTIBULE where there was an elevator and a spiral staircase that connected the decks toward the front of the yacht, and we headed quickly in that direction, guns drawn.

  We got to the vestibule and I unslung my MP5. You never take an elevator in a tactical situation, and I whispered to Tess, “I go up the stairs face first, you follow ass first.”

  I climbed the stairs, two at a time, my MP5 to my front, and Tess followed, climbing the stairs backwards, covering our rear with her Glock pointed at the base of the staircase.

  I had no idea how many hostiles were aboard this ship, but there was a minimum of two. Petrov and Gorsky. And there was probably a Russian skipper aboard. There could also be a few other SVR killers who came aboard along with the Russian captain and the nuke, but maybe not if Moscow wanted to limit the number of people who knew about this. Which was why we found Urmanov waiting to die. So hopefully the only other Russians aboard were the party girls, and based on what I saw in the barroom, the party was over.

  And then there was the crew. Maybe twenty of them. Where were they? Could Petrov and Gorsky have whacked them all? If so, Petrov was the worst ship passenger since Count Dracula.

  I reached the vestibule on the salon deck and dropped to one knee as I swept my MP5 around the dark space. The ship was very quiet and I could hear my breathing.

  Tess backed up the staircase and into the vestibule, her Glock still pointed down the stairs.

  The next deck was the bridge where the ship’s office and captain’s quarters were located, and I stood and moved toward the spiral stairs.

  Tess, however, moved toward the glass doors of the salon and motioned me to follow.

  Well, you’re supposed to check out everything to make sure you’re not leaving hostiles behind you, but in my head I heard a timer ticking.

  Petrov’s handheld radio beeped and Gorsky said, “I am not sure they are still here.”

  Petrov replied, “In any case you must stay there and guard the device and kill anyone else who comes aboard from the swimming platform.”

  Gorsky did not reply immediately, then said, “The Americans will start boarding over the sides, and in force—”

  “I see no craft from the bridge,” though he did see them on the radar.

  “But they know who we are, Colonel, and why we are here.”

  “It is too late for them, Viktor.”

  Again, there was a silence, then Gorsky said, “It is also too late for us.”

  Petrov did not reply.

  “Are we going to die?”

  “Yes, we are going to die.”

  Gorsky said nothing, so Petrov advised, “Be brave. Stay at your post—as Captain Gleb is doing.” He reminded Gorsky, “We cannot be taken prisoner. We cannot betray our country.” He assured Gorsky, “Your family will be taken care of. If you do your duty.”

  Again, Gorsky said nothing, and Petrov had nothing more to say to him, so he signed off and turned his attention to the radar and the windshield, confident that Viktor Gorsky would do his duty. And if not, it didn’t matter because there was literally nothing that could stop The Hana at this point, except perhaps a naval cannon. But even if the Americans had a warship in the area, would they take the risk of firing on the ship that they suspected had a nuclear device onboard?

  Petrov stared at the approaching skyline, then glanced at the Statue of Liberty in the harbor. “Yob vas.”

  I followed Tess into the long salon. She stopped and took a deep breath. “Oh my God…”

  So as it turned out, Tasha and her friends were just throwaway props, easily expendable in the pursuit of some psychotic goal of world domination. Well, Buck and I agreed on another thing—the Russians needed closer watching.

  There was nothing more to see there, so we returned to the vestibule and approached the spiral staircase carefully, knowing that at least one person was on the bridge deck—and also knowing that these people carried submachine guns and knew how to use them.

  We listened for a sound at the top of the stairs, but all I heard was that ticking in my head.

  I made a tactical decision and said to Tess, “The only chance we have of stopping this fucking nuke from leveling Manhattan is if we split up. I go back to the tender garage, kill Gorsky, pump the garage dry, and try to disarm that thing. You go up to the bridge and see if you can get rid of whoever is up there and turn this ship toward the middle of the harbor.” I looked at her in the dim light and I could see she understood that this was our only play. She nodded.

  “And if you get a chance, jump ship.”

  She looked at me and our eyes met. “Well… nice working with you, Detective.”

  “Yeah. You too.” I promised, “I’ll buy you that drink later.”

  She started up the spiral staircase toward the bridge, and I moved quickly down the stairs to the lower deck.

  Well, there are good plans and there are desperate plans. Petrov, too, had a desperate plan that obviously included dying for his country. He could have stopped the ship and raised the white flag, or he could have jumped overboard. But he wasn’t doing that, so neither were we.

  Tess Faraday stopped near the top of the spiral staircase, noting that the bridge door was closed and that the other two doors in the vestibule were also shut.

  She climbed the last few steps and swept the vestibule with her Glock, noticing blood trails on the floor that led to the captain’s quarters and the ship’s office, and she understood that dead bodies had been dragged into the rooms. Nothing in there to check out.

  She turned toward the bridge door. Behind that door, as Corey said, was the asshole who controlled the nuke and the asshole who controlled the ship.

  She took a deep breath, hit the entry pad, and dropped into a low crouch with her Glock aimed at the door, ready to empty her nine-round magazine. This could all be over in a minute.

  But the door did not slide open.

  She stepped back, aimed at the door, and began firing.

  Tess felt a sharp pain in her arm and realized she’d been hit by a ricochet, and that the door was armored. “Damn it!”

  An intercom speaker near the entry pad crackled, then a voice with a Russian accent said, “I am watching you on the camera. Where is your friend?”

  “Open the fucking door and put your hands in the air!”

  “I can’t hear you. Push the intercom button.”

  Tess hit the intercom button, took a deep breath, and said, “Listen… we know what you’re doing, and we know this is not an attack by the Saudis. We know all this, and if you want to start fucking World War Three—”

  “Shut up.”

  “Look… Colonel Petrov… think about—”

  “Shut up.”

  “Asshole!” Tess took her finger off the intercom button and began kicking at the door. “You bastard! Stop this!”

  There was no reply, but then Petrov’s voice came through the speaker. “You will be dead in thirteen minutes.”

  I ran through the dark passageway on the lower deck between the staterooms, and at the end of the passageway were the double doors that led to the garage—and to Viktor Gorsky and the nuke.

  I gripped my MP5 in my right hand and threw open a door, then dove into a prone position and scanned the darkness.

  I could hear the blood pounding in my ears, but that was all I could hear, and I could see nothing except some moonlight coming through the doors that led to the swimming platform across the flooded garage.

  Okay, I’d outflanke
d Gorsky, but where was he?

  If I couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see me. But he had to have heard me diving through the door and hitting the deck, so he knew approximately where I was, and I expected to see the flash of his MP5 and hear the bullets smacking into the deck around me—or into me. I tried to control my breathing, but it sounded too loud. Someone had to make a move. But time was still on Gorsky’s side, and he didn’t have to do anything. Unless he’d decided he didn’t want to be standing at ground zero when the nuke blew. So maybe he’d put on a life vest and gone off the swimming platform, leaving me alone with the nuke. File that under wishful thinking.

  I rose slowly to one knee and suddenly the underwater lights came on, and I turned quickly toward the catwalk. And there was Viktor Gorsky, not twenty feet away, aiming his submachine gun at me.

  I knew I was dead, but Gorsky seemed to hesitate for half a second, or maybe the light momentarily blinded him. I used that half second to dive over the side of the dock into the water, just as I saw the flash of his muzzle and heard the bullets impacting on the dock where I’d been.

  I sank to the bottom of the illuminated water and saw bullets coming at me, but they lost their velocity before they traveled a foot into the water.

  I found traction on the submerged deck and I half walked and half swam toward the catwalk. I was running out of breath, but if I surfaced for air I’d be inhaling hot lead.

  Gorsky kept firing into the water, desperately trying to overcome the laws of physics. He was losing his cool.

  I got under the catwalk and hoped that Gorsky would not think of the only thing he could do to save his ass, which was to jump off the catwalk and join me in the water. But he didn’t think of that fast enough and I extended my arm until the submachine gun was out of the water and aimed straight up at the catwalk’s floor grate and squeezed the trigger, hoping the MP5 really could fire when wet.

  I felt the submachine gun bucking in my hand, and I looked up through the water to see Gorsky lying facedown on the catwalk, hopefully with a few rounds in his balls and up his ass. Surprise!

  The water around me was turning red, and I surfaced, took a deep breath, then reached up and grabbed the edge of the catwalk. Gorsky’s face was right above mine, and his eyes were open, staring down at me through the grate, and his lips were moving. I put the muzzle of my MP5 to his mouth and pulled the trigger.