A Ryan Weller Box Set Books 1 - 3

by Evan Graver

  “What are we looking at?” Larry asked.

  “Landis sent me specs for La Carranza Garza. The ship is a one-hundred-and-fifty-foot platform supply vessel once operated by SEACOR Marine. Bollinger Shipyards built Garza in Lockport, Louisiana, and she’s flagged in the Marshall Islands. She’s capable of twelve knots max and cruises at ten.”

  “How many onboard?” Jinks asked.

  Ryan consulted the computer. “Specs say crew of eleven plus two VIP bunks and sixteen passengers.”

  “Twenty-nine total souls,” Jinks added up. “How many do you figure are on the boat?”

  “I have no idea,” Ryan said. “We saw five on the RIB boat and I killed at least one of those.”

  Jinks said, “We should expect the max number of men, and for them to be heavily armed.”

  “You’re right,” Ryan agreed.

  “How do you want to divide up?” the SEAL commander asked.

  “Mango, this was your specialty. You make the call,” Ryan said.

  “We’re an eight-man force, and we’ll go with teams of two. I’ll go with Jinks. Ryan with Larry. I’m sure you guys already know who you’ll partner with.”

  “Everyone okay with that?” Ryan looked around the room and received crisp nods.

  Larry asked, “What do you have in mind, Ryan?”

  “Landis will provide us with location information. We’ll position close to the Garza with Dark Water and use the rubber raider to slip aboard her. Based on what I’m seeing on the ship’s schematics, we can bottle everyone up in the superstructure by locking the outer hatches. With surprise and speed, we can get all the doors locked on the mess deck and the port side forecastle deck before anyone knows we’re there.”

  He pointed to the port side ladderwell running up the exterior of the superstructure. “Larry and I will go straight for the bridge. From there, we can control the ship and secure the inside ladderwell. This will leave the starboard side hatch on the forecastle unsecured. With everyone pinned inside the superstructure, we might have to do some hard close-quarters battle. I think we’ll have the upper hand.”

  For the next two hours, they worked through the battle plan.

  Landis emailed more photos of the ship. Ryan pulled up the photos and read aloud the text Landis had written. “La Carranza Garza is still flagged in the Marshall Islands, but owned by a dummy corporation registered in the Seychelles. Her home port is Veracruz, Mexico. I have a research assistant tracing the dummy corps. Good luck.”

  Ryan moved the pictures of the boat to the television. They were satellite photos and others sourced from the internet. The ship’s hull was blue with orange trim, and a white superstructure crowded the vessel’s bow. Behind the superstructure was a flat cargo deck sitting low to the water line. Side by side on the deck were two rusty green shipping containers. On the port side, a large, yellow crane was mounted at the rear of the ship with its boom pointed forward over the containers.

  Larry Grove approached the television and looked closely at the pictures. “Scroll through them again,” he said.

  The men watched the slideshow again with everyone gathered around the screen.

  “Stop,” Larry commanded.

  Ryan paused on an image of the ship’s stern.

  “We go up here.” Larry pointed to the port side stern. “The crane and the cargo containers will help hide our approach. We’ll do like the Somali pirates and latch a ladder onto the handrails. It also gives us a defensible position if we’re spotted.”

  Agreement was unanimous.

  “I don’t want to step on your toes, Mango,” Larry said. “I know this is your specialty, but we do this stuff, too.”

  Mango shook his head to show his feelings were not hurt. “Happy for the help.”

  “Okay,” Larry continued. “Jinks and Mango will go up the starboard side with Vodden and Paddington. Kellogg, you and Kimber will follow me and Ryan up the port side. From there, we’ll follow our battle plan.”

  The laptop pinged and Ryan checked it. Another email from Landis.

  “Landis says the Garza has left Veracruz and she’s headed out into the Gulf on a southeastern tack.” Ryan sat in front of the keyboard and rapidly typed in a website. “Landis says we can use Marinetracker.com to follow the Garza.” He sent the website up to the big screen. “I’ll get Greg to head us in the Garza’s direction, and we’ll rendezvous with it by nightfall.”

  Chapter Forty

  Senior Chief Roland Jenkins held the throttle wide open on the Zodiac FC 470, a fifteen-foot black rubber raiding craft, ubiquitous to special forces around the world. Ahead of him in the boat, the seven other raiders hunkered against the gunwales. Six-foot waves pounded the little boat, causing the SEAL to rev the motor up the waves and chop the throttle as they dropped down the backside. Spray blasted over the bow, soaking them and their gear.

  It was a perfect night for boarding operations. Rain obscured vision and deadened sounds coming off the water. The Garza was steaming upwind, which would further conceal any motor noise the Zodiac’s silenced outboard made. Ryan hoped the big waves didn’t cause a problem boarding.

  “Come starboard a degree, Jinks,” Vodden said over their wireless communications gear.

  “Copy,” Jinks replied and shifted the engine tiller. The boat rode up the waves sideways and slid down into a trough. Several times they had to lean hard to starboard to prevent the boat from capsizing.

  After running hard most of the afternoon, Greg had located the Garza on radar and shadowed the ship until nightfall. The men had gone overboard into the Zodiac while a passing storm front provided perfect cover.

  A quarter-mile out, they spotted the Garza’s running lights. Jinks turned the Zodiac onto an intercept course to bring them behind the Garza.

  Five minutes later, Jinks had the Zodiac pressed against the back of the larger boat as they both pitched and rolled. Jinks constantly worked the throttle to keep the Zodiac steady.

  Kimber held out the hook with an attached rope ladder, and it banged off the railing as the Zodiac fell away on a wave. He tried again as Jinks brought the boat up close. This time, the young SEAL hooked the railing. He dropped the pole and climbed the rope ladder.

  Kimber carried a line attached to the Zodiac and he used it to hold the Zodiac steady while the other men climbed the ladder. When Ryan was over the rail, he and Paddington hauled the little boat tight against the Garza’s stern so Jinks, the last man in the Zodiac, could shut off the motor and climb up the ladder. Once he was on board the Garza, they used the line to pull the Zodiac over the rounded stern and tied it to the railing. The boat was out of the water and invisible to anyone who might walk by.

  Ryan expected guards to step out at any moment. The boarding party had expected roving teams of sentinels as well as lookouts posted on the superstructure. So far, they’d seen no one. He couldn’t blame the lookouts for staying out of the driving rain. He licked the water off his scabbed lips and adjusted his grip on the MP5.

  Cautiously, they eased forward along the cargo containers. Rubber-soled boots silenced their footsteps and the wind carried away any other sounds. The crew had strung a tarp between the superstructure and the cargo containers to provide shade and a convenient spot for them to get out of the rain. Two sentries huddled under the tarp, smoking cigarettes, with their rifles dangling from slings. Larry shot one and Jinks took out the other from his position on the far side of the ship.

  Behind the sentries was a hatch into the mess room. Kellogg stepped forward and slipped a metal bar into the wheel in the hatch’s center to prevent it from opening. Simultaneously, Kellogg moved around Ryan and Larry to jam the hatch under the ladderwell. Jinks jammed the galley hatch. Now, the only way into the mess was via a ladderwell inside the center of the superstructure. That same ladderwell ran from the pilothouse at the top of the superstructure to the hold in the ship’s bottom.

  “Go,” Larry whispered. He and Ryan charged up the stairs, past the forecastle deck,
to the pilothouse. Larry halted so he could survey the scene. Seeing all was clear, they moved to the pilothouse hatch. Larry ripped it open and held it as Ryan bounded through the opening and braced himself against the roll of the ship.

  To Ryan’s left were big rain-lashed windows facing the bow. Under them was a console laden with electrical instruments. Just behind the console was the forward navigation station. In the room’s center was the ladderwell connecting all decks from the hold to the pilothouse. To his right, the room narrowed to box in an aft steering station, rear electronics console, and windows. Across the room was a second entry hatch, and aft of the hatch was a cabinet with a coffee maker beside a bench.

  A guard standing by the coffee maker brought his gun up. Ryan used his silenced MP5 to shoot the man twice in the chest. The guard stumbled back against the bulkhead and slumped to the floor.

  Larry leaped into the room to back up Ryan and left the hatch unlatched. It slammed open and shut with the rolling of the ship.

  “Secure that hatch,” a giant of a man thundered from behind the forward navigation station. Ryan took a second to focus on the speaker while he trained his gun on a man sitting on the bench. The man behind the nav station was six feet six with broad shoulders and narrow hips.

  “Are you the captain?” Larry demanded. He trained his gun on the tall man.

  “Yes,” he replied while Ryan secured his man with zip cuffs on the wrists and ankles.

  Ryan had a sudden urge to do the scene from Captain Phillips when the Somali pirate looked at Phillips and said, “I’m the captain, now,” but he held his tongue. It was not the time or the place for his dark humor. Instead, he secured the pilothouse hatch.

  “We’re taking control of this ship, Captain,” Larry informed him. “We believe you’re trafficking firearms into the United States.”

  “I’m not a U.S. citizen and we’re not in U.S. waters,” the man retorted.

  Ryan made the captain sit on the bench and secured him with more zip cuffs.

  Larry smirked. “I’m not here to arrest you. I could toss you overboard for all I care.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  While Ryan and Larry commandeered the bridge, Mango and Jinks moved up to the forecastle deck, where they found Kellogg and Kimber jamming shut the port side forecastle hatch. Jinks, Mango, Vodden, and Paddington stacked up at the forecastle’s corner and eased around to the front of the superstructure.

  On the opposite side of the ship, two of the ship’s company rounded the corner of the forecastle holding AK-47s. The roar of a fully automatic rifle nearly deafened Mango and the SEALs, and the brilliant blaze of fire from the gun’s muzzle lit up the night.

  Mango went flat to the deck behind a kneeling Jinks while Vodden dove behind the anchor windlass. Vodden slid on the rain-slickened steel deck and slammed into the steel windlass with his shoulder. The ship rolled and he crashed into the windlass again. He moaned as he felt his shoulder dislocate. He looked over at his partner Paddington, who had fallen back behind the bulkhead with Kimber and Kellogg.

  “Stay down,” Paddington commanded and stepped around the corner. He shot the gunman with a controlled burst of fire. The gunman staggered backward and hit the railing. Jinks shot him twice more and the man fell over the side of the ship.

  The second gunman, who had ducked behind the forecastle’s steel bulkhead, jumped out and opened fire. Before the four men on the forecastle deck could take out the new shooter, Larry stepped onto the bridge wing and shot the gunman dead from above.

  “Secure that forecastle hatch!” Larry said over the communications system. He gazed down at the dead crewman he’d just shot. “Vodden, Paddington, join us up here in the pilothouse, and we’ll trap them in a pincer movement.”

  “I can’t,” Vodden groaned. “I separated my shoulder.”

  “Are you good?” Larry asked. “Can you move?”

  “I can move.” Everyone on the comms network heard Vodden grind his teeth.

  “Get up to the pilothouse and stand guard. Everyone else, secure the hatch.”

  “Copy,” came the response from everyone on the forecastle deck.

  Vodden held his arm as he and Paddington came onto the bridge. Ryan opened his medical blowout pack and devised a makeshift sling. Vodden leaned against the navigation table. His face was pale and covered with a sheen of sweat.

  A bullet blasted up the ladderwell and ricocheted around the bridge before shattering a side window. Rain and wind immediately saturated the bridge.

  “Keep their heads down,” Larry yelled.

  Ryan pulled his MP5 up to his shoulder and loosed a volley of bullets down the ladderwell.

  Below, full auto AK fire mixed with the sharper bark of pistols. They could hear no return fire from the silenced MP5s. What Larry and Ryan could hear was Mango, Jinks, Kimber, and Kellogg calling maneuvers over the comms net. Like true professionals, they didn’t panic and calmly kept the opposing force bottlenecked in the passageway outside the forecastle.

  “OK, Andy,” Larry said. “I’m going to set your arm and take some of the pain away.”

  Andy Vodden nodded and grimaced as his boss jerked his arm. Vodden screamed. Larry wrapped the sling around the man’s arm and neck before giving him a dose of pain killer.

  “We have to rethink our strategy,” Ryan shouted to Larry, forgetting about the comms system. More bullets flew up the ladderwell, and Ryan returned fire.

  Larry responded quietly over the comms, “Jinks, can you push those guys back inside?”

  “No way, sir. They’re pushing us back. Lots of guys with firepower. They’ll shoot us like fish in a barrel if we don’t do something quick.”

  “Stun grenades on three,” Larry said.

  “Copy, I’m throwing a frag out here.”

  “Do what you need to do, Jinks.”

  “On three, sir.”

  Ryan palmed a grenade in each hand and gave one to Larry. They pulled the pins while Larry counted. On Larry’s three-count, the grenades flew.

  Down in the forecastle deck, Ryan and Larry’s grenades bounced into opposite corners. The detonations stunned the men with brilliant flashes of light and deafening sound. Outside, the steel structure shook and rattled as shrapnel ripped through flesh and pinged off walls.

  “Advance,” Larry shouted.

  The former EOD tech bounded down the stairs, followed by the active-duty SEALs. As they descended, a hatch swung open and a man stepped into the room. Ryan dove to the deck and rolled to bring his MP5 up. Their attacker opened fire, and the next instant he pitched over backward with three bullet holes in his chest.

  Ryan turned to see Jinks, smoking gun welded to shoulder and cheek, and his stack of gun bunnies coming through the starboard hatch. The next thing he saw was Larry bent over Michael Paddington.

  Larry looked up from the prone man in front of him. “Secure the rest of the ship. Now!” His voice had a hard edge to it, and it caught Ryan off guard.

  When he stepped closer to Paddington, Ryan saw the man had taken a round through the neck. Larry had lost a SEAL on his watch. He placed a hand on Larry’s shoulder.

  “Take care of the ship,” Larry growled at Ryan.

  Ryan pulled up his weapon and turned to help the other men secure the crew with zip cuffs.

  Kimber and Kellogg tossed stun grenades into the mess deck below and followed them down. The grenades bounced off the mess door and into the bunk rooms. They stunned the men still moving about in the passageways and open rooms. Part of the crew had locked themselves in the mess. Jinks jammed the door from the outside.

  Mango accompanied Kimber and Kellogg to the engine room. They found one man standing watch over the twin 1,175-horsepower Caterpillar diesels. Kimber secured his hands with cuffs and led him to the forecastle. They left Kellogg in the engine room to keep an eye on the power plants.

  With the ship secured, the rest of the team began a systematic search of the vessel.

  La Carranza Garza’s hol
d was originally built to carry bulk diesel, chemicals, and drilling mud to and from offshore oil rigs. The mud tanks, located amidships on both sides of the central passageway, had been cut open and were now stacked with crates of rifles, pistols, and ammunition. The twin shipping containers held more firearms, including M60 and Browning fifty-caliber machine guns, and a stack of eight Russian-built Strela-3 shoulder-fired surface-to-air missiles.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Ryan climbed up to the bridge, carrying one end of the body bag containing Petty Officer Second Class Michael Paddington. Larry Grove and Roland Jenkins carried the other end. Reverently, they laid him on the bridge deck. Larry stood and saluted the fallen SEAL before turning back to business.

  “Your show now, Ryan.”

  Ryan walked to the rear of the bridge and pulled the comms unit he used to talk to the SEAL team from his ear, switching on an earpiece in his other ear. This one connected him to Floyd Landis, along with a camera Ryan wore that beamed video footage of their ship boarding to the DHS man’s office. During the raid, he could hear Landis but not speak to him. Ryan was grateful that the DHS agent had kept silent during the action.

  “Do you read me, Landis?” Ryan asked as he adjusted the earpiece and scratched at both ears. The familiar scents of salt air, blood, and excrement mingled with hot coffee. He turned to see the coffee pot full of black brew and Larry Grove pouring himself a mugful.

  “I read you five by five.”

  “Roger.” Ryan moved to the large man wearing the uniform of a ship captain. He squatted beside the bench and looked up at the man’s blue eyes. “My name is Ryan Weller. You are under arrest and will not be afforded the courtesies of the U.S. court system because the U.S. government has deemed you and your crew terrorists. They have authorized us to take you and your crew straight to Guantanamo Bay where you will be interned in a secure facility until such time when your case can be heard by a military tribunal.”