by Brian Drake
“Great landing,” she said, unstrapping the safety belts holding him to the seat. He groaned as she helped him exit. Nina placed McConn on the ground, flat on his back, and bundled up her jacket for a pillow.
He started shaking. Going into shock. Nina rummaged through the clutter in the back cargo area and found a blanket. She threw it over him.
Nina grabbed her cell and called for help. She could explain things to the local law enforcement once paramedics had secured McConn. She told the police operator that her helicopter had crashed, leaving the pilot injured.
Then she dialed Number One on Dane’s phone.
“Mr. Dane?” the old man said.
“No, the better half.”
“Ah, Miss Talikova. What’s wrong?”
She told him Dane was alone on the Russian ship with Arkady, who was getting away with the laser weapon. She had help on the way for her situation, but Steve needed help for his.
“I’ll alert the Coast Guard, Miss Talikova. Help is on the way.”
“You just snap your fingers, huh?”
“A lot of people owe me favors. I’ll be in touch.”
The call ended and Nina checked on McConn. Still conscious, breathing hard but steadily.
“How bad is it?” she said.
“I’m lying on a rock. Hurts worse than my leg.”
Sirens in the distance.
“Hang in there, help is coming.”
A COAST Guard P3-C Orion, out of Clearwater, Florida, turned from its southerly direction and headed into the gulf at full throttle.
The pilot, Commander Greg Macedo, a twenty-year veteran of the Guard, had received the radio call directly from his superior back at HQ. Drop everything and head for these coordinates. Look for a cargo ship. Observe and report. A pair of choppers with two squads from the Atlantic Strike Team was also on the way.
Macedo and his co-pilot, Chief Warrant Officer Mitch Storey, didn’t argue. “Probably drug dealers,” Macedo said. Storey’s calculations on the GPS showed that at average speed, the target would hit Cuban waters in just under three hours.
Commander Macedo figured it was a big target if two squads of Guard commandos were required. CWO Storey said they’d have the perfect seat for the show.
Time to target: thirty minutes.
DANE STARTED feeling better after a while but also began to shiver because of the wet clothes. He sat up and tore off his shirt, buttons flying, the wet fabric ripping easily. His bare upper body, still wet, felt much colder exposed. But now he had formed his action plan, and the time had come to put it to work.
He couldn’t go to Russia, of course, and not only because he hated the taste of borscht.
Dane stood up and moved his legs about, testing his freedom of movement. While he could run, the tight slacks clung to his skin, limiting his speed. He had an idea for fixing that but first needed a knife.
He regarded the door a moment. The usual tricks to get the guard’s attention wouldn’t work. A slight change to an old routine might prove useful, however. Dane pounded on the door.
“Hey!”
“What?” the guard said from the other side.
“I need a bucket. I don’t think Arkady wants to clean piss out of the carpet.”
No reply.
Dane banged a fist on the door. “Hey!”
Silence.
Dane stepped back with hands on hips. Maybe he was plain out of luck. Was borscht really that bad?
The guard knocked. “Get back.”
“Okay.”
The door opened and the trooper placed a small bucket on the floor. Dane snatched it up.
“This won’t work.”
“You wanted a bucket.”
“It won’t work.”
“Why?”
“Because your head won’t fit.”
The guard clawed for his sidearm as Dane brought the bucket up and down onto his head. The rim of the bucket jammed on the guard’s skull like a fez. He cried out and Dane slammed a fist into his solar plexus. The guard doubled over as Dane brought his knee up into his face. Teeth crunched. Dane let the man fall, yanked off the bucket and hit him with it again. The guard lay flat, unconscious.
Dane shut the door, then knelt to examine the guard’s gear. Combat harness with radio. Handgun: a SIG-Sauer P-226. Submachine gun: SR-2 Veresk, a Russian make. Spare ammo. Dane also found a very sharp pocketknife and started cutting the slacks above the knee. By the time he discarded the scraps, he’d turned the pants into crude shorts with jagged cuffs. High fashion. He next stripped the trooper of his gear. He found the radio and held it in his hand as though it were solid gold.
He had to sink the ship. The best way to do that was to find Trent’s weapon and use it to blast a hole through the bottom. If he was a laser weapon, where would he hide? Roxana Cavallos had landed the CH-47 near the bow. The weapon had to be underneath. The superstructure, where he’d been taken, was at the stern. Dane had to make his way along the entire length of the ship.
He took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway, a commando in short pants. Maybe the ungodly would laugh themselves to death and save him the work of shooting them.
Stranger things had happened.
15
Act of War
DANE ENTERED a small room bare of furniture but filled with empty boxes and obviously broken and inoperative equipment, old computers and panels—junk. At the next door he peeked out to see an empty hallway. Fluorescent lighting in the ceiling, yellow walls, thin carpeting. It looked like any office hallway. Other doors lined the hall. Dane left the junk room, his wet socks squishing in his equally wet shoes. He heard no voices or activity; no light crept from under any of the other doors. At the end of the hall he saw a port window and squished over to look out. Still some daylight left. He appeared to be on the middle level of the superstructure. Going back the way he had come, he found a stairwell behind one of the doors.
Dane paused to listen. No obvious sounds but the low throb of the engines far below. Nothing on the radio.
He could venture up and try to take the bridge, then wait for the cavalry. Very tempting. If the other troops around the ship made a counter-attack, he’d have very few options. On a battleship he could simply lock the doors, but he had no idea if the cargo ship was similarly equipped. Hell, the hallways had carpeting. Navy ships did not. At least not the ones he’d visited.
Dane started down the stairwell. Some chatter came over the radio. Hourly security check. The head of the security team called out to each squad, who answered, and when the boss started repeating a name, Dane knew his time was now very limited. The boss was calling the trooper Dane had conked. The head of security communicated with another team, and Dane heard enough of the conversation to know the team was on its way to investigate.
Assuming the team was close, the stairwell might well become a death trap. Dane found the safety on the Veresk and switched it to Fire.
He advanced down the steps, pausing at each landing. When he reached the third landing down from where he had started, a hatch below squeaked open. Two troopers, talking. Dane squatted in the corner. The troopers started up, their boots scraping on the steps. Dane tucked the Veresk’s stock into his shoulder. The boots grew louder.
The troopers’ heads appeared first as they reached the landing below and turned to come Dane’s way. Dane fired, the Veresk loud in the confined space, the muzzle flash blinding. He let off the trigger. The two troopers lay dead on the landing.
Dane hustled forward, stepping over the bodies, and down the next flight of stairs. He passed the open hatch. A stencil on the hatch read “Level D.” How many levels till he reached the area below decks?
The radio sparked to life. Somebody reporting the shooting. Names were called and repeated, over and over. Then the alarm sounded, a loud Klaxon, and Dane moved faster. At Level F he opened the hatch to figure out his location. Another hallway. He started down again and stopped. A hatch below clanged open and boots rushed
up the stairs. Dane ran back to Level F and entered the hallway, closing the hatch. No lock.
He dashed down the hall to a door, turned the knob and entered.
THE HEAD of security continued to blather over the radio.
Marco Cavallos listened in his cabin with growing irritation.
“What do you think?” Roxana said.
“Dane got out. If he isn’t going for the bridge, he’ll head for the weapon.”
“He won’t make it to the hold. Too far to go.”
“It’s Steve Dane we’re talking about.”
“He’s alone.”
“That just makes him even more dangerous.”
Cavallos picked up a phone from the wall and dialed Arkady’s cabin.
“Yes?” the Hawk said.
“Are you listening to the mess on the radio?”
“Yes.”
“Dane has more than likely escaped.”
“Agreed.”
“Tell the captain to put me in charge.”
“What can you do that his men can’t?”
“Think like Dane.”
The radio crackled again, urgent chatter from troops on the top deck. Captain Sokolov responded with an acknowledgment.
“Is it the Navy?” Cavallos said.
“Coast Guard,” Arkady said. “You can bet the Navy will follow. I’ll tell the captain to put you in charge of chasing Dane.”
DANE ENTERED the room off the hall and startled the two sailors inside who were sitting at tables against the wall; one jumped up and rushed Dane while the other reached for a phone. Dane clubbed the charging sailor with the Veresk SMG, stepping aside as the man collided with the wall. Dane closed the gap to the second man as he hurriedly dialed. A second swing of the SMG knocked the sailor out cold. He collapsed onto his desk and then fell to the floor.
Dane glanced at their paperwork and glowing computer monitors but saw nothing of value in the Cyrillic notes. The emergency map of the ship that hung on the wall grabbed his attention, and he eagerly studied it. Chatter over the radio. Dane lowered the volume and listened. Somebody up top had spotted an AWACS plane. Probably a Coast Guard unit already on patrol. Redirected by The Trust?
Dane examined the map some more, looking for the engine control room. Now that the AWACS had found them, Dane didn’t want the ship to slip away before the heavy hitters arrived.
Another conversation over the two-way. Cavallos was taking over the search for the prisoner. The captain ordered all troops to Level B.
Of course, they knew he was listening.
He wasn’t going to just walk into an ambush, but he might as well make sure they were short a few guys.
Dane looked at the map once more, left the room, and went down the hall to the stairwell door. Two troopers were on their way. Dane leaned against the doorway and fired a burst. The shots echoed loudly and whined off the steel walls to bounce back and forth, one bullet cutting through one of the troopers. The other ascended faster. Dane fired another trio of rounds that brought down the trooper.
Dane ran down two levels of stairs and pulled open the hatch to the engine room. Weapon to his shoulder, he moved forward and scanned left to right. The noise level in the crowded space was deafening, the growl of the engines filling the room. Pipes climbed up the walls and across the ceiling, pumps and electronics units covering the rest of the space. Dane checked the wall alcoves, the empty adjoining workshop. Not even a skeleton crew?
Dane squeezed between pieces of equipment to a railing. Over the side and one level down, he saw the engine. It took up most of the floor, a long cylindrical cocoon with pipes arcing over the top. The loud throb shook the floor and the rail. Dane crossed to the control room, more electronics consoles along the wall. He looked for a big red off switch, but of course it wasn’t that easy. A turret-style desk at one end seemed the most promising spot, and he did find an emergency cutoff button shielded by a plastic cover. He flipped the cover and pressed the button. Another alarm sounded, two short blasts, then the beast one level below shuddered. The room shook. Then the motor closed down with a sigh. The panels lit up with flashing lights, computer monitors displaying various prompts and awaiting action, but the ship had now effectively stopped. It might be only a brief delay, but he would take that.
Dane slipped out of the control room and stopped short. He wasn’t alone any longer. Four troops rushed into the engine room. Dane dove for cover as their assault weapons spit flame.
THE SHOTS bounced around the engine room, one striking a wall pipe. The pipe cracked and steam hissed from the opening.
Dane crawled on his stomach, catching glimpses of the troopers’ legs as he peeked around the cluster of now quiet pumps he hid behind. The troops made no sound.
The steam continued hissing, a layer of it gathering below the ceiling.
Dane rose and fired at one of the troopers, stitching his chest. Dane dropped and moved forward to another hiding spot. Return fire echoed, ricochets bouncing in deadly random directions. A stray shot struck a wall panel, which exploded and sent a puff of black smoke into the steam cloud.
The steam cloud started to spread. Dane fired two blind bursts to let the ricochets drive the troopers to cover. He ran for the rail overlooking the engine, found a ladder and climbed down, breathing hard as he hustled quickly down the rungs. On the lower level he reloaded the SMG and ran for the hatch on the opposite side. He looked back to see the three remaining troops rushing the rail. He hit the floor and rolled under the engine as they opened fire. He aimed out from underneath and fired back, the motor’s heat only inches from his skin. One trooper fell. The others ran for the ladder. Dane rolled out, jumped up and shot the trooper coming down. As the body hit the floor, the other, still at the rail, fired. One of his shots struck Dane’s weapon, splitting open the action and blazing a furrow across the back of Dane’s right hand. Dane dropped the weapon and ran at a crouch along the length of the engine, taking out the SIG pistol and firing twice at the last trooper, who fell backward off the ladder and struck the floor with a loud thud.
Dane ran to the troopers and collected both Veresk submachine guns and their ammo. He jammed the SIG-Sauer in his belt. With one Veresk slung across his back and the other in hand, he ran back to the hatch and slipped through, finding another narrow passage, a new set of steps ahead. Dane’s shoes squished less as he ran down the steps, and the radio remained silent.
ARKADY JOINED Captain Sokolov on the bridge. The captain ran the bridge with three other sailors, including their chief engineer. The three sailors sat at their assigned positions while Sokolov peered through binoculars at the sky.
Arkady ran to the bridge when he heard the engines halt. The ship, stopped, rocked with the waves.
“The plane is only circling,” Sokolov reported.
The chief engineer tried to get the troops in the engine room on the radio; no reply.
Cavallos radioed that they had the DEW surrounded and secured.
Arkady folded his arms. “Is there a way to shoot down that plane?”
Sokolov gave him a shocked expression. “That would be an act of war.”
“I’ve already committed one act of war already today.”
The chief engineer said, “I’m working through the overrides to restart the engines. As far as I can tell, the engine hasn’t been damaged.”
None of that was good enough for Arkady, and he said so before turning to find an empty chair at one of the consoles. He sat down slowly.
THE CHIEF engineer clapped his hands. “Engine running!”
The floor rumbled as the motor reached full power. The captain ordered the helmsman to resume course. The sailor punched buttons on his console and eased the throttle lever forward.
Arkady didn’t leave his chair, and said, “Can we make international waters before American ships arrive?”
“At full throttle, I think so.”
“I don’t want you to think.”
“The engines will take it,” the
chief engineer said. He read more information on his monitors. “No damage; he just turned it off.”
“We’ll get there then,” Sokolov said.
The helmsman said, “Will the Americans sink us, sir?”
Arkady answered. “They won’t, but Dane might.”
“Would he take that chance?” Sokolov said.
“He’ll die with us,” Arkady said. “He stopped the ship to buy time, but now he’ll need another plan. It’s imperative that Cavallos stop him before he reaches the laser. That’s the only way he can sink this ship.” Arkady took out his two-way. “Cavallos.”
“Here, sir.”
“Dane’s coming your way.” The Hawk raised his voice. “Aren’t you, Mr. Dane?”
“Probably,” came Dane’s reply. “With the cavalry on the way, I might just find a place to sit and watch.”
“You’ll only be committing suicide if you try and stop us,” Arkady said.
“I’ve survived too long to be scared off by talk like that. Hey, Cavallos, put the kettle on for me.”
“You will indeed receive a proper welcome,” Cavallos said.
Arkady turned off the radio in disgust.
16
Let’s Have a Blast
DANE STEPPED through another hatch and looked down the long, narrow passage that would take him to the ship’s bow. He started forward with an SR-2 Veresk in either hand, one pointed behind him and the other straight ahead. Nowhere to go in this passage, so any fight here could be his last. The walkway accommodated only one person, with the hull on one side and the inner wall of the interior storage bay on the other.
Dane advanced with confidence tempered by caution. Cavallos, his wife and remaining troops would be in the holding bay with Trent’s laser. The fight could end there. For somebody.
THE HOLDING bay containing the M-113 with its mounted DEW also held stacked barrels and wooden crates. Just enough of a load to show customs if need be. For Cavallos it made a nice battleground. Plenty of cover. He had positioned himself and Roxana so they faced the connecting hatch between the bay they occupied and its immediate neighbor. That was one way Dane could enter. The other hatch was across the hold and let out on the passageway. The other three troopers with Cavallos watched that hatch.