Death Ship

by Joseph Badal

  DEATH SHIP

  JOSEPH BADAL

  SUSPENSE PUBLISHING

  DEATH SHIP

  by

  Joseph Badal

  DIGITAL EDITION

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Suspense Publishing

  Joseph Badal

  COPYRIGHT

  2015 Joseph Badal

  PUBLISHING HISTORY:

  Suspense Publishing, Paperback and Digital Copy, November 2015

  Cover Design: Shannon Raab

  Cover Photographer: iStockphoto.com/MR1805

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  OTHER BOOKS BY

  JOSEPH BADAL

  STAND-ALONE THRILLERS & MYSTERIES

  THE PYTHAGOREAN SOLUTION

  SHELL GAME

  ULTIMATE BETRAYAL

  BORDERLINE

  DANFORTH SAGA

  EVIL DEEDS (#1)

  TERROR CELL (#2)

  THE NOSTRADAMUS SECRET (#3)

  THE LONE WOLF AGENDA (#4)

  SHORT STORIES

  FIRE & ICE

  ULTIMATE BETRAYAL

  THE ROCK

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to the men and women of the United States Military and of the United States Intelligence Community for all they have done, continue to do, and will do to protect the American people and their way of life from those who demean the value of human life.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  As always, I want to thank the readers of my previous novels. Your support of my work makes the effort involved with the writing and publishing processes completely worthwhile. For those who have been kind enough to write reviews of my novels, thank you, thank you, thank you. And for those who recommend my books to their friends, I am certain there is a place in heaven waiting for you.

  I have been fortunate to have had blurbs for my novels written by many successful and prolific authors, including Parris Afton Bonds, Steve Brewer, Catherine Coulter, Philip Donlay, Steve Havill, Anne Hillerman, Tony Hillerman, Robert Kresge, Jon Land, Michael McGarrity, Michael Palmer, Andrew Peterson, Meryl Sawyer, and Sheldon Siegel. I know how busy these men and women are and it always humbles me when they graciously take time to read and praise my work.

  Special thanks go out to my friend, Steve Newton, who put hours into ensuring that Death Ship’s nautical references were accurate. You made a positive contribution.

  I also want to thank author Tom Avitabile for his suggestions that made Death Ship a better read.

  Thanks to John & Shannon Raab and the staff at Suspense Publishing for their incredible commitment and creative input to make my novels successful. Your dedication and efforts on my behalf have made a great difference in my writing career.

  I want to acknowledge the crews of the U.S.S. Albuquerque, nuclear submarine, which, as of the date of publication of this work, was scheduled to be decommissioned in Fall 2015, after 33 years in service to the United States of America. I chose to honor the U.S.S. Albuquerque for its many years of service by naming the submarine in Death Ship after it.

  Finally, I want to thank all my family members for their years of encouragement, support, and advice. I especially want to thank my wife, Sara, for being my inspiration and muse.

  ACRONYM INDEX

  AIS: Automatic Identification System

  CBRN: Chemical, Biological, Radiological & Nuclear Defensive Tactics

  CIA: Central Intelligence Agency (“The Company”)

  CIWS: Close In Weapons System

  CSO: Clandestine Service Office

  DCI: Director of Central Intelligence

  DTRA: Defense Threat Reduction Agency

  DHS: Department of Homeland Security

  FBI: Federal Bureau of Investigation

  HALO: High Altitude, Low Opening parachute jump

  HUMINT: Human Intelligence (spies and informants)

  IAFIS: Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System

  ICE: Immigration & Customs Enforcement

  IS: Islamic State (Islamic State of Iraq & Syria; Islamic State of Iraq & the Levant)

  JCS: Joint Chiefs of Staff

  LRIT: Long Range Identification Tracking

  NCO: Non-Commissioned Officer

  NOC: Non-Official Cover

  NRO: National Reconnaissance Office

  NSA: National Security Agency (“The Agency”)

  SECNAV: Secretary of the Navy

  SIGINT: Signal Intelligence (electronic vs. humans on the ground)

  TAOG: Tailored Access Operations Group (NSA Division)

  VDR: Voyage Data Recorder

  PRAISE FOR JOSEPH BADAL

  “Crisp writing, masterful pacing, and characters to genuinely care about. This is what top-notch suspense is all about.”

  —Michael Palmer, New York Times Bestselling Author

  “ ‘Death Ship’ is action-adventure at its absolute best; a thinking man’s thriller that mixes in a hefty dose of heart and soul as well. Joseph Badal’s fifth and best book in his Danforth Saga maintains the epic quality of the past titles while taking his craft to a level on par with the likes of James Rollins, Steve Berry and Brad Thor. As beautifully conceived as it is wondrously structured, ‘Death Ship’ features nail-biting suspense, even as it tugs at our heart strings and leaves us ready for the next installment of the series. Not to be missed!”

  —Jon Land, USA Today Bestselling Author of “Strong Light of Day”

  “In ‘Death Ship,’ master storyteller Badal has done it again. The setting, the stakes, the exquisite attention to detail are all pitch perfect. It doesn’t get much better than this.”

  —Philip Donlay, Acclaimed Author of the Donovan Nash Series

  “ ‘Death Ship’ is the latest in line of superb thrillers from master storyteller Joseph Badal, and is an outstanding addition to his best-selling Danforth Saga. ‘Death Ship’ delves deep into the shady world of intelligence and terrorist threats, and the author writes with an authority which can only come from his personal involvement in classified missions across the globe. The reader will soon be immersed in this intense and chilling story of modern day terrorism that threatens the ancient heart of Western civilization, and destruction on an apocalyptic scale. If you haven’t read Badal before, then you should start right now.”

  —Mark Leggatt, Author of “Names of the Dead”

  “Joseph Badal’s ‘Death Ship’ (Book 5 in the Danforth Saga) is a high-octane, high-stakes thriller with exquisite suspense and non-stop action that will push your heart rate to its limit. The tension in these pages is relentless.”

  —Mark Rubinstein, Award-winning Author of “The Lovers’ Tango”

  “Terror doesn’t take a vacation in ‘Death Ship;’ instead Joseph Badal masterfully takes us on a cruise to an all too frightening, yet all too real destination. Once you step on board, you are hooked.”

  —Tom Avitabile, #1 Bestselling Author of “The Eighth Day” and “The Devil’s Quota”

  “Throw Away Your Bookmarks! You won’t have any use for them
when you read Joseph Badal’s new techno-military suspense thriller, ‘Death Ship.’ The rocket-propelled plot involving terrorists and the entire three generations of the Danforth family won’t let you put the book down between Joe’s trademark short chapters. Don’t try to read this in bed. I guarantee your spouse will wake up and complain. But if you’ve read Joe’s previous action packed thrillers—whether Danforths or standalones—you already know what to expect. This is like Tom Clancy on steroids.”

  —Robert Kresge, Author of the Award-Winning Civil War Spy Thriller “Saving Lincoln”

  DEATH SHIP

  JOSEPH BADAL

  JUNE 5-JUNE 19

  CHAPTER 1

  They called themselves Doom. Five ninja bike-riding, leather-clad high school junior football players—campus princes—who harassed, beat up, and stole from any kid unlucky enough to cross their paths. Their targets were easy. Not one ever fought back. That is, until they went after fifteen-year-old Robbie Danforth.

  There was something about Robbie that seemed to bring out the predator tendencies of the gang members. Tall, skinny, and quiet, with features that promised to turn handsome as he matured, Robbie had become Doom’s favorite target of opportunity over the past two weeks. He was a straight-A student with a stratospheric IQ, which only seemed to further aggravate them. And, best of all, Robbie Danforth was a loner. An easy target.

  The bullying began when one of the gang members demanded that Robbie give him whatever money he had on him.

  “Why?” Robbie asked.

  “Because I said so.”

  Robbie laughed and walked away.

  At the end of that day, Robbie left Fayetteville High School for his six-block walk home. Doom waylaid him beside a church as he cut across the parking lot. They knocked him down, but he got to his feet and took a wild swing at one of them, barely clipping the kid on the chin. At first the kid stepped back, surprised, then moved forward and exploded with a torrent of punches that dropped Robbie back to the ground. Then he straddled Robbie, bent down, and shouted, “Beg me to stop,” spittle spraying onto Robbie’s face. Robbie kicked at the boy but did no damage when his foot glanced off the boy’s thigh. The boy punched Robbie in the face, stepped over him, and kicked him in the side. They left a bruised and battered victim with the beginnings of a black eye, a cut above one eyebrow, empty pockets, and his books strewn around the lot. Their leader’s last words to him were, “You rat us out and things will get worse for you.”

  The gang tormented Robbie again on Friday of that week. And on two days of the following week, as well. He fought back, which only seemed to spur on their violence and abuse.

  In order to evade his tormenters, Robbie took shortcuts through backyards and varied his route home. But, on a couple occasions, the gang anticipated his moves and ambushed him. Over a two-week period, purple and yellow bruises bloomed on his chest, arms, and legs.

  Miriana Danforth was a raven-haired, half-Bulgarian, half-Gypsy beauty. Born in the Balkans, where she met Michael Danforth, a young U.S. Army officer assigned to provide refugee relief assistance during the war, she had provided intelligence that helped the CIA capture a murderous Serb general who had committed crimes against humanity. She and Michael had married a year later.

  Miriana had been on edge all day. Michael, now a one-star Army general assigned to DELTA Force, was due to return home late today from a two-week overseas mission to one or another hell-hole. The separations never got any easier. This one had been more difficult because their son, Robbie, had been quieter than usual, even withdrawn. When she heard the garage door open, she rushed to the front door of their Fayetteville, North Carolina home. “Michael,” she whispered. Then she shouted, “Robbie, your father’s home.”

  Miriana did a quick check in the foyer mirror, opened the front door, and walked outside. She moved to the detached garage and saw Michael pull his duffel from the rear of his pick-up truck. He turned as Miriana ran to him, dropped the duffel, wrapped his arms around her, kissed her, and said, “Boy, do you feel good.”

  She stepped back and ran her eyes over him. “You okay?”

  “Yep. Still got all my body parts.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. “Don’t joke about that. You’ll jinx yourself. It’s like giving yourself the evil eye.”

  Michael stepped forward and lifted her off the ground. “None of that Gypsy mumbo-jumbo.”

  Miriana laughed and pinched Michael’s side until he yelped.

  “Where’s Robbie? It’s not like him to not greet me when I come home. Is he all right?”

  “He was quieter than usual while you were gone,” Miriana said, her speech still heavy with a Serbo-Croatian accent, which became more pronounced when she was stressed. “Came home, did his homework, ate in his room.”

  “Anything out of the ordinary happen?” Michael said as he hefted his duffel off the ground and followed Miriana into the house.

  Miriana shrugged, pursed her lips. “He had a fall in gym class a couple weeks ago. Got a black eye and a small cut. Nothing else I can think of.”

  “Did the school nurse check him out?”

  “No. I bandaged the cut myself.”

  “Did the school call about the fall?”

  “No one called.”

  “That’s strange. They’re so damned frightened about law suits, you’d think someone would have called.”

  Miriana stopped and turned to Michael. She squinted and covered her mouth with her hand. “I hadn’t thought about that. Maybe I’d better go upstairs and talk with him.”

  Michael raised a hand. “Let me do it. Maybe something’s going on he doesn’t want to share with his mother.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  He shrugged. “Let me talk to him.”

  She nodded. But the worried look was still there.

  Robbie recognized the heavy knock on his door. He ignored it and continued to read an article from Scientific American on his computer—the only light in the room. Maybe his father would go away. Then a second knock. “Just a minute,” he called out after a slight pause and a heavy sigh. He stood, walked to the door, unlocked and opened it, quickly turned around, and moved back to his desk chair.

  “You okay?” his father asked as he stepped into the darkened room.

  “Sure, Dad. I’m just a little tired.”

  “You’re just tired?”

  “Yes. I’m glad the semester’s over.”

  “You told your mother you had an accident in gym class.”

  “It was nothing. I was playing basketball and—”

  Robbie covered his eyes with his hands as the overhead light went on. His father crossed the room, moved to the chair beside the desk, and sat down.

  “Why don’t you drop your hands so I can see how much damage was done in that . . . fall?”

  “It’s nothing, Dad.”

  “If it’s nothing, why are you hiding your face?”

  Robbie slowly lowered his hands.

  “Heck of a fall,” his father said. “Looks like you landed on both sides of your face.”

  Robbie hung his head.

  “Tell me what really happened.”

  FRIDAY

  JUNE 20

  CHAPTER 2

  “Looking forward to the trip?” Michael asked his son.

  Robbie nodded. “It will be good to spend time with grandma and grandpa. It ought to be fun.”

  Michael noticed there wasn’t much joy on his son’s face. It wasn’t a stretch to figure out why. Despite the fact Robbie would be with his grandparents on an Ionian cruise, out of reach of the Doom gang, he had to be depressed about the bullying he’d endured. And he was probably ashamed. Michael’s first instinct was to go after the gang members and take revenge for what they’d done to Robbie. But he knew that would cause problems for him with the law, not to mention with the U.S. Army. Uncle Sam frowned upon military officers using Special Ops skills against American citizens. He and Miriana had talked about reporting the incid
ents to the high school, but decided the school would do nothing now that the semester had ended. When she’d learned the names of the bullies, she’d said, “Those boys come from influential families. Neither the police nor the school will do a thing.” Besides, Robbie had begged his father to do nothing.

  Michael wished the Fayetteville sheriff who had helped rescue Miriana from a psychopathic Serb who had kidnapped her in retaliation for her part in the CIA operation in 1999 was still in office. That man would have done something to help. He let his anger simmer.

  Robbie felt some of the anxiety lift as his and his mother’s flight from Fayetteville approached the Baltimore/Washington International Airport. He’d almost completely put Doom out of his mind when he saw his grandparents in the airport. Almost. But anger, frustration, and shame bubbled up when he least expected it. He forced himself to smile as he hugged his grandparents. He took some comfort from the fact that by the end of the day after tomorrow he would be thousands of miles away.

  SUNDAY

  JUNE 22

  CHAPTER 3

  The rusted Kerkira was a forty-year-old tanker that looked as though paint and pure luck held her together. It was Libyan-flagged but its ownership was nearly impossible to determine—titled through a series of shadowy interlocking corporations and holding companies. The Kerkira carried a full load of crude oil from Tripoli, Libya bound for Athens, Greece. The ship’s capacity was 30,000 dead weight tons and it was just shy of two hundred meters long overall. Its cabins and various equipment rooms were situated in the superstructure that housed the bridge, all of which were located above the main deck near the ship’s stern. Oil storage took up most of the space below the main deck between the engine room and the bow.