Death Ship

by Joseph Badal

“I don’t suppose you have any idea when your boat will be returned to you?” Bob said.

  Nick Vangelos raised his chin and spread his arms in the typical Greek way of saying he didn’t have a clue. “I just want to get her back in one piece.”

  Bob was about to tell Nick the odds were not good, but he decided it would serve no purpose. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Nick. The U.S. government will make you whole regardless of what might happen.”

  Nick shrugged. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” He paused a beat. “Why don’t we all fly to Athens? I’ve got a boat coming off a charter there. We could cruise down the coast to a couple ancient Hellenic sites?”

  Bob shook his head. “Liz and Miriana want to call off this vacation and return home.”

  A sour expression came to Nick’s face.

  “What’s with the look?”

  “It’s none of my business.”

  “Go ahead. What is it?”

  “You end this trip with your grandson and you’ll always regret it. I know Robbie acted stupidly, but he’s a teenager, after all. It’s in his genetic makeup to screw up.” He laughed. “Besides, what are the odds a bunch of terrorists will board another one of my boats?”

  “And you think I’d be stupid if I went home now?”

  Nick just smiled.

  CHAPTER 36

  At 3:30 p.m., an ensign in the Sigonella Naval Base’s Command & Control Center called his boss, the base’s Intelligence Officer, and advised that the two hijacked boats had dropped anchor one mile from one another, nine miles due east of Catania. The Intel Officer then notified Rear Admiral Elijah Johnson, who rushed from his office, leaped into a Humvee parked outside, and ordered his driver to, “Drive like a maniac to the C&CC.”

  Inside the C&CC, Johnson studied the console in front of the ensign. “How long have they been there?”

  “Just a few minutes. They must have shut down their engines. The infrared heat signatures from the satellite feed are cooling.”

  Johnson paced. He knew he had to make a decision that, one way or the other, would put men’s lives in jeopardy. But if he made the wrong call, he might also screw up the mission. His gut told him that whatever the boat crews planned to do would happen after dark. But if he was wrong, and the boats moved toward the coast, he would have missed the opportunity to have the SEALs board them. He returned to the console and looked over the ensign’s shoulder.

  “Pull up a twenty-mile radius map around those boats.”

  The ensign punched in keys on his console and displayed a map that showed Catania and Sigonella to the west, and open sea to the north, south, and east, dotted with a variety of watercraft.

  “Now the satellite feed.”

  The satellite camera displayed the two hijacked boats, the boat with the DELTA team aboard, as well as numerous commercial and pleasure vessels in the general area.

  “The third boat is what, maybe fifteen miles from the other two?”

  The ensign clicked on the Zoe Mou and then dragged a line to the location of the closer of the other two boats. “Fifteen point three seven miles.”

  Johnson paced again. “Get CIA Special Ops on the line for me,” Johnson ordered. “I want to talk with Tanya Serkovic.”

  “Go ahead, Admiral Johnson.”

  “Ms. Serkovic, I assume you’ve got the satellite feed up of the two boats off Catania.”

  “That’s about all we’ve looked at for hours.”

  “What are your thoughts?”

  “I think the two boats will wait for what they assume are their comrades on the third boat. We’ve instructed General Danforth on that boat to move to within six miles of them and then to maintain position and wait for further instructions.”

  “Any thoughts about what they plan to do with the explosives?”

  “We’ve run algorithms on a range of possible targets. Assuming they don’t turn around and head east toward the Italian mainland, we think they’ll head straight for Sigonella. It would be quite a coup if they could damage one or more U.S. Navy ships and kill and injure American servicemen and women.”

  Johnson considered Serkovic’s words. The CIA’s analysis was almost identical to his own. But something just didn’t make sense.

  “Ms. Serkovic, I agree they’re waiting for the third boat to arrive. And, if I were them, I’d do nothing else until nightfall.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “But why?” Johnson asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’d have to be just plain stupid to think they can be successful. Ever since the attack on the U.S.S. Cole in 2000, in the Yemeni port of Aden, no one can get close enough to a U.S. Navy ship to do it harm. Our standing orders are to warn away a possible threat. If that threat ignores a warning, we blow it out of the water.”

  “They could still blow the bombs,” Serkovic said.

  “Yes, ma’am, they could. But all they’d accomplish is blowing themselves up.”

  Serkovic remained silent for a few seconds. “So, what would be the point?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Maybe they’re playing the odds that at least one of the boats will slip through our defenses,” Serkovic suggested.

  “Then they must believe in Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny, too.”

  “We need to get our hands on at least one of the men on those boats.”

  “I agree,” Johnson said. “But these guys have to be on a suicide mission. If we try to board them in daylight, they might just detonate the bombs and take our men with them.”

  After a slight hesitation, Serkovic asked, “Do we know for a fact the bombs are functional?”

  Johnson answered, “The device on the boat with the DELTA team was offloaded a couple hours ago onto a sub tender. There was an employee of the Defense Threat Reduction Agency in Rome for a conference. We flew him out to the sub tender by helicopter where he examined the bomb and confirmed it’s operational. All it needs is a detonator to go hot. The DTRA guy said a digital timing device was integrated into the bomb. The theory is that all six bombs—assuming there are two on each boat—would be set to blow at the same time.”

  “No remote detonation then,” Serkovic said. “That’s a break, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it’s a huge break. With remote ignition devices, they could blow the damned things the minute they spotted our men. If we can surprise the men on the boats, they won’t have time to reset the timers. That’s why I pray they don’t execute an attack until after dark.”

  “What’s the plan for capturing one of the terrorists?” Serkovic asked.

  “If we have the luxury of working at night, we’ll try to board a SEAL team on each boat from a sub.”

  “And if you don’t have that luxury?”

  “We’ll need you to order the DELTA team to move their boat up to one of the other boats and try to board it.”

  “That will work only if the hijack crews weren’t trained together. If they were, then they’ll know something is wrong when they don’t see their comrades.”

  “Pray for darkness,” Serkovic said.

  “That’s not all I’m praying for.”

  CHAPTER 37

  “I just got off the phone with Admiral Elijah Johnson,” Tanya told Michael via his satellite phone. “He believes the terrorists will wait for dark to launch an attack. We agree.”

  “That’s a belief or a hope?”

  “A little of both. In the meantime, you need to move closer to those boats, but not close enough to be seen. We don’t think they’ll do anything until all three boats are together. If we can force them to wait until nightfall, the Navy can turn a couple SEAL teams loose to board both boats.”

  “How will SEAL teams get close to those boats without being detected?”

  “Via submarine.”

  “Captain DiNatale.”

  “Jim, it’s Elijah. Are you ready to shove off?”

  “Admiral, the two SEAL teams are aboard. We’re ready for your ord
ers.”

  “Take her out and sit on the bottom below the target boats. Put a wire in the water and see if you can pick up any noise. We’ve got our fingers crossed that they’ll wait for dark before they move. If they move while it’s still light out, we might deploy a DELTA team in the area to try to board one of the boats. But we can always blow them out of the water with weapons on one of our ships. Or, I’ll have F-35/Cs take them out. But, if they’re still in place at 2130 hours, deploy the SEALs.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Zaidi Shirazi paced the deck of the cabin cruiser and peered out to sea in all directions. Even with the aid of binoculars, he couldn’t find the boat the third team had hijacked. “Where in the name of Allah are those assholes?” he muttered in Arabic.

  “What was that, Miles?” Mirza Bouladeh said. “Why are you speaking Arabic? You know our orders are—”

  “To hell with our orders,” Shirazi answered, reverting to English. “And stop calling me Miles. We’re in the middle of the fucking Ionian Sea. Who the hell will hear us?”

  Bouladeh shook his head and thought, Fucking Persian. They’re all a bunch of emotional hotheads. He changed the subject. “I wonder what happened to the third crew.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing. Maybe we should try to contact them on the satellite phone.”

  Bouladeh again shook his head. “You know that’s against procedure. We’re supposed to use the phone only to report in once a day.”

  “You sound like an old woman. The Americans can’t even protect their credit card transactions. And remember what those cretins in North Korea did to SONY. Do you actually believe they might listen to one of our phone calls?”

  “Their NSA doesn’t manage Americans’ credit card purchases. It does listen to millions of calls, however.”

  Shirazi scowled at Bouladeh. “The one good thing about this mission is that, once it’s over, I won’t have to listen to your shit anymore.”

  Bouladeh laughed. “What if there are only seventy-two virgins in all of heaven and all the martyrs have to share them. If that’s the case, we’ll see a lot of one another.”

  “You’re worse than a woman,” Shirazi screamed. “You always have to have the last word.”

  Bouladeh laughed uproariously. “I’ll go see if Amin has finished installing the detonators. Try not to do anything stupid.”

  At 2030 hours, the Zoe Mou dropped anchor six miles south of the closer of the two hijacked boats. Michael ordered four of his men to get some rest, while the other three kept watch on deck. He had just sat down in the saloon when his sat phone buzzed. He recognized the incoming number.

  “Hey, Tanya.”

  “Mike, I want you to move within view of the other boats at sunset. On the assumption the terrorists don’t move by 2130 hours, the Navy will deploy the SEAL teams. If that happens, I want you to remain in reserve to support the SEALs. They may need you to take them and whatever prisoners they capture to shore, in case the other boats are damaged.”

  “Listen, I had a thought. Let’s assume for the moment the bad guys have always intended to execute their plan after dark. What if the plan is to attack their target or targets after 2330 hours?”

  “So what?”

  “Haven’t they regularly reported in to a telephone number in Rome at that time each night for the last three nights?”

  “Oh, I see. If they were still on their boats at 2330 hours, we should presume they will check in one last time. And if the SEAL’s have subdued the two crews, the terrorists wouldn’t be able to call in.”

  “Right,” Michael said. “Which means we should consider postponing action against the terrorists until after they report in around 2330 hours. Their handler will then think everything is okay and we might learn something from listening to their calls.”

  “Have you got anyone on your team who speaks Arabic?”

  “Two guys.”

  “Okay, Mike, here’s what we’ll do. We’ll make certain NRO has its ears open for messages from the other two boats to that same number in Rome. We’ll have them broadcast the calls to your own sat phone. Then you’ll have one of your Arabic-speaking guys make an identical call to the control number on the terrorist’s sat phone.”

  “Have you got the location of the phone in Rome under observation?”

  “Yes. The NSA tracked the phone to a house a few blocks from the Vatican. We’ve had agents outside the location since yesterday, but there has been no suspicious activity around the place. As soon as anything happens where you are, we’ll take down the house. We don’t want to tip our hand until we have to.”

  “Do you have any idea who’s in the house?”

  “It’s rented to an Iranian foundation that supports students abroad.”

  “Huh! An Iranian foundation that supports Iranian students who just happen to receive phone calls from terrorists who speak Arabic. Will wonders never cease?”

  CHAPTER 38

  “Is the plan progressing?” Anwar Rastani asked.

  “Yes, Sayyid,” General Kashkari said, using a title of respect as he looked at his watch. “The teams are due to check in at 11:30 tonight, two-and-a-half hours from now. Then they will move forward at midnight.” He hunched his shoulders. “Ten minutes later, the rest will be history.”

  Kashkari smiled. “Inshallah.”

  “Yes, Allah will ensure that our plan is successful. How can it not be, for, as the Koran says, in the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful, Successful indeed are the believers.

  “Move her to within a mile of the cabin cruiser,” Michael ordered Lieutenant Campbell, as the top edge of the sun sank into the sea. “Let’s see how long it takes them to notice us.”

  Six minutes passed and then a light on the boat, which was now no more than about a mile away, flashed three times.

  “Morrell, signal her back,” Michael said.

  Morrell flashed a light three times at the other craft, which signaled back again with the same three flashes.

  “Kill the engines,” Michael rasped.

  The terrorist crew aboard the cabin cruiser clustered on deck and, in the last puny remnants of light that peeked over the horizon, stared out at the newly arrived yacht.

  Zaidi Shirazi said, “Look at the lines on that boat?” Isn’t she gorgeous?”

  “Who gives a shit?” Mirza Bouladeh said. “A few hours from now she’ll be nothing but bits and pieces of waste.”

  Amin Zarkov, a Muslim from Turkistan, expelled a contemptuous burst of air. “You two are like a married couple. You can’t agree on anything.”

  Shirazi stormed away and climbed into the pilothouse.

  Tanya Serkovic, Raymond Gallegos, and Frank Reynolds were all still in the Langley Special Ops Center as the digital clock on the wall that showed Sicily time turned over to 2245.

  Tanya had notified all interested parties that no action was to be taken against the two hijacked boats until after 2330 hours. She knew she took a risk putting off boarding the boats, but the more she thought about Michael’s suggestion that the hijackers might check in with their controller at 2330 hours, the more sense it made.

  “Frank, get Conrad Demetruk over at NSA on the phone,” Tanya said. “I want lines open with NSA, NRO, General Danforth, Admiral Johnson, and Captain DiNatale.”

  “Already done, Tanya,” Frank said. “You told me to do that fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Oh . . . .”

  Frank walked over to Tanya and whispered, “You’ve thought of everything, boss.”

  Tanya smiled at Frank. “I only wish that were true. There’s always something that slips through the cracks.”

  “We’ll see,” Frank said.

  As the minutes clicked by, the tension in the room seemed to become palpable. Then a burst of static came through one of the speakers and Tanya’s heart felt as though it had dropped into her stomach.

  “Jeez!” she whispered. She shot a glance at the wall clock: 2318 hours

  “This i
s Natalie Chang at NRO,” a voice said. “The satellite phone in Rome just went hot.”

  Two minutes passed and then Chang announced, “The two sat phones on the hijacked boats are now up.”

  “Just turned ours on, too,” Michael advised.

  Another two minutes went by. A voice that sounded slightly distorted filled the Special Ops Center. Then a stream of rapid-fire Arabic burst into the room.

  “Translation!” Tanya ordered.

  A Company translator in the room immediately responded, “Status report from Saber Team One. Surely those who persecute the believing men and the believing women, then do not repent . . .”

  “What the hell is that?” Raymond said.

  “Did you hear that, Michael?” Frank shouted.

  “Yeah, I heard it, but we’d better figure out what it is so my man can make the right call.”

  Tanya paced. The words seemed familiar. From a time and place in her past when she was a child in the Balkans.

  A minute went by and then the second boat reported in, again in Arabic.

  The translator quickly said, “Saber Team Two reporting in. They shall have the chastisement of hell . . .”

  For another few seconds, Tanya was stymied. But then it hit her. “I’ll be damned,” she shouted. “Those are quotes from the Koran. Frank, pull up Google and input the English translations of the words the two men just spoke.”

  Frank opened Google on a computer while the Special Ops Center went deathly quiet. Except for Frank’s keyboard tapping, not a sound could be heard over the connections open to Michael Danforth, Admiral Johnson at Sigonella, Commander DiNatale aboard the U.S.S. Albuquerque submarine, Conrad Demetruk at the NSA, or to Natalie Chang at the NRO.

  Frank typed in, ‘Surely those who persecute the believing men and the believing women.’ Before he could type in more, the Google site opened up several links to other sites. He clicked on the first link and read the words, ‘Verse 85.10 Celestial Stations. Surely those who persecute the believing men and the believing women, then do not repent, they shall have the chastisement of hell, and they shall have the chastisement of burning.’