Marauder (The Oregon Files)

by Clive Cussler

  Tate focused his anger on the on-screen image and said to Farouk, “We won’t even have to show ourselves. Can you use this image to guide the torpedoes?”

  Farouk nodded. “It shouldn’t be a problem. But I don’t want to try steering them around any tight corners.”

  “Keep an eye on the webcam to make sure they don’t move.” Tate checked the map. “Once we get to the far end of the fjord, we’ll launch our torpedoes from behind the cliffs. At that point, Cabrillo won’t even know they’re coming.”

  Tate thought about his promise to Ballard. She wouldn’t be able to watch the Oregon’s final moments. But he would. And then he would chase down the Deepwater to avenge her.

  67

  Juan stood on the deck of the Oregon next to the HOB, short for Hoverbike. It looked akin to one of Gomez’s small drones, only bulked up on steroids. This one was more than twelve feet across, with six propellers, two bicycle-style seats with handlebars for both passengers, plus seat belts and stirrups. Each of the props was encircled by a protective casing to keep riders’ hands from being sliced by the blades.

  Linc walked toward him, a .50 caliber Barrett sniper rifle slung over his shoulder. He had nothing more than some extra ammunition with him to keep the load light, which was a relative term given the former SEAL’s bulk.

  “For the record, I’m not loving the idea of being a passive passenger on this thing,” Linc said.

  The HOB had no pilot controls on it, another weight-saving measure. Instead, the drone was controlled remotely, using the tiny cameras and sensors on board to guide it.

  “It’s very stable,” Murph said from behind him. “Gomez taught me everything I know about how to fly this thing.”

  “Did he teach you everything he knows?” Juan asked, specifically using the present tense even though he didn’t know Gomez’s fate yet.

  “Probably not. I’m sure I can work out the rest.” He winked at Juan without Linc seeing him.

  “You better be kidding,” Linc said as he pointedly checked the magazines holding the huge bullets for his rifle. “This ammo has a two-mile range, you know.”

  Murph put up his hands in surrender. “I will do my best.”

  Eddie was the last to join them. All he was carrying was a pair of high-powered binoculars. He would be Linc’s spotter. Both of them were wearing white-camouflaged cold-weather gear and had goggles around their necks.

  “It’s going to be chilly up there,” Eddie said, pointing to the top of the glacier where they were headed. “Wish I could bring a thermos of coffee.”

  “Don’t worry,” Murph said. “I’ll bring you back down as soon as you give me the word.”

  Linc and Eddie were going to give Juan advanced warning of the Portland’s arrival. The top of the glacier had an expansive view of the fjord below, but it would have taken the two of them too long to climb to the top over the icy terrain. The HOB was the only way to get them up there in time.

  “Linc needs to ride in front to balance the load,” Murph said.

  Linc held out his hand to Juan, an unusually serious look on his face.

  “Chairman, it’s an honor to serve with you.”

  Juan shook his hand and said, “The honor is mine.”

  Linc climbed on, and Eddie shook Juan’s hand as well.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Eddie said. “I hate it, but I understand it. We’ll give you our best, Juan.”

  “I know you will, Eddie,” Juan said. “I’ll do the same.”

  Eddie got on the Hoverbike, and Juan backed away until he was next to Murph, who was sniffling.

  “I think I’m getting a cold,” Murph mumbled, but Juan could hear him choking up.

  Both Linc and Eddie gave them the thumbs-up, put on the goggles, and gripped the handlebars.

  Murph tapped on the control tablet, and the propellers whirred to life, sounding like a sextet of giant bumblebees.

  The HOB gently lifted off the deck and banked toward the glacier. It rose until it was even with the crest of the ridge, almost a thousand feet high, and Murph found a flat spot to land. The trip that would have taken hours on foot had been completed in less than a minute.

  Linc and Eddie waved as they dismounted, and Juan checked the comm system.

  “How do you read?”

  “Loud and clear,” Eddie replied. “Shouldn’t take us more than five minutes to get to our vantage point.”

  “Good. Let me know when you’re in place.”

  “Roger that.”

  Juan turned to Murph, who pocketed the tablet.

  “Let’s get you down to the moon pool,” Juan said.

  He had taken a walk around the ship, a naval tradition for captains before major battles, but he was glad to take one more tour.

  As they entered the nearest door and headed down the stairs, Murph said, “The ship controls should have all been transferred to the command chair. You’ll have everything you need at your fingertips.”

  “Thanks, Mark,” Juan said. “You do exceptional work. I hope you know that.”

  Murph nodded quietly. For once in his life, he seemed tongue-tied.

  When they reached the moon pool, they found a hive of activity, with the crew swarming around the two submersibles. The Gator was in the water, while the Nomad was being moved into position above it by the gantry crane.

  Eric and Hali came over to stand next to Murph. Juan was impressed by how composed his three young officers were.

  “The Gator is ready to launch, Chairman,” said Eric, who would be driving it.

  “Thanks, Stoney,” Juan said. “You stay hidden until the coast is clear. Literally.”

  “I will. Smooth sailing to you.”

  Juan put a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “I know you’ll do what you need to. You always have.” Juan gave him a bittersweet smile, before turning to Hali. “Keep in touch with the Deepwater. Let them know what happens here.”

  “Aye-aye, Chairman. Godspeed to you.”

  “You as well.”

  The three young men went over to the Gator and climbed in. Murph was the last one, and he gave Juan a final look before closing the hatch behind him. A few moments later, the Gator sank into the water and disappeared.

  Juan looked up and saw Max on the catwalk above, guiding the cradle holding the Nomad. He climbed the stairs, and by the time he was standing beside Max, the Nomad was settling into the water.

  “I saw your good-bye down there,” Max said. “Those guys really look up to you.”

  “I couldn’t ask for a better crew. Speaking of which, did you get everyone else into the lifeboats?”

  Max nodded without looking away from his task. “The first one has been launched, and the second will be in the water in a few minutes.”

  Not everyone could fit into the subs, so the lifeboats were necessary even though they would be more vulnerable to the Portland. However, if Juan’s mission worked as planned, they’d be safe. He wished he could shake hands with every one of them, but there wasn’t time.

  “Where’s Maurice?” Juan asked.

  “Finishing the job you gave him,” Max grumbled.

  “You know this is the right call.”

  Max looked too focused on his work to answer. When the Nomad was floating in the water, the technicians below detached the gantry crane, and Max raised the lifting cradle out of the way. He set the controls down and finally looked at Juan.

  “The only wrong call you’ve made is not letting me stay behind with you,” Max said.

  “Tate is my problem. I’ve inflicted enough of him on the crew already, including you.”

  Max held his gaze steady. “You always look out for everyone but yourself.”

  Juan forced a grin. “It’s my fatal flaw.”

  “And it’s your biggest strength. That’s why Tate
is going to lose.”

  “Fingers crossed. Give my best to Julia. We’ve both been too busy in the last few hours to see each other.”

  “I will.” Max unexpectedly wrapped Juan in a bear hug.

  “I’ll be seeing you, old friend,” Juan said.

  “In this life or the next, brother,” Max replied.

  Max pushed him back and took one last look before he turned away to finish prepping the submersible.

  Juan left the moon pool and headed toward the stern, pausing only to retrieve a small box from his cabin. He didn’t run into a single person as he navigated the bare corridors. With everyone leaving, the ship felt decidedly hollow.

  He climbed the stairs and emerged on the afterdeck. He was confronted with the empty helicopter pad, where Gomez’s chopper should have been, and hoped the pilot had made it somehow.

  Juan walked to the very end of the fantail and saw the second of the lifeboats motoring away from the ship. He saluted the faces looking up at him and received melancholy waves in return.

  The jackstaff was currently displaying the national flag of Iran. To keep a low profile, the Oregon often flew the banner of a rogue country like Iran, Syria, or Myanmar, or sometimes one signifying more of a mainstream registration, such as Panama or Liberia. It was done to better keep the ship’s true registry hidden.

  But there was one flag that had never before been raised on the Oregon.

  Juan lowered the Iranian flag and tossed it in the sea. He opened the box he was carrying to reveal another, folded flag, its blue field with white stars crisp and clean.

  He carefully unfolded it, making sure that it didn’t touch the deck, and lashed it to the line. With sure hands, he ran it up the pole until the stars and stripes of the U.S. flag fluttered in the light breeze.

  Juan heard a distant cheer erupt from the previously gloomy crew on the lifeboats, and he pumped a fist in the air as a response.

  If he was going to go down with his ship, Juan wanted to do it in service of his country.

  Even though she was gravely wounded, the Oregon still had some fight left in her, but there was no reason for anyone else to pay for Tate’s homicidal revenge plot. Thanks to Murph, Juan could operate the ship by himself for this one last task.

  He was going to ram the Portland with the Oregon.

  68

  Tate was still seething over his call with Cabrillo, but he had the Oregon right where he wanted her. She was still in the same place near the beach with the penguins. She hadn’t moved in the last half hour.

  In his mind’s eye, Tate had a vision of the Oregon’s demise. From the safety of the bend in the fjord, he would plant two torpedoes in her port side, where she had the most damage. Big, beautiful geysers of water would shoot into the sky, and the Oregon would be rocked by the explosions. She would start listing immediately as water gushed into the gaping holes.

  Then Tate would have the Portland come around the bend so he could see the ship’s misery with high-definition cameras. He would launch every Exocet he had and watch the Oregon try to shoot them down. At the same time, he’d order his 120mm cannon and the Gatling guns to unleash their fury on the ship. Anyone caught on deck trying to escape would be cut to ribbons.

  Finally, the Oregon, by this point an utter ruin, would turn turtle and break in half. She would suffer the disgrace of sinking keel up. Then after mopping up any survivors, Tate would head back to the Deepwater and destroy her as well.

  His only regret was that he wouldn’t be able to force Cabrillo to watch with him. Tate would try to call him, perhaps make him beg for mercy, but he doubted his old friend would answer. It didn’t really matter. Cabrillo would know that he’d been beaten. Tate had to be satisfied with that.

  “We’ve reached the fjord’s entrance,” Farouk said. “Should I send up a drone to verify their position?”

  “And risk them spotting it?” Tate asked. “Do you think we should let Juan know we’ve arrived just to strike a little terror in him?”

  Farouk looked horrified. “I didn’t think of that.”

  “You may be a brilliant engineer, Farouk,” Tate said. “But you’re a moron when it comes to tactics. Of course we’re not going to announce that we’re here. He’ll know the moment our torpedoes have dealt a killing blow to his beloved ship.”

  He took one more look at the stationary Oregon on-screen and said to the helmsman, “It’s time to party. Make the turn.”

  They entered the fjord.

  * * *

  —

  Linc and Eddie found a stable perch at the top of the ridge and had an expansive view of the fjord’s entrance. From a prone position, they could see the opening of the gap leading to the other arm of the fjord, but from this angle they wouldn’t be able to see the Oregon until she emerged from the narrow canyon.

  “Chairman, the Portland is coming into the fjord,” Eddie said into his molar mic as he watched the ship make a sharp turn in their direction.

  “Acknowledged,” Juan said. “I’m in position. Let me know when to begin my run.”

  “Roger that.”

  “What do you think are the chances that this will work?” Linc asked Eddie, the scope of the sniper rifle against his eye.

  “I don’t know,” Eddie said. “Even with half an engine, the Oregon can build up some good speed. That’ll be a lot of force. As long as Tate can’t evade the hit, it might be enough to sink the Portland.”

  “And if it isn’t?”

  Eddie lowered his binoculars and looked at Linc. “Then the Portland will kill all of our friends, and all we’ll be able to do is watch.”

  “You’re a fresh breath of optimism,” Linc said.

  “You asked.”

  “Next time, lie to me.”

  Eddie turned back with his binoculars. The Portland was fully in the fjord now and approaching the opening. He calculated the ship’s speed and the distance to the point where it would be directly opposite the gap. To hit the Portland, Juan would have to start his charge before he could see his target. He had to lead it, just like a duck hunter, except in this case both the shot and the prey were eleven-thousand-ton ships.

  “Chairman,” Eddie said. “The Portland is now in the center of the fjord, two hundred fifty yards from our side. At her current speed, she will be directly in front of you in forty-five seconds.”

  “Roger that,” Juan said. “Beginning my run.”

  Eddie put down the binoculars, but kept an eye on the Portland in case she changed course.

  Quietly, he said, “Happy hunting, Juan.”

  * * *

  —

  Murph and Hali had crowded into the Gator’s cupola with Eric, who had partially surfaced the submersible so they could see the Oregon one last time. They watched water shoot from behind the ship as she accelerated toward the gap.

  “That still looks awfully narrow,” Hali said as the Oregon approached the glacier-carved canyon. “And it looks tighter the closer the ship gets.”

  “The Chairman is the best ship driver I’ve ever seen,” said Eric, who was no slouch himself. “If anyone can get a ship that size through there, it’s him.”

  “Isn’t it harder to keep the ship straight with only the right venturi tubes functional?” Murph asked.

  “Max said he got the maneuvering thrusters working,” Eric said. “If the Chairman puts them at full power toward starboard, it should be enough to keep the Oregon on a direct path.”

  As he said that, the bow of the Oregon shot into the gap.

  “Come on, Chairman,” Eric said under his breath. “You’ve got this.”

  Within seconds, the Oregon was swallowed by the fjord.

  * * *

  —

  Juan tried not to blink as he watched the cameras on the op center’s main view screen and made tiny adjustments to the Oregon’s course
using the joystick on the command chair armrest. Murph had altered the LiDAR system so that it beeped at Juan every time he got too close to one of the canyon’s walls, like the backup sensor in a new car that was backing into a parking space between two concrete pillars. The warnings sounded almost constantly.

  For the first time that he could recall, Juan had his command chair seat belt snugged tight around his waist. It felt wrong to have the op center to himself, but it gave him peace of mind knowing that he was the only one in imminent danger. His eyes flicked back and forth from the port to the starboard cameras, and he had to remind himself to breathe. The jagged rocks filled the camera’s view on either side, like serrated teeth ready to chew into his ship.

  When he was three-quarters of the way through, Juan felt the current suddenly pull the Oregon off course, and he heard a mournful screech as metal was torn from the ship’s hull. He rapidly corrected his path. There was no point in slowing down now. Through the canyon’s exit ahead, he could now see the bow of the Portland nosing into view.

  This was it. He was committed. Juan ratcheted the throttle to full power, and the Oregon blasted forward, her armored prow aiming right for the midsection of the Portland.

  * * *

  —

  Contact directly left!” shouted the Portland’s radar operator.

  “On-screen,” Tate said.

  The port camera view appeared, and Tate’s blood ran cold when he saw the Oregon racing toward them.

  “No! No! That was supposed to be a solid wall of ice.” On the map, there was no gap indicated there, yet here was the nightmare image of the Oregon’s bow growing larger on-screen at a fantastic rate.

  “Flank speed!” he screamed.

  “Flank speed, aye!” the helmsman answered.

  “Go! Go!” Tate shrieked, but the crewman’s reaction time was too slow. There was no way to avoid the impact now.

  As he scrambled to latch his belt, Tate realized that he had done exactly what he warned others against doing. He had underestimated Cabrillo.