by Evan Graver
“We need to keep moving,” Ryan said. “There may be more tangos.”
“Just a minute,” Scott said, holding up a finger. He pointed at the screen. “These are the coordinates of the three remaining missiles. Two are headed for our base at Guantanamo Bay and the other is going to Havana.”
“You copy that, Jinks?”
“Yeah, I’ll get Captain Warner on the horn right now.”
Ryan and Gregory moved forward to the bow, finding the dead terrorist draped over his machine gun. Ryan pulled him off the gun and photographed his face with his phone. He suddenly recognized the man riddled with bullets, all angled down from the helicopter. Emily had taken out one of the FBI’s Most Wanted. “Jinks, Sadiq is dead.”
“Hooyah,” Jinks said and the other SEALs echoed him.
“Hey, you’re an EOD guy, right?” Scott asked.
“Yeah.”
“You might want to look at this.”
Ryan squatted beside Scott, who pointed at a switch with a thick cable of detonation cords running from it.
“Suppose that’s the clacker?”
Ryan pulled a pair of ceramic wire cutters from his pack and clipped the det wires one by one. He pocketed the switch so the FBI could examine it later. “We’re still not out of the woods yet. This ship can up at any minute, and I don’t know if he laid traps for us.”
“Great,” Scott mumbled. “I wonder why he didn’t detonate after the missiles launched?”
“Let’s hope he came to his senses,” Ryan said.
“Self-preservation?”
“Who knows. I’m just glad to be standing here, but we need to get off here as soon as possible.”
As they moved back toward the superstructure, he captured the likenesses of the other dead terrorists. He also peered into the holds to see a spiderweb of det wires leading to chunks of plastic explosive.
One of the team radioed that they had cleared the compartments and were now entering the engine room. A moment later, he told Jinks that the terrorists had been smashing the controls as they’d shot them.
Ryan and Jinks met in the ladderwell down to the engine room, and together they examined the controls.
“Way to muck up a perfectly good operation,” Jinks lamented.
“Let’s shut off the fuel flow,” Ryan said to the other team members, and they started working on the problem.
Jinks put his hand to his ear and listened to his radio, as did Ryan. A Navy ship was hailing them.
“Tell them to stand clear,” Ryan said into the radio as he jogged up the stairs with Jinks on his heels.
“Captain wants to speak to you,” Stafford said to Jinks.
Jinks motioned for Ryan to speak to the captain, and he took the mic. “This is Ryan Weller on the Everglades Explorer. Over.”
“Mr. Weller, this is Captain Michelle Spearing on the USS Little Rock. I’m ordering you to shut down your engines and heave to. Prepare to be boarded. Over.”
“Negative, Captain. The engine controls on the bridge are jammed, and the ones in the engine room are smashed. We’re working to shut off the fuel. Over.”
“We’re coming alongside. Prepare to receive my boarding team. Over.”
“Negative again, Captain. This ship is full of ammonium nitrate and diesel fuel, and it’s rigged with explosives. I request that you stand clear. I repeat, stand clear. Over.”
“I’m sending a boarding team to assist. Over.”
“No. This is a dangerous situation, and I do not want your ship or your team involved. Over.”
The annoyed authority in Spearing’s voice was loud and clear. “This is the United States Navy. You will be boarded and surrender your vessel. Over.”
“I don’t want to get into a pissing match with you, Captain, but I’m a trained U.S. Navy Explosive Ordnance Disposal technician, and have a contingent of ex-SEALs, Rangers, and PJs with me. I ask that you stand clear and wait for further instructions from your group commander. Over.” He turned to Jinks. “Who do you know that can make this woman understand the situation and back down?”
Jinks took out his satellite phone and dialed a number.
“Captain Warner, this is Roland Jenkins. I need you to tell the captain of the USS Little Rock to stand clear until we can get the ship stopped and the explosives disarmed.”
“Roger that. What else do you need?”
“We need to figure out how to dispose of this cargo.”
“I’ll talk to my bosses. Oh, you might want to know that the Little Rock shot down the missile headed for Port Everglades, but the other three struck targets in Cuba.”
“What did they hit?” Jinks asked.
A pit opened in Ryan’s stomach.
All eyes on the bridge were on Jinks as he listened to Warner. “Two of the missiles hit our base in Gitmo. They wiped out the prison completely and the third hit the Admiral Golovko, a Russian frigate docked in Havana harbor.”
Jinks asked Warner, “What’s Putin doing?”
“Right now, nothing. I need all the intel you can give me on who launched those missiles and I need it right now.”
“I have pictures of the dead guys,” Ryan said. “Where does he want me to send them?”
Warner rattled off the email address and Ryan punched it into his phone, emailing images of the dead men and a picture of the bomb in the Number Three Hold.
When Jinks told the team that the missiles had hit the prison at Gitmo, Scott smiled. “Guess they sent a bunch of their own to see Allah. Hope all seventy-two of their virgins are fat and ugly.”
The men’s laughter ended as the constant rumble and vibration in the deck died away, signaling the engine had finally stopped.
The radio crackled again. “Everglades Explorer, this is Captain Spearing. I am standing by to render assistance if needed. Over.”
Jinks retrieved the mic and said, “We are dead in the water and are proceeding with render safe procedures for the explosives. Over.”
Ryan and Jinx walked to the hold and stared at the massive bomb.
“That’s a bit of an overkill,” Jinks said. They climbed down the ladder to the sacks. Their feet sank into the wet material, leaving deep depressions. They began clipping det wires with ceramic plyers and removing the detonators from the explosives.
Fifteen minutes later, Scott stuck his head over the edge of the hold. “Hey, boss, Warner is on the horn again.”
The two men climbed out of the hold and walked to the bridge. Jinks took the phone and held it to his ear. “This is Jinks.”
“Command has decided to blow the ship in place. They’re clearing the shipping lanes in the Strait. The Little Rock is sending a boat to pick you up.”
“We don’t have any remotes for the detonators.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Warner said. “Get your team off the ship.”
“Roger that.”
Jinks pocketed his phone and picked up the radio mic. “USS Little Rock, this is Everglades Explorer. We are prepared to receive your boarding team. Over.”
“Roger, Everglades Explorer,” a man’s voice responded. “Boarding team is on its way. Over.”
Jinks let the mic drop and used his bone mic to call his men to the bridge. Then he said, “How the hell are they going to blow up this ship?”
“Probably with a missile,” Scott said. “You know those boat turds like to blow stuff up every chance they get.”
Ryan clapped his friend on the back. “Let’s not worry about it. Let’s get off this floating death trap. I need a shower.”
Jinks rubbed his skin, which was red from the diesel fuel. “Yeah, me too.” He pointed at the approaching small boat, its bow throwing sheets of water into the air every time it slammed into a wave. “Guys, we need to transport our wounded to the boat. Get the emergency stretchers.” Once the injured operators had been secured on the stretchers, Jinx administered a shot of morphine to each of the wounded. “Sleep tight, boys,” he said. “We’re about to blow this pop
sicle stand.”
Chapter Fifty-One
USS Little Rock
Florida Straits
It took several hours to clear eighty square miles of ocean surrounding the drifting freighter. Word had spread rapidly about the cargo ship of terror, and news helicopters and small boats had flocked to the area to get a firsthand look. Navy and Air Force fighter jets patrolled the skies while Navy and Coast Guard helicopters herded the news choppers and sightseers back to shore. Coast Guard cutters and police patrol boats floated in picket lines to keep the shipping lanes clear. It was a major operation, and Ryan was glad he was standing safely on the sidelines.
Once Ryan and the Trident team had arrived on the Little Rock, they’d surrendered their weapons and received clean blue coveralls, hot showers, and warm chow. Jinks and Ryan debriefed Capt. Spearing, who Jinks knew from his time at the Pentagon.
The Navy had decided to blow the Everglades Explorer where she sat because no one was sure how best to dispose of the diesel-soaked ammonium nitrate. The boarding team was lucky that it hadn’t detonated while they were taking down the terrorists, and no harbormaster in his right mind would allow the ship to enter a port, where the damage would be catastrophic if she blew.
Spearing lifted the radio mic to her lips and called over the guard channel, “All ships and aircraft, stand clear and prepare for detonation.”
A chorus of replies came back, letting her know the area around the Everglades Explorer was clear and ready for them to proceed. The boarding team and many of the Little Rock’s crew lined the rails, watching through binoculars, while Ryan and Jinks stood in the CIC with Spearing. They stared over Lt. Kyle Nagy’s shoulder as he used his video game controller to align the sights of the HELIOS laser on the Number Three Hold of the cargo vessel.
“Fire,” Spearing commanded.
Nagy pressed the X button and the laser worked its magic, burning a hole through the hull plates. Moments later, general cargo vessel Everglades Explorer detonated in a blinding flash. Even three miles away, the pressure wave buffeted the littoral combat ship, and deep in the CIC, they heard the explosion roll through the air.
Ryan slapped Nagy on the shoulder. “Welcome to EOD, where every day is a blast.”
Epilogue
Burnet, Texas
Normally, Lake Buchanan was calm, but this Memorial Day weekend, it was a hive of activity as boats buzzed around the lake formed by damming the Colorado River. Sailboats leaned into the wind, their white canvas sheets stark against the blue water and the semi-arid landscape of Texas’s hill country. The bright sunshine warmed the air to eighty degrees, and a light breeze blew across the water, keeping the wedding guests from sweltering in the high heat and humidity.
Ashlee Calvo’s parents had built a brick-and-concrete, two-story home on the lake’s eastern shore. It had a grand-arched entrance, and the rear of the home overlooked a small beach and the glistening lake beyond. Two large tents stood to one side, their side flaps rolled up to reveal chairs and tables within them.
Guests packed the two decks on the back of the house or stood in little clumps in the yard. Ryan Weller, Greg Olsen, Mango Hulsey, and two other men wore khaki shorts and blue shirts, distinguishing them as Don Williams’s groomsmen. Don wore khaki shorts and a white shirt, a burnt-orange Texas Longhorns ball cap pulled down over his mop of brown hair, and he had a new silver wedding ring on his finger.
Many in the crowd were Dark Water Research employees, including the crew of Peggy Lynn, who had taken a reprieve from their work on raising the cable-laying barge El Paso City and would return to Nicaragua once the wedding festivities were over.
The groomsmen, along with Grandpa and Dennis Law, sat in chairs in the tent’s shade, talking about Ryan’s latest adventure.
“I’d love to get my hands on that laser,” Don said.
“I don’t think the Navy will hand them out anytime soon,” Ryan said, “but it was pretty cool.”
Don grinned. “I bet it was.”
The news broadcasts had carried nothing but stories about Masoud Sadiq’s thwarted attack and the destruction the missiles had caused. Russia and the U.S. had been quick to respond, raining cruise missiles and bombs down on ISIS camps throughout Iraq and Syria. A contingent of troops were sent in to mop up, but no battle had taken place at Dabiq, and the apocalypse hadn’t come.
“So, Emily killed Sadiq?” Mango asked.
“Yeah, she was pretty badass, backing us up with the M60 from the helicopter,” Ryan said.
“You know,” Mango said. “According to ISIS beliefs, if a fighter is killed by a woman, he won’t go to heaven.”
“No virgins for him,” Grandpa quipped.
“Well,” Greg said, changing the subject. “Looks like Texas A&M is reloading.”
“Reloading,” Don scoffed. “Not a chance. You’re lucky they changed conferences and don’t have to face Texas anymore.”
The men continued to banter about college football, and Ryan turned to look for his plus one.
Emily Hunt stood beneath the palm trees lining the sidewalk to the beach, talking to Shelly Hughes and Jennifer Hulsey. The breeze gusted and Emily’s pale-blue sundress plastered to her body, silhouetting her figure, and tugging at her blonde mane.
Ryan excused himself from the group and walked across the lawn to the ice chests packed with beer, soda, wine, and water. He scooped out two Lone Star beers and carried them over to the three women. After twisting off the tops, he handed one to Emily and the other to Shelly, after she scolded him for not bringing her a beer. Jennifer declined when he asked if she wanted one because he was going back to the cooler.
Emily accompanied him as he dug out another beer. “What do you think?”
“About what?” he asked after taking a long drink.
“All of this?”
“What? The wedding? It’s all right.” He was glad it was over, and he was ready to eat some shredded pork from the pig that had cooked over coals all night in a pit beside the tents.
“No, this place. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a house like this?”
“I guess, but I like living on my sailboat.”
“You didn’t picture us in a little white house with a picket fence?”
“Uh … no. I pictured us living on Windseeker, sailing to exotic ports, and running naked on the beaches.”
She laughed. “That’s quite the fantasy.”
“A man can have dreams. Are you the one I should be dreaming of, or do I need to keep searching?”
Emily laughed and took his hand. “Let’s go get your boat and sail back to Florida.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I can take a leave of absence from work.”
Ryan took a slow drink of beer. The suggestion that they go together had caught him off guard. He didn’t know what would happen next with their relationship, and he wasn’t looking forward to going to Trinidad to retrieve his boat alone. He’d toyed with the idea of putting it up for sale and letting Ramesh, the owner of the Five Islands Yacht Club where Windseeker sat on the hard, sell it, but he had too many personal possessions on board, including a cache of firearms.
The leave of absence meant it was only a temporary thing. Maybe along the way he could convince her to quit and they could sail on forever.
“Okay. What do we do when we get to Florida?” he asked.
She bumped him with her hip. “I think we can figure something out.”
Ryan grinned lasciviously. “I hope we don’t have to wait until we get to Florida to do that.”
She kissed him hard. “You won’t have to wait much longer.”
“When do you want to leave for Trinidad?”
Emily held up her phone, the Internet screen open to the United Airlines page. “Tomorrow morning. I already bought the tickets.”
About the Author
Evan Graver is an American novelist and the author of the Ryan Weller Thriller Series.
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Also by Evan Graver
Dark Water
Dark Ship
Dark Horse
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Dark Paradise
Dark Fury