by Rich Johnson
Using silent dogpaddle techniques, he swam without disturbing the water back between the hulls toward the stern. Bridge deck clearance was low at the rear of the boat, leaving barely enough airspace for his head to remain above water as he approached the transom. The Sillette drive leg was in the up position, with the propeller out of the water. From above him, Josh heard footsteps, then the sound of an aft compartment being thrown open. Almost as background noise, he heard Husam al Din’s Arab accent. “Allaahu Akbar. Allaahu Akbar, Allaahu Akbar,” over and over like a broken recording that had fallen into a never-ending continual loop. The words were spoken out of breath, as if the man had been running, but there was no place to run on the small boat. He’s in a panic.
After a few minutes, the footsteps and the muttered beginning of the prayer receded to the cabin, and Josh moved to the swim-steps that led down to water level at the rear of the port hull. A moment later, the footfalls returned, and this time the voice was louder, almost as if he were shouting the repetitious prayer to catch the attention of a god who was not responding. Josh ducked back under the transom and listened to the sound of metal against metal, then something hard and heavy was dropped on the fiberglass floor of the engine compartment. The way it hit the floor, it sounded like a wrench falling among a clutter of other tools. I bet he’s trying to figure out how to lower the drive leg so he can use the engine to drive the boat. But he’s working in the wrong compartment.
Again, footsteps moved away from the stern and into the cabin, and Josh took the opportunity to muscle himself onto the stairs and climb into the cockpit. From somewhere inside the cabin, came a noise that sounded as if Husam al Din were rummaging through tools that were apparently stored beneath the bunk in the aft starboard cabin. Without a sound, Josh moved to the side deck and melted into the shadows forward of the hard bimini that covered the cockpit. And there he waited.
“Allaahu Akbar, Allaahu Akbar, Allaahu Akbar,” the words became louder as Husam al Din stepped out of the cabin, strode to the transom and bent over the engine compartment once again with tools in hand.
“Allah isn’t going to help you with this,” Josh said from the shadow, and Husam al Din whirled around, still on his knees, straining to see where the words came from. In the dim light from the cabin, the Arab warrior looked fierce. His bloodshot eyes stood out like red lasers against his dark face, and his teeth showed a white growl framed by the black beard.
Josh stepped from shadow and onto the cockpit bench.
“Sergeant Adams!” Husam al Din sounded astonished. “What a surprise.”
“I’ll bet it is.” Josh jumped down to the cockpit floor and stood with feet apart and hands spread and ready. “So, how’s your jihad going, so far?”
“How did you find me?”
“You left a trail of blood and destruction that was easy to follow. It ends here.”
Husam al Din sneered, “If you try to stop me, your blood will spill next.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. The only thing certain is that it ends here for you.”
“Who are you?”
Josh held his finger to his lips and mocked the terrorist. “Shhh, it’s a secret. Don’t tell anybody, but I’m not Sergeant Adams and I’m not in the army.”
Husam al Din eyed him suspiciously. “But our intelligence …”
“Your intelligence found only what we wanted them to find. We’re way ahead of your people. Ask yourself how it is that I am here right now, in the middle of the ocean on a dark night, and you never knew I was coming.”
A look of angry understanding flared in al Din’s eyes. “Of course. CIA?”
“Close.”
“It does not matter. What do you think you can do to stop me now?”
“If you resist, I’ll kill you. But I would rather not. Either way, I’ll recover your weapon so we can study it.”
“Not a chance.” Husam al Din rose to his feet gripping tools in both hands. “I am not easy to kill, but I will not be taken alive.”
Josh pulled the Glock from the holster and aimed it at the terrorist. “Never bring a wrench to a gun fight.” He nodded toward the tools in al Din’s hands. “I don’t really care one way or the other. I’m more than happy to help you accomplish your precious martyrdom. If you die right here, right now, it will save us all a lot of time and money.”
Husam al Din stepped slowly to his right, his eyes fixed on Josh. “I do not think you will kill me. If that were your purpose, you would already have done it. I think you want to take me alive, so your people can interrogate me. I know all about your infidel brutality.”
Josh shifted one step to his right, as Husam al Din continued to move slowly. In the closeness of the cockpit, if they had reached out they could almost touch each other, but each kept a cautious distance. Too late, Josh saw what Husam al Din was after. The Arab suddenly threw the screwdriver and a fistful of wrenches and rushed for a duffel bag on the captain’s seat. Josh threw up his arms and ducked as the hail of wrenches pelted him, but the butt of the screwdriver got through and smashed him in the right eye. He felt the socket break and he was instantly blinded. A stinging blow hit his right wrist, and the Glock flew from his grip and disappeared over the side.
Still blinded, Josh crouched and instinctively swept his arms in front of him in a blocking maneuver. His right eye throbbed and when he forced it open, blood and fluid drained into his hand, but the vision was gone. Squinting his left eye, he saw Husam al Din with a dagger in one hand, and in the other was a black metal object that looked like a flashlight.
“I saw a device just like that on the island where you escaped from the container.”
The Arab was silent. A dark, brooding mood overcame him as he intently focused on Josh’s every move. It was stupid of him to have left the second device. But his mind was not in focus when the container doors swung open. Weeks of seasickness left him dehydrated and malnourished from vomiting almost continuously. The device that he momentarily thought about using to commit suicide had simply been cast aside among the rubble in the trailer. He could almost forgive himself for forgetting it in his rush to escape. But not quite.
“I’ll tell you this, your weapon doesn’t work the way you think it will. Groschenko was wrong.”
“I don’t believe you.” Husam al Din waved the flashlight and moved his thumb to the switch. The dagger carved small circles in the air in front of him. “Groschenko is the best at what he does. He tested it, and it worked.”
“Maybe,” Josh said, “but something has changed with the toxin. Maybe it’s the tropic heat. Sorgei ran his tests in the cold mountains, not the hot tropics. What I saw on the island was instant death, not a slow, progressive disease. You pop that and bang,” – he snapped his fingers – “we both die that fast.”
Husam al Din grinned wickedly, as he circled to the right. “I am ready to die. I have been ready all my life.”
Josh took another step to his right. “That’s the difference between us. To me, life is a gift from God. Something to be protected as a way of honoring him.”
“And to me,” Husam al Din said, “life is a gift to give back to Allah, as I do his work. That is how I will honor him.”
Trying to buy some time while he scrambled to think of a way to get the weapon away from the Arab, Josh argued, “Think about it. If you die here, your jihad will end in failure.”
“My jihad will be a success, if I kill even one American. And you will do just fine.” Husam al Din lunged with the dagger, and Josh reacted slowly because of his limited vision. He stepped back just a fraction too late and felt the blade pierce his chest. A spreading red blotch appeared on his shirt, and he felt a burning weakness where the blade penetrated.
The shock of the impact knocked Josh back, and he stumbled onto the cockpit bench. Husam al Din rushed him, but even from his fallen position, Josh unleashed a flurry of straight kicks that forced his attacker to back away. He scrambled to his feet, but the Arab caught him with a withering roundhouse ki
ck to the temple on his blind side, and Josh crumbled in pain.
“You are not much of a fighter,” Husam al Din said. “I thought your government trained its agents better.”
The words were barely spoken when Josh shot a sweeping leg kick from his position on the floor. The kick caught Husam al Din just above the ankle, and both legs were chopped from under him. He hit the floor on his back but rolled and came up quickly. Josh was on his feet and met Husam al Din as he was coming up, landing a left jab then a hooking right punch low on the ribcage. The air went out of the bearded warrior, and he backed away to catch his breath, still gripping the flashlight and waving the dagger.
“I underestimated you, kafir. I will not do so again.”
“Too late.” Josh exhaled, stepped in and threw a knife-edge kick that caught Husam al Din in the solar plexus, driving the wind out of the man. He followed with a spinning back-kick aimed at the Arab’s wrist and the flashlight flew from his hand.
It was a mistake, but Josh watched the black metal tube tumble through the air and hit the water. As with most mistakes, the distraction cost him. A crushing blow to the ribs knocked him off balance, as Husam al Din tackled him. The force carried both men out of the cockpit and, as they crashed onto the aft deck, the dagger sliced into Josh’s lower abdomen.
Pinned by the Arab who straddled him, Josh stared into an ugly face that was twisted by rage. Husam al Din lunged, and Josh felt the blade again as it sliced into his shoulder. The Arab followed with an elbow strike that caught Josh on the blind side. He never saw it coming, and the blow blacked him out for a heartbeat, leaving his mind a foggy haze.
Husam al Din jerked the dagger back and lunged again, but Josh instinctively arched his back and kicked upward, knocking his attacker off him. Both men rolled to their feet. Josh was bleeding badly. He stumbled back and braced himself against the stern pulpit.
“I have to hand it to you,” he wheezed, “you’re good with a knife.”
“I am Husam al Din, Sword of the Faith. And I will kill you with my short sword.” He rushed again, the dagger held in a forward grip, swinging upward, aimed to penetrate just below the sternum and tear into Josh’s heart.
With sweeping hands, Josh deflected the blade, broke his attacker’s grip and spun the dagger around backward. When the full weight of Husam al Din thundered into Josh, the dagger was between them, and the point sank into soft tissue. The momentum of the rush carried both men over the rail, and a red slick spread on the water.
The wounds had taken their toll and the impact with the water knocked the breath out of Josh. Blackness swept a dark cloud over his conscious mind and he suddenly felt very cold as he sank into the deep. Beside him, drifting toward the bottom of the ocean, was his mortal enemy, Husam al Din, Sword of the Faith. His eyes were wide, disbelieving. His lips moved, but there was no sound except the gurgling hiss of air escaping from his lungs. Just below his sternum, the dagger of his childhood was buried to the hilt in the hollow of his chest.
Chapter Forty-five
Something bright surrounded Josh, and he remembered stories he had read about people dying and finding themselves traveling through a tunnel of light. Then he heard a sound. Soft footsteps, the whisk of cloth rubbing against itself. He opened his eyes just a slit, and immediately groaned in pain. His right eye was blind, the protective bony structure of the eye socket had been crushed. The left eye saw only a gauzy white light.
“Ow,” he complained out loud.
“Welcome back,” a soft female voice caught his attention.
“You an angel?” he choked. “I thought it wasn’t supposed to hurt in heaven.”
“What makes you think you’re in heaven?” This time it was a man’s voice.
“Hell?”
“We’ve been called lots of things, but heaven and hell aren’t among them. Actually, though, I think Miss Devon has been called an angel before. She’s your primary care nurse. I’m Doctor Bishop. You’re at Bethesda.”
“Bethesda,” Josh mumbled. “What happened. The last thing I remember …”
“Not another word.” Josh recognized Curt Delamo’s voice from the corner of the room. “I’ll debrief you when we are alone.”
“Curt?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Been here for the past …” he glanced at the clock on the wall, “… I guess seventy hours, give or take. We’ll talk later. In the meantime, is there anything I can do for you?”
“I could go for a Ruggiero’s deep-dish pepperoni with extra cheese, olives, sausage and anchovies.”
“You must be feeling better,” nurse Devon said.
Curt scrunched up his nose. “I don’t know. There’s something permanently wrong with anybody who like anchovies on a pizza.”
“And a root beer. A double-huge frosty mug.” Josh smiled. Then he groaned again. “Man, it hurts even when I smile. Why can’t I see anything?”
Nurse Devon moved to his side, cradled his head and shifted the gauze wrap to uncover his left eye. “Because the movement of our eyes is connected, when one eye is injured we generally cover them both to keep them both quiet so the injured one can heal. I’ll remove the bandage from the left if you promise to just lie still and keep your right eye quiet. Don’t go looking around the room.”
“Promise,” Josh whispered. “Can I have that pizza now?”
Nurse Devon smiled and shook her head. “I’ll have something sent up, but don’t be too disappointed if it isn’t pizza.”
“Hospital patient food? I’d almost rather starve.”
“You need some nourishment. This IV drip isn’t much of a meal,” Curt said. “I know. I’ve eaten it before. Even the hospital food is better.”
Josh heaved a sigh. “Okay. But make it a double. I’m hungry.”
“That’s a good sign,” the nurse said as she left the room and shut the door behind her.
With the door closed, Curt pulled a chair close to the head of the bed so they could talk in hushed voices. “That was a close one, my friend,” Curt said. “We almost lost you this time.”
“All I remember is going over the rail, hitting the water and watching Husam al Din disappear below me with a dagger through his heart.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much how Emile Nunez described it. He was sitting about thirty feet down when the flashlight device hit the water. Initially, he went after it, trying to catch it with the Needlefish’s grab tool before it sank out of sight. Then he saw the two of you hit the water. He could tell that you were not in good shape. Basically, you were unconscious and bleeding badly. He looked at the flashlight disappearing below him, then looked at you and made a choice.”
“I’m glad he made the right one,” Josh chuckled.
“Actually, he got fired over it.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Hey, that weapon was important to us. National security and all.” Curt looked serious, then slowly a smile replaced the straight face. “Nah, I’m joking. Actually, he’s up for commendation for saving your life.”
“Well, I’m putting the man on my Christmas card list. How’d he do it?”
“He’s good with that Needlefish. He just came up below you and maneuvered so you were lying across the hull like a wet rag. Then he surfaced and called for a chopper.”
“And the device?”
“Gone. The water’s more than eleven hundred fathoms deep over a silt bottom where it went down, and the current was running. By the time it hit the bottom, it could have been anywhere, and it’s too deep to go looking for that needle in a haystack.”
“So we’re just going to leave a bio-weapon lying on the bottom of the ocean?”
“Afraid so. We can hope that the pressure at that depth doesn’t cause the thing to release the toxin. Or if it does, that the salt water will deactivate it. Or that the cold at that depth will kill the bacteria. Or that—”
“Yeah, you can stop now. I get the picture.”
Curt shrugged. “I don’t know what else to tell you
.”
“What about the Plover family? What happened to them?”
“In their ditch bag they had a personal locator beacon with a built-in GPS that gave their exact location. The navy sent a boat to pick them up and bring them to the carrier. They needed some time to rest before we started our debriefing, so they stayed on the ship for two days. Then they were delivered back to their catamaran, and they promptly turned her around and headed for the San Blas Islands. Said they’ve got friends there they want to get back to.”
“How did they handle all the trauma?”
“They handled it better than I expected. But it’s still going to take some time for the emotional healing to happen. From what they told me about their friends in San Blas, I think that’s the best place they can be right now.”
“You met them?”
“Oh yeah. I debriefed them. When Nunez brought you up, I caught an F-14 hop to the carrier.”
“Huh,” Josh grunted, “I didn’t know you cared.”
“Don’t get a big head. I didn’t want anybody to talk with you until I had a chance to debrief you.”
“Oh, thanks a lot, my pal. Can’t trust me to keep my mouth shut?”
Curt grinned, and Josh knew he’d been had again.
A knock came at the door, and Curt pushed the chair back, drew the curtain around the bed and went to answer. The door clicked open, and Josh heard him say, “Come on in. I’ll leave you two alone for a few minutes.” Then he went out.
When Susan pushed back the curtain, Josh smiled weakly and blinked his uncovered eye. “That was a wink, in case you missed it.” He pointed to his face. “You’re sure a sight for sore eye.”
“You, too.” She smiled. “Always the tease. But I like your humor.”