Looking up, Dunblatt saw Corporal Sullivan standing in the office doorway with an expression on his face that mixed surprise with amusement. ‘Don’t just stand there – help me get out of this!’ Dunblatt ordered.
Sullivan hurried to his aid. ‘What happened?’ he asked, as he stooped to grapple with the series of knots that Charlie had tied.
‘Keep this to yourself, Sullivan,’ Dunblatt said. ‘That’s an order. No way on earth do you tell a living soul that you found me hogtied in my office like this. You got that, Corporal?’
‘Yes, Master Gunnery Sergeant,’ Sullivan returned, trying not to laugh.
Charlie led Caesar along the top of the wall until they reached the metal fire-escape platform, which projected out over the wall just a metre above the weathered sandstone. Effortlessly, Charlie pulled himself up onto the platform. Looking back down, he urged Caesar to follow him. Caesar put his front paws up on the platform and sniffed the metal warily.
‘Here,’ Charlie said, sinking to his knees. He reached down and grabbed Caesar’s front legs and pulled him up onto the platform. Charlie got back to his feet and turned to the folded ladder beside him. A piece of wire held it in place and he quickly unfastened this. With a squeak of metal on metal, the ladder dropped down in sections, until its bottom rung hung just a metre from the ground. Charlie looked at Caesar. He had seen him gingerly climb ladders when he was working with Ben, but he had never seen Caesar descend a ladder. As clever as Caesar was, Charlie didn’t think that climbing down a ladder was physically possible for the labrador, especially as this ladder’s rungs were narrow and round. ‘Okay, mate, looks like I’ll have to carry you,’ he said.
Dropping to his knees again, he draped the labrador around his neck in the fireman’s lift position. He then moved to the edge of the platform and the top of the unfolded ladder. Caesar was panting next to his right ear, but was perfectly calm as Charlie turned, and with his back to the sea, began to climb down the ladder. Slowly but surely he made the nineteen-metre descent, all the while with Caesar around his neck until Charlie’s feet were on the bottom rung.
‘Jump down, Caesar,’ Charlie directed. ‘Jump down.’
Caesar heaved himself clear and dropped to the ground, landing perfectly on all fours. Charlie then eased down beside him, the carbon fibre of his Zoomers flexing as he hit the ground.
‘That was easy,’ Charlie said, stooping to give Caesar a vigorous pat before taking out his leash and clipping it to the labrador’s collar. ‘Well done, mate. Okay, let’s go.’
They walked quickly, skirting the base of the sandstone wall until they came to a parking lot near Fort Buchanan’s front entrance. In among a number of other vehicles sat a parked US Coast Guard humvee. This was the vehicle that had brought Charlie to Fort Buchanan from San Juan’s Coast Guard Station Borinquen.
A female Coast Guard driver stepped out from behind the wheel as they approached. ‘There you are, Sergeant,’ she said. ‘I was watching the fort’s front gate for you.’
‘We used another exit,’ Charlie returned casually.
She smiled at Caesar. ‘So this is the EDD you came to collect?’
‘Yep. This is Caesar.’
‘Oh, he’s beautiful.’ She bent and patted the chocolate labrador, whose tail was wagging once more.
Opening a rear passenger door to the humvee, Charlie clicked his fingers and pointed. ‘Caesar, in!’
In an instant, Caesar broke away from the driver and leapt up into the back of the humvee.
‘He sure is obedient,’ the driver said admiringly. ‘But what’s the hurry, Sergeant?’
‘Every second counts,’ Charlie said, opening the front passenger door for himself and getting in. ‘Let’s go!’
‘Roger that.’ She slipped into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
Moments later, they were speeding away from Fort Buchanan.
Master Gunnery Sergeant Dunblatt and Corporal Sullivan had reached Fort Buchanan’s front gate. The main gate was comprised of a pair of tall steel gates, which stood open. In front of them sat a sentry post with windows on all sides and a drop-down boom gate barring the roadway. By the time that Dunblatt and Sullivan arrived, Alvaro had been joined by marines of the guard detail, who wore pistols in white holsters on white leather belts.
‘Any sign of the Aussie and the dog?’ Dunblatt queried.
‘They ain’t come this way, Sarge,’ Alvaro replied.
‘There’s only one way out of this base,’ Dunblatt said. ‘They must still be inside the fort someplace. Search the entire fort. I want that Australian!’
‘What’s he done, Sarge?’ Alvaro asked.
Dunblatt remembered the order he’d received over the phone from General Burch. He couldn’t apprehend Charlie for removing Caesar from the fort, but he was determined to pin something on him. ‘If he thinks he can get away with assaulting a mastery gunnery sergeant, he’s got another thing coming,’ he declared. He glared at the men of the guard detail. ‘You people find Sergeant Grover and that mongrel, and you find them fast!’
While Dunblatt’s men searched Fort Buchanan for Charlie and Caesar, the pair was speeding the short distance to the Coast Guard Air Station. After the humvee had passed through the air station’s gate, Charlie pointed to a black C-130J Hercules sitting on the tarmac with all four propellers spinning. From a USAF special ops squadron, this was the same Hercules that had flown Charlie down from Miami. ‘Take me directly out to the Herc, thanks.’
‘The C-130 kept its engines running ever since it dropped you off,’ his driver said with surprise, as she followed Charlie’s directions and headed for the big black aircraft.
‘Told you – no time to lose,’ Charlie returned.
‘And you can’t say anything about the op you’re on?’
‘Just a training exercise,’ he lied, for the purposes of security. Secret ops wouldn’t be secret if operatives blabbed about them to strangers.
‘You Special Forces guys even make your exercises life or death, huh?’
Charlie laughed. ‘Oh, yeah.’
The humvee drew up behind the Hercules, which had its rear ramp down. Charlie quickly alighted and let Caesar out from the back.
‘Thanks for the ride,’ he called to the driver above the roar of the engines.
‘You’re welcome,’ the driver yelled back as she watched Charlie stride towards the ramp with Caesar trotting along at his side. The labrador’s tail was wagging furiously. ‘Good luck to you both. Say, I never caught your last name.’
‘Smith,’ Charlie yelled.
She smiled back at him. ‘Yeah, sure.’
A waiting USAF loadmaster wearing a helmet equipped with a microphone on a stalk met the pair at the top of the ramp. ‘Are we good to go?’
‘Roger to that,’ Charlie replied, heading for the webbing seats down the side of the aircraft’s fuselage.
Nose down, taking in familiar scents, Caesar confidently followed him. He was excited to be back in a Hercules and in an environment he knew so well. He was also excited because this all suggested to him that he would soon be seeing Ben again.
The loadmaster pressed a button on the fuselage wall, and the ramp began to rise electrically. As it came up, the loadmaster spoke into his microphone. ‘Passengers are aboard and we are good for take-off, Cap,’ he informed the pilot.
‘Copy that,’ the pilot replied over the Hercules’ intercom. ‘We are rolling.’
The Hercules taxied to the end of the runway. There, it stood with engines revving, waiting for permission from the control tower to take off. And then it was lumbering down the runway. Slowly, the nose came up, and the entire bulky aircraft lifted into the air. Continuing to gain height, it banked and flew over Fort Buchanan.
On the ground, Master Gunnery Sergeant Dunblatt glanced skyward as the black Hercules droned overhead, then returned his attention to the search for Charlie and Caesar in the fort. ‘Where in the name of all that’s holy are they?’ he growl
ed.
The Hercules climbed steadily and headed out over the sparkling Caribbean, leaving Puerto Rico behind. In the vast rear cabin, Charlie was sitting strapped into the webbed seating along the port side with his head back against the aluminium fuselage wall. Caesar had curled up contentedly at his feet. From the cockpit, the pilot radioed a message which was to be relayed to SOCOM: EDD collected. En route to Black Shark DZ.
The first phase of Operation Black Shark was underway.
At Fort Lauderdale, Duke Hazard and ten other GRRR members were pulling on black special ops clothing and equipment. With Major Jinko and Captain Valenti watching her, Liberty Lee completed a phone call.
‘I have just been speaking with General Hammer,’ she told the pair. ‘The hijackers have contacted the Kaiser Line’s head office in Athens, via the Cleopatra’s radio-telephone. They have given them the details of an account with the Caribbean Worldwide Bank, the CWB, in the Cayman Islands. This is the account into which the liner is supposed to pay the two-hundred-million-dollar ransom.’
‘Is the line going to pay?’ Valenti asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Liberty replied. ‘They are not saying anything about that. But General Hammer has been in touch with Secretary-General Park. The Secretary-General has personally contacted the head of the CWB and asked for their cooperation.’
‘What sort of cooperation?’ Jinko queried.
‘He has asked if the bank could fake a deposit of two hundred million dollars into that account, so that the hijackers believe the ransom had been paid and release the passengers and crew.’
Jinko raised his eyebrows. ‘What was the bank’s response?’
‘They are reluctant,’ Liberty reported. ‘They say that to tamper with one customer’s account could jeopardise their business relationship with all their customers.’
‘But we’re talking about the proceeds of crime here,’ Jinko said impatiently. ‘Surely the bank couldn’t put the lives of more than three thousand people at risk for the sake of business?’
Liberty shrugged. ‘That’s why people bank in the Cayman Islands. More than six hundred banks and other financial institutions are based there, and they offer their customers total anonymity and freedom from oversight by foreign governments such as the United States.’
‘That is not right,’ Valenti said, waving his hands as he spoke. ‘Criminals could be using the banks on the Cayman Islands all the time and no one would know.’
Liberty nodded. ‘They probably are. The banks there don’t ask questions; they just take the money.’
Jinko shook his head. ‘It’s immoral.’
‘It’s business,’ Liberty said matter-of-factly. ‘Or so they say. But the head of the bank is considering the Secretary-General’s request.’
‘That’s something, I suppose,’ Jinko said, turning to his computer. ‘The CIA has sent us an interesting email, after our request for information on the Black Shark organisation.’
Liberty looked interested. ‘And what do the CIA’s spies have to say?’
‘They suggest that Black Shark doesn’t exist. It’s an invention of the hijackers. They think the hijackers could well be connected with the prison breakout in Havana at the weekend. In which case, the leader of the hijack gang could be this guy, Ricardo Ramos, leader of the breakout.’ He brought up a picture that had been released by the Cuban Government.
Liberty leaned over his shoulder to study the photo of Ricardo and nodded slowly. ‘A former NCO in the Cuban military,’ she said, reading the accompanying text. ‘Would he be smart enough to mastermind a hijack as big as this, I wonder?’
‘What if he’s not the mastermind?’ Jinko pondered. ‘What if he and his gang were working with someone else? Someone who organised the prison break for them.’ He clicked onto another attachment, bringing up a picture of an attractive young woman. ‘This is Ramos’s girlfriend, Ana-Maria Estevez. She was on the outside, and the Cuban authorities believe she aided the gang’s escape from prison by posing as a tourist on the bus the escapees hijacked.’
Liberty shook her head. ‘Ramos’s girlfriend, the mastermind? I do not think so. The seizure of the Cleopatra required a boat and weapons. That means money – and detailed planning. Could the girl set up the Cayman Islands bank account from Cuba? That would not be possible. No, someone else is behind this – someone from outside Cuba, but with connections in Cuba. Ask the CIA for any information it can give us on contacts that Ramos may have had outside Cuba. Particularly in the United States, where there are millions of people of Cuban origin.’
‘Perhaps Ramos has a contact within the Kaiser Line?’ Captain Valenti suggested. ‘The hijackers must have known a great deal about the ship before they hijacked it, no?’
Jinko pursed his lips. ‘An inside job? That makes sense.’
‘Please ask the CIA to check out all possibilities,’ Liberty said.
From outside came the distinctive sound of a helicopter landing.
‘That’s our ride,’ Jinko said. ‘Time to pack up and go.’
‘Ride?’ Valenti repeated.
‘A US Navy heelo,’ Jinko explained. ‘It’s going to airlift us down to the Wasp in the Caribbean. From there, we’ll mount the mission to board the Cleopatra.’
‘Oh. What should I do?’ Valenti asked.
‘Come with us,’ Liberty said. ‘We could use your expert knowledge of the Cleopatra.’
‘You want me to go with you to the American warship?’ Valenti replied, resisting the urge to pinch himself. ‘Would I not require special security clearance?’
‘While you are with GRRR, Captain, we will be responsible for you,’ Liberty assured him.
‘Oh.’ Valenti’s eyes lit up. He liked the idea of being involved in a high-stakes adventure. ‘Of course. Whatever I can do to be of help.’
Jinko was on his feet in an instant. He strode across the drill hall to Hazard and the operational team. ‘Are you and your men set to go, Sergeant?’
‘Affirmative, Major,’ the American replied.
‘What weaponry are you taking?’ Jinko asked.
‘An M4,’ Hazard said, lifting a carbine, ‘plus a Glock 17 sidearm and stun grenades.’ He pointed to the other team members. ‘My people are taking along much the same, but most will be using the MP5SD as their long weapon.’
Jinko nodded. ‘An MP5 equipped with a silencer,’ he said approvingly, looking at Angus Bruce’s compact Heckler & Koch MP5SD variant fitted with a squat circular silencer at the end of the barrel, and telescopic sights on top. ‘Good thinking.’
‘Don’t want to panic all the folks aboard if we can help it. If there’s an almighty firefight, the noise could give a few seniors a heart attack.’
Jinko smiled. ‘We can’t have that.’
‘And the Aussie is taking along his pet,’ Hazard added, inclining his head towards Baz, who was toting his favoured Minimi light machinegun. ‘Could be we’ll need him to suppress hostile fire.’
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to a shootout,’ Jinko said.
‘Affirmative to that, Major,’ Hazard returned.
‘What about boarding equipment?’ Jinko queried, looking around at the other members of the team.
‘Assuming we’re boarding the Cleopatra from the sea rather than from the air, sir,’ Angus Bruce said, holding up a weapon that looked a lot like a shotgun but with a very large tubular barrel. This grappling gun, used for scaling cliffs, walls and the sides of ships, contained a folded grappling hook that could be shot as far as thirty metres. When the hook was fired, it unfolded and a length of coiled rope attached to it rapidly unreeled in its wake. Once the hook was in place, an agile soldier could climb that rope.
Jinko nodded. ‘We’re working out your insertion method with the US Navy. Worst-case scenario, you’ll abseil down from heelos.’
‘The bad guys will see and hear us if we do,’ Hazard said. ‘You bears had better come up with something better than that.’
‘Leave it with
us to sort out,’ Jinko replied confidently.
‘That’s your job,’ the American said, before adding, ‘sir.’ Tough, independent Hazard didn’t like answering to officers, and even less to foreign officers. But orders were orders and Hazard was a good soldier; he would do as he was told. ‘Can this op go down now, Major?’ he asked impatiently.
Jinko nodded. ‘We’re all set, Sergeant. Get your men and yourself aboard the heelo.’
‘Roger that.’ Hazard turned to the nine other GRRR men and rotated a finger in the air. ‘Time to get airborne, people. Let’s move it!’
As the Hercules flew west, Charlie changed into a pair of loose casual trousers and a Hawaiian shirt that he’d brought with him from Fort Lauderdale. Then he strapped on a belt fitted with several pouches; two Browning Hi Powers went into one, while silencers, spare magazines and a mobile phone were packed into others. He’d just finished eating a cold MRE after giving Caesar the meat contents of several more when he was called up to the cockpit.
In the spacious cockpit, the USAF pilot and copilot greeted him warmly. The grey-haired pilot, seated on the left, pointed to the surface radar monitor in front of him. ‘Behold Cleopatra,’ he said, tapping the screen.
Charlie, sitting in an empty seat behind the pilot, leaned forward to see a number of blips on the screen. The one indicated by the pilot was larger than the others.
‘What’s your ETA?’ Charlie asked.
‘Should have you over your DZ in fifteen minutes, Sergeant,’ the pilot replied.
‘Copy that.’ Charlie glanced out the window. The sky was practically cloudless, but a quarter-moon shone to the east, which meant there was little moonlight. He and Caesar were unlikely to be spotted on the way down, coming out of an almost black sky. He expected the Cleopatra to be lit up like a shopping centre at night, as all cruise ships were, so he didn’t anticipate finding it in the darkness would be a problem. He patted the pilot on the shoulder. ‘Thanks for the ride.’
The pilot nodded. ‘Don’t mention it, buddy. Good hunting.’
Operation Black Shark Page 13