America jtf-2

by David E. Meadows

  “Huh?”

  “We gotta get out of this,” Leary continued. “They ain’t keeping us alive because of some misguided charity. They got something planned for us. And whatever it is, it ain’t gonna be good, and it ain’t gonna be pleasant.”

  Maureen Early, using her hips to move, wiggled back, alongside the Senior Chief, until her back reached the cool bulkhead. She raised first one hip, then the other, letting the blood circulate in her buttocks, the familiar tingling sensation grew in her buttocks and legs as feelings returned.

  “Damn, Ma’am. I hope you ain’t…”

  “Butt’s asleep, Senior Chief. That’s all.” She took a deep breath. “You’re right, Senior Chief. We have to escape.”

  “How?” Lieutenant Scott Kelly asked. “It isn’t as if we could do anything. Our hands are tied. They feed us once a day and barely give us enough water to keep us from becoming dehydrated.”

  “Regardless, Scott. The Senior Chief’s right,” Early said, tenderly running her tongue along her lips. At least the dryness from her voice was gone. “Just don’t know what we can do.” She looked at the Senior Chief. They may be officers, but this tall, muscular Senior Chief had ten more years of Navy service than both her and Scott together. A smidgeon of doubt bubbled from beneath a brief moment of confidence that maybe the Senior Chief had a way for them to escape. Then, recalling the man’s Naval history, she realized there was no way he could have experienced anything such as this. She doubted if anyone had and lived to tell about it. Damn! For the first time, she truly realized they were going to die. The dryness returned. They didn’t teach anything about escape and evasion while imprisoned on a ship when she went through Survival, Escape, Resistance, and Evasion — SERE, they called it — training. SERE training for flight crews was targeted toward being shot down over land and avoiding or escaping capture from the same. No one taught them what to do when they were shot down at sea and captured by an enemy ship.

  “I ain’t sure myself, but I know we have two chances. One when they bring the food and water every night. Of course, if they decide to keep us alive, eventually they’re going to have to wash us down — fire hose or something. So far, that ain’t happened, and we can’t wait around thinking it is.”

  This would be one part of their captivity she had no intention of sharing with anyone when they returned to civilization — how she’d sat in her own urine with two men while a prisoner. At least, so far, it had only been urine, though they knew Win Forrester had lost his bowel control soon after they were thrown into this compartment. She suspected the Senior Chief had also, but it wasn’t something that civilized people discussed. It was just something that happened when you were cast into a brutal situation that left no choice. She had feared when she first woke that they had molested her. Sure, the Senior Chief said they hadn’t, but the three of them were unconscious for a period, and who knew what happened during that time. She shut her eyes, trying to feel “down there” to see if she could tell if anything had happened. It didn’t feel like it to her, and she had some confidence that she would have known if she had been raped, but the only way she would know would be when she was rescued — if she was rescued. They could always change their minds if they hadn’t done anything to her. Then, just as suddenly, the fear passed. They never would have taken the time to redress her if they had. Being soaked in one’s waste is a great defense against rape.

  “We have to figure out how to get our hands untied.”

  “The only way I figure we can do it is to cut through these plastic ties.”

  “Even if we had something to cut through them, and even if we managed to get free, our hands are going to be useless until we get some circulation back in them.”

  “Lieutenant Scott, I would rather slap them to death with dead hands than sit here and wait for them to put a bullet between my eyes.”

  “So, how do we free our hands?” Scott asked, nodding in agreement.

  The Senior Chief looked at Early. “You’re looking at me. What can I do?” she asked, confused.

  “Ma’am, you’re the only one of us with a full set of teeth.”

  “I think I’ve heard that line before. I believe it was in South Carolina, or maybe West Virginia. It didn’t work then either.”

  The continuous engine noise with them for the past four days, with its low monotonous vibration in the background, increased in tempo for several seconds, then the vibration intensified as the ship started to reverse.

  “What’s happening?” Kelly asked, a tinge of fear in the question.

  “Whatever it is, it can’t be good,” the Senior Chief offered.

  Suddenly the engine noise quit. A few seconds elapsed, and then the ship began rolling slightly from side to side as the wave motion of the Atlantic Ocean pushed against the starboard side before rolling under the aged freighter.

  “Looks as if we’ve stopped,” Early said. She forced her right eye open, feeling the thick moisture that had been holding it together give. The water earlier spit in her mouth by Kelly had provided some relief. Shuffling around the deck, even with her hands tied, had restored circulation to her body. Her face hurt. It hurt like hell. She moved her jaw back and forth several times, sending slight pain waves down the right side of her face when she shifted her jaw to the left. How did that joke go? Doc, my arm hurts when I do this. Then, don’t do that.

  “That jaw hurting you?”

  She glanced at Kelly, who was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the compartment in the small beam of light from the passageway outside. She nodded. “No… well, a little. But, I don’t think anything’s broken, just swollen and sore.”

  “If it’s broken, you’d know.”

  She turned to Leary. “Okay, Senior Chief, let’s say I manage to use my God-given talent with teeth and get us loose. What then? As soon as they see we’re loose, they’re going to tie us up tighter or kill us.”

  “Ma’am, they’re going to kill us anyway. Why they’re keeping us alive is the question, and the more I think about it, the more I’m damn sure it ain’t from any sense of human compassion. They’ve got some sort of plan for us, and whatever it is, it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

  * * *

  “There you are, Tamursheki,” Captain Alrajool said, pointing west. “That’s called Florida—”

  “The land of the infidel,” Tamursheki muttered softly as if offering a prayer.

  “You can call it that, but those infidels seem to be kicking your butts all across the globe. We’re about ten miles south of the American city of Jacksonville. The Americans have their second largest Navy base along the East Coast there.”

  Tamursheki glared at the freighter’s Captain. “You make me angry, Alrajool. I would even suspect that you lack conviction of our righteousness. They have their aircraft carriers there?”

  Alrajool shrugged. “Who knows where the American aircraft carriers are. I know that some are home-ported there, along with an airfield that has many of their maritime patrol aircraft. What really worries me is that if they are looking for us and those aircraft over there”—he pointed toward the northeast—“don’t find us, the Air Force has reconnaissance aircraft stationed further inland. They’ll find us.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I only have this ship, my friend, and the job. Our boss Abu Alhaul sends me into places where they would just as soon sink this ship as to board it and take me alive. It makes little difference to these people. What was done to them years ago has never been forgotten, and in their own unforgiving and unflinching way, they intend to kill and subjugate every person who may be a threat to their heathen way of life.”

  “I didn’t know this about Jacksonville.”

  “Oh! And, I should be surprised?” Alrajool laughed, pushing away from the metal railing running alongside the port walkway leading to the bridge. “You have work to do. So do I. Let’s not confuse a business deal with religious fever. My job is to deliver you, your men, and this van on t
he stern of my ship. Along the way, I am to drop off one group of Islamic martyrs for the glory of Allah and the tidy sum of two hundred thousand American dollars. We are here at the first part of the job — drop off your first group. Then, we’ll continue on to Norfolk, Virginia, where I will off-load you along with the remainder of your men, and the van. Afterward — and that will be soon afterward — I will put back out to sea and be hundreds of miles away when whatever is in the van explodes. Then I wait for Abu Alhaul’s next assignment.” Alrajool smiled, delighted with the anger blazing in Tamursheki’s eyes. Stupid little shits, he thought. Young and impressionable. Able to believe their one little death could change anything. “He pays well. You know you are not the first transaction I have had with your organization. Considering there aren’t many ship owners who would take the risk of transporting you, you should be happy I am here.” Alrajool pushed his black captain’s cap up off his forehead. The gold embroidering on the brim had dirty smudges from many years of his hands touching it. He would be glad when this bunch of fanatics was off his ship. It’s hard to trust those who eagerly seek death. Give him those who want to live forever anytime. He had carried weapons, arms, ammunitions, and even once sailed to Bulgaria to pick up plastic explosives for Abu Alhaul. This wasn’t his first time transporting terrorists, but it sure was going to be his last.

  Tamursheki started to reply, then decided against it. He knew this was a one-way voyage. He touched his shirt pocket where the message Abu Alhaul had sent announcing their final destination had been neatly folded and tucked. He grinned. No one else would have ever figured out the varying convolutions his master devised to sow terror into the homeland of the infidel. Only he had been honored with the true plan; a true plan that would probably mean the death of everyone on board, but he was prepared to sacrifice himself for Allah and the future of Islam. Only Abu Alhaul truly spoke for the prophet. His eyes narrowed. Dr. Ibrahim also knew the true weapon on board and it angered Tamursheki that he needed information from the Palestinian. For the nearly ten days they had been at sea, Tamursheki had refused to share his relevant information, and he had refused to concede to Ibrahim that the doctor had the same knowledge. Even though he knew the doctor would have to know. Maybe he should kill the man before he left the ship for his own mission. He glanced at Alrajool. And why not take the good Captain and his crew with them into paradise? They could argue the particulars of his actions while with Allah.

  “I don’t think I have seen you so quiet, my friend,” Alrajool said, trying to pull from behind those evil eyes the thoughts that seemed to capture hourly the man beside him.

  The ship rolled to port a few degrees before righting itself. Alrajool stuck his head through the hatch into the bridge. “Helmsman, rudder twenty degrees starboard,” he ordered.

  Even with no engines on line and the shaft locked, the movement of the current here, along with the waves, shoved the ship toward the shore. Shifting the rudder was the only means Alrajool had to keep the ship pointed into the waves without re-engaging the engines and putting minimum revolutions on the shaft to maintain station. He had already used nearly half his fuel, and he would take any chance to conserve.

  “Okay, Tamursheki. If you’re going to get your group off my ship, you better start doing it now. We’re five miles from the coast. By the time they work their way ashore, it’ll be dark. That is, if your desert sailors know anything about rowing.”

  Tamursheki agreed and headed aft. “Tell them they need to work those oars front to back, if they want to reach the beach. We haven’t lost that storm, and if it turns around and catches them, then they won’t have to worry about paddling ashore. They’ll just have to worry how long they can tread water.”

  A port hatch opened on the deck below the causeway, just as the ship rolled to port again. Dr. Ibrahim stepped outside on the main deck, holding his hat on his head so the wind wouldn’t blow it away. The heavy hatch swung shut, slamming against the hatchway a couple of times. The outside handle turned as some unseen person inside the ship locked the hatch down.

  Ibrahim saw the two men above him. He took his hat off and shoved it inside his coat before grabbing both of the handrails for balance. Navigating the rolls of the ship, Ibrahim climbed to where the two stood.

  A wave crashed against the starboard side of the freighter, causing the port roll already underway to increase a degree or two.

  “How long are we going to be here?” Ibrahim shouted above the groans of the freighter.

  Alrajool nodded at Tamursheki. “As long as it takes this fine Jihadist to get his group into the water and headed to shore.”

  Ibrahim looked at the leader of the terrorist group. “They going to be able to make it?” he asked incredulously. “Look at the waves.”

  “Allah is with them. They will make it,” Tamursheki answered.

  “If you two will excuse me, I am going inside to the bridge,” Alrajool said, jerking his thumb toward the forward hatch a few feet away.

  When Captain Alrajool had closed the watertight hatch behind him, Tamursheki turned to Dr. Ibrahim. “How long will they have?” he asked in a commanding voice.

  Ibrahim put his right hand, palm spread against his chest. “I can only say they should be good for another four days. They’re right where we want them now.”

  “What happens if their boat is overturned and they should drown?”

  Ibrahim bit his lower lip for a moment. “That is a good question and deserves a good answer, of which I have none. If the bodies wash ashore, there is a good chance the trap will be sprung as tightly as if they were alive, but the key to the plan that your boss hired me to do is that they be able to travel across the country to wherever they have been ordered to go. If they reach their destination via the ways they are told to go, and if they aren’t caught or interfered with, then you should have your answer within twenty-five days.”

  Tamursheki turned away without replying and hurried down the ladder to the main deck. He soon disappeared toward the stern, where his men were busy inflating a Zodiac raft. Zodiac rafts were used for pleasure throughout the world, and many times as life rafts for pleasure boats. Along with its pleasure applications, it was also the choice for terrorists and Special Forces for covert insertion and recovery along hostile coastline. It’s low profile to the sea and the ease by which the inflatable rubber craft could be stored added to its covert attraction.

  Soon Tamursheki would have his time with both of these men. They sneered at him as if he was trash instead of the leader of Allah’s troops. They were little different from the infidels against which the Holy Jihad fought. Alrajool balanced his faithfulness between money and religion, and there was little doubt in his mind which of the two the man preferred. Ibrahim was the same. The man was for the money Abu Alhaul had given him to bring the drugs and administer it to his team. He reached up and touched the flesh beneath his upper left arm. The sting of the shots from two days ago still reacted to the touch. The burning sensation as the contents of the hypodermic flowed from the needle into his body was a reminder of what he carried. His life was but a drop into the plan for a world dominated by the one true faith.

  Tamursheki moved to the right to walk between the next ladder and the bulkhead of the first deck. No reason to take a chance of being tossed overboard by going on the far side of the walkway. The sound of voices reached his ears as he reached the end of the forecastle of the freighter. The noise of the wind wove around him, and tiny bits of ocean spray peppered his face, causing him to squint in an effort to keep the stinging salt from his eyes.

  The Zodiac raft was inflated. It was a large model capable of carrying seven people. The small engine laying on the deck would power the craft most of the way to shore, but the four men chosen to take it would have to paddle the remainder of the distance. Tamursheki smiled. Alrajool had hidden the small portable engines that came with the three Zodiac rafts, thinking he wouldn’t know about them. Qasim had discovered them while rambling through the aft s
torerooms. It was a secret he kept to himself. Information was power no matter how small it was. To keep it to oneself gave one power over others.

  The four chosen martyrs were making the rounds of their fellow warriors, receiving hugs, best wishes, and promises to carry word of their martyrdom back to their families. In his mind, he saw each family reverently receiving the word and announcing to others their pride in a family member who had given his life to spread the word of Allah. It would never have dawned on Tamursheki that a family would be heartbroken or sad over what these men were about to do. To him, martyrdom was the ultimate reward for fighting in the name of Allah, and to fight for Abu Alhaul was the same. Every religious war needed its chaste generals to mark out the strategy to rid the world of the infidels and install the one true religion along with its fair Sharia — religious laws. Every family would invite others to share their pride, and in his thoughts, he wished for a fleeting moment that he could be in the hills of Yemen to see his own family celebrate his martyrdom. He knew for once in his father’s life the old man would straighten with pride at the son he had cast out. For Tamursheki, it was completely alien to believe that his father would want him alive when he could achieve such fame or that his father who had once disowned him would continue to deny Tamursheki the honor he sought.

  “Tamursheki!” Qasim shouted as he neared.

  Everyone turned and in unison began shouting “Allah Akbar!” at the tops of their lungs. One of the men reached out and grabbed another, who had tittered backward into the lifeline surrounding the aft deck.

  Tamursheki held his hands up, a broad grin. His face felt naked without a beard, but to go into America, to seek martyrdom, meant ridding oneself of hair. He would shave the mustache when they reached Norfolk. His heart burst with pride. These comrades had elected to die with him, though none of them knew they were to die. They believed as the Captain did that when they reached their final destination, they would pull alongside a dock and unload the miracle weapon tied down on the stern deck near them. Then, when the ship had safely sailed away to support other missions of their cause, they would explode the weapon. Oh, glorious day, he heard someone say. The life of a Jihadist belonged to those such as him who carried the word of God within them.