The Forgotten (john puller)

by David Baldacci

  Puller looked up ahead. The sky was jet black even though the dawn wasn’t all that far off. While light would be welcome so he could see the approaching waves better, he preferred the dark. Attacking something in broad daylight was never a good idea even with superior numbers.

  And they would not have superior numbers.

  They would in fact probably be vastly outnumbered, with prisoners who could instantly be turned into hostages. It would take perfection to actually pull this off. And one almost never achieved perfection on the battlefield.

  The VHF radio mounted underneath the helm squawked. Diaz must have programmed it to sound off when there were weather alerts available. Puller picked it up, listened to the taped announcement. He put the handheld back in its slot and looked grim.

  Carson crab-walked over to him as the boat rolled and pitched in waves that were far higher than it.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Small craft warning was just issued. Ordered to get to shore.”

  “Well, we’re going the other way,” said Carson.

  “You okay on the water?”

  “If I were I would’ve joined the Navy.”

  “I’d take you back to shore if I could.”

  “I wouldn’t let you. Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force. We all go where the battle will be fought. Get there however we can.”

  “With that attitude you’ll get at least three stars, General.”

  “General?”

  “Back on the clock.”

  She looked up ahead. “Any idea how much farther? Even with the storm the skies are lightening.”

  “I know. And in this weather the trip time is hard to judge.”

  A moment later there was a huge bolt of lighting that briefly turned night to day. It was followed by an enormous crack of thunder that seemed to shake the bow rider to its fiberglass core.

  “This boat was not built to take a beating like this,” said Carson.

  “Neither were people.”

  “If we go down we’ll never survive in these seas.”

  “Some R and R for you, huh?”

  She touched him on the shoulder. “Like I’d have it any other way.”

  “Okay, you have my vote for four stars.”

  “And so what’s the plan when we get there?” “The plan is we beat the bad guys and rescue the prisoners.”

  “That concept I got. I mean how do we do it?” “I don’t think we can tactically battle-plan this one, General. It’s all about conditions when we get there. It’s an oil platform. We get to the base and work our way up. With the head start they had they’re already there. And with the storm like it is they’ll have to move to an enclosed space. I doubt they’ll have perimeter security set up. They wouldn’t expect anyone to hit them tonight. When the storm has passed they’ll head back out, retracing the way they got here, taking all the evidence with them.”

  “And then?”

  “And then they’ll set up a pipeline somewhere else. These guys are bacteria. They keep mutating to keep one step ahead of the antibiotics.”

  “So we’re penicillin?”

  “Something a lot stronger, I hope.”

  “If they’re higher up in an enclosed space?”

  “It gives us a chance. Stealth plus ability plus luck. That combo has equaled victory on more battlefields than you and I can count.”

  “Let’s hope we can add one more to the pile.” “Do my best.”

  “I know that, Ranger. And if you were wrong and they didn’t come back out here?”

  Puller didn’t answer. He was looking up ahead.

  “Go sit down, General.”

  “What?” She looked up ahead, but couldn’t make out what he could.

  “Julie, go sit down. Now! And hold on. Tell the others. Quick.”

  Carson scurried to do this.

  She had just heard something in Puller’s voice she thought she never would.

  Fear.

  CHAPTER 85

  It was not a giant wave heading at them.

  Maybe it would have been better if it were.

  It was a boat. No, boats were small.

  This was not small. This was a ship. An ocean-going vessel of immense proportions.

  A horn sounded from somewhere, deep and penetrating.

  Puller did not even bother hitting his horn. It would not have been heard over the sounds of the storm or the engine noise from the approaching vessel.

  Puller had an immediate problem. He had to keep taking the approaching waves at roughly a forty-five-degree angle. As even sailors with limited experience knew, hitting waves at that angle cut their power sharply and also lessened the height the water would send a boat to.

  Head-on at ninety degrees would ensure that you would receive every ounce of kinetic energy the oncoming liquid hammer could provide.

  And you might very well climb a wave only to find yourself capsizing when a vertical point of no return was reached. Once your bow was straight up in the air, you were done. Flipping over backwards was pretty much inevitable. And for the passengers on board, you’d either be crushed by the boat or thrown out into the water to drown.

  The problem was that for Puller to veer away from the path of the oncoming ship, he would have to hit the waves nearly directly on. The oncoming vessel was big enough, and with a deep V hull made of steel, it was strong enough to take the waves head-on. In fact, the ship was creating vast banks of rolling seas as it churned through the water at about twelve knots, pushing millions of gallons of already frothing Gulf water ahead and to the sides of it like a shovel does snow.

  At the last possible instant, with the ship’s horns ringing in his ears, Puller cut the wheel sharply to the left. He not only had to avoid the ship, he had to avoid its wake, which could easily capsize the bow rider.

  In order to achieve that he had to cut a wide arc around the ship and move away quickly.

  To do that he had to increase his speed.

  That was not easily accomplished in seas like this. In fact it was nearly impossible. Half the time his prop was completely out of the water, spinning uselessly in the open air with no water around it for traction.

  He did not entirely achieve his goal.

  Puller yelled, “Everybody hold on.”

  They didn’t hit the ship. But they did hit something else.

  The leading edges of the ship’s wake broadsided them. The boat’s port side tipped down and the starboard side lurched up, probably far beyond the manufacturer’s recommendation.

  Carson and Landry slid across the deck and hit the port gunwale.

  Carson would have gone into the water except that Mecho, one big hand wrapped around a handrail inside the boat, grabbed her leg in a crushing grip.

  Landry managed to hold on to the gunwale, but her legs were dangling over the side before she regained her equilibrium and fell back inside the boat.

  Diaz had slid back to front and ended up entangled with Puller’s legs. One hand firmly on the wheel, Puller grabbed her with the other and lifted her up.

  Unfortunately, the wall of water thrown off from the trailing edge of the ship’s wake hit them just as the boat righted itself.

  Gagging on saltwater, Puller managed to call out, “We’re getting swamped.”

  They all grabbed buckets that Mecho found under a seat and started bailing. The drains on the boat helped, but they were overwhelmed with the volume of seawater.

  Puller watched as the sides of the boat started lowering into the ocean.

  Using two buckets, Mecho bailed like a machine with inexhaustible fuel. Puller gave the wheel to Diaz and grabbed a bucket.

  Soon, as first Landry and then Carson grew exhausted and slumped down into the water collected inside the boat, it was just the two men standing nearly side by side in the boat throwing water out a little quicker than it was coming in. Puller’s painkiller was wearing off and his wound began to throb. But he didn’t stop.

  “We’re coming back up,” sh
outed Diaz. “Keep bailing.”

  Renewed by this, Carson and Landry jumped back in and started to bail simply using their hands. The tide began to turn in earnest.

  Forty minutes later, the drains and bilge pump took over and the interior of the boat became relatively dry.

  It was only then that Carson and Landry hung their heads over the side of the boat and threw up the seawater that had collected in their stomachs.

  Puller upchucked over the side as well and then took over the wheel from Diaz and continued his fight through the leading edge of Danielle.

  Mecho dropped the buckets and stood there, soaked, his big arms at his side, breathing hard and looking up ahead.

  It was if he could sense something coming.

  At the helm Puller eyed the fuel gauge. He had filled the tank before they had left from cans that Diaz had had on board. But the pounding waters had caused the engine to suck a lot more fuel than normal to keep its forward progress.

  Puller performed a quick calculation in his head.

  The answer was unmistakable. And deeply disturbing.

  We're not going to have enough gas to get back.

  He looked over at Mecho, who still stood, braced against the stem seats. Mecho was watching him. It seemed the big man had read Puller’s mind as he had studied the dials in front of him.

  Then he looked over Puller’s shoulder and slowly pointed up ahead.

  Puller turned back and looked at where he was pointing.

  A huge structure suddenly became visible in the middle of the storm’s fury.

  Neptune’s Seat was dead ahead.

  They had reached the battlefield, exhausted and nearly drowned.

  And now the real fight was about to begin.

  CHAPTER 86

  Nearly two hundred people were clustered in cages meant to hold half that number.

  Diego and Mateo crouched in a comer of one cage. Both were seasick from the journey out here. There were many others who were in the same condition. Pools of vomit lay everywhere. The stench made more people sick to their stomachs, which only added to the vileness of the cages.

  Diego gripped Mateo’s hand and looked around.

  The guards were everywhere but they didn’t look as confident now.

  Perhaps it was because there were far more prisoners than normal.

  Perhaps it was because they all could feel the battering effects of the angry ocean against the steel frame of the oil platform. The room they were in shook with every wave.

  Mateo’s eyes were big as he watched the ceiling, and his fingers tightened around Diego’s every time a wave slammed into them.

  Diego dipped his lips to Mateo’s ear. “It will be okay, Mateo. We’ll be okay.”

  Mateo said nothing. He just kept looking at the ceiling, kept tightening his grip.

  Diego looked down at his finger. Where the ring had been.

  He had dropped it at the place where they had been held. He hoped someone would find it. Someone other than these people.

  He kept a brave face for Mateo. But their odds of getting out of this were dwindling. If the storm did not kill them, Diego had no idea what would happen to them or where they would end up.

  With this thought, a feeling of terror seized him and he tightened his grip around Mateo’s hand.

  Perhaps sensing this, Mateo put his mouth to Diego’s ear and whispered, “It’ll be okay, Diego. We’ll be okay.”

  Puller eased off the throttle and slipped his night-vision goggles over his eyes for a better look.

  He studied the structure that had risen up from the midst of the storm. It seemed to tower right up to the top of the sky. Waves were crashing over its lower platform. Its steel legs shuddered with the pounding from millions of tons of water hitting it, driven by the fierce winds propelling Danielle landward.

  Puller was looking for sentries first.

  Entry points second.

  Overall weaknesses third.

  Mecho joined him at the helm.

  “Docking will be a problem,” said Puller as he watched the floating platform pitching and rolling with the waves.

  “I don’t think we can dock. It will crush the boat.”

  “Well, we can’t exactly jump in and swim for it. The wind is heading away from the platform and right at us. We’ll be swept out in seconds.”

  Puller ran his gaze over the platform once more.

  “I’m thinking that in a storm like this they’re not expecting any visitors. They’re probably inside trying to stay warm and dry.”

  “Probably.”

  “I mean, someone would have to be batshit crazy to be out here attacking this place in the middle of a tropical storm.”

  “Batshit crazy,” agreed Mecho.

  “And they have no way of knowing that we could find our way to this platform.” Puller had a sudden terrifying thought, despite the coordinates Carson’s people had sent. “You’re sure it’s the right platform? There are a lot of them out here.”

  “It’s the one I was on. I jumped from that deck.”

  Puller looked up about forty feet. “And then you swam to shore?”

  “Yes. With help from some fishermen.”

  “No perimeter security. Wind coming from the south. Floating platform over there.”

  “What’s your plan?”

  “All timing.”

  Puller told the others what he was thinking. Carson shook her head as she surveyed the rough seas and the approaching storm.

  “No margin of error, Puller,” she said.

  “No, it’s slight, but it’s there.”

  Landry said, “Is this the only way?”

  “Only one I can think of, and if we wait much longer that plan won’t work.”

  Mecho said, “We need to try it.”

  Diaz nodded. “Okay, and let’s break out the weapons. We’re going to need them.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” said Puller.

  “And once we’re on the platform?” said Diaz. Mecho pointed up at the enclosed structure. “They’ll be in there. There are multiple entry and exit points. Prisoners and guards. The guards are not that well trained but they have heavy firepower. More than what we have.”

  “So we have to hit them hard and fast and take them by surprise,” said Carson as a large wave pummeled the boat, forcing everyone to grab something to hold on to. “That will negate their superior numbers and ordnance.”

  She looked at Puller. “So how are you going to get us there?”

  “Two at a time,” he replied.

  “What exactly does that mean?” asked Landry.

  “It means, exactly, that you’re going to have to jump. Two at a time.”

  CHAPTER 87

  Puller aimed the bow of the boat directly at the floating platform. The bow rider fought through the waves and against the wind.

  At the last possible instant he swerved, missing the bucking platform by only half a foot.

  “Now,” shouted Puller.

  Mecho and Diaz, standing on the starboard side, leapt off the gunwale and landed, sprawled, on the platform.

  Puller pulled the boat away from the platform and had Landry take the wheel while he unlocked a storage compartment on the boat and opened the watertight compartment inside where he had stored their weapons. He organized their arsenal as Landry focused on keeping the boat within striking distance of the platform.

  Finished with the weapons, Puller put them in a collapsible, watertight duffel, zipped it shut, and handed it to Carson.

  He retook the wheel from Landry and swung the boat back around.

  He looked at Carson and then down at the duffel she held. “That’s not exactly light.” He glanced at Landry. “I think it’ll be a team effort.”

  Landry gripped one end of the duffel. “We’ll get it there,” she said.

  He hit the throttle and once more steered the bow rider right at the platform, veering off at the last second again.

  It was then that Landry and
Carson collectively tossed the duffel toward the platform. It sailed over the raging waters and Mecho caught it.

  Puller brought the boat back around again.

  He roared toward the platform, fighting through the pitching, rolling seas.

  Now, Landry looked green and Carson not much better.

  Puller said, “You ready or do you want me to come back around?”

  Carson waved this offer off. “I just want to get off this damn boat.”

  Landry nodded in agreement.

  At the last second Puller steered to port again.

  “Now,” yelled Puller.

  Both women launched themselves off the gunwale.

  Landry touched down on the platform, rolled, and came up to a sitting position.

  Carson wasn’t so fortunate. Her foot slipped on the slick gunwale as she jumped. She came up short, landing half on the platform and half in the water.

  As she started to lose her grip and fall fully into the Gulf, Mecho snagged her arm and lifted her completely out of the water and onto the platform.

  Carson looked up at him, stunned by his strength.

  “Thank God they grow them big and strong in Bulgaria,” she said.

  Mecho passed out the weapons and they crouched down. When Diaz’s and Landry’s hands closed around their weapons, they both smiled.

  Carson caught their looks and smiled too as she gripped her rifle. “Guns can be a girl’s best friend,” she said.

  No shots had come from the enclosed space. No one seemed to know they were even there. The storm had obviously drowned out the noise of the boat. And their landing on the platform was nothing compared to the pounding the ocean was giving the massive structure.

  They turned and looked out to sea where Puller was maneuvering the boat for the last pass.

  Landry said, “I still don’t get how he’s going to get on the platform. He can’t jump and pilot at the same time.”

  “We’ll find out,” said Carson.

  In the boat Puller was lining up the last run. He waved to the others on the platform to clear away. They moved well back.

  Puller eyed the waves, analyzed the wind direction, gauged the troughs and peaks of the water. A bolt of lightning crashed down so close by that the hairs on the back of his neck went vertical.