“Report, Coop.”
“We got a problem, Kyle,” Coop said.
“Okay. Lay it out for me.”
“We got a bomb. We got engines shut down, but appear to not be compromised, but we got a dead chief engineer and we got snakes loose.”
“Excuse me?”
“When we got here they’d just finished shutting everything down, sending the crew upstairs somewhere, and murdering the engineer, who’d tried to be a hero. When they left, we found the bomb, uncrated. Seems as though someone had the bright idea to load the package with cobras and one of the commandos got bit in the leg and died within minutes. There are about twenty snakes, as best I can see, crawling all over the engine room floor. We’re up on the catwalk.”
“Holy fuckin’ hell. So I guess you aren’t going to have a good look at that bomb, then.”
Cooper cleared his throat. “Does anybody know, do cobras climb trees? ’Cause I think I see one havin’ that sort of an idea.”
Cruisin’ for a Seal: Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sophia had been forced to go upstairs with the other women of the crew and staff. She found Christy, Gina, Devon, Mia, Jasmine and a very ill looking Libby, who had brought a blanket with her and was lying on one of the bench seats in the Deck 9 dining area. Christy had gotten a glass of hot water and was trying to help Libby sip a bit of it.
She approached them. “Anything I can get for her?”
“She shouldn’t be here. She should be in bed, in a warm cabin,” Christy said.
“At least you got a spot inside. Some aren’t so lucky,” she pointed to the glass sliding doors which were sliding back and forth as people were lined up several deep, attempting to file into the dining area from the outside. A guard at the doorway blocked their entrance. He waved an automatic in their faces and several in the front screamed and fell, but were helped back up by the passengers behind them. A cold wind swiftly cut through the room every time the door swung open.
Sophia thought most of the commandos, and there appeared to be about ten of them on the deck, were Russian. She’d heard one speaking Arabic, but several spoke a Russian-like dialect she’d heard only a couple of times before.
She’d passed the Moroccan dancers, headed downstairs with a large contingent of elderly men. Their skinny bodies seemed out of place with the tall, muscular black-camo warriors surrounding them. They kept to themselves, whispering, with eyes darting back and forth. That’s when she realized they’d been pawns in a very dangerous game, perhaps more deadly than they realized.
She wondered how the SEAL Team men were faring, since she’d not seen one of them. Sanouk had been allowed to accompany Libby, since she was too weak to walk on her own and needed someone to carry her.
Sanouk walked up to her and whispered in her ear. “She is very sick, mum. I am afraid for her.”
“Me too, Sanouk. Let me see if I can get her something to chew on.”
“No, mum. She can’t keep anything down. Just seems to make her sicker. My mother would brew her some chrysanthemum tea, which would be good for her stomach.”
“Well, I see they have warm water. Let me see if I can get some herbal—”
A heavy arm grabbed Sophia by the waist and pulled her back and away from the other women. She struggled a bit before she saw Maksym’s face, which looked confused and hostile. He was unaccompanied.
“You will come with me and get one other who is strong.” His grip on her arm hurt, reminding her of Roberto.
“Where are you taking us?”
“I’m allowed to keep a special eye out for troublemakers. I may have need of your services.”
At first Sophia squinted at the insult she thought had been leveled at her. But a new plan began to form. Perhaps this officer, whom Mark had told her about, was beginning to sprout a conscience.
She whirled around and surveyed the group of SEAL women before her. “I need a volunteer.” She didn’t have time to evaluate the group properly. Mia stepped forward but was soon pushed aside by Gina. “I’m your gal.” The two of them exchanged a look that informed Sophia that the other woman had some martial arts training and probably weaponry.
“I’m a cop,” she whispered.
“Maksym, we are ready,” Sophia said as she whirled around and found Maksym in an argument with a Russian nearly his size. The Russian had forced an armful of orange jumpsuits into Maksym’s arms and left. She’d heard the guttural Russian and multiple times the word, Amerikanskiy, which indicated to her they were being singled out for some reason.
Maksym walked over to her with his arms full of jumpsuits.
“I’m afraid you must all put these on. It is ordered by the commander.”
This would make it impossible not to identify them as some kind of high-value asset. Sophia wondered what plan they were being forced to play.
“No way I’m letting Libby put one of those jumpsuits on,” Christy said sternly. She huffed as she jammed her legs into the oversized opening of a filthy one-piece jumpsuit. It was clearly made for a man twice her size, with legs nearly a foot too long, despite Christy’s height. She rolled her cuffs up, as did several of the others.
Sophia put on hers, which smelled of oil and days old sweat. Surveying the room, she saw that several other women were being asked to put on the orange jumpsuits, and Sophia realized they must have also been Americans.
Maksym came up behind her and whispered, “Take it off, and get your friend to remove hers, too. Come with me.”
Sophia and Gina did as instructed, waving fondly to the group before they followed the tall Ukrainian officer, who no longer wore anything that identified he was a member of the officer’s crew. His jeans, black knit top and black leather jacket made him look like a wealthy tourist. Holding the folded jumpsuits they had previously worn, he led them towards the center of the ship to a men’s restroom, closed the door behind them and locked it.
Sophia saw Gina go on instant alert. Sophia had known Maksym only for a year, but she didn’t feel the same distrust she saw in Gina’s eyes and stance.
“We have little time.” He threw the jumpsuits into the trash bin under the sink. “Your friends have been chosen for execution. Public execution.”
Gina’s eyes widened.
“I cannot save all of you, but you two can pass for Italian, and you are Italian from now on, understood?”
They nodded back at him.
But Sophia could barely breathe. Her chest was heaving as she attempted to get air, yet she suffocated, her eyes stinging in pure pain. “You should not have let us go with you. We cannot abandon them.”
“As I said, I cannot save all of you.”
Sophia’s eyes filled with tears. Gina was right there, putting her arm around her waist, and smoothing her hair behind her ear. “Come on, Sophia. You can do this. We’ll figure out a way.”
Maksym was staring at himself in the mirror. Closing his eyes, he allowed his forehead to drop to the glass surface, leaving a smudge from the sweat buildup there.
“For the record, I did not know all this would happen. This wasn’t what I’d planned.”
“This was your plan?” Sophia shot back at him. “You planned this?”
“No. This was never the plan.” He turned and searched their faces.
Was he daring to ask for absolution?
Sophia hated him for his health, hated him for his greed, his good looks, the fact that he was alive and people her man loved were being targeted to extract a price for God knew what reason, hated his convoluted efforts to try to minimize his role in the terrible chain of events unfolding faster than any of them could have imagined. She hated her lack of power to do anything to stop it.
What would her father have done? Would he have stood for this? She knew the answer almost before the question had come to her. She took a deep breath, willing the tears back behind her eyes, willing her nerves of steel, her birthright, the only thing left of him she still had.
“Maksym. What can we do
to stop this?”
Now it was Maksym’s turn to buck up. He seemed to take courage from her face. But then his eyes fell as he shrugged his shoulders and began to sob.
Sophia slapped him. “Maksym. Maksym, stop it! Stop it right now. What can we do?”
“Nothing. We’re all going to die.”
Sophia looked across the vanity to Gina’s reflection. She saw the kind of resolve she needed in a sister, a team member. Something close to the connection Mark had with his band of brothers. It wasn’t nearly as wide or as deep, but the look they shared was every bit as strong, forged by the understanding and agreement that the innocent should be protected and that in some way they’d fight this evil even if it was the last thing they’d do.
Looking directly into Gina’s eyes, she snapped at Maksym, “Then, if we’re all going to die, it’s a matter of how well we die.”
Unlike her slap, her words jolted Maksym out of his despair.
“You going to die a coward, an evil man…or a good man, Maksym?”
Gina’s face was glowing in full approval. Maksym righted himself and brushed back the lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead, rubbing off the tear tracks staining his smooth cheeks with the back of his palms. He seemed to take strength from her.
“I am no coward. Not today, I am not.”
“Good,” Gina said briskly, “because the next order of business is to get our hands on some weapons. Maksym, how can you help us do that?” she continued.
He stared at the ceiling as he considered their options.
“We’ll have to take them off someone. There are no caches of guns on the ship anywhere.”
“Three against one. I like those odds, taken one at a time. I say we do it,” Gina whispered, hardly able to contain the excitement she obviously felt. Sophia took strength from it.
“We’ll lure them. You do the rest,” Sophia commanded.
Opening the bathroom door a crack, she saw a lone commando with his back to her. Checking her line of sight in both directions, she whispered to the man in Russian. “Please, sir. My friend, my friend is bleeding.” She pointed to the doorway to the men’s room. As the soldier passed, she checked for observers, and, seeing none, gave him a kick in the butt, which sent him flying into the cramped space, the door closed, and she heard the sounds of a scuffle and a muted cry.
“Another,” came the whisper from Maksym.
She motioned for a black clad soldier to come from nearly thirty feet away. She raised her finger to her lips and gave him a warm smile but continued telling him to keep it quiet. He tried to ignore her at first, but when she continued, he leaned into a colleague and both of them came forward.
Shit.
“Vy govorite po-russki?” Do you speak Russian?
“Da.”
“Your colleague is screwing my little sister. She is only sixteen. Please help me.” As they turned into the doorway, attempting to open it, she added the kill shot as she looked around her to verify they were not being watched. “I was just flirting, but he picked the wrong sister. Help me, please.”
The door opened and she slammed her body into the two of them, causing them all to fall forward into the restroom. She barely was able to get the door closed before the scuffle began. Gina kicked the first one in the nuts as he attempted to right himself by holding on to the vanity surface. His compact semi-automatic fell to the floor as Maksym reached over and twisted the man’s neck with a resounding crack.
Sophia had hitched herself up on the other man’s hips from behind and was gouging at his eye sockets with her fingers. Gina delivered another blow to the man’s groin, and then stepped aside to drag the body of the first soldier to the stall with the first one they’d gotten. Maksym removed a utility blade from the man’s belt and gutted the last man from his navel to just under his breastbone with a force and speed Sophia had never seen before.
The man’s pained grunting stopped and he fell forward, dead.
Maksym was covered in blood, which glistened wet all over his black knit shirt. His jeans were also soaked, and as red as his hands.
Gina tossed a uniform from one of the men she’d disrobed and Maksym carefully put it on without getting any of the pooled blood on it. He wiped his shoes and rinsed his hands and face in the sink.
Sophia whispered to Gina, “Quick, I need something to sop up the blood. It’s pooling and about to leak out door.” Gina threw her a shirt and the blood migration was halted temporarily.
Maksym actually looked like one of the Russians.
“Can I?” Gina asked as she slipped on one of the gunmen’s shirts over her own. “Makes it more plausible I have a gun, perhaps?”
“Go with it,” Maksym said. “You’ll be the prisoner, Sophia, and Gina, you will be my accomplice.”
Gina had been admiring her new weapon. The other one Maksym stashed uncomfortably in his belt at his back and covered it up with his shirt. “I can’t give you one, Sophia, if you are going to be my prisoner.”
“Understood,” she said.
“I think we’re as ready as we’re going to be,” he said. “We have a place we can meet your SEALs?”
“Not sure. Let’s go to Deck 5 if we can.”
“We travel the outside, avoid the interior stairways and the elevators,” Maksym whispered. “We have to start by going up from the outside, then down a corridor to the outside stairs.”
As they left the Deck 9 dining area, Sophia saw Libby and the other women being escorted to the back of the ship surrounded by a contingent of armed guards. Their hands were secured in zip ties. Other women and children were silent as they were led in the opposite direction. Some older women crossed themselves. Christy stood tall, the wife of the Team leader, and always would be, Sophia thought. Gina was behind her, and she heard her swear softly.
Sophia hoped to God they would be able to connect with Mark and the others in time to save her life, as well as the lives of the other women. Sadly, Sanouk brought up the rear, carrying the blanketed body of Libby Cooper, who had been spared wearing an orange jumpsuit, but not a certain death, and who must have been terrified about losing her unborn child. It was just so fuckin’ wrong.
Sophia said a little prayer as they turned to face whatever was lying beyond the glass doors.
Cruisin’ for a Seal: Chapter Twenty-Nine
Wolf sat atop his Sikorsky S-434 helicopter and maneuvered down to the deck. Everything was going according to plan. He was pleased that he had not lost one of his men. Although he was going to have to make Maksym and the Moroccans suffer for their mistakes, he’d planned for those eventualities.
He was pleased the bomb had been discovered. Azziz’s cobras had been brilliant. He liked the skinny Moroccan freedom fighter, even though the man could not manage one linear thought, thanks to his overwhelming religious fervor.
Makes you weak, his Russian handler had told him when he’d first been sent to the Middle East. He’d been told to never fear the Muslim threat because their fervor clouded their judgment. Made them completely predictable, in an otherwise unpredictable and dangerous world.
Like ten-year-olds with Uzis, Boris had said on more than one occasion.
Well, so far he’d outsmarted them all. The Russians, due to their harsh stance on dissidents and “subgroups,” had given him a cadre of willing and well-trained mercenaries, distrusted in their own country due to their religious affiliation. He also had the Ukrainians, who were only too eager to do a private mission for wealth and the possibility of a new, anonymous life in the West. And you had the Moroccans, willing to die for their cause. It was all too perfect.
And if the mission didn’t work out, he’d achieved what no other had done, brought a big American cruise ship to its knees, and probably sacrificed some American women, which would certainly get everyone’s attention. If he didn’t get the payoff this time, next time he’d get double, so in a way it didn’t matter. He could not lose.
And he’d planned it so he wouldn’t hav
e to share that fat bank account with anyone. The bomb would go off in less than two hours and, as long as he wasn’t on the ship, the mission was a success. All he’d have to do in the future is threaten a takeover and they’d deposit any sum of money he asked.
When he got his funds he was going to buy himself a small country and the loyalty of its people. He had many prospects, but there would be time enough for that later, after the coffers were ripe and bursting with gold.
The $1 million helicopter set down exactly in the middle of the helipad’s painted circle. Wolf stepped out onto Deck 10, which was lit by a string of lights that went from bow to stern.
His overcoat was buttoned to the neck. Even off the coast of Africa, the dark night air was chilly, even though the ship’s engines had stopped and the ship was merely drifting. Seeing stars this far out to sea was always a special treat for him, almost making him think of the supernatural powers some of his recruits thought he possessed. The knowing he had caused this giant ship to stop, had put so much fear into so many people, was extremely satisfying. He would have to confess he was actually giddy with pleasure.
One of his armed guards let him pass and opened the gate and stairway to the bridge.
Captain D’Ambrosini looked like a nervous wreck. He’d been held at gunpoint and was sitting in one of the two helmsman’s chairs at the con. His eyes didn’t focus on Wolf at first, but then, recognition flooded his face. D’Ambrosini shouted, “It is you!” and pointed, as if someone would step forward to arrest him.
“Now, Captain, please relax,” he said in Italian. He knew a couple of the mercenaries understood everything he said, but he wasn’t worried.
Though he was the captain, D’Ambrosini did not steer the ship. The helmsman usually stood at the wheel, leaving the captain free to supervise and move about the bridge, even attend dinners and parties. But today the helmsman sat idly by and watched the parade of individuals coming and going.
The Wolf gave his next instruction and waited for the import of his words to sink in. “You will now send the emergency distress signal.”
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