The Devil's Waters

by David L. Robbins

  “LB, they’ve got the whole crew. There’s a US warship nearby, the Nicholas. The CO saw them execute a hostage in exchange for one of the pirates being shot. We thought it might have been you.”

  Bojan.

  “He was a Serb guard.”

  “All right. Are you armed?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Do you know the location of the hostages?”

  “Negative.”

  “What other intel can you provide?”

  LB kept his mouth shut about the drones and Iris’s science project.

  “Nothing else.”

  Torres paused, likely conferring with others in the JOC. “Recommend you stay secure.”

  “Until when?”

  The PRCC paused again.

  “Repeat, Sergeant. Recommend you stay secure.”

  “And I repeat, Major. Till when?”

  A second voice on the line cut in.

  “Break break.”

  Torres said, “Go ahead, Juggler.”

  “Until I come get your ass.”

  LB almost dropped the antenna in surprise. He had to lift it before the connection was broken.

  “Wally?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Where are you?”

  “We’re on our way.”

  “We?”

  “The team.”

  LB couldn’t believe this. Not Spetsnaz, Mossad, SEALs, SF, but his own pararescue unit had been handed the ship takedown. How the hell did that happen?

  It didn’t matter. His PJ team was flying to rescue him. Never, ever, would he live this down. His own boys were coming for him. He stood with the mike to his lips, stymied.

  “Will explain later,” Wally continued. “Can you recon? I want exact number and location of targets.”

  LB gathered his wits to respond. “Major? You want me secure, or you want me recon?”

  Torres reentered. “It’s Juggler’s mission.”

  Wally said, “Recon.”

  “Roger.”

  “Still got your team radio?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “ETA your position oh-one-ten hours. Copy?”

  LB checked his watch. Just over ninety minutes.

  “Roger.”

  Wally said, “PRCC, recommend we continue as fragged.” Torres answered. “Agree. Press mission. Will monitor this freq. You boys chat. Good luck. Out.”

  Iris Cherlina stood at the top of the ladder, listening. LB glanced around the cargo deck to be sure he’d stayed unheard and unseen. Starlight glanced off the white steel field and tall lashing bridges. Forward, the running light on its mast cast a pallid sheet over the bow. LB expected a quarter moon soon after midnight.

  “Juggler.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks for not giving me any grief over this.”

  “That comes later.”

  “I figured. Look, I’m in a dicey spot right now. So be quick. What’s the plan?”

  “Two jump teams. One HALO assault, six-man. One RAMZ, three-man.”

  “Where’s your LZ?”

  “RAMZ will be two miles behind the ship downwind. Assault team on the port wing, next to the bridge. Backstop team on the starboard wing. Take control of the wheelhouse and defend. Hunt down the pirates. Secure the ship.”

  “Sounds tough.”

  “You got a better idea, now’s a good time.”

  “I’ll get back to you after I look around.”

  “Can you do it? There’s a lot of pirates on board.”

  “You remember all those times in South America? When you were still at the academy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did you think I was doing in the fucking jungle?”

  “Roger.”

  “Juggler.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about the hostages?”

  LB waited. He hardened his gaze at the star far beyond the reach of the antenna, as if speaking to Wally behind his sunglasses.

  “Why didn’t you ask me to recon the hostages?”

  “Need to know, LB.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Get me the intel. Be careful. Juggler out.”

  The line went cold. LB held the antenna in place for more seconds before folding it away.

  “Go down,” he told Iris.

  “Why?”

  “I’ve got a job to do.”

  “Is someone coming?”

  “Yeah. My unit. They’re coming to get me. It’s humiliating.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “I’m supposed to be the rescuer. I’ll take some shit over this.”

  “But you’re not from an assault unit. You said you were pararescue.”

  “We do what we have to.”

  Iris Cherlina seemed troubled. “I didn’t know.”

  “Most people don’t. Anyway, don’t worry. The boys are good. A lot of combat vets on the team. We’ll be okay.”

  “When will they get here?”

  “About an hour after midnight.” He handed her his spare flashlight. “You stay down there. You hear or see anything that’s not me, you go dark and find someplace to hide. I’ll be back in under an hour.”

  “What was that about the hostages?”

  “Dunno. Something’s up. I don’t like it, but it’s not my call. We’ll know soon enough. Go on.”

  Iris Cherlina reached a hand out of the hatch to pat his boot. “Don’t leave me down here long.”

  “Don’t be scared. Go.” He grabbed for the hatch cover to lower it in place. Iris stopped him.

  “Wait.”

  “What?”

  “That’s odd.”

  “What is?”

  “Look. The padlock is gone.”

  “Was it there when you came down?”

  “Of course. I always leave it next to the hatch so I can lock behind me.”

  “Drozdov and the pirate. They know where you come and go now.”

  “I suppose that’s right.”

  “Great. Hide, Iris. Go.”

  LB pushed on the top of her head. He lowered the hatch, spun the watertight wheel.

  He rose only to a crouch, staying out of sight.

  Chapter 22

  Yusuf climbed the last rung. He aimed the flashlight behind him to light Drozdov’s way. The Russian clambered up on deck, then locked the hatch cover. Yusuf kept the light aimed downward. Drozdov’s features, already sagging and pale, seemed even more sapped.

  “Captain, I am ignorant of those machines. What do they mean to you?”

  “For a pirate and a bastard, you are not an ignorant man, Yusuf Raage.”

  “My patience is already thin. Do not strain it. Tell me what we saw.”

  Drozdov laughed quietly. Perhaps he recalled pushing the patience of his previous captors. Yusuf’s threats meant little to this sad man. That might have to change.

  Drozdov removed his cap to run a hand over his cropped white hair.

  “The first railcars, those were nothing. Radar, drone aircraft. Pff. Israeli and top of the line, maybe. But nothing big weapons buyers cannot get and sell. That’s why Vladivostok. Those are Russian black market. Untraced.”

  “What about the last car?”

  “Yes. That one is bad.”

  “How bad?”

  “It is technology I do not know. It looks simple, but that only means it cannot be. My guess is that it is a weapon of the future. If so, it means the future was going to Lebanon. Now it is going to Somalia. Either one, I do not like.”

  Drozdov waited while Yusuf weighed this. Without question, Robow had known what was on this ship. With lies he’d sent Yusuf here to the center of a web. Yusuf was snared in it. He sensed the spider coming. If Yusuf lived to the morning, Robow’s price for acquiring this ship would be much higher than he’d predicted. Perhaps his life.

  “I believe we are someone’s pawns, Captain, you and me.”

  Drozdov turned his head to again make the sound of his empty spit
.

  “Then we believe the same.” The Russian pointed to the open dark sea. “They are on their way. You will not be allowed to keep this ship. You know that.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why don’t you go? Get in your skiffs.”

  “Because the moment we leave, I have no doubt the American warship has orders to shoot us out of the water. If we take hostages with us, we’ll be boarded and arrested as murderers. No. We are trapped here with you, Captain. Until we reach Somalia or we die. Together.”

  “Again, I don’t like either one.” Drozdov extended a hand. “For now, give me the flashlight. Let’s see if we can find some answers, eh?”

  Yusuf handed over the light.

  It did not take long to walk the alleys between the tall lashing bridges, beneath the towering midship and forward cranes. Drozdov kept the flashlight beam to the deck as if on a scent, searching for his own sign of the saboteur.

  Drozdov was right. They would not be allowed to keep the Valnea easily. The rest of their crawl back through the gulf to the coast was going to be more dangerous than Yusuf could have guessed. Yusuf would not tell his pirates what he’d seen below; that would serve no purpose but to spook his men. He’d tell only Suleiman, his lieutenant.

  Drozdov stopped at every hatch cover to shine the light on the padlocks that secured them. Four times he rattled the locks, testing their hold. At the fifth hatch, the padlock lay beside the hatch cover. He put this lock in his pocket.

  Yusuf followed him aft, to check the rest of the hatches. They found no more opened locks.

  Drozdov handed the light back to Yusuf. “Now I know.”

  Yusuf led the way off the cargo deck, down the ladder to the narrow companionway. Yusuf moved in front, again to prevent the captain from startling one of Suleiman’s gunners along the rail. Down the long steely hall, through the dark hum of the ship, Drozdov simmered.

  They took the elevator up from A deck to F. Drozdov passed Yusuf on the flight of stairs leading to the wheelhouse. The captain shoved the door open. Yusuf trailed him into the bridge. Suleiman, Guleed, and four gunners with Kalashnikovs at their hips spun at Drozdov’s hurried entry. Yusuf came quickly behind, motioning them not to be alarmed.

  Drozdov’s crew sat where they’d been left, herded beneath the windshield. He faced them.

  He held high a key out of his pocket.

  “All of you. Show me your master key.”

  The Filipinos and officers dug into their trousers. They held their keys aloft to match Drozdov’s. All except one, the pudgy Russian.

  Drozdov tossed this one the opened lock.

  “Grisha.” The captain said this sadly, like a verdict.

  The officer got off the floor. Guleed’s gun tracked him approaching Yusuf and Drozdov.

  The officer said, “May we speak in private?”

  Drozdov led this Russian out of the wheelhouse, to the port wing. Yusuf followed close behind.

  Outside, a warm headwind riffled past. Drozdov turned on his officer. The chubby man retreated until his back came up against the rail. Drozdov closed in.

  “This is why you recommend me for Valnea. To make a fool of me.”

  “No, Anatoly.”

  “Yes. To destroy me.”

  “No.”

  “Sooka, yes! This pirate, he has knife, big knife. He is not happy to be here, trust me. I will let him ask questions if you do not answer me. Da?”

  “Da.”

  “Good. Who has your key? Iris Cherlina?”

  The chubby officer bobbed his head.

  Drozdov spat at her name, this time for real. “You are load-master. Do you know what she has brought on this boat?”

  “Israeli radar, drones. Electronics.”

  “Yes.”

  Drozdov snatched the flashlight again from Yusuf. He struck his officer across the face with the butt of it.

  “What else? A weapon?”

  Grisha raised his hands in defense, not to be struck again. The mark of the first blow marred his cheek.

  “I don’t know any weapon. Only radar. Drones.”

  Drozdov yelled through the mate’s cringing hands, “What is it? Where is it going? And who is this shalava Iris Cherlina?”

  Grisha lowered his hands only enough to answer over them. “In Vladivostok, we load nineteen railcars. The pier is deserted, police clear everybody out but me and her.”

  “So it was you running the crane that night.”

  “Yes, Anatoly. I did what I was ordered to do.”

  “Lower your hands, Grisha. You look like a coward. Stop making me sick and tell me. Or I will let the pirate give you reason to fear. What did you do?”

  The mate straightened and dropped his hands, Drozdov’s challenge putting some steel in his spine. Yusuf had found the man’s cringing disturbing, as well.

  “All the cars were covered in tarps. Iris Cherlina comes, she has papers from company, from government. There is no manifest. She is scientist, she tells me she is going with the cargo to Beirut, she is in charge. Okay. She tells me load those eighteen together. One she wanted separate in the bow. I don’t ask. I don’t look under the tarps.”

  Yusuf leaned his own girth in on the frightened Russian.

  “Why didn’t you ask?”

  “She said they are electronics. No word of guns. Why would I ask more?”

  “Yes,” Drozdov snapped. “Why wouldn’t you ask? Why does she have your master key? What is Iris Cherlina to you?”

  “Nothing. I swear, nothing. She paid me.”

  “Ahh, there we are. Paid you to be a traitor. How much?”

  “Anatoly, I have a family.”

  Drozdov roared back. “I have a family! How much?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars. For a key. To run a crane for thirty minutes.”

  Yusuf inserted a hand between the Russians to ease Drozdov back. He asked, “How much did she pay you to sabotage this ship?”

  Grisha was slow to answer. Yusuf made as if to reach at his back under the khameez.

  “Two hundred thousand dollars. But she was the one to pull fuse. I only showed her how. She could not see piston row from the fuse box. She did not know engineer and cadet were inspecting. I asked her. She is sorry.”

  Drozdov’s hands flew up. “Sorry? She is sorry for almost killing two of my crew? Blyad.”

  Yusuf leaned in. “Did she slow the ship to bring me on board?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Yusuf’s asking was not enough. Drozdov lunged past his restraining arm to grab his officer by the lapels. Drozdov shrieked in the sailor’s face, his eyes bulging with rage.

  “Why?”

  Grisha blinked; his lips groped for words.

  Drozdov released the mate with a shove against the rail. Suleiman’s gunner, standing at the end of the wing, watched with casual interest, weapon strapped and not ready. The night wind gusted, then backed down.

  “She is patriot,” Grisha said, mustering a tone almost proud.

  Yusuf laughed in shock. “A what?”

  “Da. The Israeli machines, they are top secret, paid for by America and Russia. Iris Cherlina says after Beirut, they are going overland to Tehran.”

  Yusuf found this impossible. “Israel would never allow that. Iran will use them against Israel.”

  The mate shrugged, accepting that he knew only his part of a much larger tale. “Some kind of big trade. Under the table with Iran. This is all she told me, I swear. Iris Cherlina is big scientist in Russia. She does not want these machines going to Iran. Who would? That is crazy for the world. She said we will slow ship in the Gulf of Aden. Pirates will come. They will hijack and tell the world what shit is going on. Everything will be exposed. Pirates will do it all. She will be safe.”

  Drozdov growled, “So for money, you became patriot, too.”

  Grisha plainly wanted to say yes to this, but could not for the pain on his captain’s face.

  So much made sense to Yusuf now. T
he bloody hand of Iran was mingled with those of Israel, America, and Russia in all this. These were the games rich nations played, and the back of a fist for the rest of the world. Guns, secrets, immense sums of money and power. You schemed with them, shared in the plunder and lies, or you were made like Somalia. Like Yusuf, Drozdov, and their men. Pawns.

  There wasn’t a chance Robow was going to let Yusuf ransom this ship back. No, if the Sunni Islamists got their hands on it, they were going to wield this ship like a sword to cut at their enemies. A shame. To keep this cargo quiet, to sell it back to America, Israel, and Russia with no fanfare, the ransom would truly have been astronomical.

  Behind Yusuf’s restraining arm, Drozdov continued to berate his mate. “For money, you turn your back on your crew, your captain.” Drozdov’s voice crumbled with each item he listed of Grisha’s treacheries. “You almost kill Nikita and cadet. You bring me on Valnea to think I am returned to respectable captain. You bring pirates on my ship. Now we go to Somalia. When we are done there as prisoners, you are rich man. I am lost again.”

  “Captain,” Yusuf said, “I gave you my word.”

  “You are pirate. Bojan died on your word.”

  Drozdov, bent by betrayal, turned away. He shambled across the dark wing to the bridge.

  “Captain?”

  Drozdov stopped at Yusuf’s voice. “Da.”

  “Give me your master key. I may want to go look for this Iris Cherlina.”

  Yusuf took the key. Drozdov went into the bridge. Yusuf remained behind with the fat officer. He drew the knife from under his khameez.

  “I’m not as angry as your captain. I understand what a man will do for money.” Yusuf rolled the knife in his fingers to let the Russian see the red-crusted edge. “I’ve done hard things for money. Also for an ideal. I don’t care which describes you. I don’t care if you knew about the weapon. I want to know one more thing.”

  Grisha fixed on the blade rotating inches from his nose.

  “Yes.”

  “An Islamist came to my house to make a deal with me. He wanted me to take this ship. This particular ship. How did Iris Cherlina do this?”

  “She is scientist. Brilliant woman.”

  “I see that.”

  The Russian spoke eagerly, as if he were part of an accomplishment.

  “The Chechens. They are in Vladivostok; they have Mafia. It was simple thing to contact them. Pay them to pass the word to Somalis. She says, hey, Valnea takes big illegal shipment to Iran. A science fiction gun? I don’t know. But Israeli electronics? A secret cargo to Iran, bought by Russia and America? The Chechens, they do not love Israel, Iran, Russia, America. A shipment like this, hijacked? The embarrassment to those countries? Come on, Mr. Pirate. This is easy. For Iris Cherlina, it was child’s play.”