Spurs turned and took short hurried steps to the next hatchway. A silenced bullet struck the steel overhead as she passed through, another one glancing and ricocheting past. She turned as she stepped and fired three more hastily aimed rounds.
Through another couple of compartments, the silenced snaps came again. This time they did not click as they hit steel. Ski’s body buckled, throwing her off balance as she made the last hatch to the companionway up. She tripped through the oval opening and trying to regain her balance, dropped Ski, falling back and striking her head on the steel-lipped edge.
She saw stars and realized she’d struck her head in the same place that it was hit before when she was thrown overboard. This time she knew she would lose consciousness. She tried uselessly to fight it and as she did, she saw a large body tower over her. It wasn’t Chardoff. It was Big Track. He had his meat cleaver. Her vision blurred and became dark.
It must be my imagination.
Chapter 52
UNSWEET DREAMS
SPURS AWOKE SMELLING mincemeat pie. Everything was dark and she wasn’t sure that her eyes were even open when her hand pushed against something that clanked like a steel kettle lid. And that’s what it was. She felt the smooth sides of the stainless steel pot she was curled up in. It was the huge kettle that the cooks use to make gallons of food for the crew.
Now she remembered Big Track standing over her with the meat cleaver—and checked her arms and legs, making sure that they were still attached. Just her luck to run into a cannibal in the middle of a gunfight.
Confusion was not the word for her thoughts. So much had happened that she couldn’t discern reality from dreams. She wondered if she hadn’t dreamed all of it up, that she might even be dreaming now. How could she ever explain even half of this to the captain, or to Reeves—if he wasn’t one of them—or to anyone else? At least five, probably seven or eight men had been killed—exterminated—below decks. That shouldn’t be hard to prove. But didn’t that mean in order for these traitors to get away with it, they must have control of the ship? They could have complete control with several key crewmembers among them and the rest of the fleet—the rest of the world wouldn’t know. Who was to be trusted and who would believe?
Spurs pushed the lid up slowly with her fingertips allowing light in. She rose to peek out, and then saw Big Track standing close by. He turned and saw her. His eyes bugged and he reached over and shoved the lid back down.
Spurs was just about to complain, when she heard him speak.
“Evening, Captain Chardoff, Sergeant Krebs. Help ya?”
“You alone?” It was Chardoff’s voice.
“No, sir. With you two, there are three of us.”
“I mean besides us, asshole. What are you doing here?”
“Cleaning up evening mess.”
“Have you seen Ensign Sperling?”
“That little girl officer? Guess I saw her a couple of times.”
“I mean tonight, damn it!” Chardoff said and slammed his hand down on the vat lid.
Spurs grimaced from a noise that was like having her head slapped between cymbals.
There was a brief silence.
Chardoff spoke again. “What’s this big vat out for? You didn’t have stew tonight, did you?”
The lid began to lift.
“Pork and beans, sir,” Big Track said. “Over two hundred men love my pork and beans. Most of them have two, sometimes three, helpings of it. Suggest you don’t go down to the crew’s quarters tonight.”
The lid dropped with a clank.
She heard footsteps moving away.
Thirty seconds later, the lid lifted off completely. Big Track’s huge hands reached for her. She took his arms and he lifted her easily from the vat.
He sat her down and placed his finger to his lips.
She looked around the galley.
“What in the hell happened?” she whispered.
Big Track shrugged while glancing over the dirty pots, pans and trays. “Evening chow?” he said.
“Don’t play that dumb Indian game with me. I’ve got you figured out. What happened?”
“Saw you with the gun earlier. Followed you down to the crew’s quarters where they were spraying for bugs. Had to knock the guard out or he woulda seen me. When I got down there, saw you and Jabrowski. He was dead. Took a wild guess and figured something bad was happenin’. Picked you up and ran up here. You’ve been out a long time. Thought you might not wake up.”
“No one saw you?”
“Nope. I was in stealth mode.”
“Do you have any idea what’s going on? Have you heard anything?”
“Nope. Last I knew, I was drinking tequila in Brownsville. Musta passed out. When I woke up, the Navy said I’d signed enlistment papers and I’m on this luxury cruise ship.”
“Damn it, get real. People are dead. I’m NCIS.”
Big Track pursed his lips and held his hands to the sides of his face, eyes wide.
“Does anything matter to you?” she asked.
“I like to cook,” he said. “Everything else is just more horse shit. Sorry about Jabrowski, though.”
The big Native American picked up a covered platter and handed it to her.
“Here, you might need a snack later,” he said lifting the top. Underneath was a mincemeat pie with Spurs’ Beretta on top. “Safety’s on, round in the chamber, five in the clip.”
Spurs shook her head as she took the weapon, pulled her khaki shirt out in the back enough to make it loose and hid the gun under her belt.
“I like you—I think,” she said.
“Want a date?”
Spurs frowned. “Stay here,” she said. “I’m going to see what’s happening topside. If I make it, I’m going to find Commander Naugle or Reeves and either get this all settled or die trying.”
“Not going anywheres. Got lots of pots to clean.”
She went through the darken-ship curtain to the outside hatch.
“May the great spirit be with you,” Big Track said as she opened the hatch and stepped out.
Spurs made her way to the ladder to the bridge without being seen. She did see several men milling around the lifelines on the sides of the ship. She couldn’t tell if they were sentries or sailors taking a break on a peaceful night.
A Marine guard saw her as she stepped up the ladder, and she stopped midway. Reeves came out of the bridge and moved in front of him. She wasn’t sure if she should be glad.
“Ensign Sperling, come on up,” he said waving to her. “We’ve been worried about you.”
Maybe things could be straightened out now. She ran up the steps and followed Reeves into the bridge, then stopped fast when she saw Chardoff. He wore black fatigues. He smiled.
“You’re in this together?” she exclaimed placing her hand on the grip of the gun behind her back, but resisted pulling it out. If the shit hit the fan, she knew where two of her remaining five rounds would go.
“What?” Reeves asked as he turned to her. “In what?”
“He’s a murderer. He killed Ski and several others.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“When they went down to exterminate the fleas, Chardoff and his sergeant killed all of them.”
“Wait a minute, Ensign,” Reeves said. “I think you’re having some kind of a nervous breakdown. Relax and sit down.”
He pulled a tall stool over to her.
She knocked it away and it fell.
“I don’t want your damn stool.”
“Ensign, your disrespect and insubordination are inexcusable, no matter your mental and physical state.”
She calmed down. This was no time to rant and rave. He may not want to discuss this around others. Even if Reeves was her NCIS contact, he still may have trouble believing everything that had happened to her unless she explained carefully, instance by instance. Even then belief was doubtful. All she needed was to be put under arrest and sent to the brig where she could
do nothing but let the diabolical terrorist plan succeed.
“Sorry, sir,” she said, glaring at Chardoff. “What happened? Where’s Jabrowski?”
“I was on the Enterprise answering more questions about the helo crash when it happened,” Reeves said. “A sailor reported to sick bay with a fever. Doc checked him over, saw a flea, and then found an infestation of what he thinks could be pneumonic plague carrying fleas in the sailor’s bunk. Chardoff picked a group of men and secured the ship so it wouldn’t spread and then went down with a team to decontaminate. The spray they used got to several of them and they had to be medevacked to the Ticonderoga where they have a doctor specializing in chemical contamination.”
“You weren’t here when it happened?”
“No.”
Spurs thought for a moment. The blood in the crew’s quarters was surely cleaned up by now, but what about the dents from the bullets.
“Sir, will you come with me?”
Reeves frowned at her.
“If you think it’s absolutely necessary.”
“I do.” She turned and ducked out the bridge hatchway, Reeves and Chardoff following. She slipped around the commander and leaned into a shoulder block that stopped Chardoff. She surprised herself.
“We won’t need you,” she said, glaring up.
He looked down, his lip curling.
“Wait on the bridge, Captain Chardoff,” Reeves said. “We’ll discuss your training operation in a minute.”
When Spurs was sure they were alone and not being followed she turned to Reeves as they walked.
“Where have you been? What the hell’s happening on this ship?”
“I told you, I was called to the Enterprise. Why are you acting so crazy?”
“Me? It’s the rest of this screwed up crew. Everyone’s gone nuts on this ship except me.”
She leaped down several steps as they made the bottom deck. Reeves hurried behind.
“What are we doing here?”
“I want to show you the bullet holes.”
“What bullet holes?”
“The ones from the bullets that missed. The holes from the bullets that aren’t in the bodies of the decontamination team.”
“I told you that the decon team was contaminated. They’re not dead. They’re just a little sick.”
“Did you see them?”
“No, they were gone before I got back.”
“Did you confirm their arrival or find out their condition on the Ticonderoga?”
“No, but Captain Chardoff said he checked not more than an hour ago. They were fine and should be back by tomorrow, first light.”
“Did you see North on the Enterprise?”
“No, I wasn’t looking for him.”
“Did you see his orders or talk with him before he left the ship?”
“No, Goodman told me about it, damn it. What is this?”
“Goodman! And you didn’t even check. What kind of an incompetent officer are you?”
Reeves reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around.
“You listen to me, Ensign Sperling, you will not speak to me that way, no matter what happened between us in Barcelona.”
“Don’t you remember, sir, nothing did happen?”
They glared at each other, momentarily.
She said, “So what are you going to do now, choke me?”
Spurs broke free and hurried into the first compartment of the crew’s quarters.
“Cover up sailors!” she said stepping through as a number of sailors in only their skivvies looked up from their bunks. Some were playing cards, some writing letters, some just shooting the breeze.
“Jesus, it’s her!” “Now she’s coming down here.” “What’s she want?” “Woman on deck!”
She passed through two more compartments full of surprised sailors, just as Reeves caught up to her. He grabbed her and spun her around again.
“This is enough,” he said.
“Yes it is,” she said. “Now look at these dents.”
She twisted away and inspected the hatchway. There were no dents. She looked behind her, trying to remember if this was the compartment where she had not only seen the bullet marks but also felt of them. She was sure it was. She looked into the next compartment and saw a sailor with a paintbrush, painting around the next hatchway. A tube of filler stuck out of his back pocket.
She looked back at the hatchway she stood in front of, then felt around it.
“There,” she said, “See. Wet paint.” She brought her gray paint smeared fingers up to Reeves’ nose. Then placed them on the hatchway again. She gouged out fresh putty from one of the covered bullet holes. “See!” she said bringing the gray filler up to his face.
“That doesn’t prove anything, Ensign,” he said. “This ship, like all US Navy vessels, is in a constant state of maintenance and repair. That man standing at the hatchway in the next compartment’s permanent and continuous job is to do exactly that.”
Spurs glared back. She looked around at the staring eyes and gaping mouths of the crewmembers. She went around Reeves and hustled away.
As she rounded the companionway on the deck above, Reeves caught up with her yet again.
“Spurs, wait!” he said and shoved in front of her.
“Wait for what?”
“Don’t you understand? I’m trying to believe you, but we can’t discuss this matter in front of the crew. We don’t know who we can trust.”
“You’re just trying to believe me?” She thought of what North had said about Reeves sometimes wearing an Annapolis ring—that the man that shoved her overboard wore one. There was only one other officer on the ship that had one, Goodman. She glanced at Reeves right ring finger, then his left. No Annapolis ring. She softened to him, but only slightly.
“Come on,” he said, “even you’ve got to admit with all that’s happened to you and the strange way you’ve been acting, I might have just a bit of trouble believing you when you say several of our crew have been suddenly murdered while I was away for two hours. This is just a drug ring, not a commando raid.”
“I think you’re wrong, sir. I think that’s exactly what it is. What kind of training mission is Chardoff going on?”
“A night recon operation. They’re preparing for Mauritania.”
“Where are they going tonight?”
“They were given permission to go into Algeria. The landscape is the similar. They’ll be coordinating with a couple of SEAL teams from the Enterprise. It’s just training.”
She turned and sprinted to the next ladder up. “Maybe,” she said. “Chardoff shouldn’t mind
an observer then.”
“Who?” Reeves asked running behind her.
“Me.”
Chapter 53
NORTH WIND
2355
THE HELO WAS landing when Spurs ran out onto the flight deck to join Reeves and Chardoff. She had stopped briefly in her stateroom to put on her green fatigues, jungle boots, field jacket and fatigue hat. Even in May, the North of Africa could be a very chilly place at night.
The group of sixteen Recon Marines were boarding the twin rotor, CH-46 Sea Knight helicopter, via the back loading ramp. They wore black fatigues and carried heavy packs and assault rifles but no helmets, only their soft covers.
“I’m going with you,” she yelled over the rotor noise.
Chardoff eyed her like a starving polar bear.
“I told you, no!” Commander Reeves yelled back, holding his cap.
“Let her,” Chardoff said. “She might learn something.”
Spurs followed the last man of the squad onto the roaring chopper, not waiting for Reeves' reply.
She found a seat near the tail of the helo and sat down amongst the astonished Marines.
Chardoff leaped on and the helo lifted from the ship quickly, the hydraulic powered ramp raising as they flew. Once the ramp was closed, the roaring of the two big engines above them quieted some but not m
uch.
She looked out the small window behind her and saw Reeves wave. She did not wave back.
Spurs knew right away that the pilot was a hot dog. As it lifted, the chopper banked hard left and nearly tipped Spurs off of her bench seat.
Chardoff hung onto the opposite side of the helo and sat down slowly. He looked as if he was waiting to catch her if she fell across. It would be a convenient way to get her neck broken.
She looked around the chopper at the staring warriors. They passed camouflage sticks around, dabbing the green and black grease-paint sticks on their faces as they watched her.
“Lock and load,” Chardoff ordered.
The Marines took ammo magazines out of their pouches, inspected them briefly and shoved them into the ports on the underside of their weapons. She glanced at the magazine of the man sitting next to her. The cartridges inside had crimped ends. They were blanks. Then she saw that clamped onto all the M-16s flash suppressors—the ends of the weapons’ muzzles—were red metal objects. She remembered from boot camp that the things were called gas blockers, devices used to assist an automatic weapon to cycle the next round into the chamber when firing blanks. They were only necessary when using blank rounds to allow enough backpressure for the weapon to operate properly. Not unusual to not be using live ammo since it was a training exercise, however.
Realizing the dangerous situation she had put herself in, she hoped that not all of Chardoff’s men were in on whatever scheme he was up to. She doubted that more than a couple of them could be in with him. Otherwise, he’d probably have killed her as soon as they’d left the ship. And, after all, these were supposed to be dedicated and loyal Re-con Marines—the best of the best. He probably wouldn’t try anything while she was with the entire group. Later while they were in the field would be a different story.
Spurs’ visual inspection of the Marines ended with Chardoff. He stared back at her smiling big. He’s thinking he has me right where he wants me. She wanted to prove him wrong.
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