Sam stood her ground, feeling the roll of the sea echoed in the slight movement of the cargo ship fighting the anchor and the tide. She kept her fist around the butt of the 9mm. Despite his ease around her, she got the definite feeling that the Cipher knew she was holding a weapon. The pain in her lip was distracting, but she remained focused.
“All United States military hardware,” Ivanovitch declared. “Gleaned from the first Iraqi War as well as action against the Taliban in Afghanistan. The Americans flood areas with weapons, but they don’t always keep count of them.”
“You mentioned you had mined the ship,” the Cipher said.
Ivanovitch reached inside his jacket and took out a micro-miniaturized electronic device. “Yes. It is mined. After you mentioned what you had planned for the ship, I took the liberty of having the work done for you.”
“Very good.” The Cipher snapped his fingers. Two of his men walked the length of the ship, shone their lights around and returned.
“Everything looks good,” one of the men said.
“I leave the timing in your hands,” Ivanovitch said. “You can control all the detonators with the device I gave you, or you can control individual bombs.”
The Cipher pocketed the device. “Good enough, when the ship crashes into the harbor, I’ll set them off. Not everything will be blown up in the resulting explosions. Plenty of identifiable military hardware will remain to point the finger at the United States. But the damage all along the harbor will cost millions of dollars to rebuild. Since trade is such a big part of Berzhaan’s economy, they will be impacted financially as well as politically. I’d say that will set back negotiations with the United States for years if not decades.”
“At which point,” Ivanovitch said, “my superiors will offer me a commendation, at least, and a promotion almost certainly.”
Sam thought about the kind of damage the Cipher planned to wreak. She felt sick. Simply running the boat into the public areas would have caused a tremendous amount of damage, but the explosions that would follow would kill or maim dozens of people.
“No,” the Cipher said, “I’m afraid those days are behind you.”
Ivanovitch looked wary. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve had a traitor in your midst, Colonel,” the Cipher said. “I’ve no doubt that she has already informed your superior about your secondary career.”
Ivanovitch’s eyes tracked to Sam. After all, she was the only female in the cargo area. She started to pull the pistol from the bag. Instead, she froze as a cold pistol barrel bumped up solidly against the back of her neck.
“Here, now,” a soft voice with a British accent said, “I’ll be after having that.”
Sam released her hold on the pistol and the man took it from her.
“And I’ll be wanting you to put your hands on top of your head,” the man continued.
Cautiously Sam put her hands on her head. She didn’t lace her fingers, leaving her hands free.
“What are you talking about?” Ivanovitch demanded.
“Agent Elle Petrenko,” the Cipher said, “is working undercover for the SVR. Whatever she told you to get you to bring her inside this operation isn’t true. Her loyalties lie with the SVR. Not you. Not to the profits that she could be making working with us.”
For some reason, Sam took pride in that. Perhaps it only had to do with the fact that her double looked so much like her. Unfortunately, she was left to bear the consequences of her double’s integrity.
“As thorough as you are in your weapons delivery,” the Cipher said, “I’m just as thorough in checking out the people that I work with.”
The lights in the cargo hold suddenly dimmed. The cavernous roar of starting engines swelled to life.
Knowing that she had no choice, that her life was forfeit if she didn’t take chances, Sam lowered her left arm and spun backward. Her estimate of the man’s height behind her was dead-on. Her backfist caught him in the temple and turned his legs wobbly.
She caught the man’s pistol with her other hand, stripping it from his grip by pinching a nerve cluster between his thumb and forefinger. Still moving toward the exit from the cargo hold, she slid the pistol into her hand and swiveled around to shove the weapon at the Cipher and Ivanovitch.
Both men and the guards around them were in motion.
Sam squeezed off two shots, anyway, letting them know that she meant business and that she was definitely armed. The bullets smashed into the wooden crates containing the assault rifles and bricks of C-4 plastic explosive. She didn’t worry about the C-4 exploding; it would take a detonator to trigger it.
She stayed moving, flattening up against a stack of crates. Bullets slammed into the wooden surfaces. She felt the vibration of the impacts against her back.
“Hold your fire!” the Cipher ordered. “I can handle her!”
Sam looked at the metal stairway leading out of the cargo hold. I can make that, she told herself. Once I get topside, I can escape into the sea. She braced herself and started to launch herself across the distance.
Then everything went black.
A series of flat cracks caught Riley’s attention. He touched Elle’s arm. “Cut the engines.”
Elle did. “What is it?”
“I thought I heard gunshots.”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
Riley strained his hearing, hoping for a repeat of the sound. Noise traveled farther and faster across a body of water than it did across land.
He didn’t hear anything.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Elle restarted the engines and got the boat underway again.
C’mon, Sam, Riley thought as he scanned the night-vision binoculars across the clusters and lines of ships and boats. Give me something.
Chapter 17
W hen Sam’s senses returned, she had a blinding headache that mirrored the deep throbbing basso booms of the cargo ship’s engines. Instinctively she tried to get to her feet only to discover that she had been handcuffed to a crate. She pulled at the short length of metal between the cuffs but only succeeded in acquiring fresh bruises around her wrists. The chain ran through a space in the crate, effectively tying her down to it.
“Who are you?”
Sam looked up at the Cipher standing before her. He no longer looked complacent.
Without seeming to move, and quicker than she could move, the Cipher slapped her face hard enough to turn her head.
“You were speaking English while you were out,” the Cipher said. “Not Russian. You mentioned a woman named Lorraine Carrington. Rainy. How did you know her?”
“You murdered her,” Sam said. She tasted fresh blood inside her mouth, and her whole face stung from the slap. Beneath her, the cargo deck quivered as the ship’s engines throbbed and continued to power up. Judging from the changing pitch and yawl of the cargo ship, the pilot was continuing to change directions, getting the vessel set up to ram into the harbor where its deadly payload could be set off to incriminate the United States in the clandestine munitions deliveries coming into Berzhaan.
“How did you know her?” the Cipher demanded.
“She was my friend,” Sam said before she could stop herself. Evidently whatever had caused her to black out was still impairing her judgment to a degree.
The Cipher shook his head. “The Carrington woman was never a friend of Elle Petrenko’s. The background checks I saw would have revealed that.”
Sam felt nauseous. She gagged and almost threw up.
“Don’t feel so good, do you?” The Cipher grinned. “It can have that effect on some people.”
“What did you do to me?” Sam asked.
The Cipher extended his hand and showed her a small electronic device. It was no bigger than a penny and only three times as thick. One side had an adhesive strip.
“I used a neuro jammer,” he said. “When my guard took your weapon, he put one of these on your back as insurance.”
S
am hadn’t even noticed.
“The neuro jammer emits a high-frequency pattern that causes a reaction in the brain that looks exactly like a narcoleptic attack.” The Cipher held the device between his thumb and forefinger. “I jimmied the Carrington woman’s seat belt, then I put one of these in her car. I triggered the device to knock her out, and she left the road. She hit a tree and died on impact.”
Sam couldn’t believe how callously the assassin talked about her friend’s death. She kept her tears back with difficulty.
The Cipher looked up at Ivanovitch. “Evidently Petrenko’s espionage jacket had more left out of it than I believed. I don’t recall it mentioning that she trained at the Athena Academy. Or anywhere in the United States.”
“She didn’t,” Ivanovitch said. He frowned. “Something strange is going on here.”
The Cipher’s satellite phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and spoke quickly, then put it away and looked up at Ivanovitch. “The pilot has the ship in position and on course. It will reach the harbor in minutes.”
“Then we should go,” Ivanovitch said, gazing at Sam. “We could take her, ask her more questions.”
The Cipher shook his head. “I keep thinking about those CIA agents that you said turned up at her hotel. If they were there watching her, they could still be out there. I don’t want to try to juggle a hostage if that’s the case. They could even know to look for this ship.”
“Then they’re wasting their time,” Ivanovitch said. “After Elle told me she had been mugged, I had the ship moved to this location. She didn’t know that until we arrived here.”
“That’s bought us some time.”
“Not enough,” Ivanovitch said. “Not if this thing works out the way you want it to. We should go. If they’re still out there, we’ll find them when we need to.”
The Cipher looked around. “You have the other packages we agreed on?”
Ivanovitch used his crowbar again. He opened a large, upright crate, then stepped back as four male bodies crumpled to the floor.
All four men were dead.
“These four men are all CIA agents?” the Cipher asked.
“They were on the list that you gave me.” Ivanovitch looked at the corpses. “I’ve had dealings with two of them while I’ve been in Berzhaan.”
“Good. When their bodies are found in the debris and the wreckage of the ship, it will look even more like the CIA was behind this.” The Cipher looked at Sam and smiled. “And you will be the poor Russian intelligence agent they caught and were ruthlessly interrogating when the ship went out of control, rammed into the harbor and exploded.” He paused. “We’ll still get a lot of use out of you. Don’t know if the explosions down here will kill you, or if you’ll drown. Either way, you’re in for a short, interesting time.”
Sam didn’t say anything as the Cipher and Ivanovitch left. As soon as they were out of sight, she started working on her cuffs, finding them too tight to pull her hands through. Her lip throbbed with pain as she considered her next move.
While training at Langley, Sam had heard of agents who had successfully escaped from handcuffs by breaking their thumbs so they could squeeze their hands through the cuffs. She braced her feet against the crate, folded her left thumb into the palm of her hand, and pulled with all her strength.
The throbbing engines grew louder. The deck trembled as the vessel surged forward.
Crying out in pain, wishing she could stop, Sam kept pulling. Her mind worked busily, planning past her point of escape.
The Cipher had killed Rainy. He’d admitted that, and he’d even told her how he’d done it. Nowhere in her research and training had Sam ever heard of a neuro jammer. She also didn’t think the Cipher had invented the device. The guy was an assassin, not a tech specialist. That meant he was working with someone, and that someone must have ordered Rainy’s death.
It had something to do with the eggs that Rainy had been robbed of twenty-two years ago. Sam didn’t doubt that for an instant.
She was trembling, on the threshold of having to deal with too much pain. Her hand wasn’t coming through, and her thumb wasn’t breaking. She wasn’t certain if she was going to pass out or simply not have the stomach to subject herself to any more pain. She wanted to give up, but she couldn’t.
She pulled again, shutting out the pain, thinking about the way Rainy had died, and about all the innocents who were going to die along the harbor in the next few minutes. Setting her feet again, she lunged back, putting all of her weight and strength into the effort.
Her thumb snapped loud enough to be heard over the drone of the ship’s engines. Sam cried out. The pain almost made her pass out.
Hanging on to her senses, Sam pulled the handcuffs through the crate and stood up. Her left hand throbbed horribly, swelling visibly by the second. She’d had broken bones before, so she knew she could still function.
Standing unsteadily, Sam walked to the crates of weapons. She was tempted to take an M-16, but she was afraid that she couldn’t handle the assault rifle’s weight for long with her injured hand. Instead, she took four Beretta 92F, the standard sidearm carried by American Special Forces. Loading the magazines for each of the weapons was hard and she ended up scattering 9mm shells across the cargo deck.
Once the pistols were loaded, she thrust them into her pants pockets and waistband. Turning her attention to the crate of C-4, she found electronic detonators and quickly thrust them into the bricks of plastic explosive on top, set them to receive one signal, and picked up a detonator complete with a battery that took only an instant to install.
The detonator cycled, then blinked green, indicating that it was ready.
As an afterthought, Sam picked up two of the LAWs lying in a nearby crate. She slung one over her shoulder, then telescoped the other one into a long tube so that it was ready to fire.
You’re going to wish you’d killed me, Sam thought as she started up the metal stairs. The engines droned on.
At the top of the stairs, she pushed open the door with her injured hand. Pain exploded through her thumb, but she ignored it. Glancing to the west, she saw the harbor less than five hundred yards away. Lights in buildings and on ships marked the geography.
“Hey!”
The voice drew Sam’s attention at once. She glanced toward the cargo ship’s wheelhouse and raised the LAW to her shoulder. Men were in the process of abandoning the cargo ship and climbing down into the motor sailer the Cipher had been waiting on.
Muzzleflashes tore holes in the night’s darkness.
Sam stayed low, watching sparks strike near her to let her know how close her opponents’ bullets had come. She took hold of the LAW’s pistol grip, slid her finger over the trigger, aimed for the center of the wheelhouse, and squeezed.
The LAW shoved back against her. Muzzle burn vomited from the rear of the long tube, throwing a cloud of heated air over her that warred with the cold brine wind that cycled over the sea.
The 94mm warhead struck the wheelhouse squarely and exploded. A whirling orange and black gout of flames wrapped around the wheelhouse. All of the men around the wheelhouse were thrown to the ground. Glass shattered and emptied from the superstructure’s windows.
Okay, Riley, Sam thought desperately as she tossed away the disposable LAW tube, if you’re anywhere in the area, you’ve got to see that. She pulled the second LAW from her shoulder, telescoped it, and aimed the weapon at the motor sailer. Whoever was piloting it was already pulling away from the cargo ship. Bits and pieces of flaming debris drifted down through the air and landed on the uneven surface of the sea.
Sam drew a breath and let half of it out, held the rest. She led the motor sailer slightly, then squeezed the LAW’s trigger.
The rocket whooshed from the LAW, streaked across the sea trailing fire and smoke, and impacted against the motor sailer’s bow. Part of the coaming blew away and a pool of fire washed back over the motorsailer’s windscreen. More flames caught in the folds of the furled
sail and climbed the mast.
Glancing at the coastline, Sam saw that less than two hundred yards separated the cargo ship from the harbor. Time was running out. She took the detonator from her pocket and readied it. Before she could trigger the C-4 bricks in the cargo hold, a line of bullets smacked into the deck in front of her, chewing through the wooden deck.
Sam dodged to one side. The impact of landing against the deck jarred the detonator from her hand and sent it spinning away. She drew one of the Berettas and focused on the figure behind the muzzle flashes ahead of her. She steadied herself, tried not to think of the bullets that would cut through her in a heartbeat if they hit, and squeezed the trigger steadily.
On the seventh shot, leaving seven in the magazine and one under the hammer, the man fell. Sam didn’t know how many times she had hit him; she was just glad he’d gone down. She pushed up with her good hand and pursued the sliding detonator. She trapped it against the deck with her injured hand, then used her fingers to send the signal.
Immediately she felt the earthquake that shivered through the cargo ship. The tremendous avalanche of booms followed a heartbeat later. The cargo ship immediately stopped nearly dead in the water, letting Sam know the chain of explosions had ripped out a large section of the vessel’s bottom.
The ship started sinking at once.
On her feet and running now, Sam crossed the deck to the port side. At least one or two of the Cipher’s or Ivanovitch’s men still lived. They fired at her, but their marksmanship was off or she was just too quick for them. Reaching the ship’s side, she hurled herself over, shoving both hands out in front of her so she could cut through the dark water deeply. Reflections of the burning cargo ship reflected on the sea’s surface.
Then she struck the water and went under.
Riley raised the M4A1 assault rifle to his shoulder and targeted the two men standing at the railing of the sinking cargo ship. As soon as the first explosion had ripped into the ship’s wheelhouse, Elle had steered for the vessel.
They were only eighty yards out from the ship and closing fast. He’d spotted Sam St. John firing a pistol at one of the men who had survived the rocket attack on the wheelhouse. By that time he knew there was something seriously wrong with the cargo ship because it was settling into the sea all wrong.
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