by Randy Dutton
Sven. So...he’s going on this cruise.
He recalled the satellite photos Anna had shown him.
There should be some small boats tied at the end of a pier...about a klick west on the road past the port. If the crew’s attention is dockside, perhaps they won’t look to seaward.
After a brisk 10-minute walk to the Fuzz-covered pier, he saw several boats tied up on the end.
No one’s in sight...good.
He picked up an empty crab trap, hoisted it on his shoulder for cover, and walked the pier’s length.
Five boats...four have gas motors. Can’t afford an oil slick or floating crab traps. The rowboat’s a bit rickety. It’ll be slow but quiet.
He moved two anchors and some rope from other boats to his and lashed the heavy metal to the bow cleat, then removed the crab traps. His eyes brightened.
Ah, a gaff! I can use that.
He took the long wooden pole with the metal spike and hook from another boat and put it under the seat. He coiled the rope of a cut anchor line, leaving it in the stern. Locking the oars into the rowing pins, Pete pushed off from the dock. Sitting with his back to the bow he pulled on the oars. Glancing over his shoulder at his target 800 meters away, he straightened his course, adjusted for the easterly breeze, then lined up the end of the pier with a distant landform to keep his bearing on the ship.
He rowed steadily, but not so urgently as to draw attention.
I need to blend in and still get there in time. By Anna’s account I have an hour and a half. But it’s already a slack tide...they could leave at anytime.
While rhythmically pulling the handles, he pondered the layer of Fuzz that had accumulated in the bottom of the little wooden boat and the light green water flowing off the blades of his dipping oars.
These species have already taken hold along this coast. Will what we’re trying to do even matter?
Pete rowed alongside the ship’s starboard stern. He scanned the rusted steel wall’s top edge for a means of climbing aboard then, with the extra coil of rope, lassoed a railing on the second try. With a wide stance, he stood on the plank seat and gripped the long handle of the gaff. As if striking a killing blow, he plunged its metal tip through the rowboat’s wooden hull. Green water flooded through the broken boards. He abandoned the craft, pulled himself up hand-over-hand to the freighter’s lifeline, and peered over the edge.
Through a gap between the massive tanks he saw the preoccupied boatswain on the port side yelling orders to the ship’s crew to finish bringing supplies onboard. With effort made harder by a prosthetic leg not designed for such climbing, he pulled himself over the cable safety railing and tossed the rowboat line over the side. He didn’t linger to watch the small over-weighted rowboat sink without a trace.
He scampered to a surveillance point between the cylinders, hiding amongst equipment stowed at the ship’s aft starboard quarter.
While biting his lip, he texted ‘Aftstbqtr’. Anna would understand the text – as the right side, rear of the ship.
If a captor only understands Spanish, the abbreviations won’t make sense.... But what if Sven sees it? Well, then I’ll have company in a couple minutes.
His anxiety was in overdrive.
“Luv U2. There soon. Stay put,” came the response text.
His head leaned back against a steel pipe as he exhaled a deep breath of relief.
She’s safe! But how do I get her to abandon this suicide mission? With his only weapon a utility knife blade in his right hand, he watched carefully for movement. Twice, guards walked within ten meters, but cylinder shadows concealed his dark clothing. As he waited, various industrial noises became apparent. There was a gurgling coming from the pipes, a hum from the control boxes, and a bubbling sound from above, near the top of each tank.
His mind reverted back to Anna’s deception, and his sour thoughts returned.
What kind of woman would sacrifice everything normal to do this? His heart softened. To make amends...to prevent a disaster. Was it any different when I volunteered for the Marines? Where the hell is she?!
Another minute passed before excitement flooded through him as a grimy figure—Fuzz fragments sticking to it—squirmed from underneath the nearest cylinder frame.
Her adoring eyes didn’t reveal a hint of anger or regret as she crawled within a breath’s distance.
He smiled for the first time in an hour and thought, She actually seems relieved she won’t have to do this alone.
Without a word, her arms wrapped around his neck and her lips pressed against his.
He embraced her even tighter, and for a moment, considered throwing her over the side, reasoning it would force her to swim 200 meters to a small island off to starboard, and quit this mission.
Instead, he offered a bottle and, in a quiet but still forceful voice, said, “I’m going to call the FBI Director. We’ll call in that favor. Even if we succeed, we need a way off this ship.”
She nodded and gulped the water.
“Is your coin turned on?” he asked.
“Not yet.” She handed him back the half-empty bottle.
“Do it!” Pete demanded.
“Yes, Dear.” With a slightly bemused expression, Anna took out her pliers and turned the switch.
Pete placed the call.
Ten seconds later, a voice picked up. “Yes?”
“Gatecrasher 78346, repeat, Gatecrasher 78346,” Pete said in a low voice.
“Understood, patching you through.”
“Hello. This is Director Greene.”
“Director, we’re calling in that favor now.”
“I see, and what would that be?”
“We are two, hiding onboard the Verde Desea, Spanish for Green Dream, out of Puerto Montt in Southern Chile. It’s a freighter minutes from leaving port with the mission to discharge a phytoplankton scourge in the global shipping channels. There are 152 six-meter long cylinders aboard, designed to release a genetically modified phytoplankton that is as bad, or worse, than what was released last year. Dr. Sven Johansson, formerly of Snath Genetics, is aboard. He designed the first plague and this second plague.”
Anna’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Sven.
“We’ve been looking for him—” Greene started.
Pete interrupted. “We have to make this short. His partner is Dr. Eric Thames, living at this address.” He provided details on what he knew, and of the Krugerrand serial numbers the FBI could use to track them.
“And what’s your name?”
“Just call me...Neo.”
Anna grinned at the Matrix movie connection.
“I and my partner, a woman, call her...Trinity, are attempting to sabotage the plankton inside the cylinders. But we must do it so nothing escapes into the water. Repeat, none of the cylinder contents must be allowed into salt water. We believe the ship’s crew will release the plague if attacked. They are armed with machine pistols and possibly more. We’re going to try to take the ship into a fresh water fiord to isolate the plankton. Here’s the contact info of a third person...call her Switch. She was unaware of our plans but can coordinate.” He provided additional details and emailed the cylinder technical specs.
“I’ll check with my people. You picked a tough location where we have virtually zero resources there. And you’re doing this without US government sanction,” the Director said forcefully.
“Understood. Just so you know, if we fail...humanity may ultimately starve to death.”
Pete heard a gasp from the other end.
“I’ll do what I can,” the nervous voice responded.
“Out!” Pete turned off the cell phone.
Anna nodded. “Smart call.... Come with me.”
They crawled to the controls of a cylinder. She whispered, “Cut this red wire right here, close to the housing, and here, so they can’t splice it, and stick the loose part back in that hole so they won’t see it. This will kill the CO2 injector pump. Then cut the black wire that feeds the nu
trients. Cut this yellow wire to prevent automatic dumping. Break off the limiter tab, and reset the thermostat to high...that will start cooking the plankton. Then break off the adjustment control for the heater so they can’t reset it. Have your VersaTool?”
“Yes.” He was staring at her. “You lied to me!”
“I’m sorry for that. I intended just to look and report back, but the ship was about to leave. It was now or never.” The corners of her contritely pressed lips turned up slightly.
“You know I came to get you off this ship, don’t you?”
“Of course. I expected it.” Her mouth turned up even more. “And now that you’re here, don’t you think it’s more important we stop them?” Her brow lifted.
He slowly shook his head and his facial muscles relaxed. “How did I marry such a crazy woman?”
“I’ll be less crazy if we get this done.” Her smile disappeared and her voice turned serious. “Now, either join me or drop into the water and swim to shore.”
“I’m not leaving you!”
“Good. Then it’s back to the mission. Remove the nut from the discharge release valve handle, and get rid of the handles when you get a chance. This will prevent them from dumping it manually, or at least slow them down. I’ve already disabled the rear 12 cylinders.”
With a nod, Pete accepted his fate.
She continued. “You start on the starboard side, I’ll do the port...I’m quieter and that’s where most of the crew are. Stay parallel to me. We’ll work as a team. If someone finds you, be ready when I drop him with a double-tap.”
Pete’s brow furrowed.
She pulled out her silenced pistol. “If he has a gun, grab it before it hits the deck and get ready to use it, preferably using the water bottle as a silencer.”
Pete’s eyes widened at the oddly shaped pistol, then he whispered, “Where’d you get that?”
She smiled mischievously while shaking her head.
“How many guards onboard?” he asked.
Her shoulders shrugged. “I’ve seen at least six, plus about a dozen crewmen. Usually on a ship this size there’re about 14 men. I expect more guards are sleeping. At least three are ex-special forces.”
“How do you know?”
“Their swagger...how they carry their weapons...their quick movements. A couple others look like barrio toughs.”
“Sven was on the bridge.” Pete watched her reaction.
Her lips pursed while she slowly nodded, then added, “We’ll deal with him later.” She blew Pete a kiss and crawled to the port-side cylinders.
Chapter 101
June 13, 1000 hours
Reloncaví Sound
They started slow. Working their way forward, they had sabotaged 10 more cylinders by the time the deckhands were ordered to cast off. The steam whistle blew and the ship’s vibration increased as the single screw cavitated, its bronze blades creating a rapid change in water pressure. Slowly, the 110-meter freighter eased forward and away from the pier. As the ship accelerated, the rough shaking changed to a thrumming vibration. Meanwhile, the wind, whistling through rigging and between cylinders, became more urgent. Minutes later, the ship turned to starboard as it cleared the northern point of Isla de Tenglo, the small island Anna almost had to swim to. To reach the open Pacific Ocean, the ship first had to run the length of Reloncaví Sound, a 24 nautical-mile-long elliptical bay. From there it would pass between the islands of Queullín and Nao, exit into the Gulf of Ancud, and later into the Gulfo Corcovado, bounded by the mainland to the east and Chiloe Island to the west. The total transit to southern Chiloe Island was 150 nautical miles, and to the Pacific, another 50. Though it was mid-day, it also was nearly the shortest day of the year in the southern hemisphere. Sunset would come in four hours.
Pete and Anna worked their way forward to the superstructure on the cargo ship’s foredeck, the rectangular tower containing berthing compartments and the pilot house. She motioned for him to rejoin her near the center of the cylinders. There they could shelter from the cold wind whipping across the deck as the ship cruised at 24 knots.
A door was centered in the superstructure on the main deck. It was their best route to get below.
Anna leaned against a tank’s support frame and swallowed some water. Her voice was soft. “Pete, we still have half the cylinders below deck. But before we’re out of cell phone range....” She pulled out her iPhone. Pete moved his ear next to Anna’s so he could hear both sides.
“Mac, it’s Anna. Pete’s with me.... Calm down, let me finish.... The ship’s heading south. We’ve sabotaged half the cylinders, those on the main deck. We’re going to sabotage the ones on the lower deck—”
“Anna, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Mac interrupted. “This isn’t fun anymore. You’re scaring me!”
“I’m truly sorry, Mac,” Anna responded sadly. “It’s something I have to do. Someday you’ll understand, if I’m not there to explain it.”
“That’s my big brother you’re risking!” Mac yelled angrily.
“I know. I tried to talk him out of coming...but honestly...I’m glad he’s with me. Together, we stand a better chance. Mac, I really don’t plan on this being a suicide mission. If it becomes one, I accept the risk because it may save millions, and I think Pete does, too. What Sven is doing is crazy, and he has to be stopped.” Her eyes were glossy. “I’m sorry Mac...here’s Pete.” With a shaking hand she passed the phone and wiped her eyes with a sleeve.
“Mac, look, I know you’re upset. Do me a favor?”
“What?!”
“Be our guardian angel?” he asked with a brotherly confidence.
Anna’s eyes angled to him in appreciation.
“We’ve called in the FBI, but they’re too far for immediate help. They should be calling you. I gave them your number. They know me as Neo, Anna as Trinity, and you’re Switch. Help them, help us.”
“Okay,” came the defeated response. Pete could sense her trying to build up her courage.
“You tracking our coins?”
“Yeah, Pete. I see both of you.”
“We’re going to take the ship.”
“You’re insane!”
“And you’re related...runs in the family. Seriously, you’ll need to help coordinate where we go. I want it as far from the ocean as possible and in cold, fresh water.... Can you find Jacaf Canal, the one we talked about, and email me a map?”
“I’ll try...I mean, yes.”
“Thanks, Mac. Look, we’ve got to go. Keep the VoIP online. If we can use the ship’s Internet, we’ll call you. We’ll be out of cell phone range soon. We love you. Bye.”
With the phone back in his pocket, he cupped Anna’s face in his hands. “Honey, you’re right, we have to do this. I love you, and I’m with you. Now let’s boil those other cylinders. Okay?” He squared his shoulders. “And then let’s take this ship.”
Her eyes widened, and she gave him an encouraging smile.
He added cockily, “Hey, you’re not the only one with duct tape and zip-ties.”
“We’ll get you something more substantial.” She put her hand on his arm, and whispered, “I’ve got an idea. How about you go downstairs with me behind you? Pretend you belong here. You’ll shield my gun, and if someone challenges you, just smile broadly to distract them and take a step to your left. Catch him when he falls.”
“Alternately,” Pete responded, “how about I just hit him in the face and knock him out? Only use your gun as a last resort, okay?”
She nodded. “Reduces blood splatter.... You’re getting better at Plan B’s.”
His smile widened. “I’ve got an idea to get even closer.” His right thumb and forefinger pulled out the stack of pesos, and fanned it in front of his face as he pretended to count it.
“Smart!” She chuckled.
They walked between the cylinders to the door.
Starting down the steeply angled metal stairs, they were confronted by a guard at the bottom. Ar
ound his shoulder was a strap holding an UMP9 – a machine pistol favored by special forces.
Pete’s left hand slid down the hand rail as his right artificial leg swung slightly to clear each step.
The guard moved his head to see the face past the pesos. “Who the hell are you?!” he asked in Spanish while swinging the automatic upward, but his eyes returned to the wad of money spread out in Pete’s hand.
“Hola!” Pete said as he continued down the stairs with a smile.
The guard’s eyes furrowed in confusion, giving Pete time to get within two meters.
The extra three elevated steps had made a head strike possible. Pete’s left hand gripped the railing, the stack of money drawing the guard’s attention. As their eyes met Pete leaned left and swung his leg.
Clang! The titanium lower leg cold-cocked the guard but Pete was too off-balance to grab the weapon before the guard hit the ground.
“Okay, that didn’t go quite planned,” Pete whispered, still smiling as he stuffed the money back in his pocket and picked up the machine pistol. “But now I’ve got a real weapon.”
He checked the weapon and pulled the extra ammo magazine from the guard’s pocket. Next he removed the guard’s radio and earbud and handed it to Anna, who stuck the bud into her ear and made sure the radio wouldn’t transmit accidentally.
“One down,” she said.
They dragged the guard into a stateroom, zip-tied him, and duct-taped his eyes and mouth.
Before leaving, Anna pulled a piece of a thick, two-colored tape from her pocket, tore off a small piece and, with her thumb and forefinger, rolled it together.
Pete’s brow furrowed.
“Epoxy,” she explained with a smile. “It’ll prevent anyone from unlocking this steel door.” She twisted the inside door lock, closed it from the outside, and then stuck the epoxy in the key hole making it invisible from the outside.
Pete shook his head in amazement. “You must have loved MacGyver!”
She nodded. “One of my favorites. But I believe in taking and using the guns. MacGyver didn’t.... We need to go down another deck to the cargo bay. You lead. Same deal.”