The Carbon Cross (The Carbon Series Book 2)

by Randy Dutton

  Switching the weapon to her left hand, she walked to the first of two doors along the back bulkhead. Standing by the Captain’s cabin door, she leaned against the metal wall, then motioned to Pete to stand clear.

  She took a deep breath, exhaled, and turned the knob. Her right heel kicked the door open. Dropping her right knee, she did a slow roll while sweeping her weapon across the small, austere room. Within a couple seconds she was standing on the other side, her back against the bulkhead, and her MP5 clutched tightly against her rapidly rising and falling chest.

  “Clear,” she announced quietly.

  With the pistol aimed inward, she entered. Inside, she locked the Captain’s cabin door to the center passageway then returned to the pilot house. “Catch.” She tossed a wet towel to Pete.

  Catching the dripping towel, he saw what she had seen: blood covering his hands. “Thanks.”

  Her finger pointed to one last door that accessed the pilot house – it connected to the center passageway. Again, she stood to the side and kicked it with her heel. Looking into her mirror, she glanced around the doorframe and down the corridor.

  BOOM! A flash of yellow startled her and a concussion wave momentarily rang her ears.

  Pistol raised, she swung into the smoke-filled corridor and fired. Pop, pop, pop!

  A stunned shadow on his knees was fumbling for another weapon – he slumped backward. She briskly walked to his body and removed any usable weapons. Returning through the acrid smoke in the narrow passageway, she locked the steel pilot house door.

  “That shooter’s dead,” she said flatly.

  “What was the explosion?”

  “The backpressure of the barrel as it split. It stunned him.” She dropped the dead man’s ruptured Benelli on the map table.

  “Your instinct to plug it was a good one,” Pete responded proudly.

  She grimaced while jamming a chair up against the door knob. She wheeled suddenly and put her pistol’s barrel under Sven’s chin. “How many do you have, Sven?!”

  “How many...what?” He was a bit startled by her abrupt question.

  “Guards!” she yelled in his ear.

  “None. Never had any!” Sven impishly grinned.

  “Then who do these guys belong to?!”

  “That guy”—he motioned his head towards the blood smear—“blown away by the scatter gun.”

  “And who did he work for?”

  “My benefactor.... And he’s going to be very unhappy when he discovers you’ve taken his ship,” he taunted.

  “You mean there’s more than one person who believes destroying the planet is a worthy goal?” she asked sarcastically.

  “No. There’re many people who believe we’re saving the Earth.” His grin widened. “Come on, Anna. You hired me. I’m doing exactly what I’ve always done...accomplishing the mission.” Sven stared at her then glanced at Pete.

  “Hold on,” Anna said forcefully. She pressed the microphone on the ship’s loudspeaker. After speaking several sentences of Spanish she clicked off the mic and went to the navigation table to set a new course.

  “My Spanish isn’t that good. What’d you announce?” Pete asked.

  “I told all the guards and ship’s crew that six of us now controlled the ship...that the captain’s working with us and wants them to comply. If they want to live, they must go to the fantail and stay there...that it’s not them we want. They can depart when we reach our destination. There will be no more warnings. Anyone with a weapon or approaching the superstructure will be shot on sight—”

  “There’re six of you?” Sven interrupted.

  She ignored him.

  Sven chuckled. “Ah...misdirection.... You’re clever. You made the guards paranoid.” His head motioned at Pete. “Who’s he?

  “None of your business!” she said.

  “Come on buddy, what’s your name?” Sven taunted.

  “Pete.”

  Anna glared at Pete for having answered. He responded with a little shrug.

  “How did our little assassin rope you into this?” Sven asked. “What did she promise you? I can offer you millions.”

  “I’m here because you needed to be stopped,” Pete growled.

  “How noble—" Sven began sarcastically.

  “Pete, ignore him!” Anna cut in. “We need to stay focused.”

  “Domineering isn’t she?!” Sven said.

  Pete’s jaw tightened at the comment and then looked at his watch. “Brace yourself...any moment now.” He went back to watching the port side and held onto the frame with one hand.

  Seconds later, in a bright flash, the floor shifted as a massive explosion ripped out the aft starboard corner of the superstructure. The jolt reverberated through the pilot house.

  “In ten....” Pete began the countdown. “...three...two...” He ducked inside as the second explosion ripped out the port corner. Debris flew past the bridge wing while pieces of interior staircase splashed in the dark water.

  He cautiously glanced aft, then reported, “The superstructure corner’s twisted metal. Two men on the deck...bleeding. That should make an assault more difficult and make them wonder about booby traps. There’s no black smoke, so I don’t think we have any fires. We still have the exterior ladders under the bridge wings and one interior stairway to this level. I’d love to eliminate the interior one, but that might take out critical ship’s systems...or create a fire.”

  “Good job.” Her thin smile was barely visible in the diminishing twilight.

  Pete looked west at the horizon. “It’s getting dark. We need to turn on the deck lights.”

  “Why?”

  “To backlight intruders.” He ripped off the duct tape covering the captain’s mouth, taking facial hair with it and causing the old man to curse a string of Spanish invectives. He aimed his pistol between the captain’s eyes. “Where are the deck lights?”

  The taciturn gray-bearded man gave a toothy grin.

  Pete sighed and put his pistol on single shot. He put a bullet into the headrest two centimeters from the captain’s ear.

  The captain winced at the nearly deafening discharge.

  “Entiende ahora?!” Pete shouted with sarcasm into the other ear.

  The captain motioned his head to an overhead panel and muttered something in Spanish.

  Gripping his UMP in both hands, Pete positioned himself at the bridge wing entrance. “Anna, when I signal, hit the switches for the starboard side, but keep the pilot house lights off.... Now!”

  He swung his body outside the bridge wing door and aimed aft. The starboard side lit up. Two men with UMPs were exposed. The former Marine let loose with a full magazine, hitting one in the chest, another in the legs. He ducked back inside as returning fire from behind a storage tank pinged off the bridge wing.

  Pete dashed to the port side, changing magazines in his stride.

  “Hit the port side...Now!” As the lights went on, he spun outside and fired more rounds at one person scurrying out of sight.

  His attention returned to Sven. “You didn’t answer before. How many guards are on the ship?”

  “A bunch, maybe a dozen.” Sven smirked, then his eyes shifted to the weapon. “You find their armory?”

  “Yeah, we found it,” Anna interjected as her eyes darted from view through the port window back to the charts. “Pete, we’ve reached the coordinates where they would have turned towards the open ocean. We’ve got another hour and a half before we can take the ship into a fiord. I’ve put navigation on autopilot to the next waypoint – then steering becomes very dicey. And there’s something else—”

  “What?”

  She said tiredly, “There’s no chart for the fiord.”

  “What are you planning, Anna?” Sven asked. “These phytoplankton will survive. You may slow down their spread, but they’ll get out. The guards will make sure of it.”

  Straightening, she summoned her resolve. “Want to bet?!”

  Sven smiled smugly. “You
hit the rocks, and either the ship sinks or the containers get loose. Some will break open, and then it’s all over. If the containers sink, the pressure will rupture them. The fiord currents are strong. If you try to hide, my benefactor will find you. He’s no doubt watching the ship’s movements via a GPS transponder. Soon it’ll be clear we’re off course...you can’t hide.”

  His grin widened. “When he finds you, he’ll kill you and continue with the mission. When daylight comes, there’ll be aircraft. If he hits you from the air, he’ll tear open the cylinders on top and release the plankton. You’re in a no-win box.”

  “We’ll see,” she repeated while searching for the GPS transponder.

  “Want to negotiate?” Sven taunted.

  “Never!” came her terse reply.

  Sven’s head tipped up. “So...Swanson lost control of you? No wonder Jared asked me if I’d seen or heard from you.” He smiled slyly. “So what happened?”

  “I decided I wanted a normal life.”

  Sven’s head tilted with laughter. “You?! A normal life? Beyond the elitist glamor you had? Why?” He looked at Pete, who didn’t attempt to contain his distain. Sven’s brow furrowed.

  “With Petey here? He’s your life?”

  Sven chuckled. “That won’t last long, Petey. She’s a duplicitous, cold witch with expensive tastes. Puts guys under her spell then abandons...or destroys them. I’ll bet the two Snath executives who died two years ago were her work.”

  Pete’s attention switched back to Anna who had suddenly tensed.

  “You did the deeds, didn’t you? You recruited them and, later, executed them on Swanson’s orders.”

  Pete focused on the verbal exchange – his eyes darting from one to the other.

  “They died naturally!” she responded testily.

  Pete eyes narrowed. The sight of her distraught face illuminated by the radar glow disquieted his thoughts. Why such a strong reaction to this maniac’s ramblings? Was it something he said...or is about to say? What doesn’t she want me to hear? Do I let this play out or protect her secrets – whatever they are?

  He saw her weight subtly shift and turn from behind the radar.

  She’s about to strike. Why? Pete wondered.

  “Sure, the autopsies claimed that,” Sven continued taunting. “But I don’t believe it. I know Swanson was suspicious of them. And you faithfully do Swanson’s bidding....”

  In the ghostly radar luminescence, her left hand gripped her belt buckle and her right hovered over the belt.

  “What about that guy just before the UN—”

  Her eyes suddenly went wild realizing he might mention Professor Beecher’s assassination. “Shut up, Sven!” she snapped in a quavering voice.

  Before Sven could complete his question, she had taken a couple quick steps, simultaneously whipping the long black blade from its belt scabbard.

  “Stop!” Pete yelled as the long black blade swung in an arc.

  Eeerrrrrkkk Sven uttered as his head pressed against the rest and he stretched his neck in an attempt to reduce the pressing blade’s sting.

  Pete’s stared at her extended statuesque pose – both hands were gripping the hilt, as the blade’s razor-sharp edge had creased Sven’s throat – trickling blood onto the unwavering black steel.

  The captive winced from the pain of what almost became a decapitation.

  As she slowly withdrew the blade, her hard eyes turned to Pete and softened. Ambient light reflected a slight glistening in them that Pete interpreted as remorse. For what, he wasn’t sure.

  “Anna,” he started softly, cautiously. “We still need information from him.”

  Without a word, she slowly nodded and started wiping Sven’s blood off the sword while keeping an eye on him.

  “I see I hit a nerve.” Sven’s eyes crinkled with bemusement and the corners of his mouth turned upward. His eyes stayed locked with Anna’s, but now he spoke to Pete who had moved directly in front. “Did she get to you, Petey? Does she keep secrets from you? How about her spycraft? Did she do any dead-drops on your dates? Has she told you exactly what she’s done...and to whom?”

  Pete aimed his pistol and put a shot right between Sven’s legs – a couple centimeters below where injury would be severe. “I’ll do far worse to you.”

  Still holding the sword, Anna emitted a thin smile of appreciation knowing Pete would protect her secrets...even from himself. She reinserted the blade into its belt sheath and stepped back to the navigation table.

  Sven’s eyes were on Pete, who was still watching Anna. “You’ve got a thing for her. I get it. I did too for quite a while. She’s quite stunning. And danger is sexy too, isn’t it, buddy? Certainly one of the smartest women I’ve ever known. Photographic memory...fluent in several languages. She’s got it all...except...scruples.... Don’t let her lie to you. She had something for me, too.”

  “You’re a hypocrite and a liar, Sven,” she said harshly.

  “Am I? That’s not what I saw when I spent the night at your villa,” he said, taunting the couple.

  “Nothing happened that night!” she responded brusquely.

  “Did for me, and the next day walking arm-in-arm in the park like two lovers.” He grinned at Pete, now tapping the trigger on his machine pistol.

  Suddenly, a deafening eruption of glittering-glass and pinging bullets engulfed them. As white flashes from just outside both bridge wing ladders illuminated the airborne crystals blown inward by the ship’s headwind, Pete and Anna dove for cover. They were lucky. The chaotic scene of reflected muzzle flashes off showering glass confused the very shooters that initiated it and obscured their targets. Three seconds of rapid cross-firing was overlapped by the higher pitched pinging of ricochets tearing into glass and metal. Every surface and nearly every instrument was hit, many of the high-velocity rounds finally spending themselves onto the deck. A sound resembling applause, caused by crashing safety glass fragments, lasted seconds longer.

  Rolling to the back of the pilot house, Anna went to port, and Pete to starboard. Each scrambled up next to their respective bulkheads adjacent to the outer doors. Within seconds of the assault, they stuck their gun barrels beyond the door frames and fired a few rounds toward the faintly illuminated bridge wing stairs. The deck lights revealed shadows retreating aft. One was limping.

  “You okay, Babe?” Pete asked nervously over the wind’s wailing through the metal room.

  “I’m okay.” Anna was shaking off glass fragments.

  Pete stood and pulled his brick of C4 from his pocket. From it, he cut off a small chunk.

  Meanwhile Anna moved to the center equipment console, zipping up her coat to repel the cold blowing through the shattered windows. “But it looks like the radar scope’s been hit, and the radio’s totaled.” She stared at the scope from different angles. “The image is blurred”—she glanced around while pulling broken glass from the instruments—“and the ship’s GPS is destroyed.”

  Pete stared at the captain’s back and let out an audible sigh. “That’s not all...our hostage is dead. Caught two in the back.”

  “Collateral damage,” she groaned. “Too bad. I claimed in the broadcast he was on our side. Now we’ve lost some navigation help...and our leverage with the crew.”

  “Hmmmm. Maybe they don’t have to know,” Pete reasoned, cutting the restraints and propping the captain into a natural position. He wrapped the man’s coat around his torso to cover the blood-soaked sweater, then superglued a coffee cup in the dead man’s hand, his pipe into his mouth, and his hat onto his head. “Like decorating a snowman.”

  “Niiccceeee!” Anna allowed a smile.

  “Sven’s too much of a distraction. Let me shoot him!” Pete said, walking back to his project. He measured out a length of wire and tied one end to something the size of a baseball.

  “Not yet...maybe I’ll do it myself.” Her eyebrow lifted at Pete’s creation. “What’s that?”

  “I call it a swinging charge...made one once i
n Iraq.”

  “What’s it for?”

  “I’m going to take out the ladder just below the starboard bridge wing.” He finished connecting the wire to a detonator inserted into the round gray blob, then wrapped the wire once around the ball. He put a couple wraps of duct tape around the side, then held up his bomb. “You like?”

  Her eyes widened. “You can’t go out there!”

  “Won’t need to.” He tied the loose wire to the bridge wing door, attached a timer and set it. With a grin, he tossed the bomb up and outward against the wind. “Fire in the hole,” he said quietly while ducking behind the metal wall.

  Anna dropped behind the console.

  The small bomb’s path was constrained by its wire leash as it pendulumed. The small bomb swung just underneath the lower ladder. That’s when Pete turned the timer to zero – the electrical charge energized the detonator. A man’s scream was cut short as the deck shivered and metal debris blew away and pelted the water.

  “Don’t breathe the smoke!” Pete yelled just before a puff of gray smoke wafted up and through their space. He immediately swung out into the damaged bridge wing and fired at retreating shadows, then swung back inside. With a smirk, he started making another small bomb.

  Sven had been unfazed by the noise, the shrapnel, and the threat of death whizzing through the pilot house.

  To Anna, he seemed...amused.

  “Smells like gunsmoke,” Sven commented, trying to shake crystals out of his hair.

  “Similar compounds – nitroglycerine and nitrocellulose,” Anna described casually.

  “That’s right, you like chemistry. You know they’ll try again, but differently. These are professionals,” Sven taunted.

  “Ignore him.... Babe,” Pete cut in while slinging the UMP around across his back. “I need you to turn off the port side lights for 10 seconds.”

  “Now what are you planning?” she asked warily.

  “I’m going to the signal bridge. I can get a good sniper’s overview from up there. And I won’t have to listen to...him.” Pete motioned his shotgun at the captive. “The port lifeboat’s hanging in its davit about 30 meters back. I’m going to toss a small bomb into it about five seconds after you turn off the lights. The concussive flash and shrapnel will disorient any guards on that side long enough for me to climb the ladder. Then give me three seconds.”