by Cindy Dees
He wasn’t likely to see the boat as it raced in, black and low to the water, partially hidden in the troughs of the choppy seas. Of course, the ship’s crew wasn’t likely to see it, either, for three reasons. First, it was constructed of a radar absorptive material that made it nearly invisible to radar sweeps. Second, it would approach from a specifically calculated angle, running up a narrow strip of sea toward the ship’s eight-o’clock position—right at the edge of the coverage between the ship’s aft radar dish and side-looking radar systems. And third, both the boat and the men in it were covered in matte black materials, nearly impossible to distinguish from the dull blackness of the sea on this cloudy night. There was only a sliver of moon in the sky, anyway, and it was too weak to shine through the clouds that were an unexpected but appreciated bonus.
The RIB should be running alongside the aft starboard corner of the ship now, maneuvering to hold its position in the turbulent water next to the ship’s hull and dangerously close to the ship’s propellers. They didn’t have to stay there long, though. Just long enough for a man to catch the end of the rope dangling near the waterline and tie on a carefully packed bag of equipment. Viktor glanced at his watch. They should be done by now, backing out along that narrow, partially radar-blind corridor of water to a safe distance. The RIB would come to a halt, letting the Grand Adventure pull away into the vast expanse of the open water.
Time to go. He walked inside, riding the elevator down to the promenade deck. He loitered in the stairwell, monitoring his watch as the team of six men got into position under the cameras again.
Three…two…one. Once more, they simultaneously blocked all of the security cameras in this portion of the ship.
Viktor slipped outside and headed straight for the line. He hauled it up fast, hand over hand on the slippery nylon, until a black scuba bag came into view. He dragged the heavy, bulky nylon bag over the rail and quickly untied the rope. He unzipped the bag enough to toss the rope into it and glimpsed several MP-5 semiautomatic machine guns wrapped in bubble plastic and heavily taped to keep them dry.
He hefted the bag over his shoulder and quickly headed up the stairs toward his stateroom. The team of six men would leave the cameras blocked for a full two minutes this time. Time enough to be certain the ship’s security officer would leave his post and come have another look at the offending cameras. And while Viktor walked down the long corridor to his room, hauling a heavy, suspicious-looking bag that had appeared out of nowhere in the wee hours of the morning, the security officer would be long gone from the banks of cameras that saw it all.
Viktor stepped into his room and eased the door shut. He stuffed the weapons into the closet and slid the door closed. His wife rolled over in her sleep as he slipped into bed beside her, but she did not waken.
Exultation shot through him. Phase two was complete. Now that he had his men and weapons aboard, the rest of the plan was a piece of cake. The ship was completely vulnerable to anything he chose to do to it from here on out. For all intents and purposes, the Grand Adventure was his.
Chapter 3
At the debriefing, Aleesha lounged in her seat savoring the grim set of their SEAL trainers’jaws. Apparently, they were not amused with last night’s little surprise in the ammo safe. No doubt these guys would get even with the Medusas the next training evolution.
She leaned forward, listening intently as they were briefed on their next simulated target. They were to storm the bridge of the destroyer and seize control from the SEALs who would pose as the ship’s crew. Bloody hell. Revenge, indeed. It would be an impregnable fortress! This sort of brute force maneuver wasn’t the Medusas’ style at all. They relied on stealth and cunning to get the job done with a minimum of confrontation. This would have to be an all-out frontal assault. She didn’t need intuition to feel the very bad mojo coming from the smirking SEALs as they filed out of the room.
Vanessa glanced up from the pistol she was loading with rubber training bullets. “So, what does your voodoo magic have to say about this mission, Aleesha?”
She grimaced. “It doesn’t take voodoo to know we’re going down in flames on this one.” Grim looks all around met her remark. Crud. They needed to come up with something unexpected and brilliant. Something outside the box. Something so shocking it might stand a chance of working. Okay, brain. Be creative. Of course, at that command, her mind went completely and totally blank.
Misty commented, “Too bad we can’t just lock ’em all on the bridge so they can’t come out and kick our butts.”
Yeah. Too bad. Except…what if…
She gave her team a slow smile. “What’s Jack’s cell phone number? I have an idea, but we’d need his help.”
Surprised, her boss rattled off the number. Aleesha punched it into her cell phone and waited impatiently while it connected. Jack Scatalone might have been an asshole while training the Medusas, but he was their asshole. By the time they’d been to hell and back for him and saved his life, for kickers, the intense loyalty endemic to Special Forces teams had run both ways between him and the Medusas. He’d help.
The worst of it was keeping the twins out of the damn scuba bag. At seven years of age, they were pesky brats and prone to poking into absolutely everything. God, he’d be glad not to have to put up with them and their sniveling mother any longer. Two interminable years of playing the devoted husband and loving stepfather, all to establish his cover. There had been a certain symbolic satisfaction in fucking an American, but the bitch had started complaining about his vicious attitude in the sack recently. She had no idea just how vicious he could be. But she was about to.
He left the wife with a credit card in the ship’s boutique and told her to have fun. She mistook his gesture for tender loving care and gushed all over him before he managed to extract himself from her presence without attracting attention to himself. The boys headed down to the kids’ adventure area to stake out good seats for today’s airing of some comic-book, cops-and-robbers motion picture. The film wasn’t due in theaters for a couple more weeks, but the ship would air the sneak preview later this afternoon to a packed house of screaming brats. It was that very preview, with its guaranteed concentration of children in one place at one time, that doomed this ship to its fate. That and the fact that it coincided with the low light conditions needed for sneaking the weapons aboard last night.
He pulled on swim trunks and a T-shirt, shoved his feet into a pair of deck shoes, slapped a Panama hat on his head and covered his eyes with a pair of mirrored shades. He looked like the quintessential American tourist. A far cry from the zealous Basque separatist he actually was.
Time to go surprise the living hell out of his team, who still thought this voyage was a final rehearsal for the real thing. Some of them would squawk because they’d brought along wives, children and girlfriends who might come into harm’s way. Too bad. What were a few innocent lives sacrificed in the name of freedom? It was noble. Necessary, for Christ’s sake. History proved that true freedom was bought and paid for in blood. The sacrifice of their families was part and parcel of the plan—albeit a part he’d neglected to mention to anyone else for obvious reasons of human weakness.
He hefted the scuba bag over his shoulder and sauntered out of the room. He greeted the ever-present room steward and continued down the hall. He rode the elevator up two decks to the spacious suite from which their team would stage the operation.
He knocked on the door. It opened to reveal Michael Somerset, a former hit man for a Northern Irish splinter group and one of the smartest bastards he’d ever met. Not a guy to cross. A good man to have on their side, though, even if he wasn’t a native son of the troubled Basque region. He’d fought for freedom for his own land and lost. He understood the nature of the Basque struggle and was bitter that his own leadership hadn’t been willing to do what it took to win. He had the right attitude for this operation, and his greatest usefulness was as the liaison between the Basques and non-Basques on the team.
The three Montfort brothers, from another small village outside Laruns, were traveling in a bachelor pack. They’d been undercover in the United States the longest, establishing decade-long histories as reasonably upstanding American citizens prior to being activated for this mission by the Alliance. They were also the meanest street brawlers he’d ever run across.
The Basque Spaniard, Antonio, arrived next, followed by François, Alberto and Paulo. Viktor didn’t know the last three as well as the others, but they’d come to him last year, highly recommended by the very top levels of the separatist movement. He’d taken them on because they’d been in the U.S. for years already, had covers firmly in place and were as intensely committed to an independent Basque state as he was. And that was saying a lot.
Accomplishing their goal would take strong-arming not one, but two, national governments into ceding land in the Pyrenees Mountains to the Basque people, not to mention convincing the global community to recognize its status as an independent nation. The Basques had been alternately negotiating and pleading for a homeland for decades to no avail. Clearly, it would take a dramatic display of force to achieve their goal. That’s exactly what Viktor had in mind.
The American team members weren’t here yet. They were late. Again. It was their one glaring flaw. They did everything according to their schedule and no one else’s. He clenched his jaw and suppressed his ire. Unfortunately, the Americans were as necessary as the Basques. He needed the additional warm bodies to control a ship this size, and as Americans, they slid under the profiling radar of the cruise line with ease. Furthermore, they were angry men, good with guns, and could take an order. He didn’t give a damn about their plan to topple the American economy and drive the U.S. back into an agrarian system à la the nineteenth century, when the country’s values had been purer. The men had been willing to follow his plan and let him lead, as long as they got their moment on the world stage, too. He could live with that. There’d be plenty of fame to go around before this was all said and done.
Viktor looked around the room, pleased to see how calm his men were. Eleven soldiers, professionals, one and all. A good team. They each knew their parts of the plan already. The Americans would be useful in pulling shifts so everyone could get some sleep, and in confusing the authorities who would react to this crisis. His plan required precise timing, and their lack of punctuality might prove a problem. Hopefully, when it came time, they’d get their act together.
Eleven of the twelve Americans—the twelfth would stay hidden among the passengers per his orders—straggled in over the next few minutes, unapologetic. Cochons. Pigs. He didn’t deign to react to their tardiness and merely asked the now-crowded room full of men, “Has anyone discovered any glitches that need to be addressed?”
Negative head shakes all around. Excellent. He hated surprises.
“Then there’s going to be a slight change in plan.”
That got everyone’s attention. He knew he had a reputation as meticulous, the type who didn’t change plans midstream. Of course, he hadn’t done that this time, either. It was just that nobody else had known what the actual plan was.
He said without fanfare, “This voyage is not a dress rehearsal. This is, in fact, the actual ship we are going to take over. Today. The weapons and ammunition in this bag are real. We’re ready, and there’s no reason to wait any longer.”
As he’d anticipated, a buzz of consternation erupted while everyone reacted to his announcement. Also, as he’d expected, it was Michael who asked the pithy question that cut straight to the heart of the matter.
“Why the change in plans, Viktor?”
He looked his number two in the eye. “I needed all of you to be relaxed, natural, when you boarded the ship, and not draw attention to yourselves. I also didn’t want to chance some sort of security leak before the mission.”
He looked around the room. Everyone seemed to be buying his explanation. Except for Michael, which was no surprise. He was frowning as if he smelled a hidden truth. Smart lad.
Of course, the hidden truth was that Viktor had gotten a tip concerning a plant inside his team. A snitch among the Basques who intended to expose them all after this last practice voyage. By luring everyone aboard the Grand Adventure on the pretense of a dry run, the snitch would come along, hoping to see the entire plan before going to the authorities.
Viktor hefted the heavy scuba bag onto a table. “These weapons still need to be unpacked, safety checked and loaded. The movie starts in a half hour, so we should get to work.”
By holding this meeting so soon before the actual attack, he’d trapped everyone in this room and made it impossible for the snitch to warn the crew or other authorities. Whoever the bastard was, his thoughts had to be going ninety miles per hour right now, trying to figure out a way to get out of here and warn someone. Viktor watched the team members keenly, but not one of them showed signs of inner turmoil or chagrin. Either the tip about the snitch was wrong or the bastard was one cool customer.
Viktor passed out the various weapons and tools that would be required for the first part of the job. Overlooking no detail, he’d even packed lengths of chain and four padlocks. Antonio would take care of deploying them. The Spaniard was already slipping into a yellow maintenance coverall, embroidered with the Adventure Cruise Line logo. It was an actual company suit, obtained during Antonio’s job as a maintenance man aboard this ship, terminated only a few weeks ago.
The others unpacked MP-5s and clips of ammunition for the compact, submachine guns. There were blocks of C-4 and remote detonators, too, but he’d deploy those later, himself.
Everybody checked their weapons and loaded them efficiently. They donned their radios and earpieces and did a quick sound check. Nods all around. They were ready to go. Now it was just a matter of waiting. Somerset turned on the television and flipped through the channels, piped in by satellite for the viewing pleasure of the ship’s passengers. He found a soccer match and turned up the volume. The men watched the game impassively, a South American match-up none of them gave a damn about. The minutes ticked past slowly.
Nobody made an effort to leave the room or to be alone for a few minutes. Viktor continued to watch for signs of undue stress, but nobody acted out of the ordinary. Sure, they were tense at the thought that this was the real deal, but nobody was panicking. He didn’t know whether to be alarmed enough to call the whole thing off or profoundly relieved that his tip about an informant was wrong.
His upper lip began to perspire. God damn it! He despised displays of weakness. Especially in himself. He wiped the moisture off with a vicious swipe of his hand. This was his moment of glory. Nothing and no one would take it away from him! The attack would go ahead as planned. Fuck the informant.
The kiddie movie’s start time passed. He gave it ten minutes for previews and another twenty minutes for the kids to get engrossed in the movie. And then he stood up. Everyone looked at him quickly. On edge, were they? Good. Now was the time to be sharp.
“Let’s do it,” he ordered. “For la patrie Basque. And for whatever the hell it is you Americans are so hot and bothered about.”
Aleesha hung up from her brief call to Jack, grinning widely.
The rest of the Medusas looked at her expectantly.
“He liked my idea,” she announced. “He’s going to call the bridge of the ship and masquerade as a Navy officer who’s working on the refit of the destroyer. He’s going to tell the SEALs a maintenance team needs to come aboard this af
ternoon. The team knows to stay well away from the conning tower and the bridge, and it’ll be doing some welding in the bilge compartments at the bottom of the ship. They’ve been briefed to stay out of the way and will be no factor in the SEALs exercise.”
“And?” Vanessa asked. “There’s more to this plan, yes?”
“Oh, yes.” Aleesha couldn’t suppress her grin. “We’re going to dress up as that welding team. We’ll walk onboard the ship as pretty as you please and head belowdecks. Eventually we’ll make our way to the bridge, and we’ll weld the main door to the bridge shut with the SEALs still inside. Then it’s a simple matter of taking out the guys on the bridge, say with a couple of grenades tossed in through an air vent, and powering up the alternate ship controls down in engineering. Voilà, we’ll have control of the vessel.”
The other five women gaped at her for a moment, and then, as one, broke into gales of laughter.
Finally Vanessa chortled, “If we pull this off, those SEALs are going to kick our butts when they get out, exercise or no exercise. They’ll come looking for us in our rooms tonight and give every one of us a blanket party.”
Aleesha smiled broadly. “Then I guess we’re not sleeping in our rooms, tonight, are we?”
Misty chuckled, “Motel No-Tell, here I come.”
Their first challenge was to procure welding suits and equipment from the shipyard. But it turned out to be as easy as telling a work crew inside one of the dock’s giant maintenance buildings that they were going to play a little trick on a bunch of SEALs. The maintenance guys were more than happy to let them borrow some gear.
Only four of the Medusas would go aboard, suited up as welders. The SEALs would be far too suspicious of a six-man welding team, and besides, Kat and Vanessa were needed onshore to provide a diversion when the time came. Karen, after a crash course, would handle the welding torch, while Isabella and Aleesha got the dubious honor of hauling the portable tanks of oxygen and acetylene aboard the ship.