Storm Rising

by Steven Becker

  “When?” she asked.

  “Dawn. The principals should be asleep.” From what he knew after watching the ship for several days, Cyrus and Mei Li wouldn’t rise until after eight.

  “And how do I get off?”

  “I’ll text you when I’m done. Make a show of it. Tell them the chopper is good to go and you’re going to town to get some breakfast.”

  “It can’t be that easy,” she said.

  He knew she was right. The best-laid plans always changed as soon as the opposition reacted. “Why don’t you try and get some sleep? Take the forward berth. I’ll wake you.”

  She left the cockpit and disappeared below. Storm picked up the phone and rolled it in his hand. It was close to midnight, and he hesitated before he dialed, but knew he would need Alicia once he got into the engine room.

  ***

  Alicia was near frantic as she watched the screen. An advisory from the NSA had just been passed to Homeland Security warning the directors to be ready to implement Nitro Zeus. There were few details, but the memo was clear. Iran had threatened a nuclear attack against Israel. She went deep into the Agency’s database, searching information well beyond her reach as a contractor, looking for anything that could clarify the situation. It took her a few minutes, but she found it.

  An interagency memo had been released two days ago about the loss of the encryption data. There was nothing that said what the contract was, only that it had failed and another contractor was involved now. She cross-referenced her own contract against the Agency’s computer and found the smoking gun. An email between two workers had been sent before the original contract terms had been agreed. In a breach of security, the details of the contract were revealed, explicitly stating the data was to be placed on Lloyd’s network.

  The pieces fell into place from here. Just days after the initial email, someone had hacked the CIA. All signs pointed to the Chinese flexing their newly found cyber-muscle. That might be another reason why Mei Li and her daughter were with the Iranian. The Chinese, desperately in need of oil and tired of dealing with the theocracy, wanted a simpler solution, and that was Cyrus.

  “Cody,” she yelled across the room, but he was oblivious, deeply ensconced in the command chair with his headphones on. Instead of yelling again, she texted him.

  He removed the headphones and laughed. “Sorry, got a little wrapped up there.”

  “You need to have a look at this. Mako and Storm are off the grid, and we have a bigger problem.” While she waited for him to review the information on the screen, she opened her secret weapon, the same system that had identified Mei Li on the Shahansha. The screen started to populate, and she entered several strings of code to filter the information, specifically limiting the search to Iran, China and the British Virgin Islands. The lines started moving around, and she was left with a trail of communication that was undeniable.

  ***

  “Sorry if I woke you, but I need your help,” Storm started.

  “No sleep here. I was just going to contact you.”

  There was a pause on the line, both waiting for the other to speak. “I have a plan to get on the yacht in the morning and disable it. We can’t let it leave the dock or we’ll lose him.” Storm laid out his plan.

  “I agree, a delay would benefit us,” she said.

  “Care to fill me in?” Storm asked.

  “He needs to get those cases to Iran. The NSA just put an alert out. The trip, even on the yacht, is almost ten thousand miles and they would be vulnerable going through the Straits of Gibraltar and then the Suez Canal. The timeline is now. I suspect he’s going to have to fly.” She had done the math. At forty knots they would make almost a thousand miles per day. Best case it would take ten days of nonstop sailing to reach Iran. It might have been the plan before the alert, but the window of opportunity was now closed.

  “If it were me, I’d find the closest banana republic and hop a plane. Better to just stop him here,” he said.

  “Agreed. How can I help you, then?” she asked.

  “I have a plan to get aboard at dawn and disable the ship from the engine room. I’ll need the fastest way to do the most damage.”

  She was silent for a minute. “Just pulling up the specs.” She paused again.

  Storm watched the now-quiet harbor while he waited. A sole dinghy was cruising from ship to ship, lost, trying to find their own. There were still a few lights aboard Shahansha. In the dim light, he studied the ship, memorizing the deck layout.

  “Okay. The engine room is mostly computer-driven. This should be a piece of cake.”

  He disconnected, thinking what was easy for her might be a little more of a challenge for him, but without her help he’d have no choice but to take a sledgehammer to the equipment. If this went as planned, they would never know what hit them. There was one other loose end, and he texted Alicia back, asking for a deck layout. Once the ship was disabled, he would have to find Mako.

  Unable to sleep, he watched the harbor settle in for the night. There was one last burst of activity when the last dinghies left shore and Foxy’s lights went off. Still, he sat there thinking about tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 17

  The vibration of the phone startled Storm awake. The last thing he remembered was an unsettling dream about Mako. It was still dark, and blinded by the glow of the screen, he had to take a minute to allow his vision to adjust before he could read the message. Alicia must have been up all night, he thought as he followed her directions and opened the two emails, saving the two PDF files to the phone’s memory. After thanking her, he opened the documents and worked the screen to zoom in on the different areas. Much preferring paper, he cursed under his breath as the phone didn’t obey his commands, but finally he figured out how to manipulate the images. One was the deck layout from the manufacturer. He assumed that Cyrus had customized the yacht, but this would give him a place to start. The second was a layout of the engine room, which read like Greek to him. He hoped there was cell service in the bowels of the ship, knowing he would have to call her when he was in the room for direction.

  The sky was still dark when he woke Hillary. A quick review of the galley revealed only alcohol and chips—not even coffee. He grabbed the chips and went back on deck, eating from the bag and studying the deck plan while he waited for her to get ready. It only took her a few minutes, and he held the bag out for her. “Breakfast?”

  “Think I’ll pass there,” she said and sat down next to him. “What about Mako?” she asked. “Have you heard anything?”

  He held the phone between them and showed her the lower deck layout, pointing to two holds. “I’d bet he’s in one of those.”

  “You think he’s still alive, then?” she asked.

  “No reason not to. This bunch is smart. They’ll keep him as long as there is any chance he could be valuable.” He saw the relief on her face and wondered if she really did like Mako—and then reprimanded himself for wondering why. Of all the women he had ever seen him with, she was by far the best choice. “Ready when you are.”

  He dropped down to the dinghy, deciding to leave the dive gear in case they needed it. She followed him, handing her flight case down before boarding. With the flight bag and her uniform, he was sure she would not be questioned. He nodded at her, asking if she was ready, and released the painter.

  In the early hour, the buzz of the outboard was the only sound in the harbor, and he kept the speed down so as not to attract attention. The last thing he needed was an upset hungover boater noticing Hillary’s uniform. After clearing the mooring field, he headed to shore, hopped out and beached the dinghy, having to do the work himself so she wouldn’t get wet. He stripped the toolbox of anything that would fit in his pockets, relieved to find a utility knife that might serve as a weapon. After a quick survey of Hillary, they moved off down the road.

  He was not sure how to leave her, if he should hug her or just let her go, so he settled on a pat on the shoulder. She stood by the gan
gway connecting the yacht to the pier and called for permission to come aboard. Her hail was met a few minutes later by a uniformed crewman. Storm couldn’t help but notice the barely concealed gun tucked in the back of his pants. They talked for a minute across the divide before he waved her aboard. So far, so good, he thought. Now he had to find the other guard.

  That problem handled itself when he came into view at the top of the stairs leading to the helipad. He must have been up there keeping watch on the harbor. Storm had a brief pang of anxiety, hoping that they hadn’t noticed her in the dinghy, but after a few minutes, it was apparent that they were flirting with her.

  He took his eyes from the top deck and moved to the stern of the yacht, trying to find a blind spot where he would not be seen. After a quick look up, he saw no one watching and vaulted the rail, his knees resisting as he landed in a crouch on the deck. Ignoring the pain, he stood up and immediately went to the hatch, where he opened the dogs securing it. Pulling it towards him, he entered. He looked around, trying to orient himself with the plans that Alicia had sent, and moved down the passageway, finding the stairs exactly where he expected them to be.

  Taking the treads two at a time, he reached the landing and swung around the corner, repeating the process until he found himself on the lowest deck. Another watertight hatch blocked the passageway, but it was partially open, and he carefully pushed the steel door. Down in the bowels of the ship, things were not as well maintained as above deck, and the hinges creaked, causing him to freeze in place. He waited, listening intently for any sound. After a minute, he proceeded through another watertight hatch and found himself in the engine room.

  The image in his mind of what an engine room should look like was nowhere close to what he saw in front of him. This looked more like pictures he had seen of the Space Station than the engine room on a ship. Racks holding computer equipment lined one wall, while pumps and pipes, set symmetrically and painted in white enamel, lined another. Although it was probably loud when the ship was underway, it was fairly quiet now, with just a generator humming in the background. He closed the door and looked around for a section of loose pipe to lock it with, but the room was immaculate—nothing was out of place. He closed the door and pulled out the phone.

  Alicia answered right away. She had him take a quick picture of each wall and send them so she could guide him through the process. Under other circumstances, he would have taken the tools he had and attacked the machinery, but they had agreed this shouldn’t look like sabotage. He looked around at the equipment while he waited for Alicia to call back.

  “Go to the wall across from the door.”

  Storm walked across and found himself in front of a supercomputer.

  “You need to find the oil pressure control and pull the circuit board out.”

  He read the tags clearly identifying each component and found what she described. There were several gauges, indicator lights and a handle. The circuit board came free with an easy tug. “Okay.”

  “Whatever you can do to disable it. Maybe pry loose some of the relays or transistors,” she ordered.

  Storm reached into his pocket and removed a flat-bladed screwdriver he had taken from the canister on the dinghy. With its tip, he tore into the board and replaced it. “Done. Won’t they find out?”

  “Damage to the systems we will be working with will only be noticed once they try and get underway,” she said impatiently.

  “What now?”

  “Find the bow thruster controls and do the same. They should be high up toward the right.”

  He reached for the handle and pulled out the board. After tearing several components free, he replaced it.

  “Ready?” she asked, but did not wait for an answer. “Now for the generator controls. Turn to the left. There should be several buttons and gauges. Right next to them you should find a circuit breaker.”

  He found what she described. “Go ahead.”

  “Disable the breaker.”

  He didn’t think twice and was about to stick the screwdriver in the space between the two poles of the breaker and pull it apart, but stopped, remembering that part of the mission was to leave no trace. Instead, he pulled out the control board, immediately regretting the decision when an alarm went off and the ship went dark.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  “Alarms. Dammit.”

  “Was it running? I assumed they would be on shore power,” she explained.

  “Well, we have a problem now,” he said and disconnected. He turned to where he thought the door was and, with his hands extended in the pitch-black room, reached for the wall. Moving toward the corner, he found the handle and pushed the door, but it was locked. He tried again and realized that with the generator shut down, the pumps would be disabled as well. Without the pumps, the watertight hatches must have locked automatically. Moving to the opposite corner, where he remembered another door, he stumbled and hit his head on a valve. He was on his knees now and didn’t need to feel his head to know he was bleeding. Removing his shirt, he rolled and tied it around his head as a makeshift bandage. Back on his feet, he found the door and turned the handle.

  The access to the real engine room opened, and he entered. He couldn’t see, but he could tell by the smell of oil and fuel where he was. The room had to have ventilation, and he moved down the narrow corridor between the equipment, banging against hard steel pipes and valves as he went.

  He remembered he had Mako’s phone and pulled it from his pocket, both to use as a light and for the deck plans Alicia had made him download. The equipment room resembled the picture enough for him to find the ventilation shaft across the room. He climbed onto a large pump and reached for the panel. Just as he was about to remove it, he heard voices. He shut off the light from the phone before it gave him away and put it in his pocket. Trying to be as quiet as possible, he used both hands, working the thumbscrews holding the grate. The last nut came loose and he removed the grille, grabbing for it before it hit the ground and hoisting himself into the shaft just as the beam from a flashlight started scanning the room. Just before it found him, he reached back out and grabbed the grille, pulling it onto the opening seconds before the beam hit it.

  The light moved away, and he tried to relax his muscles. If he cramped up in this tight space, things would get ugly. Laid out in the duct, he tried to relax as he listened and waited. Light from a flashlight bled through the bottom of the door. He heard voices and then the whine of a battery-operated drill from the adjacent room. Without warning, the lights came back on and two men burst into the room.

  Storm was stuck. If he moved, he would drop the grate and reveal himself; if he remained where he was, a cursory inspection would reveal him. With no choice, he gripped the inside of the grille with his sweaty fingers, hoping he could keep his hold. The men were moving quickly through the room, and he exhaled as they passed him. Just as they were leaving the room, the phone vibrated. Ordinarily they never would have known, but he was on his stomach in the ventilation shaft and the phone was in his front pocket. The vibration echoed through the thin steel of the duct and they both turned.

  They were eye to eye, the grille the only barrier between them.

  “You’ve got nowhere to go,” one of the men said with a Middle Eastern accent.

  The other man did not have his partner’s patience. He grabbed the grille with one hand and before Storm could release his hold almost pulled him out of the shaft.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m coming out,” he stalled, adjusting himself enough to remove the phone and stuck it down the front of his pants, hoping they would not search there. Half his body was out when the larger man grabbed him and yanked him the rest of the way. They frisked him, removing the screwdriver and knife from his pockets. Just before the man was about to search further, his radio went off. He pulled Storm to his feet and pushed him out of the room.

  ***

  “They’ve got Storm.” Alicia squirmed in her chair. Somehow
Storm had been able to accept the call before being dragged out of the shaft, and though the sound was distorted, she could hear everything. She closed her eyes and tried to visualize his surroundings, as if she were the phone, and then realized she could be.

  “Can you pull up the deck layout I sent Storm last night?” she asked Cody and started typing. She entered the phone number, found the carrier and within minutes had hacked into their server and had control of the phone. With a few keystrokes, she had activated the microphone and camera, then shot the image feed to one of the screens, but it was totally dark and she assumed it was in his pocket.

  She heard the sound of footsteps on the steel deck, as well as his breathing, and guessed they were taking him someplace. Cody had the deck plan up on another screen, which she sent the GPS location feed to. Within seconds, from the comfort of the war room they watched the blue dot move through the passageways and stop in front of a door. Through the speakers, they heard the door creak open, and the dot moved into the room.

  “Storm?” a voice asked.

  “Mako?” Storm responded.

  CHAPTER 18

  Hillary had been making small talk and drinking coffee with the two guards when the alarm had sounded. Her cover had worked perfectly, but now she needed a way off the ship before they connected the dots. The alarm meant that Storm was in trouble, and he had given her specific instructions to get out if anything happened.

  The moment the alarm had sounded, the guards had changed their demeanor. Succinct orders came through their radios in a language she couldn’t understand, and they took off. The deck was empty, and she went for the stairs, listening for footsteps before taking the first flight two steps at a time. Then she slowed, thinking she looked guilty running. It took an effort, but she slowed her breath and started down the next flight, trying to remember how many levels she had climbed to reach the top deck. She could hear people yelling below and stopped by the swimming pool with two decks still below her. Easing herself into a small recess, she tried to think of what a real pilot would do if caught in the same situation—but she was a real pilot. Her training had taught her to evaluate the danger or threat and get out of harm’s way, which was just what she was doing. Just act calmly and walk right off the ship.