Storm Rising

by Steven Becker

  She looked down at the pier and saw uniformed customs agents mixed in with a few local police yelling to one of the guards across the gangplank. The alarm suddenly turned off and the tension seemed to ease. She could hear the conversation below now, the guard telling the agent that it was just an equipment malfunction. Without the blaring klaxon, the scene was calmer. A police officer came to the agent’s side and asked to speak to the captain.

  The guard said something she couldn’t hear, but she could tell from the reaction of the customs agent that it was not to his liking. She remembered some briefings on maritime law and knew how complicated the protocols were for boarding foreign ships. From the demeanor of the agent, she gathered that his request had been denied, and she watched him stomp off toward the building, but not before ordering the police officer to secure the boat—no one on or off. She was stuck.

  For a brief second, she thought about trying to talk her way off, but changed her mind. She had left her passport and pilot’s documentation on the sailboat, and even if she had them, there was always the chance that they would be confiscated—a risk she couldn’t afford to take. She didn’t even have a driver’s license with her. Moving to the port side, facing the harbor, she looked down at the water below. The jump was doable, but the crystal-clear water would expose her—there was nowhere to hide. If anyone heard her, she would be caught, if not by the guards, then by the local authorities. Dealing with local law enforcement might be preferable to getting shot, but she decided against it. There were strict conduct rules for airline employees in foreign ports, and she knew if this was reported she could lose her job.

  Now, caught between decks, she decided to go back to the helipad. At least she wouldn’t look out of place there. She walked to the stairs and started up, only to be faced by a woman coming down. The metal stairway was too small to pass, and they stood there facing each other.

  “Who are you?” the woman asked.

  “Hillary Caitlen,” she responded, thinking her real name might be useful if they checked her out.

  “What are you doing here?” She asked.

  “I was sent to pilot the helicopter,” Hillary said, nervously knowing there was no verifying her story.

  “You will come with me.” The woman withdrew a small revolver from behind her back. “I was not aware of any flights this morning.”

  She led her into a passageway and pushed her through an open door that led to the bridge. Two uniformed men were there, running diagnostics on the equipment that Storm must have damaged.

  “Did either of you know the helicopter was scheduled for anything this morning?” the woman asked the senior man.

  He turned around, a distressed look on his face. “I’ve got my hands full here. Cyrus has ordered us to sea as soon as we ascertain the damage. You’ll have to ask him.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “Looks to be mostly computer systems. We’re working on it,” he said. “Thankfully we have manual controls for most it.”

  With her gun, the woman motioned Hillary to the door facing starboard and pushed her through the opening. She had remembered Storm mentioning the name Cyrus. If he was the owner of the yacht, she had to get off now; surely he would know this was a ruse. She looked over the rail at the pier below them—a hard fall from this height. It was quiet on the dock now, the only presence the officer guarding the gangway. She thought about yelling for help, but wasn’t sure if he had the right to board, or would even take the chance himself. They had to know the diplomatic status of the owner by now.

  Looking for a way out, she followed the woman’s orders and descended to the deck below. At least they were getting closer to the water level in case she needed to escape. But her hopes faded as she was pushed through a pair of smoked glass doors with an insignia engraved in them. She entered the most luxurious living room she had ever seen—on land or sea. Despite her situation, she couldn’t help but check out the lavish surroundings. Her eyes soon found two cold orbs staring back at her, and her blood froze.

  They turned to look at the woman holding the gun. “We have another guest?”

  “She says she was sent here to fly the helicopter.” The woman pushed her toward a chair.

  The man’s eyes told her to sit.

  “Mei Lan? Maybe she has something to do with this,” he said, and turned to her. “Credentials?”

  She breathed a sigh of relief at the reprieve.

  One of the guards entered the room. “The customs agent is back with a warrant. It says he has the authority to search the ship before we leave,” he said.

  “Send the captain to stall them,” he told the guard. “I am going to the bridge to check on the repairs.” He got up and followed the guard.

  The woman looked distracted, and Hillary wondered if this was her opportunity. She doubted her captor would risk gunfire with the customs agent and police officer on the pier. Looking back at the smoked glass entry doors, she thought about making a run for it, but the deck suddenly vibrated and the engines fired. It looked like her window for escape had disappeared.

  ***

  Alicia was working furiously on several fronts: texting back and forth with Mako and Storm, searching for any radio traffic about the ship, and trying to locate Hillary.

  “Cody,” she called. He came in the room with a Coke and set it in the cup holder of the captain’s chair. “Hillary—last name unknown. Flies the San Juan to Tortola route for Cape Air. I need you to find her cell number.”

  “Roger that,” he responded, turning the chair to face the far screen and pulling up the keyboard.

  Alicia turned back to what she had been doing. Cody would find the woman. She sat back, absorbing the satellite communications feed, letting her subconscious work on the numbers while her conscious mind debated with itself. She was unsure how to proceed. From the text messages sent by Mako, she knew exactly what the situation was and had evaluated the threat as dangerous but not critical. That meant she had a little time while the yacht was still disabled.

  Cody was on the phone now, speaking into the microphone on his headset, using his friendliest Southern drawl to coax the information he needed from whoever he was talking to. Her eyes were suddenly drawn to the middle screen, a real-time satellite view of the harbor. A red icon had just flashed on the yacht. She reached for the phone and texted Mako. They had decided that it was critical to preserve what little battery life was left on the phone and had set out a communications schedule where he would turn the phone on every half hour. That was still almost twenty minutes away, but she texted anyway, asking what was going on. For the icon to appear, that meant that the ship’s radar signal was operational and their power was likely back on. Whatever damage Storm had done to the generator had been at least temporarily repaired.

  While she waited for Mako to respond, she went back to the CIA portal and opened a chat window. The senior agent in charge of the original contract was on the other end, and they were in the middle of a heated negotiation. The description of the two cases and the presence of Mei Lei and Mei Lan had rattled some cages at headquarters, and the agent was in on his day off. Alicia had explained her theory to the agent and was waiting for the Agency’s analysis. The wheels were moving slowly, but with both China and Iran involved and more than a hundred pounds of weapons-grade uranium, along with the access to the codes to stop Nitro Zeus, this was probably going high up the ladder, and the higher it went, the longer things took. The screen of her phone flashed. Mako had just texted that the engines had started. The threat level in her head jumped a notch to critical.

  “Got her,” Cody said.

  “Text her that we are trying to help and see if you can get any kind of status,” she told him.

  Alicia squirmed in her chair. She was stuck waiting, staring at the red icon on the screen, praying it didn’t move and hoping for an alert to pop up from the Agency. Sitting here as an observer, unable to affect the outcome, was not a situation she was comfortable with.

 
; ***

  The phone vibrated in Hillary’s pocket, and she tried to hide her surprise from Mei Li, who was pacing the room behind her, talking in what she thought was Chinese to the younger woman she assumed was her daughter. The piano blocked their view of her, but she was hesitant to check the phone.

  “Excuse me,” she started and waited for them to turn. “Can I use the restroom?” She was surprised how easily the line came, then realized she really did need to go.

  The older woman nodded toward a door to the side and continued her conversation. Hillary went for the door and entered a large room, nothing like she expected. She found herself in a spa. She couldn’t help but look around at the sauna, steam room, and massage tables. Off to the side, she found another door that led to the actual bathroom, with a shower larger than her apartment.

  She pulled the phone out and saw a text message from a Florida area code—someone not in her contacts—and was about to put the phone back in her pocket when she noticed the first few words of the text on screen said Mako. Sliding her finger across the notification, she opened the message app, which went automatically to the text.

  Mako—can you help?

  Yes, she typed back, but being held on yacht.

  Info? was the response.

  She typed quickly, not wanting to give the two women any reason to check on her. On her way back to the salon, she noticed the sauna and had an idea. Typing diversion, she went to the control panel for the sauna and hit the power button, hoping that was all she needed to do to start it. At the steam shower, she did the same thing, leaving both doors open. Not sure what it would actually accomplish, she exited the salon and made her way back to the chair.

  The women were involved in a heated discussion now, but all three looked toward the glass door when it opened and Cyrus entered. He had their undivided attention when he spoke. “The repairs are almost completed, but the local customs agents want to board. That is unacceptable. We go now!”

  ***

  “She says she will help, but is being held as well,” Cody relayed the message. “Wait. She just texted again. Sounds like she is planning some kind of diversion.”

  “Shit,” Alicia exclaimed and started typing, then pulled up another screen showing the Internet activity in the area. Fortunately it was early, in a late-night kind of spot, and the Internet was quiet. She found the Wi-Fi signal for the yacht. Getting into it would take some work, but would also allow her to monitor their status. With the damage that Storm had caused, she had no doubt that they would be working with tech support from the vendors of the equipment to facilitate repairs.

  “Program’s running. Knew that sucker would come in handy,” Cody said.

  “I’d give you a pat on the back, but I’m a little busy right now.” They both stared at the numbers scrolling down the screen, showing every combination of letters, numbers and characters imaginable. Suddenly it stopped on Shahansha1234. They both looked at each other and laughed. She was into the ship’s computer in seconds, amazed at the easy password, thinking it must have been set up by whoever had installed the router and never been changed. From her screen in Key Largo, she mirrored everything going on aboard the ship—when suddenly the communications stopped.

  CHAPTER 19

  Mako dropped the bottle opener when the engines fired. Fortunately only strands remained of his ties, and he pulled his arms apart, breaking the last of the fibers that had restrained him. The entire compartment echoed from the vibration of the machinery. He moved to Storm and quickly undid his ties. They were free now, except they couldn’t communicate—the sound was deafening. Mako turned on the phone and activated the flashlight. It was so loud he could see Storm’s lips moving, but no sound came out. He opened the note app screen, typed in: Type it, and held it in front of Storm’s face.

  Storm took the phone and ignored him. He used the light to check every wall, looking for a way out. There was nothing. The sealed hatch was the only access point. Without a cutting torch, they were stuck. Storm shut off the quickly dimming light and handed the phone back. The second Mako took it, the screen lit up, almost causing him to drop it.

  Check the door, the message said. Mako turned the light back on and handed the phone to Storm. He read the text and held the phone so Mako could see the hatch. He moved toward it and cautiously turned the circular mechanism. It didn’t move. He tried again, harder this time, and was about to give up and turn away when he felt something release in the latch mechanism.

  They entered the passageway carefully, fully aware that the ship would be searched for the cause of the alarm. Mako paused before they climbed the stairs to the deck above and typed Out into the screen.

  “We have to find Hillary,” Storm yelled.

  Outside of the sealed compartment, Mako could hear him now. “Where is she?”

  “Text Alicia. If she has a phone, she can track the GPS,” Storm said and pulled Mako with him into a recess.

  They heard footsteps coming down the open metal treads of the stairway and pushed close to each other. Mako froze for a second, wondering if he had closed the hatch, but it was too late now. As soon as the men passed, Storm pushed him out of the alcove and they ran up the ladder to the deck above. They were in the crew’s quarters now, still under the waterline, but this could be the safest place on the ship—if the guards did search their own deck, they would probably do so last.

  Storm pulled him into a storeroom and closed the door. Mako typed in quickly: Where is Hillary?

  They caught their breath while they waited for a response, surprised by the sudden quiet as the alarm was turned off. The ship vibrated and they felt it move.

  “They’re leaving. We have to get off,” Mako said.

  “Not without Hillary. Text her back and tell her it’s urgent.”

  Mako typed in the message and waited. Alicia answered and they went back and forth in a quick conversation. Mako summarized for Storm. “She says Hillary’s still onboard. The GPS signal is coming from her phone, but she lost access to the ship’s controls when they left the pier and turned off the Wi-Fi.”

  “We have to see what’s going on,” Storm said and went for the door.

  “But, she can tell us what to do. We should stay here,” Mako said.

  Storm turned to him. “Sooner or later you’re going to have to man up, and now is a good time. Sometimes you have to see for yourself.” He pushed out the door.

  Mako followed him up the next flight of stairs and they found themselves on the main deck. They were on the port side, away from the dock, but even with the bulk of the ship between them and the dock, they heard men screaming orders to stop. Storm crept low and ran across the front of the salon. Mako followed behind him, glancing in the smoked glass doors. He did a double take when he saw Hillary held at gunpoint by Mei Lan. Storm was too far ahead for Mako to stop him, so he followed. They reached the starboard side and peered around the corner of an exposed section of bulkhead, shading the deck and holding a sun deck above.

  Uniformed customs agents and police were screaming on the dock, their words hard to understand with their accents becoming thicker as they got more excited. The crew was ignoring them, untying the dock lines and dropping them overboard. With a jerk, the yacht, its bow thrusters disabled, tried to pull away from the pier, but without only the propeller, it was too slow to turn and slammed into the concrete piles. The captain powered forward again, hitting the other pile before finding enough water to turn. They almost fell to the deck as the ship accelerated.

  The men on the pier were waving guns in the air, but not shooting, and they quickly became dots on the shore as the yacht hit cruising speed, ignoring the speed limit. The ship cut a wide turn, barely missing the boats in the mooring field, and finally found the marked channel and headed out toward blue water. Mako looked back at the shore and saw a large outboard loaded with men pull away from the dock and speed after them.

  “Hillary’s in the salon. Mei Lan has a gun on her,” Mako told Storm.
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  “Shit. At least she’s alive. I expect we have a little time while they sort this out.” Mako followed his glance back to the speedboat behind them. A larger boat was now casting off its lines and moving out as well. “Twelve miles to international waters. I don’t know if they’ll catch us.”

  They were at least a half mile ahead, and it didn’t look like the outboard was gaining. The larger boat that had started later was falling even further behind. The yacht made a turn to the west once they were clear of land, and the men looked at each other.

  “Venezuela,” Storm said.

  Mako pulled the phone from his pocket, but Storm put his hand out. “I need to tell her,” he said.

  “She’ll figure it out,” Storm said. “What we need to do is get Hillary and get off this ship.”

  “You have a plan?” Mako asked.

  “The helicopter, or that speedboat they have for a dinghy. Not sure about the chopper, but the boat’s got a range of two hundred miles and can outrun the yacht.”

  “But how?” Mako asked.

  “We need to wait this out until dark. Everything changes on a ship then,” Storm said.

  Mako did the math in his head, figuring they were doing forty knots. With sunset still eight hours away, they would be close to three hundred miles away by then. He pulled the phone out again and pulled up a map of the Caribbean. The app opened, showing a blue dot with their location. With the phone between them, they both made the same assumption. They would have to get off right after nightfall, before St. Croix was out of reach of the outboard or helicopter. Once they passed out of range, there was only open ocean and no cell service.