by Alex Archer
The control room was a few years behind what Fleet had been used to in his special-forces days, but it was jam-packed with electronics. The ship’s pilot stood by the rectangular windows and stared out to sea, but he steered as much by the computer systems providing assistance as he did by sight.
Captain Mahendra was in his fifties. A compact man, he nonetheless broadcasted a fierce disposition. He had iron-gray hair, dark skin and a neat mustache.
“Agent Fleet,” Mehandra greeted.
“Captain.” Fleet came to attention and fired off a quick salute.
Surprised, Mahendra was just a second late returning the gesture. “I was told you had a military career before the IMB,” he said.
“Aye, sir. Special boat service.’
“That’s a top-notch outfit.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Mahendra nodded at the navigation computer in front of them. The names of three vessels were clearly written in small letters in English.
Casablanca Moon. Black Swan. Bengal Tiger.
The archaeology vessel. Rajiv’s ship. And the coast guard ship.
The Black Swan and the Bengal Tiger were on convergence courses with the Casablanca Moon. The archaeology boat sat idle in the ocean. Fleet couldn’t help feeling that it was a sitting duck.
“Well,” Mahendra said dryly, “it appears that Shivaji isn’t going to muck about with his intentions.”
Fleet didn’t comment, but he knew that the Black Swan’s course wasn’t open to conjecture. He knew where she was headed, and she was arriving there with all due speed.
“Shouldn’t we stop them?” Rohan asked.
Fleet let the captain answer his young officer’s question.
“For what reason, Lieutenant?” Mahendra asked.
“Because Shivaji means to harm that vessel.”
“You and I know that,” Mahendra said, “but we can’t prove that.” He let out a short breath. “No, I’m afraid that for now we’re going to have to be content to be close enough to lend a hand should one be necessary.”
Fleet watched and waited as the ship sailed closer to its target.
ANNJA HAD NO WARNING of the danger until it was upon them. She’d allowed the dive team to inspect the interior of the broken pieces of the ship. Paresh had joined her in the prow while the other divers occupied themselves with the stern section.
The water currents rocked the ship every now and again. It reminded Annja that the site was transitory and could change again at any moment.
She helped Paresh roll a heavy chest into a waiting net, then they grabbed the net in one hand each and lifted it from the ship. Annja carried the shark stick in her other hand out of habit.
Outside the prow, they sat the chest down. Covered as it was by concretion, they couldn’t open it. The smile on Paresh’s face told Annja he was dreaming of gold and gems.
Even if they had been equipped for underwater communication, she wouldn’t have bothered to tell him that chests often contained clothing, textiles or trade goods. Pirates and merchants didn’t often float around the open sea carrying treasures. Treasure ships, carrying gold and silver from conquered lands, would have been heavily guarded warships, not a merchanter.
As she filled a lifting bag, Annja spotted the hull of another ship closing on the Casablanca Moon. She thought it would surely hold up and stay outside the dive buoys, but it didn’t.
At that moment, Paresh looked frantic and pointed behind Annja.
When the big, long shadow fell across her, gut-wrenching fear like she’d seldom felt electrified her. She suddenly realized how open the sea was, and how few places there were to hide if someone needed to escape a predator.
Her instincts took over. She pushed herself from the shadow’s path just before the rough body of the shark slammed into her.
30
Stunned by the attack, Annja barely stayed conscious. Her breath exploded from her lungs in a spray of bubbles that spun in the ocean and headed toward the surface immediately. The regulator floated in the water before her.
Move! she told herself. If you’re going to hang here in the water, you’re just a target for that shark or his friends.
She kicked her fins and shot forward. Her left hand captured the regulator and shoved it back into her mouth. She sucked in a deep breath and felt her senses spin as the Trimix cascaded through her system.
The shark stick was falling toward the sea bottom. Annja managed to grab it in her left hand, then angled her body around to track the shark.
The creature was an oceanic whitetip shark. Despite the fear instilled by movies regarding the great white sharks, the oceanic whitetip shark was responsible for more attacks and fatalities against humans than any other shark.
Ten feet long, the shark was a prime example of its species. The pronounced dorsal and pectoral fins—all of them tipped in white, looked oversize on the slim, sleek body.
After missing Annja, the shark became tangled in the loose folds of the net wrapped around the chest she and Paresh had taken from the ship. But that only slowed it for a moment as it fought free and launched itself after Paresh.
Annja swam in pursuit but knew she couldn’t hope to equal the shark’s speed. The shark’s head was small and pointed, but its cruel mouth was open enough to seize Paresh by the calf.
Ink-dark blood spewed into the water. Paresh stopped trying to swim and instead reached for his wounded leg. He tried to hit the shark in the nose, but the water slowed his efforts.
Beyond Paresh and the shark, the other divers swam for the surface.
Annja took a two-handed grip on the shark stick and pressed the end to the predator’s head where she judged the brain to be. Then she pressed the trigger and hoped Paresh’s leg was clear.
The shark stick jumped in her hands as the heavy .44 Magnum round exploded. With the muzzle pressed against the shark’s flesh, there was no room for the expanding gases to vent, which caused even greater recoil. If the shark stick hadn’t been so long and as heavy, holding on to it would have been a problem.
The exploding gases vented into the shark’s body, tearing and splitting the flesh even more than the .44 Magnum round did. More blood filled the water.
The whitetip relaxed in death almost instantly.
Annja grabbed hold of the predator’s snout and shoved the shark stick into its mouth. She leveraged the mouth open and freed Paresh’s leg. There was too much blood, the diver’s and the shark’s, for Annja to see how bad the wound was.
Movement to her right caught her eye and warned her a split second before another shark shot through the water like a torpedo. She dropped the shark stick and reached for her sword, not even sure if it would appear underwater. Even as she wondered that, the sword filled her hand.
The shark heeled and came back around for her. With the sword gripped in both hands, she slid toward the sea bottom. When the shark missed her by inches, she thrust the sword up and into the predator’s midsection. The shark opened up and the water turned dark with blood.
A moment later three other sharks arrived. Paresh was already swimming for the surface. Instead of going after him, the sharks concentrated on consuming their brethren.
While the sharks were occupied with their easy repast, Annja willed the sword away and swam along the sea floor for fifty yards, then angled up. As she swam, she saw that the other ship had come alongside the Casablanca Moon.
TENSION FILLED the control room on the Bengal Tiger. Fleet stood in the midst of it and watched the satellite feeds showing the activity aboard Rajiv Shivaji’s ship and the archaeology vessel.
At the moment there wasn’t a problem. The two groups were merely talking. The Casablanca Moon’s captain was obviously irate about the casual disregard the new arrival had exhibited for the diving buoy markers floating around the boat.
The big man waved and gestured to the Black Swan’s crew. Then two of the Black Swan’s crew brandished assault rifles and the captain backed off.
&nbs
p; Rajiv approached the confrontation but never stepped into the field of fire. He appeared the paragon of compromise, but Fleet knew the man was anything but.
“Well?” Captain Mahendra asked.
Fleet thought out loud. “If we take them down now, we can get them for weapons violations. Maybe. We can hope drugs are on board. But the only way we’re going truly get Shivaji and nail him for the murders I’m investigating is if he has that .357 Magnum he’s been so free with.”
One of the Casablanca Moon’s sailors stepped forward with a pistol. Fleet didn’t know why the man had done that. Maybe it was to give a better show of defense, or maybe he recognized Rajiv and guessed at the fate that lay in store for them. Either way, the sailor fired before the captain could reach him.
Rajiv Shivaji staggered back.
Instantly the men with assault rifles opened fire. The bullets chopped into the sailor, drove him back against the railing, then knocked him over the side.
“We’re going in now,” Captain Mahendra said.
“Of course,” Fleet said. As the Bengal Tiger got under way, he hoped that Rajiv Shivaji had the pistol in his possession.
Fleet quit the control room and went out onto the deck. He slipped his sunglasses on to block the bright sun. The sea breeze whipped over him as the cutter surged through the water and the waves began to hammer the hull.
ANNJA HEARD the gunfire while she was still underwater. At first she didn’t know what it was and thought maybe something had gone wrong with the eductor. Then, when she surfaced, she saw the men with assault rifles standing on the newly arrived ship and knew that something had gone badly wrong.
She reached for the new ship’s stern and pulled herself up the deployed anchor chain. No one noticed her. At the top, she peered over the railing and saw the men standing on the deck. All of them had weapons.
“Where is Annja Creed?” a man bellowed. He wore a Sikh’s traditional turban and beard.
Two of Shafiq’s sailors pulled Paresh from the water. His leg bled profusely, but it looked as if he would survive his wounds.
The leader of the pirate ship, and Annja knew that’s what the ship was, seized a machine pistol from one of his men. He fired an entire clip and the bullets tore at the mast and tarp.
The sailors and Lochata dived for cover.
Angrily, the man thrust the machine pistol back into his underling’s hands. “If I do not get an answer,” the man threatened, “I’m going to set that ship on fire and kill every person aboard it.”
Scared but aware that she had no other choice to make, Annja kicked out of her fins and pulled herself onto the ship.
“I’m here,” she said. She loosened the straps on the rebreather and lowered it to the deck as the men turned to face her.
The man drew a pistol from his hip and strode over to her. “Miss Creed,” he greeted.
Annja noticed with the slightest bit of satisfaction that she was taller than the man.
He drew back his hand.
Annja reached into the otherwhere for the sword and almost pulled it to her. Even with the sword, though, she knew she’d be hard-pressed to get off the ship without getting killed. She also knew her efforts would probably get everyone else killed, as well. She let it slip from her fingers.
The man took a breath and let it out. He put his hand down without striking her.
“I am Rajiv Shivaji,” the man declared proudly. His black eyes gleamed. “The book you found. It belongs to my family.”
“That book,” Annja said calmly, “has been at the bottom of the Indian Ocean for twenty-five hundred years.”
“It has been lost to us for all this time. Now we have it again,” Rajiv said.
“What makes it your book?”
“It was stolen by my son’s ancestor from those who lived at Kumari Kandam and survived the sinking of the island.”
That idea fascinated Annja at once. “There were survivors?”
“Yes. Many of them. They built a hidden city out there in the jungles. That book will tell how we can find it.” He turned his head to the side. “Goraksh.”
A young man stepped out from the crowd of men. “Yes, Father.”
“Go find the book and bring it back to me.” Rajiv never took his eyes from Annja’s.
The young man hesitated only briefly.
Rajiv Shivaji raised his voice to a bellow. “Who is captain among you?”
“I am,” Shafiq called back.
“Let my son pass and give him the book.” Rajiv lifted his pistol and pointed it between Annja’s eyes. “Or I will kill Miss Creed, then kill you and your crew. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Shafiq said.
Goraksh crossed a gangplank to the Casablanca Moon.
“Do you still have the figurines?” Rajiv asked Annja.
“No,” she lied without hesitation.
“I don’t believe you.” Shivaji’s menacing black eyes never blinked. “Do you really want me to kill all those people because you lied to me?”
“No,” Annja said.
“Then where are they?”
“In my backpack.”
Rajiv grinned and raised his voice. “Bring Miss Creed’s backpack, as well.”
Annja watched and feared that Shafiq or one of his crew might try to capture the young man.
“They know better,” the elder Shivaji said. A slight smile curved his lips. “If they touch him, I will kill them all.”
A man burst from the wheelhouse. He pointed north and shouted in Hindi.
Annja turned and looked north. She barely made out the ship just visible on the horizon, but she knew it was coming fast.
“Looks like the cavalry has arrived,” Annja commented quietly.
“No,” Rajiv Shivaji said. “They only think they have arrived.” He spoke in Hindi and the man who’d called out the warning ran back inside the wheelhouse.
Goraksh returned with Annja’s backpack and a duffel bag Annja figured contained the book and other things he might have gathered.
“Down on your knees, Miss Creed,” Rajiv ordered. He put his hand on her shoulder to force her down.
For a moment Annja thought about how she easily she could have handled him. Putting his hand on her put him well within her grasp. But she knew that his men wouldn’t hesitate to kill her, and probably everyone aboard the Casablanca Moon. She dropped to her knees.
“This is the coast guard,” the bullhorns on the other ship roared as soon as they were close enough. “Put your weapons down and you won’t be harmed.”
Rajiv gestured to one of his men, who brought him a handheld bullhorn. “Stay back,” he said. “If you do not, I will shoot Miss Creed through the head.”
Annja had to resist the impulse to strike Rajiv and take the pistol from him.
“Do you understand me?” Rajiv demanded.
“Put your weapons down,” the bullhorns repeated.
Rajiv spoke to his men in Hindi. They immediately hauled in the anchor.
“Put your weapons down!” The voice from the coast guard ship sounded harder this time.
From the wheelhouse, the man called Rajiv Shivaji’s name. They spoke briefly, then Rajiv glanced to the west where the afternoon sun was headed into evening.
“They’ve underestimated me, Miss Creed,” Rajiv said. “And they’re about to pay for that. Stay down or you might get hurt.”
Squinting against the harsh light, Annja saw three helicopters fly out of the sun. They vectored in on the ships. In the next instant, rockets jetted from beneath two of them. They screamed through the sky and headed for the coast guard ship.
31
The coast guard team got a split-second’s warning before the missiles from the approaching helicopters unleashed fire across the deck. The Bengal Tiger shivered beneath Fleet’s feet, and he knew she was badly wounded. Flames lapped at the metal decks.
In the same instant, the Black Swan’s crew opened fire. Coastguardsmen dropped in their tracks as the b
ullets took them. A few of them had been blown clear of the ship in the missile blasts.
Fleet’s one-eyed vision limited his ability to see his surroundings all at once. He had to keep swiveling his head to take everything in. The first order of business was to save the ship. A naval fighting man had to prevent the sinking of his own ship or take his opponent’s.
Captain Mahendra shouted orders to his crew. The Bengal Tiger heeled over hard to starboard, and her engines thundered as she sped up.
The two attack helicopters pursued.
Fleet ran to the nearest deck gun as machine-gun bullets strafed the deck around him. A coastguardsman went down just ahead of Fleet.
Without breaking stride, trusting his prosthetic foot, Fleet vaulted the dead man and ran up the steps to the deck gun. It was a 50-caliber weapon and swiveled easily on gimbals.
Operating on instinct and memory, Fleet checked the load, slipped the safety off and took aim at the lead helicopter. Managing all of that was hard as the coast guard ship took evasive maneuvers.
Fleet cursed. Rajiv Shivaji had known the coast guard was on to him. They should have known he’d prepared for them. He’d had the helicopters in the area, either in the water or waiting on a cargo freighter nearby.
Fleet wheeled the gun around and fired by instinct. A line of bullet holes appeared on the side of the helicopter, and he tracked them all the way up to the gas tanks. The helicopter turned into a whirling ball of orange flames and black smoke. A moment later the thunderclap of the detonation reached him. By that time he’d already turned to find the next target.
His attention locked onto the Black Swan. Two cargo helicopters hovered over the ship. Rescue baskets were lowered from the bellies of the craft. The crew abandoned the ship and climbed into the baskets.
Part of Fleet admired Rajiv Shivaji’s plan. It was bold and daring, and salted with the unexpected. More than that, it was working. All he could hope was that the satellite recon they had on Rajiv would stay with the helicopters. Even so, Rajiv would get away the minute he touched down on land and went into a city.