“Clear,” McCoy whispered. He removed the heavy ropes he carried over his shoulder and attached the two lines to the rail, then dropped them down to the raft. Hearing it was secure, Hodges followed, carrying his heavy sniper rifle across his back. It was fitted with a silencer, but on such a quiet night, it wouldn’t be fooling anyone. It was a cannon, and sounded like one, even silenced. Within a few minutes, the entire team was aboard the ship, moving out to secure the stern.
Hodges began his climb up the crane, something he’d done several times on the oil platform. This was a much easier climb, being only a fraction of the height. Once he found his perch, he took the covers off his sniper scope and began scanning the ship as the team moved slowly forward.
“Overwatch in position,” Hodges whispered. “Six tangoes amidships. Probably sleeping, but they have their vests on. Searching for the other two. Over.” Hodges shook his head. “Who the fuck sleeps in a claymore?”
Moose waited a moment and radioed Hodges again. “Any sign of the other two?”
Hodges had scanned all over the ship, but could only see the six men who looked to be sleeping in the open part of the ship behind the bridge.
“Negative, skipper. Only six.”
Moose nodded to himself. The only easy day was yesterday. Oh well. He looked at Jon and McCoy and pointed to a door, then pointed to himself and Ripper and pointed to the position of the sleeping men, drawing a finger across his throat. Jon and Pete moved silently to the door and disappeared into the ship to hunt for the other two terrorists while Moose and Ripper moved forward. There were only two possibilities—they would murder six men in their sleep with total silence, speed, and overkill, or one of the targets would detonate his vest and kill all of them.
Moose and Ripper rechecked their weapons—fully automatic MP5s with laser sights, silencers, and extended thirty-round magazines. It was critical that all six men were killed as close to instantly as possible. Even a wounded man could pull a detonation cord. They moved up in silence, Hodges whispering in their ears.
“I still got nothing. Just those six in front of you. Over.”
Apo’s voiced joined in. “Nest confirms six amidships. No sign of the other two. Over.”
Moose and Ripper could see the men in front of them now, sleeping as best they could on the uncomfortable metal deck. They had thrown a few old blankets on the steel deck, but it still wasn’t exactly the Hilton. Moose and Ripper moved closer still. They didn’t want to just open fire and have bullet ricochets waking up the entire ship. Silence was damn crucial.
When they were close enough to almost touch the six men, Moose aimed his weapon, as did Ripper. Red dots danced on the foreheads of two of the men. They had trained together long enough not to have to tell each other who was responsible for whom. They would each take out the three closest to themselves. Head shots, fast and accurate.
One of the men moved in his sleep.
It didn’t matter. Twelve quiet pops with a couple of dull thuds for the few rounds that went through the smashed skulls and hit the steel deck, but there were zero ricochets. They nodded to each other and double-checked the bodies.
“Six down. Overwatch, how do we look?” asked Moose.
“Totally clear. Zero movement. Over.”
“Nothing yet, Fisher Two, out,” reported Pete from below deck.
Moose and Ripper quickly picked up the six bodies and dropped them overboard. The splashes were lost to the sound of the waves against the bow and the dull background noise of the diesel engines. They ran back, picked up their shell casings, and used the blankets to quickly wipe up the deck, and then threw them overboard as well. Once all trace of having been there was gone, they moved forward, two large black shadows, silent as the moon.
Chapter 64
Below Deck
Pete McCoy and Jon Cohen walked slowly, making sure their black rubber booties wouldn’t squeak. They had raised their night-vision goggles to the top of their heads, the ship’s ancient fixtures providing ambient light. They had started at the stern and moved forward. Their goal was to avoid killing any of the sailors who worked on the ship, but those same men were “aiding and abetting” terrorists, and if it came down to it, they’d kill anyone they felt was a threat.
The small cargo ship followed the basic design of the ships they had trained on too many times to count. Starting at the ship’s stern, they first came to the large freezer below deck, then the engine room, and finally, the crew quarters below the pilothouse. A ship the size of the Ragam typically would have eight crewmen: the captain and his assistant pilot for when he slept, two or three men for the engine room, and three or so deckhands to operate the crane and handle the freight.
McCoy and Cohen had passed the freezer room and were now up to the engine room. Two men were speaking Malay inside, casually chatting about who knows what—neither Jon nor Pete spoke any Malay. They moved on quickly. The next steel hallway was cramped and empty. They stood outside the crew quarters door and looked at each other as they prepared to enter the room.
“We have movement in the pilothouse,” said Apo into everyone’s ear.
Hodges looked through his scope. “Roger that. Looks like the captain is talking to someone. Wait one.” It was fairly dark in the pilothouse, and the two men were almost shadows. One of them leaned against the rear window as he looked forward. He was wearing an exploding vest.
“Tango in the pilothouse is wearing a vest. I have a clear shot,” said Hodges.
“Hold. Anything below deck?” asked Moose.
“Outside crew quarters. About to enter,” whispered Jon.
“Go,” said Moose.
Jon and Pete opened the door slowly, in total silence. Pete crouched and entered with Jon behind him, weapons out. There was light snoring from the bunks. Three men were inside. The men were Asian, and wore only boxers. They backed out and closed the door.
“Three crew. Negative contact. Moving up,” said Jon.
With six men dead and one in the pilothouse, one was still unaccounted for. It was nerve wracking. That is, until Apo’s voice came back over their earpieces.
“I wish you guys could see this. You sailors would really appreciate it. Your missing haji is in front of the wheelhouse, still in his vest, puking his guts up. Seasick little fucker went forward for fresh air I guess. He’s one sick puppy. Out.”
Moose and Ripper smiled. Landlubbers.
Pete spoke into his mic. “We’re below the forward hatch. I can get to him, but what about the wheelhouse?”
“Hodges, sit tight. Let Pete take the one up front. If the guy in the wheelhouse makes a move, he’s yours. Otherwise we wait and try and take him silently. Pete, when your target is down, he goes overboard. Out.”
Pete and Jon moved up to the bow quickly. There was a steel ladder that led to a hatch that would put them very close to their target, assuming he was still at the rail heaving his guts out. “Apo, you got eyes?” asked Jon.
“Affirmative. Target is facing the rail. Hatch is clear. Go.”
Pete climbed the ladder quickly while Jon watched his six down the hallway for any sailors. At the top of the ladder, Pete opened the hatch very slowly. He lifted it with his left hand, raising it just a few inches. He could see the man’s back, rounded over as the man dry-heaved.
“Your last moments on earth were not all that great,” thought Pete. He aimed the red dot on his spine, just at the base of his head, which he couldn’t see because the man was busy puking, and fired a five-round burst. Pete didn’t have to push the man overboard; he was polite enough to simply fall overboard.
“Target down.” McCoy found his five spent shell casings and shoved them into his pocket.
Moose and Ripper moved closer to the pilothouse. Although Hodges could easily kill the man from the crane, Moose preferred to be gone without a trace. They sat outside and waited.
“Pete and Jon, back to the Zodiac. Hodges, watch our six.”
Chapter 65
Langley
The jet landed at the private airstrip near a CIA training facility in Virginia. Carl escorted Stephen down the stairs of the jet, where Wallace Holstrum and Darren Davis stood waiting for him, along with two men in black BDUs carrying automatic weapons. They were mostly just there for show, as if Stephen wasn’t terrified enough already. Two black SUVs with tinted windows sat next to the tarmac.
“Mr. Burstein, do you know who I am?” asked Director Holstrum.
Stephen tried very hard not to pee where he stood. “Sir, I am so sorry! I had no idea. I thought this was just a test of your security. I thought I was helping the CIA, not attacking you personally . . .”
“Mr. Burstein, you’re coming with us. You’re going to make a recorded video statement explaining how Mr. Dennis described the mission to you, and what, exactly, you did. Then you’re going to spend some time with our techs showing them what you did. You’re obviously very good at what you do. You might even get a job out of this, if that’s what you want.”
“That’s what I thought I was doing last time,” said Stephen, still looking terrified.
“When you finish making the recording, you’re going to make a phone call for us, as well.”
“To who?” asked Stephen. “Oh,” he said quietly.
Holstrum smiled.
***
Four hours later, a very tired Stephen Burstein called the number he was given by Director Holstrum. The phone call was being recorded, and was being listened to by FBI director Bill Gallo across town in his own office, but this was simply for Wallace’s personal satisfaction. There were five people in the room around the phone, which was on speakerphone. Wallace, Darren, Dex, Cookie, and Stephen.
“Hello, Mr. Dennis?” asked Stephen.
Jeff thought he recognized the voice, but the number was private. “Who is this?” he asked, cautiously.
“Mr. Dennis, it’s Steve. Stephen Burstein. I’m the one who did the computer hack for you—”
“Jesus Christ! Not on the phone. What the hell’s wrong with you? You were paid. I specifically told you not to contact me again. How did you even get this number?”
“You told me I was helping the NSA and CIA. You told me I was being a patriot . . .”
“And you were! Now be smart and disappear. Don’t ever call this number again.”
Wallace put his hand on the kid’s arm and spoke. “Mr. Dennis. This is Wallace Holstrum, director of the Central Intelligence Agency. Recognize the name?”
There was silence on the other end of the phone. Holstrum continued. “I’m looking forward to your interview with the FBI. When you hang up the phone, you can just open your front door. They should be there by now.”
The line went dead.
Chapter 66
Ragam
Moose and Ripper remained crouched in the shadows behind the pilothouse. Pete McCoy and Jon Cohen were back at the stern, maintaining security. The Zodiac bounced around behind the freighter in the white foam.
“Looks like he’s on the move, head’s up,” said Hodges from the crane.
***
Malik hadn’t been able to sleep. While his men slumbered, he remained awake, smoking and pacing around the ship, feeling responsible for the success of the mission. God had chosen him to lead the glorious attack. Only him. He felt proud, but also nervous. He had killed time with the ship’s captain, who was extremely distressed about having eight men wearing suicide vests on board his ship, but his instructions had come from men that you didn’t question—ever. The captain did as he was told and took some extra money for his trouble. All he knew was that there would be men in Singapore who would take care of getting the strangers off to wherever it was they were headed. He would simply unload, reload, and return to port in Brunei.
Malik had smoked a pack of cigarettes, and needed some fresh air. He looked out the rear window of the pilothouse, down to where his men had been sleeping. He was surprised that none of them were down there. Where had they all gone? Malik stepped out of the wheelhouse and hustled down the steps toward the open area amidships. He never saw Moose until the muzzle flashed, but by then, two bullets were exiting the back of his skull. He dropped lifelessly to the metal deck without ever having had the chance to pull the detonation cord on his vest. Ripper was on him in a second, picking the man up and heaving him over the side in an instant.
“Clear! Everyone to the Zodiac, now!” barked Moose.
Moose and Ripper sprinted to the rear of the ship while Hodges climbed down. It was the first time he ever went on a mission without firing a shot, and it felt strange. The five of them met at the stern rail and dropped over using the ropes, except Jon. Once everyone else was in the raft, he untied the ropes, looked around to double-check there was no sign of their ever having been there, and then he jumped off the rear of the boat into the water near the Zodiac. Moose and Ripper pulled him in, and off they went toward the Reagan.
“Fisher One to Nest, we are returning to base. Request immediate evac, over.”
“Fisher One, this is Nest. Continue your heading. You’ll be met on the water, out.”
Ten minutes later, a small launch from the Reagan roared toward them and came to a stop as it slid next to them. They jumped off the Zodiac, which was then pulled inside the launch, and the larger boat with twin high-powered engines roared off back toward the carrier.
Chapter 67
All Quiet on the Ragam
Pink and orange streaks of light reached out over the blue ocean from the horizon, stunning and majestic in their grand scale. Sea birds squawked from high atop the crane. The captain had been awake all night, and it was time for his break. His assistant would steer for a few hours, and then he’d return once they got closer to Singapore, where tugs would help them enter the port. He called down to the crew cabin and told his assistant to come take the wheel. The man jumped right to it.
The captain walked out of the pilothouse and scanned the ship. His assistant emerged from a side door, looking only half awake. They exchanged good mornings and went about their business. The younger pilot took his place behind the wheel and double-checked his instruments and heading. The captain walked the center of the ship.
There was no one around. No one. Anywhere. He walked to the open area amidships where the strangers had been sleeping, but it was empty. They must have gone below, he thought.
The captain walked down to the crew quarters but saw only his few crewmen. He walked back upstairs to the deck and walked all the way to the stern. No one. By now, he was feeling uneasy. He ran forward, still finding no sign of anyone. When he stuck his head inside the engine room, he yelled to his two men working. “Have you seen the passengers?” They both said no, but then again, they’d been inside all night working on a boiler that was acting up.
The captain ran back to the crew quarters and woke everyone up. No one had seen or heard anything. Five minute later, the captain was in the wheelhouse blasting the ship’s horn, and within a moment, all hands were searching every inch of the ship.
Damnedest thing he’d ever seen.
***
Not too far away in the same ocean, the Sunrise oil platform stood like a quiet sentinel. The royal helicopter landed, but the pilot couldn’t reach his minister by phone. He and his copilot cut the engine and walked the platform, but no one was to be found. It was so strange—an oil platform was usually a busy place.
He tried the phone several more times without any luck, and the two of them finally started searching room to room. When they saw the door wedged with a chair and heard the screaming and banging from inside, they sprinted down the hallway and kicked the chair away. The door flew open, and three men wearing only boxer shorts stood in an empty room. The interior minister’s f
ace was swollen and bruised, evidence of a good beating.
“Don’t just stand there! Find our clothes!” screamed the minister.
Epilogue
The team stood on the flight deck of the USS Ronald Reagan next to Commander Coburn. A Grumman C-2 Greyhound would be flying the team to Bangkok, where a Learjet would be waiting for them. The Learjet would take them back to Guam, where they’d be catching a larger plane for the long trip back to Virginia.
“Well, you prevented a terrorist attack and salvaged two nukes. What do you do for an encore?” asked the commander.
“Whatever the boss tells us to do,” said Moose with a smile.
An hour later, Moose, Ripper, Jon, Pete, Eric, and Apo were snoring in the back of the plane, heading for Thailand.
***
Deep in the Labi Forest, the animals and plants began to overtake what had once been a Penan village. A plank dropped into the brown water, once a walkway for the families that lived there. It floated downstream, bouncing off some skeletal remains, spinning as it headed north.
***
Jeff Dennis stood with his arms handcuffed behind him, wife number three looking out from the front door, horrified and humiliated. FBI agents were scattered across the lawn, their blue windbreakers with large yellow letters across the back telling all the neighbors that they were federal agents.
“I know my rights. I want my attorney,” was all Jeff would say.
“Please watch your head,” replied the agent as he pushed him into the backseat of a government SUV.
***
Stephen Burstein stood with his left hand on a Bible and his right hand raised in the air as he swore to preserve, protect, and defend the United States of America. The CIA had just hired another very good computer technician. The man didn’t really need the money at the moment, but he felt that a few years of giving back might just clear his conscious, and get rid of that looking over his shoulder feeling.
Dangerous Ground: The Team Book Five Page 22