"Maybe they aren't even down there," he said.
"They're down there," Black replied. "There's nowhere else they could be. They aren't on this deck or the decks above us, and the only way off this deck that we don't have covered is down those stairs."
Jürgen nodded but stepped to the mercenary posted to watch the passageway outside the changing room, and made his own inspection of the corridor to satisfy himself.
Several more minutes passed along with one last appeal to Yolanda. Black glanced at his watch again, then nodded to Paudert. The mercenary opened the hatch a little wider, shoved the barrel of his AK further out, and pulled the trigger.
☼
Ocampo scuttled toward the escape ladder, followed by Yolanda, then Butcher. The first spray of bullets went high above them, screaming like angry bees. Rounds slammed into a bulkhead across the compartment, some punching through the thin steel into a smaller compartment labeled "FUEL PUMP ROOM." Others found their way through an open door leading into the same compartment. To conserve ammunition, Schag moved the AK's selector switch to semi-auto. He took careful aim at the opened hatch and fired three shots.
The automatic fire from the top of the stairs stopped.
The whine of the power generators dropped to a lower pitch. The engines that turned the dynamos coughed and died. The overhead lights faded and died, replaced by battery-operated emergency lamps that provided dim, spotty illumination, casting much of the engine room into deep shadows. Despite the sudden darkness, Schag saw Bill watching him. Schag nodded and Butcher prodded Yolanda and Ocampo to start moving again. Ocampo didn't move. He stared behind them in horror. He yelled something in Tagalog and pointed.
All three of them followed Ocampo's finger. Through the door to the fuel pump room came another light—the wavering, flickering glow of flames. The rounds entering the compartment severed one or more lines providing fuel oil to the generators—explaining why their engines died—and set the fuel ablaze.
Still screaming something incomprehensible, Ocampo ran toward the pump room, his arms reaching for a fire hose coiled on the bulkhead next to the door. As he reached the hose, a burst of gunfire stitched him across the back, throwing him into the bulkhead. His body crumpled to the deck, and didn't move.
"Go, damn it! Go!" screamed Schag as more as more gunfire came from the top of the stairs. Bullets shrieked through the air, ricocheting off machinery and hurling metal shards and chipped paint through the compartment.
Butcher pushed Yolanda to the deck, sheltering her body with his. After a moment, he rose into a squat and fired three rounds from his stolen .45. The Gideon mercs responded with a fusillade of bullets. Butcher fired four more quick rounds, then the slide jammed open. The pistol was empty. He reached for another magazine.
There weren't any.
Frantic, Butcher glanced around in the dim light but saw nothing. Somewhere during the flight from the bridge, the two spare magazines must have fallen out of his pocket. He cursed himself for not securing them better. He looked at Schag, who gestured for him and Yolanda to keep moving. Butcher realized there was too much gunfire to make it to the escape ladder, and shook his head. He reached down, pulled up a trouser leg, and drew the KaBar from his boot.
It was his only weapon left.
☼
At the top of the stairs, Aidan Black slapped the mercenary named Paudert on the shoulder and yelled, "Go!"
Paudert swung open the metal door, fired a burst from his rifle, and took the stairs two or three at a time. In the compartment below, Schag fired twice. One round hit Paudert in the side, throwing him against the bulkhead. The mercenary tumbled down the steep ladderway until he sprawled at the bottom.
Gott and Kasitz knelt at the open door and sprayed the engine room with bursts of automatic fire. They paused only long enough to let Black and Jürgen move through the door, then resumed firing as the two men rushed down the stairway. The heavy fire forced Schag to keep his head down. Black leaped over Paudert's body. Jürgen grabbed the dead man's AK-47 and tossed it to Black. They took cover behind machinery, and motioned to Gott and Kasitz to join them. The two mercs rose from their kneeling positions, but threw themselves backward as three more single-shot rounds from Schag's AK pounded the hatch.
"Shit!" cursed Black. Regaining control, he tried to play the psychology card again. "Gentlemen, we are more plentiful than you, and better armed. I saw my man Paudert took out one of you. I certainly hope it wasn't Mr. Butcher—for Mrs. Butcher's sake."
Bill Butcher looked at Yolanda and raised his hand to his lips in a hushing motion, and moved several feet away.
"No, I'm still here," Butcher hollered.
Several rounds of AK fire slammed into the machinery around him, aimed at his voice. He looked over at Schag, some sixty feet away, and cupped his ear, followed by a gesture toward the Gideon men. Butcher was planning to triangulate their position by sound. Schag nodded, not realizing that Bill had no weapon except the knife.
"Perhaps it was Agent Schag, then?"
Butcher silently moved to another listening position.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Black, I'm still here, too," Schag called out. He moved to another position as gunfire raked the machinery where he had been.
"Then it must be the third man, the one with red hair and beard. We never did learn his name. What was it?"
A smile crept across Schag's lips. Black and his people still thought there was a third member of their raiding team. He could use that.
"You're wrong again, Black," Schag yelled. "That was Ocampo, the chief engineer that your man killed. Red is still alive and well . . . and up topside radioing the Coast Guard."
Schag moved again, but there was no gunfire from the mercenaries.
"Nicely played," Black said. "But I don't believe you. I think this Red is right down here with us."
"Then that's too bad for Red," Schag shouted. He was watching the flames in the fuel pump room grow in intensity. "Because in just a few minutes this ship will go up like a Fourth of July celebration."
He moved his position again, but he didn't wait for a reply.
"You see those flames, Black? That's only the fuel pump room for the engine and generators. Right above us is a much bigger pump room, as wide as the ship, used for loading and unloading the cargo oil. And Chief Ocampo told us the evacuation fans in that compartment haven't been working all week. The buildup of explosive fumes in that room makes this ship the biggest pipe bomb you've ever seen. And it's just a matter of minutes before the flames down here set it off."
As if to emphasize the point, a roar emanated from the fuel pump room. The growing heat in there created a flashover, super-heated gases that ignite with a violent explosion. Yellow sheets of flame, called Angel Fingers by firefighters, shot out of the door and burning fuel spewed into the engine room and splashed along the deck, creating pools of pure flame.
"Time's up, Black," Schag shouted.
CHAPTER 31
SATURDAY
Aboard the Mars Venture
Anchored off the San Diego coast.
0545 Hours
AT THE TOP OF THE stairs, Kasitz and Gott exchanged wary glances as they listened to the exchange between their boss and Schag. Kasitz used the back of his hand to wipe sweat from his moustache. When the fire in the fuel pump room flashed over, they both recoiled in horror.
"Holy goddamn shit!" Gott cried, dropping his rifle. "I didn't sign on for this crap." He scrambled to his feet and headed toward the door to the passageway.
"Me, neither," Kasitz agreed, following Gott. "Black don't pay us enough to sit here and get blown to shit. Never liked this whole plan anyway."
Down in the engine room, Black turned and signaled Gott and Kasitz to come down, only to see the two men drop their weapons and run from the hatchway. He cursed and looked at Jürgen.
"Forget those swine," the German said. "Keep the agent occupied. I will move around their right flank."
Black nodded, and
as Jürgen moved off into the shadows, he shouted, "Very convenient, Mr. Schag. But I don't believe you. It's a big ship and that's such a small fire."
In fact, the fire scared the hell out of Black. Every fiber in his body screamed to get the hell out of there, but he knew he and Jürgen stood no chance of climbing those stairs as long as Schag and Butcher were still alive and armed. So, he kept playing the psy-ops card.
"We can still reach an agreement, agent," he said. "Let's put down the weapons and talk this over. For the sake of Mrs. Butcher and her children."
Schag moved his position again so he could see Yolanda. She looked at him, eyes wide with fear. Despite her terror, she shook her head. She didn’t believe Black either. Schag was about to bellow his answer to Black when he saw movement behind Yolanda. Before he could react, Jürgen pulled her to her feet by her hair and placed the muzzle of his AK against her head.
"Do not try anything, agent," the German growled. "Drop your weapon or I put a round right through this pretty fräulein's head."
Schag froze. Yolanda looked at him, eyes fearful, but defiant. "Don't listen to him, Lin—"
Jürgen jerked her hair to the side and jammed the barrel of the rifle harder against her head. "Shut up! Do as I say, agent."
Schag raised his empty hand in a sign of surrender, and laid the AK on the deck. Jürgen smiled like a hungry wolf and shoved Yolanda to the deck. He lowered his AK to cover them both, and shouted, "I have the woman and the agent!"
Jürgen's words barely left his mouth when he stiffened, his head jerking back. The rifle slid from his grip and he dropped to his knees and fell forward.
Bill Butcher stood behind Jürgen, the hand with the KaBar at his side. "No, you don't," he said.
Bill stooped, lifted Yolanda to her feet, and sat her against a piece of machinery. With his empty left hand, he touched her face, and smiled. Yolanda tried to smile back but what she saw in Bill's smile and his eyes terrified her—a solemnity and finality.
"Bill?"
He hushed her by touching his finger to her lips. Then he backed away into the darkness.
☼
The fire in the fuel pump room growled again and belched more flame into the engine room. Schag watched the fire grow and knew their time was running out.
"Bill, we've got to get out of here!" he yelled.
Hearing nothing in return, he lifted his head above his cover looking for his friend. As he did, he heard a yelp and saw an AK-47 hurtle through the air. It landed with a clatter on the deck and careened into a stanchion. Schag turned toward where the rifle had come and saw two heads rise above the machinery, one with black hair, the other bald. Bill Butcher held Aidan Black from behind, the KaBar pressed to the mercenary leader's throat.
"Coming out!" Butcher shouted. He pushed Black out into the open.
Schag stood, his Glock drawn. What he saw was like a scene from Dante's Inferno. All along the deck, pools of fire burned. Flames licked at the darkness, casting an eerie, undulating glow across Butcher and his prisoner. Black's face was twisted with fear. What shocked Schag, however, was the expression on his friend's face—the look of the tormented wreaking revenge on the tormentor.
Schag stepped from his cover, his pistol trained on Black.
"I've got him covered now, Bill," he said, reaching into his vest and pulling out plastic zip cuffs. "You can let him go."
Butcher didn't respond. He moved closer, the knife still tight against Black's throat. In the flickering fire light, Butcher's blue eyes looked like dead black holes.
"Bill?" Yolanda gasped. She stood next to Schag, her hand covering her mouth. "Honey?"
Butcher and Black continued forward, and for the first time Butcher spoke.
"Why?" he demanded.
"What?" Black's voice was barely a squeak.
"Why all of this?" Butcher said. "The Facebook post. The hit team that was supposed to make it look like I committed suicide. Everything. Why?"
"Don't know . . . what you . . . mean," Black answered. His eyes rolled over, looking at Schag. "Agent, you've got me now. Arrest me. Get him . . . off . . . me."
Schag kept his weapon pointed at Black, but he began to worry Butcher might be the more serious threat.
"Bill, put the knife down," he said. "We've got to get off this ship, fast."
Butcher shook his head. "Not until this motherfuck admits everything."
"We'll get him into custody and interrogate him," Schag said. "Nothing he says here will be of any use legally. You know that."
"Don't care," Butcher growled. "I want to hear him confess or I'll cut his god damn throat."
As if to emphasize the point, he drew the blade tighter. Black's face twisted in pain, and a small amount of blood snaked down his neck.
"Don't do this, Bill," Schag pleaded. "I can't let you do this. I'm still a cop. We get off this ship and he'll talk. We'll get you back in NCIS."
Butcher shook his head again.
"Too late," he said. "The music. The voices."
"We can get you help, honey," Yolanda said, her voice pleading. She put her hands on Schag's shoulder. "Lin knows a doctor who can help you, don't you, Lin? Tell him."
"I told him already," Schag told her, quietly. To Butcher he said, "Yolanda's right, Bill. Now let the bastard go."
"Tell them!"
Butcher did something to cause Black more pain, and the mercenary leader grimaced. Slowly, nearly imperceptibly Schag shifted his aim from Black to Butcher's head.
"Fine!" Black blurted. "It was the money. You know that."
"What money?" demanded Butcher, though he knew the answer.
"The nine billion in cash we stole in Iraq," Black said. "Yeah, we stole it, you were always right about that. It was that bastard Bennett's plan. He manipulated the whole thing. He virtually owns Gordias, and Gordias owns Gideon. We were just following orders. Stealing the money, going after you—just orders. That's all."
"Isn't that what the Nazis said after the war?" Schag said.
"Nothing like . . . that," Black said, grimacing as Butcher adjusted his hold. "Just business. Bennett . . . Gordias needed . . . cash. It was just business."
"Okay, Bill, we've heard him," Schag said. "Now let him go and let's get off this damn ship!"
Bill Butcher didn't let go. He looked directly at Schag.
"No," he said.
CHAPTER 32
SATURDAY
Aboard the Mars Venture
Anchored off the San Diego coast.
0608 Hours
"BILL!" YOLANDA CRIED. "DO WHAT Lin says!"
Butcher looked at her, his eyes sad. He seemed to think about it, but his head almost imperceptibly shook no, and his face hardened again.
"Bill, I can't let you do this," Schag said, his pistol aimed solidly at Butcher.
The ex-SEAL glanced at Schag. "I know," he said. He turned himself and Black a quarter turn to the left, revealing his body to Schag.
At first, Schag believed Butcher would release Black and push him away. That hope quickly evaporated when Butcher again tightened the knife against Black's throat. Schag's hands shook as he realized he might have to shoot his friend. He thought about Yolanda standing next to him, how she would watch him gun down her husband. He could feel the grip of his pistol grow wet with sweat.
Then it hit him. All the chances Bill had taken since this nightmare began. Hiding in his family's cabin, knowing either the police or Gideon would trace him there. Coming to Schag's hotel room on the submarine base in disguise. Living in a cheap motel in the middle of a police dragnet. Even coming out here to the ship. Butcher could have eluded the police any time he wanted. His training in escape and evasion techniques assured that. But he stayed and repeatedly took chances no sane man would take.
Sane.
The word echoed in Schag's mind. Bill Butcher wasn't crazy, but the agueloquine had done something to his head. Bill acknowledged that in Schag's hotel room, outside Butcher's motel, and again a few minutes ago. Th
e music. The voices. And the way Butcher was talking on the port services boat coming out here. If something happened to him, he wanted Schag to take care of Yolanda. It then made sense. Bill not only expected to die, he wanted to die. Maybe it was the medication making him think that way. Maybe he didn't want to live with its side effects. Or maybe, with everything he'd done in the last few days, he knew he was past the point of no return.
Bill wanted to die, but he couldn't do it himself. He was Catholic. Like many Catholics, Bill believed suicide meant eternal damnation. That was why Yolanda refused to believe the corpse in the cabin was Butcher. Maybe Bill expected to be killed in this crazy rescue attempt. The odds certainly leaned in that favor. Despite the odds, they were all still alive. Bill was still alive. But he was trying to change that. He was trying to do what so many desperate people have done. He was trying to die through what the media called "suicide by cop."
Schag shook his head.
"I won’t play this game, Bill," he said. He lowered his pistol and holstered it. "Go ahead. Cut the bastard's throat."
"You . . . can't!" Black gasped.
"Lin?' Yolanda complained. Schag held up a hand to hush her.
The muscles in Butcher's arm holding the knife tensed. The knife moved as if Bill was preparing to slice. Then the knife stopped. The muscles relaxed, and the arm lowered. A look of defeat replaced the demonic anger. He let Black go. Schag sighed with relief.
A burst of gunfire shattered the lull. Several AK rounds struck Black's chest, killing him. Butcher collapsed to the deck as a 7.65mm bullet slammed into his right flank, cutting a swath through his abdomen and blowing out a large chunk of his left side. Yolanda screamed. Schag turned toward the sound of gunfire and saw Jürgen, shirt bloodied from Bill's knife wound, half-crouching, half kneeling, and firing the AK with one hand. In one motion, Schag swung Yolanda behind him, drew his pistol, and fired four times. The German's body jerked with each impact and tumbled over backward. As he fell, his finger remained tight on the rifle's trigger. An arc of bullets pounded through the overhead into the cargo pump room above.
The Butcher's Bill (The Linus Schag, NCIS, Thrillers Book 2) Page 20