The heavyset man picked up his toolbox and walked past the engineer as he called the bridge. He smiled to himself, having just made a quick ten thousand Euros. With his years of experience, sabotaging the ship’s electrical system to make it look like faulty equipment had been easy for him to do. He looked forward to being paid another ten grand once the charges were smuggled aboard with the replacement parts and placed deep in the bowels of the ship.
58
Lisbon, Portugal
Sitting at a small, out of the way café, Mitchell glanced down at his watch and saw that it was nearly six in the evening. If Karras was being truthful, they had only had three hours to stop Davos. He finished his call, put his cell phone down and uneasily looked over at his comrades. “Mike said that Sam and Gordon no longer appear to be on board the cruise ship. In fact, he has tracked their phones to a warehouse about twelve kilometers from here.”
“Why on earth would they leave the ship?” Jackson asked.
“Perhaps they discovered something and went to investigate,” offered Yuri.
“They may have,” Mitchell said. “However, Mike has tried calling their number a dozen times and all he gets is voicemail. And why would they leave the ship without telling Mike what they were up to? I don’t like this, not one bit.”
“What do you want to do?” said Jackson
“Yuri can stay here and wait for his friends to drop off our I.D.s,” explained Mitchell, “while you and I flag down a cab and pay a visit to this warehouse.”
Yuri nodded. “My friends will be here shortly. Rather than come back here, I suggest that you meet me at the airport. We can catch one of the last media helicopters heading over to the ship from there.”
A short while later, Mitchell stepped out of the cab and looked up at the three-story, red-brick building. It looked to be at least one hundred years old, and appeared abandoned. The windows had long ago been boarded up. And other than the graffiti that had been painted along the walls, Mitchell could see no other sign of who had once owned the building.
Jackson paid the driver for the ride and asked him to come back in half an hour to pick them up. A big tip cemented the deal.
“What do you think?” Jackson asked Mitchell.
Mitchell studied the picture on his phone. There could be no doubt; they were at the right spot. “This is where the GPS says they—or at the very least their phones—are. Let’s take a look around.”
They walked over and pushed open the old, wrought iron front gate. Right away, Mitchell spotted tire tracks in the dirt leading from the street to the front entrance of the building. “We’re not alone,” he murmured.
“I’ll check the back door,” said Jackson. He reached down, picked up a rusted metal pipe and swung it back and forth like a baseball bat a few times, to get a feel for it.
Mitchell wished that Yuri’s contacts had been a bit more efficient and had been waiting for them when they landed. He would rather have gone in armed, as they had left all of their weapons behind in Chile, but they didn’t have any choice in the matter. Warily, he moved to the closed wooden doors. Mitchell peered through the crack between the doors, but he couldn’t see much inside, other than a few piles of discarded rubbish. He moved to the side of the building and saw an old metal fire escape leading up to the third floor. Mitchell placed his right foot on the stairs, testing their integrity. He felt the entire staircase move slightly. With a prayer on his lips that it would not collapse underneath him, Mitchell carefully made his way to the top. There, he found a locked door. From his pocket, he brought out a set of keys. He gently inserted the skeleton key he had obtained from Yuri at the café into the antiquated lock. It took Mitchell less than ten seconds to pick the lock. He slowly opened the door and peered inside. The room was empty.
Mitchell slipped inside and closed the door behind him. The musty smell of decades of dust filled his nostrils. He cautiously made his way out of the room and saw that the top floor must have been a manager’s office when the warehouse was still open. He could see all the way down onto the ground floor of the building. There were two vans parked there. Mitchell could hear voices, but could not tell what they were saying. He moved stealthily to the stairs and crept down them until he was on the ground floor. With his back against the wall, he stepped off the stairs and took cover among the shadows. He edged along, trying not to step on anything breakable on the debris-strewn floor.
One man, and then another, walked out of a side office, talking to one another. They moved over to one of the vans and opened up the back doors. One of the men, who was short and muscular, with a smooth-shaven head, pulled out a toolbox. He turned around and set it on a nearby table. His accomplice closed the doors on the van and joined the bald man.
Mitchell swore under his breath when he saw a cell phone in the hands of the baldheaded man. He could not be sure, but he thought it looked an awful lot like Sam’s iPhone. A second later, the man hooked up the phone to a laptop to see what was stored on the device.
A cold chill ran down Mitchell’s spine. He had found out what had happened to his friends. Mitchell bent down and grabbed a sturdy piece of wood. His heart began to race, as he stepped out of the dark, with his bat raised above his head.
Mitchell had barely gone a couple of meters when he accidentally stepped on a piece of broken glass, shattering it.
Both men turned to see where the noise had come from.
With a loud yell, Mitchell ran forward and swung his piece of wood at the closest man’s skull. The wood shattered as it struck the side of the man’s head, sending chunks of wood flying everywhere. The stunned man staggered back and then tumbled to the ground. Mitchell dropped what was left of his makeshift bat and charged the bald man, as he reached into his toolbox for a pistol.
Mitchell struck the man in his midsection, picking him up off his feet. Both men hit the wooden table, knocking it over. With a murderous rage in his heart, Mitchell let go of the man and sent his fists smashing into the criminal’s face. All Mitchell could see in front of his eyes were the images of Sam and Gordon. Within seconds, the man was knocked out, his face a bloody mess.
Mitchell stood up. He fought to get his breathing under control. Sweat was pouring down his face. He turned to see what had happened to the other man.
“Don’t move or I’ll shoot,” warned the man. He had a bloody gash on the side of his head where Mitchell had struck him. In his right hand was a pistol.
Mitchell slowly raised his hands. “Okay, you got me.”
“Who are you?” asked the gunman. His accent was not Portuguese, but Slavic.
“Who the hell are you?” Ryan retorted. “And why do you have my friend’s cell phone?”
“None of your business,” replied the man, as he brought up the pistol to fire.
Jackson stepped out of the dark, and with a loud whack, he brought his heavy metal pipe down onto the gunman’s outstretched arm, breaking it. The man howled in pain and dropped his weapon.
Mitchell ran over and scooped up the pistol. “Took your time getting here,” he said to Jackson.
“I stopped to see the sights,” Jackson replied. “But I wasn’t impressed, to tell you the truth.”
Mitchell turned and pointed the pistol at the injured man. “Are there any more of you in here?”
The man held his shattered arm, grimacing in pain, and refused to speak.
“There were two more by the back door,” said Jackson. “Let’s just say that they won’t be bothering anyone for a few hours.”
It was then that Mitchell noticed the tattoo on the man’s neck. It wasn’t the same as the ones he had seen in Madrid, but it was close enough to let him know who they were dealing with.
Jackson looked inside the thug’s toolbox. He let a whistle. In his hand was a gray cylinder. “Ryan, this is a military-grade thermite grenade. It can burn through metal inches thick in seconds. A few of these placed in the right spots could easily sink a ship.”
Mitchell handed Ja
ckson the pistol. “Cover him.”
“My pleasure.”
Mitchell got down on his knees and rummaged through the mess on the floor until he found the dropped cell phone. He ground his teeth when he saw that he was right…it was Sam’s phone. He stood up and thrust the device into their prisoner’s face. “Where is the person this phone belongs to? For your sake, I hope that she is still alive.”
The man raised his head and defiantly stared up at Mitchell.
“I take it that you don’t feel like talking?” said Mitchell as he aimed his pistol at the criminal’s right knee. “I’ll give you ten seconds to change your mind.”
The injured thug spat on the ground by Mitchell’s feet.
“Ten,” said Mitchell pulling the trigger. The man’s knee exploded in a red mist. He moaned in pain and fell to the ground. Mitchell jumped down beside him and jammed the pistol into the man’s groin. “The question still stands. Where is the person this phone belongs to?”
“You two look like children who were playing in the dirt,” said the taxi driver as he opened the passenger doors for Mitchell and Jackson.
He was right, they were covered from head to toe in dust and dirt. Mitchell had blood on his shirt. He knew they could not go to the airport looking like this, no matter how little time they had left. “Is there a fast-food restaurant, like a McDonald’s, nearby?” Mitchell asked.
“Yes, there is one only a couple of blocks away,” replied the driver.
“Please take us there and then to the airport,” said Mitchell.
“Of course,” replied the driver as he closed the doors and got into his seat. He started the car and drove.
“I could use a bite to eat,” said Jackson.
“Nate, we’re going to get cleaned up and then head to the airport as quickly as we can,” Mitchell said. “Your stomach will have to wait.”
“I know, I was just saying.”
Mitchell shook his head and gave a wry snort of amusement. He looked out the window of the cab as it sped past an old church and said, “Hopefully, Yuri has everything sorted out, or we’re screwed.”
“I’m sure he has. He’s never let us down before.”
“That is true,” said Mitchell, as he dug out a disposable cell phone to call General O’Reilly. Time was running out. If O’Reilly could not get the State Department to listen to him, then it was up to them to get on board the Aurora before it was turned into a funeral pyre.
59
The Aurora
Special Agent Wright groused to himself as he made his way down the nearly empty corridor to Elena Milos’ cabin. He had been told to look for a couple of private security agents who were not in their cabin, and now he was checking up on a member of the Greek delegation. Why the Greeks could not do this was lost on him. He heard that it was supposed to be a favor to some retired military people, but none of it sat well with Wright. His job was to keep an eye on the Secretary of State, not run around the ship doing people favors.
He politely nodded his head at a man in a suit walking down the hallway. Wright recognized him as one of the Greek security personnel. He stopped outside of Mrs. Milos’s room and knocked on the door.
The gunman inside the cabin spun about and aimed his pistol at the door. He half expected a SWAT team to suddenly burst in and rescue the hostages. Instead, someone in the hallway knocked again and called out for Mrs. Milos.
“Stand up,” whispered the man to Elena. “Answer him.”
Elena nervously stood and moved to the door. “Hello, who is it?” she called out in English.
“Special Agent Wright, ma’am. I’m with the American delegation. I was wondering if I could have a word with you.”
Elena looked over at the gunman. He nodded his head and moved behind her. Elena cracked open the door and looked out. “How can I help you, Mister Wright?”
“Ma’am, I was asked to check on a couple of people who work for you. Do you know where Samantha Chen and Gordon Cardinal could be? They’re not in their cabin.”
Elena felt the barrel of a pistol in her side. She fought the urge to scream in terror. Lives depended on her being as calm as possible. She smiled at Wright and said, “They told me they were going ashore to talk with someone. I forgot to ask who they were meeting. Have you tried their cell phones?”
“Yes, ma’am, I have, and they aren’t answering.”
“Most peculiar,” said Elena. “I wish I could help you, but it would appear that we are both in the dark as to their whereabouts.”
Wright nodded his head. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
“Not at all. I was just resting. I have a nasty migraine.”
“I hope you feel better, ma’am,” said Wright, as he turned away.
Elena closed the door.
“Well done,” whispered the killer, his hot breath on her ear. She shuddered at the thought of him being so close to her.
“Now take your seat, and keep quiet.”
Elena glanced over at the table in her cabin. On it were the dishes and cutlery from her supper meal. For a brief second, she thought about attempting to get her dinner knife and using it to attack her captor. But before she could move, the gunman grabbed her by her arm, and thrust her towards her chair.
“I told you to sit,” growled the man.
Elena sat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that she had just over an hour before Sam and Cardinal were to be murdered. When the time came, even if it cost her life, she intended to try for the knife on her table.
In the hallway, Special Agent Wright stopped walking and looked back towards Elena’s cabin. He thought about what Mrs. Milos had said to him. He was told that she was not participating in the final day’s meetings because she had the flu, not a migraine. Perhaps he misheard. He shrugged and turned to walk away. Regardless, his task was complete, he could pass on to his boss the information that the private security personnel were ashore. There was nothing more to be done.
60
Lisbon International Airport
Mitchell put his passport away and waited patiently as his camera and carry-on bag were first scanned by the police, and then physically searched, before they were handed back to him. He was relieved that the security agents had not paid closer attention to his counterfeit passport and press credentials. They were good, but not the best he had ever used. Jackson and Yuri had already cleared security, and were waiting for him.
Yuri did not carry anything. He stood there, with a sturdy wooden cane in his right hand to hold him up. Mitchell had tried to dissuade him from flying over to the ship, but he would not hear of it.
“This way, please,” said a police officer, pointing towards a waiting Westland Lynx from the Portuguese Navy.
Mitchel and his friends were joined by a Japanese news crew who had come to cover the closing ceremonies of the conference. As they approached the helicopter’s spinning rotor blades, they all hunched over. A Portuguese sailor met them at the door to the chopper and helped everyone take a seat in the back for the short ride over to the cruise ship.
Jackson sat beside Mitchell. He leaned over so he could be heard. “How long do we have left?”
Mitchell glanced at his watch. “If our friend in the warehouse is to be believed, we have just over an hour.”
“That’s not a lot of time. What do you want to do when we land?”
“I’m going to rescue Sam, Gordon, and Mrs. Milos,” replied Mitchell. “I need you to find and disarm the bomb before it goes off.”
The doors to the helicopter slammed shut. Right away, the pilot applied more power to the engine. The helicopter edged forward slightly, and began to lift off, up into the air.
“What about Yuri, what do you want him to do?” Jackson asked.
“Have him follow the Japanese news team to the conference hall. I want him to find and keep a close eye on General Davos for us.”
Jackson turned his head and passed on to Yuri what Mitchell had just said. Yuri leaned forward so Mitc
hell could see him, and gave him a thumbs up.
It was done. It was now a race against time.
61
The Aurora
General Davos took a seat near the front of the room and waited for the Greek Prime Minister to arrive in the spacious conference room. Davos knew that the Greek and Turkish leaders, along with the U.S. Secretary of State and the UN representatives, were all due to arrive in the next couple of minutes. It was no secret that they were going to announce that they had all agreed to de-escalate the situation in the Aegean. As part of the agreement, the U.S. Navy would act as a peacekeeping force between the two countries until another conference could be held in a few weeks’ time in Geneva. This time, they would sit down to settle once and for all the decades-long standoff on the island of Cyprus, and work toward a lasting peace between the two nations. Prime Minister Kouris had already asked Davos to send the necessary orders for the armed forces to stand down once the formal announcement was made. Davos, however, did not intend for things to work out; in fact he was counting down the minutes to another confrontation in the Aegean. Within minutes, a Turkish force under General Kaba’s orders would land on a disputed island and take the Greek detachment stationed there captive. Before the closing speeches could begin, the image of the Turkish flag flying over an island claimed by Greece would be spread around the world. Davos’ business friends from the Phoenix Group would ensure that the media would immediately call for the Greek Prime Minter’s resignation, for foolishly trusting the Turks while they had played Greece for a nation of fools and prepared for war.
Drakos walked into the room and made his way past a crowd of media personnel to Davos’ side. He leaned down and whispered, “Sir, I can no longer reach Karras. I also cannot confirm if the trucks carrying the German treasure have made it back across the Argentine border.”
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