by John Lansing
* * *
All hell was breaking loose in Long Beach as the Harbor Patrol, Long Beach Police Department, and Fire Department converged on the Queen. First responders ran against the flow of humanity fleeing the ship. Homeland Security, Coast Guard, Bomb Squad, SWAT teams, and the FBI were deployed and in transit.
* * *
On the Bella Fortuna, Mateo pounded up the stairs onto the bridge. His eyes raked from Jack to Caroline. “The engine room’s locked, no one answered my knock. No one’s seen the captain.”
Caroline remained calm until she received a text. “Turn on the television.”
“The report has now been corroborated by the Long Beach Police Department,” Lester Holt said with gravitas. “A nuclear dirty bomb has been discovered on the Queen Mary, in Long Beach, California. Evacuations are under way . . .”
The Bella Fortuna, still running on autopilot, did a sweeping turn, heading back toward the mainland. The electricity snapped off. The security screens went dark. The music silenced.
“Trent,” Jack said. And then to Caroline, “You said he worked on the system this morning. He’s not on board. He’s on dry land.”
Jack phoned Captain Deak, who’d been deployed and agreed to pick him up.
Mateo moved up to Jack, his voice low. “I’ll handle things here. Send help ASAP. I’ve got a bad feeling it’s all tied together.”
Jack had come to the same conclusion.
Caroline walked from the bridge and made an announcement to her guests. If she was panicked, she hid it well. “Hi, all, we’re having some mild technical difficulties. Please bear with me. Order a drink. It’s beautiful out on the decks, get some sun. We’ll get the auxiliary power turned on in a few minutes and be good to go.”
But a few of the patrons were listening to or reading reports on their cells, and fear rippled through the main salon.
Jack grabbed his cell; his phone rang before he could punch a number. Agent Hunter was on the line, working in Jack’s cabin cruiser. Cruz was in the galley, pouring coffee.
Jack picked up on the first ring. “Liz, is your television on? It’s going down.”
“Shit,” she said as she turned on the small flat-screen. Cruz stood behind her as they watched the terrorist attack unfold.
“I missed something in Sukarno’s bio,” she said. “He went public in 2012 and sold to a Chinese conglomerate the following year.”
“I got that.”
“The major share of the deal involved stock options.”
“Okay?”
“I found an article in Forbes.”
“He was on the list of wealthiest tech moguls that year,” Jack said.
“Now jump five years.”
“Not on the list?”
“Not even close. So I researched that and discovered Hua Yong Corp. The conglomerate that bought his company was accused of manipulating their stock price. The move cost Sukarno a fortune, and the deal was rumored to have been sanctioned by the Chinese government, who weren’t fans. It’s still in the courts, but Sukarno has spent millions litigating.”
“I’m feeling motive,” Jack said as he looked out the window of the Bella Fortuna and saw the bright orange-and-white body of the Coast Guard chopper descending.
“You got it,” Hunter said as she looked past the Queen Mary to the port beyond. “The Chinese are big players in the Port of Long Beach, and a container ship owned by . . .”
“Hua Yong Corp.”
“Is queued up and being towed into the harbor as we speak.”
“He’s doing a sleight of hand,” Jack said. “Put a bomb on the Queen Mary, get all the government agencies targeting the ship, and blow up their real target.”
“I’m headed over,” Hunter said.
“Gotta run, my ride’s here.” Jack turned to Mateo. “I’ll send help.”
“Go get ’em.”
* * *
Captain Deak set his bird down on the bow of the Bella Fortuna. Jack jumped on board, pulling the door closed. The Coast Guard rescue chopper lifted off and headed nose-down for the mainland.
Deak’s lieutenant, a young black officer with an open face, sat in the rear of the craft.
Jack filled Deak and his lieutenant in on the Chinese cargo container ship being a potential second target, and laid out Bella Fortuna’s troubles. He believed the gambling yacht, locked on autopilot, was headed for the Queen Mary to add misery to the mayhem, and he didn’t want it shot out of the water.
Captain Deak called in a Mayday and asked for support. He gave the Coast Guard fleet the yacht’s coordinates and signed off.
After a quick briefing, Captain Deak agreed to head north of the Queen Mary and execute a flyover of the Chinese tanker.
The chopper did a stomach-roiling pass over the massive ship. Nothing out of the ordinary caught Jack’s eye on the vessel, heavily laden with hundreds of multi-ton steel containers. Deak banked away, heading for the harbor, where the Hua Yong was minutes from docking.
In the distance, they could see the swarm of activity surrounding the Queen Mary. Choppers, boats, cars, and armored vehicles arrived en masse as throngs of terrified people spilled from the ship and ran through the parking lots toward safety.
* * *
Two Huey choppers set down, and heavily armed soldiers deployed and disappeared inside the Queen. Three F-16s came in low and streaked overhead, eliciting shrieks from the crowds.
* * *
Deak executed a flyover of the five red cranes, their long metal arms poised like sentinels to off-load the Chinese tanker. Jack signaled Deak toward the last rig, where an operator appeared to be slumped in his cabin seat.
As they circled the crane, it became clear that the operator was sitting in a pool of his own blood. The door to the cabin was open and flapping in the breeze. “They’re here and gone. It may be too late. Get me onto the crane,” Jack shouted over his headphones.
Deak knew Jack was battle-tested but was clearly uncomfortable bending the rules and putting a civilian in harm’s way.
“It’s a Hail Mary play, but time’s running out, Deak. I know what to look for; I can do this.”
“You better come out of this alive, Bertolino, or my ass is in a sling.”
“If it blows . . . take off.”
That didn’t make Deak feel any better. Against his better judgment, he ordered his lieutenant to harness Jack in.
Deak hovered his craft over the cabin of the crane, which soared fifteen stories above the channel.
Jack sucked in a breath as he was lowered from the belly of the Sikorsky chopper. “Holy mother of God!” he shouted as he swung away from the bird.
“You sure about this, Captain?” his lieutenant shouted into the mouthpiece.
“Bertolino came to me and I shut him down. He called this. It’s his play.”
* * *
Jack’s body, tethered by a thin nylon cord, started to gyrate wildly with the backwash of the massive rotary blades and the Santa Ana winds blowing across the mainland. Jack slowly stopped the spinning and swung his body toward the crane. On his first try, he missed the red metal support beam altogether, swung wide, and then whipped back into space.
On his second try, his body collided with the slick metal structure. His back screamed with pain. Jack gritted his teeth and grabbed for a handhold. His fingers peeled off before he could stabilize. “Shit!” he yelled. As if Deak could hear him, he adjusted the helicopter slightly, and Jack spun closer.
The third time was the charm. He reached out. The chopper inched him closer. Jack wrapped his arms around the crane, just above the cabin, and hugged the metal beam for all he was worth.
Jack caught his breath, carefully unsnapped the harness, and forced himself not to look down as he white-knuckled the dizzying descent to the trolley-mounted cabin hanging 140 feet off the ground. The cabin was where the controls were located that off-loaded the containers from the ships, and it was where Jack was confident he’d find the bomb.
&
nbsp; Klaxons blared and echoed across the Port of Long Beach as Deak sent the alert and coordinates of a second potential nuclear attack and requested backup. The crane operators scrambled down to safety, while swarms of dockworkers ran for the gates.
* * *
Roxy strode up to Trent, who was standing just outside the Long Beach Harbor’s gates. Sukarno was directly across the road, in front of the employee parking lot, with a cell phone plastered to his ear. Crazed workers clogged the street, running for their lives.
Roxy screamed, checking her watch, “My bomb didn’t blow, Trent. What the fuck happened?”
“Motherfucker! I don’t know,” he said, checking his own watch, confused. “I just don’t know. It should’ve . . .” Trent was distracted, more focused on Sukarno than Roxy as the crowd jostled past him.
“What are we standing here for? We should be moving. You engaged your bomb, didn’t you?”
Trent didn’t answer.
“Trent, talk to me.”
“I’m waiting on Sukarno.”
“What? Why! Do it now, Trent, engage. Engage, for Christ’s sake!”
Trent waved her off while sirens wailed and swarms of frightened men and women sprinted through the gates toward their vehicles across the road.
“Why are you holding back?” she shouted. Her question fell on deaf ears. She glanced at Sukarno talking on the phone. “Fuck Sukarno,” she hissed, punching Trent in the shoulder. “Engage the bomb. Now!”
Trent had come too far to give up the prize. He shushed Roxy with a hand gesture and turned his back on her.
* * *
Sukarno spoke into his cell phone, fighting for civility, trying to keep the panic out of his voice amid the swirl of insanity playing out around him, exerting pressure on Gregory. “Has the money dropped? All hell is breaking loose.”
* * *
Trent could feel Roxy unraveling. Afraid she’d have a panic attack, he turned back to her. “It’s all under control,” he said, trying to calm his partner in crime. He was shoved by a fleeing dockworker and almost dropped his cell phone but remained standing. He moved up to Roxy, exuding strength and composure. “Any second now, I swear,” and then Trent spun on the sound of Sukarno’s shouted voice. Their eyes locked.
“Now! Yes! Do it now!” Sukarno yelled.
Men and women, crazed and panicked, spilled through the main gates. Stumbling, tripping, stepping over fallen bodies, fearful for their lives.
Trent stood tall, his heart full, as he turned toward the crane, and tapped a number into his phone, and hit Send.
The bomb engaged.
“Ten minutes and counting!” he shouted at Roxy. “Let’s go,” and started walking toward Sukarno, pushing through the crowd.
Roxy caught up to Trent, gripped his arm, and in a low dark voice, eyes blazing, asked, “Why was Sukarno waiting to engage the bomb?” But she already knew the answer. Trent yanked his arm away and kept moving. Roxy grabbed his bicep and spun him around. “What the hell did I miss here?” she screamed, spittle flying from her mouth.
Trent’s eyes were wild. “We did it, Roxy. We’re good. We’re set for life. We can buy our own island.”
And there it was. Roxy stopped in her tracks. Volcanic anger erupted as reality set in. Her bomb hadn’t detonated. Trent and Sukarno had caused a delay that might have been the difference between success and failure. Between a successful mission and life in prison. Trent and Sukarno played her. They’d sold her out. Sold out her dying father.
* * *
Jack was close to the cabin now. Fifteen stories high. Not a big fan of heights, he held fast to the crane. Jack took a deep breath. Exhaled. And with his feet dangling, he swung and jumped through the open cabin door.
Jack landed hard. He regained his balance, heard a click, and his head snapped toward the metal briefcase on the cabin floor. He knew the bomb’s timer had engaged and the clock was counting down. He fought to still his breathing as he dragged the dead operator out of his chair, sat in the man’s blood, and started to manipulate the levers, trying to move the trolley-mounted cabin forward along the railings until it was suspended over the water.
* * *
On the Bella Fortuna, Mateo and Peter ran down a flight of stairs and stood outside the locked engine room. Peter pounded his shoulder against the metal door and bounced off. Mateo took a few steps back and ran, shoulder down, and threw his full weight against the door. It splintered open.
Carter, the captain of the Bella Fortuna, was lying in a pool of his own blood. Thick cables had been cut and were scattered haphazardly on the engine room floor.
It was immediately clear to Mateo that Trent had killed the captain and dismantled the diesel engine’s override system. The coordinates were locked, and there was no way to stop the engine. The men ran back toward the bridge to deliver the bad news. The Bella Fortuna was on a collision course with the Queen Mary.
* * *
Outside the harbor gates, Sukarno and Trent fought their way through the crowds, heading past the parking lot toward their ride and a short trip to a waiting chopper.
Roxy lagged behind, losing control, afraid she was going to pass out, as the full weight of what had occurred crashed down on her tightly wound psyche. Understanding washed over her—the entire plan, from the very beginning, had been a lie.
Roxy bent over, hands on knees, to keep from puking. She started hyperventilating, her back bucking, her head reeling. In her panic, she relived what it felt like to be powerless. What it felt like to be raped.
Trent spun and ran back, frustrated, hands outstretched to nudge her along. “God is good,” he shouted.
“But I’m not.”
Roxy raised up, drew her .38, and shot Trent point-blank in the chest.
Trent straightened as he looked down at the dark blood blossoming on the front of his shirt. He staggered as men and women ran past. “What?” he asked, confused. Trent’s eyes rolled back in his head, his knees buckled, and he dropped, dead before he hit the pavement.
Terrified men and women jumped over his prostrate body. No one of a mind to stop and help.
Roxy stood deadly still, oblivious to the mayhem that swirled around her. Sukarno turned at the sound of the gunshot, incredulous eyes locked with Roxy’s, and then he disappeared amid the fleeing crowd.
* * *
Agent Hunter’s car rocketed past the harbor gates, picked out Roxy, and braked to a gravel-spitting stop next to the chain-link security fence. She leaped from her vehicle and charged.
Roxy didn’t hear but felt Hunter’s approach. She turned the gun in the agent’s direction, as she’d been army-trained to do. Hunter unleashed a punch to Roxy’s jaw that dropped the soldier to her knees and sent her gun skittering into the gutter.
Roxy shook it off, reached up, and grabbed Hunter by the belt, dragging her to the pavement.
The women tore at each other. Throwing brutal punches. Fighting for their lives. Roxy muscled Hunter onto her back and straddled her; she cocked a fist, but before she could unload, Hunter flashed on her brother, Luke, and, filled with rage, fired a roundhouse to the side of Roxy’s face, whiplashing her head at an unnatural angle. The blow knocked the warrior off balance and onto her back.
Hunter rolled, grabbed the .38 off the pavement, and leveled it at Roxy, who was bleeding profusely from the temple. Her dark blood ran down her neck, drenching her collar.
“Get up,” Hunter shouted. But before Roxy could comply, Hunter yanked her to her feet, spun her around, and slammed her face-first against the chain-link fence.
Hunter slapped a single cuff onto one of Roxy’s wrists and attached the second to the fence.
“It’s too late,” Roxy said as bile filled her mouth and she heaved.
* * *
The three F-16s had the Bella Fortuna locked on their radar screens. The pilot in the cockpit of the lead jet was on his radio. “Target on a direct line to the Queen. We’re cocked and loaded. Please advise.”
The sound of the fighter jets was deafening. Patrons shrieked, panicked, and ran onto the deck as they realized they were on a deadly collision course with the first responders’ crafts surrounding the Queen Mary.
Caroline was in the main salon, handing out life jackets, ready to go down with her ship. The patrons were readying themselves to jump rather than go up in flames.
* * *
Jack glanced out the crane’s cabin window, 150 feet off the deck. He could see the mayhem playing out around the Queen Mary and prayed the bomb would be disarmed.
But he was in the zone, hands flying over the instrument panel, with his own dirty bomb ready to detonate. Trying different configurations of the levers and coming up empty. The clock was ticking and Jack’s heart was thumping. He tried one last succession and the motor kicked in.
Jack flashed a double thumbs-up to Deak, whose chopper was hovering a hundred feet beyond the cabin. Deak shouted “Yes!” as he watched the crane’s cabin engage, lurch, and start rolling.
The behemoth Chinese container ship below cast a huge shadow over the channel, guided toward the docking space with the help of three tugboats.
The crane’s cabin hovered over the deep-water channel.
Jack jumped from the seat and muscled the lead briefcase onto the ledge of the cabin’s open window.
He sucked in a breath and shoved the heavy briefcase out and over the ledge.
The nuclear dirty bomb flipped end over end.
The metal case splashed down into the dark water. Expanding ripples of death marked the spot.
Jack ran to the cabin door as the Hua Yong slid to a silent stop over the bomb. The lieutenant lowered the harness. Jack snapped it on, tugged once to make sure he was secure, and swung off into thin air. Captain Deak banked the chopper up and away as Jack dangled twenty stories above the water, moving away from the Chinese tanker and the impending explosion.