Cruisin' For A SEAL: SEAL Brotherhood #5 (30 page)

B
edlam had taken
over the ship. The remaining commandos were cornered and beaten to within an inch of their lives. Grandmothers teamed up and tossed unconscious terrorists over the railings. The terrorists were overpowered without a prayer of a way to get loose. One by one they were brought down by ordinary citizens who fought back to reclaim their ship.

Injured people lay all over the halls. People began to gather in the ballroom, broke into the bar, and started passing out bottles and glasses. Everyone stayed away from the windows, keenly aware there were enemy boats floating all around them. Some of the boats had retreated to the distance, chased by fishing boats from Cape Verde.

Mark hadn’t seen so much blood in his life, or more people banged since the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center. The passengers were emboldened, stubborn, and having the time of their lives. Home videos were made using cell phones, as other passengers held up weapons and posed with unconscious or severely wounded terrorists.

Sophia ran to him, and he set down his automatic, pulling her tight against him and clutching her hair, while she hugged him so tight he thought maybe she’d squeeze the life out of him. Just then someone turned on the disco, of all things.

“Christ,” he whispered. “They’re looking for their fuckin’ dance instructor.”

“My dance card’s full, I’m afraid.”

“Roger that. Boy, is it full.”

His cell chirped. Kyle.

No more snakes on a ship. We do have a fuckin’ bomb to unload. Deck 5, boat 26.

“Holy shit, Sophia, they haven’t been able to defuse the bomb. We’re going to have to offload it. You stay with everyone else, okay?”

“What if—”

“Gotta go, baby. Either way we’ll see each other very soon, sweetheart. Won’t be long now.”

Holding back tears, he jammed his sidearm into his pants, grabbed the automatic from the floor, and ran like hell. He didn’t dare look back at her.

He flew down the stairs, one whole landing at a time, until he got to Deck 5. Kyle, Cooper, Tyler and Rory were gingerly carrying the white crate from the lower decks escalator. They crabwise moved down the deck to the front of Lifeboat 26.

Kyle barked orders. “Cooper, figure out how to lower this thing. Mark and Ty, free the overhead arm.”

Mark looked up at the large rocker arm type contraption that held the little red vessel in place. Large bolts had been drilled into metal straps, which secured the arm in place for rough seas. Inside a utility box they found wrenches, and both he and Tyler began to crank the big lug nuts as, one by one, they removed ten of them and felt the arm holding the rescue vehicle free up.

Kyle kicked in the plastic door to the ship he and Tyler’s went back to help them carefully set the bomb across two of the seats. Mark heard the whirr of something mechanical inside. The outside of the box was stained with pinkish spots. After they lowered the device a piece of a black snake carcass fell to the plastic floor of the boat and Mark jumped back instinctively.

The boat jiggled as Cooper began working the controls attached to a heavy metal beam between decks.

“We gotta clear the area where she’s going to hit the water. Can someone spray some cover?” Kyle asked.

Immediately Tyler and Rory started firing over the railing at ships still hovering nearby, and they quickly dispersed.

Cooper jumped inside the cabin and turned on the power to the little craft. Headlights came on, and low-watt overhead lights flashed on.

“Thing’s got a starter button. You only got one chance to make it work. It has to be in water or you’ll scrape the hull and dump upside down. So who wants to be captain today? I’m, gonna need a volunteer.”

Mark knew it was his turn to step up. “I’m going, Kyle. You stay here.”

“No, I need two men. You wanna come? I’m up for it.”

Tyler stepped up. “Sir, you let me help Mark. You got a family and I’m single. My turn, sir.”

“No heroics. Get the boat in the water, get her untethered and get her the hell away from here.”

“Roger that.”

Mark ran over and got out the double sets of scuba gear Teseo had left behind, shed his pants and put on the skins and tanks. Tyler joined him, and soon both frogmen were encased in the rubberized gear.

Mark stood at the controls, hands on the small metal steering wheel, just tall enough to see out of the small Plexiglas window in front.

“Let ’er rip,” he said. Everyone evacuated, Tyler stood right beside him.

Kyle was the last one to exit the boat. “Thanks, man. You get out there but not too far. We don’t know how much time’s left, since Teseo never was able to get the guy to tell him, but it’s soon, so don’t fuck with it, get it out there and then take your dive, okay?”

“Roger that,” Mark answered. “Now you go tell Christy yourself you love her, ’kay?”

“And I’ll be there, right next to your girl, partner.”

Kyle turned to go. Mark said to his back, “Not too close. Just watch your fuckin’ hands, you prick.”

The hatch door was secured and Mark felt the boat swing out over the dark ocean. A faint pink glow on the horizon didn’t help much, but it gave him a sense of how high he was. Too high.

The winches groaned and the boat took forever to lower to the water. As soon as they heard the slosh of the ocean on their underside, both men climbed out the hatch and unhooked the cables, sending them back to the hull, where they clanged. Mark assumed the controls inside, pressed the red starter button and the diesel engine sprang to life. They lurched over the choppy water, and then landed in a great big belly flop and splash that blew water into the cabin and all over them.

The sucker had no maneuverability, and he felt like he was driving a pedal car down a forty-five degree angle dodging parked cars, but soon he got the hang of it and let it out full, bucking and fighting the five-foot waves crashing around them. Some of those waves almost made them feel like they had sent them back to the mother ship, but soon Mark could see the lights of the cabins grow smaller and smaller, until they were the size of a postage stamp.

“Depending on what’s in here—”

“You gotta go farther,” Tyler said. “Coop says we gotta get at least two miles out.”

“See if you can find something to rig up that’ll keep it going. I say we jump ASAP. In five minutes, that should take it out about almost seven miles.”

They strapped the wheel in place for a trajectory that would take the craft further off the African coast. Then they strapped the gas pedal to an oar they lashed to the seats behind. They had run out of rope and webbed tie-downs to secure it fully flat out, but Tyler found a roll of duct tape.

“Duct tape is the bomb,” Tyler grinned.

Winding the tape around the pedal and then looping it back against the lashing, they secured the pedal in full-out position.

Each man quickly slipped on his tanks, sat on the outside of the boat in the night, with the lighted ship in the distance. They activated their emergency beacon devices, slipped on their fins, covered their faces and fell backward into the water as the little boat powered out to the open sea.

The water was freezing, and Mark knew they only had a few minutes before they became a recovery mission instead of a rescue. But he turned to watch the little boat speed off toward the east, appreciating the fact that they had successfully kept the passengers safe.

“I expected to be dead right about now,” Tyler shouted over the water.

“Stick with me, kid. I just knew they’d make it,” Mark announced.

“Now if I can just get on board for that midnight buffet, I’d say it would be a perfect day in paradise, wouldn’t you?”

“That would be nice, but if I make it back, food is gonna be the last thing on my list.”

Suddenly they heard the distinct sounds of a helicopter overhead.

“Isn’t that just about the greatest sound in the world?” Tyler yelled.

“Makes me come every time I hear one, especially if I’m in the middle of the ocean off the fuckin’ coast of Africa,” Mark yelled back.

They both saw the bucket illuminated in early predawn light, and a friendly on board.

“You’re secret’s safe with me, Marky Mark. But you know they have pills for that sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?” Mark said as a strong arm grabbed him around his upper torso, strapping a hoist on him with a satisfying click.

“Premature ejaculation.”

“Fuck you.” Mark tried to kick Tyler in the head before he was lifted to the chopper. “You fuckin’ tell anybody that and I’ll toss you off the ship myself.”

Mark watched as Tyler laughed uncontrollably while being helped into a crab net underneath and also pulled to safety.

Some of the gaiety of life began to seep in and thaw Mark’s psyche then. Maybe, just maybe everything would turn out the way it was supposed to in those books.

In which case, he’d like to make that happen with the rest of his life, with Sophia at his side.

‡

T
yler was still
yelling insults as they swung through the night sky. Mark was hauled inside the Seahawk and strapped into a jump seat. Tyler was strapped in next to him. A medic asked them a series of questions they both could answer “no” to.

They were rewarded with whoops and hollers from the crew, high fives and thumbs up all around. Mark actually began to feel the beginnings of a smile forming, something he hadn’t been sure he’d ever feel again during the past twelve hours.

Both SEALs then became distracted by the little headlights below, illuminating choppy seas and heading in a straight line west. A couple of the flotilla of boats were chasing the emergency craft, closing in on it with superior outboard power.

No accounting for stupid.

The glow in the horizon grew rosier, but remained a thin line, a mere suggestion of what the morning would soon look like. The night sky was still pitch black, populated with a generous dusting of stars.

Mark felt his breathing slow down as he returned to a calm state, watching the intensifying rose sky, the black and frothy turquoise blue of the illuminated ocean. Sounds of the chopper were drowned out when a pair of noise-cancelling headphones were placed on his ears. He could hear Tyler breathing next to him as the Team guy craned his neck to watch the scene below.

One of the flotilla that had caught up to the fleeing lifeboat threw grappling hooks that didn’t take hold.

“Something inherently wrong with that picture,” Mark said into the microphone, referring to the efforts to board the emergency boat.

In the middle of the second attempt a large yellow-orange fireball consumed the emergency vehicle, rising in a fiery plume, enveloping the fishing boat and the one close behind it. Without the aid of the boat’s headlights, the dark sky quickly consumed the blaze. Within seconds, the explosion was reduced to fuel burning on the ocean’s surface.

The helicopter angled perpendicular to the site so Tyler and Mark could clearly see the destruction below, with the help of the chopper’s powerful searchlight. Bits of wood and plastic and metal were still raining on the fiery cauldron. The ocean underneath was seething in anger.

“Like I was saying,” Mark repeated.

“That’s a picture I’d like to have,” Tyler said.

Two other boats in pursuit but a good distance away abruptly turned tail and sped off in the opposite direction.

“Impressive. Like it when that happens,” Tyler added.

“Too bad Rory isn’t here to see it.” Mark was referring to fellow Teammate Rory Kennedy, who had quite the reputation as a troubled teen for burning down his foster parents’ garages, and who had grown up to become the Team’s explosives expert.

The chopper banked heavily and headed toward the cruise ship.

A small welcoming crowd had gathered on Deck 10. Cameras flashed all over the ship as the luxury liner took on the look of a spring break orgy for the over-fifty crowd. The small chopper the Wolf had arrived in guaranteed the Seahawk wouldn’t be able to squeeze in for a landing. Mark and Tyler were given helmets and airlifted in a crab basket to the deck below amidst cheers and well-wishers who clearly wanted to give a hero’s welcome to the pair.

They removed the harnesses, helmets and other gear they’d borrowed, stowed it back in the basket and gave a thumbs up to the helicopter crew just before the Seahawk flew off into the night leaving the sounds of a satisfying thump thump of rotors in their wake.

Under the sparkling string of white party lights, the crowd attempted to hoist Mark and Tyler on their shoulders, but Mark insisted they keep their hands to themselves. He was wet and cold, and desperately wanted to shed his wetsuit and damp emergency blanket for a warm shower and some recreational time with Sophia. Everything else was a distance second in terms of need.

He was surprised to feel the vibration of his phone from inside his suit. Tyler’s phone was jumping to life as well.

“I guess these cases really do work,” he said to Tyler as he activated the phone by opening the case and touching a passcode to the screen. They’d been sold what were supposed to be one hundred percent waterproof cases on base in Coronado, but hadn’t believed the hype.