[Rogue Warrior 18] Curse of the Infidel (48 page)

“I’ll backtrack out, and get into position,” he said. “When you see me at the doorway, start distracting him.”

“Go.”

Now all I had to do was figure out how to distract Scarface.

“So what are you doing, Scarface?” I yelled. “What is it you want?”

“You’re going to give me the ship back.” He was obviously in deep denial.

“What are you going to do with it?”

“If you don’t give it back to me, I’m going to blow it up. Otherwise, I will get a ransom.”

“How are you going to blow it up?”

“We’ve planted charges through the entire ship. Who are you, Marcinko? CIA? You’re obviously not the old codger I took you for.”

CIA? Bite your tongue.

“I’m just Dick,” I answered. “No one special. Why do you want to blow up the ship?”

“We are committed warriors of God,” said Scarface.

“I thought you were French.”

“I am from Algiers.” He launched into a far too brief and unfortunately sincere explanation of his Islamic beliefs, and how blowing up the ship would redeem his soul and grant him virgins in the afterlife.

“Was that your plan when you came aboard?” I asked. “Why smuggle the drugs on?”

“These are not details that concern you. It’s enough to know what we are going to do now.”

I suspected that destroying the ship was a contingency plan, to be enacted if things went sour. But Scarface didn’t seem in the mood to answer questions along those lines. Larry still hadn’t appeared at the doorway; I needed to keep my tango friend talking.

“How are you going to blow us up?” I asked Scarface.

He raised his right hand, showing me the spare radio unit.

“Why do you want to die?” I asked, spotting Larry near the doorway.

“You think of death as an end. It is only a beginning.”

He may have been a fanatical terrorist, but Scarface had a (relatively) rational explanation of why death would not be a bad thing, and how Paradise awaited him. I suspect, though, that he was willing to expound on it at length because he didn’t truly believe it—if he did, he’d surely have put his finger to the button immediately. He was talking to gin up his courage. But his diatribe had another effect—Larry snuck in and began taking down the bombs. By the time Scarface ended his lecture on the afterlife, Larry had finished dismantling the fourth and last bomb on the port side of the GalleyPlex.

Two more to go.

As Larry disappeared, I worked my way toward the center of the atrium, using the small garden in the middle for cover. Peering from between the fronds of the ferns and fake rocks, I faced Scarface and his two prisoners head-on. The windows were dark behind them, but every so often lightning slashed across the sky. It was a real Dr. Frankenstein effect, very ominous.

I looked to starboard, expecting Larry to duck into the forward doorway. Instead, he appeared at the one closer to the stern. He had his hands up. Two tangos were behind him. One had an AK47; the other an RPG launcher.

They started walking him into the atrium. I began to retreat, but Scarface yelled down.

“Join your friend,” he said. “Or I blow the ship now.”

I dropped back to my knee and took out the radio, pressing down the talk button.

“How can you blow up the ship from the GalleyPlex?” I yelled.

“Drop the radio,” answered Scarface. “That’s quite enough.”

I had the AK in my other hand. I thought I could nail Scarface before he could detonate the bombs. But his goons would kill Larry.

“Drop the radio and the rifle,” said Scarface, moving around on the balcony for a better view. “Come.”

“Do all your men know you’re killing them as well?”

“They are committed Muslims.”

“Nice. Ready to die?” I looked at the two men holding their guns on Larry. They didn’t look either devout or resigned to death; they looked stoned on khat or something stronger.

“Drop the radio and the gun!” yelled Scarface.

I rose, then let the radio fall to the deck. Doc would have heard all he needed to hear by now.

“The gun,” said Scarface.

“I think I’ll hold on to that for a bit. It seems to me we have a standoff.”

“You have nothing I want, old man.”

“If I shoot you, you won’t get to blow anything up.” I held the gun about half mast, pointing downward but ready. I walked slowly toward Larry. The two tangos holding him stopped and looked up at Scarface.

“Stop where you are, or I’ll kill my hostages,” shouted Scarface.

“You’re going to kill us all anyway,” I said. “What difference does it make?”

Scarface pointed the gun at the head of one of the women. Then he pointed it at me. I couldn’t have prayed for a better opportunity.

I threw myself at Larry and the two men behind him. Larry, seeing the glint in my eyes, ducked, and the man on his right stepped back out of the way. I managed to get the one with the grenade launcher square in the midsection, and we both rolled to the deck. Larry grabbed the other and flipped him over his shoulder, wrestling him to the deck. I kicked my gunman in the head, then scrambled to the grenade launcher as two gunshots echoed through the large space.

Scarface was pointing the gun directly at me.

“I will see you in Paradise,” he yelled, reaching into his pocket for the detonator.

The RPG launcher in my hands was primed and ready to launch. So I fired.

I wish I could say I was a better shot. I aimed for the head. I missed.

But not by that much. The head of the grenade caught Scarface full in the chest, and the force took him, his gun, and the detonator through the glass window directly behind him.

The glass shattered with a roar. Rain began pouring in. I swear a bolt of lightning shot through the window as the thunder pealed. I glanced over at Larry. He looked at me.

Larry started to laugh. So did I.

“A close one,” he yelled, walking toward the bomb nearest us. “Damn, Sharkman, you always make it tight. I’ve forgotten how much fun this is.”

“Only when we win,” I said.

“So? You gonna put this in one of your books?”

“Maybe.”

“Spell my name right,” he laughed, taking hold of the bomb pack. This was a smaller one, about the shape and weight of a day pack. He yanked it from its girder and examined the trigger mechanism.

“Holy shit!” he yelled. “It’s armed—and counting down!”

(VI)

There were two bombs in the GalleyPlex. Larry had one in his hands. The other was about ten feet from me, taped to a thick post that ran to the ceiling of the space.

Did I run to it? Did I pull it from the pier?

I must have, though I have no memory of doing that. Nor do I remember, except very, very vaguely, dodging through the open door into the corridor that surrounded the atrium.

I do remember, vividly, the wind as it hit me, howling from an unsecured door far behind me and pushing me toward the stern and its glass panels. And, while I can’t honestly swear that I saw this, when I think back the digits “0-2” flash in my brain.

The timer, telling me it was time to let go.

One step, two—I wasn’t going to make it. I ran anyway, tucking the bomb under my arm like a college halfback anxious to score. There was a door dead ahead. I hit the crash bar with my left hand, and with my right launched the bomb out into the storm.

A second later, I found myself propelled backward, sailing back into the passageway. My skull slammed against a partition at the bend in the corridor. I blacked out, this time for real.

EPILOGUE

ALL IN THE FAMILY

You must be able to underwrite the honest mistakes of your subordinates if you wish to develop their initiative and experience.

—
G
ENERAL
B
RUCE
C
.
C
LARKE

Encourage and listen well to the words of your subordinates. It is well-known that gold lies hidden underground.

—
N
ABESHIMA
N
AOSHIGE (1538–1618) IN
W
ILSON,
I
DEALS
O
F
THE
S
AMURAI
, 1982

Given the same amount of intelligence, timidity will do a thousand times more damage in war than audacity.

—
M
AJOR
G
ENERAL
C
ARL VON
C
LAUSEWITZ,
O
N
W
AR

(I)

I came to some hours later, in one of the ship’s bars. Doc had turned it into an overflow sick bay, moving mattresses in and helping the ship’s doctor and regular medical staff tend to the several dozen
50
people who’d been injured in the takeover or the subsequent liberation. Doc claimed that the location of the bar made it the safest and most stable place on the ship. I suspect he chose it because it was convenient to one of the best medical cures known to man, namely Bombay Sapphire.

By that time, the worst of the storm had passed, and the sun was poking out between the last of the clouds. We were firmly in control of the
Bon Voyage
. Not only had all of the bombs been recovered and disarmed, but we had also found nineteen passengers who’d been blackmailed as I was into carrying prescription drugs back to America. Together we could have put Rite Aid out of business inside a month.

A navy team was en route to help secure the ship and make sure all the bad guys had been eliminated. The advance members were arriving just as I was getting my butt out of bed.

Yes, they were SEALs. And yes, they were members of that unit whose name we are not allowed to say, but which the entire world knows as SEAL Team Six. Doc, Larry, and Chalker were on deck to greet them as they fast-roped aboard. Rumor has it that they were disappointed that they didn’t get to execute their takedown plan, but if so, they were too professional to let on. They went to work clearing the ship—no new hijackers or bombs were found—then, relaxing just a bit, began conversing and comparing notes with some of their predecessors.

I would have enjoyed the fun myself, but alas, I had work to do, catching up with Danny, Shunt, and Karen before calling in old favors to get a ride back to the States.

This is the boring part of the story, where I talk about hoisting myself up into helicopters, transferring to ships, and finally riding with the air farce, which is good for some great put-downs—though as the narrator’s prerogative I only print the ones I make, not their comebacks. So we’ll skip the fourteen or sixteen hours’ worth of travel, the three naps I took, and even the fine shape of the female air farce sergeant who got me onto the right plane and even fluffed my pillow for me on the flight.

Instead, we’ll head out to New York’s Kennedy Airport, where Danny has arrived to pick me up.

“No Junior?” I asked, following him and the limo driver to the car.

Danny shook his head. Both he and Karen had already filled me in on his flight from the parking deck, as well as everything that had led up to it.

“You hear from him at all?” I asked.

“Not a word. Part of me wants to find him and kick him in the ass,” added Danny. “And the other slap him on the back and buy him a beer.”

“He probably could use both.”

“What are you going to do to him?” Danny asked.

“I don’t know.”

I honestly wasn’t sure. We could definitely use him in the organization—clearly he had skills we needed and spirit we prized. But we also needed people with level heads under
all
circumstances. And Junior had demonstrated that he wasn’t always able to control his temper. Maybe I was too hard on him because he was my son, but that didn’t excuse his going AWOL. Or the rest.

I followed Danny across the parking area toward a black limo. The trunk opened as we approached. Danny took my small bag, plopped it in, and then removed a briefcase from the trunk. “Here you go. Everything’s set.”

“How are we on time?”

“Tight, but we’ll make it. Assuming the traffic cooperates.”

“Since when has that ever happened in New York?”

“We’ll call the cavalry if necessary.”

Actually, Danny had something better than cavalry—a little electronic device used by certain police officials to automatically change traffic lights. It didn’t help us much on the Van Wyck Expressway (the name is the definition of an oxymoron), but once in Manhattan the device shaved a good ten minutes off our travel time. That put us ahead of schedule, allowing me and Danny to be standing in front of the elevator when Veep arrived at his office.

“How long have you known Magoo?” were the first words out of my mouth.

He blinked. The rest of the people in the elevator moved past, trying not to make their stares too obvious.

“Actually, I know the answer,” I said when Veep didn’t answer. “He was first appointed to the task force in May 2010, but it wasn’t until the summer that he started focusing on Allah’s Rule. He learned about the impending power struggle a little later. By that time, he had already sketched out the drug smuggling network. The thing I don’t know is at what point he decided to set up his own. That’s when he got you involved. Was it legit at first? Did he tell you you’d be doing your patriotic duty, helping the government watch terrorists by setting up and monitoring their accounts? At some point soon, though, you must have figured out what Magoo really had in mind, because you didn’t tell anyone else at the bank. So maybe you were skimming those accounts yourself from the get-go.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Marcinko,” said Veep. “What are you doing here?”

“It took a while for Shunt to figure out how the money was being routed. The donations came through the local bank branch. Which you authorized. That was why those records had to be destroyed in Berlin.”

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,” he said, finally starting to move. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do today.”

Danny and I followed him into the office suite. The guard there nodded at Danny so subtly that Veep missed it.