Sea of Terror (29 page)

"Is she sure he was one of ours?"

Dean shrugged. "She saw an empty shoulder holster. Unless he was plainclothes security of some sort..."

"If he was, he wouldn't have been armed," Mayhew said. "This is terrible .. . terrible . .."

"What is it the hijackers want?" Wallace asked. "This seems to be a lot bigger than the usual antinuke protest, people chanting slogans and waving signs from Zodiacs."

"That is our feeling as well," Lia said. "This operation doesn't have the flavor of Greenpeace or any other environmentalist group we know. Different M. O. It's big and it's flashy, which suggests al-Qaeda. The agent on the Atlantis Queen saw AK-47s and Middle Eastern dress, which supports that idea. The operation is large, well planned, and well funded."

"They don't appear to have made any demands as yet," Wallace said.

"They will," Dean told him. "Count on it. Right now, they'll be consolidating themselves, making certain that they're in control. Their biggest problem at the moment is having . . . what, Sir Charles? Three thousand hostages?"

"Twenty-four hundred passengers," Mayhew said. "And nine hundred crew and hotelier staff."

"Thirty-three hundred, then. There can't be more than a few dozen terrorists on board. They'll be limited to however many they were able to infiltrate at the Southampton docks and at Barrow, plus maybe seventeen or eighteen more squeezed onto that Eurocopter."

"We know they had two people in the Sandpiper1 s crew," Wallace said. He looked grim.

"How do you know that?" Saunders asked.

"There were two men on board who were representing the Japanese utilities company that owned that plutonium shipment," Wallace said. "Kiyoshi Kitagawa and Ichiro Wanibuchi. Their bodies were discovered early this morning on the outskirts of Barrow. Both were killed execution-style--a 9mm bullet behind the ear. The bodies were deposited in two different Dumpsters near the waterfront. We're assuming that terrorist agents took their place."

"Wait a minute," Saunders said. "You're talking about Japanese terrorists?"

"I imagine the Sandpiper's crew would have noticed something wrong if Wanibuchi and Kitagawa had been replaced by Englishmen," Wallace said dryly. "They hadn't met them yet, but they knew their names and had their security clearances from the home office. We're now assuming that there was at least one terrorist agent among the Japanese escort vessel's crew as well."

"Why would Japanese terrorists be helping Middle Eastern terrorists?" Saunders said, shaking his head. "That just doesn't make sense."

"Of course it does, General," Lia told him. "We've seen this before. Remember the JRA?"

"The Japanese Red Army was declared disbanded in 2000," Saunders said.

"By one of the founding members, who was in jail at the time," Lia said. "We know. But the Japanese Red Army never had serious support at home, and ended up financed and equipped by the PFLP, in Lebanon and Syria. We're operating under the assumption that some JRA members may have hooked up with another dissident group, or reorganized themselves into something new. And we assume they still have solid contacts with the PFLP, and maybe Hamas, al-Qaeda, and other Mideast terror groups as well."

"Yes, but to what end? Why would a Japanese terrorist group want to help Muslim extremists?"

"We'll have to ask them," Dean said. "Just as soon as we get them off those ships."

"I think you people are making too many unwarranted assumptions," Saunders told them. "We don't even know for sure that the ships have been hijacked .. . just a wild story from one woman. We need confirmation."

"Which is precisely what we intend to get by inserting a team on board the Atlantis Queen" Dean told him. "We will have a covert ops unit deployed and ready to go in within forty-eight hours . . . possibly twenty-four. Once on board, they can blend in with the passengers, report to us the actual situation, and be in place to support the actual takedown."

"What if the passengers are being held sequestered someplace on board?" Wallace asked. "Under guard."

"According to our informant," Dean said, "that hasn't happened yet."

"Hostages who don't know they're hostages?" Wallace asked.

"Essentially. At least for now." Dean glanced at Saunders, who was scowling. "While it's possible that eventu ally they'll do what General Saunders suggested--herd everyone into one place and keep them under guard--they haven't yet taken that step. If we are dealing with just a few terrorists, they're going to try to keep their hostages in the dark for as long as possible. They can't afford the manpower to watch over three thousand prisoners--not if that means feeding them, giving them water, getting them to the restroom a couple of times a day ... at least until they show their hand."

"Or they may hold a few prisoners as assurance for the good behavior of the rest," Lia said. "But at the moment, the passengers are just being told to stay in their staterooms. If that doesn't change, we have the opportunity to slip a team inside."

"And what if it changes?" Saunders demanded. "What if they do round everybody up and hold them at gunpoint?"

"Then we'll still have a team on board," Dean told him, "that can adapt to the situation as it changes. The Atlantis Queen is a big ship. Lots of places to hide."

"I don't think you can do it," Saunders told him. "Parachute a recoil team onto a ship held by armed and fully alert terrorists? It's unprecedented."

"It's not unprecedented," Dean told him. "There's the Achille Lauro in 1985. Terrorists on board an Italian cruise ship hijacked the ship and threatened to kill everyone on board."

"But there was no CT assault on the Achille Lauro" Saunders said. "The terrorists negotiated with the Egyptian government by radio, took the ship into Port Said, and went ashore peacefully."

Dean's mouth worked in what was almost a smile. "There's considerably more to the story than that, sir. First off, there was a U. S. Navy SEAL team at sea, just a few hours away from boarding that ship."

"I know. Those were the SEALs who tried to capture the terrorists after they flew to Sicily."

Dean nodded. The Achille Lauro hijackers had boarded a 737 bound for Tunis after coming ashore at Port Said. U. S. Navy Tomcats had forced the plane to land at the NATO naval air station at Sigonella, in Sicily, where the SEALs surrounded it--and had very nearly gotten into a firefight with Italian carabinieri who'd demanded jurisdiction. Ultimately, the two leaders of the hijackers, Muhammad Abu Abbas and Ozzudin Badrack Kan, had walked away free, released by Italian authorities.

"Second," Dean continued, "it's not common knowledge, and it can't ever be confirmed, but the unofficial word in the intelligence community is that the Israelis already had two CT-recon teams in place on board the Achille Lauro, and that they were just waiting for the go order. It's possible that the hijackers knew this--or suspected it--and that that's why they suddenly decided to turn around and go to Port Said after only three days."

"This recon force of yours,"/Saunders said. "I assume it's one of your SEAL teams?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny that, General," Dean told him. "But they are good. Very good."

"The SAS is good as well," Saunders said. "I canriot countenance this plan."

"What is it you propose instead, General?" Wallace asked.

"We've already deployed Royal Navy vessels to shadow the Sandpiper and the Atlantis Queen. We send in a couple of our destroyers or frigates to block the target vessels, force them to stop. While we're negotiating with them over the bow, a couple of helos off the Ark Royal come in from astern, and we put a platoon of SAS commandos down on the stern of both ships. Another helicopter drops a stick of commandos abseiling down onto the Queen's bridge. Sweet, neat, and simple."

"You may be forgetting something, sir," Dean said. "The 30mm cannons on the Sandpiper? They've already shot down one Royal Navy aircraft. Those helicopters would be sitting ducks."

"So we send in a flight of helicopter gunships just ahead of the transports," Saunders replied with a shrug. "That's just a minor operational detail. We hit those gun positions with rockets or chain guns before the terrorists even know we're there."

"I must admit to some. .. concern about firing live weapons at the Sandpiper, General," Wallace said. "Her cargo is highly radioactive."

"It's also well shielded and well protected, if your corporate propaganda is to be believed," Saunders told him. "Besides, those gun positions are nowhere near the ship's cargo hold."

"But accidents do happen," Wallace said, "especially in combat. The Home Office has already insisted that no action be taken that would jeopardize the passengers on the Atlantis Queen ... or risk the release of radiation from the Pacific Sandpiper."

"The recon teams," Dean suggested, "would be in a position to take those guns out ahead of time. They could coordinate their strikes to take out the bridges of both ships and all three guns, then send a signal to bring in the helicopters."

"I still must protest," Saunders said. "Remember. .. those ships both technically are British soil. It should be British troops who carry out the rescue."

"General Saunders," Dean said, "forgive me for saying so, but this is not the time for fucking politics!"

"Mister Dean, I would remind you there's a lady present!"

'That's okay, General," Lia said. "Charlie is fucking right! You want to beat your manly chest and play your testosterone-sodden games, go ahead, but if you do, you're an idiot, putting at risk three thousand civilians and a very great deal of dangerously radioactive material to salve your wounded national pride."

"Charlie! Lia!" Rockman's voice whispered in Dean's ear. "Pull in the horns. We have to stay on this guy's good side!"

"The SAS can have the publicity, General," Dean added, standing up suddenly "No one will ever hear about our people being there ... or if they do, they'll assume they belonged to you. But we're ready to go and can get a team on board those ships with a minimum of delay. I suggest you consult with your superiors and then get back to us." He turned and walked away from the table. Lia stood as well and followed.

"Charlie, you're screwing this deal up!" Rockman called.

Dean did not reply as he strode out the door.

Chapter 16

Neptune Theater, Atlantis Queen North Atlantic Ocean 47deg 40' N, 10deg 09' W Saturday, 1823 hours GMT

david llewellyn sat in one of the plush theater seats, his wrists tightly strapped together at the small of his back, another zip strip binding his ankles, a strip of cloth tightly cinched between his teeth and tied at the back of his head. An entire afternoon of cautious struggle had done nothing but chafe the skin of his wrists raw.

He glanced to his right, where Tricia Johnson was slumped in the theater seat next to his. At least the bastards had let them get dressed before hauling them down here; she was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Llewellyn, though, was distinctly chilly. All he'd had available to put on in Tricia's stateroom was his swim trunks.

She met his gaze, and he saw her eyes darken with anger before she sharply turned her head away. They hadn't been able to talk much since the intruders had broken into her stateroom and hauled them out of bed. Clearly, though, she knew he was Ship's Security and not a rich passenger who'd known her at Penn State. Presumably she was also angry that he'd not done anything to stop this . .. this invasion.

He looked around the theater, an enormous bowl-shaped auditorium located at the extreme forward part of the ship's superstructure, occupying Decks One, Two, and Three. With two levels of balcony above the main floor, the theater was large enough to hold a thousand people or more. At the moment, however, it held perhaps a hundred or so--a few passengers but mostly men and women wearing Royal Sky uniforms. Perhaps twenty or thirty wore security uniforms; clearly, the hijackers had spent the afternoon rounding up shipboard security personnel and anyone else who might pose a problem. All of them, like him and Tricia, were bound hand and foot, and gagged, and all were clustered in the front-center few rows of seats, just below the stage. There were four men in khaki uniforms and carrying AK-47 assault rifles stationed in the balconies, giving them a perfect view of their prisoners.

Llewellyn was trying to think the situation through. This was a hijacking, obviously enough. Their captors looked Middle Eastern, and the Russian-made weapons suggested they were from one or several of the old Soviet Union's Arab clientele. Al-Qaeda, perhaps? Or Hamas? There was no way to tell. Whoever they were, they continued to bring people into the theater, singly or in small groups.

He heard a door bang far up the aisle behind him and turned in his seat, trying to see. A soldier was walking down the aisle, guiding a woman with a grip on her upper arm. Llewellyn's eyes widened slightly when he recognized her as Sharon Reilly, the ship's Cruise Director, her normally perfectly coiffed blond hair in disarray, her expression one of sheer fury. She struggled against the man's grip, her hands bound behind her back, but the guard forced her along quickly, bringing her down the aisle to the row where Llewellyn was sitting. "Let go of me, you bastard!" Reilly said, her voice piercing in the otherwise silent theater.

Roughly the soldier shoved her into the seat next to Llewellyn's, and she landed heavily against his shoulder. Twisting, she tried to kick the soldier, but he laughed and grabbed her ankles, pinned them with one hand, and fished inside a combat-vest pouch for another zip strip.

"No . . . no! . .."

With a slick, practiced motion, the soldier tied her ankles together, dropped her feet, and then pulled a strip of cloth out of another pouch. "Quiet, whore," he told her, reaching to tie the gag around her head.

With a sick shock of recognition, Llewellyn recognized the soldier as the leering one of the two men who'd broken in on him and Tricia. The soldier finished knotting the cloth behind Reilly's head, then grabbed her jaw and turned her face toward his, just inches away. "You just wait, whore," he told her, his accent thick. Releasing her chin, he dropped his hand to her thigh, nakedly exposed as her short skirt rode up on her hips. "Wait, and maybe we have much fun in later." His eyes shifted to meet Llewellyn's. "So now you getting two girlfriends, eh?" Reaching across in front of Llewellyn, he grabbed Tricia's left breast and squeezed, eliciting a muffled yelp through her gag. "Enjoy yourselves good!" Chuckling, he turned and strode back up the theater aisle. Reilly struggled for a moment, then slumped in resignation.