Joshua`s Hammer (53 page)

Fifteen years ago when he was trying to work out an exceedingly complex CIA computer program system that involved multidimensional bubble memories and intricate mathematics, he hit on the notion of thinking of systems as colors. A shade of lavender, for example, brought into his head the LaPlace transformations. Red was for curl, blue for spin, and more involved melding of colors were for tensor calculus matricies, quantum mechanical statements, chaos equations and a couple of new fields that an Indian mother of three had come up with that only a handful of people in the world understood or had even heard about.

The color this time was orange. He opened his eyes and looked at his monitors, all of them presenting steady streams of data, diagrams and pictures. The information was useless, less than useless without the one piece that would start tying the bits together. Even the universe had been created one pair of particles at a time after the Big Bang. For a minute or two he thought about going home to get some sleep. But he didn't want to leave because he would have to admit that he had failed. He picked up the phone and called Louise Horn next door in the NRO. "Tell me yes, and make me the happiest man on the planet," Rencke said, trying to keep it light.

"I'd love to, Otto," she said. "But nothing's changed. They're all bedded down over there."

A faint spark stirred in Rencke's gut. "It's only seven in the evening in Khartoum. Nothing's stirring right now? Not even a mouse? All day, maybe?"

"What are you getting at?" Louise said, but then she stopped herself. "Oh, I see," she said. "No one has been in or out of the compound in the past twenty-four hours."

"Not so much as a delivery van?"

"Nothing," Louise said. "What's going on?"

"They're hunkering. Means the battle is going to start any second," Rencke explained excitedly. "If anything moves in or around the place, and I do mean anything, I want to know about it right then."

"Will do--"

"Gotta go," Rencke told her. He broke the connection and called Johanna Ritter again. "I think whatever's going to happen is going down any minute. Within a few hours maybe, but certainly before the end of the weekend. Have there been any calls whatsoever to the compound?"

"I don't know. We've just been looking out for bin Laden or Bahmad."

"I want you to start monitoring every single call, in or out of there, and get them over to me immediately."

"Okay, I'm sending the heads-up right now," Johanna said.

One of his computer programs began to chirp. The screen went pale orange. Rencke broke the connection and slid over to the monitor. The screen was split. On the left was a FBI advisory and APB from its New York office. Gordon Guthrie, a Caucasian male, early to mid-forties, five-eight, a hundred fifty pounds, thinning light brown hair, brown eyes, no distinguishing marks, possibly a British citizen, was wanted for questioning in a homicide aboard the yacht Papa's Fancy docked at the Hudson River boatyard, New York City. No fingerprints. Police artist drawing to follow.

On the right was the reason his search engine had picked out the bulletin and went orange. Papa's Fancy had been docked at the Corinthian Yacht Club here in Washington, and had cleared customs for departure to Bermuda the day after the Chevy Chase attack.

Rencke pulled up the artist's sketch and grinned like a kid at Christmas. "Oh, boy," he said. "Ali Bahmad. Gotcha!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Aphrodite Southwest of Ensenada, Mexico

There she is," Captain Fernandez shouted over the terrific noise. A very strong radar return was showing up on the twenty-mile ring. "How do you know that it's the right ship?" Bahmad demanded. It was getting too late to make stupid mistakes.

"She's heading in the right direction, she's going at the right speed, she's the right size and she's the only fucking ship out here, amigo," the captain replied tightly. He wasn't used to being questioned.

They were alone on the Aprhodite's open bridge; the captain at the wheel, Bahmad seated next to him and the radar screen between them. It was midnight, and the other two crewmen, Antonio Morales and Hernando Mendoza, were below. They'd been drinking beer for the past four hours since they'd left Rosario, but the captain assured Bahmad that when the time came they would function with their cojones intact. The seas were fairly calm, but the motion and noise aboard the speedboat slamming through the water in excess of sixty miles per hour was tremendous.

Before they'd left the dock, Bahmad had finally made SSB radio contact with the Margo. Green had foolishly allowed himself to be discovered by the captain and locked up. It might necessitate eliminating the entire crew immediately rather than later.

"Can the three of us operate the ship?" he'd asked his other contact aboard.

"With all the automatic systems it'll be no sweat. We can set the autopilot to work with the GPS navigators and thread a needle ten thousand miles away without touching a control."

"Very well."

"The port quarter ladder will be down starting at midnight, and I'll block the radar sets aft."

"What if one of the crew spots us?" Bahmad asked.

"I'm on top of it. Can you bring some extra muscle to do the job tonight? Someone we can trust?"

"Yes."

"See you soon, then. Insha'Allah."

"Insha'Allah," Bahmad muttered. He switched off the SSB and smiled.

"Is there trouble?" Captain Fernandez asked. He'd heard only half the conversation. He and the other two were seated at the saloon table while Bahmad made the call from the nav station.

"Nothing that we can't handle, providing you're willing to carry out your orders."

"For a million dollars I'd screw the Pope."

"Nothing quite that drastic," Bahmad assured him. He glanced over at the other two men. Morales, the man he'd first met on deck, was staring at him and Bahmad made a mental note to keep an eye on him. He'd done nothing out of the ordinary, however, since they had left the dock and slipped out of the harbor. But there was something about the man that didn't sit right with Bahmad.

They were one hundred miles off shore now, and not even the strong lights of Ensenada were visible on the horizon. The stars were out, but there was no moon. The night was so dark that Bahmad could not tell where the sky ended and the sea began.

"We're to make our approach from the port quarter," he shouted to the captain. "Their radars will be blinded from the rear, and a boarding ladder will be lowered for us."

"I don't want to run into a hornet's nest. Are you sure that everything aboard that sonofabitch is secure?"

"I'll go up the ladder first. If something goes wrong you can take off."

Captain Fernandez eyed Bahmad with suspicion. "I'll leave Antonio with my boat." "As you wish, but we'll need to arm ourselves with the MAC 10s."

"What kind of trouble are you expecting?"

"None, if you do as you're told. But we need to take care of the crew. All of them, except for my two officers. There'll be an extra two hundred fifty thousand in it for you. Just for you, and not your crew."

"Fifteen men," the captain shouted.

"That's right," Bahmad replied. "Do you have a problem with it?"

The captain looked away for a minute, obviously wrestling with his conscience. Bahmad found it amusing, especially considering the business Fernandez was in. "I have no problem," the captain finally said.

M/V Margo

Lazlo Schumatz slipped into the silent galley and waited a full minute in the darkness. The cook and his assistants were not usually down here at this hour of the night, though at sea some men got restless and wanted something to eat. But not tonight. He made his way across the dining area and through the kitchen to the pantry. He unlocked and opened dry storage locker A. "I was starting to wonder how long you were going to leave me in here," Green said angrily. He stormed out of the locker.

"If you hadn't been so stupid you wouldn't have been caught." Schumatz handed him a 9mm Glock pistol. "It's just about time."

"Did you make contact?" Green demanded. He followed Schumatz out of the galley and aft.

"A few hours ago." Schumatz opened the steel outer door to the port rail and checked the after deck. Sometimes crewmen came back here to smoke. But the deck was deserted now. "I think that we're going to do the entire crew tonight." "The captain's mine," Green shot back. He had been nursing an anger against Panagiotopolous ever since the storm in the Arabian Sea.

Schumatz nodded. They were going to be using the new navigational equipment installed during the layover sooner than he'd expected. But killing the crew now would simplify matters. They wouldn't have to try to hide Guthrie for two days. They went out on deck. Green opened the rail gate and secured it as Schumatz unlashed the boarding ladder, opened the control box and activated the small motor that lowered it.

Aphrodite

The Aphrodite pulled alongside the Marge's port quarter. Captain Fernandez matched speeds and timed the approach so perfectly that Mendoza, waiting on the bow had no trouble grabbing the boarding ladder skimming just off the surface of the water. He tied them off.

Morales took over the controls.

"Keep it steady, we won't be long," the captain shouted to him.

"What if there's trouble?"

"There won't be. Sonofabitch, don't take off with my boat and leave me behind."

"Don't worry, I haven't been paid yet," Morales said.

Fernandez grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "There'll be plenty for all of us, amigo. Even enough for you to buy your Ferrari."

M/V Margo

Bahmad, his MAC 10 drawn and at the ready, was first up the ladder. Schumatz and Green were waiting for him. They'd never met each other, but Bahmad recognized them from their dossiers. At first they were uncertain, but then Bahmad lowered his weapon. "So good of you to invite me aboard, gentlemen."

Schumatz guffawed and Green chuckled.

"May I presume that there have been no further problems?" Bahmad asked.

"Everything's quiet now," Schumatz assured him. "I just released Joseph from the lockup five minutes ago. The captain is in his cabin, and I convinced him not to call the company until later this morning, so we still have a few hours."

"Very good." Bahmad waved Fernandez and Mendoza waiting below to come up. "Who is presently on the bridge?"

"Second Officer Gunn and an AB," Green said.

"That leaves twelve other crew."

"There's two in the engine room. Everybody else is in their rooms asleep or watching television. The next watch isn't scheduled until six."

Fernandez and Mendoza appeared at the head of the ladder and came aboard. Bahmad introduced them by first names only. They didn't shake hands, but they all looked at each other nervously.

"What's the plan?" Schumatz asked.

Bahmad had worked out this operation in precise detail, as he did all his operations. Leave nothing for chance, he'd always maintained, yet be ready for any contingency.

"If the captain were to call a meeting in the galley would everybody show up? Even the on-duty crew?"

"Of course," Schumatz replied.

"Take our two friends to the galley, turn on the lights and then hide yourselves," he told Green. "Stay out of sight unless the situation falls apart. I don't want the crew getting spooked seeing the three of you charging in with guns drawn."

"What about the captain?" Green asked.

"Lazlo and I will fetch him."

"Let's do it," Fernandez said. He wanted to get this business over with and be gone.

They all went inside. Green and the two drug runners went forward to the galley, while Bahmad and Schumatz took the stairs up eight decks to the captain's quarters aft of the chart room and bridge. Except for the throbbing noise of the engines the ship was as still as a tomb compared to the speed boat. But it was nothing as quiet as it would be an hour from now, Bahmad thought.

So far the only real glitch had been in New York aboard Papa's Fancy, but he had a hunch that even that was going to work out to his benefit in the end. Chevy Chase had already been forgotten, relegated to another section of his brain that was able to deal with failures by forgetting about them while at the same time learning from his mistakes. There would be no mistakes this time. He was sure of it.

Schumatz listened at the captain's door for a couple of moments. He looked up and shook his head.

"If he cries out will they hear it on the bridge?" Bahmad whispered.

"No."

Bahmad motioned for him to do it, and Schumatz knocked on the door.

"Captain, I have to talk to you. We have a problem." Schumatz tried the door but it was locked. "Captain?"

"Just a minute," Panagiotopolous said impatiently.

Bahmad stepped to the side. Schumatz held the pistol out of sight behind his right leg. The door came open and the captain was there, fully dressed, Green's pistol in his hand.

"What's this?" Schumatz stepped back in surprise, almost stumbling over his own feet Sensing that something was wrong, Panagiotopolous started to turn, but he was too late. Bahmad diverted the captain's gun with his left hand and jammed the barrel of the MAC 10 into the man's face.

"Your death at this moment would be pointless, Captain," Bahmad warned in a reasonable tone.

The captain tried to raise his pistol, but Bahmad tightened his grip and jammed the submachine gun harder against the man's cheek.

"I will kill you."

Panagiotopolous held himself in check for another second or two, but then came down. Bahmad took the pistol from his hand, thumbed the safety catch on and stuffed it in the belt of his slacks at the small of his back.

"What the hell, Lazlo. I trusted you."

Schumatz shook his head. "This has nothing to do with you," "Who the hell is this bastard then, and what is he doing aboard my ship?"

"All in good time," Bahmad said. "First we're going to assemble the crew and I'll make everything clear. But I want to assure you that we mean you absolutely no harm. If you cooperate this will all be over with by morning."

"Is Green one of yours too?"