Seal Team Seven #20: Attack Mode (25 page)

“Oh yeah,” Jaybird said. “That’s a little one-cylinder diesel engine. Hear how it whacks on every stroke? Got to be a set up for a generator. That’s how they get lights in here.”

They slowed their advance then, turned out flashlights, and worked through the semidarkness using only the faint lights in the tunnel every thirty feet. The tunnel curved ahead and Jaybird leaned around it to see what was up there. He edged back.

“You better take a look, Cap. I’d say we found the plut, or at least one of the crates full. Then, there’s a complication.”

Murdock bellied up to the bend in the tunnel and looked around at ground level. Ahead in a glare of lights he could see one of the crates with the heavy lead bottle of plutonium 239 still inside. In front of it stood about twenty people, all were civilians—men, women, and children. Two women carried babies in their arms.

A bullhorn blared into the stillness.

“U.S. Navy, we know you’re out there. We know what you want. You can see the advantage that we have. In front of this crate of goods you want so badly are twenty-three residents of the village of Rongrik. Yes, and two babies. There is no room for bargaining. We hold all the chips. You will turn your men around and you will leave the main tunnel by the two artillery emplacements just in back of you. You have five minutes to clear this tunnel. If you do not, one of the villagers will be shot for every five minutes you linger. To prove that we are serious, we will execute the first villager now.”

Murdock settled in with his Bull Pup on single-shot 5.56 and centered his sights on the slight, dark bearded man at the side of the tunnel. He held a pistol in his hand and now brought it down to point it at the head of a civilian kneeling in front of him. Murdock refined his sight, squeezed the trigger, and the Bull Pup blasted a round down the tunnel.

Lam and his six Marine buddies moved down the left-hand branch of the main tunnel under the bleak exterior of Rongrik Atoll. He figured that the terrs had taken the right-hand branch. When people had a chance, most took the right lane, the right line in the supermarket, the right lane for the border crossing, right-handed everything. Figured, since most people were right handed.

He studied the sand that had filtered down from the sides of the tunnel over the past fifty years. Yes, now he remembered. He had seen something before he hadn’t been able to figure. Now he realized that he had spotted tracks to the right-hand tunnel that could only be from the forklift. So he and his buddies were on a blind trail that held nothing of value.

He told Sergeant Vuylsteke and the rest of the Marine squad. “So we’ll move ahead quicker than usual. We’ll check out any drifts or side tunnels that might be hiding some of the terrorists, and we’ll try to check out this branch fast.”

“Can you use your twenty to clear the tunnel as we go?” Vuylsteke asked.

“I can’t be positive they didn’t bring one of the crates of plut up in here, then one in the other tunnel. I don’t think so, but I’m not going to risk polluting the whole atoll in case I’m wrong. Let’s choggie.”

They jogged between drifts, checked out the avenues to the surface quickly, and hurried on. They came to no more surface tunnels, and less than twenty minutes after they started, they were nearing the end of the tunnel.

“Getting smaller,” Lam said. “No chance they could get the forklift in here with the plut crate.” Lam grinned and fired a 20mm round down the tunnel. When it exploded thirty yards away, it sent back a shock wave and sound storm that battered the men’s ears. For a minute they couldn’t hear a thing.

Lam waved them forward, and they had come almost to a curve in the tunnel ahead when a submachine gun chattered six rounds at them. They hit the floor of the tunnel but not before one of the Marines took a round.

“Caught one in the shoulder, Sergeant,” the Marine said. They stopped and, using his first aid kit, Vuylsteke tied up the wound to stop it bleeding. As he did, Lam took off running for the bend in the tunnel. When he came to it, he went to the floor and edged up so he could see around the wall. Ahead there were a dozen light bulbs, turning the murky tunnel into a daylight scene. Lam lifted his brows. He figured there were thirty to forty lead boxes like those they had seen before, eighteen inches square and about ten inches deep. He saw what had to be lead blankets, and two or three sets of radiation-proof suits. They were going to break down the larger units of plut. Somehow they had got the gear in the wrong tunnel. Lam grinned. Or maybe nobody told them how large the plut crates were going to be. They were too large to come down this tunnel, so they must have taken them down the other one, and all of this gear and boxes and tops and blankets would have to be moved to the right-hand tunnel.

He checked carefully, but couldn’t see any people around. Who had fired the shot? He watched and waited, sectoring the area time and again. Vuylsteke crowded up behind him. Lam gave him a quick rundown on the situation.

“Use the twenty,” Vuylsteke said. “Only this time I’m going to cover up my ears after I put in earplugs.”

Lam considered it. “At least the round will tear up the radiation suits and maybe flush out the shooter, who has to be up there somewhere.”

They both put in earplugs and Lam fired one round at
the radiation suits. After this round they weren’t quite so deaf. When the dust and smoke cleared, Lam saw the three radiation suits tattered and shredded. Then, to his surprise, one of the lead blankets was thrown to the side and a small man with a submachine gun darted across the tunnel and into a drift.

“Let’s get him,” Lam said and came up running. Vuylsteke was right behind him. They worked through the lead components and braced on either side of the side tunnel. Lam jumped into the tunnel, angled his Bull Pup upward on 5.56, and fired three rounds. Then he charged up the tunnel that climbed swiftly. There was no return fire. Lam had guessed right. It took only a few seconds to get to the top of the tunnel. Another machine-gun setup. Lam poked his head up and jerked it down. Three slugs hit the concrete platform, and some sang overhead, missing it by inches.

Lam took a quick look and this time saw a figure running toward the village. Lam got up his Bull Pup and fired a dozen rounds, but they missed. He switched to the twenty and led the man three steps before he fired. The round hit a step behind the running figure. The blast and the shrapnel from the 20mm round caught the runner and drove him forward a dozen feet before he sprawled in the dirt and coral and didn’t move.

Vuylsteke came up behind Lam. “Nice shooting, kid.”

“Yeah, with the twenty it’s like throwing a grenade three hundred yards and hitting what you aim at.” He nodded to himself. “Let’s get back downstairs there and see what we can find. Like a customer list, or a timetable. Anything in writing.”

Before he left, Lam tried the Motorola. He had a quick answer.

“Yes, Lam, read you. We’ve got a situation here. We found the plut but there are twenty some hostages. The terrs are threatening to shoot one every five minutes we stay underground.”

Lam told Murdock what they had found. “We’re going back down to check everything. May be some more men
there, or something in writing. If we can help, give me a call. Lam out.”

Down below, Lam and the Marines found little that was useful. A list of the material there, lead boxes, radiation suits, tools they would use for the transfer of the plut. But nowhere could they find a list of potential customers. They did find the body of one more terr. He had over two thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills in his pants pockets, but no identification of any kind. He was dark, with black hair and a black mustache, but no beard.

“One more Arab,” Lam said. They were at the far end of the tunnel. “Let’s go topside and see if we can locate a rat hole near where Murdock is. Bring that two thousand. We’ll give it to the people who live here.”

Back in Murdock’s right-hand tunnel, he watched through the scope as the round he fired caught the terrorist gunman in the side under his right arm, which held the raised pistol. The round lanced through the man’s ribs, collapsed his right lung, then plunged into his heart, killing him before he could pull the trigger. He slammed to the side, the pistol falling from his hand.

The bullhorn vanished behind the hostages. A moment later another amplified voice came down the tunnel.

“Bastards! You have killed our leader, Khatib, but we are as many as the grains of sand in the desert. Now I will have the honor of killing one of these infidels for every five minutes you remain in the tunnel. Go quickly—we have much work to get done. The mother and her baby will be the first ones killed. So move now, U.S. Navy.”

“Not that easy, you sad-assed terrorist,” Murdock said. “Your radiation suits have been shredded, your plut boxes blown up. You have nowhere to go with the large bottle of plutonium. It is your turn to give yourself up and live. Already we have killed five of your men. You will be next.”

“You are bluffing. I have played American poker. I went to school at Illinois University. I call your bluff.” A pistol shot shattered the tunnel’s shrouded stillness. The
woman in the front row holding a baby slammed forward with a round to the side of her head. She collapsed on the tunnel floor, and the squalling baby rolled away from her.

Murdock bit his lip. There was no target. He could see nothing but the villagers. None of them moved. They were so frightened they might have been paralyzed.

When the sound of the shot faded down the reverberating tunnel, the bullhorn voice came again.

“I don’t hear you leaving, U.S. Navy. You now have less than four minutes to move your men down to the side tunnel to the surface. The woman’s baby will be next to die.”

“No,” Murdock said. “Your mission here is finished. There is no way that you can break down the large bottle of plutonium into smaller sizes. I’ll give you safe passage out of the atoll, for you and any of your men still alive. I’ll trade your safe passage for the lives of the villagers in front of you. Otherwise it’s a standoff. All of the villagers die, and you and your men die. Wouldn’t it be better to lose on this battle and live to fight another day? You can’t win this one. You’ve lost it already. Why not cut your losses, get out of the game while you still have a few chips to play again another time, another place.”

“Safe passage to where?”

“We’ll give you the boat you came here in. Refuel it and stock it with water and food and you’re on your way.”

“To where? We don’t know this part of the Pacific Ocean.”

“We’ll give you maps and charts. It’s your only way out.”

“There are three of us here. We’ll have to talk it over.”

“You have five minutes to decide if you want to live or die.”

Murdock pulled back around the corner of the tunnel and leaned against the wall. He took two huge breaths and let them out slowly.

“Nice work, Skipper,” Jaybird said.

“If it works.”

“He has no choice. He dies if he stays there.” Jaybird
grinned. “Hey, we really aren’t going to let three of them get away, are we?”

“I told him safe passage off the island. I didn’t say anything about getting blasted by an F-18 once he gets out to sea.”

“Oh yeah,” Jaybird said. “I figured there must be an angle. Will he think of it?”

“Let’s hope not, Jaybird. Let’s fucking hope not.”

Murdock checked his watch but it didn’t take five minutes. Barely half of the allotted time was up when the bullhorn voice came again.

“Two conditions, U.S. Navy. I get to keep my pistol, and I get to take three of these civilians with me as shields until we can get on the boat.”

“Agreed, but if you attempt to harm any of the civilians you’re being shielded by, we will cut you down like the killers you are.”

“Yes. Now, first, send half your men to the surface via the tunnel just behind you. There are more tunnels ahead to the left. We, the six of us, will use them. Be sure that your men hold any fire as we leave the opening above, or the three civilians will be shot immediately.”

“My men know the orders.” He pointed at Jaybird, Bradford, and a Marine, and they scurried for the surfacing tunnel behind them. “My men are gone. You may move out as well.”

Five minutes later Murdock and his men were on the surface. They met Lam and the Marines and watched as the last of the three terrorists came out of the tunnel mouth, near another machine-gun position. They walked in lock-step, with the civilian men behind them.

The bullhorn voice came again. “U.S. Navy. Can you radio ahead and tell them to fuel the boat and stock it with food and water?”

“No, I have no people there. We do it after we arrive.”

“Very well, we are moving.”

It took the sorry little procession ten minutes to walk the half mile back to the village. The former hostages had
surged out of the machine-gun emplacement opening seconds after the terrorists and run toward their homes.

Murdock’s men formed a U around the terrorists. Now he could see that all three had pistols. He let it pass. They wouldn’t try shooting anyone. It would be suicide. Suicide by SEALs.

At the boat, the terrs insisted on taking the shields with them on board and keeping them there until the boat was refueled, provisioned, and ready to sail. Murdock had his men surround the pier side of the boat with weapons ready. The fuelling went well, with the terrs paying for it in U.S. $100 bills. Then boxes of food and water were brought on board. Fifteen minutes after arriving at the boat, the leader declared they were ready to go. They put their pistols at the heads of the three hostages.

“We will drop them off just past the entrance to the lagoon,” the leader said. “All are locals and good swimmers. They will come to no harm. Now you must honor your promise for safe passage.”

“You give me your word that the three hostages will be dropped off just past the entrance?” Murdock bellowed.

“I do.”

The engine started; they cast off the lines, and the boat began a slow trip toward the narrow channel through the coral heads of the lagoon.

“They gonna get away?” Jaybird blurted. “That one asshole killed that woman in cold blood.”