Trident Force (28 page)

“Four or five minutes.”

“Very well. I'm going to stop the port shaft now. Just before you cut the first boat, let me know so I can turn away. All we need now is a rat's nest of one-inch wire wrapped around the screws.”

“Aye, Captain.” He then turned to the two men, who had now been joined by three others. “While I'm cutting away the boats on the other side, I want you to use the spare blocks to re-rig the forward falls on davits three and five. And find the longest damn boat hooks you can.”

There were a total of three deckhands waiting for him when MacNeal made it back to the port side.

“You have the cutters?” he demanded.

“Yes, Boats.”

“Good. Now two of you stand by the number six aft davit. When I say ‘now,' you're going to cut the fall and jump the hell back because the wire's going to whip around like an angry sidewinder.”

The two men moved aft while MacNeal put the walkie-talkie to his mouth. “Bridge, this is MacNeal.”

“Yes, Boats?”

“We're ready, Captain.”

“Very well. I will start a slow turn to port in thirty seconds. As soon as the first boat is astern, I'll shift the rudder. Once we're back on our base course, I'll advise you so we can ditch the second one.”

“I understand, Captain.”

“I am starting to turn . . . Now!”

MacNeal waited until he could feel the ship's stern beginning to slew to starboard and then shouted “Now!” Straining, the two hands squeezed and twisted the bolt cutter's handles until the wire parted with a snap. And then fell, limp.

“Christ, Boats, it's not paying out!”

“God damn it,” groaned MacNeal as he looked over the rail. The aft boat was hopelessly tangled with the others. “Bridge, this is MacNeal. We've cut the falls for boat six but it's so tangled with the others that it won't budge.”

 

Within ten or fifteen minutes Marcello Cagayan's patience ran out. He loosened the strap on the rifle and put it over his shoulder. He then collected up the spare magazines and stuffed them into his jacket pockets. He'd heard the announcement directing all the passengers to the Main Dining Room. Except for the boatswain's people trying to save the boats, there'd be nobody on deck but him. He exited the funnel for the last time and made his way down to the second deck, all the way aft. From there he could see the empty davits and the men working on them. He would have liked to see what was left of the boats themselves, but they were hidden by the hull. He could see the men on both sides of the ship—they were now only about thirty yards away—but he realized that to get a decent shot he was going to have to lean out over the rail. Being right-handed, he decided to work on the starboard side. He checked to make sure a magazine was inserted in the rifle then leaned over and waited, the wind jamming him hard against the rail.

 

“Roger,” replied Covington, who'd been watching the operation from above. “I'm going to get back on course and then we'll trying freeing four and see if the two of them will leave.”

“Roger.”

Once Covington had turned the
Aurora
back downwind, he turned to port again and told MacNeal to cut away the number four boat. The cutters clicked and the cut wire jumped a few feet, then collapsed. “Captain, the two of them are now riding on number two's falls.”

Covington pounded the rail in frustration as the ship continued to turn slowly. He was very conscious of what he didn't know—just how many yards of one-inch wire were trailing back from the tangled mass of boats. If it was more than fifty, and he came right, to get back on the base course, he ran the very real risk of getting the wire tangled around one or both screws. If he kept turning much longer, he would soon find himself back across the trough, in the position that had almost killed them before. “Cut away number two right away, Boats. Then pray.”

“Now! Cut!” grunted MacNeal.

The wire parted with the crack of a small cannon and flew through the sheaves and over the side. While MacNeal watched the tangled mass drift astern and off to one side, Covington watched as the bow swung to the left, soon to be pointing directly down the alley between the two monster waves on each side, the joystick gripped in his right hand.

“There,” he finally mumbled to himself. The mess had passed astern. He flicked his wrist, moving the joystick and the rudder to the right. The ship was not a racing yacht, but she did respond in time to avoid Covington's worst nightmares. MacNeal and his three helpers raced back through the ship to the starboard boat deck.

 

“The target's a young Filipino engineer named Cagayan,” repeated Mike as he slipped into a set of chest armor. “We don't know where he is at the moment but he's almost certainly not below. He's either on some weather deck or someplace in the superstructure. We also don't know if he's armed or not.”

“Are we assuming he just killed Hensen or are we assuming he's a terrorist?”

“Very good point. There's nothing in that message guaranteeing that a terrorist is aboard. If there are any other explosive devices aboard, they may be controlled by timers or GPS position indicators. But we don't know, so we're going to have to assume that there are other devices and that Cagayan controls them. That means that we want him in condition to tell us what and where they are.”

“How're we going to find him?” asked Ted.

“We're going to sweep the interior spaces, starting on deck four and working down. As we go, we're going to lock every lockable door. So get your armor on. Also bring night vision gear and rifles, in case we end up chasing him on one of the weather decks.”

 

When Boatswain MacNeal reached the starboard side, he found that the men he'd left there had made considerable progress re-rigging two of the damaged falls. “Okay,” he said, “this isn't going to be easy, but we have to get a hook through the forward ring on two of those boats. Then we'll be able to lift them level, maybe without beating everything to shit in the process. Any volunteers to dangle and get the hook in place?”

“I'll give it a try, Boats,” offered one of the younger and more ambitious deckhands after a pause.

“Good . . .” Before MacNeal could finish the sentence, another young hand who was working partway up the davit, reeving the wires through the sheaves, arched his back and cried out. Without another word the kid dropped into the storm.

“What the hell!”

Then Gibson, the hand who had volunteered to dangle, collapsed on deck, clutching his chest.

“Everybody take cover,” shouted MacNeal. “Get under the overhang of deck three and get into the shadows.” He grabbed his walkie-talkie.

17

The Drake Passage

“Boss, this is Alex,” whispered Mike's walkie-talkie, barely audible above the wind that was howling along the fourth deck. “At some point very recently the target was hiding in the funnel—on what Jerry tells me is called a blower flat—and it looks very much like he had a rifle hidden here.”

“We're on our way.” He then called Covington.

Mike and Ted continued forward, using their night vision gear to scan every corner and every shadow. When they reached the funnel, they found Jerry standing outside. “He's been here, Boss, and he left some wrappings that look as if they were secured around a rifle.”

“So where the hell is he now?” Mike asked, thinking aloud.

“Bridge, this is MacNeal,” whispered the walkie-talkie again. “There's a shooter someplace on this ship. He just shot two of my men. There's nothing we can do about these boats until we get some cover. And send Dr. Savage.”

“Ted, you get down there and keep those men under cover. The rest of you spread along the starboard side. We're going to go down deck by deck. Maybe the bastard's still there, waiting to get another shot.”

“Bridge, MacNeal, this is Chambers. Make sure Dr. Savage stays in the superstructure. Take your casualties to her. We only have one of her.”

“Roger.”

“Roger.”

 

Wearing his enhanced vision goggles, Mike moved carefully down the port side ladder leading from the aft end of deck four to deck three. At the forward end of deck four Alex did the same thing, while Jerry remained on the starboard side of deck four, carefully scanning everything he could see below him.

Once Mike and Alex had reached deck three, they worked their way over to the starboard side and then, crouching, advanced slowly toward each other. When they reached each other, they repeated the process, working down to and along the boat deck, with Jerry watching from deck three. As they went, they could hear the three remaining boats beating themselves to death.

“Captain Chambers . . .”

“Is that you, MacNeal?”

“Yes, sir,” said the boatswain as he stood up behind a steel locker. “You think he's moved on?”

“He's not above us.”

“Can you cover us for another few minutes? We've got to cut those boats away.”

“Will do. Alex, take the forward end of deck three. I'll take the aft end and Jerry the middle. We'll be in position in three minutes.”

While Mike filled Jerry in, MacNeal called Covington. “The navy's arrived to cover us, Captain, so we'll be ready in five minutes to cut away the starboard boats—or what's left of them.”

“Very well. I'm stopping the shaft now.”

“Now, Captain,” said MacNeal a few minutes later. After a brief pause he stood up in a crouch, bolt cutters in hand, and scurried over to the aft davit of boat five. He raised and positioned the cutters and with a grunt rammed the handles together. The wire parted with a crack and went whipping through the sheaves and over the side.

“First one went like a dream, Captain. Should I try the next or . . .”

“Go ahead, try the next one.”

Snap.
The second boat was gone.

“Get that last one, MacNeal, while you're hot. I've still got a minute or so before I have to turn back on course.”

“Roger.”

“That's it, Captain. They all look clear from here.”

“Good work, Boatswain. Now secure any trailing lines and then get your men under cover unless Captain Chambers has work for them.”

“Roger,” said MacNeal, exhaling a massive sigh of relief as he did.

“Okay,” he said to his men, “police this area up quickly. Make sure there's nothing that's going to drag overboard.”

“MacNeal?”

“Yes, Vido, what is it?”

“I hear everybody's looking for Cagayan. Do you think he's the one doing all this?”

“There's a lot people don't tell me. Get over there and help secure those wires.”

“I've talked to him sometimes, and I think I noticed something that navy guy may want to know about.”

The boatswain was about to blast Vido over the side, but he restrained himself. He wasn't a bad kid. Right off the farm, so he didn't know much, but he was a good worker and never gave anybody any trouble. “Okay, Vido, let's step out of the wind for a minute and you give it to me quickly.”

“Okay, Boats. The thing is he's got a cell phone that he always carries around and plays with a lot. He never shows it to anybody, but I've seen him take it out of his pocket. Sometimes, when he thinks nobody's looking, he puts his hand in his pocket and sort of pets it.”

“A cell phone? Out here?” MacNeal looked at the boy a moment, on the verge of telling him he was a fool, but then he thought better of it. A cell phone was basically a radio, and a radio might be very useful to detonate bombs.

“Vido, you did the right thing. Stay here with me a moment.” He called Mike Chambers—who was standing almost precisely where Cagayan had fired from a few minutes before—and reported what Vido had noted.

 

“A cell phone! That would certainly fit,” said Mike after MacNeal had completed his report. He then passed the word to Covington, the chief engineer, Dave Ellison and the other four Trident Force members that when Cagayan was located, he was under no circumstances to be allowed to operate the cell phone.

“Does that mean kill him if necessary?” asked Ray.

“Affirmative. If necessary. We have to assume the phone is a detonator. There's simply too much at stake.”

“Roger.”

What the hell to do next? Mike wondered, momentarily at a loss. There was at least one more explosive device but, for some reason, Cagayan was in no hurry to detonate it.

It didn't make much sense, but then again maybe it did. To a terrorist. If he intended to sink the ship, he could presumably do it at any time, but it appeared he was more interested in terrorizing the passengers a little more before he killed them. Destroying the lifeboats was a good start, but what would he try next?

One widely quoted rule of sound military thinking is to always evaluate the enemy in terms of his capabilities—which are often knowable—not his intentions—which are generally not. Since Cagayan was able to move practically anywhere on the ship, and do practically anything, his capabilities were essentially limitless. Mike was going to have to make the best guess he could about the bastard's intentions.

The best way for him to further unsettle the passengers—and give the media something to spread around the world—was to get right up in their faces and hurt them, Mike decided.

“Trident Force,” he said into his walkie-talkie, “I suspect the target's next move will be some sort of direct action against passengers. We're going to concentrate all our efforts on deck three in the vicinity of the Main Dining Room. Ray, leave Ellison at the dining room entrance and you patrol the approaches. Alex, you work with Ray. Jerry, you and I will establish an outside perimeter on deck three.”