They bobbed their heads in unison.
Wizard walked out of the situation room and Gwen turned to Ezra. “Do we tell Noble?”
Ezra thought for a minute and said, “I’m pretty sure Wizard just ordered us to.”
Gwen grabbed her phone and texted Ron Hinson’s cell.
Eliška Cermákova was still handcuffed to Ronald Hinson. The Secret Service agent was nobody’s fool. As soon as Vuković had taken off at a sprint for the destroyed torpedo factory, Eliška had decided to exit stage left. Any hope of catching up with Randall had vanished when the factory sank into the ocean. Eliška decided it would be better to disappear for a while. She could always put out feelers on the underground network. Lucas would eventually resurface and Eliška would be waiting for him. But before she could slip away, she had felt the metal bracelet lock down on her wrist.
Without missing a beat, Hinson said, “Stay a while, Ms. Cermákova. You and I have a lot to talk about.”
Eliška could have killed him then and there, but the thought of Noble stopped her from simply breaking Hinson’s neck. Noble was a good man and he had saved Eliška’s life. She owed him. Killing another American agent right under his nose was a poor way to repay, so Eliška waited, looking for another opportunity.
When Hinson took the buzzing phone from his pocket, Eliška saw the opportunity she had been looking for. She said, “Noble? We have the name of the boat.”
Hinson held up the phone. Noble and Vuković both came over. The Secret Service agent said, “Your guess about the mattresses was right. The money is aboard the Maersk Minerva.”
Noble turned to Vuković. “Does your team have a helicopter?”
The Captain’s eyes turned to hardened steel. He nodded. His mouth worked into a determined frown. “Da, we have helicopter.”
“Anyone left who can fly it?” Noble asked.
“I can fly,” Vuković assured him.
Hinson said, “What’s your plan, Noble? You going to land a chopper on the deck of a container ship?”
“I just need to get close enough to drop down onto it without breaking an ankle,” Noble told him.
Hinson started to chuckle. He stopped when he realized Noble was serious. “Wizard said you were one of his top guys. He failed to mention you were crazy. That’s suicide.”
“You got a better idea?” Noble asked.
When Hinson didn’t answer, Noble thrust his chin at Eliška. “I’m going to need help.”
The Secret Service agent pressed his lips together.
Noble said, “I can’t do this alone.”
Hinson hitched a sigh, brought the key from his pocket and unlocked the bracelet. “You take chances, Noble.”
“Have you got a weapon?” Noble asked.
Hinson shook his head. “They wouldn’t let me bring it into the country. I’m here as an observer only.”
Vuković said, “You are going to kill the ones who did this? Kill the men who murdered my boys?”
“Every last one of them,” Eliška assured him.
The Captain took the MP5 submachine gun from around his own neck and looped the single-point sling over Eliška’s head. “You know how to use?”
In answer, Eliška dropped the mag and checked the chamber, before reseating the magazine.
“You coming?” Noble asked Hinson.
The Secret Service agent only shook his head. “It’s more than my job is worth, but shoot one for me.”
As Vuković led the way through what remained of the torpedo factory, he mashed the talk button on his radio and barked commands in Croatian. By the time they got to the unmarked SWAT van, the SJP sniper was waiting for them. Vuković slipped into the driver’s seat, twisted the key, and shifted into drive. A moment later, they were racing through the streets of Rijecka.
Eliška bounced off the steel-reinforced wall of the truck as Vuković slewed around a corner. She reached for safety strap and tried to relax, allowing her body to absorb the sudden jerking movements. The MP5 felt good and solid against her chest—four pounds of cold, hard retribution.
Noble clung to a safety belt across from her.
Eliška said, “Are we really attacking a container ship full of terrorists?”
“I haven’t got a choice,” Noble told her. “If that money reaches the United States, the economy will crumble. A lot of good people will die.”
The man was a patriot, Eliška realized, like her papa. Maybe that’s why she liked him. He was ready to risk everything for his country. There weren’t a lot of people like him left in the world. At least, Eliška didn’t know any.
Noble said, “It’s not too late for you to back out.”
“Lucas betrayed me and murdered my father,” Eliška said. “I’m going to kill him if it’s the last thing I do.”
Chapter Sixty-Six
Ezra and Gwen were working feverishly to find the boat, but without GPS it could be anywhere between the Adriatic and the Straight of Gibraltar. The United States Navy had been put on high alert. A carrier group in the Atlantic, and another from the Mediterranean, were steaming toward the Rock of Gibraltar. A pair of drones had been scrambled out of Tripoli. They were checking every container ship headed west, but hundreds of commercial vessels transit the passage every day. It was like looking for a floating needle in an ocean of floating needles.
While Ezra focused on locating the Maersk Minerva, Gwen worked on the crew manifest. It took her fifteen minutes, but she finally managed to obtain a complete roster. She had just finished when the electronic lock on the door chirped. Armstrong and Wizard crowded into the cramped situation room to demand an update.
“Any luck finding the boat?” Armstrong wanted to know.
Ezra shook his head. “Given the Minerva’s load and fuel capacity, it couldn’t even reach America before Keiser’s puts expire.”
Wizard’s wiry gray brows pinched. “Are you saying we’re chasing the wrong boat?”
“Not exactly,” said Ezra. “Inter-Ocean Couriers has dozens of feeder ships that operate around the area. They’re smaller, faster, and equipped with cranes. I think it’s highly likely they plan to offload the containers onto a second ship—a ship already bound for America and not under suspicion.”
“Can they do that?” Armstrong wanted to know.
“Easily,” Ezra told her. “That’s what feeder vessels are designed for. They side-load containers from larger ships and then ferry them into port. They don’t normally cross the Atlantic, but it’s not unheard of.”
“Clever,” Wizard said. He brought out a bottle of pills and tossed a pair back. “Even if we figured the connection to the Maersk Minerva, we’d be chasing the wrong boat. Keiser’s smart. He left nothing to chance.”
“I’ve got more bad news.” Gwen swiveled in her chair to face them. “I’ve been running background checks on the crew of the Minerva. There are nine crew members listed. I’ve managed to pull up profiles on six. So far, every single one of them has ties to Baader-Meinhof.”
“So it’s possible every member of the crew is in on the plot,” Wizard said.
“Looks that way,” Gwen said.
Armstrong said, “Call Noble and let him know what he’s up against.”
Gwen and Ezra exchanged a look. Gwen shook her head. “I’m not sure what—”
“Spare me, Ms. Witwicky.” Armstrong and held up a hand. “I was born at night, not last night. I know Noble is on his way to intercept the ship. I want to know as soon as he has it in sight. At least we’ll have a fix on its location. And he might as well know what he’s walking into.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Gwen turned back to her computer and dialed Noble’s burner.
He picked up after a half dozen rings. Gwen adjusted her headset and heard the long whine of a helicopter gearing up for takeoff.
“Make it fast!” Noble yelled into the phone. “We’re about to lift off.”
“Jake,” said Gwen, raising her voice. “We suspect the Maersk Minerva is going to m
ake contact with another ship, a feeder ship, and off-load the cargo. A feeder ship—”
“I know what a feeder ship is,” Noble interrupted her. “I live on a boat.”
“Once they off-load the cargo, we won’t have any chance of finding that money,” Gwen said. “There are at least nine people on board the Maersk Minerva. Every single one of them should be considered suspect.”
His voice was tight with tension. “Understood.”
“And Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“Armstrong wants a location as soon as you have the ship in sight.”
“If we find it, we’ll alert port authority.” Noble had to shout over the thunderous chuck-chuck-chuck of the helicopter blades. “They can relay the position. I’ll try to hold the boat until the Navy can get a get a QRF aboard.”
“Hey, Jake?”
“What?”
“Good luck,” Gwen said.
“Say a prayer,” Noble said before hanging up.
Gwen scowled and pulled the headset down around her neck. His last statement had caught her off guard. Gwen did not take Noble for the religious type. She turned to the others. They could see by the look in her eyes that something was wrong.
Armstrong said, “What’s up?”
“I think he’s scared or nervous.”
“Probably a bit of both,” Ezra remarked.
“No,” Gwen shook her head. “Something’s wrong.”
“What makes you say that?” Wizard said.
“He asked me to say a prayer.”
Armstrong’s eyebrows danced up her forehead.
Wizard said, “Kid’s got guts.”
“What are you talking about?” Armstrong asked.
“Less than two months ago, Samantha Gunn was killed on a boat,” Wizard said. “Noble watched her die. Now, he’s in the same situation with a different girl. I’m sure that fact isn’t lost on him.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
The OH-58A Kiowa Scout helicopter flew low over a bright blue ocean reflecting hot afternoon sunlight. The Kiowa was powered by an Allison T63-A-700 turboshaft and cruised along at 100 knots with the cabin doors open. Noble felt the heavy chuk-chuk-chuk of the rotor blades deep in his chest. The single-engine observation craft had been manufactured by Bell for the United States military in the late sixties and has seen action in every war since Vietnam. In the early nineties, the military started phasing out the aging Kiowas for the newer, smarter AH-64 Apache attack helicopters and the battered OH-58s found their way into the hands of countries like Croatia. Judging by the look of this one, it had been running operations against the Vietcong long before Noble was even born.
Wind whipped his hair into a cloud around his head. A bulky pair of headphones helped keep the shaggy locks out his vision. He was strapped into one of the back seats, scanning the ocean for any sign of the Maersk Minerva. Eliška was strapped in next to him, staring out the port side. They were headed south, toward the boot heel of Italy. Noble could just make out the Italian coastline in the distance. The sun was a fiery bronze disk cutting into the horizon.
Vuković would swoop down for a low pass anytime they spotted a cargo ship. They had been in the air for over an hour and buzzed dozens of cargo vessels, without spotting their prey. Noble was just starting to think they had passed it when Vuković came over the headset and said, “I’m at almost half a tank. We must turn back soon.”
He twisted around in the pilot’s seat for a look over his shoulder at Noble. His face was an apologetic frown.
Jake nodded but held up his hand, fingers splayed. He shouted into the headset. “Five more minutes?”
“Da,” Vuković said. “I give you ten.”
The OH-58A Kiowa sped south toward the Mediterranean as the sun slowly melted with the horizon, leeching the light from the sky and turning the waters black. Once the last of the light was gone, any hope of finding the Minerva would be gone with it. Noble’s jaw muscles bunched and released as he scanned the vast blue expanse. He was painfully aware of each passing second slipping away. A hard fist gripped his guts and was starting to squeeze, tighter and tighter. He needed to find that boat.
Find the boat! Noble told himself.
The SJP sniper, riding in the copilot’s seat with his rifle between his legs, sat up and narrowed his eyes. He pointed and spoke into his headset. “Cargo ship. Starboard side. Two o’clock. Might be one we look for, da?”
Noble had to squint. All he could make out was a small black spot amid the dark waters. It could be a boat. It might be an island. Or just a reef. Noble couldn’t tell from this distance.
Vuković angled the stick and the Kiowa banked in that direction. The long shape of a massive cargo freighter gradually took shape. The deck was easily four football fields long and covered in shipping containers stacked six high. The pilothouse jutted above the bed of containers like a high-rise apartment building rearing above a squalid shantytown. Noble decided the SJP sniper had good eyes. Of course, he was also a decade younger. The sniper aimed his rifle at the stern. It was a tricky maneuver. He had to stick the barrel of his weapon out the window to get enough room to peer through the scope. “Da. Is Minerva.”
Vuković adjusted his lip mic and relayed the coordinates to harbor patrol. There was a brief conversation and then Vuković said, “Harbor patrol is sixty minutes away.”
Noble said, “Can you get us over the stern?”
Vuković looked at the freighter and then back at Noble. “You’ll have to jump.”
“Fine,” Noble told him. “Just get me close.”
Vuković worked the pedals and eased forward on the stick. The nose of the old Kiowa dipped. The craft shot forward. Vuković said, “That pilothouse has three-hundred sixty degree view. They will know you are coming.”
“Life’s imperfect,” Noble told Vuković as he checked the action on his pistol. His hands were shaking hard. His stomach was a mass of butterflies with razorblade wings. It would be him and Eliška against nine guys, all of them armed and ready for a fight. Long odds, Noble told himself.
Vuković said, “I have less than half a tank of fuel. Once I put you down, I will be forced to turn back. I will not be able to provide air cover. You are understanding?”
Noble licked his lips, tried to ignore the fear turning his guts into a hot runny mass, and nodded. “Understood.”
The sun was just a half disk shimmering on the horizon as the Kiowa closed with the shipping freighter. The massive cargo vessel loomed up out of the ocean like a floating mountain with sheer granite walls, churning up white foam in its wake. They were still several hundred meters out when a deckhand stepped onto the rear deck from the narrow alleyway formed by the cargo containers. He spotted the incoming Kiowa and sprinted to the gunwale. He was a heavyset man in a denim shirt and a faded red jacket, clutching an AK47 with a collapsible stock.
Eliška shouted into her microphone. “Shooter! Shooter!”
Chapter Sixty-Eight
The deckhand raised the AK47, sighted on the nose of the chopper, and pulled the trigger. A tongue of fire leapt from the muzzle. The little automatic burped out a stream of bullets. Noble took a deep breath. There was nowhere he could go and nothing he could do. He was strapped into the seat with the side door open. Lead blistered the nose of the chopper in a series of sharp, ear-splitting bangs. A round screamed past Noble’s shoulder. The sound was muffled by the steady, hard beat of the rotor blades, but Noble felt the sonic boomlet as the bullet zipped past.
Vuković shouted something in Croatian. Noble didn’t think it was anything he’d use in polite dinner conversation.
The SJP sniper pulled his knee up to his chest, balanced his rifle on top, and eased off a shot. The weapon kicked. Noble watched the deckhand bend over double and clutch his belly. The sniper sent another round downrange and the deckhand fell.
Noble reached forward and patted the kid on the shoulder. “Good shot!” he yelled. To Vuković he said, “Get us on the deck!”
Grief, so terrible it was a physical pain, assailed him. Noble felt that dark chasm at the center of himself growing, expanding, until it threatened to consume him whole. His throat choked shut. An invisible weight settled on his chest until he was struggling for air. He watched Sam die. Watched her fall. Heard the shots. It happened over and over. And every time, the darkness claimed a little more of Noble’s soul until he was certain he was going mad …
He felt a hand on his arm, shaking him. Noble clawed his way back to the present, heard the heavy whomp-whomp-whomp of the helicopter blades, saw the deck of the Maersk Minerva growing large beneath him, and smelled the ocean air. He turned and saw Eliška gripping his sleeve.
She said, “Are you okay?”
Noble managed a nod.
She studied him for a long moment like she wasn’t sure he was ready for this. The first hint of fear and doubt was creeping into her eyes.
Noble swallowed hard. Get your mind back on the mission, he told himself. But he could still see Sam. He could hear the shots that claimed her life and see her falling overboard. He knew the memory would cripple him if he let it. You’ve got a job to do, soldier! Noble gave himself another shake. Sam was dead, and he had a job to do. He said, “Let’s get this over with.”
Noble Sanction Page 23
