Noble Sanction

by William Miller

  And then what? The Baader-Meinhof soldiers crewing the boat couldn’t fend off a coordinated attack from a trained fighting force. They were never meant to. The Minerva was supposed to sail without anyone ever knowing about the counterfeit cash. The Cermákova woman had blown the lid on the whole operation.

  Lucas had to get the cash aboard the OS-CinCom before harbor patrol—or worse, the US Navy—arrived. He turned to Erik. “Signal them.”

  “How?”

  “You’re a sailor, right?”

  Erik nodded.

  “You know Morse code, right?”

  “Yes, but …”

  Lucas snatched a flashlight from a shelf full of supplies and hurled it. The heavy Maglite bounced off Erik’s chest and clattered on the floor. Lucas said, “Get out on the bow and signal to them.”

  Erik scooped up the flashlight with a mutinous look on his face. He switched on the light, went to the door and hesitated.

  “Go on,” Lucas ordered.

  Erik licked his lips and stepped through the portal like a man headed to the gallows.

  “What are we going to do?” Stanz wanted to know. “We can’t just sit here, Lucas. We have to do something.”

  When Lucas didn’t answer, Stanz said, “We should go to the engine room and try to get the ship started.”

  “Quiet,” Lucas told him. “I’m trying to think.”

  Noble stood in the quiet engine room, grease up to his elbows, listening to the big motors tick as they cooled. He had grown up on boats and knew his way around an engine. The Maersk Minerva wasn’t going anywhere until a mechanic resealed the oil-pressure valves and replaced the camshaft.

  Noble went to the foot of the stairs and watched the bulkhead door. He waited, gripping the AK47, but no one came. Minutes ticked slowly past. His training told him to stay put, hold the engine room. There were only two doors and Noble could watch them both from the bottom of the steps. He had disabled the ship. All he had to do now was wait for reinforcements. But as he stood there, Noble realized it wasn’t about disabling the ship and waiting for reinforcements. It wasn’t even about stopping the counterfeits from reaching the United States. Not anymore. It was about Lucas. It was about a member of his Special Operations Group who had gone rogue. And it was about Eliška. If she killed Lucas, the answers died with him.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Lucas checked his watch. They should already be loading the money onto the other ship. Precious seconds were slipping away. Stanz kept bugging him about taking the fight to the enemy. Every few minutes, he would ask permission to go belowdecks. The others were in no hurry to shoot it out with a former Green Beret. They had more sense than Stanz. Lucas ignored the German and scanned the dark waters around the boat. He was looking for any sign of the harbor patrol. The only lights were the OS-CinCom still floating off the starboard bow. Lucas wanted to scream at them come get the money before it was too late. They had to see the Maersk Minerva sitting in the water. Why didn’t they come? And what was taking Erik so long?

  As if in answer to his question, a single loud crack carried across the deck. There was no mistaking the sound of a gunshot.

  Closing time, Lucas told himself. Last call.

  Noble had disabled the ship and ruined all of Keiser’s carefully laid plans. The operation was over. It was time for Lucas to cut his losses. He decided to make his escape while he still had a chance. He was the only one aboard with evidence linking Keiser to the counterfeiting operation. He needed to escape before he ended up in CIA custody. Try as he might, they would make him talk. Lucas had been on the other end of that equation and there was no holding out against those methods. Sooner or later, everybody talked.

  He said, “Ludwick, you’ve got command. Hold the bridge.”

  “Why is he in charge?” Stanz wanted to know.

  “Because I said so,” Lucas shot back.

  “Where are you going?” Ludwick asked.

  “I’m going to signal the feeder ship.” Lucas lied.

  He settled the butt of his AR15 rifle into the socket of his shoulder as he moved to the open door. Stanz and Grinkov had their backs to him. They never saw it coming. Lucas shot Ludwick point-blank. His face disappeared in a shower of gore. His head snapped forward. He went over like a felled tree.

  Before Stanz or Grinkov could react, Lucas pivoted and hosed them with a full-auto blast from his AR15. The rifle bucked against his shoulder, pumping rounds into the Baader-Meinhof soldiers. They jerked and danced. Lucas held the trigger until the weapon locked back on an empty chamber. He dropped spent magazine and pulled another from his back pocket before the bodies even hit the floor.

  No sense leaving witnesses. The Baader-Meinhof thugs couldn’t ID the old man, but they could put the finger on Lucas, and he didn’t plan on spending the rest of his life in prison. He palmed the bolt release and felt the carriage slap into battery.

  The hot copper smell of fresh blood filled the air as Lucas took out the cellphone he had used to drop the torpedo factory into the ocean. He dialed another number and pressed send. There was a heavy whomp and a tremor ran through the deck of the ship like the cold shiver of some sleeping giant. All the lights in the pilothouse winked out. Operations binders tumbled from the shelves.

  The charge, placed directly under the engine room, had breached the hull. The Minerva started taking on water. Noble and Cermákova were both dead. The explosion would have seen to that. Anyone inside the engine room was shark food. A few Baader-Mienhof soldiers were undoubtedly still alive, but there was nothing Lucas could do about that. He would have to trust the sinking ship to do the rest of his work.

  It was time to go.

  He took the stairs to the deck and worked his way through the maze of boxes to a wench-operated emergency dinghy secured to the port gunwale. The Minerva was already listing heavily to starboard. Lucas let his AR15 dangle at the end of its sling and went to work on the safety straps. One of the latches refused to budge. Saltwater had rusted the catch. Lucas pushed his weapon around in back of him so he could get better leverage on the stubborn clasp. That’s when he heard Cermákova say, “Going somewhere?”

  Lucas let go of the rusty catch and started to reach for his rifle.

  Eliška said, “Don’t bother.”

  The AR15 was riding against his butt. To get it in action, he would have to reach back, grab the weapon and bring it forward while turning around. No one was that fast—not even Lucas. Cermákova would gun him down long before he could turn and bring the weapon up to fire. He stopped with his hands halfway back, fingers spread. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

  “Keep your right hand where I can see it,” Eliška ordered. “Take off the sling with your left and drop it overboard.”

  “This rifle has been with me for nearly fifteen years. I carried it rifle in Iraq and Afghanistan,” Lucas told her without turning around. “It’s killed bad guys all over the globe.”

  “Its killing days are over. Take it off and drop it overboard.”

  “Alright,” Lucas said. He was biding his time. Looking for an opening. He said “Alright, whatever you say.”

  He reached up with his left, lifted the sling over his head, and held it out at arm’s length. His prized AR15 dangled above the black depths of the Adriatic. Lucas took one last look—the AR had been a steady friend through some of the worst of times—then he dropped it.

  The rifle hit the water with a plop and sank out of sight.

  “What now?” Lucas asked.

  “Walk backwards,” Eliška told him. “Slowly.”

  He put his hands up and shuffled backward. Cermákova was looking for payback. She wanted her pound of flesh. She wanted to make Lucas bleed before it was all over. She should have just shot him. Lucas walked backward until he felt the barrel of her pistol press against his neck. It was still warm from the shot that had killed Erik. Too bad, really. Lucas had liked Erik. The rest of the Baader-Meinhof crew could rot, but Erik was okay.

  Eli�
�ka warned him not to move, not to even breath, then reached forward to pat him down. Lucas felt her hand jam into his armpit and she worked down his left side toward his hips, down the outside of his leg and up into his crotch. She knifed her hand up between his legs. A sour ache flooded his belly and threatened to bring his lunch up. Lucas grunted but managed to stay upright. His face turned beet red. He let her search his left side completely, and then she started on his right.

  She was still using her left hand, crossing over in front of her body, tangling up her free hand with the hand holding the gun. That’s when Lucas made his move. He spun around with all the speed of a coiled viper. His elbow knocked the Glock askew and his fist crashed down on Eliška’s head. He meant to hit her square in the temple but missed and connected with her ear instead. It was enough to ring her bell.

  The Glock clapped and Lucas felt the bullet scream past his ear. A molten-hot shell casing kissed his cheek before jingling over the deck. Then he and Cermákova were tangled together, both struggling for control of the gun. It was a bitter fight, but never in doubt. Eliška was a hissing bobcat up against a boa constrictor. She was mean in a fight, but Lucas had fifty extra pounds of muscle. While she punched and kicked, he wrestled her to the deck and wrapped her up in a strangle hold. He trapped her wrist in his armpit and caught her left hand in a viselike grip, then jammed his forearm into her throat and levered his weight down on her until her eyes started to roll up.

  The ocean was boiling around the sinking ship and the deck was listing heavily. Welding plates popped and groaned as water filled the compromised hull. Lucas could hear the contents of the shipping containers shifting. The containers themselves shrieked and jerked as the ship slowly settled to starboard. A few more degrees, and they would start tumbling into the ocean. Cermákova held on to the gun as long as she could and then it slipped from limp fingers.

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Noble heard the hard rattle of an automatic overhead and drew up short. An eerie sort of silence had settled over the freighter. It wasn’t the kind of pleasant absence of noise that lulled him to sleep aboard his wooden schooner every night. That silence was easy and comfortable, broken by groaning timbers and creaking hawser lines. This was a heavy silence, and it was punctuated by the sinister pop of foot welds and the hollow slap of water against the metal hull.

  Noble had been moving along an empty corridor toward an open stairwell when the rapid ratta-tat-tat shattered the quiet. He put his back to the cold steel wall, listening and waiting. It sounded like it had come from the top deck. There was no answering chatter. After a moment, Noble moved on. He hadn’t gone far when a shuddering explosion rocked the ship.

  There was an earth-rending bang, followed by the unmistakable roar of water filling the hull. Lucas had scuttled the ship. The explosion sounded like it had come from the engine room. A few minutes earlier, and Noble would have been caught in the blast. The deck started a slow-motion tilt beneath his feet. The Minerva was sinking and Noble guessed he had maybe ten minutes before the whole thing surrendered to the watery depths.

  He hurried to the steps. Metal grates allowed him to see up through the risers. The landings were clear and Noble took the steps two at a time. He reached the pilothouse and eased up to the door with the stubby AK47. An open hatch and a short flight of stairs led to the bridge. Noble went slow, checking the corners as he crept to the opening for a peek.

  A deckhand lay flat on his back. His brains were blown all over the cracked window. The pulpy red mass was slowly working its way down the glass in long red streaks. The copper stench of blood and offal hit Noble as he stepped onto the bridge. Empty shell casings rattled and flattened under his feet. Two more dead men lay on the other side of the room. Someone—Noble was guessing Eliška—had caught the first man point-blank and then hosed the other two. It was neatly done. It looked like they never saw it coming.

  He noticed one of shell casings and bent to pick it up. It was a 5.56. The Germans were using old Kalashnikovs chambered in 7.62mm. Eliška would be armed with whatever she could scrounge. And unless she had managed to find an AR, someone else had killed the three Germans on the bridge.

  Noble nodded slowly as he pieced together the clues. The solution was simple really: Lucas had turned on his own crew. The boat was dead in the water and the plot to destroy the dollar had unraveled. Authorities were scouring the ocean for the Maersk Minerva. Lucas had decided to tie off loose ends. That included the crew. He had gunned down the three Germans in the pilothouse before scuttling ship.

  Noble should have seen it coming, really. He studied a diagram attached to the wall. Emergency exit routes were marked in red and pointed to a lifeboat on the port side. Lucas was probably in the water already, rowing for shore. If he made it to Italy, he would disappear.

  Noble bit back an angry curse and crossed to the control panel. Seconds were slipping by. His pulse was a galloping pony, urging him to get off the ship before it listed far enough that cargo containers started falling. Once that happened, the sudden shift in weight would cause the Minerva to break apart like a child’s toy. He took a moment to study the dials and then powered up the GPS system. The light blinked red several times, then turned steady green. Noble opened a radio channel and placed a call to Croatian harbor patrol, requesting immediate assistance. When that was done, he switched frequencies and radioed the Italians as well. Within minutes, half the countries on the Adriatic had a fix on the Minerva. In fifteen minutes, give or take, there was going to be a regular flotilla out there.

  Noble dropped the mic, grabbed a fresh Kalashnikov off one of the dead Germans, along with two spare magazines, and went in search of the lifeboat. He made his way back down the stairs to a closed exterior hatch. There was sonorous boom, followed by a rattling clang from somewhere deeper in the ship. Water was filling the stern, stressing the welds, and ripping the boat apart. Time to get out. Noble spun the hatch wheel and shoved. A breath of ocean air cooled the sweat on his face into a sticky shell. He turned to his left and followed the gunwale in search of the lifeboat. He found it still shipped the deck, the safety straps only partway removed. A moment later, he saw why.

  Eliška was on her knees and Lucas had a gun pressed to her head. His face was a mask of uncontrolled rage. The muscles in his forearm flexed as he tightened his finger on the trigger.

  “Lucas!” Noble shouted and raised the Kalashnikov. He should have fired. He meant to. He had a clear line of sight. But he couldn’t. His finger started to ease the trigger back and faltered. His head told him to finish it, but his heart screamed for him to stop. Noble said, “Don’t do it, Luke.”

  Lucas hauled a dazed and bloodied Eliška up by her shirt, looped an arm around her shoulders and screwed the barrel of the Glock into her ear.

  Her face pinched. She said, “Finish it, Jakob. Blow him away!”

  “He’s not going to do that,” Lucas said, shielding himself with Eliška’s body. “Are you, Jake?”

  Noble could only see one side of Luke’s face now. He squared the front site on his friend’s forehead and let his finger rest lightly on the trigger. He could take the shot, but it meant killing Eliška as well. He was aiming at a target the size of a baseball and the deck kept shifting under his feet.

  “Do it, Jakob,” Eliška insisted. “Kill him!”

  Noble hesitated.

  One side of Lucas’s face twitched in an unsteady grin. He said, “Put the gun down, Jake, or I’ll splatter her all over the deck.”

  “And then what?” Noble said. “You kill her, and I’ll kill you. Where does that get you?”

  Lucas laughed. “I know you better than that, Jake. You aren’t going to let me kill her. Put the gun down.”

  “It’s over, Luke,” Noble heard himself saying. “Give up.”

  But in his heart, he knew Lucas was right. He wasn’t going to sacrifice Eliška. He couldn’t. He had watched too many people die. Torres and Alejandra and Sam. All dead. His finger left off the trigger,
but he kept the front site on the visible half-moon of Lucas’s forehead.

  Lucas sneered. “What? Do you want me to count to ten, like in the movies? Put it down, or I kill her.”

  “Okay,” Noble said. “You win. I’m dropping the weapon.”

  He let go with his right hand and started to lower the AK to the deck with his left hand.

  “Think I’m stupid?” Lucas said. “Throw it over.”

  “Don’t do it,” Eliška said.

  “Shut up!” Lucas screamed in her ear.

  Noble’s mouth pressed into a strict line. He had no choice. He tossed the rifle. It landed in the dark waters with a kerplunk. His stomach felt like it was somewhere down around his knees. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He waited for Lucas to turn the Glock on him.

  “Now be a lamb and undo that last latch for me,” Lucas said and used the gun to motion to the safety strap.

  Noble went to the lifeboat and tried the latch. It was rusted shut. Hhe had to lever all his weight against it before it finally shrieked open. He said, “Who’s bankrolling you, Luke? You didn’t put this outfit together. Someone with a lot of capital is behind this scheme. Who is it? Is it Keiser?”

  Lucas said, “Now the wench.”

  Noble found the controls and set the motor in motion. “How did he talk you into this?” Noble asked. “What did he promise you?”

  There was an ominous groan as cargo containers inched to starboard under the shifting weight of all those tennis shoes and cellphones. The back end of the ship was taking water fast and rode low. The bow was now several inches higher. Noble found himself on the low ground, looking up at Lucas.

  “He promised me nothing,” Lucas said. “He opened my eyes.”

  The crane swung out over the gunwale with a whirring of gears and the cable started down, lowering the lifeboat.

  “He brainwashed you,” Noble said.