Rolling Thunder

by Matt Lincoln

  There were no exterior decks on the Ghost, so Holm and I took the lookout detail sitting on the roof of the ship, while the rest waited for our signal inside with the hatch open. We were already in wetsuits, the utility belts outfitted with all the gear we could fit: standard sidearms in waterproof pouches, AAIs and extra ammo, KA-Bar knives, flash grenades and flares for signaling. I also had my seven-inch S37-K blade, one of the weapons I’d kept from my SEAL days.

  So far, the view through the night-vision binoculars showed nothing but empty seas.

  “So, you and Tessa,” Holm said out of nowhere. “Do I detect a thing developing between you, or what?”

  “There’s something I didn’t get a chance to tell you last night about her,” I said as I blithely ignored the question. “You’re not gonna believe this, but she’s Hawk’s daughter.”

  “You’re kidding! Holy small world, Batman.” I couldn’t exactly make out his face in the dark, but I felt him half-glowering at me. “So the reason you didn’t mention this to me once all day while we were at the office is…?”

  “It’s complicated. Guess I just wanted to save the happy reunion and reminiscing old war stories stuff until after the mission,” I told him. “Hey, but that’s not all. Her boss at the magazine, who’s also her godfather, is Admiral Farr.”

  “Damn. You’ve seriously been holding out on me,” Holm said, but his tone was light. “Don’t you think that’s a hell of a lot of coincidence?”

  “Actually, no. She’s the reason you and me got assigned to this case.” I paused to scan the horizon with the binoculars again. Still nothing. “Admiral Farr strenuously requested us.”

  “Huh. Clearance,” he muttered. “That clears up a lot.” Holm shifted, lifting his binoculars up to search. “You’re still avoiding the question, you know. Is there a Tessa thing?”

  Even though I’d just looked, I focused on the night-vision peepers again while I considered whether to respond. This time, I saw something. Saved by the drug dealers.

  “We’ve got movement,” I said, nudging Holm. “One o’clock.”

  It took a few minutes for the vessel to come into enough focus to identify, an older style cargo ship that looked familiar even at this distance. Cobra Jon used the big vessel frequently when he wanted everyone out on the waters, including the Coast Guards, that they couldn’t do a damned thing to stop him.

  “So where’s the black runner?” Holm asked as he trained his binoculars in the right direction.

  I kept watching, straining to make out as much as possible. Finally, I spotted movement that didn’t sync up with the cargo ship, like a dark shadow skimming the darker surface of the water beneath. The indistinct shape was out in front of the much larger vessel.

  “It’s just ahead of the big one, and they’re headed right this way,” I told my partner. “Look at the shadows.”

  Holm paused while he searched. After a beat, he said, “Yeah, I see it.”

  A grin formed on my face. “Showtime.”

  Chapter 30

  We had to wait until both ships stopped in the water, and that gave us a few minutes to adjust our strategy. The plan had been for one team to disable the black runner while the rest engaged the enemy, to make sure no one escaped. We’d brought explosive charges to accomplish that. Unfortunately, we hadn’t counted on two ships, and the explosives wouldn’t be enough to cripple the cargo vessel too.

  So, we’d improvise. One way or another, I planned on having both of those ships dead in the water.

  The black runner stopped not far from the east side of the broken circle of reef walls, and beyond it, the cargo ship’s engines chugged down and the vessel drifted to within several yards of the site where Sweeting’s boat had gone down. We dove off into the water in pairs, Holm and I first, then Griezmann and Birn, and finally Parker and Bell. The CGIS agents would head for the black runner to plant the explosives while the rest of us hit the big ship, boarding with the grappling hooks that had been stowed on the Ghost.

  Our night vision goggles would only operate underwater to a depth of ten meters, but it was sufficient to stay under the surface with scuba gear and still track progress. I rounded the edge of the reef with Holm at my six and saw light coming from the black runner, a spotlight fixed to the belly of the ship that created a murky green pool in the water to a depth of about fifty feet. The dull glow didn’t reach the bottom.

  As I cut my course to swim around the illuminated area, two dark figures in scuba suits propelled into the glow and headed down, both of them equipped with flashlights. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be able to bring up fifty kilos of heroin between them in a single dive… but we still had to be as quick as possible.

  We made good time, and it wasn’t long before Holm and I surfaced at the rear of the cargo shift. An aft entrance was the least likely to be discovered immediately, and we wanted to prevent anyone from sounding the alarm until it was too late. I tossed the grapnel up to hook the back railing, tugged the line to make sure it was secure, and waited several seconds.

  No shouts or gunfire responded so I started the climb.

  Once we were both on the back deck and found the area clear, I motioned Holm to the right, and we quickly stripped our tanks and flippers. We were taking the starboard side, heading for the engine room, while Birn and Griezmann would head up the port and quietly take out whatever resistance they encountered to help increase our odds.

  We had fifteen minutes until Parker and Bell blew the charges on the black runner, and then all hell would break loose.

  The starboard side gangway was clear all the way down when we started moving. I palmed my KA-Bar and kept my head on a swivel, alert for any motion or sound. We’d have to pass several doors coming out of common areas before we reached one that would lead to engine room access, and Cobra Jon’s people might come through one them at any moment.

  We’d made it about a third of the way when I spotted a door handle engaging as I walked past it. I motioned to Holm, and we took position flattened against the bulkhead on the hinged side of the door.

  Seconds later, it swung open and just missed mashing my face. Footsteps sounded on the other side, and they paused as a hand gripped the edge of the door and pushed it shut. Two armed men in fatigues and flak vests, their backs to us, already headed toward the stern.

  We moved at the same time to rush up behind them, used the same move to take them down. Reach around, clamp one hand on the mouth and jerk back, drive a blade into the neck through the carotid artery with the other.

  They didn’t make a sound as they died. Once they’d bled out, we shoved the bodies under the railing to let the ocean claim them and moved on.

  As we neared the main entrance near the bow, the suggestion of voices drifted back, interspersed with occasional footsteps and shuffling movements. Someone laughed, and a few louder, indistinct words responded. I figured Cobra Jon would have people keeping a lookout on the forward deck and determined there were at least four up there. At least we wouldn’t have to engage them yet.

  I reached the main entrance, gripped the door handle, and pushed down slowly. The click of the latch disengaging wasn’t that loud, but I still paused briefly to ensure there wouldn’t be a response. The sounds of conversation continued from the forward deck, so I pulled the door open.

  Behind it was another camo-clad man, arm outstretched as if he’d been moving to open the door from the inside. He stared at me, brow furrowing as he tried to work out whether I belonged here.

  I acted before he could decide and headed through the doorway confidently, forcing him to step aside. His features morphed slowly from vague, puzzled curiosity to narrow-eyed suspicion as he looked from me to Holm, but by then I was past him and in a position to grab.

  His gaze fell on Holm’s bloodied knife. Just as his mouth opened, I clapped a hand over it and yanked back, pressing him against my chest as I dealt the killing blow to his neck.

  There was no time to hide the blood that gushed from his w
ound and splattered all over the floor, and it was too risky to bring his body out to the gangway and send it over the side. The lookouts were too close, and they’d hear something. We couldn’t leave the corpse here, though. If it was just the bloodstain, they probably wouldn’t raise an alarm right away.

  I gestured to the metal stairs just to the left of the door we came through, leading down, and we carried the body down and into the corridor heading sternward. It didn’t take long to find a utility closet and stow the dead guy inside.

  As we followed the signs, we made our way below to the engine room. Once we’d secured the door behind us, I checked my watch. Five minutes until boom-time, and we had to make sure this room was clear before then.

  I went left, and Holm went right. We moved around the perimeter, checking down passageways between massive crankshaft fittings, and came together at the back of the compartment. I lifted my chin in silent question, and Holm gave a nod of confirmation.

  “Clear,” he said in a low voice.

  “Clear,” I responded in kind as I scanned the area until I spotted a door marked Maintenance on the rear bulkhead. I headed for it, indicating for Holm to follow as I opened the door onto a tool closet. Just what I hoped to find.

  Grinning, I reached in and grabbed two heavy-duty pipe wrenches, and handed one to Holm as I did another time check.

  “Two minutes,” I told him. “You ready for this?”

  “Affirmative,” he quipped.

  We moved off to opposite sides of the compartment again, and I sheathed the KA-Bar and brought out my sidearm, still gripping the pipe wrench with one hand. Unfortunately, I couldn’t check in with Birn and Griezmann yet since we’d agreed to radio silence until the fireworks started, but I hoped they were in position.

  The clocked ticked down. When we hit zero hour, I shouted, “Go!”

  Though we couldn’t hear the explosion of the black runner from in here, there was going to be plenty of noise.

  I went with the wrench first, smashing through pipes and hoses, shattering gauges, obliterating anything that was vulnerable to a strike from a heavy, dull object. More clanking, crunching, and hissing sounded from the other side of the compartment as Holm did the same. When I ran out of easy things to destroy, I jammed the pipe wrench between a couple of piston gears and started firing on hard targets, punching bullets through essential equipment. Holm’s weapon began discharging seconds after mine.

  The gunfire would definitely draw attention, and now we’d have to be ready for company… but this ship wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Move out!” I called, running for the hatch into the engine room as I ejected the spent magazine from my gun and rammed the new one home.

  We reached the exit at the same time. Holm threw the door open, and I rushed through into the passageway and made for the ladder to the next deck above. My partner was right behind me.

  The muffled sounds of chaos above decks drifted down, and I heard multiple footsteps pounding the stairs, headed our way. We probably wouldn’t make more than one deck before they engaged which would put us two levels below the surface.

  So we just had to fight our way up top.

  When we hit the next deck, we split off to either side of the ladder. It wasn’t long before they came down fast and hard. I took the lead man down with two shots to the chest, and Holm caught the guy behind him with a side shot, sending him stumbling forward to collapse over his fallen companion.

  That was when the rest of them started to return fire.

  We dashed off in opposite directions along the passageway and took cover, flattening behind the narrow ribs that protruded from the bulkheads at regular intervals. Bullets blasted and careened off steel beams and iron deck grating, and the hot smell of cordite filled the air.

  I shot the thugs down one by one as they advanced until finally the last two in line decided to do an about-face and retreat. With their backs to me, it was easy to drop them and leave them alive.

  I had questions, and they’d better have answers.

  A final shot sounded from Holm’s direction as I approached the pair of groaning men collapsed on the deck, ten feet from the stairs.

  “You okay, partner?” I called out.

  “Course I am,” he responded as he made his way toward me around the bodies he’d dropped. “Looks like you caught a couple of fish.”

  I shrugged, and my gaze flicked down to the guys at my feet. One of them, the one I’d shot in the leg, was trying to reach for a weapon lying on the deck.

  Before he could snag it, I stomped on his wrist and aimed my sidearm at his head. “Game’s over, snake,” I told him. “Where’s Cobra Jon?”

  His buddy, who’d taken a nasty shoulder shot, kicked out at him and glowered. “Keep your mouth shut,” he gritted through his teeth.

  “Huh,” Holm said as he came up beside me. “I don’t think that one is going to cooperate.”

  “I think you’re right,” I said, using the same genial tone as my partner. “What should we do about that?”

  “Shoot him?”

  “Okay,” I said and put a bullet through his forehead.

  The remaining man let out a horrified gasp and tried to yank the arm that was pinned under my foot free.

  I stepped down harder. “Where’s Cobra Jon?” I repeated in flat tones.

  “Forward deck,” he gasped. “Please…”

  I looked at Holm. “You believe him?”

  “Sure,” he replied. “He looks like he’s allergic to bullets.”

  “Okay, then.” I reached down and hauled the trembling man to his feet, and then spun him around and pushed him face-first against the bulkhead.

  “You’re under arrest,” I told him as I grabbed a pair of zip-cuffs from my utility belt and secured his arms behind his back. “That is unless you move from this spot before our backup gets here to take you into custody. You do that, and we’re going to escalate things from arrest to death. Got it?”

  The man nodded frantically. “I got it,” he stammered.

  “Good.” I turned him to face forward and shoved him down into a seated position, and then peered up the ladder. Didn’t hear or see anyone else coming down. I still had no idea how many people were on this ship, but we had to have made a dent in Cobra Jon’s ranks by now.

  We headed topside. There was no movement all the way up to the door we’d come through from the starboard gangway, but even before I opened it, I could hear activity outside. I stood for a moment with a hand on the latch and looked back at Holm.

  “I’ll take the deck,” I said. “Need you to head to the rendezvous point and make sure Birn and Griezmann made it. They might need backup.”

  A frown creased his brow. “If Cobra Jon is really there, and he’s got more backup…”

  “Yeah, I know. I won’t engage if there’s too many to handle.”

  “Why am I not buying that?”

  I smirked and gripped his shoulder. “Because you’re a smart man with a long memory. I really mean it this time, though. I want the son of a bitch bad, but I’m not dying for him.”

  “Still not buying it, but whatever,” he said with a sigh. “If you die, I’m taking your desk. You have a better view.”

  “It’s the same damn view you have.”

  “I don’t mean the windows. I mean Gisela Carson’s desk,” he said. “She’s hot.”

  I rolled my eyes and grinned. “You’re not getting my desk, because I’m not dying. Neither are you,” I said. “Now get moving.”

  “Fine. I’m dust.” He still hesitated, just for a second, and then turned and ran off toward the port side. When he was out of sight, I opened the door.

  The slight sounds I’d heard through the bulkhead clarified into an angry voice barking orders, and the shuffle-click of weapons locking and loading. I checked my own weapon, decided that half-capacity wasn’t enough, and quickly replaced it with a full magazine.

  I crept along the bulkhead to the corner, drew in a deep breath,
and swung around with my weapon at the ready.

  There was no time to assess. I fired on anything that moved as I ran on a diagonal course toward the nearest cover, belatedly watching three men in camouflage drop to the deck. Return fire whizzed past me, and I tumbled behind a utility box and took a moment to catch a quick breath.

  When I popped up, there was one man advancing on my position. I squeezed the trigger twice and put him down, then ducked again.

  No answering shots were fired, and I knew that none of the guys I’d hit had been Cobra Jon. Cursing under my breath, I eased a glance around the corner of the box and spotted movement on the port side of the deck.

  I jumped up in time to see Cobra Jon perched on the top rail in full scuba gear. He spotted me, and his features contorted in rage as he yanked his face mask down and tumbled backward over the side.

  “Goddamn it!” I shouted, pounding across the deck after him. I smashed into the rail, leaned over fast, and fired uselessly into the water below, where he’d already vanished.

  He had to be headed for the dive site. We’d stopped them from getting away, but the bastard would want to set off his smuggler’s insurance and destroy what remained of the wreck. Then his lawyers would find a way to get him off whatever charges we threw at him. Again.

  No way was I going to let that happened.

  I cursed inwardly as I realized that in order to follow him, I’d have to get to the aft deck and retrieve the rest of my gear. It would be almost impossible to catch up with a head start like that since he’d be moving a hell of a lot faster through water than I could on the ship.

  That was when I spotted the discarded tanks and flippers spilling from a half-open storage hatch a few yards down the port gangway, and a smile eased across my face. Thank you, Birn and Griezmann. They must’ve carried their gear up the gangway en route to their entry point, rather than leaving it behind.

  With a mental reminder to thank them for their foresight, intended or not, I strapped a tank in place, secured a pair of flippers on, and followed Cobra Jon into the drink.