Odessa Reborn: A Terrorism Thriller (Gunner Fox Book 4)

by Bobby Akart

  The driver, still cursing the farmer and his burro, sped up to the entrance of Abduwali’s office, a simple masonry building with only a few holes in the courses of block for windows. It was more fortress than harbormaster office, as the sign above the door read.

  It was merely a façade to fool wayward boaters seeking fuel from the marina. The second floor of the building was Abduwali’s domain and completely out of place for the impoverished region.

  Atop the structure were several satellite dishes pointed at the skies, protected from view by eight-foot-tall parapet walls. Abduwali could access internet and communication satellites from different countries at all times, day or night. This was his base of operations, where he conducted his research on secure servers using proxies. He was able to tap into U.S. data, including up-to-the-minute Coast Guard activity and boat movements in the Gulf of Mexico. Another section of the large open space provided him room to plan and instruct his team on each vessel attack.

  For months, he’d been waiting for the right opportunity to make his move on his next target. He monitored travel itineraries of the ship. He studied the résumés of its crew to determine whether they would resist. He created large images of the deck configuration to teach his team about the layout, points of entry, and potential security vulnerabilities. His meticulous research was about to pay off in a big way.

  As he made the final preparations and studied the weather in the Gulf, members of his team began to funnel into the Los Zetas operations center. Initially, he’d been assigned twenty men, many of whom were part-time members of Mexico’s special forces. These men were underpaid and looked to supplement their income in a way that didn’t kill their fellow Mexicans. Piracy was the perfect solution. Plus, their cut was more than double what they earned from the government annually.

  There were some on Abduwali’s crew he wished he could eliminate. They were the drug cartel insiders, inserted among his team to keep an eye on the operation. The Los Zetas were known for their brutality, including torturing and decapitating informants. Ironically, they relied on their own group of snitches to keep tabs on Abduwali.

  He’d come to realize his life was never safe as long as he worked for these barbarians. He opened several accounts at Santander Bank in Monterey. For a fee, he was able to launder the drug money he was paid with and exchange it for a paycheck arrangement with a car dealer in the city. He was their highest paid salesman in history and made more than the owner.

  Abduwali knew the safest routes into the U.S. When the time was right, he’d evade his piracy team and make his way by boat to desolate Matagorda, Texas. He’d proceed directly to the closest Santander Bank branch in Houston. He’d retire in Minneapolis, just as he’d dreamed about for years while in Somalia.

  He’d been stalking the Victory Casino Cruise ship on his laptop since it had set sail from Galveston, Texas, the afternoon before. A tropical storm had developed in the Gulf and was tracking northward toward New Orleans. The large feeder bands of the storm were forcing the cruise ship on a more westerly track, drawing it closer to the Mexican coastline before it headed back across the Gulf toward the Yucatan Peninsula.

  He’d monitored social media and learned there’d been numerous cancellations due to the impending storm. In this case, that didn’t bother him as much. It wasn’t necessarily the passengers’ money that he was after. It was the contents of the casino’s vault.

  Most casino cruise ships ventured into international waters just far enough to open their tables to passengers. The Victory Casino Cruise was different. Taking advantage of the depressed economy in Mexico and the unusually inexpensive hotel accommodations in Cozumel, the ship’s ultimate destination, Victory created a new vacation opportunity. The quick, three-day cruise departed from Galveston on Friday evening and returned to the port three days later on Monday morning. It was especially popular among Houstonians looking for a quick getaway.

  Abduwali accessed the Coast Guard website and obtained the final cruise itinerary and sailing plan for the Victory. It would draw them within a hundred miles of the Mexican coastline where his facility was located.

  His fleet for this operation included two thirty-six-foot high-performance Outlaw models manufactured by Baja boats. The appropriately named Outlaws, seized by the Mexican government during a drug sting operation just south of Brownsville, Texas, had disappeared from their confiscated goods inventory a month later. The Los Zetas leadership had delivered them directly to their new pirate. Like the fugitive Abduwali, nobody bothered to look for the boats in the tiny town of Carvajal.

  Boarding the cruise ship had many potentially complicating factors, but Abduwali had game-planned them all. Execution was the key, so he picked his best men to join him. As directed, he also chose some of the cartel’s guys. It annoyed him that he was still not fully trusted by his employers, but maybe they were correct in their opinion of him.

  If his research on this operation held true, this might be their biggest payout to date. One that might enable him to flee the Los Zetas’ clutches and head to America.

  Chapter Four

  Aboard the Victory Casino Cruise Ship

  One Hundred Miles Northeast of Brownsville, Texas

  Gulf of Mexico

  The captain of the Victory was a citizen of the British Commonwealth, or South African, to be exact. Johnson Garland had been a highly qualified and respected cruise ship captain for MSC sailing out of Cape Town for years. Then, one fateful trip in which his itinerary led him to Port Louis in Mauritius, he became acquainted with the dangerous paradise of this Indian Ocean country. The white sandy beaches, sunny blue skies, and swaying palm trees were alluring to honeymooners and tourists alike. But they were not the only outsiders pouring into the country.

  Extensive air and sea connections to southeast Asia combined with free ports and a vibrant offshore banking industry made Mauritius a drug trafficker’s paradise. The drugs made their way into the sex trade, and the recently divorced Garland found his way into the drug-fueled sex dens of Port Louis. That was where he was introduced to China White.

  The powerful opioid, created by a group of Russian chemistry students in the early nineties, became one of the most abused forms of heroin in the world. At a time when Garland was at his lowest, China White gave him the high he needed to live on. It also saddled him with an opioid addiction.

  Like so many other addicts, Garland thought he could manage his body and mind’s need for the opioid. His job performance began to suffer, and when he was caught stealing OxyContin and Vicodin, pharmaceutical opioids, out of the ship’s infirmary, he was fired.

  Wallowing in self-pity, he returned to Port Louis and allowed his life to spiral out of control. He quickly burned through his retirement account on prostitutes and smack until he hit rock bottom. He managed to avoid jail and fortunately was taken into a Christian-sponsored rehabilitation center in Mauritius.

  When he exited the facility a year later, he’d found God, regained his health, and turned his focus to restarting his career as a captain. The last task was the toughest of them all. It took another year of nonstop résumé submittals and interviews. He was tainted by his prior termination of employment for cause. Then he tried Victory Cruise Lines, an upstart operation of casino-themed cruises operating off Florida and America’s gulf coast. They took a chance on Garland and hired him at the lowest level of employment, which allowed him time on the bridge.

  From the date he was hired, Garland had an exemplary record. He didn’t drink. He kept to himself. He was always available to fill in for any position on the ship where a temporary void was created. He’d redeemed himself in many ways.

  When Victory decided to expand their operation to the Port of Galveston, Captain Garland jumped at the opportunity when asked. At first, he would captain the ship for evening cruises only. He’d sail from Galveston at five in the afternoon, arrive at a set point several miles offshore while the passengers gambled, and then returned by midnight. It wasn’t much, but
he was in charge.

  During these short trips, he got to know his passengers. He greeted them when they boarded, and he thanked them when they left. His uncanny ability to recognize names and faces had fueled his rise to the top of the cruise ship business while he was in South Africa, and it benefitted him now. He knew, and used, the names of every member of the ship’s crew as well as the port workers.

  He was also on a first-name basis with many of his regular passengers on the evening casino cruises. The previous evening, as the sun set over the Texas Gulf Coast, he’d made the rounds through the casino, stopping to speak with his guests, as he referred to them, calling them by name and asking about their families.

  He was in his mid-forties but looked a decade older. Drugs and fast living will do that to a body. Otherwise, he was handsome, toned, and tanned. His looks certainly got him offers from the single women aboard his cruises, but he never violated the company’s policy against inappropriate conduct with passengers.

  That morning, he’d wandered through the dining hall as guests enjoyed their breakfast. He was waved over to a table by a woman he recognized from prior cruises. He frowned because he couldn’t remember her name. As he arrived, she reminded him. She was Donna Larkin Ruiz from Austin. Her brother was American congressman Michael Larkin.

  The two struck up a conversation, and she introduced Garland to her college-age daughter, Sofia, and her niece, the congressman’s daughter, Jenna. After several minutes of conversation about the ship and the coming storm, Garland invited the trio to join him on the bridge to watch the sunset that evening before they visited the casino. All three enthusiastically agreed.

  After they arrived on the bridge, he introduced them to the members of the crew who navigated the Victory through the Gulf. Then he allowed them to approach the large windows overlooking the bow and sides of the cruise ship. They spoke excitedly as the sun began to set over Mexico to their west.

  His chief officer interrupted the tour. “Captain?”

  “Yes, Mr. Charles,” Garland replied. Don Charles was a polite young man from Pensacola who’d been assigned to Garland’s crew from the beginning. The two men had a good working relationship, so much so that Garland insisted on grooming Charles for advancement.

  “We have reports that the tropical storm has strengthened and turned. It had been stalled by a dome of high pressure, allowing it to gain in size and intensity. More importantly, sir, the high has forced the storm on a westerly track.”

  “In our path?” asked Garland, suddenly concerned about being in open waters during a hurricane.

  “Sir, perhaps not if we could pick up speed. However, we’re smack in the middle of the westernmost traffic lane. We’re only five miles behind a tanker, matching his speed at thirteen knots. There are six other ships on the radar along this route.”

  “Seven, plus ours,” muttered Garland. “Everyone else had the same idea, it appears.”

  “Yes, sir. FYI, there are fifteen fishing and pleasure craft in the vicinity as well.”

  Garland looked out the port windows at the darkening clouds on the horizon. “Where and when do you expect to pass the tanker? We can’t crawl along at thirteen and remain on schedule.”

  Charles referred to the charts and studied the radar. He performed some calculations on his computer and provided the findings to his captain. “Bumping her up to sixteen knots will allow us a quick pass by midnight. It might also help outrun the storm.”

  “So ordered, Mr. Charles. Carry on.” Garland returned to his guests on the bridge and pointed out some interesting aspects of the Gulf.

  “This is fascinating, Captain Garland,” said Donna. She reached out and wrapped her arm through his, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by the two girls, who smiled at one another.

  “Here’s a little-known fact about the area where we’re sailing,” began Garland, who made no effort to avoid contact with the attractive woman. “As we navigate in the direction of the Yucatan Peninsula, we’ll travel across a triangular area of the Gulf known as the Western Gap or, as we sailors call it, the donut hole.”

  The congressman’s daughter laughed. “Is it anything like the Bermuda Triangle? If so, maybe we should take our chances with that nasty-looking storm over there.” She pointed toward the east. The setting sun cast a reddish-orange glow on the approaching clouds, giving the appearance that part of the storm was on fire.

  Garland laughed. “No, miss. Nothing like that. It’s more of a political donut hole. When the two countries negotiated the border between the U.S. and Mexico back in the seventies, an invisible line was drawn that was considered a provisional border. Those lines were drawn using a complex series of arcs and tangents drawn from the coastline. Where they intersected, a portion of the Gulf was omitted, resulting in what the politicians call the Western Gap.”

  Jenna laughed. “I bet my father would tell you that they probably argued for years about what to call it, which is why it’s still there.” She leaned in to Garland and whispered, “Please don’t repeat this, but he hates Washington. He said the oil business is cleaner than that cesspool.”

  Garland and the women laughed so hard it distracted the entire crew on the bridge. While they focused on the reason for the uproar, Charles failed to notice two of the fishing boats abruptly changing course. They were now running parallel to one another and coming directly for the Victory at a high rate of speed.

  Chapter Five

  Aboard the Victory Casino Cruise Ship

  Ninety Miles East of Carvajal, Tamaulipas, Mexico

  Gulf of Mexico

  When Abduwali and his men first entered Mexico’s territorial waters that day, the Gulf chop was moderate with a gentle three-foot swell and an easy distance between the waves’ crests. As the day progressed, the winds increased, occasionally ripping spindrift from the tops of the rolling waves.

  The Baja Outlaws rode well across the water. The oceangoing fast boats were made for far worse conditions. Abduwali had just given the order to his companion boat to make their way directly toward the target at high speed. An empty tanker had just passed between them, and he intended to use its hulking footprint on radar to gain an advantage as he moved to intercept the Victory.

  It was getting dark, and his timing would be just right. He expected most of the passengers to be eating at the last designated dinner service between 8:30 and 9:00 p.m., and the others would likely be in the casino, filled with free drinks and euphoric over the gambling.

  He’d also studied the habits of the captain. He, like so many others, was a social creature. He frequently posted images of himself to Instagram and Facebook. If he didn’t post them himself, he was tagged by the honored passengers whom he befriended. Through his research, he’d identified 9:00 p.m. as the ideal time to strike.

  The wind changed from a salty breeze to fresh gusts, an indicator that the tropical storm was fast approaching. The handheld radio in his pocket crackled to life. It was his most trustworthy assistant, who remained at the operations center during their attacks. His assistant monitored radar, news reports, and military communications throughout their time on the seas.

  Abduwali held the radio to his ear to receive the report. “She has changed her speed. Up to sixteen knots. She has also turned to a more southerly course. Here are the coordinates.” Abduwali punched the numbers into the GPS device embedded in the Outlaw’s control panel. He hailed the companion boat to confirm they’d heard the coordinates correctly, and made the necessary adjustments in their course. They’d be intercepting the Victory sooner than expected, around 8:40 p.m. No matter, he thought to himself. As long as it wasn’t later. Passengers in cabins were harder to locate and subdue because he didn’t have enough men to conduct cabin-by-cabin searches.

  They continued at a rapid pace across the now pitch-dark waters. He pulled his marine binoculars out of a side pocket of the boat. He looked directly ahead of his course and caught his first glimpse of the Victory. The lights flickered in the distance
, but her signature illuminated bridge was unmistakable.

  “There you are,” he whispered. Then he cued the microphone on his radio. “Make your sweeping maneuver now. We are ten minutes away. You know how to proceed. Avoid radio chatter.”

  Abduwali had been on fifteen piracy missions in the last twelve months and had been successful in thirteen of them. On the two failures, he’d learned from new countermeasure techniques and adjusted his tactics accordingly. The casino cruise ship they were targeting was somewhat different.

  There were two advantages to taking a passenger ship like this one. It was slower than most of the vessels they attacked. Boarding was far more difficult when the vessel was motoring along at greater than twenty-five knots and conducting evasive maneuvers. Also, the Victory was shorter. It was originally designed as an eco-tourist vessel, ferrying passengers through majestic mountains along the South American coastlines or through icy environs in Alaska.

  The men chosen for this attack respected his abilities, although a few looked at him as a hired hand just as they were. The true authority of the Los Zetas was located high atop a mountain north of Monterey. Nonetheless, their cut of the spoils was more than they earned on the streets as drug trade enforcers, so they vied with one another to please Abduwali. They were recommended and vouched for by Los Zetas captains throughout Mexico. Tonight, they’d be tested.

  He took a deep breath and cued the mic once again. “Two minutes!”

  Charles had the helm while Garland made the rounds through the dining room. He didn’t expect the captain to return to the bridge until around ten that evening to get his final briefing before turning in to his quarters for the night. Garland wanted to be present as the Victory arrived at Cozumel to dock for the day before it set sail again the next night.

  Charles glanced at the surface radar and was surprised to find two blips running parallel to one another roughly half a mile apart. Their speeds seemed to match, and their trajectory certainly did—straight toward the Victory. He performed some calculations. Maybe ten minutes out.