Marauder (The Oregon Files)

by Clive Cussler

  The op center was quiet for a minute as they waited for the possibility of a torpedo hitting the Oregon. But when nothing happened, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Sorry about the first shell missing,” Murph said to the room. “I’ll have to adjust the aim on that targeting system.”

  “Yeah, you stink at this,” Eric teased. “It took you two whole shots to sink an enemy sub.”

  “If you keep shooting that badly,” Max said, “we just might give you a Christmas bonus this year.”

  Juan didn’t want to dampen the mood. He knew it was only a temporary victory.

  “Hali, did you intercept any signals coming from the sub?”

  Hali shook his head. “No, but that doesn’t mean anything. They could have sent out an encrypted radio message.”

  “Then I don’t think we can celebrate just yet,” Juan said in a somber tone. “It’s very possible Tate now knows exactly where we are.”

  64

  The Portland’s helicopter circled the Deepwater twice, but Ballard, who was sitting next to the pilot, couldn’t see anyone at all.

  “They must be cowering inside,” she said to Tate over the radio.

  “I wish I could be there with you,” he said.

  “And I wish I could trade places with you. How long until you reach the Oregon?”

  “An hour. I have to take the long way around the island to get to the fjord. But there’s no way Juan could get past me even if he leaves right now. I’ve got him.”

  “How are you going to do it?”

  “Guns, torpedoes, missiles—the whole works. I want to see the Oregon reduced to a hulk before she goes under.” She heard him talking to someone else, and then he came back on the line. “Farouk would like to sink her from here with a couple of Exocets, but it’s the same problem as with the Deepwater. We can’t get a lock on them until we’re in the fjord.”

  “You said you’ve lost contact with the Wuzong?” Ballard asked.

  “They got cut off right after the call saying that they saw a ship that could either be us or them. I even heard screaming before they went off-line. I’m guessing Admiral Yu underestimated Juan, and he paid the price.”

  “Don’t make the same mistake.”

  “I won’t. I can poke our bow in just far enough to get a lock with our radar and sonar. Then the Oregon will be history.” Tate sounded absolutely giddy.

  “Record it for me. I want to watch later.”

  “Absolutely. We’ll put it on the big screen.”

  “I’ll bring the popcorn,” Ballard said. “We’re about to land. I’ll call when we have the hostages under control.”

  “Hurry back.” Tate signed off.

  Ballard pointed the pilot toward the pad on the bow of the Deepwater. “Take us down. As soon as we’re out, take off and cover us.”

  The pilot nodded and dove toward the stationary ship. He touched down, and Ballard, Li, and two other men in her assault team, all armed with Heckler & Koch G36 automatic rifles and wearing Kevlar vests, leaped out of the helicopter. They dropped to their knees as the rotor spooled up again.

  The bridge directly aft of them was empty. No movement anywhere as far as she could tell. They were going to have to search the ship room by room.

  She waited as the chopper took off, her rifle at the ready.

  * * *

  —

  Raven and MacD were waiting on either side of the bridge, lying below the windows until they heard the helicopter lifting off the pad. Raven nodded at MacD, and she shoved open the door on the portside bridge wing while MacD opened the door on the starboard side.

  She took aim at the ascending chopper. Raven’s target was the engine while MacD was shooting for the pilot. She unloaded her magazine on full auto. She must have hit something vital because the turbine started coughing black smoke. Either MacD hit his target or the pilot just wasn’t as good as Gomez because the helicopter spun, out of control, toward the jagged slope nearest to the Deepwater. It slammed into the island sideways, and a rocket pod exploded, ripping the copter to shreds. Pieces tumbled down to the water below.

  Raven dove to the deck, bullets pinging against the bulkhead above her. She didn’t engage the four people in combat gear on the helicopter pad, who were now firing weapons in the direction of the bridge. They were Linda Ross’s responsibility.

  * * *

  —

  Linda was surprised to find that the only people on board the Deepwater who’d ever fired an assault rifle before were Captain Jefferson, a Navy vet, and Amelia Vargas, who used to be in the Chilean Coast Guard. She gave each of them a weapon and sketched out a plan, with the help of Raven and MacD, to repel boarders.

  They’d kept a lookout until they saw the MD 520N approaching with rockets and machine guns. That necessitated a quick revision to the plan, with Raven and MacD taking out the helicopter after it took off.

  Linda, Jefferson, and Vargas, meanwhile, readied themselves to pop up from the emergency stairs at the bow since the focus of anyone on the pad would be Raven and MacD, shooting from the shelter of the solid bridge wing railings.

  Linda had no intent on fighting fairly, not when it was clear that Tate would likely murder all of them.

  When she heard the gunfire, Linda waved her hand forward, and the women went up the stairs until they saw four people in combat gear on the pad.

  Catherine Ballard was the leader, so Linda took her down first with a single round. Jefferson and Vargas each shot one of the other men. Linda hit the last man, center mass, in the back, and he flopped to the deck. The entire assault took less than two seconds.

  “Stay here and cover me,” she said to Jefferson and Vargas, both of whom looked wired but in control.

  They nodded, and Linda crept forward, her rifle at the ready.

  She got to the four attackers and saw that two of the men were dead from headshots. Both Jefferson and Vargas had good aim.

  Catherine Ballard was lying on her back and bleeding from a severe neck wound.

  Linda shook her head in disgust. “You’re going to die a traitor to your country.”

  Ballard smiled up at Linda with scarlet teeth.

  “And your captain is a dead man. Your ship is . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  Linda leaned down and grabbed her vest. “What about my ship? Tell me!”

  Ballard didn’t answer. She sputtered blood from her lips before wheezing her last.

  The final man was lying facedown. Linda flipped him over with her foot, her finger on the trigger.

  He was an Asian man, grimacing in pain.

  “Move and you die,” she said with the barrel of her rifle in his face.

  She nodded for Jefferson and Vargas to join her.

  “Cover him.”

  While they did, Linda kicked away his rifle, removed his sidearm, and searched him. He didn’t have any other weapons. Her shot in his back had been stopped by body armor.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  He coughed and said, “Li Quon.”

  “Are you going to tell me anything useful, Mr. Li, or should I shoot you now?”

  She wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man, but he didn’t know that. By the horrified looks on their faces, neither did Jefferson nor Vargas.

  “Don’t shoot!” Li cried. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  “Where is the Portland?”

  “It’s heading to the Oregon right now. Tate knows where it is.”

  “We know that,” Linda said, shoving the rifle even closer to his nose. “How far away is it?”

  “It’ll be there in less than an hour,” Li yammered, terrified. “Tate said there’s no way for the Oregon to escape.”

  65

  Juan stood on the ruined bridge of the Oregon and looked down at the battle scars riddling
her deck. Charred and twisted metal bore witness to the damage she had survived. Despite the toppled crane, the blasted gaps in the hull, and the wreckage where he was standing, his ship still had life in her. To someone else, the blackened paint and misshapen steel might have looked ugly, but to Juan the blemishes were a testament to the reasons why he loved his home on the sea.

  Footsteps stomped up the metal stairs to the bridge wing outside, and Juan smiled. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

  “She’s a tough old gal,” Max said. “Any other ship would have been at the bottom of Davy Jones’s locker by now.”

  “The Oregon can take a lot of punishment, in large part thanks to you,” Juan said. “You designed a fine ship.”

  Max sighed. “Which means I also designed the Portland. I never thought we’d be fighting against ourselves.”

  “And now we’re fighting with both hands tied behind our backs. Tate’s ship is undamaged, and we’re about to face him with half an engine and minimal weapons. At least you got the maneuvering thrusters back online.”

  The outlook hadn’t gotten any rosier when they’d received a brief call from Linda telling them that her team had defeated the assault on the Deepwater and that the Portland was on the way.

  “We can still deliver a punch,” Max said. “The sub sitting on the bottom of this fjord is proof of that.”

  Juan shook his head. “It’s not enough. Tate has torpedoes and missiles.”

  “We’ve got the Gatling guns for defense, and Murph’s pseudo sonic disruptor has worked so far to deflect torpedoes.”

  “Tate saw what happened the last time he used torpedoes. He’s too smart to make the same mistake twice. He’ll use umbilical wires to guide them in. We’ll be an easy target. And we can’t outrun him. I’ve looked at the map. He’ll easily catch us if we try to make a break for it.”

  Max leaned against the railing next to him. “You sound pretty glum. I’ve never known you to give up. You’re not thinking of surrendering to Tate, are you?”

  “If I thought surrendering would save the crew, I’d do it. But you’ve seen Tate’s MO. He won’t stop at killing me and sinking the ship. He’ll murder every single survivor of the battle, and then he’ll go back and finish off the Deepwater for good measure.”

  “Then we go down fighting,” Max said resolutely. “Not a bad way to die.”

  “I don’t want to die. I don’t want anyone on the Oregon to die. That’s why there’s only one option.”

  “Maurice didn’t like what you told him. And I bet I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear.”

  Juan pointed at the narrow gap in the peninsula separating them from the fjord’s entrance. Before he could say more, his phone buzzed. Even out this far in the middle of nowhere, he could get a signal from the shipwide network. He answered and put it on speaker.

  “What’s going on, Hali?” he asked.

  “I’ve got Linda on the line again.”

  “Patch her through.”

  The connection clicked. “Linda, I’ve got Max here with me. What’s the latest?”

  “Li Quon has been spilling his guts, and he told us something that I thought might be useful.”

  “That the Portland has some critical weakness we can target?” Max asked. “Like an exhaust port two meters across that will let us blow up his whole ship with one shot?”

  “I wish,” she said. “But Li did mention that Tate has been monitoring the webcams that the Deepwater set up to watch the penguin rookeries. He even saw the Deepwater in the background of one of the videos.”

  “One of those webcams is in this fjord, isn’t it?” Juan asked, turning toward the long canyon. “I can see penguins on the beach about a half mile away.” The recent explosions hadn’t seemed to bother them at all. They were probably accustomed to the sound of cracking ice and calving glaciers.

  “Not sure how that can help us,” Max said, “but it certainly doesn’t hurt us. I checked, and the camera is facing the opposite direction. He can’t see us right now.”

  “I was just thinking about that deepfake technology,” Linda said. “Captain Jefferson said the webcams are designed to be updated remotely. If I gave the access code to Eric and Hali, do you think they could install some software to make it look like the Oregon is in the frame? It might buy you a few critical seconds if Tate thinks you’re somewhere that you’re not.”

  Max looked at Juan and made a face like it could work. “I do have some footage of the Oregon that we could use.”

  “It would have to be subtle. If it’s too obvious, Tate will know it’s a fake.”

  “I’ll get Eric and Hali to work on it right away,” Max said. He took out his own phone and began texting.

  “Okay,” Linda said. “I’ll give Hali the access codes.”

  “Before you go,” Juan said, “did Li tell you anything about the state of the Portland?”

  “He claims everything was in working condition when he left. But he did say that Tate would be broken up about the death of Catherine Ballard. He thought they were in love.”

  “Thanks, Linda, that helps. I’m passing you back to Hali.”

  Max put away his phone and said, “Eric thinks he can do it in the next hour before Tate gets here.” He looked skeptical about its effectiveness, though. “I’m not sure how much of a difference it will make. We’re still at a huge disadvantage.”

  Juan looked again at the tight walls of the gap that the carved out glacier had left behind. Linda’s idea made his mad plan seem a bit less crazy.

  “Even a little edge might help,” he said. “It might be the difference between life and death.”

  66

  The Portland was half an hour away from intercepting the Oregon, barreling around an island to make a run toward the fjord, but Tate was more concerned that he hadn’t heard back from Ballard. She was supposed to check in after she took the Deepwater, but he’d heard nothing.

  “Try her radio again,” he told Farouk.

  Farouk made the call, shaking his head after a few moments. “No response.”

  Tate stewed about what that might mean. “Could her radio be out?”

  “Maybe,” Farouk said, “but I can’t reach the helicopter, either.”

  Tate didn’t like it, yet he couldn’t let himself be distracted. He had to prepare for his attack on the Oregon. “You’ve made the changes to the torpedo guidance systems?”

  Farouk nodded. “Wire-guided only.”

  “I want to use the sonic disruptor again on the Oregon crew.”

  “It didn’t seem to affect the ship the last time we saw them. They must have developed a countermeasure.”

  “I know that!” Tate spat. “I’ll use it on any lifeboat that makes an escape once we sink her. I want them to suffer.”

  “That’s a good idea. I doubt their countermeasure will be installed on small boats.” Farouk suddenly held up the finger of one hand and pressed the other hand to his headset. “I’m getting a call from Ballard’s radio.”

  Tate jumped out of his seat and felt a flush of relief. “Put her on.”

  “You’re connected.”

  A woman’s voice came over the speakers. It wasn’t Ballard.

  “Zachariah Tate?” she asked.

  “Who is this?” Tate demanded, his heart racing. “Where is Catherine?”

  “I’ll let someone else explain.”

  There was a pause, and then a familiar voice spoke.

  “It’s your fault that I had to contact you this way, Tate,” Juan Cabrillo said, much to Tate’s shock. “You weren’t answering my calls.”

  For a moment, Tate was speechless.

  “I bet you’re surprised to hear from me,” Cabrillo went on.

  Finally, Tate found his voice. “You can’t be on the Deepwater.”

  “I’m not,
although it would have been amusing to let you think so. No, I had Linda patch me through using Catherine Ballard’s radio since your girlfriend wasn’t using it. Linda tells me you’ve been pestering her nonstop with attempts to get in touch with Ballard.”

  “Where is she?” Tate growled.

  “Ballard? She is currently dead. Not what I would have wanted, but she tried to kill my people, so it was justified.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Well, that’s just wishful thinking on your part. Could I be talking to you through her radio if she were still alive?”

  Even though Tate couldn’t see Cabrillo’s self-righteous expression, he could imagine it. The image in his head was enraging.

  “I will kill you!”

  “You keep saying that, but it hasn’t happened yet. And I don’t think it will. I’m sure you’ll go on trying, though.”

  “I’m on my way to the Oregon right now,” Tate said. “The Wuzong radioed your position to me.”

  “Is that the name of the Chinese sub that’s now lying in four hundred feet of water with her entire front half blown away?”

  “You can keep up your smug little game,” Tate said, “but I’m coming for you, and nothing can stop me from sinking the Oregon.”

  “You started this ‘little game,’ as you call it. I’m going to end it. Come and get me, Tate.”

  The signal abruptly cut out.

  Tate let out a primal scream and kicked his chair until his foot ached.

  Farouk cleared his throat. “Commander, you should look at this. It’s a live shot from the fjord where the Oregon is hiding.” He nodded at the main view screen.

  It was the webcam video from the penguin rookery. Behind the birds, waddling around amid lounging sea lions, the Oregon drifted into view. She was listing badly and was maneuvering to get her bow gun facing the end of the fjord where the Portland would be appearing. Smoke wafted up from her superstructure until disappearing into the low cloud cover above.