I carefully peek around the corner. Andrews is sitting behind the wheel, facing forward, about 20 yards in front of the pontoon. He still hasn’t changed course and continues to follow the freighter.
My presence remains unnoticed, so I get out my radio, turn the volume down and whisper, "Steve, get going. I'm there."
I unlock the gun and jump around the corner. Ha!
I’m standing there, in fighting stance with my machine gun aimed at Andrews, body tense, ready to shoot or dive into the water.
Andrews continues straight ahead, unmoving. He took no notice of my presence.
"ANDREWS!" I shout.
He quickly spins around, pulls out his gun in mid-turn and aims instinctively.
I was expecting that, so I fire a volley into the water beside him. Small water columns sprout forth where the bullets hit the water. Thank God, it appears Andrews lowers his weapon.
Luckily, he doesn’t know I’ve got nothing but rubber bullets in my cartridge. After all, Miller isn’t crazy enough to send us out with real weapons. No matter, the deterrence works and that's what counts.
"Weapon in the water!" I command.
Splash. With every inch his semi-automatic disappears deeper into the water. I feel a little better.
"Keep your hands where I can see them. Pull the boat back towards mine."
Very good, while Andrews kneels on the engine and starts pulling the rope, he has no free hand. He might be carrying more than one weapon, so I have to be careful.
"Come over here. But slowly!" I instruct him as he arrives.
Carefully, he gets up and takes a step onto the pontoon.
"Have you lost your mind? What do you want from me?"
"Oh, don’t act all innocent, Andrews. Lie down!" I shout.
"What are you doing?"
"Lie down with your face on the floor!"
Andrews looks me right in the eyes and holds his stare as he slowly gets down on his knees and then lies down on his belly.
I kick his legs apart and pat him down: legs, buttocks, torso and arms. Nothing. He is actually unarmed. I’m a bit surprised, but apparently he felt safe and didn’t expect a visit out here. I take two steps back and order him to get up again.
Steve is not yet in sight. I hope he arrives soon since I’m pretty nervous.
"Open it up!" I say, indicating the container with my gun.
"I can’t," answers Andrews.
"Don’t think I’m stupid, my friend, otherwise you’ll really get to know me. Open that thing or I’ll shoot your leg!"
"I would love to do so, but the container has been sealed by customs. You need a bolt cutter to remove the seal. There is no other way."
Shit!
"I have one in the boat. If you’ll allow me to..."
Wait… what’s he up to? Why’s he being so helpful? Alarm bells ring in my head. First, I check the container. Andrews is right, it is actually closed and sealed.
However, I certainly won’t let Andrews dig in a box on his boat in any case. I'm not that stupid.
He wants to return to his boat; that much is clear. Why else would he offer to help?
"Where are the bolt cutters? I’ll get them!"
"In the back. There are two sports bags next to the engines. In one bag I have some food, in the other are the tools."
I keep aiming at Andrews as I climb over into his boat. He wasn’t lying; I easily find the bolt cutters and throw them over.
I jump back on the pontoon and check for Steve again.
Nothing. What’s taking him so long?!
I instruct Andrews to pick up the bolt cutters. He follows my orders and starts working on the seal. It takes a while, but the seal finally gives in. Andrews steps back and indicates towards the container.
"Let's go - open it up!" he says.
This is too easy, something is wrong here.
I go to the container, weapon still pointing at Andrews. Once in front of the container, I turn sideways; I certainly won’t have my back to him. It’s not easy; the handles have tightened after a week at sea. The container is quite old. It seems to be warped, so there’s a lot of tension on the door. It’s stuck.
I urge Andrews to lie down again. Now I put the gun down on the ground and I turn around, facing the container. I need both hands to open the doors. With a loud squeal the doors budge slightly out of the frame. I immediately reach for the gun and quickly turn back to Andrews. He’s still lying motionless on his stomach with his eyes fixed on me.
Scary.
With my back to the container, I open one door after the other without looking. Due to Andrews’ very confusing behavior, I’m extremely tense and don’t let him out of my sight. Now I’m in front of an open container and don’t know what's inside. Hastily, I look back.
What I see freezes me. As if hit by a stroke, I can’t turn my head back. On the contrary, my body follows my head and automatically turns towards the container.
Completely overwhelmed, I slowly let down my weapon, mouth agape.
From top to bottom, the 40-foot sea container is completely empty.
Chapter 16
"Am I allowed to stand up again?" Andrews pulls me out of my bewilderment.
"What?! Oh. Yes. Yes, of course, get up."
He grins at me, but says nothing.
"What is going on here?" I ask.
"I may as well ask you the same question, Mr. Greenall." he replies.
"I asked first, and I have the weapon. Don’t answer me with counter-questions, buddy!"
"I’m running a test here. Everything was going smoothly until you suddenly showed up."
"What kind of a test?"
"I sail around and monitor the temperature in the container during the day. We discovered a new species of bombs on Kahoolawe: top-secret explosive mechanisms, apparently from the 70s. They were lying deep within the earth, so we only found them now. We destroy the explosives through a controlled detonation on the open sea, but you know that already.
We’re concerned about the heat inside the container. None of us wants to get blown up on the way to the detonation site. So I’m doing a test run with an empty container, traveling along the regular route."
"Where is the thermometer?" I ask with another look at the completely empty container.
"Well, I’ve unfortunately forgotten that on Kahoolawe. So today’s test was for nothing, I was just about to go back when you showed up."
"That's the silliest story I've ever heard. Why are you armed then? And what did you do on the freighter?"
"I have no weapon with me. Or, at least, none will be found if I'm going to get searched now. And I have no idea what you’re talking about regarding that freighter."
I don’t tell him about Bob and the footage he made. No need to let Andrews know which evidence he’ll soon have to talk himself out of. That will just give him time to make up a plausible story.
"You won’t get away with this. No one will buy this story!"
With a threatening tone, Andrews argues, "So what do you have to offer? Do you really think the police will give a shit about your ramblings about arms and drug smuggling? Just because you found me unarmed with an empty container at sea? I don’t think so!"
"I never mentioned anything about drug smuggling. How did you come up with this idea?"
"Mr. Greenall, we both know what's going on here. But a judge will never believe anything you say.”
He's right, but at least he did confirm my arms-drugs theory.
Steve arrives - finally!
"What took you so long?" I welcome him.
"Made a wide circle around the freighter so that Andrews wouldn’t get warned from there by radio. What’s the situation?"
"Empty" I answer: "Nothing but hot air in that thing. How hot exactly, we don’t know since Mr. Smartypants here forgot the thermometer."
Steve doesn’t understand a word. No wonder. In short, I paint him the picture.
"Shit, shit," I babble to myself. Steve
looks at me; I peer in his direction, but kind of stare off into space.
"Come on, let’s just leave," I suggest in a low voice. "Andrews can neither prove that we were here, nor do we have any evidence against him. Let’s just get out and take the next plane home. We’ve wasted our time here and have shit to show for it."
While I keep talking I can hardly think straight. Suddenly Steve loudly exclaims: "Shit!"
"That’s what I just said," I comment.
But Steve didn’t swear, it was more of a constructive "shit."
"We made a mistake. We stopped him too soon."
"Oh, you mean the container fills up by itself on the way back to Kahoolawe?"
I don’t get what he means, but the mind of a pilot operates differently than those of ordinary mortals. For Steve, the empty container is only an obstacle on the way to the goal; a wrinkle that can be ironed out. While it means the end of the world for me, he’s already two steps ahead and analyzes the situation.
"No. Tom, think. Drugs are exchanged for weapons here. And both come from, or are for Columbia. This freighter that was just here, set sail in Shanghai. Why would it have any drugs?"
"Damn, you're right! How could we have been so stupid?"
"There must be a second cargo ship. This is why our friend Andrews is not yet on his way home."
"Enough! Get out of here now and I’ll forget all about this intrusion. Just go now - end of story!" Andrews interrupts, not as cool as he was a few minutes ago. He seems to want to get rid of us at all costs. This means we’re on the right track.
My radio crackles. I turn it louder.
Bob: "Boys, another cargo ship is approaching from the west. It looks pretty much identically constructed; the new one is about seven miles away from the first and is headed directly towards you!"
"The sea container is empty. We were just thinking that Andrews might be waiting for a second ship," I reply.
This time Miller responds: "What do you mean by ‘empty’? The container is empty? Damn, we need to stop both ships then! The military can only intervene if we have something tangible. Can you stop the ships?"
Steve: "How? A freighter won’t care much if we put a dinghy in its way."
Bob connects to it: "Kiara, is everything set for Plan B?"
Kiara: "Yes. But ...there’s no other solution?"
Bob: "No. Just do it. Take off now!"
I’m confused: "What the hell are you up to? I don’t know anything about a Plan B!"
Bob: "Tom, we don’t have time for lengthy explanations. Please use the time that I provide you. Get in the boat and race toward the freighters. You’ll see what happens then."
Me: "What the fuck is this going to be?!"
Steve grabs my arm and yells: "Get in the boat. I don’t know what he's up to, but it seems pretty critical!"
I look at the sky. Bob is far above and rotates the plane over the wing into a long dive. It looks as if he’s aiming straight for the freighter, like a Japanese kamikaze pilot during World War II. Bob uses the same tactics; he has the sun at his back and the Sophie in front of him. The crew can’t see him since the sun is blinding them.
I jump into the boat and do as I was told.
In the chaos, Andrews uses an unguarded moment. He picks up the fallen bolt cutters, runs toward Steve and prepares to strike. Steve still gazes towards the sky, focusing on Bob's plane. I cry to warn him, but my engines are too noisy.
Without further ado, I push the levers to the table, release my gun’s safety latch and shoot Andrews. I don’t care where I hit him, my highest priority is that Steve doesn’t get hit with the bolt cutters. A volley of rubber bullets hits Andrews in the belly. He writhes in pain, the bolt cutters fall loudly clattering to the ground, and only then does Steve notice the danger he was in.
He gestures thanks to me, throws the cutters into the sea and sets out to tie Andrews up.
I blaze towards the Sophie at top speed. Bob’s dive becomes more horizontal, but his trajectory still ends at the freighter. He must be crazy; no way he’d actually sacrifice himself just to stop the freighter. On board, no one sees him coming.
Just in front of the ship, Bob pulls up, ending the dive and gaining a bit of height again. He now races extremely fast at low altitude towards the bow of the freighter. Even if they notice it now, it’s too late to react.
My God, what's going on? Something detaches from Bob's plane. I need a moment to realize it. Half a second before impact, it clicks in my brain: it's his second tank.
Chock full of kerosene, the auxiliary tank impacts in the front third of the ship and detonates like a napalm bomb in the Vietnam War.
Instantly, a giant flame appears: bright yellow pillars of fire rising 50 yards into the sky, while the tank continues its destructive path underneath. Like a flat stone on a smooth water’s surface, it skips, flies up, skips again, flies, skips, flies, crashes and rolls to a stop almost at the bridge.
The cargo ship is now burning virtually from end to end.
Bob pulls his plane up and turns in the direction of Maui. His fuel must be empty now. He uses the excess speed to gain altitude and goes into a shallow glide. Nevertheless, he won’t make it to Maui.
Relieved, I discover the crew was too lazy to pull up the safety netting. It’s pure chaos on the ship. Fires burn everywhere and the crew runs back and forth, trying to get the extinguishers working.
I keep heading straight for the ship until I almost hit the stern. At the very last moment, I veer alongside the "Sophie," slow down and jump onto the safety netting. My boat goes on without me and will keep its course until the tank is empty.
No idea how I might get back ashore. Bob's action has taken me off guard; I have no choice but to improvise. Hopefully Steve will follow me; then I can jump overboard and get in his boat.
I climb up the ropes and raise my head carefully over the railing. The team is busy with other things, so I swing myself on board and walk backwards. A man comes running towards me, but he doesn’t show the least bit of interest in me. At the rear, I climb up the steel stairs and find myself next to the bridge.
The captain and his navigator remain at their posts on the bridge, while the rest of the crew tries to get the fire under control.
I take a quick look around. The first flames have already died down. It’s still burning everywhere, but kerosene evaporates quickly. If no other material catches fire, it will soon just steam a bit and that’s all. I hope the explosives container didn’t get damaged; otherwise I’ll be heading off to meet my maker with a loud bang.
The door to the bridge is ajar. Not a surprise; even before Bob's fire, it was not exactly cold on the Pacific.
I run towards the door, kick it open and shoot at them. I hit the captain immediately; he goes down unconscious, struck on the head. The navigator manages to drop down behind his controls, reaching safe cover just in time.
He moves, so I shoot again. A second later, something moves on the opposite side of the navigation table. Again, I pull the trigger. Suddenly the loud roar of my machine gun stops, replaced by a soft metallic clunk. Damn, the magazine is empty.
The asshole navigator purposely provoked this. He rushes out of cover towards me. I don’t know what else to do but swing my gun by its harness and aim for his head. Thank God, I hit my target, and he too goes down.
From past experience I know how dangerous it can be to underestimate an unconscious opponent. First, I close all the doors to the bridge and lock them. Then I tie both of them to a pipe.
So far, so good. Now what?
Here and there are still a few blazing flames. The crew did actually manage to get some fire hoses working. It smokes for a moment where they extinguish, but then the fire burst into flame again. It’s not a good idea to extinguish kerosene with water. At least, two crewmembers came up with the idea to cool the explosives container with a jet of water. Thank you, guys!
Through the dense smoke, I can make out the other freighter. It doesn’t seem t
o change course. Maybe the crew wants to help their sister ship.
Stop two freighters: that is my mission. Actually, there’s only one way to achieve that.
Half way to Hawaii Page 25
