“Now, here in the stern,” Hanchell pointed over his shoulder towards the superstructure, “you’ll find the crew quarters, captain’s quarters and chart room, communications, mess, engine room, electronics and the bridge, all contained in the superstructure. I don’t recommend you use any of those facilities. They have been prepared for the stealth portion of our mission. They have been left looking and smelling lived in to hopefully keep any visitors such as harbor pilots or Customs Officials from looking too hard or staying too long.
“Notice, gentlemen, that there is a lot of maintenance that needs doing.” Hanchell pointed to several different rust spots and actual holes in the deck and gunnels covered with what looked like plywood. “There’s a big problem with paint and many of the main deck machines look like they’re on their last legs. It takes a lot of work to keep things looking this way.” The team looked around in a mild state of confusion. Hanchell continued without waiting for their questions, his ever-present grin etched on his face.
“Behind the superstructure is the aft container storage. Our two helicopters are housed there. One for transport and one for battle, though both have teeth.” Hanchell paused to catch his breath before continuing. “In addition to the choppers, the aft container storage holds several surprises for any intruders—lots of hidden defensive and offensive weaponry. There are two fifty caliber machine guns and two anti-ship missile batteries, plus surface-to-air missiles and several automated thirty cal. machine guns. Also built into the sides of the superstructure and along the gunnels running forward, we’ve installed several sound cannons, a dozen automated high pressure directional fire nozzles, automated tasers and foam cannons to repel unwanted boarders or any other ship that gets too close for comfort.
“The sound cannons will incapacitate at a hundred yards and can kill at close range. We will try to be non-lethal when defending ourselves, but we will defend ourselves with lethal force when necessary.” The team stood looking at the superstructure, trying to pick out the sound cannons and other hidden weapons with no luck.
“But we don’t exist,” Mitchell quipped sarcastically, prompting chuckles from the team before David could tell him to knock it off.
“Now, forward,” Hanchell pointed towards the bow of the ship, ignoring Mitchell’s sarcasm, “you’ll find the actual containers we move from port to port. Although we appear to carry what appear to be twenty–five hundred or so containers, only about four hundred are actually real and can be used to transport goods.”
“Why’s that?” interrupted Mitchell.
“It’s all about stealth. In a few minutes you’ll understand,” Hanchell replied.
“What’s with the cranes?” Montoya asked.
“Well, all the old container ships have several cranes mounted to their decks for loading and unloading of containers in small ports with minimal docking facilities. We’re no different, only ours have a secondary purpose.” Hanchell paused for comments, but no one spoke up. “The cranes hide all the antennas and cameras needed to operate clandestine missions and gather intelligence. The gunnel on the aft upper deck of the superstructure houses our main radar units and satellite communications. The ones you see above the bridge in plain sight service only the basic radio and radar any ship would have, and ours are older and more worn out than most.”
“Gee, I feel just like James Bond,” Fields mumbled sarcastically.
“We’re a little bit more advanced than Mr. Bond,” Hanchell responded.
“If you don’t recommend we stow our gear in the crew quarters, where do we stow it?” Shields asked.
“Well, I’m just about to tell you, or rather show you.” Hanchell swept his right arm forward towards a set of doors to the right that led into the superstructure.
“Ladies first!” Shields gave Mitchell a little shove towards the doors.
“No fighting, children. You’ll all get to play soon enough,” David chided as he stepped between Mitchell and Shields, shoving them apart. Both men glared at David but remained silent, not wanting to test Clarett’s expert hand-to-hand combat skills. “Don’t make me separate you two. I hear keelhauling is still allowed on pirate ships,” David quipped over his shoulder.
Hanchell added, “The last guy we keelhauled picked seaweed out of his teeth for a week before the doc put them back in!” The team groaned.
“What time’s the floor show?” Fields asked dourly, which earned him a slap across the back of his head from Montoya and glare from David.
Shortly, the team found themselves two decks down in a small vestibule bathed in shadows. It appeared as though they had reached the end of the passageway since there was a solid steel bulkhead with no visible opening in front of them.
“So, this is our space?” Shields asked sarcastically.
“If that’s what you’d like,” smirked Hanchell, “but I think you’ll be more comfortable in here.” Hanchell pulled a dog ear on the far right side of the wall that was hidden in the shadows. As he did so, the wall slid to the side revealing an opening to a small room.
“Whoa!” Montoya whispered.
“Down here is where the real ship is,” Hanchell made a friendly gesture with a wave of his hand, beckoning the team to follow him as he stepped through the opening into a small room. There was no visible exit door other than the one they were stepping through.
“Come on, it won’t bite and you’ll be amazed at the operation,” Hanchell stated as he tried to hurry the team along. The room was empty except for a small camera that hung in the left corner of the room just below the ceiling at the far end.
Once the whole team was in the room, Hanchell quickly moved to the forward wall as the rear door silently closed, like an elevator door. He reached out and pushed aside a small metal plate revealing a key pad. He quickly punched in a four digit code and spun around to face the group. He spread his arms wide like a game show host, while the grin on his face burst into what could only be described as ear to ear. Behind Hanchell the wall slowly slid to the right, exposing a huge room that reminded everyone of mission control at NASA.
“This area is our operations center,” Hanchell beamed. He had obviously been waiting to show the place off. Two dozen faces, an even mix of male and female, turned and silently appraised the newcomers. David thought that they must have passed muster because they all smiled warmly at them. “I’ll do introductions later, at mess,” Hanchell stated loudly, causing the crew to turn away and go back to work.
The room itself was a large two story room the size of a basketball court, with a balcony that ran all the way around the room about ten feet above the main deck. The balcony was filled with computers, each with a large flat screen plasma monitor suspended above the railing in front of them every ten feet or so. The lower half of the room was filled with cubicles for computer work stations, large wall maps, large glass navigation boards, overlay charts and tables, radars, and dozens of other electronic gadgets.
Working at the vertical glass plotting map at the far end of the room, stood a young, blonde woman who caught the team’s attention. She was dressed in a t-shirt which she filled out very nicely, shorts, sandals and a Navy ball cap, worn backwards. She was plotting what appeared to be the ship’s course to Cuba. With every stretch she made to place a marker, the team’s attention became more rooted.
“Wow,” Fields let slip under his breath.
Montoya added, “Double wow!” a little louder than he meant to, for the young woman turned and smiled at him with a smile so bright it was best described as dazzling. Montoya blushed and grinned without meeting her gaze.
Mitchell mumbled lustfully, “I think I’m in love.”
“Knock it off,” David ordered casually.
“She bites,” Hanchell whispered warningly in Mitchell’s direction. Returning his focus to the tour, he drew the team’s attention back to the room. “From this room, we operate the entire ship and all of its systems, collect intelligence, communicate with the outside world, watch local tel
evision news broadcasts and then store all that information in our computer banks. You can access the computers in your cabin or from any one of the four meeting rooms, or the medical bays, or the science labs, whenever needed. We also man our formidable weapons systems from here.” Hanchell beamed.
“I thought this was a container ship?” Fields inquired shyly.
“Only the top four rows of containers and the two outside rows, one on each side, are real. It amounts to about four hundred containers. Everything under that is a false front to allow for all of this and crew quarters and such.”
“Such as?” David asked.
“Such as a moon pool, torpedo bay, chopper hangers, bow and stern guns, swimming pool, gym, a full hospital, library, movie theater, wardrobe, machine shops, surface to air missile batteries, two mess halls, training areas, gun range and armory,” Hanchell replied in rapid fire, grinning from ear to ear as he expounded.
“Who thought this up? Was it the boss?” Shields asked.
“Clive Cussler the author did. He writes adventure novels. Damn good ones. He first thought of it for one of his novels ‘The Oregon Files.’ Steven Howard, the owner of Kilauea Corp. really liked the idea and made the concept real. This is just one of three sister ships that he had refurbished. We aren’t quite as high tech as Cussler’s ship, but we’re pretty cutting edge. We have two huge diesel engines that we use when we’re in harbor or in close proximity to other ships, and like the ship in the book, we have a secondary propulsion system, as well.
“Ours is fashioned after the latest system used by the cruise lines. We use photovoltaic cells built into the roof and walls of the superstructure, of course they are colored to match the ship’s décor. We use them to heat water which in turn moves turbines that generate electricity. We then store the electricity in batteries until needed to drive the turbines that send water through four pulse jet directional pods on the keel. The system gives us great maneuverability as well as tremendous speed, when called for. We can do thirty knots on a relatively calm sea utilizing the pods, though we usually keep our speed under fifteen knots. We don’t want to give away our secrets until we have to.”
“Damn!” Montoya whispered loudly. David rolled his eyes at him but said nothing.
“Down the steps to the right, that’s portside, you’ll find the crew quarters.” Hanchell pointed towards his right. “Mess hall and briefing rooms are to the left, starboard.” Hanchell pointed the other direction. “You’ll find the armories, med labs and recreation rooms with lap pool, ping pong, foosball and billiards on the decks below.
“Two decks down, you’ll find an area where you can work out and practice any drills you’ll need for the mission. We have a simulator for urban searches and a gun range. Below that, you’ll find the moon pool that I mentioned before, along with all of the diving gear, mini subs, diving sleds, inflatable boats, the captain’s skiff, jet skis and a ton of other water toys. The moon pool also doubles as our marina port. You’ll be departing from there once we reach Cuba.
“Why don’t you go stow your gear? The rooms are marked for you, and we’ll meet with the captain in the briefing room in about ninety minutes. We’ll go over how we plan to get you into Cuba and how we hope to get you out again,” Hanchell suggested, pointing off to portside.
“But I don’t have any gear!” Shields crooned sarcastically. Hanchell ignored the comment and David rolled his eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
After finding his room and taking a quick, self-guided tour of the ship, David made his way to the briefing room. Upon entering, he was struck by the sophistication of the electronics displayed throughout the room. Each wall contained a large flat screen, probably plasma, six feet wide and four feet tall. Around the large oak conference table were ten work stations complete with their own flush-mounted monitor and keyboard. In the ceiling were several slots that David recognized as drop down display screens, which he assumed could be operated by any of the workstations. David took a seat at the head of the table and waited as the rest of the team wandered in with only seconds to spare. Before anyone could do more than look around in awe, a grinning Hanchell, still dressed in his dirty work shorts and t-shirt which may have acquired a few more grease spots, stepped in and began speaking.
“All right, I expect that you’ve found your quarters and that you took a few minutes to look around. As the mission moves forward, you’ll get the chance to ask more questions, but for now just hold those thoughts, and let’s focus on the mission before us.” Hanchell stopped, glancing back towards the door.
“On deck!” David uttered and the team stood at attention.
A tall, solidly built man in his mid-forties who moved with an athletic grace entered the room and stepped to the front of the large table where he stopped under a recessed spotlight. The man was dressed in a blue Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts and flip-flops; his closely cropped hair was medium brown with a hint of gray at temples; and his demeanor was one of all business. The harsh illumination from the recessed spotlight accented a thin scar that trickled down his right cheek from just under the right eye to the bottom edge of his chin. It wasn’t the kind of scar that made a man ugly but the kind that brought out his ruggedly handsome features and told any would-be aggressors he’d been around and had held his own.
“This is Captain Connors. This is his ship, and he will brief you on the mission,” Hanchell stated before sitting down at the far end of the table.
“Good morning!” Captain Conners said jovially as he sat down in the chair at the head of the table, opposite David. “Relax, gentlemen. We don’t stand on ceremony around here and we don’t bother to salute. You can just call me Captain. There’s coffee and pastries on the credenza in the rear. Help yourselves. I hope you found your rooms comfortable, and I’m sure as the trip progresses, you’ll enjoy all the other comforts that our floating hotel has to offer.
“I understand, from talking with the boss, that you’re being tossed right into the mix without the benefit of getting to know each other. I hope his confidence is well placed, because you’re about to sneak into a country that prides itself on being secretive. The security can be very tight in Cuba. They practically require papers to take a dump, and most people don’t wander too far from home because the government likes it that way.
“When you visit as a tourist, they follow you around. It’s not like the States, or Europe, or even Mexico, for that matter. There is a very good chance that anyone and everyone you meet will be a security monitor, and every move you make will be reported and followed up. I don’t know if any of you are old enough to really remember the bad old days of the cold war when the Soviet Union was our enemy?” the captain paused to see if anyone reacted. It didn’t appear that any of the team had a clue from the blank looks on their faces.
“Cuba is a lot like the old Soviet Union. Their whole system of society is modeled after the Soviets, and all foreigners are considered spies.” The team sat, quietly looking at the captain as though they were deer looking at headlights. “The mission has one objective. Your job is to eliminate four foreign nationals that are staying in a government vacation house. There are guards watching the house, and there are minders following them as they pose as tourists and wander around town, chasing women and getting drunk. These four targets are part of the group of terrorists that attacked Houston and San Antonio last Thanksgiving. They are four-fifths of the surviving cell members that came to Cuba right after the attacks. For some reason, these four remained behind in Cuba when the other one shipped out. We don’t know why. If we can find out, great; if not, that’s okay, too. Your job is to take them out. Anything else is gravy.
“In addition, if the ship that helped relay these terrorists to Cuba, The People’s Glory, is in port when we arrive, we will be looking to sink it, as well.” Captain Conners paused for a moment, letting the information sink in. Then he nodded to Hanchell who punched in a command on his keyboard, lighting up the front wall screen, revealing a
map of a city.
“This is the city of Cienforgo, Cuba,” Captain Conner stated. “It is one of the busiest ports in the Caribbean, which works to our favor. There’s lots of people for our security-minded friends to watch besides us. This gives us a little space in which to work and hopefully, it will be enough. We’ll be docking in Cienforgo tomorrow just after dusk, right about here.” He highlighted a spot on the map that showed a pier very close to the city itself. “That’s another point in our favor—arrival at or after dark.”
Hanchell added, “We know the targets are staying here.” A red dot appeared on the map. “453 Avenida 56, just west of Calle 35. It’s approximately one and three-quarters kilometers from the docks. It’s a nondescript building, something the Soviets built for them back in the late sixties, we think.
“There are four apartments in the building, each taking up half of a floor. No elevators and only one set of stairs for the front and back apartments—they’re on the outside of the building. The building is the same height as the surrounding buildings and has an alley behind it. According to our friends at the CIA, the surrounding buildings are all government vacation homes, and we’re unsure if they are occupied at this time.
“Our targets are on the second floor in the front apartment. We don’t know the layout, but we do know they go out every night to the local hotels where they booze it up and troll for hookers. They don’t seem to be waiting for the seventy-two virgins,” Hanchell smirked. The captain just shook his head.
“How are we getting in?” David asked.
“We’ll insert you about five kilometers outside of town at a nature preserve—here.” Captain Conners pointed to the far eastern edge of the map. “The coastline there is devoid of houses or hotels, and it has easy to climb sand and rock dunes between the road and the beach area. There are lots of rocks and boulders to hide a boat among until you’re ready to come home. From there, the walk into town shouldn’t take you any more than a couple of hours. We’ll be outside the harbor tomorrow night, just after dark as I said, and that’s when we’ll send you out through the marina port using one of our inflatables.
Reprisal!- The Eagle Rises Page 21
