by Steve Richer
“Okay, where was he supposed to be?”
“In Cherbourg, France. He’s a sailor and he was supposed to call…” She sniffled. “I called his employer and they say the captain of the boat reported in yesterday. I’m sure something is wrong, I’m sure something happened.”
She was openly crying now.
“What could have happened, señora?”
“I don’t know, that’s why I’m calling you! Can’t you call someone?”
He had nothing better to do this morning and answered, “I’ll see what I can do.”
Toledo jotted down her husband’s name and company and promised to call her back with any news he might pick up.
He contacted the company and spoke to the same man Rosa had reached earlier. The conversation went much the same way and little more was learned.
The young federale had an idea. He was aware that he should have informed his superior, if for nothing else than to approve the long distance phone call. But history was made by people who took initiatives, he told himself.
He called Interpol.
It was a miracle that Bellamy had fallen asleep given the quantity of caffeine he had ingested in the last twenty-four hours. It was the phone that woke him up.
“Mr. Bellamy? Terry Raper.”
“Do we have news?” he asked as he shook the cobwebs away.
“Big news. Interpol received word that a Mexican cargo ship didn’t report when docking at Cherbourg. Well, the captain called in, but a sailor failed to call his wife, it was their wedding anniversary.”
“Doesn’t mean anything. Do you know how many times I forgot my anniversary?”
“It was their first. Anyway, no big deal, right? But then they checked its position. Get a load of this, the EPIRB emergency beacon and Global Maritime Distress and Safety System locator don’t respond.”
“Sweet Jesus. That’s it.”
“The authorities here are patrolling the waters, but it could be like finding contact lens in a grain silo.”
“Find out if they have some AWACS in the area. If not, I can give a call to a guy I know at the National Reconnaissance Office in Virginia, see if they have any satellites available.”
They finally had a break. All there was to hope for was that it wasn’t too late.
After having made their home at Hereford for over fifty years, the 22nd Special Air Service Regiment had moved to Credenhill, a former RAF base.
The unit had come a long way since its formation in World War II as the “L” Detachment. The vocation had changed in the seventies with the advent of terrorism in Northern Ireland.
What had made the public take notice of the special operations element was the 1980 Iranian embassy siege. Iranian terrorists who had stormed the embassy in London had taken twenty-six hostages to protest against the Ayatollah’s reign. With massive television coverage, an SAS crew made entry and saved the day. Only one terrorist survived. The era of modern warfare had begun.
The collective effort from the NRO and an airborne warning and control system aircraft from the French Air Force had delivered results.
The Mexican cargo ship had been spotted in the North Sea halfway between the Shetland Islands and Norway. It had taken two hours to send a spy plane to take pictures and another three hours to have them printed and analyzed. There was no doubt, they had found the boat. The ship’s blueprints arrived an hour later.
There had been talks in political circles that France’s GIGN would handle the rescue. Every country involved had preached for its own parish. Finally, Canada, Holland, and Italy had pressured France to let the best elite counter revolutionary warfare squadron in the world take care of it. The SAS.
The fastest method of deployment was a HALO incursion and that was why the Air Troop was chosen over the Boat Troop which was trained mostly for this type of situation. The sixteen soldiers who were part of D Squadron sat in the briefing room listening to their colonel.
“The terrorists of whom there are at least twelve members, possibly with military training, are armed with Kalashnikov assault rifles. Negotiations have been aborted; France has no intention of caving in to their demands. Deadline is for 2200 hours Zulu, which means you have roughly three hours left, excluding transportation.”
Paddy Wilson was rather new to the SAS; this was to constitute his first mission where lives would really be at stake. He listened to the briefing carefully and took notes.
The French police had emailed photographs of the hostages and Paddy made sure to study each one attentively. Shooting a hostage thinking it was a terrorist would really dent his record. He took deep breaths and tried to remember everything the British Army had taught him. Stress was an assaulter’s worst enemy.
He wished he wasn’t so afraid of water though.
A HALO – high altitude, low opening – incursion consisted of jumping from an airplane cruising at over twenty-five thousand feet of altitude. The men from Air Troop who trained for it were often called Ice Cream Boys because of their tanned skin and the sunshades they always wore. Paddy had never really seen the connection.
He sat in the C-130 and again tried to calm himself down. He checked his gear; his MP5-SD was slung under his shoulder, the bag containing one of the Gemini boats was hooked between his legs, and his oxygen mask was on.
The light flipped from red to green and the soldiers began stepping out. Paddy approached the opening and jumped.
Although he had practiced this jump many times, the cold always surprised him. It was a good thing they were wearing heavy woolen clothing underneath the dry suit. Hypothermia would not kill him tonight. Freefalling was fun though, it was the main reason he had chosen to join the Air Troop.
He fell and fell and fell to the point where he wondered if he would ever land. Looking down, he saw his captain deploy his parachute and several others followed his lead. Paddy glanced at his altimeter and when the needle indicated two thousand feet he pulled the ripcord.
The tug the silk cloth provided was almost unbearable. It was like driving at two hundred and fifty kilometers per hour on a straight road and then hitting the breaks. It happened in only a few seconds, but it always gave Paddy a headache.
He unhooked the bag from between his legs and it dropped to the end of its rope. Now came the bad part, the part where his body had to hit water.
If he’d been comfortable in water he would have joined the Boat Troop, the Special Boat Service, or even the fucking Navy. But it was too late to complain now. He glided down into the North Sea within meters of his teammates.
Chapter 18
Jeff sat on the floor next to the wall. Young Emily was by his side. They had found a black marker in the drawer of the desk and they were playing hangman, using the wall as their canvas. The English girl was good at it.
It had been probably twenty years since he’d played that game and he was surprised that he still remembered how to play. This reminded him how far behind normal life was. Most incredible was how he had quickly adjusted to being a hostage. Clearly, he didn’t enjoy it but the rhythms of this lifestyle were sinking in. It was terrifying.
The door opened and Simon walked in. Jeff turned his head and stared at him.
“You unimaginable fuckball,” he told the older man, knowing he must have sold him out.
“Wasn’t it you who said we have to do anything in our power to survive?”
Jeff stood and took a few steps in Simon’s direction.
“Not at anyone’s expense.” He noticed brown spots on his right hand and fingers. He grabbed it and lifted it to inspect it. “What the hell is this?”
Simon dug in a pocket and retrieved half a chocolate bar. He leaned forward and handed it to Emily who didn’t hesitate one second and began eating it.
“If giving you up – you who haven’t been exactly truthful with us – if it saves the rest of us, then I won’t really care what happens to you. They are going to shoot one of us every hour until their demands are met. What I did is bu
y an hour for them.”
Jeff didn’t know what to reply. How could he be against virtue? He wanted to clock his head in and rip his heart out. He had been sentenced to death and he wanted revenge. He needed to cry but his fear paralyzed him.
There was only twenty minutes left before the deadline. He was hungry, tired, irritated, scared, and hopeless. It was too late for a rescue now. Maybe a bullet in the head would be a good way to escape it all.
The door opened again and the escort detail made its way in. Jeff was seized by the elbow and dragged out. He didn’t resist. Everyone diverted their eyes from him except Emily.
Using all his courage, he winked at her and offered her a smile. He prayed his life would spare hers. The thought astounded him. When had he become so chivalrous? He barely knew the girl.
He remembered something about people finding out what they were truly made of when faced with perdition and the result pleased him. Too bad he wouldn’t be able to enjoy his personal breakthrough more than a few minutes.
Again, the group headed for the outside door. Jeff pretended to cough to move his head a bit further and to turn it in the forbidden direction. He again saw the wire running against the wall, but this time he saw more.
He made out a pale brick taped to the same wall. His fears were confirmed: plastic explosive. They must have rigged the entire ship.
The air was cold outside and the wind made his eyes water. He removed his glasses to wipe his eyes with his shirt collar. As he put his glasses back into place, he saw movement.
What the hell?
Using his glasses as a mirror he saw something move astern. It was in the water, thirty feet from the hull. It could’ve been anything really but Jeff felt a gasp of hope. Walking to the gallows wasn’t his only preoccupation anymore.
The four Gemini inflatable boats made it to the hull of the cargo ship. They secured their boats in place and produced a telescopic pole. The captain hooked a rope ladder to it and raised it to the deck. Everything was done silently and with hand gestures. Paddy was the second man to climb.
This is it, he told himself.
The moment his feet hit the deck, he ran for cover behind a container. He was glad he had removed his helmet and dry suit for mobility was his greatest asset.
With the help of his night-vision goggles he scanned the area. There was a sentry keeping guard at the bow. He would be taken out first.
The only real concern was that someone on the bridge would notice. If they did, a shootout would alert all and sundry and that would put the hostages at risk. Paddy waited for the rest of his team to join him before making a move.
Aumont sat at the table with his legs propped up on another chair. Jeff detected a pistol on the table as well as a device in which the same kind of wire he had observed on his floor ended up. Jeff suspected it encased a battery. It was the triggering device for the explosives.
“You have fourteen minutes left. Would you like to talk or pray or something?”
“Don’t I get a last meal?”
Aumont smiled and glanced at the escort who got the hint. The guy left and returned seconds later with a Snickers bar and a can of Coke. Jeff was a Pepsi man but he was so thirsty that he didn’t think twice about it. He took a large sip, but stopped when he had an idea. He started eating the candy.
“Don’t I get a thank you?” Aumont said.
Jeff paid him no mind and continued eating. It was the best food he had ever tasted, better than all the fancy salmon and Barbary duck and caviar and Hennessy Timeless cognac of the world. Bliss had only cost fifty cents.
“Who are you gonna kill in an hour?” Jeff inquired.
It was better than silence.
“I’d like to piss you off and say the little girl.” He grinned as Jeff tensed up. “But the fact is that your friend Simon is more deserving. I don’t like rats either. Tell me, you really work for the government, don’t you?”
“Would it make a difference if I did?”
Aumont shook his head. “What do you do there exactly?”
“If it won’t make a difference then it’s not really worth my while to tell you.”
“Come on.”
“I’m a translator.”
“For?”
“That’s classified.”
Jeff finished his food and licked his fingers clean. He didn’t mind that it might be unhygienic; food was food.
He had nine minutes left.
Chapter 19
There was a sniper among the Air Troop. He scurried, along with his spotter, to the bow while the fourteen others took off in the other direction to get inside.
For this operation all the weapons had been outfitted with sound suppressors. The spotter had his submachine gun aimed forward, covering his sniper. The sentry standing on a container was shot and killed by a three-round burst to the back of the head. His body made a deaf thud as it fell.
The spotter scanned the area with night-vision binoculars for other sentinels and found none.
“All clear,” he whispered into his radio.
The sniper trained his high-powered scope on the bridge which had large windowpanes. It wasn’t the perfect angle to spy in but it offered a good view nevertheless.
He could see two men roaming freely inside, manning the controls. There had been reports that the captain of the ship still reported in to his company. The sniper figured he must have been tied down on the ground.
“Two men on the bridge. All I need is a green light.”
“Copy that,” he heard a voice whisper in his earpiece. “If you see any hostile gestures on their part after the fighting has started you may take out the subjects.”
“Roger.”
He flicked the safety off.
The fourteen other SAS operatives were divided into three groups of four and a group of two. Paddy and his captain composed the latter. Two groups entered from the port side while the rest went in through the starboard side.
The dim light bulbs offered poor battle conditions. It was too bright for the night-vision goggles and not enough not to wear them. Most of the soldiers still opted to remove the goggles, going for better peripheral vision.
Paddy and his superior made their way along a corridor to the stairs with the other group. The latter went down to inspect the cargo bay.
Paddy climbed a flight with the captain in tow. As they rounded the corner, Paddy was hit by the strongest surge of adrenaline he had ever had. It was more intense than all the training exercises he had ever been on. It was more intense than his first time with a girl. Well, almost.
A terrorist was patrolling the hallway and he was coming toward them. They saw each other at the same time.
You’re trained for this, Paddy told himself.
He fired and hit the man in the center mass. But not before he himself squeezed his trigger. The AK-47 bullets hit nothing of consequence, but the sound was deafening, reverberating against the steel hull.
Shit.
The shots made the group switch from a furtive entry to a forceful one. Every compartment had to be checked, fast. They had to run.
Aumont’s feet fell off the chair when he heard the shots. He was in charge of killing the hostages, no one else. He instinctively grabbed his gun from the table and stood up. The escort and the rifleman ran out of the room to go see what was going on.
Jeff closed his eyes as he felt his stomach tie in a thousand knots. It was relief. He had seen what he thought he had seen and they were here to save him as well as the rest of the hostages.
The terrorist leader wasn’t too sure how to proceed. He had a hostage to execute in five minutes, but he knew they’d never get there. He put his Desert Eagle against Jeff’s head.
“Are they here for you?”
“You take hostages, you’re just asking for it, pal.”
Jeff was feeling cocky. Death might have been a second away, but he needed to show that Aumont hadn’t scared him one bit.
The manual said that in ca
se of a rescue operation the hostages should lay low and follow instructions. Jeff remembered every single word. But for all he knew it could be several minutes before the rescuers reached him.
In his case, several minutes meant certain death.
He put his hand over the soda can, blocking the opening with his palm. It was still more than three quarters full. Yes, he could do this.
He lifted his hand and struck Aumont in the temple with the can. At the same time, he propelled his body to the right to avoid the shot Aumont fired from the shock.
The Belgian was thrown off balance and fell to the ground. So did Jeff.
The latter crawled on his knees until he could stand and ran out of the room. Aumont knew he had lost. His cause would have to be carried on by others. There was only one thing left to do.
Jeff was alone in the hallway; he could hear gunshots left and right. Cornered as he was, Aumont had only one option at his disposal, one remaining tool that could establish him as a victor.
Jeff realized this. Getting a bullet to the head wasn’t the worst thing that would happen now. Everyone was about to die.
He followed the wire along the wall to the first loaf of C-4. At first glance it seemed like a serial system where there was only one wire running from loaf to loaf. It wasn’t a complicated bomb even for someone like him who had never handled one. But he knew the basics: without electrical current, plastic explosives can’t be detonated.
He ripped the mass of explosive off from the wall and tossed it aside. He tried to cut the wire, but couldn’t with his bare hands.
He pulled on the wire on Aumont’s side to keep him from pushing the button right away – essentially yanking the trigger mechanism from him. While he did so, Jeff threw his eyeglasses on the floor with his other hand.
He stomped on the lens that was ejected and broke it. Using the sharp edge, he cut the wire.
He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw two commandos dressed in black rush to him. They aimed their Heckler & Koch weapons at him. He shot his arms in the air.
