First Thrill

by Steve Richer

The three-level atrium, the Crow’s Nest, the Ocean View Lounge, the lush library, the profuse meals, Broadway-style shows, spa, casino, everything that makes a trip memorable. Perhaps his relationship with Chasey would be serious enough one day to contemplate marriage. This ship would make one hell of a honeymoon.

  Jeff was on Mathey Wharf where the Ocean Zoom had docked. With him were four soldiers whose names he’d been told but didn’t remember because of the stress. They were patrolling the piers while Iddon and his brick were boarding the ship.

  He hoped they really had been included on the passengers list and that they would remember to forgo the metal detection tests. Jeff shook the worries from his mind though. It wasn’t his job. Instead, he stared at every face he encountered to the point where some husbands returned the glare Jeff had given their wives.

  He went through the duty-free shops and bars and restaurants, but saw no one that looked familiar. He considered that Morales could have been wearing a disguise, but no one approaching his description was to be seen.

  Jeff mulled over the possibility that they had made a mistake or that Morales was yanking their chain. But it was too late for analysis now. They had to act before being cornered and being forced only to react.

  The last passengers walked up the gangway and aboard the ship five minutes before ten, fifty-five minutes late. It had been agreed that Iddon’s crew would stay with the Venezuelan president’s son for the remainder of the trip.

  They would buy clothes on board if necessary. The cruise line had arranged for them to stay in crew staterooms. They didn’t announce themselves to the young man they were protecting, mostly as to not freak out his bodyguard. The soldiers dispersed around the Ocean Zoom, but one always kept an eye on their principal.

  Jeff saw the huge anchor chain begin to rise. He approached the edge of the pier because he found the process fascinating and that’s when something called for his attention.

  “What the…”

  He looked closer, squinting. There was some sort of lump inserted into one of the chain’s links. He turned around and waved the soldiers over.

  “Look, that doesn’t look like seaweed to me.”

  The lieutenant nearest him produced a cellphone and keyed the first speed dial. “Sir, I think we have a bomb here. Entwined with the anchor chain, it’s just a bundle from here, but it sure doesn’t seem natural.”

  Iddon gave an order which made the lieutenant silently nod. One thing was clear though, they had to stop the boat from going any further.

  If there was a bomb it would be safer for it to be on the open sea, away from civilization, but the passengers had to be evacuated first. It would go faster if they didn’t have to use the lifeboats. It was possible that there was another bomb on the other side, on the other chain.

  A blast like that could sink the ship in a matter of minutes.

  Chapter 62

  Iddon was at the rear pool on the Lido deck when he heard the news. For an instant he wondered what the priorities were.

  Although combat-hardened and experienced, it took him the better part of three seconds to come to his senses. He began to run toward the bridge while he hit speed dial number two.

  “Evacuate the principal, there’s a situation.”

  He didn’t want to say the word bomb for fear of panicking the surrounding passengers. His colleagues knew better than argue with an order.

  He continued, “Use a lifeboat if you have to, and invite the bodyguard along. I don’t want him thinking we’re kidnappers. Say you’re with the security staff or blow your cover, I don’t care, but I want him off this boat.”

  The ship’s captain had been informed of his new guests and barely argued when he was ordered to stop raising the anchors. A junior officer took Iddon and a private down below deck to where the anchors rolled in.

  They got there just in time to see the packages move in. There was indeed one on each side. They were wrapped around the iron chain using wires that most likely were part of the trigger mechanism.

  A booby-trap.

  The device itself was encased in some kind of transparent Tupperware. There was no digital readout except for one red LED. And there was no keypad.

  Iddon gulped and did his best not to glance at the junior officer so he wouldn’t see just how terrified he was. This was a real bomb and it could do extensive damage.

  Worst of all, it could be triggered anytime.

  The passengers were summoned to the muster stations, just like they had drilled upon embarking. The gangway was redeployed and travelers on the port side were able to walk off the ship.

  Those on the starboard side were being lowered into lifeboats. The folks on the piers should have been evacuated also, along with the other docked ships, but it would have only triggered a panic that would have rendered the treatment of the situation troublesome. The matter had to be dealt with swiftly.

  Two soldiers of the onboard brick escorted the principal and his bodyguard off the vessel before the alarms started going off. They were met by one of the soldiers on Jeff’s crew who had commandeered a vehicle on the street for them. The group of five drove off to a predetermined secure location, in this case a hotel.

  It was once more Jeff who spotted the important element. Behind the boat, he made out shadows emerging from the water. Squinting, he identified three men in scuba gear reach for the ladder.

  “Tell me there’s a diving school here.”

  The lieutenant followed his gaze and drew his submachine gun from under his jacket. His two remaining subordinates did the same. They kept their weapons alongside their legs as to not agitate the fleeing passengers while they approached the edge of the jetty.

  “¡Para!” the lieutenant shouted, telling the people in the water to stop.

  Alvarado, Benti, and Cuchi looked up to at the voice. There was no way they could reach the top without being apprehended if this guy was after them. They let go of the ladder and went back into the bay.

  Jeff dove aside as the lieutenant raised his weapon. The interesting Curaçao tradition came as a blessing. Every time a ship left the harbor, they set off fireworks to bid the visitors goodbye. Evidently, the powderman hadn’t been notified that the ship was still docked.

  The multicolored blast illuminated the water and in the process helped the soldiers locate their target. The loud detonations were even more accommodating since they partly covered the noise of the Heckler & Kochs as they were fired down into the water. The three terrorists were nowhere to be seen.

  “You and me, we’re going to get them.” The lieutenant turned to a corporal. “You stay with the Ottawa puke.”

  The lieutenant removed his jacket and nylon holster while his colleague did the same. They left their guns on the ground and jumped the thirty-odd feet into the water. They didn’t notice how cold the water was.

  They both reached for their ankles and pulled out combat knives. The fireworks were still going strong and the light they produced was enough to light up the bombers as they swam toward them. A confrontation was inevitable.

  The lieutenant came face-to-face with Cuchi. Without one second of hesitation, he plunged the blade in the man’s throat.

  Before he could sink to the bottom to bleed out, he grabbed his mouthpiece and pulled the tank off the terrorist’s shoulders. As he slipped it on his own back, he saw his partner dodge Benti’s sharp edge. He swam over to help him and allow him to use his air.

  There was something Jeff couldn’t get out of his mind. He had discovered the three scuba divers who had most likely planted the bombs on the cruise ship. However, none of them had seemed to be Morales. They had been wearing masks and he hadn’t seen them under the best lighting conditions, but Jeff had this feeling that Morales wasn’t one of them.

  The man was a banker, perhaps a terrorist, yes, but still a banker. He didn’t strike him as the type to go on a daring underwater demolition assignment. No, Morales was the brains of this operation. He handled the financing, the planni
ng, perhaps even the equipment purchasing end of the deal. But he wasn’t the kind of man to get his hands dirty.

  Weren’t there reports that Morales was out of Caracas? He hadn’t flown anywhere, he hadn’t reserved boat tickets. He was here, Jeff was sure of it.

  The man who had invested so much in an operation like this wouldn’t turn his back on it. He would be nearby, a place where he could witness the scope of his power. Jeff looked around and smiled when he saw the hotel. The purple building housing the Otrobanda Hotel & Casino offered the perfect view of the harbor entrance.

  He had to be there!

  Chapter 63

  As he got to the quarrelling divers, the lieutenant was vehemently yanked back.

  He spun around to face his attacker, but before he could plan an aggressive move, his mouthpiece was jerked away. From the corner of his eye, he saw his buddy pull his adversary’s mask off.

  The gesture disoriented Benti long enough for the soldier to kick him in the nuts and then insert his knife deep inside his chest. He took a moment to don his opponent’s tank.

  The lieutenant tried not to panic. The more unnerved he got and the faster his cells would consume his oxygen. He was using his left hand to hold off his assailant’s knife from slashing him. Alvarado was pushing hard.

  His right hand lunged forward with the blade, but the terrorist moved aside. Rethinking his strategy, he slashed Alvarado’s hand which made him relent. He hadn’t given up his weapon, but there was a window of opportunity.

  The lieutenant again sprung forward and severed the hose. The playing field was leveled and the revolutionary gasped for air. The brick leader knew it would be dangerous to take him alive and he didn’t want to take any chances.

  He sliced Alvarado’s throat. The Santa Anna Bay was taking the dark hue of blood. He put the regulator back in his mouth and prayed there weren’t any sharks in the area.

  Jeff didn’t see the water change colors or one of the corpses climb to the surface. He had to act fast if what he was thinking was spot on. He picked up one of the discarded submachine guns.

  “That hotel,” he pointed out to the corporal. “We’re going there right now, Morales is there.”

  He didn’t wait for the warrior to express his views on the subject and considered that he outranked him. He began running toward the street where he could hijack a vehicle.

  The sight of the weapon was an important enticement for the hotel clerk to give the information Jeff requested. A Venezuelan national had indeed taken up a room in the establishment. Followed closely by the corporal, Jeff rushed over to room 15, only to discover that it was empty.

  They got out just in time to witness Morales in the parking lot. He was getting into his Range Rover which he had ferried over from Coro on the Venezuelan mainland. They ran down and returned to their stolen Jeep.

  They were driving north up De Rouvilleweg when the Rover popped up in front of them coming from Klipstraat. The traffic was too dense to hope to crash into the vehicle to make it stop, and firing at it would have endangered too many lives.

  Jeff was in the passenger seat and had nothing to do except admire the Dutch architecture. Morales’s premier evasive maneuver was to turn left onto Ijzerstraat.

  The corporal barely avoided an accident and followed the Rover onto the narrow street. The road was curving back south and they pursued it down until Langestraat. Morales turned left again on Breedestraat.

  “Is it just me or are we going in circles?”

  Jeff wasn’t expecting an answer, but at least it seemed as if he was participating. Because otherwise he felt useless.

  He considered the fact that Morales didn’t know where he was going, that he was merely trying to lose them. Sure as hell, he had the triggering device that could make Caribbean Wayfarers Cruise Lines’ insurance carrier very upset.

  Why didn’t he press the button? Jeff saw in that the mark of a reasonable man, a smart man. The guy might have been a terrorist, but he had the sense to see when he was defeated.

  Then why was he running? To save face maybe? No, he wanted to get away clean. He knew if he triggered the bomb there would be a relentless hunt for the murderer and he wouldn’t be able to hide for long. On the other hand, if he escaped without setting off the bomb, then he would live to fight another battle.

  The two vehicles engaged in the pursuit turned right on De Rouvilleweg. The wider boulevard was more comfortable. The coziness was short lived though. The Range Rover turned right again onto the Queen Emma Pontoon Bridge just as the barrier was lowered.

  This bridge had connected Punda to Otrobanda for over a hundred years. Set on a series of floats, the bridge swiveled on a central axis. Diesel engines attached to a propeller were installed on each side and were fired up to allow harbor traffic to pass through. It was one of Curaçao’s leading tourist attractions.

  “Hold on!” the corporal shouted.

  The Jeep managed to get on the bridge just as it was beginning to rotate. It was rather late at night and there was no one on the bridge except for them. Morales hit the gas, but had to brake suddenly when he realized he wouldn’t be able to reach the shore. The corporal stopped the Jeep twenty feet behind.

  “Get out of the car, Morales!” Jeff screamed, feeling the imminent end of this whole ordeal.

  The SUV was sideways. The passenger door opened and Morales got out. There was a moment where nothing happened. The bridge was completely sideways and a small sailboat was coming through. The Venezuelan banker then manifested himself. He appeared over the hood, pointing a weapon at the Canadians. He fired!

  “Shit…”

  Jeff ducked behind the dashboard and felt the broken glass litter his back. The corporal was also down, their heads bumping together, but he had the presence of mind to draw his MP5 and shoot in the general direction of their foe.

  The man then extended a hand to Jeff’s weapon to flip the selector switch to semi-automatic because it took experience to master a rapid-firing SMG.

  Using the cover of their own bullets, they stepped out of the Jeep and headed for the back where the metal would offer more protection.

  Only as he was doing so, a bullet in the right shoulder stopped the corporal cold. He was thrown forward and his weapon was thrown from his hands, landing into the water. The bridge was swinging back.

  Unruffled, Jeff aimed his gun forward and waited until Morales raised his head to squeeze the trigger. The banker returned fire until his clip was empty.

  Thinking he had him, Jeff let off a few more rounds over his head to pacify him, but soon came up dry. He would’ve thought these machine guns had more bullets; he didn’t know the JTF2 crew had opted for 15-round magazines for better concealment. Jeff dropped his weapon and ran toward the Range Rover.

  Chapter 64

  When Morales saw Riley coming toward him, his first instinct was to flee. He had never gotten into a fight in his life and wasn’t about to start. The jump down into the water was about eight feet. He could make that.

  He ran to the edge of the bridge and bent down under the barrier to slide off. But Jeff understood the motion. He leapt forward and took hold of the man’s forearm.

  “Let me go, pinche cabron!”

  “This is the end of the line, Morales.”

  Jeff was out of breath and almost out of strength. The bridge was closing up fast and the terrorist would be crushed to death. At first it seemed like a good outcome, but then the thought of the triggering device struck him.

  What if the bomb was accidentally set off during the squashing course of action?

  He tried to haul him up while Morales did his best to shake himself free. His toupee flew off. He saw the wall of the canal coming toward him faster and faster.

  “No!”

  He was screaming like a schoolgirl now. Screaming like a death row inmate as he was strapped down. Jeff could barely hold on. Worse still, if he didn’t let go soon he knew his body would be dragged down along and squeezed like a bug.
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  But then he sensed the weight was suddenly a non-issue. Pulling with his entire body finally reaped benefits. Morales was moving up even if he was still gesticulating like a madman.

  There were only three feet to go before the horrific death.

  Jeff was still pulling, his eyes closed to summon more strength, and it was working. He was now to the point where he could stand up and use his legs in the process as well.

  He opened his eyes and at last saw why it had been easier. The corporal was using his left arm to help the CSE agent. When he was finally completely up, Jeff threw himself on Morales to pin him down.

  “That was not nice,” Jeff spat, catching his breath. “That was not nice at all. You’re going to jail, buddy. The capital of pain.”

  The soldier removed the flexible polyester belt from his pants and handed it to Jeff so he could tie his hands. It was at long last over.

  The corporal’s shoulder was in bad shape, but he said he could drive. He argued that their stolen Jeep was equipped with an automatic transmission. He had decided to wait until he was back on the submarine to show it to the corpsman.

  Jeff sat in the back with Morales. They drove off the bridge on the Punda side before the police could get to them. They came back to Otrabanda using the Queen Juliana Bridge. Jeff searched Morales and the only device that could be mistaken for a trigger was his cellphone.

  “Is that how you were gonna blow up the boat? You were gonna dial it in?”

  The banker remained silent and Jeff continued frisking him. He retrieved his wallet and went through its contents. Credit cards, restaurant receipts, the picture of an unhappy woman – Elba it said in the back, obviously a – bank security pass, and a folded piece of paper. He inspected the latter and all it contained was a number: 1830. Jeff understood its significance.

  “This was the number? You dialed this number and it was marshmallow time, right? Well, not anymore.”