Running Dark ec-2

by Jamie Freveletti

  “I’m aware of my responsibilities—and yours. Price cannot continue to sell a drug that it knows is worth no more than a sugar pill. Once your scientists review my findings and agree with them, Price will have to stop selling the drug. It’s that simple.”

  “Nothing is ever that simple.” Stark strode to the lab door. “Inform the guard when you’re done here. The door will lock behind you.” He was gone in an instant.

  Emma sighed. The day was getting worse by the moment. She returned to the task at hand. She’d worry about Stark later. Right now she was far more concerned about herself. Filling the vials was much more difficult now that she was alone. She watched as the red plasma rose in each one. She still felt normal, which was impossible if she’d been injected with a chemical weapon on the level of what she suspected. Each hour she didn’t react was further evidence that whatever had been pumped into her wasn’t going to cause immediate, catastrophic harm. So not a fast-acting chemical weapon—then what?

  Several street drugs caused some of the same symptoms she was having, absent the extreme endurance boost, but something told her that the EpiPen contained nothing so ubiquitous. The injecting device itself showed a level of sophistication that wouldn’t be found in conjunction with a street drug. In that case one could simply hit her with a needle and achieve the same result. She finished, tossed the sharp into a hazardous-waste container on the wall, and applied the Band-Aid to the injection site. She took the vials to another workstation to begin testing.

  Anxiety usually entailed a level of stress, this much she knew. Stress released chemicals into one’s bloodstream; hormones triggered cortisol, cortisol triggered epinephrine. Too much of any of this would overwhelm her system, but one’s body also had a mechanism in place to moderate the reaction. Hers, though, was charging ahead full bore. It was as if her moderating switch had been deactivated. An adjunct Rapidtest existed that could reveal the levels of stress chemicals circulating in her veins. She prepared to check for catecholamines: dopamine, norepinephrine, and epinephrine. She finished the test, then waited.

  Forty-five minutes later, she had her answer. She was awash in epinephrine and dopamine. Her levels were so high that she was surprised she wasn’t banging her body against the walls to try to alleviate the effects. In fact, she couldn’t believe that such levels could exist without causing major physiological harm. One’s body wasn’t geared to accept this saturation of fight-or-flight chemicals. Had she been any less fit, she probably would have had a heart attack.

  She labeled the remaining vials and brought them to a nearby workstation. A piece of paper taped to the wall above the station listed the name of one of the Price scientists that she knew. She tore off a Post-it to write a note, then hesitated, not sure just what she wanted. She scribbled on the pad, asking the chemist to test for ricin, anthrax, HIV, and botulinum toxin. She also requested information on dopamine uptake and wrote Banner’s number as a contact.

  Emma left the lab, making sure the door locked behind her. When the elevator doors shushed open, darkness greeted her. The soft African night held the sound of township music playing far in the distance. There was a pull about Africa that one was unable to ignore. Something vibrant, elemental, and dangerous all at the same time. Emma paused. She wanted to stay, to dance to the native music, let the magic take her. A post-race celebration was scheduled at a local nightspot, but she wasn’t sure it was the safest place to be that evening. She unlocked her rental car, tossed the duffel into the trunk, and started her drive to the airport.

  7

  SUMNER WATCHED THE PIRATES PREPARE TO FIRE.

  “Hit them again,” Wainwright said. The LRAD blared. The pirates were closer now, and its beam worked much better at close range. Sumner watched the pirate holding the grenade launcher lower it and shake his head, like a dog flapping its ears, attempting to ward off the unbearable noise. They’d bought themselves some time, but not much else. The emergency sirens blared throughout the ship. Sumner watched the passengers surging onto the decks.

  Wainwright snorted in disgust. “I’d love to know which idiot pulled the fire alarm. Carter”—he waved at a nearby officer—“tell the security detail to get those people into the center of the ship. They’re sitting ducks on the decks.” Carter nodded and jogged off the bridge. Wainwright turned to the other crew members. “I want this ship moving as fast as it can go, and I want it now.”

  Wainwright’s crew responded with a calm that Sumner found impressive. The ship, all twenty-eight thousand tons of it, would never outrun the cigarette boats, but the added speed would help make it difficult to board.

  “Why don’t you just blow the bastards out of the water?” Block’s voice held a note of hysteria.

  Sumner gritted his teeth. The last thing he needed was a three-hundred-pound beef head panicking. Wainwright seemed to have the same concern, because he cut Block off at the knees.

  “Mr. Block, maritime law does not allow us to carry heavy weapons. I asked you to leave. Don’t add to my troubles here by asking stupid questions.” Wainwright turned to Sumner. “Mr. Sumner? Any ideas?”

  “You’re asking a cabin boy what to do? What the hell kind of captain are you?” Block’s voice had risen an octave. His face was flushed with anger or fear—Sumner didn’t know the man well enough to determine which—and he thrust it at Wainwright.

  Sumner stepped between the two men and faced Wainwright. “I have a gun.”

  “Now you’re talkin’,” Block said.

  Wainwright ignored him. “What kind of gun?”

  Sumner hesitated. The gun was a sniper rifle and banned on board a cruise liner. Using it would be a last resort. Before he could respond, the ship’s radio crackled.

  “Kaiser Franz, this is the USS Redoubtable. We’ve received a distress signal. Please advise.”

  Wainwright grabbed the radio. “Captain Wainwright, Kaiser Franz. We’re in a standoff attack. Two cigarette boats armed with RPGs are preparing to fire on the ship.”

  “We’re on our way. Six hours.”

  “Hell, we’ll be dead in six hours,” Block said. “Let Sumner here shoot ’em!”

  Sumner had his binoculars out. He watched the pirate put the RPG back on his shoulder. “They’re getting ready to fire.”

  Wainwright turned to the crew member manning the LRAD. “Put it on the highest level. Hit them three times, four seconds apart.” He handed Sumner some earplugs. “They’re close enough now that this level will damage their eardrums. We’re behind the beam, so it won’t be as bad, but no sense taking a risk.” Sumner shoved them into his ears.

  “What about me?” Block sounded petulant.

  “Use your hands,” Wainwright said. Block covered his ears with his palms.

  The LRAD blasted. The two pirates in the second boat grabbed at their ears, covering them, but the pirate in the first boat, the one holding the RPG, didn’t flinch. He aimed and fired.

  The grenade slammed into the side of the ship, high up, above the waterline. It shuddered with the impact. Sumner didn’t stay to watch any more. He sprinted off the bridge, back down the stairs, and ran belowdecks.

  He ran through the halls listening to the voice blaring over the intercom, instructing all passengers to head to the casino immediately. The voice repeated the information in calm, slow tones. The casino was located in the ship’s center, hemmed in by hallways on either side. Like all casinos, it lacked windows, so the gamblers would not be distracted by the rising or falling of the sun.

  Sumner fought his way past frightened passengers who streamed through the narrow corridors. He ran past closed stateroom doors but stopped at the entrance to the casino. The majority of the Kaiser Franz’s 350 passengers huddled in the interior space. They lay on the floor, arms over their heads. Cindy Block sat nearest the door. Through force of habit, Sumner looked for the German family. He found the girl under a roulette table, shivering in a fetal position next to her mother, who had her arms wrapped around her. The father was ab
sent. Sumner scanned the room, looking for the Russian and his mistress. The Russian sat at the bar swallowing a shot; the mistress sat next to him, looking terrified.

  He continued down the hall, opened his cabin door, and slipped inside. He pulled a case from the closet. Made of titanium, it looked like a rectangular violin case with a webbed carrying strap. Sumner threw the strap over his shoulder and plunged out the door, running.

  A second explosion rocked the Kaiser Franz. Sumner careened into a wall as the vessel pitched. Screams of terror echoed from the casino. Sumner’s heart pounded in his chest, and he ran faster, with renewed urgency. He retraced his steps, past the casino entrance, up the stairs, onto the deck, and up the ladder to the bridge. A second RPG flew at the ship. This one was aimed high, at the bridge. It overshot and kept flying out to sea.

  Sumner crouched on the deck surrounding the bridge and lowered the titanium case before him. Block, Wainwright, and the crew were back in the bridge. They watched him through the windows. Sumner set the code on a small padlock before flipping open the case. A Dragunov rifle with a telescopic sight nestled in the box’s protective lining. Sumner pulled it out, checked the chamber, and crab-walked to the deck’s side. When he was within three feet of the railing, he dropped to his stomach and crawled the last few inches, dragging himself by the elbows. He settled into position. He peered through the scope, targeting the pirate manning the RPG, and reined in his anger.

  The shot was a difficult one. The Kaiser Franz churned through the ocean, slicing the waves, rising and falling with each swell. Wainwright kept the boat at an angle to the waves so as not to have to fight them the whole way, which would only serve to slow the ship. In contrast, the cigarette boats slammed head-on into each swell. Their superior speed ensured that they would always keep up with the larger craft, but their heedless trajectory caused the boats to buck. The pirates bounced along with each crashing wave, and the man holding the grenade launcher was hard-pressed to keep it on target long enough to fire with any accuracy.

  Sumner waited until the Kaiser Franz reached its lowest point, then began its roll up. He fired when the boat was halfway to its peak. A large hole bloomed on the shoulder of the man holding the rocket launcher. He went down. Sumner could hear Block hooting through the windows. At least he thought it was Block—he didn’t bother to look up. The first cigarette boat veered off, racing away from the Kaiser Franz. The second also started to loop away. Sumner targeted the second boat’s captain. Waited for the roll, squeezed the trigger. The man flew forward with the force of the bullet that entered his back, high, at the shoulder. Sumner watched the passenger scramble to take over steering the boat, and then he swung back to aim at the first boat, but it was out of range, retreating as fast as its engines would allow. He watched the boats until they were once again tiny dots in the distance.

  Block jogged over. “Hot damn! You can sure as hell shoot, boy, and that’s the truth. I’ll bet that’s the first time you shot a man, right?”

  Sumner put the gun back in its titanium case. Closed it and twirled the combination lock. He straightened to look at Block.

  “That’s the first time I shot a man without killing him,” he said.

  Block’s mouth fell open.

  8

  CAPTAIN WAINWRIGHT CLAPPED SUMNER ON THE SHOULDER. “Good job. How long do you think it will be before they come back?” Sumner watched Block blanch. The possibility that they’d come back must not have occurred to him. But Sumner had no doubt they’d return. The Kaiser Franz carried rich passengers and a casino filled with cash. They’d take the money, kidnap the passengers, and strip the boat for its parts.

  “A little before dawn, I would think. And I have bad news. I saw radar equipment. Can you switch off yours and alter course? Take a less familiar route?”

  Wainwright pondered the question for a moment. “I hate to turn off the beam. It will help the Redoubtable find us.”

  “And the pirates,” Sumner said.

  Wainwright nodded. “As for the route we take, I don’t even know how long we can continue. Depends on how bad the damage is. I’ve got the engine crew checking into it now. If we’re taking on water, we’ll need to put into port as quickly as possible.”

  “Back to the Seychelles?” Sumner said.

  Wainwright shook his head. “Last radar showed the pirates were massed between us and the islands.”

  “They’re herding us.”

  Wainwright’s expression was bleak. “They seem to be.”

  “In which direction?”

  Wainwright grimaced. “Somalia.”

  “Somalia? I didn’t pay thousands of dollars to go to Somalia.” Block’s voice was loud and scared. Sumner thought the man had a right to be frightened. Somalia was one of the most dangerous places on earth. Mogadishu’s port bustled with commerce, most of it illegal. It was likely that the pirates originated from there. Sumner would have preferred Mombasa, Kenya, although that country was in the midst of its own problems.

  Wainwright turned on Block. “Mr. Block, leave the deck. Now, please.”

  Block looked like he wanted to argue. Sumner frowned at the man. Block glanced at the titanium case still in Sumner’s hand, closed his mouth, and left the deck.

  Wainwright turned to his first officer. “Let me know if there are any injuries, and tell me the minute you get a report from the engine crew. Radio the Redoubtable and tell them we’ll need an escort to the nearest port.”

  After the officer left, Wainwright sighed. “This cruise line serves a very wealthy, very pampered clientele. Any number of bad elements in Mogadishu will see them for what they are: easy prey and big money in ransoms. I’ll do anything to avoid Mogadishu.” A small radio attached to Wainwright’s belt crackled, and a voice poured from it.

  “Bad news, sir. The Redoubtable radioed back and said they can’t escort us anywhere.”

  Wainwright depressed a button on the device and placed it to his lips. “Why not? Twenty minutes ago they said they were on the way.”

  “They’re under fire from the insurgents. Four cigarette boats are bearing down on them, and two helicopters. I didn’t know the insurgents even had helicopters. We’ve been advised to change course and hightail it out of the area as fast as possible.”

  “What’s our situation?”

  “The lower decks reported in. No injuries. Two staterooms sustained damage. Satellite’s sporadic, radar’s out, but I think both can be fixed. We’re not taking on water, but oil pressure is dropping like a stone. We’re trying to determine why. Unless we can plug the leak, we’re going to be floating dead in twenty minutes.”

  “Let’s get the generators ready to go.”

  “Already gave that order. I have two men suiting up. When we can safely stop, they’re going to submerge to see if there is any damage below the waterline that could account for the oil-pressure problem.”

  “Tell me when it gets too dangerous to continue. When it is, we’ll cut the engines.”

  “That would be now, sir.”

  Captain Wainwright sighed. “Fine, cut them.” He turned to Sumner. “We’re grenade fodder.” He rubbed a hand across his face. “Come on into the control room. Let’s assess our options there.”

  Sumner followed Wainwright into the control room, where Wainwright’s first officer, a plump man named Nathan Janklow, turned to greet them.

  “We only have so much fuel. We’re going to burn it at a ridiculous rate if we continue at the speed we need to maintain distance from these guys. We’re crazy to even consider Mogadishu. Frying pan to fire,” Janklow said. He was only in his mid-thirties but had the dour personality of a much older man. At that moment, though, Sumner agreed with him. Putting in at Mogadishu was a decidedly risky move.

  “What about Berbera?” Sumner said.

  “Berbera? That’s a Somali port, isn’t it?” Wainwright said. Sumner moved to a large map on the wall and pointed to the northern part of Somalia.

  “It’s in the separatis
t republic of Somaliland. No one really uses it. Technically, the area is a part of Somalia, but it’s been run by the same warlord for over seventeen years now. Somaliland wants nothing more than to break away from Somalia, and they like Americans. They might welcome a chance to play protector. Show the world how different they are.”

  Wainwright looked thoughtful. “It’s going to take longer to get there.”

  “I’ve heard the port’s a broken-down mess,” Janklow said. “Dilapidated as hell.”

  “So’s our ship, at the moment,” Wainwright said.

  “They don’t get much foreign aid, so there’s no money for the port, or for anything else. The United States backs the transitional federal government in Mogadishu. And that government considers Somaliland to be squatters. They refuse to recognize the area as its own country,” Sumner said.

  Wainwright gave a short laugh. “What government in Mogadishu? The city is a complete disaster, where anarchy reigns supreme. How the hell did we end up backing them and ignoring the peaceful regime located in the same region?”

  Sumner shook his head. “I have no idea. But tensions between the separatists and the transitional government are at an all-time low. The transitional government is pushing the U.S. to denounce Somaliland. If we go there, this administration will be put in a difficult position.”

  “They’ll have to be realistic. I can’t risk putting over three hundred civilians in at Mogadishu. It’s suicide,” Wainwright said.

  “You’re both assuming we’ll get there, but it’s likely we’ll be attacked again long before we reach Berbera.” Janklow was once again ringing the negativity bell, and again Sumner had to agree with him.