The Sea Rats

by David Leadbeater

  “Besides,” Mai gave Alicia a sly grin, “Drake and I have done most things already.”

  The blonde froze in the act of putting on her face mask. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just think,” Mai said sweetly. “In bed, when Drake does something that you like, you should think: Mai taught him that.”

  Drake moved before the friction between the two women rose any further, hauling his DPV along the deck of the warship and onto a Zodiac that would be lowered into the ocean. DPV stood for Driver Propulsion Vehicle. It was a small device in the shape of a rocket containing a handle for the diver to hold on to and a pressure-resistant watertight case that contained a battery-powered electric motor which drove a propeller. They were nimble and quick and helped carry the diver greater distances dependent on their air supply.

  Drake, Alicia, Mai and Luther had volunteered to infiltrate the ship’s passenger contingent, becoming hostages, whilst Dahl and Hayden were leading an attack on the Sea Rats’ HQ. Everyone had agreed that both Salene and the ocean liner were joint targets for this mission, but in entirely different ways. Salene would be assaulted. The ship would be infiltrated.

  Drake and his three teammates were dressed in civilian clothing under their dry suits, ready to mingle with the hostages aboard the Le Rabot. They doubted the pirates would keep up a daily head check and figured three faces, new or otherwise, wouldn’t be noticed among almost 200. From inside, they could determine the number of their enemy as well as their firepower and what positions they occupied aboard the ship. Also, they might overhear snatches of useful information if they could utilize the corridors and vents properly, including what the pirates’ ultimate aims were: To kill or release the terrified hostages, and what they planned to do with the enormous ocean liner.

  Drake checked their two-way comms system, which, once aboard, would be buried deep in their ears so as not to be visible. They had decided on a system that was constantly open so they wouldn’t have to press a button every time they spoke and potentially draw attention to themselves.

  “Good to go?”

  “All good.” Luther gave him the thumbs-up.

  One by one, they slipped into the ocean and then below the waves, switching their DPV on the moment they started to sink. Drake held on tight, but the rocket-shaped vehicle barely tugged at him at first. Darkness closed over him as he sank beneath the surface but he had no intentions of sinking far. Whilst he could still see the vague shapes of his friends, he tapped his full-face mask’s inbuilt comms system.

  “All good?”

  “Ready when you are, boss,” Mai came back.

  Drake winced, certain it had been a jibe at Alicia. Luckily, the Englishwoman hated diving almost as much as she hated deserts and jungles and didn’t bother answering back. As one, four shapes began to glide through the black waters.

  Drake checked the GPS system almost continuously. They had a bearing on the ocean liner and didn’t want to miss it since beyond the ship was nothing but empty water until they hit the African coast. Not that they were likely to get that far using the short-range, battery-powered vehicles.

  To be fair, he thought, it was rather peaceful under the seas. He could still make out a faint inconsistent light above, first utter darkness and then vague gray flashes where the sea rolled and swept and formed trough after trough. Marine life darted all around them, schools of gray and then bright colored fish flitting close in their shoals and then zipping away in incredible synchronization. A menacing barracuda drifted close as Drake glided by and he found himself wishing the DPV would go faster as the predatorial fish took an interest in him.

  “Fuck off, ugly,” he said, keeping a close eye on the nasty-looking predator.

  “Made a new friend?” Alicia asked.

  “I’ve dated worse,” Drake said without further explanation.

  After a minute the barracuda fell away, descending to some unknown depth and probably a tasty meal. Drake followed the GPS tracker using his inbuilt compass which also told him he had about ten minutes to their target. It was a dreamlike span of time, the waters folding away before him as he rose gently, the depths lightening all around, the vague shapes of his friends and the incessant, inquisitive denizens of the sea.

  Drake’s mind snapped to attention as a quiet warning sound went off and a huge shape appeared ahead.

  “If that’s not our ship, I’m turning this rocket around and riding it straight back to the mothership,” Alicia stated.

  “It’s our ship,” Drake replied. “Now, coast in, heads up.”

  They angled their DPVs toward the surface, aiming for a spot close to the ship’s starboard bow. There was a service door about thirty feet above their heads and, since they had access to the ship’s owners, they knew the code to open it from the outside.

  They bobbed in the rolling waters for a moment, seawater splashing up over their masks. Drake let go of his DPV and unhooked a rope gun from his belt. He steadied the weapon and aimed, conscious of his three teammates bobbing close by. The rise and fall of the water upset his aim so that the first shot fell short of the metal staircase that led to the door.

  Thank fuck Dahl’s not here, he thought.

  The second shot struck the staircase, the weighted end of the rope wrapping around metal handrail and struts. Drake tugged on it before using it to haul himself out of the water, plant his feet on the side of the ship, and start climbing.

  Drake felt exposed as he scaled the side of the ship. Winds slashed at him from all sides, and sheets of water sluiced off his diving suit. His chest heaved, his heart beat fast. Alicia was rattling on about sharks to the others through the comms system, which didn’t help. It felt like a long climb but five minutes later Drake was stepping onto the metal staircase and signaling the next person to start the climb.

  On seeing Luther start up, he turned his attention to the door. First, he removed his mask. Next he bent his head down close to the keypad and input a five-digit number. There was a discreet click. Drake readied his Glock, assuming it would be tight quarters on the other side, and eased open the door.

  A narrow corridor presented itself, the wood paneling luxurious and the carpet thick pile, which was in stark contrast to the battleship they’d just left.

  Drake slipped inside, enjoying the warmth.

  Luther’s voice came from the other side of the door.

  “I’m safe. Next!”

  Drake considered describing to Alicia how warm it was inside the ship whilst she was scoured by the elements outside but thought better of it. Luther opened the door as Drake moved up the corridor.

  “Checking storage room to the right.”

  Before leaving the USS Bainbridge, the infiltrators had examined Le Rabot’s blueprints, learning the positions of rooms and vents, of ducts and every inch of the ship they thought they might be able to use. They also carried a folded set of prints in case they needed them.

  Drake stood guard by the storeroom door until the others stepped inside the ship. Then, together, they entered the storeroom’s small space and started to strip out of their tanks and dry suits. Underneath, their clothes were dry. Drake wore blue jeans and a white T-shirt, even socks. Luther wore a sleeveless yellow T-shirt and camo shorts with more pockets than Drake could count. Luther had insisted on the pockets. He liked extra space where he could store things. Mai wore white jeans and a red shirt over which she’d slung a tattered looking hoodie. Alicia wore tight blue denim shorts that hugged all her curves and a baggy black sweatshirt bearing the Under Armor logo.

  Drake took sneakers from his dive bag, two mags for the Glock, a short blade and then the comms system they would use. It was all they could safely stow upon their persons as they posed as passengers. The handguns were risky, but there was no way they were going up against Somali pirates unarmed.

  Five minutes later they were ready to move out. Alicia hid their bags. The comms worked a treat.

  “Don’t forget,” Drake said, “comms are a
lways open. If you don’t want everyone to hear it, don’t say it.”

  Alicia looked a little blank at his words, as if wondering why anyone wouldn’t want to hear what she had to say. Mai was already staring at the blonde with raised eyebrows and a speculative grin.

  “I suggest if you want to keep your relationship alive, Drake, you steer Alicia away from any and all sailors.”

  Drake grunted. “Good point.” Even Alicia pursed her lips and then nodded.

  Looking as much like passengers as they were ever going to get, the four-strong Strike Force team exited the storage room and started making their way to the ship’s largest restaurant where all the hostages were being held. They traversed two passageways, climbed a set of stairs and then found themselves in a broad corridor with staterooms to both sides. They didn’t worry about keeping out of sight of the various high-level cameras. The US Navy had long since interfered with the ship’s CCTV system, enabling all sorts of options on board ship.

  As 2:00 a.m. passed, they approached the restaurant. It was close to the center of the ship on deck five. After a series of corridors and a central area containing four elevators, a great space opened out, almost the width of the ship. Drake saw tables, chairs, loungers, plant pots, cutlery stations, soda fountains and much more. He also saw dozens of huddled bodies, all in various states of dress. They were positioned every which way, some clearly asleep, the odd few clearly wide awake. Some were seated on chairs, others lay on the floor. Still more were propped up by the walls.

  Drake guessed they’d been hostages for about twenty-four hours now.

  He turned back to the others, but used his comms. “We have about three hours to make a thorough recce. Meet back here with enemy positions and firepower by five.”

  They already knew their jobs. It would be far better to pin down the enemy’s movements tonight rather than waiting and having to start during the day. All four of them were planning to explore a different part of the ship, currently outside the pirates’ passenger cordon, so free to move around. It would be harder tomorrow.

  Drake crept around to the left of the restaurant and found a single pirate. He disliked giving them the moniker associated with eye-patch wearing, rum-swilling, booty-loving swashbucklers, but it was literally the easiest way to refer to them. The man stood on the ship’s port side, near a wide, sweeping set of windows overlooking the ocean. The man wore denim trousers and a tattered brown shirt that fell almost to his knees. His face was thin, drawn and pockmarked. He was currently staring out of a window, lost at sea. Drake noted he carried an AK-47 in his right hand, had a holstered pistol of some kind and there was a bulge around his waist at the back that betrayed the presence of a knife. Drake also saw a radio clipped to the front of his jeans.

  One, he made a mental note. Restaurant. AK. Radio. Knife. No sign of spare mags.

  He moved on, making the circuit to the left before returning and starting right. He saw many more people now as he crept around the restaurant’s outer circumference. Dozens were pushed together as if for safety. There was a small amount of food on the tables and pitchers of water. He wasn’t surprised. Somali pirates looked after their investments. It was said that, somewhere in Puntland, there was a western restaurant that catered solely for hostages to ensure they kept to a steady diet.

  Drake counted two more pirates, which made three keeping watch over the passengers as they slept. Could be a little overkill, he thought. It would be hard to sneak past three the next night.

  By 4:00 a.m., the four soldiers had reunited. They spent fifteen minutes comparing notes and then, in the darkest, most tiring hours before dawn, crept slowly into the midst of over 100 hostages. They lay down, curled up or stretched out. Luther had his back to a wall, watching everything.

  It was an hour before dawn.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Alicia had crept and come to a halt well away from the others. She was toward the ship’s bow, at the far side of the restaurant to where they’d entered. A pirate dozed ten feet to her right, snoring fitfully. She was between two men and two women, all restless in their slumber. She stayed prone, her face to the right and her cheek pressed into the carpet, watching her enemy sleep.

  Earlier, they had uncovered the positions of eight pirates, but had found no lair—a place where their leader and his closest cronies ate, slept and schemed. And from where they would contact their own bosses. As for the armory they’d catalogued, it consisted mostly of AK’s, with knives and a few grenades thrown in for good measure. They were an unkempt lot, some stinking from eight feet away like the one to her right. Alicia heard and saw nothing notable for the next forty-five minutes.

  Then people started to wake.

  Their restlessness woke the pirates, who, presumably, weren’t supposed to be sleeping anyway. Mad at themselves, the hostages and their bosses, the three gun-toting men started jabbing people awake with the barrels of their guns, smacking them on the head until some cowered and others cried out. The pirates laughed in their faces. Alicia watched it coldly, marking the three guards for later retribution.

  She sat up and looked around. People were waking, groaning and crying everywhere, maybe realizing their current state wasn’t a nightmare after all. This was stark reality. It all felt a little surreal to Alicia. Not three weeks ago she’d been leading a team in search of the Four Sacred Treasures. After that, they’d visited Karin and Dino in hospital in Tokyo and then attended Dallas’s funeral in a chilly Philadelphia. Following that, they’d all headed for DC for an official team conversation and a good look at how the new Strike Force operations were going.

  Of course, there were teething troubles. Nothing new was ever launched without a few hiccups.

  Alicia wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted out of life at the moment. Her days and nights with Drake were so good she worried about changing any part of it, in case that small variation derailed their intimacy. But the future was always beckoning, just as much as that horizon used to beckon.

  Still, she’d been on the move all her life. Alicia couldn’t stay still for long, mentally or physically. This was the only life she’d ever known as an adult and it remained the only life she wanted. Her convictions were true, her motivation always to keep driving forward. Where would she go next?

  Will I lead this group, or . . .

  Will I lead another?

  The idea was fresh, still maturing. Yes, she’d captained the four ‘gold’ missions—as she thought of them—but her old boss Michael Crouch had ultimately been in command. He’d overseen the missions and taken full responsibility for them. Alicia wondered if that was what she wanted to try next.

  Responsibility.

  Shit, no.

  Would I start to second guess myself? Would I make the right decisions under pressure? Japan had been a success, but if she got anyone killed through her own incompetency, she’d never forgive herself.

  I have to keep moving on.

  But did she? Hayden and Kinimaka were buying a home together, which didn’t preclude them from joining any missions. On the other hand, Dahl and Johanna had once thought their future was secure, the path of their personal lives under control. But, as Alicia already knew, life was often a twat. It hit you when you were low, it threw curveballs at you for the fun of it. Just when you thought you were safe and on the right track, it pulled the rails right out from under you.

  Like it had for these passengers.

  Yep, here they all were. Two days ago they’d been enjoying a blissful cruise, nothing more than a fortnight away from reality. That was all most people needed to recharge, to shed 340 days of strife and drudgery and make ready for the next hard year at work. Now, these people were all in the fight of their lives.

  Whether that be personal, physical or mental depended on the individual, but there wasn’t a soul among them that would come out of this the same. Alicia had already seen over half a dozen that would need some kind of counselling.

  Alicia now watched Drake and the o
thers out of the corner of her eye. They too were eyeing the proceedings with distaste. It was a shame they’d only rooted out eight pirate positions so far and hadn’t been able to locate their lair. Alicia would have loved to turn the tables on them right now and teach every last one of these stinking wankers how to really use an AK.

  To tell them apart, she coined a nickname for each pirate stationed around the room. One was Scarface, a second Fistbump—because he kept on fist bumping his colleagues every time he got someone to cry—and the third, the man who’d been near her, was definitely worthy of the name Pigswill. Right now, Pigswill was heading back to his station, a satisfied look on his face and blood on his knuckles. He threatened two more people before he reached Alicia, leering right into the face of a blond woman and backhanding what looked like a teenaged boy. Alicia already knew the two women beside her wore bikinis—they must have been dragged in here straight out of a pool—and saw Pigswill’s eyes shine with a warped light as he made his way directly toward them.

  Alicia shifted, but didn’t act. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Drake shake his head. Also, the other two pirates were watching.

  “Stand up,” Pigswill said in broken English.

  At first, Alicia thought he meant her. He was standing three feet away, his stench practically a corporeal barrier between them.

  “W . . . why?” The faint, trembling voice came from Alicia’s left. She turned her head to see one of the bikini-clad women—a petite brunette with long hair, wide eyes and arm tattoos. She was curled up, holding her arms across her body as if hoping that would protect her from the man with the gun.

  Pigswill jabbed at her with the butt of his AK, contacting solidly with her shoulder, making her cry out with pain.

  “I said stand up.”

  Alicia’s hands curled into fists. Involuntarily, she rose up, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Drake’s hard face and gesture.