Domination Bid

by Don Pendleton

  “That’s for sure.” Garth grinned a knowing wink at McCarter, who returned it with a conciliatory grin of his own. “Seems like you’ve got it worked out, McMasters. I have two of the newest MH-60R multi-mission-capable Seahawks, and one of them just became yours.”

  “I appreciate that, sir.”

  “Also, I think it would be wise, based on what you told me, if we had a second one flying backup.”

  “Putting a lot of your eggs in one basket, Captain Garth?”

  “No…no,” Garth said, raising a finger. “But I like the way you think. No, my thought is that maybe that ship can just run some interference, create a distraction. We can stay far enough back not to get in the way. But don’t you think it would be nice to have a second option available?”

  “As long as we don’t risk friendly fire.”

  “I think we can accommodate whatever your mission objectives may be. And give you a margin of safety. Sounds like this Madari has significant resources. Surely you’ve thought about the fact he might have another vessel nearby to help if things go in the toilet with the first.”

  “To be honest,” McCarter said, mentally kicking himself, “I hadn’t thought of it. But now that you say as much, I suppose I should have considered the possibility.”

  “Probably best, also, that we keep the Resolute out of range. This way if you give me the word I can launch missiles to sink the thing. She won’t pose any threat if it comes to that—this much I can guarantee.”

  McCarter nodded. “We’re hoping it doesn’t come to that, but I appreciate all of your support.”

  “It’s my pleasure. Good luck, McMasters. I wouldn’t want to trade places with you even if I could.”

  “I don’t blame you, Captain,” McCarter replied.

  * * *

  SIXTY NAUTICAL MILES to the east, Stanish had managed to convince the others that she was in charge and any view to the contrary would most likely be a fatal one.

  The Hellenic patrol boat was now rapidly fading to their rear and the sun seemed to race toward setting. The red-orange-purple glow across the beautiful water mesmerized Stanish. It made her want to be someplace else, any place really, and despite her feelings of betrayal she wanted to fold herself into the warm and strong embrace of her lover’s arms.

  After she had been told of their plans to take the ship to the port in Derna, she considered any alternate possibilities. At this point, it didn’t make sense to return to the island estate. There would probably be remnants of the men waiting there with orders to shoot her on sight. Turning around and docking at Athens, while convenient, wouldn’t do much good, either. It would attract immediate attention from customs and law enforcement, and perhaps force her into hiding in Athens longer than she wanted. She didn’t have any contacts there, either.

  By now, she thought, I’m not only out of friends but I have my own government looking for me.

  The only thing she could do was to carry out Madari’s plan and go to Derna. She’d get herself into the country and wait for him there. Eventually he’d show up and then she could get his explanation for why he’d abandoned her and lied to her. She wanted to look him in the eyes and hear his reasons, and if she didn’t believe him then she’d kill him herself.

  She had given up everything to be with him because she loved him. Or maybe she hadn’t loved him; maybe she’d been in love with the idea of being in love with him. Either way, he owed her an explanation for his actions, and she would do everything she could to hear that explanation from his own lips. She had nothing else left to her. She’d made herself an enemy of the U.S. government and renounced her citizenship and values for a man. In return, he’d betrayed her.

  And she would be avenged.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The twin MH-60R Seahawk choppers skimmed the waters of the Mediterranean at better than a hundred knots. They were operating in a complete blackout state—the men of Phoenix Force were glad for the cloud cover that had moved in and completely obscured the moonlight. McCarter glanced at the luminous dial of his chronometer and checked the time against their progress. Nearly 2330 and they were only fifteen minutes into the flight.

  McCarter keyed up the headset that linked him directly to Grimaldi. “Jack, you read me?”

  “Five by five.”

  “How long to target?”

  “Not sure. We don’t have any signal so we’re going strictly off sonar and last known position.”

  “Best guess?”

  “Estimate, seven minutes. No more.”

  “It’s possible they’ve changed direction. How will that affect our assault?”

  “None, really. We’ll still come on the port side, just as you asked. Safest place to hover will be the rear.”

  “Yeah, I remember you said the Hellenic navy officers reported they thought maybe the weapon was on the foredeck of the yacht. They couldn’t fire at us without the risk of hitting their own bridge. Is that our thinking?”

  “Pretty much,” Grimaldi replied. “Beside the fact the aft of a ship is always its weakest point. That’s where the engine is, too. So if we have to blow out the propellers we at least have a chance.”

  “Okay, just wait until we’re down to the last man on deck and you have my signal before pulling away. Especially since I’m the last one off the line. Hate to get dragged away before I have the chance to participate in some of the bloody fun.”

  “Understood.”

  “Roger that, and out.” McCarter clicked off and then tapped his helmet to attract the attention of the rest.

  They were attired in matte-black fatigues and rigged for full combat. The intense looks on their respective faces told McCarter he didn’t have to worry about delivering any speeches.

  What McCarter couldn’t shake was how Madari had chosen to handle his affairs. He had called attention to himself and then, as if rubbing salt in the wound, had used a device, the very existence of which he was attempting to keep under wraps.

  The more McCarter thought about it the more convinced he was that Madari was using the yacht as a decoy. That meant it was not only an unimportant aspect of the game in Madari’s eyes, but the chances were good he considered it an expendable asset. Well, Phoenix Force wasn’t about to play Madari’s game if they could avoid it.

  Yeah, McCarter thought. Time for us to start calling the bloody shots.

  The five-minute mark passed so quickly McCarter could hardly believe it. Still, all of them saw the diffuse red light come on to indicate they were on approach of the target and the team should prepare for their assault. McCarter gave them a high sign before he gestured at Encizo. The Cuban nodded and then reached to disengage the latch and open the door.

  The salty Mediterranean winds buffeted them in the confined space of the chopper where they had positioned themselves. Encizo checked his safety harness before leaving his seat and taking a knee at the edge of the deck plate. He kept one hand on his MP-5 while the other held tight to the door as Grimaldi made one last bank of the MH-60 before coming to a smooth hover above the rear of the ship.

  They waited a few extra seconds for Grimaldi to match speed before the red light flashed. Encizo deployed the rappel lines, attached his carabiner and detached the safety harness. He then flipped on the power switch of the night-vision goggles before lowering them to his eyes and vaulting over the side with the practiced ease of a professional. Of all the Phoenix Force warriors, Encizo was the most comfortable with operations at sea. The guy was a natural swimmer and experienced in maritime combat.

  Hawkins followed immediately after him, then James and Manning. As he’d promised Grimaldi, McCarter was the last to go over the side and even as he descended he could see his men were already busy fanning out and engaging the first of their targets. He could make out the muzzle-flashes of their weapons and couldn’t he
lp but reward himself with a brief grin and a surge of satisfaction. This time they had brought the fight to the enemy and caught them completely off guard.

  To the victor go the spoils, thought David McCarter.

  * * *

  AS SOON AS Rafael Encizo hit the deck of the yacht and disengaged from the harness he went into action.

  His sixth sense alerted him to movement up the port rail and he turned just in time to see two armed sentries come into view. Encizo knelt, swung the MP-5 slung across his right shoulder into action and triggered a salvo with the weapon in burst mode. Triple 9 mm Parabellum rounds punched into the first sentry’s gut and drove him back until he smacked the railing. The impact was enough to cause the lifeless guard to lose his balance and flip over the rail to descend into the dark water below, swallowed instantly by the choppy waves of an unforgiving sea.

  The second man managed to get off a volley of autofire from his assault rifle before Hawkins dispatched him neatly with a single shot from his M-16 A3. The first two rounds Hawkins triggered didn’t quite cut it, as the Phoenix Force warrior was trying to detach and get clear of the rappel rope at the same time as defend Encizo’s position. The third round did the trick, though, entering the man’s skull just above the bridge of the nose and blowing out the back of his head.

  Pandemonium seemed to erupt on the aft deck of the yacht as one Phoenix Force commando after the next descended, cleared and took up an offensive position. McCarter and team had resolved this wouldn’t be a holding action—they had a specific set of objectives and they planned to execute their mission plan without hesitation.

  Their biggest concern was to identify the EMP weapon and secure it so the crew couldn’t use it against any other vessels. They especially didn’t want it to threaten American naval assets. While McCarter had been assured the likelihood of it being able to take down aircraft was almost nil, he didn’t plan to take any chances. Madari had outfoxed them quite enough and McCarter wouldn’t permit any repeat performances on that mark.

  At present, it didn’t appear the crew was all that concerned about attempting to use the EMP gun, wherever the hell the thing was mounted. Instead they were doing their best to get organized and recover from the initial surprise. It wasn’t working well for them, mostly because it appeared nobody was really in charge.

  Two more gunners charged up the starboard side but McCarter stood ready. He raised his MP-5 and triggered a sustained burst as he swept the muzzle of his weapon at an upward angle. Rounds smashed through the pair, the first of the slugs clipping the hip of one man before cutting a path across his guts. Entrails were shredded as the shearing force of the rounds exposed the man’s belly to the outside world. The survivor caught several across the chest while still in motion. He continued forward with his arms wind-milling out of control, but the path was cut short by another round that caught him in the jaw and blew out the left side of his head. His lifeless body crashed into a deck stanchion and slammed him onto his back.

  McCarter whipped his head around. Encizo and Hawkins make their way toward the stern along the port side walkway they’d just cleared a moment before. McCarter nodded with satisfaction. Witnesses aboard the Hellenic patrol boat had sworn they’d seen some kind of device atop a gyro pointed at them just prior to their gun exploding. Most agreed the device had been in the stern area of the yacht, so McCarter had made it part of Hawkins and Encizo’s primary mission to locate the device and secure it at any cost while the rest of them cleared the ship of any enemy personnel.

  The yacht couldn’t be that well defended. They had surmised the crew complement at a maximum of twelve. If true, they’d just neutralized a third of the enemy force. The deck astern looked clear now so McCarter gestured for James and Manning to follow him up the starboard side. All were wearing night-vision goggles, which appeared to have scored a point in combat superiority for Phoenix Force.

  McCarter could only hope, however grimly, their luck held out a little longer.

  * * *

  THE ATTACK HAD come swiftly and without warning.

  None of the equipment aboard the yacht had detected the approach of the choppers. The whipping of chopper blades against the air had been the only thing to tell Stanish something was afoot. She leaped out of Nero’s cot, which she’d commandeered after his demise, and she smacked her head on the plate that hung over its length. She cursed with fury as she rubbed her head.

  She reached for the pistol in her holster and then grabbed the satchel of weapons she’d brought along. She went to the cabin door that she’d secured and opened it, poking her head out. She couldn’t see anything along the narrow corridor but she heard the shout of the sentries on deck, which was followed by automatic weapons fire a moment later. They only had ten crewmen aboard the yacht, besides the XO, pilot navigator and herself—only about half of those were actually armed with sub-guns designed solely for the purpose of repelling boarders.

  It didn’t sound from what she heard above as if they were having much success. It had to be special forces of some kind, and they likely weren’t from the Hellenic navy. Only American or British naval resources would have had been able to dispatch such a team in this short period of time.

  Stanish thought about closing and re-locking the cabin door but she quickly realized the foolishness of such an action. They could easily pin her down and she couldn’t position against superior numbers of SOG commandos. Plus, she had no story to tell them they would believe at this point—under the circumstances she didn’t doubt every intelligence agency from Europe to Northern America had her face and details. The bastards probably even had orders to kill her on sight.

  She secured the satchel to her shoulder, checked the action on her .380-caliber pistol and left the cabin, headed in the direction of the bridge. She made the steps and popped her head out the door. A cool ocean breeze assaulted her face and a blast of salty spray stung her eyes. The shooting was much louder but only for a moment, and then it died. She emerged from the small door and secured it behind her.

  Stanish turned to head for the bridge but spotted the approach of shadowy forms on the starboard side walkway. She ducked out of sight and bit her lip, unsure of where to go. If she fought back they would probably take her out before she took down one, maybe two at most. If she remained indecisive, they would surely capture her. Either way didn’t hold much appeal. She weighed her options and realized she had no choice—she couldn’t afford to let them take her alive. They’d put her on trial for espionage, find her guilty and lock her away in some hole for the rest of her days.

  Stanish knew what she had to do, and she wasn’t going to do it for Ishaq Madari. He’d spurned her love after she’d given her heart to him. She had no defense for her actions, no way to answer the charge of high treason. She had allied herself with terrorists and criminals, and now she would pay for that alliance with her life.

  She entered the portal that led to her cabin but just before she reached it she turned and entered another door. It led into the engine compartment area. One thing she had left in her satchel was a couple of grenades. More than enough to take out the engine room and sink this thing to the bottom of the Mediterranean.

  Stanish locked the door behind her and searched until she found something to wedge under the handle. She kept the lights out and used a red-lensed flashlight to prepare the two grenades. She wasn’t exactly an expert with engines but she had quite a bit of knowledge in sabotage—one of the classes she’d followed with relish at Quantico. As with most yachts of this size, each of the two engines was diesel and boasted nearly three thousand horsepower. They drove a twin-screw propulsion system with a capacity of nearly a quarter-million liters and supported a range of 7,000 nautical miles.

  Its length at the waterline was approximately 246 feet, so she knew she’d have to plant the grenades low to damage the engines and yet successfully penetrate the steel hull effecti
vely enough to take on water. Diesel wasn’t nearly as explosive as gasoline but it was highly flammable and would spread quickly to the more combustible parts of the engine. The intense heat from igniting that much diesel would easily reach a temperature capable of melting the aluminum superstructure to slag.

  Stanish willed her shaking hands to stop as she primed the grenades and set one at the base near the compressor. She placed the second one near the fuel lines of the other and then yanked the pin. After priming it, she walked on shaky legs to the first one and pulled the pin, then sat adjacent to it and bowed her head.

  “Whatever power may exist, whatever god, forgive me,” she said in a choked whisper at tears began to flow from her eyes. “Forgive me…”

  * * *

  HAWKINS AND ENCIZO met two more armed crew members near the stern of the yacht. The men were hovered over what looked like an intricate control panel. When they saw the commandos approaching, they hesitated just a moment. At first it looked as though they might resist but when the men saw the Phoenix Force pair had the drop on them, they raised their hands.

  Hawkins relieved them of their weapons and ordered them to sit facing a nearby stanchion while Encizo made a quick study of the controls. A flash of movement to his right caused Hawkins to look toward the starboard side. He saw through his NVGs the fleeting image of a lone figure dash belowdecks through a door just beneath the ladder well that led to the bridge.

  Hawkins keyed up his headset. “Six to Leader.”

  “Go.”

  “We have two crew neutralized and my partner’s inspecting the device now,” Hawkins related. “But be advised I just spotted a single crewmember access a door immediately below the bridge on the starboard side. Proceed with caution.”

  “Understood, Six. Leader, out,” came McCarter’s snappish reply.