Chapter 5.
QUEEN MARY 2
Led by Islamic extremist Muftah al-Hamadi, the four terrorists posing as Saudi royalty arranged their passage on the QM2 with counterfeit documents and certified funds. They left their adjoining Queen Anne and Queen Victoria suites shortly after 3 A. M. Al-Hamadi, mindful of the terror and chaos his brethren had inflicted on New York City and the Pentagon, intended once again to shock the financial capital of the world.
Two of the Islamic radicals would go to the ship's bridge while the other two would make their way to the ships main air-conditioning plant located in the machinery spaces. The team going belowdeck would first kill the watch standers and then neutralize the security system for the flexible propulsion system. Their next target would be the closed-circuit television system monitoring the engineering spaces.
Between them, the terrorists possessed enough sarin to kill everyone on a dozen QM2S. One of the most feared and most lethal of nerve agents, sarin is an odorless, tasteless, and colorless substance that can be inhaled or absorbed through the skin. This operation would make the Aum Shinrikyo's sarin attack on the Tokyo subway system pale in comparison.
Highly trained and totally dedicated to Saeed Shayhidi's cause, the four men had fanatical frontline mentalities. They were prepared to die for Shayhidi and his full-scale jihad against the "Great Satan."
For Shayhidi and his growing legions of followers, assassinating the U. S. secretary of state, along with key members of the U. S. Congress and leaders from countries allied with America, would be sheer ecstasy
The irony was part of the elation. The unsuspecting conferees would die after having attended a summit intended to curtail international terrorism. Al-Hamadis colleagues and Shayhidi would salute the four dedicated terrorists as conquering heroes and martyrs.
When they reached the ships bridge, Muftah al-Hamadi and his partner used handguns with silencers to quickly dispatch the crew on watch. With sarin already flowing through the entire air-conditioning system, al-Hamadi chained the hatches leading to the bridge and rang up flank speed. The revolutionary Rolls-Royce four-pod propulsion system could propel the city-at-sea to a speed of 30 knots.
Before they were finally overcome, al-Hamadi and his associate sabotaged the primary and secondary communications equipment. They knew the navigation suite was preprogrammed to take the mighty ocean liner directly to New York City.
Traveling at top speed, the 1,132-foot Queen Mary 2 would be well ahead of her scheduled docking at the Twelfth Avenue Passenger Ship Terminal. Regardless of the exact point of impact in the Big Apple, the high-speed arrival of the 150,000-ton ship would be an event etched in history.
When he succumbed to the nerve agent, there was no doubt in al-Hamadis mind. Saeed Shayhidi and Allah would be proud of their efforts to help vanquish the infidels. They would be remembered as gallant warriors, admired and respected for their role in the never-ending war against the West.
THE QUEEN MARY SUITE
A growing sense of uneasiness awakened Brett Shannon from a restless sleep. He sensed something was wrong and glanced at his travel clock on the night table. The clocks face was blurred. He reached for his glasses: It was 3:14 A. M.
Shannon felt a subtle vibration in the hull of the world s grandest ocean liner. It would have been more difficult to perceive if he hadn t been accustomed to the velvety-smooth ride. But the vibration was real and it was becoming more pronounced by the second. Maybe they're trying to outrun a storm.
His nerves were on edge, and he felt chest pains when the QM2 unexpectedly shook from bow to stern. The motion wasn't violent, but it certainly wasn't normal. As her speed continued to increase, Shannon could tell the Cunard flagship was plowing through rough seas and plunging into choppy waves.
While he tried to calm himself, Shannon forced his mind to think more clearly. Still not fully awake, he reached for the phone. The line was dead. The short hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. He sat up, turned on the night-light, and momentarily lost his balance when the ship lurched to one side and then righted herself.
His hands trembling, Shannon quickly pulled on a pair of trousers and donned a sport shirt. He hesitated a moment and then gingerly opened the door to his suite. As he stepped into the deserted passageway, Shannon felt a wave of panic sweep over him. His security guard was on his hands and knees, barely able to move.
Shannon's own forehead was damp and his breathing was shallow and ragged. What's happening? He walked to the nearby elevators and stabbed the buttons several times. They were not working. Shannon backed against a bulkhead, afraid to move, afraid of the unknown. His mind was trying to sort through the various possibilities. Why was the phone dead and why were the elevators not operating? Nothing made sense, especially the rough ride and the sudden increase in speed. Someone needs to tell us what's going on.
Shannon turned toward the stairway and froze in mid-stride when he saw a familiar couple staggering up the steps. Nerve agents. Omigod. In shock, the revelation hit him a second before the disheveled man spoke.
"Don't go down there," the man said, and coughed several times. He was having difficulty breathing and his wife was suffering convulsions. "Everyone below this deck is dead or dying," he said, in a weak, whispery voice. "We have to get fresh air." His wife suddenly passed out and the man collapsed to his knees.
Reeling from adrenaline shock and absolute panic, Secretary Shannon raced forward in the passageway leading to the Queen Anne Suite and the Queen Victoria Suite. They were locked.
Shannon had no way of knowing the former occupants were dead or dying by their own hand in the machinery spaces and on the bridge of the ship. He pounded on the door and no one answered. He had to get in and break the windows. Maybe the fresh sea air blowing through the suite and down the passageway would save him.
He was kicking in the door of the Queen Anne Suite when a member of his staff opened his door.
"Brett, what s going on?"
"WeVe been gassed. Get everyone up!" "What?"
"Just do it, George! The ship is filling with nerve gas!"
"Oh, God, no."
Other people began poking their heads out, wondering what the racket was about. Many wondered why the ship was plowing through rough waves and going so fast. Their surprised looks turned to fear when most sensed a serious emergency.
Five more kicks and Shannon was inside the elaborate suite. But something was wrong. His production of saliva suddenly increased and his nose began to run. He felt a tremendous pressure on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. Tripping over a small table, he fell sideways, landing heavily on his right arm.
When he struggled to get up, Shannon felt pain in his eyes when he attempted to focus across the room. Seconds later a headache developed and his head began to throb. He felt tired and his tongue was thick. Random thoughts began flashing through his mind, adding more confusion to his inability to concentrate.
George hurried into the suite and knelt beside him, but Shannons staff member was himself experiencing the initial symptoms of the nerve agent.
"Geor, you hafa help me."
"I cant do anything--cant do ..." George stared at his boss for a few moments and then awkwardly sat down next to him. He was familiar with the autoinjectors containing the combined antidotes HI-6 and atropine, but it was too late for that remedy. The fast-acting sarin had already killed most of the passengers.
Shannon began hallucinating. His staff member looked like a multi-eyed creature that had come to kill him. "Get away from--get back aw way--"
"Okay."
Shannon experienced extreme nausea and coughed twice before paralysis claimed his respiratory muscles. Seconds later, his central nervous system ceased functioning and he died of suffocation. George remained by his side, awaiting his own death. Through teary eyes, he folded his hands and began praying for his family.
The lone survivors of the attack were a doctor and his bride near the bow of the QM2. They had decid
ed to take a stroll after finishing their room service breakfast at 2:45 A. M. The newlyweds remained at the bow after they observed scores of people pouring out on the decks, yelling for help.
While the ship was accelerating, the couple watched more than three dozen passengers stumble out of hatches leading to the bow. All of them fell and crawled until their last death rattle. The honeymoon couple surmised what had happened, but they were powerless to help the dying victims.
The frightened pair were soaking wet from the cold spray coming over the bow, but neither of them budged. Entering the ship would mean certain death, obviously a cruel and agonizing one. Suffering from the first stages of hypothermia, the newlyweds knew they were in for the ride of their young lives.
THE WINSLOW ESTATE
Fast asleep in Prosts guest quarters, Jackie and Scott were startled awake by the loud thrashing of helicopter rotor blades. Scott reached for the small lamp on the nightstand between their queen beds. Something must be wrong. Unfamiliar with his surroundings, he fumbled for the switch, turned on the light, and picked up his wristwatch. "It s almost four-fifteen. What the hell is going on?"
Jackie tossed her covers aside and sat up. "There's some kind of problem."
They crawled out of their beds and went to the window facing the dimly lit helicopter pad. A VH-60 Sikorsky Black Hawk from marine corps squadron HMX-1 was gently settling on its landing gear.
"It s a marine white top," Scott said.
"Not a good omen at this time of morning."
The VIP helicopter was on the ground less than twenty seconds when Hartwell Prost appeared out of the shadows and got on board. The power came up and the VH-60 leaped into the air, turned on its axis, and headed in the direction of the capital.
"We better get dressed," Scott suggested. There was a knock on the door. "I'll get it."
Zachary, his usual smile absent, was standing outside. "I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Dalton, but there's been an emergency What it is, I don't know, but Mr. Prost would like you and Miss Sullivan to make yourselves at home here until he can contact you."
"Okay." Scott darted a look at Jackie and then eyed Zachary. "Do you know where he went?"
"Yes, sir. He was called to the White House."
"Thanks, Zachary"
"Yes, sir." The butler saw the kitchen lights flick on and knew Molly would have fresh coffee brewing in a matter of minutes. "Would you and Miss Sullivan care to have breakfast?"
Scott looked at Jackie.
"Just coffee and juice for me," she said.
"Same here." Scott rubbed his eyes. "Well be up in a few minutes."
"Yes, sir. We'll have it ready."
As Zachary turned to leave, Scott closed the door, turned on the television, and adjusted the volume. "Better see if we have any breaking news."
Jackie covered her mouth and yawned. "Let's get dressed and go have coffee."
THE WHITE HOUSE
Minutes before the secretary of defense arrived at the Oval Office, President Cord Macklin was awakened. He was told about the perilous situation aboard the Queen Mary 2. A dying passenger managed to use his satellite phone to call the coast guard and report the emergency The man explained that hundreds of passengers and crew members were afflicted by a suspected chemical or biological agent. He also mentioned the ship was traveling at a high rate of speed.
After that, his speech became slurred, followed by a spate of coughing and then silence.
Macklin put on fresh khaki slacks and a golf shirt, combed his hair, and headed straight for the Oval Office. His face was pale when he walked into the brightly lighted room. uHave a seat, gentlemen."
Secretary of Defense Pete Adair was waiting, along with Air Force General Les Chalmers, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Overhead, they could hear the marine corps helicopter carrying the presidents national security adviser.
"What can you tell me?" Macklin asked, as he walked to his desk and dropped into his seat. "Any word from Brett or any of our other folks?"
General Chalmers deferred to Secretary Adair, his immediate boss in the chain of command.
"Sir, we haven t heard directly from anyone aboard the ship. We don't know any more than your basic briefing."
"How much time do we have?"
"The ship was scheduled to arrive in New York at eight A. M."
"That figures," Macklin declared. "If it's running at a faster speed than normal, we really dont know how much time we have."
Adair looked at his wristwatch. "According to our calculations, the ship is approximately ten to twelve miles southwest of East Hampton."
The president sighed. "What are we doing to get some answers?"
"General Chalmers?" Adair prompted.
"Sir, we have a coast guard helicopter approaching the QM2 as we speak. We expect to hear from the air crew in a matter of minutes. The coast guard is sending warnings to all shipping in the path of the liner. They're being told to alter course and be on the lookout."
"Has there been any communication with the ship, other than the passenger on the satellite phone?"
Chalmers paused while Hartwell Prost entered the Oval Office.
"No, sir. We haven't been able to raise anyone, and there hasn't been any other communication from the ship. We think terrorists may have taken over the ship. They're probably holding the crew and passengers hostage."
"Or," Prost interjected, "based on the jihad planned by Shayhidi, everyone's dead or incapacitated and no one is controlling the ship."
An uneasy silence drifted over the office.
Hartwell looked at General Chalmers. "Where Brett Shannon and our other friends are concerned, we'd better plan for the worst."
The president rose from his chair. "Let's adjourn to the Situation Room so we can have direct contact with all the players."
THE DOLPHIN
Operating from the deck of the Reliance-class cutter Dependable, the coast guard search-and-rescue Dolphin helicopter HH-65A was nearing the area where the crew expected to rendezvous with the Queen Mary 2. The two pilots, the flight mechanic, and the pararescue jumper (known as a PJ) were using night-vision goggles to search for the ship.
The pilot, Lieutenant Commander Jeffery Bergman, coupled the four-axis automatic pilot to the flight controls for hands-free operation while he devoted his full attention to scanning the horizon.
"There she is!" flight mechanic Petty Officer Earl Nogart yelled. "Eleven o'clock, just coming into view--that has to be the QM Two."
"I see her," Bergman said, slightly altering course. He disengaged the autopilot and began a slow descent. "Let's keep a close eye on this baby. Could be armed men on deck."
Lieutenant Tim McLain studied the oncoming ship. "Something's out of whack. They would never cruise at high speed in these seas."
They circled the liner once and then moved closer to the stern. Bergman slowed the Dolphin to match the ship's speed while they trained the spotlight on the QM2 and moved along the port side. The sun deck and the other exposed decks were littered with bodies.
"Judas Priest!" the flight mechanic said under his breath. "There are hundreds of bodies and no sign of life anywhere."
Petty Officer Stu Clements, the pararescue jumper, was stunned. "Man, I ain't never seen anything like this."
Appalled by the tragedy, Lieutenant McLain keyed the intercom. "They've struck us again--sorry bastards."
Bergman positioned the helicopter close to the bridge. They trained the searchlight on the windows and slowly moved across the span of the bridge. It was eerie not to see faces staring back. Whatever the cause, the ill-fated crew and their passengers had suffered horrible deaths.
"No sign of life," McLain said, with a lump in his throat. "What a terrible disaster. And it isnt over."
Bergman keyed the intercom. Tm afraid you re right. New York City, brace yourself."
"Again," McLain added in a tight voice.
Bergman eased the helicopter toward the starboard side of the bridge.
"This is unbelievable--unfathomable."
McLain stared at the bodies. "How could human beings hate so much they would fly airliners into the World Trade Center--or kill everyone on an ocean liner?"
Bergman shook his head in disbelief "It s beyond comprehension."
McLain glanced at the pilot. "I'll contact our ship and give them the news."
QUEEN MARY 2
The doctor and his bride yelled and waved frantically at the helicopter, but to no avail. In desperation, the pediatrician took off one of his deck shoes and heaved it toward the top of the bridge. It fell short, forcing the doctor to move a few yards closer.
"Down here! Look down here!"
He leaned back and threw the other shoe as high and as far as he could. "Down here! Were down here!" Don't leave us behind.
Lieutenant McLain thought he saw something bounce off the front of the bridge. "Stop--stop! I just saw something."
"Where?" Bergman asked.
"Turn the light on the bow."
The pilot inched the helicopter forward as the searchlight flashed across the deck. He spotted two sets of flailing arms. Til be damned! We have survivors but we dont have enough room to land--too many obstacles."
"And we dont have a bullhorn with us," the copilot added. "We can send Clements down with the basket."
"Hang on a second." Easing the helicopter away from the ship, Bergman turned the controls over to McLain while he contacted the cutter Dependable.
Chapter 6.
THE WHITE HOUSE
After receiving the shocking news from the coast guard helicopter crew, President Macklin looked at his advisers. "Gentlemen, any suggestions? The helicopter is getting low on fuel and we re running out of time."
Hartwell Prost spoke first. "Sir, we have to place the two survivors on the back burner for the moment. Our first priority has to be stopping the ship before it plows into something along the Hudson River and contaminates everything from Wall Street to Yankee Stadium."
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