The African Contract

by Arthur Kerns

  Sandra’s secure satellite phone rang and she whispered that Colonel Frederick was on the line. She held her hand over the handset and said Frederic and the team had landed at the airfield. He wanted to talk with Stone. Taking the phone, Stone gave him a rundown on the location of the ship and Abdulyale’s position regarding any plan of assault.

  “Screw him!” Frederick said. “We know where Asuty and the bomb are. We’re not letting either get out of our hands again.”

  Stone got the message. “Colonel. I’ve cased the area. A raid would be very difficult. The ship is tied up on a quay with nothing around it. Absolutely no concealment to hide our approach. Abdulyale’s people have the area under surveillance. If Asuty has a nuclear engineer with him, they could set the damn thing off before we could get to it.”

  “I’m running this show, correct, Stone?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “My decision is we board the ship. So get prepared,” Frederick ordered. “We’re leaving the airfield shortly. Have an attack plan ready.”

  Stone handed the phone back to Sandra. “Even after I explained the situation, Frederick wants to launch an assault.”

  Both Sandra and Dirk shrugged. Sandra said, “This whole operation could get real melancholy.”

  “Maybe not, if we come up with an alternative plan.” Stone dialed Carl Cardinale. When he answered, Stone asked, “Could you get the name of the harbor pilot who’s taking the SS Natal Bay out of port at six o’clock?”

  Carl said he could and told him to hold on, saying he’d phone somebody on his landline. Two minutes later, he gave Stone a name, adding, “This guy is real slime. He’s a big shot at a local charity that sends money to the jihadists in Palestine.”

  “Shit!” Stone said after hanging up. He told his companions what he learned. As he spoke to them, an idea came to him, and he called Abdulyale.

  “Mr. Abdulyale. A harbor pilot has to take the ship out to open water beyond Cameroon’s jurisdiction. Then a pilot boat comes alongside the ship, and he is taken off and brought back to port.” Stone paused. “We could be on that pilot boat. As the pilot leaves the ship, we could get on.”

  “Very risky, but that would be your problem,” Abdulyale said. “Not mine.”

  “I have another problem.” Stone gave him the pilot’s name and explained he could ruin the plan.

  “That particular individual is on my organization’s list for questioning on smuggling matters. I’ll see that a more reasonable person will be assigned.”

  Stone’s mind was racing. “Another thing. Is it possible that we can lease three fast motor boats, large enough to operate on open seas?”

  Another pause at the end of the line. Finally, Abdulyale said, “Of course. It so happens I have a cousin in the boating business. This can be arranged. Unfortunately, he charges extremely high rates for his boats.”

  “Under the circumstances. I’m certain my organization will see no problem.”

  After he rang off, Stone took a deep breath. His companions stared at him. Sandra laughed. “I want to be there when you explain all this to Colonel Frederick.”

  “Ah. The colonel admires initiative.”

  In the cramped safe house, Colonel Gustave Frederick arched his back, threw out his chest, looked down his aquiline nose, and began pacing back and forth. Stone pictured Gus in full-dress Army uniform, similar to General George Patton, wearing khaki jodhpurs, riding boots, and slapping a swagger stick on his leg. He wished he would get over his theatrics, so they could get on with business.

  Frederick surprised everyone. “Stone, with reservations, I say we set this plan of yours in motion.”

  “I need some volunteers to come with me on the pilot boat,” Stone said.

  Sandra, Dirk, and Jacob came forward. They were asked to decide on the choice of weapons and communication gear. “We want to take control of the bridge,” Stone said. “Once we do that, Colonel Frederick and the assault team can come alongside in the power boats and board. Then we’ll go down into the engine room.”

  “How many of the enemy will we face?” a CIA operative asked.

  “Eighteen or nineteen,” Jacob said. “We’ll have them outnumbered once we get all our people aboard the ship.”

  “Our objective is to seize the nuclear bomb,” Frederick said. “After that we wait for a US Navy amphibious ship that’s just entered the Bay of Biscay. It will take a while for them to meet us.”

  “Any other help nearby?” Stone asked Frederick.

  “There’s a submarine in the vicinity,” he answered, “but it can’t be much help in an operation like this.”

  Stone asked Sandra what time it was.

  “We have less than an hour.”

  “Not much time,” Stone said. “Let’s get cracking.”

  The pilot boat trailed in the wake of the SS Natal Bay steaming down the river toward the Gulf of Guinea. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving traces of a saffron-yellow glow on the cloud layer overhead.

  Stone crouched in the bow section of the pilot boat and peered out at the ship ahead. His three companions sat next to him, checking their arms and extra ammunition. The brackish air coming in the open porthole relieved some of the oil and diesel fuel stench hanging inside the cabin. He calculated that in less than five minutes they’d board the ship. Sitting back, he followed his companions’ routine and made sure his weapons and communication gear were in working order.

  The freighter slowed as it entered the open estuary leading to deep water. The pilot would be leaving the ship. From behind a half-opened hatch, Stone looked up at the ship’s deck. Crew members above lowered the accommodation ladder for the pilot to climb down from the ship. The boat pulled alongside the ship, bumping against the hull with its row of huge old truck tires lining the gunwale.

  The pilot made his way down and jumped aboard the boat. He said to Stone, who emerged from the cabin, “Three armed men on the bridge, four on deck with machine guns. Good luck!”

  Stone yelled to Sandra, “Now!”

  The crew on the deck above prepared to hoist the accommodation ladder. Sandra raised her rifle, put the scope to her eye, and commenced firing. Stone jumped from the boat onto the ladder and scurried up while Jacob and Dirk followed. He saw two terrorists go down from Sandra’s accurate shots.

  Stone reached the deck and found two more men kneeling over the bodies of the dead terrorists. The jihadists raised their weapons and fired. Stone sprayed them with his MP7 submachine gun, then ducked.

  “Hand me a grenade,” Stone shouted.

  Dirk handed him a grenade and Stone pulled the pin. Waiting a few seconds, he tossed the grenade over the railing onto the deck. Screams followed the blast.

  All three scrambled on deck, and Stone looked down to see Sandra climbing the ladder.

  “Up to the bridge,” Stone ordered and pointed to an open hatch. “That way.”

  Stone entered the passageway and the others followed. The plan called for a quick takeover of the bridge. Once there, they could control the ship, allowing Frederick and his team in the three speedboats to come alongside and board.

  Stone came to a connecting passageway and stairs leading up to the next deck. Checking around the corner before going up, he almost hit a terrorist running with a pistol in his hand. Again, a short, quick ripping from the MP7 downed him. Jacob took the gun from the man’s dead hand.

  Up two more decks and the four raced down the passageway to the open door of the bridge. Stone rushed in and went to the right. Sandra followed and went to the left. They surprised only two of the expected three. Both were neutralized, their bodies thrown overboard.

  The first part of the plan had gone well. The command center of the ship had been taken. All four were out of breath. Down below on the forward cargo deck, they watched armed men running for cover. Stone went to the ship’s controls, which resembled those he knew from his navy days on a destroyer. He pulled the brass handle
of the ship’s engine order telegraph down to full stop.

  Meantime, Sandra was on the radio with Frederick. Stone didn’t like the way she said, “Oh.” He also didn’t like the fact the ship’s engines continued to rumble on.

  “One of the boats won’t start,” Sandra said. “They’re in the remaining two, but they’re barely able to keep up, let alone overtake us.” She looked at the ship’s controls. “Can’t we stop this thing?”

  “I’ve signaled the engine room to stop.” Stone pointed to the telegraph. “Either no one is there to shut down the engines or the order has been countermanded.” Stone ran out to the flying bridge and looked back at the two speedboats a thousand yards behind. Below, on the aft cargo deck, Stone watched Nabeel Asuty lead three men to the fantail of the ship, where they began shooting at the two speedboats.

  Stone hurried back inside. “Two of us have to find our way down to the engine room to stop this ship. Two of you stay here and keep in contact with Frederick.”

  “Let’s go, mate,” Dirk said. “We’re wasting time.”

  Stone guessed the engine room would be below them or farther back toward the stern of the ship. The noise and heat from the engine compartment would draw them to its location. The two encountered only one adversary, who popped out a door firing his machine gun. Dirk made short work of him and took the dead man’s AK-47. “Never know when you could use an extra weapon,” he said.

  They went down the stairs, passed the empty galley, and reached the hatch leading down into the heat and smell of oil in the engine room. Stone indicated halt.

  He couldn’t see the control panel or where the attendant was stationed. Therefore, he’d have to race down the ladder, exposed to gunfire before he hit the deck below. They had eliminated six of the enemy, leaving at least twelve, including Nabeel Asuty. Stone had seen four on the forward deck and an equal number on the stern with Asuty. That left up to four who could be assigned to the engine room.

  “Wait until I jump down before you follow,” Stone said, speaking close to Lange’s ear. “If they get me, toss these two grenades down in the engine pit and hope for the best.”

  With that, Stone slid down the ladder, and when he hit the metal deck saw two men pointing pistols at him. Before he could fire, they did. Their bullets clanged on the metal bulkheads and machinery around him. Raising his MP7, a bullet hit the gun’s barrel, knocking it out of his hand. A piece of metal from the damaged submachine gun tore into Stone’s left forearm.

  Stone had managed only a “Motherf—” when Dirk Lange landed beside him, threw him the AK-47, and with one hand pointed and squeezed the trigger. The two men went down, but with difficulty. They fought the inevitable, continuing to shoot until it was apparent that all was lost. Stone had emptied his magazine.

  “Bastards were tough, ay, mate?” Lange shouted over the nose of the engines.

  “They should have accepted they were dead,” Stone said, studying the control panel. “Waste of valuable ammunition.” Thinking back to his days on a navy destroyer, he studied the series of switches and lights, then disengaged the engines’ gearboxes. The two propeller shafts stopped turning.

  Stone debated placing a grenade in the control panel, but wanted to leave the option of a sailable ship. “Let’s get back to our companions. They may need us.” As Stone reached for the handrail on the ladder, he winced in pain. He’d bother with the arm later.

  Back on the bridge, they found Jacob and Sandra under fire from a terrorist sniper who had climbed one of the forward masts. The windows of the bridge were shattered. The two speedboats were moving up to the accommodation ladder that still hung down the side of the ship.

  Sandra rolled up Stone’s left sleeve and examined his wound. She opened the medical kit on her belt and wrapped the gash, stemming the flow of blood. “Now what?” she asked when finished.

  “Get that sniper. When the team is aboard, we find the bomb. And Asuty.”

  Stone met Colonel Frederick standing at the head of the accommodation ladder ordering half his team aft to clear the jihadists who had positioned themselves on the fantail. Sunset had long passed, and from the bridge Jacob had turned on the ship’s deck lighting.

  Frederick wanted to know how many terrorists they had taken out, and Stone told him nine.

  “Leaves about eight or nine. Shouldn’t take long to complete the mission.” Frederick stared hard. “Find the bomb?”

  Stone shook his head. “Not enough time to look for it, but the Cameroon intelligence chief had told me he saw it being loaded in the forward cargo hold.”

  “Let’s search that area. We’ll probably find Asuty there.”

  Sandra partnered with Stone as Frederick led the second half of his team down numerous passageways until they all reached the three-story-high cargo hold. Stone and Sandra inched past and crawled over stacked machinery and crates. They came to an open area where, under an overhead spotlight, they saw the bronze-colored casing of the atomic bomb secured to a wooden pallet.

  Nabeel Asuty and two men with AK-47s watched a man with a long scraggly beard standing by the nuclear weapon. A section of the casing had been removed, and the man’s hands were inside using a tool on a mechanism.

  “He’s planning to set that thing off,” Stone whispered and looked around for Frederick and his team.

  At that, Sandra shouldered her MP7, set it to single-shot, and fired once, then again. Two bloody holes appeared on the back of the engineer’s shirt. He fell to the side.

  “Good shooting,” Stone said.

  Asuty was the first to return fire. He didn’t retreat, instead advancing along with the other two men. Stone fired bursts from his Glock, and Sandra had gone to full automatic with her submachine gun. One of the men went down. Asuty turned left and ran behind a tall crate.

  Stone chased him while Sandra continued to trade fire with the remaining terrorist, using stacked containers as cover.

  Asuty scrambled across the cargo hold, packed goods acting as a shield, but Stone saw he was heading into a blind corner. Finally he reached the bulkhead with nowhere to go. Stone heard him reloading and did likewise, putting a fresh magazine into his Glock.

  “Remember me, Nabeel Asuty?” Stone yelled. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

  The response came from Asuty firing a burst from his AK-47. Stone hit the deck and crouched as bullets buzzed around him.

  Firing from the AK-47 stopped and Stone heard Asuty reloading. He leaped up and ran forward. From twenty feet away, Stone began shooting at Asuty’s midsection and continued to fire until his gun clicked empty. Asuty hadn’t had the opportunity to raise his gun.

  Stone rested on a box, breathing hard. Without taking his eyes off Asuty’s lifeless form, he inserted his last fresh magazine into his Glock.

  “Thanks for nothing, Stone,” came Sandra’s voice from behind. “I wanted the pleasure of killing that son-of-a-bitch.”

  Stone and Sandra joined the assault team that had assembled on deck. Frederick seemed pleased with the results, saying they had only two casualties.

  “Three,” Jacob said, holding up Stone’s injured arm.

  Frederick sniffed. “Only two. That’s just a scratch.” He shouted to everyone, “We have seven minutes to get off this ship before it goes down.”

  “What?” Stone asked. “When and who set the explosive charges?”

  “No explosive charges, Stone,” Frederick growled. “Remember, I told you that I was running this show, not you. That is, most of the show.”

  “What happens next?”

  “Change of plans. I’ve arranged for that submarine lying off the beam to torpedo this tub. They’ve been told to aim for the stern to avoid the bomb. With the stern blown off, she’ll sink, leaving the forward section intact.”

  Stone took Frederick’s arm and walked him over to the rail. “Gus,” he said. “The navy’s surface ships are only a day away. Let’s wait for them.”
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  “Meanwhile we just sit here with that bomb?”

  “No. We can get this ship underway. I can handle her.”

  “How long’s it been since you’ve been in the navy? It’s a very sound decision to torpedo this thing.” Frederick pointed downward. “The bomb could go off any time. We don’t know what those bastards did to it. Maybe placed a timing device on it.”

  “Hey, there’s a nuclear sub out there with people who know all about nukes. Let’s get them aboard to look at it.”

  Frederick looked out to sea. “Makes sense.”

  “We can also get someone who can navigate. If we steam toward those navy amphibious ships, we might meet in less than a day.”

  Frederick turned and spoke into Stone’s ear. “All right. You win this one, but it’s the last one.”

  Stone thought he detected a smile. “Don’t worry, Gus. Once you send me that fat bonus check, I’ll be out of your hair.”

  Epilogue

  Langley, Virginia— September 2002

  Elizabeth Kerr sat behind her desk at the CIA’s Task Force 21. Her boss, John Matterhorn, came in the office and took a seat. How funny life is, she thought. Only a month ago, she detested this motley collection of misfits, but now not only was she a member of the group, but also one of their bosses.

  “So happy you decided to come over to the agency,” John said. “This task force has a bright future. The agency is gearing up for a major push against international terrorism, and because of you our group will be a major player. It may even become a CIA Center!”

  Elizabeth played with some paper clips on her desk. They had been instrumental in thwarting that threat, but they hadn’t been on the ground. In the thick of things.

  “Any more news on the situation there?’ she asked.

  “We’ve recovered the bomb. The Republic of South Africa wanted it back, but realized how embarrassing it would be if it were known they lost track of a nuclear weapon they said had been destroyed. Worse, one of their own people sold it to jihadists.”