"Shit", Stevie shouted. He didn't have time to make it to the deck and back to the cutter. He and probably most of the diving crew were in the farthest reaches of the commercial vessel. They would have to find some other way to get off that ship. “Fuckin’ ay”, he thought, “Ali was right. Thank god for that extra O2”. He released a hand grenade, ripping a hole in the steel hull of the ship and dived into the waters below. He thought he caught a glimpse of someone else abandoning to the seas, but couldn't be certain. He had the presence of mind to tuck his communications gear in the sealed pouch of his suit, and dived as quickly as he could.
A.J. and C.J. were together when the warning came through. “Ali, how much time?” A.J. sought to get some idea of when the ship would destruct, but received no reply. Radio silence had long been broken, as panicked voices echoed in their earpieces.
“Ali”, he repeated.
“Muzzy, get out of there. Now!” It was Mack. The time frame was clear; detonation was imminent. They had to abandon the sleeping sailors in their quarters. There was no time, no way to save these men. The operation was a bust. Salaam was nowhere to be found. The brothers searched exhaustively for the terrorist with no success. And now they might all perish if they didn’t escape the doomed freighter.
“C.J., you got your O2?”
“Sure do, bro. Let’s get the hell out of here”
C.J. ran to the nearest porthole. It was surprisingly large, and he was able to just squeeze his way through and dive to the waters below. He heard A.J. splash beside him, and they both submerged to secure themselves from the impending blast.
“Captain Hillebrand, we need to separate from this ship, Right away.”
The command did not go unheeded. The coast guard captain began barking orders to his men, who in turn responded with remarkable efficiency. There was only one problem – his men could not gain access to the ropes connecting the two ships. The CIA operatives refused to leave without their entire team, creating a human barrier to the moorings. The coast guard crew outnumbered the CTG by more than two to one, but it made little difference, the former group compelled to back down. Kelly’s men were unflappable. The CIA chief ultimately intervened.
“Stand back. We need to launch or we all die”
“But…”
“Stand down I said!”
At Kelly’s express command, the CIA men, reluctantly, retreated. It was difficult for them to digest the ugly, painful truth – that they had to sacrifice the men still on board to save themselves. These were men not accustomed to defeat. Nevertheless, they abdicated their positions and retreated towards the center of the cutter, allowing access to the ropes connecting the two ships. Once the cutter was freed, Hillebrand threw the throttle forward to create separation from the freighter. The boat lurched forward with all her might. But the delay in departure would prove costly, for just then the cargo vessel exploded in flames.
The explosive ripped through the casing of the freighter’s fuel tank, igniting a conflagration that consumed the rear and middle third of the vessel. The bow exploded within seconds later, extinguishing any safe refuge on board. The two devices were well placed and well timed; no one on the ship survived. The detonation showered the stern and starboard hull of the Seafin with flaming debris as she raced away. Not only had they lost those who could not make it back to the refuge of the coast guard cutter, they were now all at risk of perishing as the Seafin struggled to maintain her buoyancy.
Chapter 3
The Muzzonigro brothers were less than 10 meters below the surface when the bombs simultaneously devastated the cargo tanker. They were close enough to the shattering Hull to be tossed by the ensuing pressure wave. Metal shards flew all about them, glancing harmlessly off their Kevlar suits. Their extremities and head, however, were relatively unprotected; A.J. suffered the consequences. A metal shard hurled in his direction struck his right temple, temporarily stunning the warrior. Still groggy, A.J. could feel a wound open in his skull. Slowly, the hardy operative regained his senses, his awareness. The fusillade of debris was now floating harmlessly about him. Ignoring the pain in his throbbing skull, he immediately began searching for C.J.. He strained to locate his brother in the murky ocean depths, but could find no evidence of his presence. His head was now reeling, and he struggled to maintain clarity. Now where the hell was C.J.?
He continued to swim about, hoping to miraculously come upon his comrade and kin, but slowly realized the futility of the search. They had been thrust well beyond the limits of visibility. Without his night-vision capability, lost in the torrents below the surface, it was like searching for a needle in a giant haystack. The groggy operative decided to make his way to the surface, where he was hopeful he would find his younger companion. As he broke the surface and looked about, those hopes were abruptly dashed - C.J. was nowhere to be found.
Like the others, Ali chose to escape the impending calamity by way of sea. He had plenty of oxygen and should be able to avoid the fallout in the relative safety of a deep submerged dive. From his vantage he could make out the scattered fires from the wreckage above. A large shadow was testament to the fact the freighter was still afloat. Ali focused on his body, surveyed for any injury but found none. He breathed a sigh of relief – that was close. In all his years in counter-terrorism, many of them in hostile lands and under cover in the heart of the enemy, this was about as harrowing an escape as he had encountered. But he wasn’t out of harm’s way yet – he needed to signal for help. Had the Seafin escaped? He wouldn't last long in these waters without her.
The smell of gasoline was prominent in the air as he surfaced. Carnage and destruction spewed all about him. Miraculously, he still had his night vision goggles strapped around his neck. He put them over his eyes and strained against the glow, the light of the raging fires making it difficult to focus through the lenses. But it had to be done - the tape they wore would luminesce to distinguish any of his fellow operatives. Who else beside himself was out here? Did the rest of his team make it off that ship alive?
Ali could see the light of the coast guard cutter in the distance. She seemed to be favoring one side, a noticeable tilt as she struggled to stay afloat. Out approximately fifty feet he saw a brilliant purple flash bobbing up and down in the water – it must be one of the divers. He enlarged the image through the lens, but couldn’t make out who it was from this vantage. An arm suddenly moved; he was alive!
Ali made his way over and saw it was A.J. He was straining to stay afloat on the choppy surface. A big gash was visible across the side of his face, extending above one ear. A slow but steady ooze of blood could be seen emanating from the wound; the injury was deep, the white of bone exposed. The freezing water had helped constrict the vessels, minimizing blood loss. But the scalp was known to have a rich vascular supply; the bleeding had to be stopped. A.J. seemed slightly dazed, almost unaware the precious fluid was inexorably escaping his body, causing him to weaken from the gradual depletion of oxygen-carrying blood. But A.J. was still conscious.
“Ali, what the fuck..”? He couldn’t finish the question, his breathing visibly labored. A pregnant pause hung in the air - everything that needed saying was covered in that one brief half-sentence. Yes, what the fuck had happened? More precisely, how did anyone have time to plant those explosives? It was as if someone had a blueprint of their plan, knew exactly when and how to hit them at their peak of vulnerability. Ali broke the silence as he drew closer, laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Good to see you my friend”
“You too Li”. What little light there was now reflected off an object in Ali’s free hand; it was a knife.
Kelly was thrown to the ground by the force of the impact as the bombs detonated. The blast propelled him nearly 10 meters from his initial vantage, and he now found himself positioned on the port side of the boat. The Seafin was nearly 45 degrees off keel, but slowly began leveling herself. He could hear captain Hillebrand barking orders as the ship slowly traversed t
he fiery inferno before her. The seasoned captain had maintained his footing, braced within the steering console. Hunks of flaming metal spewed all about them as he navigated the minefield of debris. A small fire aboard the cutter had been contained, and the crew immediately focused on attending to the damaged starboard hull. A small crater could be seen in the outer casing; it was beyond repair. Water was leaking through a rent in the inner hull, but this defect was patched together. The Seafin was deemed seaworthy – for a while at least. Hillebrand had the ship rigged to favor the port side, easing the stress to the damaged hull. Slowly, the Cutter navigated beyond the perimeter of the wreckage.
A rescue team was called in. Kelly rose to his feet and surveyed the carnage. Mack was helping tend to the injured. Kelly approached the team, now huddled in the rear of the boat.
Was this everyone? He shuddered at the thought of those men left unaccounted for. He immediately began tallying his losses - two men confirmed dead, their charred bodies retrieved from the merciless waters. Several men were missing and scores more injured. Not one of his divers had made it back. It was his worst loss since uniting and taking command of the nation's counter-terrorism forces. And it could have easily been worse; much, much worse. Ali's warning had saved them from a far more tragic fate.
The Seafin began the solemn search for survivors. And clues. Someone had clearly alerted those on board, the synchronously exploding devices placed well in advance. Salaam had been prepared. But it was not Salaam that concerned Kelly at that moment. It was his own men that preoccupied his thoughts. He thought of those lost, their families. He thought too about the safety and integrity of their entire unit. For one of them at least was working for the other side. There could be no other explanation.
“Yo M, got a visual, 10 o’clock” One of the men had spotted a man floating in the water.
“Captain, 10 O’clock. We’ve got someone”, Mack relayed the information to the senior coast guard officer. The Seafin turned about and made her way to where a CTG operative was spotted – the reflective tape a telltale marker.
“Yo Mack”
“Huh?”. The CIA officer was dumbfounded as the voice came across the radio. It was Stevie.
“About time you found my ass.”
Mack looked through a set of binoculars and saw Stevie waving back. He was the visual to which they were now approaching.
“You’ve got a working radio. Son-of-a-bitch; what took you so long to call in?”
“I was busy”
“Busy? Busy doing what?”
“Diving. I’ve got something interesting for you. Tell you when I get back to the cutter. Bill will want to hear about this” Mack didn’t reply immediately, which prompted Stevie to add “uh, Bill’s okay, right”
“Yea, yea…sorry Stevie. He’s fine. We’re a bit shook up, but”
“But what?”
“Listen, we’ll talk when you get back on board”
“Mack, who’s missing?” The voice now held a somber quality, overlaid with anger.
Mack proceeded to give Stevie the grim details.
With one smooth motion, Ali grabbed the end of A.J.’s torn drysuit and cut a long narrow strip from the material. The elastic band would make a good tourniquet. He proceeded to tie the bandage around A.J.’s bleeding head, careful to put enough tension to stem the blood but not so much as to constrict the return of vascular flow to the already groggy, fatigued soldier.
“A.J., you’re hit pretty bad. What happened? Where’s C.J?” Ali knew the brothers were working in tandem on this operation. They were to abduct Salaam and bring him back alive. Had they found him?
“He was with me…We hit the water, but…I looked around, couldn’t…”
“Sh,”, Ali cut his friend off. “We’ll find him. Don’t worry. We’ll find him.” Ali’s eyes peered out in the distance, but he couldn’t make much out, the infrareds now dangling uselessly around his neck. He repositioned the goggles now and sought out the Seafin. A.J. required immediate attention. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would also last in the frigid, barren seas. There was no way to call for help – neither he nor A.J. still had a usable radio.
Suddenly, through the eerie hue of the infrared binoculars, Ali caught a glimpse of a light in the distance. He focused the lenses and saw it was the cutter. He quickly tried to surmise her position and direction. Was the ship headed back to shore? Was a rescue attempt out of the question for the damaged vessel?
Ali watched the ship for some time, a measure of relief overcoming him. She traversed the area systematically back and forth. That could mean only one thing - the search for survivors was on. It wouldn’t be long before they reached him and A.J.
“Good, they’re coming”, Ali said, now focused again on his injured friend. “And then”, he added for good measure, “we’re going to find and get those motherfuckers”
A smile came across A.J.’s face. It was an expression of affirmation; yes, it reiterated, the people who did this were dead.
As the Seafin approached, Stevie, Mack, Kelly and several of the others rushed over to greet Ali and A.J. Ali noted that Stevie had miraculously survived the blast unscathed. As A.J. was helped onto the deck, the warm welcome was suddenly brought to an abrupt halt as Stevie inquired about the missing younger brother.
“Where the hell is C.J.?”
A.J. answered the question with a simple shake of the head; his brother was missing.
C.J. was bound at the feet and wrists. His torso, which had been grazed by the harpoon, was strapped to a chair. He felt a burning sensation where the ropes dug into his wound, and took note of the trickle of fresh blood as a scab was displaced by the bindings. The warmth of the fluid was stark in contrast with the coldness of the cabin. Across from the CTG operative sat a man similarly bound. His left eye was purple and swollen; his head hung limply to the side. He appeared unconscious, although clearly alive as evidenced from the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest. C.J. did not recognize his fellow captive, could not discern a connection between himself and the forty-something appearing Caucasian across the room. The smell of sweat and blood permeated the air. His head was still ringing from the repeated blows he received. His captors had left momentarily, and he struggled to clear his head, focus on how to break free from his bonds. He strained at the bindings once more but it was useless, the ropes expertly knotted around his wrists.
How the hell did these people get to him? They were clearly forewarned of the operation, prepared with divers ready to subdue the escaping operatives. But how did they possibly hope to find the men in the vast ocean, under the cover of darkness? It must have been something else. But what then, why had these armed men launched a diving operation? It didn’t make sense, unless…They must have been there for some other purpose, C.J. concluded. So could they have just stumbled upon him in the process? That was a possibility, and if so, he was one unlucky son-of-a-bitch.
He tried to piece together the events following his escape from the freighter. He remembered hitting the water and then being consumed by a shock wave. The ship must have exploded as Ali had warned, sending a ripple effect underwater. He escaped serious injury from the debris, but had lost his goggles amidst the turbulence. Engulfed by the blackness of the waters, he had attempted to surface, when he felt a stabbing pain in his side. At first C.J. thought he might have grazed a rock, or perhaps been attacked by a shark, which probably would have been preferable in light of what came next. An arm grabbed him around the throat from the rear. By the feel of the material of the suit he knew it was not one of his teammates. He reflexively attacked the limb, biting the arm and twisting and breaking several fingers in the process. Once free, he attempted to break to the surface, hoping his comrades might spot him and come to his aid. Visibility was limited, the salt stinging his eyes as he attempted to locate his attackers. There must have been many, surrounding him on all sides, for he didn’t get very far. A small red flicker had caught his attention, but from that point on his
recollection was cloudy. The light – it must have been a signal. But it was so subtle, how could anyone have seen anything in that total darkness? They must have been using infrared, he concluded. These men had not just been well prepared; they were well equipped.
The throbbing in his skull served as a reminder of what followed – a blow to the head that rendered him semi-conscious. The next thing he could remember was being hoisted onto the deck of a ship. There were no lights on; the engine was idling. He didn’t think much of it at the time, but it was odd now in retrospect. They still hadn’t moved from their location. Why was that? If these men had just pulled off an audacious maneuver, capturing a covert American operative, why weren’t they proceeding with haste to make their escape?
Because whatever their mission was, it was not over yet.
He recalled being dragged beneath deck, where a gun was leveled in his direction as he was restrained. Noone spoke directly to him; not a single question was asked. His captors just tied him up and left, as if his capture were an afterthought, while other, more important business, was tended to. But now they were back.
“Any sign of my brother?” asked A.J. He was lying down in the forward cabin of the cutter, a bandage wrapped around his head and right side of his face, an intravenous line connected to his arm.
“Not yet A.J. We’ve got to get back now. You need to get back and get that scratch stitched up.”
Kelly’s words were not very encouraging, but there was no way to put any other spin on the situation. C.J. was missing, and after nearly an hour of searching he and the others missing were presumed dead. The search and rescue team had arrived, and the Seafin needed to get back to shore. Hillebrand had reacted well under pressure, but most of the coast guard crew were obviously shaken. Several were also injured rather seriously and demanded more advanced medical attention.
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