Cruisin' for a SEAL

by Sharon Hamilton

  “Nothing. We’re all going to die.”

  Sophia looked across the vanity to Gina’s reflection. She saw the kind of resolve she needed in a sister, a team member. Something close to the connection Mark had with his band of brothers. It wasn’t nearly as wide or as deep, but the look they shared was every bit as strong, forged by the understanding and agreement that the innocent should be protected and that in some way they’d fight this evil even if it was the last thing they’d do.

  Looking directly into Gina’s eyes, she snapped at Maksym, “Then, if we’re all going to die, it’s a matter of how well we die.”

  Unlike her slap, her words jolted Maksym out of his despair.

  “You going to die a coward, an evil man…or a good man, Maksym?”

  Gina’s face was glowing in full approval. Maksym righted himself and brushed back the lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead, rubbing off the tear tracks staining his smooth cheeks with the back of his palms. He seemed to take strength from her.

  “I am no coward. Not today, I am not.”

  “Good,” Gina said briskly, “because the next order of business is to get our hands on some weapons. Maksym, how can you help us do that?” she continued.

  He stared at the ceiling as he considered their options.

  “We’ll have to take them off someone. There are no caches of guns on the ship anywhere.”

  “Three against one. I like those odds, taken one at a time. I say we do it,” Gina whispered, hardly able to contain the excitement she obviously felt. Sophia took strength from it.

  “We’ll lure them. You do the rest,” Sophia commanded.

  Opening the bathroom door a crack, she saw a lone commando with his back to her. Checking her line of sight in both directions, she whispered to the man in Russian. “Please, sir. My friend, my friend is bleeding.” She pointed to the doorway to the men’s room. As the soldier passed, she checked for observers, and, seeing none, gave him a kick in the butt, which sent him flying into the cramped space, the door closed, and she heard the sounds of a scuffle and a muted cry.

  “Another,” came the whisper from Maksym.

  She motioned for a black clad soldier to come from nearly thirty feet away. She raised her finger to her lips and gave him a warm smile but continued telling him to keep it quiet. He tried to ignore her at first, but when she continued, he leaned into a colleague and both of them came forward.

  Shit.

  “Vy govorite po-russki?” Do you speak Russian?

  “Da.”

  “Your colleague is screwing my little sister. She is only sixteen. Please help me.” As they turned into the doorway, attempting to open it, she added the kill shot as she looked around her to verify they were not being watched. “I was just flirting, but he picked the wrong sister. Help me, please.”

  The door opened and she slammed her body into the two of them, causing them all to fall forward into the restroom. She barely was able to get the door closed before the scuffle began. Gina kicked the first one in the nuts as he attempted to right himself by holding on to the vanity surface. His compact semi-automatic fell to the floor as Maksym reached over and twisted the man’s neck with a resounding crack.

  Sophia had hitched herself up on the other man’s hips from behind and was gouging at his eye sockets with her fingers. Gina delivered another blow to the man’s groin, and then stepped aside to drag the body of the first soldier to the stall with the first one they’d gotten. Maksym removed a utility blade from the man’s belt and gutted the last man from his navel to just under his breastbone with a force and speed Sophia had never seen before.

  The man’s pained grunting of stopped and he fell forward, dead.

  Maksym was covered in blood, which glistened wet all over his black knit shirt. His jeans were also soaked, and as red as his hands.

  Gina tossed a uniform from one of the men she’d disrobed and Maksym carefully put it on without getting any of the pooled blood on it. He wiped his shoes and rinsed his hands and face in the sink.

  Sophia whispered to Gina, “Quick, I need something to sop up the blood. It’s about to pooling leak out door.” Gina threw her a shirt and the blood migration was halted temporarily.

  Maksym actually looked like one of the Russians.

  “Can I?” Gina asked as she slipped on one of the gunmen’s shirts over her own. “Makes it more plausible I have a gun, perhaps?”

  “Go with it,” Maksym said. “You’ll be the prisoner, Sophia, and Gina, you will be my accomplice.”

  Gina had been admiring her new weapon. The other one Maksym stashed uncomfortably in his belt at his back and covered it up with his shirt. “I can’t give you one, Sophia, if you are going to be my prisoner.”

  “Understood,” she said.

  “I think we’re as ready as we’re going to be,” he said. “We have a place we can meet your SEALs?”

  “Not sure. Let’s go to Deck 5 if we can.”

  “We travel the outside, avoid the interior stairways and the elevators,” Maksym whispered. “We have to start by going up from the outside, then down a corridor to the outside stairs.”

  As they left the Deck 9 dining area, Sophia saw Libby and the other women being escorted to the back of the ship surrounded by a contingent of armed guards. Their hands were secured in zip ties. Other women and children were silent as they were led in the opposite direction. Some older women crossed themselves. Christy stood tall, the wife of the Team leader, and always would be, Sophia thought. Gina was behind her, and she heard her swear softly.

  Sophia hoped to God they were able to connect with Mark and the others in time to save her life, as well as the lives of the other women. Sadly, Sanouk brought up the rear, carrying the blanketed body of Libby Cooper, who had been spared wearing an orange jumpsuit, but not a certain death, and who must have been terrified about losing her unborn child. It was just so fuckin’ wrong.

  Sophia said a little prayer as they turned to face whatever was lying beyond the glass doors.

  Chapter 29

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  WOLF SAT ATOP his Sikorsky S-434 helicopter and maneuvered down to the deck. Everything was going according to plan. He was pleased that he had not lost one of his men. Although he was going to have to make Maksym and the Moroccans suffer for their mistakes, he’d planned for those eventualities.

  He was pleased the bomb had been discovered. Azziz’s cobra had been brilliant. He liked the skinny Moroccan freedom fighter, even though the man could not manage one linear thought, thanks to his overwhelming religious fervor.

  Makes you weak, his Russian handler had told him when he’d first been sent to the Middle East. He’d been told to never fear the Muslim threat because their fervor clouded their judgment. Made them completely predictable, in an otherwise unpredictable and dangerous world. .

  Like ten-year-olds with Uzis, Boris had said on more than one occasion.

  Well, so far he’d outsmarted them all. The Russians, due to their harsh stance on dissidents and “subgroups,” had given him a cadre of willing and well-trained mercenaries, distrusted in their own country due to their religious affiliation. He also had the Ukrainians, who were only too eager to do a private mission for wealth and the possibility of a new, anonymous life in the West. And you had the Moroccans, willing to die for their cause. It was all too perfect.

  And if the mission didn’t work out, he’d achieved what no other had done, brought a big American cruise ship to its knees, and probably sacrificed some American women, which would certainly get everyone’s attention. If he didn’t get the payoff this time, next time he’d get double, so in a way it didn’t matter. He could not lose.

  And he’d planned it so he wouldn’t have to share that fat bank account with anyone. The bomb would go off in less than two hours and, as long as he wasn’t on the ship, the mission was a success. All he’d have to do in the future is threaten a takeover and they’d deposit any sum of money he asked.

  When he got his fun
ds he was going to buy himself a small country and the loyalty of its people. He had many prospects, but there would be time enough for that later, after the coffers were ripe and bursting with gold.

  The $1 million helicopter set down exactly in the middle of the helipad’s painted circle. Wolf stepped out onto Deck 10, which was lit by a string of lights that went from bow to stern.

  His overcoat was buttoned to the neck. Even off the coast of Africa, the dark night air was chilly, even though the ship’s engines had stopped was and the ship was merely drifting. Seeing stars this far out to sea was always a special treat for him, almost making him think of the supernatural powers some of his recruits thought he possessed. The knowing he had caused this giant ship to stop, had put so much fear into so many people, was extremely satisfying. He would have to confess he was actually giddy with pleasure.

  One of his armed guards let him pass and opened the gate and stairway to the bridge.

  Captain D’Ambrosini looked like a nervous wreck. He’d been held at gunpoint and was sitting in one of the two helmsman’s chairs at the con. His eyes didn’t focus on Wolf at first, but then, recognition flooded his face. D’Ambrosini shouted, “It is you!” and pointed, as if someone would step forward to arrest him.

  “Now, Captain, please relax,” he said in Italian. He knew a couple of the mercenaries understood everything he said, but he wasn’t worried.

  Though he was the captain, D’Ambrosini did not steer the ship. The helmsman usually stood at the wheel, leaving the captain free to supervise and move about the bridge, even attend dinners and parties. But today the helmsman sat idly by and watched the parade of individuals coming and going.

  The Wolf gave his next instruction and waited for the import of his words to sink in. “You will now send the emergency distress signal.”

  The radio room, located behind the bridge, was given the go-ahead. The chief radio officer came onto the bridge himself with his headsets on. “Sir? Am I to send any word, a message in addition to the distress signal?”

  “Let them contact you. I’m sure they will.” Wolf told the radio operator.

  Barely two minutes went by when the buzzing in the radio room began. The captain’s cell phone chirped, as did the first officer’s.

  “Do not answer just yet,” Wolf said. “Let them wait exactly five minutes.” He checked his own sat phone.

  One hour and forty-two to go.

  “Where are your other officers, Captain?” he asked D’Ambrosini.

  “I have no idea. Normally they would have checked in with me. I can only assume they’ve been detained,” the captain said in Italian.

  “Where is Maksym?”

  The captain shot a knowing look at Wolf. It had been at Wolf’s instructions the junior officer was hired.

  “Not spoken to him since earlier this evening, since before we left port.”

  Wolf looked out at the distant lights of the African shore, barely visible. “Time enough for that. Time enough.”

  Wolf dialed a number and received an update. “And the women, they are dressed in orange?”

  The captain and helmsman exchanged worried glances.

  “The lights and video cameras are installed?”

  Wolf noticed the captain was trying to send a text message from his cell phone.

  “Give me that,” he demanded. The captain handed over his cell phone sheepishly. The screen read T Dominichello.

  “So you dare lie to me, and attempt communication with Teseo. Where is he?” Wolf demanded, raising his voice.

  “Somewhere on board. I know not where. Truly.”

  “Then you will tell him to come to the bridge or your helmsman will lose his life.” He handed the captain back his phone.

  The young Italian helmsman moved off the stool and stood with his back to the map desk. All of twenty-six, he’d been employed by the cruise line for barely two years, Wolf recalled.

  The captain dialed Teseo’s number. Wolf grabbed the phone from his hands before he could warn Teseo.

  “Yes Captain?” Teseo answered.

  “Your presence is requested on the bridge, Teseo. If you are not here in five minutes, your helmsman will be shot through the head. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  “Si, si. This is—Lombardi?”

  “Never mind who this is. I am in command of this ship now, and you will come to the bridge at once or your man here will have his brains spread all over the equipment. Don’t test me on this.”

  “Si. I will be there.” Teseo hung up.

  Wolf inhaled and savored the moment. “Now we call the company and let them know what troubles await them this morning.”

  KYLE TOOK THE call from Teseo, and then notified Nick and Grady that the time to take back the bridge was now, and promising that his troupe be up there as soon as possible. Moshe was being held downstairs in the jail, with just one guard. The three SEALs were hidden in a cabin that had been evacuated in a hurry earlier, and the door left open. It made good temporary cover for now.

  Mark began to try to reason with Kyle. “You need to get back up there. Everything hinges on that bridge takeover, Kyle. Leave me here to take care of business,” Mark said to his LPO. “Take Armani, here, and go.”

  Kyle hesitated for a second, and then agreed. “You get him out and get your butt upstairs.”

  “I plan on it.”

  Kyle and Armando quietly made their way down the deserted corridor to the crew stairwell and disappeared.

  Mark could see the Israeli sitting on the padded bench, his cell phone chirping on the counter at the duty desk in front of him. The guard was making insulting comments to him.

  “Your girlfriend says she needs to fuck, you little Israeli prick. She misses you, so she’s gonna go find a Russian to get the job done.”

  He could see the panic on Moshe’s face. He looked literally green.

  Mark got ready to dart across the hall when he heard heavy footsteps. Two new guards spoke Russian to their colleague and dragged him to the hallway tearing off down the corridor after Kyle and Armando. As an afterthought, the first guard turned back and fired a warning shot, which ricocheted off the bars, earning him yells from his colleagues. He grabbed Moshe’s phone and threw it against the wall, where it shattered. He pointed at Moshe. “Next time, your head.” Then he turned around and stormed out.

  Mark was stunned. As he waited for them to leave, he texted Kyle to give him the heads-up on the men coming their way.

  He ran into the hold and Moshe bolted upright, a look of relief plastered across his face.

  “Where are the keys?”

  “No keys. Requires a pass card.”

  “Which I have right here,” Mark said and pulled one out of his vest pocket.

  “Right now, American or not, I could kiss you, Marky Mark,” said Moshe.

  “Kiss me after I get you out. What do I do with it?” He was looking at the door and couldn’t find a place for it to be scanned.

  “On the wall. There is a monitor on the wall. You swipe it like a credit card after you punch in the number two, and then the code, are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “696969.”

  Mark looked at him. Grinning. “That’s an interesting choice of numbers.”

  “Do it, damn you! I’ll explain later,” Moshe yelled.

  After the cell was opened, they checked the corridor and took off to the stairs. Up two floors they heard the spray of automatic gunfire. Mark gave Moshe his extra sidearm, hung back, angling, and when he got a shot, caught one of the men in the back just at the base of his skull. He fell into the stairwell.

  They were sprayed with rounds for their trouble.

  “Can’t stop, it’s all going down now,” Mark said.

  All of a sudden another spray of automatic gunfire erupted and two more commandos fell down into the stairwell.

  What Mark heard next was music to his ears.

  “Mark!”

  Sophia!

  �
��On our way.”

  They took two and three stairs at a time, made the three-floor distance in under a minute. He grabbed Sophia, who was bloody but looking pretty damned good, holding her in his arms.

  Maksym barked at them, “We need to get to the bridge. Gina is with Armando and headed up there now. Kyle has gone down to the engine room. No time for that.” Maksym handed Moshe the extra automatic. Mark tried to give Sophia his Sig, but she scowled at him.

  They exited Deck 6 and took the outside stairway to Deck 10 so they could see what was going on in the big arena one deck below. They opened the door and stopped in their tracks.

  Christy, Mia and Jasmine sat in the center of the pool area, their restrained hands in front of them, wearing orange jumpsuits. The deck had been lit up for a celebration. The large screen monitor, which normally played Italian hip-hop and pop music showed the faces of the three women. A video camera was set on a tripod, manned by one of the Moroccans. Moshe swore under his breath in a language Mark didn’t understand.

  He wondered if Armando had seen this, and then noticed a flicker of movement to his right, spotting Armando and Gina as they peered around the corner. The bridge would have to wait. Armando must have figured the ladies didn’t have much time and stopped to lend a hand. Teseo was probably being held inside, along with the captain, at gunpoint.

  The rest of the SEAL ladies were in a second group of chairs tucked underneath the balcony, in the shadows. Among them was Libby, wrapped in a blanket, and Sanouk, holding her tight to his chest. Fredo and Jones were trussed up like turkeys, obviously being saved for the main course.

  In an instant, Armando had his semi-automatic trained on a Moroccan gunman who raised a pistol to Christy’s chest some thirty feet away.

  Armando let the round fly, and the gunman’s head exploded like a watermelon. Several soldiers guarding the rest of the prisoners made the mistake of leaving their cover, racing out into the open and attempting to return fire. They got sprayed with rounds from Maksym, Moshe and Mark’s automatics. They then trained their guns on several others, popped off some rounds. Moshe hit the videographer, sending the camera and tripod flying to the side. Maksym and Moshe headed through the double wooden doors to check for more combatants inside.