by Mack Maloney
They were here now to meet the head of the family business—indeed, he was the owner of Kinkkokos Island. An oversized golf cart driven by two enormous goons carried them up the long driveway to a huge traditional Greek-style mansion that sat atop the highest hill on the island. They were met by two more enormous goons at the front door. The team members were carrying rucksacks and their personal weapons; this made the goons nervous. While Batman insisted on keeping the sea bag holding their money, the goons told them to leave their guns at the door. They were then escorted through the mansion to a piazza in the back.
They found a man sitting by a crystalline pool, reading a newspaper. He was short and stout, with a ruddy face and a shaved head. He was at least seventy years old and he, too, looked right out of a movie—if the movie was about fabulously wealthy Russian gangsters.
The goons made their presence known. The elderly man, clad in a gaudy silk bathrobe, looked up at the team members and frowned.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked in a thick accent.
The team was stumped. This was the right address, wasn’t it?
“We’re the marine protection service,” Nolan answered. “We’ll be helping out on the cruise liner—for your party?”
The man looked them up and down. Then he said: “You look like you’re here to cut grass, to rake leaves. You don’t have uniforms. Emblem patches, nothing. And you, you’re half blind. And this guy’s a gimp. He’s got a peg leg.”
Twitch took a swing at the old man. His haymaker missed, and the two goons were soon on him, lifting him up between them. The rest of the team stayed in place; they knew Twitch didn’t need any help. He was a fierce Delta-trained warrior, as the two goons were about to find out. Using a combination of karate, jujitsu and judo, he proceeded to beat both men unconscious, ending with an excruciating kick to the groin to each, courtesy of his metal foot.
In seconds the pool area was flooded with armed men, running to defend the Russian godfather. But he just waved them off.
“OK, you guys are hired,” he said as the unconscious goons were carried way. “But if you’re going to work for me, we must get you clothes that are new.”
THE CRUISE SHIP was named the Althea Dawn.
It was 900 feet long, had sixteen decks, six pools, twenty-four bars, ten dining rooms, and accommodations for nearly 1,000 high-paying passengers.
But this was not a typical cruise liner. Rather, it was leased from an Italian company that dealt only with well-heeled clients. There were no closet-sized rooms on this ship. The smallest stateroom was as big as a luxury suite in a five-star hotel; most of the staterooms were penthouse-size or bigger. Each was on the outer part of the ship, complete with balcony and water views. There was a lavish casino, two giant, well-appointed function rooms, and many private rooms for dining, partying or other activities.
The galley and kitchen rivaled the best restaurants in Paris. The kitchen staff numbered nearly 100; the boat’s crew outnumbered the guests three to one.
The cruise ship was leaving out of the port city of Kronos, located just two islands over from Kinkkokos. Though the plan was to sail around the Aegean, for security reasons, there was no set course. The ship would travel 1,200 miles in the two and a half days of sailing, at times doubling back on its route to confuse anyone who might be planning to do it harm.
The ship had arrived at Kronos earlier that morning, docking at a private berth at the far edge of the tourist city. A large tent had been erected on the dock. A parking lot nearby was filled with limos and SUVs, all with dark-tinted windows.
Passenger loading began precisely at noon. Looking stiff in their new dark blue combat suits, Nolan and Gunner stood at the gangway and checked out every person who came aboard. Each guest had to have an invitation signed personally by Bebe. That invitation was watermarked and had a red stripe embedded in it to thwart counterfeiters. Plus, Bebe was close by, still in his thick woolen suit, eyeballing everyone who walked up the gangway. If the team members had any question about a guest, they just looked over to him for a thumbs-up.
As it turned out, no one tried to crash the party. The passenger list was unusual, though. Fifty middle-aged and elderly men were the first to climb aboard, each with his two bodyguards, each unmistakably Russian or Eastern European. There was little doubt what these people did for a living, these “family associates.”
Once they were aboard, a small army of young women was allowed up the gangway. There were exactly two hundred of them, and they made the girls back on Mauritius look like also-rans in a 4-H beauty contest. Most were blond—Scandinavians, Germans, Czechs—with a few Asian and African beauties as well.
But most odd, the last guests to come aboard were a half-dozen professorial types, all wearing tweed jackets with elbow patches despite the heat, and all smoking pipes. Each had the required invitation, but still Nolan and Gunner looked to Bebe to personally vet them. Each got a thumbs-up.
There were dozens of Greek police in the area, watching all this activity. But underscoring the power of Bebe and his friends, they stayed a respectful distance away from the boarding process.
Everyone was finally loaded aboard—fifty business associates, 100 bodyguards, 200 party girls and six college professors. Everyone’s luggage had been X-rayed, but by Bebe’s orders, the only verboten items were explosives. Handguns, Uzis, ammunition and drugs were allowed onboard. One particular elderly guest brought a briefcase that was stuffed with cocaine, and a large bottle of Viagra.
Meanwhile, Batman was in the work copter, flown up from Mauritius on a family-leased cargo plane. He was circling endlessly over the cruise liner while Crash and Twitch were in scuba gear checking the hull of the ship for mines or explosives. They found none.
One hour after the loading process had begun, Nolan reported to Bebe that, by his criteria, all of the guests had passed muster. Again, Batman—circling above—reported nothing irregular. No smaller vessels were spotted near the cruise ship, no suspicious types were watching them from the docks.
The Althea Dawn left the dock at Kronos just after 1330 hours. In beautiful weather, it headed for the open sea.
THE CRUISE SHIP had everything for everybody—except one thing: locations for the team to set up their 50-caliber machine guns.
Bebe had supplied them with four Russian-made Dushka powerhouses and several miles of ammunition. It wasn’t that their employer didn’t want the hardware to be seen. Just the opposite. He’d encouraged the team to be as visible as possible, to make their high-powered guests feel more secure. The cruise liner just didn’t have any ideal crossfire points to set up four giant machine guns.
The team finally settled on a four-corners approach: two weapons on the main deck bow, two on the stern. The weapons were attached to the railing with huge vise grips, supplemented with bike chains and electrical wire. The plan was for the team members to patrol the decks during the day carrying their personal weapons. If trouble struck, they would rush to these four gun posts and defend the ship. At night, three of the guns would be manned at all times, on a rotating basis, with each gun commander equipped with night-vision goggles.
Meanwhile, the work copter would be either airborne or ready to fly at a moment’s notice. Bebe not only had encouraged the team to be armed at all times; he wanted the work copter parked on the stern of the boat, in full view of the largest pool. The copter was scarier-looking than ever, fitted with a second gun pod, two wing-mounted rocket launchers, and permanent M4 mounts. The former mall-cop copter was now loaded down with weapons.
Between the team’s firepower and the small army of bodyguards aboard, Nolan was confident they could ward off any attack by . . . well, by whom? That had yet to be made clear.
So, once they were under way, Nolan sought out Bebe to explain the overall situation to him. He found him at the bar on the top deck.
“Comrade One Eye,” was how Bebe greeted him. “Will have drinks, you and me.”
Nolan got a soda water. He w
as on the clock.
“Just who are we protecting you guys from?” he asked Bebe directly. “Pirates? Rivals? Someone’s navy?”
Bebe smiled, displaying a mouthful of gold teeth. “Your specialty is pirates, right?” he asked.
Nolan shrugged. “I guess.”
“So you are protecting us from pirates then,” he said, and added: “But maybe more.”
“Really?”
Bebe downed his shot of vodka. “See it this way,” he said. “Every man aboard ship has enemies—dozens at least. Rivals. Wannabes. People wanting to settle score. If someone sink ship, they get rid of many, many top adversaries in one swoop.”
Bebe never stopped smiling as he said all this; Nolan knew this was not a good sign. The Russian was holding something back.
“You’re paying us a lot of money,” he told him. “And whether you tell me everything or not, it’s still the same fee. So, if you want us to just keep a lookout for pirates, then so be it—though I’m not sure how many pirates there are in the Aegean Sea. But, if you want to level with me, then maybe we can really protect you from everything that’s out there.”
Bebe mulled this over, then motioned Nolan to come closer. “OK, here is scoop,” he said. “We get gossip that someone will definitely attack ship during cruise. Rival business. Jealous of us. And somehow, someway—they want to try to get us all. I get information from sources that are very firm. Never wrong. And I’m getting updates by hour. Chatter says attack will come. No matter what.”
“Why don’t you just cancel the trip, then?” Nolan asked him. “Turn around and everyone can go home safe.”
Bebe laughed. “You don’t know my world. Is simple rule. You never show fear. Is better that whole ship sinks than to cancel big party. That’s how everyone feel. The trip must go on—we must be prepared to fight off whatever is coming—or we look like schoolchildren.”
NOLAN LEFT THE bar and went to the suite that had been supplied to the team. It was an expansive space with a dining room, a game room, a sitting room, a full bar, big-screen TV, two balconies, and a half-dozen bedrooms spinning off it. It was nothing like the Dustboat.
Crash, Twitch and Gunner were on hand, getting ready to go on duty. Each was wearing his new deep-blue combat suit, courtesy of their client. In reality, their new uniforms looked like something designed by NASA. They were thick, hot, uncomfortable—and ugly.
“What’s the 411?” Gunner asked him. “Are these guys for real or paranoid? Or both?”
Nolan pulled out a soda water from the bar.
“They’re for real,” he told them. “No doubt about that. But let’s make sure we know where the life preservers are kept. This might get a little funky somewhere down the road.”
“That’s great,” Gunner said gloomily. “Just when we thought we’d had our share of funky with the Indians.”
In their own way, these three rarely seemed anything but motivated despite all they’d gone through. But at the moment, Nolan thought they looked troubled. He’d sensed it right away.
“What’s the problem?” he asked them. “You guys don’t like the accommodations?
Crash spoke first. “It’s the money,” he said bluntly.
“The money? For this job? Two hundred fifty grand not enough for you to sail around on this tub for two and a half days?”
“No, it’s a lot,” Crash said. “That’s the problem. Add it to what we made squashing Turk, squashing Zeek, and what the Indians just gave us, we’re almost up to two and a half million bucks.”
“Two million, three hundred eighty-five thousand, to be exact,” Nolan told them. “You guys want to count it or something?”
Gunner spoke up. “We’re just concerned about the security,” he said.
“Security?” Nolan asked. “We got it here with us. Batman prays over it every half hour. You can’t get better security. Plus, we agreed not to put it in a bank, just in case someone comes looking for taxes or something.”
“You just hit the nail on the head,” Gunner said. “Not the banking thing—but who’s watching over it for us.”
Nolan was stunned. “The Batman, you mean? He’s the money guy of the group. He’s the best guy to look out for it.”
The usually reticent Twitch spoke up. “Sure, he’s the money guy—but he’s also another Bernie Madoff. He was on the run when we hooked back up with him. He has more guys chasing him than you do. Plus we just found out the government seized all his assets. He’s beyond broke at this point.”
Nolan put his drink down. This was getting serious.
“Are you saying you don’t trust him with our money?” he asked them directly.
“Do you?” Crash asked.
Nolan was pissed. “Let’s remember who we are talking about here,” he said. “This is a guy who’s saved the lives of each one of us more than once. Me, in Kosovo. Gunner, in Sakrit, Twitch and Crash, that gunfight outside Beirut. He’d take a bullet for any one of you.”
The three men nodded uncomfortably. Crash said, “But money changes people.”
Nolan was starting to burn. “Yes, I guess it does,” he said. “It’s changing you three right before my eyes.”
A tense silence descended on the suite.
Nolan finally broke it. “OK, so what do you want me to do? Split it up so you’ll all have your own piece? Do we really want to be all walking around with a half million dollars in our pockets?”
“What we want is for you to talk to him,” Gunner said. “Just make sure that he’s copasetic with the money, that’s all.”
“I mean,” Crash said, “now that we know he’s seriously broke, have you actually seen the money since we came aboard? How do we know he isn’t making a side deal with these Russian meatballs? Or that he won’t disappear with it when we’re not looking? Take off in the copter and just fly away? You got to admit, that’s just about what he did to those suckers he had for clients back in the States. And what’s stealing a couple million bucks mean to a guy like that anyway? He’s used to stealing hundreds of millions. To him, we’ve made chicken feed compared to that. It would be nothing for him to disappear with it.”
Nolan started to say something, but stopped. They were right, of course. He trusted Batman, but he was the only other officer in the team, and maybe that was affecting his judgment. And he couldn’t let that happen, no matter what he thought of the guy.
He drained his water, then said, “OK—you guys get out on deck patrol. I’ll go talk to him.”
NOLAN FOUND BATMAN out on the stern, sitting by the work copter.
“What’s the good word?” he asked Nolan cheerfully.
“I believe it’s pronounced: Bratva krasnayai,” Nolan replied. “Or maybe Krasnaya mafiy.”
Batman laughed. “Yeah, Red Mafia? Is that who you think these guys are?”
Nolan shrugged. “Who knows? Who cares? They paid up, right?”
“They did,” Batman replied. “I counted it and tested every bill—and it’s all legit. No counterfeits. No bogus script. A quarter of a million dollars in the ship’s vault, along with the rest of our stash. We’ll need to get a new sea bag soon, by the way.”
Nolan had known Batman for almost fifteen years. They’d gone through Delta training together. There was a bond there. Even though they’d been out of touch after the Tora Bora mess, when the group got back together, it was like they’d missed no time at all.
On the other hand, Nolan had no idea what had gone on with Batman after he returned to civilian life, other than he’d been caught up in the Wall Street scandals. There was a big hole in the time line there.
Batman lit a cigarette—which was funny, because Nolan never knew him to smoke.
“You never did tell me what the hell happened to you back in the States,” Nolan said to him. “We’ve been back riding together for more than a year now, but I still haven’t heard the story.”
Batman took a long drag on his smoke. “What’s to tell? I went into high finance after leavin
g Delta and got caught up in it. We all did. Making money. Making more money. Even when we went to the higher-ups and told them maybe we should cool it on all these exotic trades and stuff—they just said: ‘Shut up and make more money.’ That’s the short version of a long story.”
He took another drag, held his breath, and let it out slowly.
“Not as exciting as almost punching out a judge and going off to find bin Laden on your own,” he added.
“There’s no statute of limitations on either of those things,” Nolan said gravely.
Batman laughed and nudged him. “Man, you’re still up-tight,” he said. “Here, take a drag of this and relax. We’re on a roll here.”
Nolan didn’t smoke but Batman nearly forced the cigarette into his mouth. Nolan took a drag—and spit it out immediately.
“Jesus—what is that? Pot?”
Batman just smiled. “Hey, I don’t know. Bebe gave it to me. Takes the stress away. Take another hit.”
Nolan held up his hand and refused.
Batman said, “What’s the matter? Afraid you’ll get the one eye red?”
Nolan ignored the comment. He said instead, “You know, at one time maybe you were able to swim in a pool filled with money. But the guys, they’ve never come close to the amount we’ve earned in just this past month.”
“It will be good for them to see how the other half lives,” Batman said.
“Well, let’s make sure of that, OK?” Nolan said.
Batman looked at him strangely. Then a light went on behind his eyes. “Hey—is that what this is about? Those guys are worried because I’m the one holding the money?”
Nolan shrugged, feeling the slight effects of the inadvertent drag of reefer. “I told them they had no reason to be.”
Batman was upset. “That cash is safe with me. I’m not a crook. I wouldn’t rip off those guys. What are they thinking? That I’d just suddenly take off? Leave them high and dry?”
