KNIGHT'S REPORTS: 3 Book Set

by Gordon Kessler

  I counted as many as a dozen crewmembers gunned down by perhaps eighteen security personnel.

  They’d be setting the charges next, and then getting away in the gravity-drop lifeboat on the back of the ship. But these rats would have to go through me first to leave this sinking ship.

  As my altimeter passed under 400 feet, I signaled Poodoo to deploy her chute.

  We pulled our ripcords simultaneously, and both rectangular canopies opened superbly. But I hadn’t thought to specify grey night-camo chutes when I asked Poodoo to request them. The bright white parachutes that we got seemed to explode in the bright moonlight, showing up in the night sky as obvious as skid marks on white undies.

  Damn it!

  We were lucky, so far. No one seemed to have noticed us.

  The closest of Legba’s security team stood leaning over the railing on the aft side of the superstructure. He stood just below the bridge, but nearly a hundred feet above the water — in exactly the spot we were headed.

  He was looking down while using a rope to lower a cake-pan-size object to a skin diver in the water. Obviously, the guy in the wet suit was setting the explosive charges just below the waterline on the Mazu’s hull.

  I briefly wondered why they hadn’t placed the charges inside the hull, early on, but realized it was probably because the crew had no idea of this contingency plan, and such a move would have made them somewhat hard to manage, realizing they were soon to become unnecessary ballast.

  The man at the railing held a large duffle bag that seemed nearly empty. They’d probably been around the ship already and were finishing up on the stern.

  The gunfire on the other side of the ship’s high superstructure had quieted, and without the Mazu’s engines running and being dead in the water, I could clearly hear the crewman’s voice in the still night.

  “Come on, man—this is the last one!” he said banging on the railing with another charge, anxious to drop it to his partner. “Perre said he was going to set off the charges in ten minutes whether we were done or not. He don’t mess around! You got less than two minutes.”

  The guy in the water grabbed a rope ladder next to him and began to climb up. “He’s screwing with you. He’s not going to set off the charges until we’re the hell outa here in the lifeboat, dumbass. But just drop that one in the water, anyway. Hell, I set eight charges—that’s more than enough.”

  When the dummy with the explosives in his hands looked up, he saw the white canopies in the bright moonlight. Seeming momentarily perplexed by the sight, he squinted, not knowing what to make of it. Then his eyes grew wide when he saw what was swooping in below the canopies.

  I imagined my eyes just as big, staring back. We were headed straight for him, way too fast.

  To be prepared, I pulled the safety clip from my harness’s single-point, quick-release button, and then brought up the M5 silenced assault rifle in order to send my adversary to the great beyond.

  “Shi-it! They’re here!” he shouted. But those would be his last words.

  Now only fifteen feet out, I put three silenced rounds in his head and neck, careful to aim away from the explosive charge he seemed to cradled protectively in his arms. As my target fell back, his deadly article with him, I heard three more soft pops coming from just above me — and then a splash below. I was confident Poodoo had just dealt adequately with the man in the water.

  Without time to prepare, I hit the railing. I held onto the rail as my canopy began to collapse behind me.

  Poodoo followed two seconds later, landing perfectly over the railing, her chute abandoned as she lit.

  Text book! But not so much for me.

  I struggled awkwardly, hanging from the railing by one hand, the other arm tangled up in the riser and shroud lines, fighting my errant parachute as it caught the ten-knot wind and re-inflated.

  Poodoo rushed to me from the other side of the security rail, reached out and punched my parachute harness’s single-point, quick-release button in the center of my chest.

  The parachute’s shrouds slipped off from around my arm, and my chute billowed away.

  “Show off!” I whispered to her as I got a two-hand hold on the railing.

  “Amateur,” she said in a low, sexy voice.

  I climbed over. “Doo-doo head.”

  She picked up the explosive charge laying next to the dead security guard. “Butt trumpet.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Nice one!” I then relieved her of the device. “I know just where to put this.”

  “Want help sticking it there?” she asked.

  I was glad to see she’d loosened up some. She wasn’t shaking any more. The comedic break had been important, but it was time to focus and get down to business again.

  The very worst was yet to come.

  “Cover my ass,” I whispered to her.

  “Gladly,” she said.

  I took the open outside steps down one level to the single, free-fall lifeboat. Set at an angle on a slide, this large lifeboat would probably accommodate at least forty people. It deployed easily by releasing the retaining cables from a control inside the escape craft itself. I was sure the remaining security team had planned for it to be used to abandon ship, but I wondered what their escape strategy was after that.

  I did what I needed to, and Poodoo and I slipped as clandestinely as possible up to the Mazu’s control room at the top of the ship’s superstructure.

  As we stepped toward the ship’s window-encircled bridge, I could see our Coasties MH-65C coming in with navigational lights as well as spot light on. Two men with AK-74s stood at the control stand, seeming in awe at the sight.

  The helo came in quickly and reared up to a stop perpendicular and fifty yards to the starboard side of the Mazu’s bow. Over my headset, I heard CPO Price say, “Flares in …”

  “Close your eyes and turn away!” I told Poodoo.

  Price continued, “… three ... two ... one!”

  I closed only one eye, needing to watch to ensure we weren’t seen during the fireworks.

  The night suddenly lit up in a blinding light, about one per second until all dozen brightly burning flares were in the air, dangling from small parachutes as they floated back to the water.

  One of the two men on the bridge picked up a hand mic. Over the ship’s loud speaker system came, “Defend the ship!”

  From behind them, I slipped through the aft bridge hatchway, unseen.

  The second man asked the guy with the mic, “Where’s Perre? We need to get to the lifeboat!”

  “Not without the boss’s orders,” the one with the mic said. He must have caught a glimpse of me in the reflection on the window, because he turned, and his companion did the same.

  I was sure they couldn’t see me well after the blinding flares. Realizing I had the drop on them, they both raised their arms in surrender. Each still held their assault rifle in one hand.

  I smiled and shook my head.

  “No. Please!” the second one said. “I have a wife and —”

  “Kids?” I asked. “Like the ones you’re trying to peddle as sex slaves down there in those containers?”

  Both men’s faces showed the realization that I was about to kill them. They seemed to give into the idea, hopeless of bringing their AKs to bear on me and defending themselves.

  I fired three shots each, and their lifeless bodies dropped like inanimate garbage bags.

  Poodoo came in behind me, and we rushed to where the security men had stood.

  As we stepped over the bodies and looked down on the containers in the large open bay below, I told Poodoo, “These two were probably team leaders, controlling the scuttling and escape.”

  “We got the head of the snake?”

  “No,” I told her. “We’re still looking for a guy named Perre. I think he’s one our fine deceased sheriff’s deputies. Perre has the detonator. If we don’t get him before he pushes the button, this ship will sink fast. And this particular snake’s longer than you
r big black friend with the batteries in your closet—this damn anaconda has as many as two dozen more segments to it.”

  We gazed down at the commotion below. Before us was a double stack of a total of twenty-four steel intermodal containers. The containers were placed two lengthwise-wide per row perpendicular to the ship’s keel, a total of six rows, with walking room in between rows. Running in every direction between the steel containers like scared rats, Legba’s security detail sought cover while firing at the Coast Guard helo.

  One burst of six or seven rounds from an AK-74 peppered the side of the Coastie’s chopper with 5.45 mm Russian-made rounds. Sparks flew as static came over our helmet radios. The Coast Guard helo backed off another hundred feet, but returned fire, one of the M-60s opening up from the side door.

  “Coast Guard helo, you read me?” I called over my mic. “CPO Price, you there?”

  No answer came so I repeated. Still no reply.

  I told Poodoo, “We lost comm with the chopper.”

  At that moment, the first NOAA plane roared overhead, as if on a strafing run, just to the port side of center of the ship. A large, reinforced cardboard box was shoved out of the plane’s starboard side door, and landed flatly atop one of the intermodal containers, dead center of the ship.

  The second plane followed its tail, its cargo dropping nearly on top of the first box. But the second cardboard box bounced on one edge, rolled, and then tumbled off the containers, finally going overboard.

  “We better get down there. We shouldn’t see anyone but bad guys loose, so fire on sight.”

  “You said kill without prejudice, right?”

  “Right,” I said.

  “This is one time I’m going to enjoy it. Sending these bastards to Hell won’t make me shed a tear.”

  “Don’t let your emotions get in the way, Poodoo. We need to stay cool. Take your targets out as if they are just that — lifeless targets. None should be wearing vests, so give them three rounds, center of mass, and move on.”

  “Will do,” she said and followed me out the bridge’s port side hatchway.

  With me in front, I expended my thirty-round magazine and had to reload another before Poodoo fired her weapon since she killed the diver.

  I left seven more bodies in our wake as we stepped down from the high superstructure to the main deck where the containers were positioned.

  I caught a bad guy running around the corner of a container, evading the sniper in the chopper.

  Three rounds and down.

  Poodoo lined up on a figure backing around the other side. In that instant, I felt an inexplicable connection to the dark shape and recognized something familiar in it — its strangely egg-shaped head. The man fired behind in the direction he’d been coming from, and was yet to see us. One of our adversaries stumbled by him, and fell dead at the tall figure’s feet.

  As the man turned toward us, one round escaped Poodoo’s M5 before I had a chance to push the muzzle away.

  CHAPTER 25

  What’s in a Name?

  I held one hand up to the injured man in a motion to stop.

  “Sorry, Poodoo,” I told her. I released her weapon. “I think he’s on our side.”

  Poodoo’s round had grazed his shoulder.

  He glanced behind himself, and then came toward us.

  “Are you okay?”

  He spoke slowly, his words coming out like he had to cock each one in his throat before shooting it out. “Jus’ ... nicked ... me. I’m ... Nergalsharezar ... the ... Rab-Mag ... Chevalier.

  I glanced at Poodoo. She was gaping, her eyebrows raised.

  I said, “Okay, Dorcas isn’t all that bad.”

  The man said, “Chevalier ... is ... French for—”

  “Knight,” I said. I smiled at him again. “I’m E Z Knight. We could be brothers.”

  He grinned wide. “Call ... me ... Nergal ... for ... short.”

  “Glad to meet you Nergal,” I said. “And I thought Ezekiel Zachariah Knight was a curse. Around you two, It’s a blessing.”

  At first I thought his hesitant speech was due to his injury. I soon realized I’d been correct in my earlier assessment of him. Obviously, he was a man of challenged mental ability. “You’re the children’s guard from back at Legba’s cabin?”

  “No ... more. Legba ... say ... me ... protect ... kiddies ... from ... strangers. Him ... lie. They ... need ... protect ... from ... Legba. Gonna ... sell ... kiddies. Don’t ... like ... that. Me … put … sand … in … gas … to … slow … down.”

  “You’re the one, huh?” I smiled at him. “Good work. But can you tell us what happened to Billy?”

  “Mr. ... .White ... Cloud ... here.”

  Poodoo asked, “Where?”

  “I ... let ... him ... go ... when ... fireworks ... start. Him ... open ... big … steel … boxes.” He motioned to the containers, then pointed back in the direction he’d come.

  “God,” Poodoo said, “the sniper will kill him!

  She started around the container.

  “Wait!” I yelled, knowing there’d be no holding her back. She was a big girl, and she knew how to sling lead from that M5 she carried.

  She turned, briefly. “You’re not going to stop me this time.”

  “The helmet,” I said, unclipped our extra black skydiving helmet and tossed it to her.

  She caught it and disappeared to the other side of the container.

  As I assisted our new ally to a sitting position against the side of the steel box we stood nearest to, I heard two bursts of three rounds each, with no return fire. Poodoo was doing okay, so far.

  Nergal’s wound bled more than I cared to see, but it wasn’t life threatening, as of yet. As long as he could apply pressure and stay conscious, he’d be okay.

  “Nergal,” I said, “hold your shoulder here.” I guided his left hand to his right shoulder and pressed it against the wound, closing off the major bleeders. “Keep pressure on it or you’ll pass out, understand?”

  He nodded.

  “Do you know if there are any lifeboats or vests?”

  “Only … big … gravity … one. They … dumped … the … others … before … we … leave. Papa … Legba’s … orders.”

  I shook my head. “Okay. We’ll do without them, then. But I need you to help us. You stay here, out of sight. Shoot any of Legba’s men that come by. But you need to hold pressure on your right shoulder in the meantime. I have to help our friend Poodoo—”

  He smiled again. “Bantha ... poop?”

  Another Star Wars fan? “Yeah, we all have our own challenges, don’t we?” I stood and went to the corner where Poodoo had disappeared and peeked around it.

  I told him, “We’ll be back to get you, as soon as we can.”

  * * *

  After a hundred feet, I found Poodoo edging around a container.

  “Any luck?”

  “No!” she said. “We have to find him.”

  “Poodoo, listen,” I said and made sure to catch her eye, “I know we have to find Billy, but we need to save all these kids in the containers, first. That Perre guy’s liable to blow the charges any minute, and this old iron bucket will go down faster than Linda Lovelace.”

  She said, “We don’t even know if there are kids on this ship.”

  I couldn’t believe she was saying it. On the container we stood next to, I noticed the series of ventilation holes near the top corner of the side. There was a series of six, one-half-inch by six-inch slots about a foot from the top. I found another set a foot from the bottom. I rapped three times with my knuckles on the steel and pointed to the ventilation slots about a foot above us.

  Someone from the inside returned the knock. Small fingers appeared in the slots above, as well as the ones below us. I figured a child had climbed onto the shoulders of another to reach the top holes.

  “You okay in there?” I asked.

  “No!” came several small voices. They began sobbing. “They told us to keep quiet
or they’d kill us.”

  “You’ll be okay, soon. We’re here to get you out. Just hang on.”

  The entire container erupted in cries and confused voices. The one stacked above it did the same. That started a chain reaction, easily heard over the other commotion, and what must have been all twenty-four containers came alive with five hundred tiny but loud and very frightened voices.

  I asked Poodoo, “Still don’t know?”

  She seemed in awe for a moment. Then she added a thought. “But the sniper might have already gotten Perre.”

  “Without the radio, we can’t know that. We have to proceed as if he’s still alive, and he has his finger on the button. There are too many lives at stake.”

  “So we shoot the locks off the latches and open the containers, then we find Billy?”

  “No. Nergal said there’s only one lifeboat. It only seats around forty. No way we can save all these kids.”

  I glanced around the end of the container to ensure no one would surprise us. The coast was clear. But I noted that the lock on the container we leaned against had been cut off, probably with bolt cutters. The securement levers to hold the container door were down so that it could be pushed open from the inside. The locks on all of the bottom containers within sight had also been cut and their levers were down. I glanced to the ones stacked on top. Those locks were still affixed—all were about twelve feet above the deck. We’d have to figure something out to reach the locks on that top stack.

  “Billy’s already been here. The locks have been cut on all the bottom containers in sight.”

  After tapping on the steel box again, I asked, “Where’s Billy — the man who cut your lock?”

  I pictured the frightened voice coming from a boy of about twelve, “We don’t know. He told us he’d be back for us. He said to stay inside and keep quiet.”

  Poodoo was anxious. “What do we do?”

  Searching my thoughts for the answer, I knew it lie in the balloons. That’s why I’d requested them and risked the NOAA planes and their crews’ lives. I just didn’t know how.